...Suggest a Title!

Because I'm useless at coming up with some. Here's part two of ___! Hope you like it. :D Also, here's part one, for those who haven't read it.

Tom’s jaw dropped. He stared at the girl, who smiled at him.

                “I haven’t been to Father’s palace in a long time, though. Some men came to take me to visit my cousin’s palace, but we never arrived. I’m surprised my father let me go, but he will be mad I haven’t returned. Something strange happened on the road there and they gave me to these awful people.” Alisha shrugged and sat on the edge of another stand, legs swinging. She was completely unaware, Tom realized. She had been kidnapped and she didn’t even know it.

                Tom flinched from the stares they were receiving. “Come here,” he pleaded quietly.

                Alisha smiled and hopped down. “Where? Is it nice? Pretty? Father always takes me site seeing in his carriage.” She beamed.

                Tom pursed his lips and gently grabbed her arm, pulling Alisha along. She was so innocent, Tom thought with slight confusion. How? Her father must keep her locked in that room of hers. He still couldn’t believe he was in the presence of a princess. Tom, the thief and slave, talking to a princess! It was nigh impossible. It explained a lot though. Her inability to grasp the place of a slave, her beauty, her simple mindedness.

                When they reached a fairly secluded alley, Tom stopped. Alisha made a face. “It isn’t exactly pretty…”

                Tom buried his head in his hands. “Listen to me, you can’t tell anyone you are a princess. No one, ever.”

                Alisha laughed. “Oh, Tom, why not? What are you afraid of?”

                “That someone might take advantage of you. Listen, you were kidnapped by those men. They weren’t ever going to take you to see your cousin, and your father never let you go. They lied and wanted to sell you for money,” he explained as simply as possible.

                Alisha simply laughed again, angering Tom. Then she frowned. “Wait, you mean they weren’t trying to be nice? Tom, that’s awful!” She cupped her face in horror.

Tom pursed his lips and nodded. “So don’t tell anyone else who you are or they will try to do the same.”

Alisha’s eyes filled with tears and she suddenly ran into his arms. “Tom!” she cried. Tom stuttered, watching her with confusion. “Oh, Tom!” she continued. “My father must be so worried! What’s going to happen, Tom?”

Tom felt a strong sense of impending doom as the princess began to look like she was relying on him. She was a horrible judge of character, which had been proved many times already. Tom felt like he should say something as the one way hug continued. “It’s- it’s okay. I will help you.” He instantly wished he could take his words back. How could he help? It wasn’t even like he wanted to. He had way too much to accomplish without dragging a useless airhead around. Not like it was really her fault for living so protected, but Tom really couldn’t deal with her. She was too fragile and insecure, and Tom was…Tom was Tom and had lived Tom’s life. He couldn’t change himself now.

Alisha was, of course, blissfully ignorant of Tom’s worries and doubts. She hugged him tighter. “Thank you, Tom! Oh, thank you!”

Tom nodded and pushed her away. He stared at her. She certainly looked about his age, but was it possible? She was so innocent. So innocent Tom began to wonder if he would prefer to have had her life, never lifting a finger, but never knowing anything about the outside world, over Tom’s life, working every moment of the day to stay alive and out of jail, but being knowledgeable in the ways of the world. Tom scowled, hand straying habitually to the dagger hidden in the folds of his clothes. A little too knowledgeable. But he still didn’t know which one he would choose.

“So, now what?” Alisha grinned at him. She bounced up and down.

Tom stalled. “Um…well…it would be best if you didn’t return to the woman’s house. I- I don’t think it would be too safe.” By all the idols in Surnim, Tom was actually going to help her! He scowled to himself and at his weakness. “I will find you a place to stay; I promise.”

While Tom was trying to figure out how he was going to do this, a wicked thought entered his mind. He could sell Alisha for ransom. She wouldn’t even know he was doing it, and Tom wouldn’t have to be a slave anymore. He could live the rest of his life off that money, and it would be a thousand times easier than any other way his life would go.

