A Glance at the Past

I often dwell on the past and debate what could’ve been, if things had turned out differently.

Would I write fantasy if I hadn’t developed all my health problems? If I did, would my ideas still be the same?

Writing has been a welcome escape from me, although the health issues in themselves do restrict me on how much I can work some days. I like to think however, that the desire to write came about prior to my life changing as it did. The time I spent with a wonderful group of people on Final Fantasy XI built my ideas, my confidence and many friendships, some I still continue to talk to today several years on.

I happened to dig around in my older Deviantart work and found an old piece, something that I wrote back in 2010, apparently. Reading it was a refreshing reminder of where my ideas used to be; the world of Fyir, the demons and the Nightmares were originally three seperate ideas. I took the best sections from all three of them and added them together, creating the current word of Fyir that my first book, Crystalline Chaos, features. Apparently one thing that never changes for me is my love of murderous creatures, they pop up everywhere in my work.

Why was I randomly examining the past? Health yet again, though that’s in part my fault this time. I found a lovely, although massive, pumpkin and brought it home. Killed my only good arm now, avoided killing the bad one any worse though.

Without further ado, enjoy this old story tidbit;

Sunshine gleamed off monstrous figures of stone, steel and glass, blinding passers-by. They stood in their hundreds, all shapes and sizes, often overshadowing each other; a frenzied race to grow and expand upwards into the sanctuary of the fire-lit skies. Vagrir was one of the largest cities on the vast continent of Fyir, a truly intimidating sight to anyone.

A breeze silently passed through the metropolis, stirring only a few discarded pieces of paper that lied in the streets. People of different sizes, purposes and races hustled through the often busy city centre, unaware of those who watch from above; perched on rooftops, hangovers, gutters or anywhere that was viable for them. Rustles of feathers as they shuffle and land, intently watching the dance of the figures below, waiting for the one moment to come.

An excited squawk and a flurry of wings as their long awaited quarry hits the solid, tiled floor of the square. Dull yellow beaks dive for the small scrap of bread, a high pitch scream echoes in the air as the force of the beating wings knocks a small child off her feet. Having finished with the morsel of bread, their attention diverts to the now sobbing toddler; a dangerous and risky meal, but food is a rarity at the current.

Beady, dark eyes lock onto the target, wings open wide they leap into the air, dagger-like talons splayed wide and longing for the soft, tender flesh. From seemingly nowhere, a pebble like a bullet flew into the lead bird causing it to shriek in anger and pain, then its dark eyes opened in fear as it saw its assailant hidden in the shadows and cawed to cancel the attack, to instead flee high into the burning skies.

Terrified onlookers peer into the shadows, searching for the young child’s saviour; a hunched figure leaning against a house, it looks up and growls at the new found attention. One swift movement and it’s up on its feet but too late, faces now crowd it, restricting the ability to move. The stranger causes the audience to stare in awe or fear as it becomes visible; long, free-flowing fuchsia pink hair, matching eyes that pierce deeply into one’s soul, set firmly into its face, high cheek bones further refining this shape. Standing about six foot tall, it becomes obvious that it is a she, a well off girl aged around fifteen to eighteen. A slight twitch reveals large, cat-like ears on the side of her head, but also a muscular pink furred tail.

A truly strange sight to city locals, Mithras aren’t an unfamiliar sight, but one of pink hair; now that was new. Her clothes were plain and simple, a black crop top and black baggy trousers, which made her pink hair stand out like a sore thumb.

The crowd continued to move closer, much to her dislike of it. Seeing the only way out to be the roof she vaulted up the building, away from the gathering sea of eyes. One shouted up to her; who she took to be the child’s mother, asking her of her name. A cold breeze passed, buffering the pink hair, a moment of silence; sharp pink eyes stared at the mother for a second, then she smiled.

“Sakura,” she said, disappearing from sight as quickly as she appeared.

The crowd echoed the name like it was a taboo, their voices fading off into the wind. The rumours about the girl were vast, but consistent in nature; often earning her the title of ‘Harbinger of death’. People quickly dispersed, a silent agreement between them to not speak of what just happened.

“Mummy, where did the nice lady go?” The child asks, bemused at the sudden silence. Glancing away the mother dodges the question and with child in tow, quickly moves off.

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