“It’s okay, Tom. I trust you,” The girl smiled at him.

He laughed scornfully. “Don’t.”

Alisha tilted her head. “Why not? You aren’t going to hurt me, are you?”

Tom began walking again, only to pause soon after. “I promise…I promise on both my parents’ grave I will let no harm come to you.” He had everything in common with the men who kidnapped her, but Tom would not be those men.

Alisha was surprisingly silent for a while, hurriedly following him. “Your parents died?”

While he had half a mind to ignore the question completely, he still spoke. “Yes. I was two.”

“That’s so young. Some of my slaves’ parents died, but most of them are older than us.”

Tom swallowed. She knew nothing. “How old are you?” He kept walking, trying to find a good hiding spot for her. It had to be abandoned and large. She would be easily distracted, so somewhere she would not want to leave or having difficulty leaving.

“Fourteen.” Tom shook his head in disbelief. “Tom, are we going much further? I’m tired. We should get a carriage to take us there.”

Tom sighed. “We can’t afford one.”

“Why not? Usually if they see who I am, they will let me for free.” Alisha stared up at him.

“Remember! People can’t know who you are, and your father is not here to pay,” Tom said. Was she more trouble than she was worth?

The girl simply nodded. Suddenly, she gasped and grabbed at Tom. “Look!” she said in fright. Tom frowned and followed her gaze.

“What?”

“That man…” she whispered with horror. Tom finally saw who she was talking about. There was a man a little ways down the alley, lying on a mat. He was covered in filth and he had fallen asleep. There was a small tin beside him, obviously for coins. Tom couldn’t figure out why a man like him couldn’t find a job, even with the slavers, until Tom spotted the man’s arms. He had no hands. Everything past the bone that stuck out in the wrist was gone. Tom paled. Soon enough, that man would be Tom. A caught thief either escaped, was killed, or had his hands cut off. Tom glanced at his hands, one of which Alisha had grabbed. He had been very lucky.

“It’s okay,” Tom reassured both of them, gently leading her away. Father wouldn’t have let her see that…

“Why was he on the street, Tom?” she said quietly, in fear.

Tom took deep breaths. Did he really have to be the one to tell the girl how life worked? “He was a thief. For that, his hands were taken. Without his hands, he cannot work. Not even the slavers want him. Since he cannot work, he cannot make money. No money means no food, no house, no friends.” Tom said. Was that his doom? It seemed like it.

“Oh…” Alisha said, looking downcast.

Tom kicked open a beat up door. “Here,” he said with a smile. It was a very small, one room house in the outskirts of Qirmizi. The place wasn’t very clean, but it was secluded and no one wanted it. Tom’s stomach was doing flips. The outskirts of Qirmizi meant that the Red Walls were looming right over them constantly. He took a deep breath. He wished he could rub or hide his hands, but Alisha was stubbornly clinging onto his right one.

She paused in the doorway. “Where is here?”

“Where you will be staying,” Tom said. He was quite satisfied he did find a place, for he wasn’t sure if he would be able to. Luckily, the neighborhood was full of empty houses. The only fallback was who would populate the area at night… The girl nodded, but did not move from where she was. “You want to go in?” he asked.

Alisha smiled. “Of course! I was just going to wait until after you cleaned it,” she explained.

Tom scowled. “What? I’m not your slave! I don’t even want to be a slave at all! I should have left you to get kidnapped again…” As soon as Tom looked back at her, he regretted his words. No, he regretted saying them to her.

She cried into her hands. “To-om! You said you wouldn’t let anything happen to me!”

Tom frowned and put a hand lightly on her shoulder. “I know. I still won’t. I didn’t mean what I said, Alisha.”

Alisha stared at him and shook her head. “You said you wanted me kidnapped!”

“I didn’t mean it!” He yelled.

She shrunk again. Tom couldn’t think that anyone had raised their voice at her, no matter how many times she did to them. Tom frowned and kept his arm on her shoulder ever so lightly, and she turned her face away from him. The frown deepened. What could he do? He knew nothing about comforting. He had known this was a bad idea. She was too fragile.

His hand fell off her shoulder and Tom walked away, not looking back. He wandered into the other abandoned houses, searching. He finally found what he wanted and returned, pushing past Alisha into the house. She had just stood there, confused and frightened. Tom felt a lump in his throat grow, and he intently stared at the broom in his hands he had gotten before sweeping. Tom gently moved Alisha out of the way and swept the dirt out. He moved Alisha inside a bit before leaving again. This time, he came back with a half filled sack of straw for sleeping. He laid it in a corner and turned to look at her.

“I’ll get some candles later, Miss Alisha,” he mumbled. She was a princess. How could he forget his manners? He was a slave and she was royalty. If he forget the distance, her father would have his head.

Alisha smiled softly and walked over to him. “Tom, please do not call me that.”

Tom examined her face and sat that she was observing tact and not mentioning how bad she thought the house was. He grimaced. He had no money for a room at an inn and they could not be known by any for Alisha’s sake. He shook his head. “I am a slave, Miss Alisha.”

A frown. “But you are also my friend, Tom. My father always reminds me my slaves are not my friends, but you are.”

Tom shook his head again, persistently. “I am simply helping you because you are my better.”

“Tom!” Alisha stomped her foot. “Fine. But without you, I have no friends, Tom. You were going to be my first.”

He blushed and bowed his head, guilt filling him. “I am sorry, Miss.”

Alisha crossed her arms and sat on the edge of the sack bed. “Apparently not! Now leave me!” she said.

It was an impulse for both of them, for Alisha to think she wanted to be alone, and for Tom to gladly get out of a ‘master’s’ sight, but as soon as Alisha saw him go, and as soon as Tom stepped through the door way, they were on edge and full of worry.

Tom, For Lack of a Better Title

Enjoy the start to, maybe, a new story! :D

Tom shivered.

The sand blew across the land in spurts, getting in the boy’s eyes. The sun beat down on his back while his bare toes squelched in the shifting ground. All the animals for miles off were trying to find a better place to be, to get away from the sun’s deadly rays. Wouldn’t take long for a person to die out here in the heat. Water was hard to impossible to find except miles under the heavy sand, and unless you knew where you were going, you would easily be lost. The boy was lucky he wasn’t going far, or he would have needed a horse. You don’t linger in the hot lands without resources.

Tom shivered again.

And sweat.

Heat was not the problem, though it did cause his temper to grow worse. No, Tom had fear. Always did. He had been scared as a small child, alone, in the streets. He wasn’t the only one who could have been stuck there, the fever sent many to the streets, but he was the only one who ended up there. The only one who never had anyone to save him. His life was too littered with the corrupt.

He glanced back, where the tall house was now just a little dark speck. He sighed and sped up a little. He didn’t think he was being followed, but who really knew? His pockets jangled as a dark reminder. Tom swallowed hard and pressed on. He would make it to Qirmizi before nightfall if he continued at this pace. He had been told it was only a couple leagues away. He should see it clearly when he got there. Qirmizi was the City of Red. Tom had heard stories about how it became that way, how the outside, guarding walls had turned crimson one season.

The city’s first Emir had wanted the city to stand out, to make it easy for travelers to see. The plain clay bricks blended in so well with the sand, few would have seen Qirmizi unless they were looking hard for it. His men began painting with the little dye they had, and the people knew that dyes and paints were hard to come across, yet the Emir’s men kept painting. It was said that the Emir had told them to use animal blood, or even human blood. From that day on, it has been bad luck to touch the red walls of Qirmizi.

Tom made a face. What would happen if he, someone with the worst luck ever already, touched the walls? He shook his head to clear the thought. He didn’t want to imagine…He would find what he needed, a trade. He could easily do this. All it took was for him to see reliable and intelligent to get someone to teach him a trade. And someone who was willing to teach a slave, already very late in trying to learn a trade. But not too late, Tom reminded himself. Or was it? He was fourteen, which meant he only had one year to get an apprenticeship, then he would be a man. Once you were a man, you could only continue the apprenticeship you had, and if you were without a trade, the slave work increased. Longer hours, fewer breaks. Less pity.

Tom trudged along. He was in a right awful mood. He would never get in such a bad mood before. But that was his life, always going downhill. He watched birds circle overhead. Maybe they thought he was doing to die soon, not knowing his destination was close enough. His skinny body did make it seem like he had been starved out in the desert, though. He couldn’t blame them. He was smaller than others of his age, constantly shrinking when someone approached. Tom pretended to blame it on his slave nature, but that was not the slavers’ fault. He didn’t see other slaves running around, slinking from shadow to shadow, afraid of any yell or harsh tone.

Why Tom was like he was, he didn’t know. He just wanted it to stop. He groaned. In about a year, if he didn’t have a real trade, he would forever live as Tom the Slave and Tom the thief. He didn’t want to be either. He wanted to have a home. To have food. To have warmth, even on the cold nights in the winter. To stop cowering in the alley ways and shrinking from angry masters. It could happen, he thought. And, if it were to happen, while a city painted with blood wasn’t exactly the best place, it had a sense of mocking irony to Tom.

Tom was lucky to have made it in the city. He did make quite a shifty figure for the guards at the gate, but it didn’t help he was a slave without his master. He almost got taken to the commander’s headquarters, but Tom managed to slip out of the guards grip and get away. Of course, this didn’t make his objective in the city any easier. Now he had to avoid guards and look trustworthy. Why was everything so hard?

                He sighed and pushed his long hair out of his eyes. Tom hadn’t thought the guards got too good of a look at him, especially since he kept his eyes to the ground most of the time. An old habit that wouldn’t let Tom go. He sighed and now forced himself to look at his surroundings. The big red walls around the city had been quite intimidating, more than five times his height. The paint had looked awfully like blood, but Tom had avoided touching it. Inside the gates was a bit more cheerful, despite the fading sunlight. He could see where the markets would be, where the rich lived. Where the bars were. Tom avoided those more than anything. Drunken men were a horrible sight to him. A painful sight, really.

                As he walked through the town, he had habitually found the bakery, though no food was there for him to take freely. He pursed his lips and slipped through the door as a woman headed out, keeping to the shadows. A large, burly man was in an in depth conversation with another, so Tom found courage to cross the room to the breads. He smiled when he reached the other side. He tiptoed over to the stone slab shelves and took just one, small piece, making a quick getaway out the back door. He paused as he went out, wondering if he had made it. Nothing. He smiled and took a smile bite of the bread.

                “Hey!” A man stopped in the road, staring at Tom. Tom’s eyes widened and he bolted. He ran down the back alley as fast as he could, but glancing back, he saw the man following. Then other yells joined the original spotter. The baker, most likely. Tom felt an unusual guilt come into his stomach and throat. He was fine with stealing, mostly. But not like he did. No, this was all wrong. He sighed and kept running; there was no turning back now. Tom heard the people getting closer, yelling for him to stop. What idiot would stop now? He knew what would happen if he did. He looked back again, almost running into a wall. He put both hands out to stop himself. Tom looked at the wall.

The red wall. The wall stained with blood. He paled, backing away. No, no, not him! He whimpered. Looking back, he saw a crowd coming close behind him. He swore and ran to the left at random, speeding up again. He stared at his hands. He had put them solidly on the stone, and there was no getting around it. He had also dropped the bread. Obviously, the curse was already at work. Tom turned corners as quick as he good, but the mob kept following. He grimaced, suddenly disappearing into the shadows. He dug his fingers into the house stone he was against, slowly getting a good grip, and Tom began climbing. He was fully hidden in the well picked shadows. He laid on the roof, peeking off the edge to see the people go by. He recognized the spotter, the baker, and the man the baker had been talking to, and one other.

He sighed and rolled back onto the hard, clay roof. They were looking for him, and he was cursed. Cursed. Completely and utterly doomed. He would never find a trade now. If he even lived through the curse, it would be as a slave forever more. He held back a sob as tears streamed quietly down his face. He hated crying. Crying was for women and children. He had gone through more than them; he should be stronger. He sighed and wiped his nose. What was he going to do?

Because he really needed another issue. Tom was now a convicted criminal and a cursed slave. He moaned and curled up in a ball on the roof. He examined his palms, as if searching for blood that had rubbed off on to his tan skin. There was none, but Tom kept imagining bright red spots and streaks across his hand in the growing dark. He sniffed again and turned to look at the stars as they came out. He hadn’t purposefully chosen this spot to sleep over night on, but it just ended up that way. He hoped the morning would be better, and the morning would bring him nowhere near red walls. He was going to try. Tom knew he had to. Maybe the stone’s paint really just was dye, stashes that the Emir had for many years. It could be. He could be perfectly fine.

“No! Never! Stop this at once! How dare you!” A young woman yelled at Tom. Tom cowered in front of her feet. She was the master. He was the slave. This was how the world worked. He winced as she kicked him in the stomach multiple times, continuing her rant. He cried out in pain, but she paid no heed. The ground was hard and sharp beneath him, which didn’t make sense. There was a layer of straw between him and the ground. Wait, no, that was disappearing. It was just hard clay. Tom glanced up, confused. Now the woman was gone, while he could still hear her voice.

                Tom jumped. He was on the roof of a building. Yes, the building the woman must be in. But she hadn’t been yelling at him yet; it was a dream. Tom pulled his shirt up to reveal his stomach. No, no new bruises. He looked warily over the edge of the building, sighing. He went into a crouch, then extended his legs and jumped off. He winced as his bare feet slammed against the ground, and Tom stood, trying to blend back in with the early morning flow. He slunk through the shadows until he could see in the doorway of the house he had slept on top of. He wanted to see the master and the slave and find out what happened.

                Whatever Tom thought he was going to see, he didn’t come close to seeing that. It was the slave yelling. At her master. There stood a speechless , infuriated, and confused middle-aged woman and a young, self-righteous slave. Tom wouldn’t have known the young woman was a slave except by the clothes she wore. She had on ragged, loose, and dirty clothes that looked a lot like Tom’s own clothes. The slave seemed to not fit in them in more than one way, for she was the most beautiful slave Tom had ever seen. Although her place in the world had diminished her grace, Tom could still tell what she could be. She had gorgeous long, black hair now frizzy and tangled. Her violet eyes, something that would make her worth more as a slave, shone with fury against her master. Tom was in awe. This was not the wealthy part of Qirmizi, how could that house afford her?

                “Know your place!” The master yelled back, trying to get a word in. She looked quite about to hit the young girl. Tom winced for her, but the slave seemed unaffected. “When Father gets home, you will listen to him and he will decide your punishment!”

                The slave sighed. “Finally! I get to speak to the person who can fix this!”

                “Fix what? I hope it’s your attitude you speak of, slave, or you will say nothing to him!” The master spat angrily. Tom shivered, wondering what was going on. Things seemed off. The master stormed away, slamming the door in another part of the house. Tom stared, watching the slave. She pushed the hair out of her face and looked around the front room. She glanced up and tilted her head. Tom swallowed; she was looking right at him. That shouldn’t be possible. Tom was always blending in with the shadows when he could.

                “What?”

                Tom froze. He was caught. How? He swore, realizing in his distraction he had stepped away from safety.

                “Who are you?” the slave pressed. Her voice was light and soft, yet now had a harsh and distrustful edge to it. Tom was glad that she was a slave, and he could act however he wanted. He wasn’t obligated to answer. Yet, the tone she was using…it demanded attention.

                “Tom.” He swallowed, darting his eyes around. Most people didn’t pay attention to either of them, but kept walking in between the two.

                “Tom who? Tom what?” the girl asked with a small smile.

                “Tom. Tom the slave.”

                The girl stood and walked over to him, not paying attention to the traffic of everyone walking around. She smiled. “I’m Alisha. My Father wanted to name me that; it means ‘protected by god’.” She smiled wider, seemingly far off in her thoughts.

                Tom stuttered. Who was this girl? She should be off in a palace somewhere, working for a princess. Why hadn’t the slavers sold her to them? He was very confused. “N-nice to meet you…”

                “Yes…” Alisha smiled. She still seemed distant.

                “Do you think you should go back? Your master will want to there, most likely.” Tom said quietly, staring at his feet.

                Alisha laughed lightly. “Master? I don’t have a master.” She stared up at him, eyes twinkling.

                Tom’s eyebrows scrunched. “Really? Who was that woman you were yelling at then?”

                She shrugged. “She claims I am her slave, but that is impossible.” The girl seemed completely unaware of what all this meant. She grinned suddenly. “I have slaves. Yes, lots of them. And they all live in my Father’s palace. My room is absolutely huge, Tom! It’s bigger than that fat woman’s house three times over.” She bragged, face lit up.

                Tom raised his seemingly single eyebrow. “What? Who are you then?” As he spoke, his voice got quieter, and his gaze settled on the dusty path. If this girl was important, he wasn’t allowed to speak to her.

                Alisha laughed lightly again. “You don’t know? I thought most knew.” She began wandering through the crowds aimlessly, looking at whatever took her fancy. Examining a piece of clay work from a stand, she tilted her head at Tom. “I’m a princess.”

PANCAKES.

So, my frined (yes, frined) is quite utterly addicted to pancakes. She is the co-author of DeceptiFighter, and she posted a poem about pancakes she wrote. Feel free to check it out. Then, the other day, I made the mistake of asking her what I should make my next blog post about. Her reply? Yeah. Pancakes. Shocking. 


Therefore, here is my own Ode to Pancakes (And Frineds):

Once upon a time, there was a land far, far away (because everyone knows if a story starts with 'Once upon a time', the place can't be close), and in the land there were great, tall forests with abundant maple trees. The people in this place found that if they stuck a weird knob in the trees, a delectable substance would come out. They learned that through a weird process with heat and science-y stuff, they could produce the great, sticky drink: Syrup. Unfortunately, their syrup was so thick and delicious, the people who chugged it, which was the best way to eat it, choked and died.

The leaders of this land ultimately decided they needed something to put the syrup on to make people stop chugging it. Scientists and chefs alike tried hard to come up with this food and worked day and night. Hamburgers were too big and crackers were too small. Nothing was working.

Until one day, a brilliant woman going by the name of Breekah discovered it. She had burned down her house doing it, but the downfalls were much smaller than the great outcome. The Pancake. She had been experimenting with many different mixtures of foods until she came up with it.

The Pancake soon became famous behind imagination. People loved it and couldn't get enough! Breekah lived wealthy with her frined Rayne and dog Charlie happily ever after, while the land grew prosperous and grand.

THE END

I hope you enjoyed it, and if you didn't, well...go have some pancakes.

Oh. Hm.

I accidently wrote a poem the other day. See, poetry is a million more times awkward to share. I don't even know if I'm going to post this as I type it.

By the Fire

Dragons and knights

No

Trucks and cops

Swords and chain mail

Not here

Guns and Kelvar

Faeries and bubonic plague

Not now

Costumes and flu shots

Villains and heroes

No need

Politicians and plumbers

Magic and true love

Are you insane?

Satanism and three divorces

Fantasy

Confined to a book

In a world of unchanging laws

Of gravity

Of motion

Of physics

And I want it changed

I want nations speaking dead languages

I want nuclear bombs shelved to make room

For the honorable knights of the Round Table

I want bards to tell tales of old

Of new

I want mysterious story tellers coming out

By the fire

Entrancing

You

Me

There

Listening

There will be a story

A story I will tell when the others fall silent

The stories on pages

Real pages

Of dragons and knights

Swords and chain mail

Faeries and bubonic plague

Villains and heroes

Magic and True Love

I wait

By the fire