Wench - Final Draft

Breathe slowly, don't panic. I got myself into this situation, I can get myself out, Anya silently repeated that mantra as she crouched down behind a bush.
How could she be so reckless? With delicate fingers, she fidgeted with the eagle-shaped talisman around her slender neck. They had stressed to her time and time again the importance of returning before sundown. The lives of the others were in her hands. This was her chance to prove to her elders she was no longer a child. Six hours ago she lead two scout initiates into the woods for the Hunt. Her companions were now dead, and she had been reduced to hiding behind a bush with the darkness around her while doing breathing exercises in stale air that stank of muck and gloom. Fantastic.
Had she not found herself in this situation, she would have been overcome with guilt for Hasul and Dasha's demise. It was her curiosity that had killed them after all. They pleaded with her to avoid the brook to the East. But she wanted to show them. She thought the three of them should know what lurked in those waters. After all, she had Mother nature on her side.
“What are you doing? They told us to stay away from the brook!” Dasha had protested in a hushed whisper.
“Haven't you ever wondered what they looked like?” Anya asked in a louder voice, “you are going to be scouts after all. You'll have to fight them some day.”
“Have you seen them then?” Hasul asked, also whispering.
Anya hesitated. “Well no. Not exactly. It's not like we're going to parade in. Just a peek.”
“I don't like this,” Dasha muttered, “we should stick to the plan the elders gave us.”
“Bollocks. We'll just look from a safe distance and quietly leave. What do we have to worry about? Mother Nature will protect us.”
She sat between the bush and roots contemplating those words. She had given them her word they would come out unscathed. She was positive her faith in Mother would protect them. After all, Mother always knows best.
Mother Nature's a baneful wench! Anya swore silently as she punched the forest floor beneath her.
Wench. Anya once observed some human travelers from afar. They laughed and carried on oblivious to the dangers the woods wielded for those who dare venture beyond the beaten path. Humans and elves spoke the same language closely enough, but what seemed eons of isolation had caused the elves to develop a dialect so different from the humans, it made it near impossible for Anya to understand. Despite this, she managed to glean from their conversation the word “wench”. She only understood an inkling of what they were talking about. Something of a wench, a bar, and the large pianist. She had assumed a wench was a free spirited woman who was also a music enthusiast. It quickly became one of her favorite words and was the quickest one to earn her a good flogging when she uttered it in front of the elders.
“Mrph!” She stifled a pained gasp as she realized she struck a thorn.
Now's not a time to lose my wits. She reminded herself.
The thorn was probably a good thing, in retrospect. It brought her back to the situation at hand.
The forest was a dangerous place at night. Not only were there the mundane tasks of caring for the flora and fauna of the wilds, there were also the Dregs. Everyone knows for every enchanted forest they encounter there's always a cursed creature. These were beyond vile.
The nights in this forest were a misty blend of mud and dew. It riddled full of overripe mushrooms that burst when you stepped on them, shooting spores that could knock a man out if he inhaled them.
They have already claimed two souls tonight, they won't have another. Anya vowed to herself she would have revenge for her fallen comrades.
It was about two hours to the village. She was sure she could make it with a bit of stealth and a few well placed arrows, though she prayed she wouldn't need to use them. Dregs were deadly at close hand combat. The preferred method for keeping them at bay was archery. Even in the foggiest nights, all you had to do was aim between the glowing green eyes and hope you hadn't been lazy with your target practice.
She gathered her wits and slid out behind the bush with a practiced, silent grace. Yes, the elders had taught them well. It was a silent art that started with the breathing; in through the nose, out through the mouth. She would remind herself of this often. So long as she remembered it, she was nothing more than a shadow.
Weaving in and out of the trees, her jade green eyes were always darting from place to place, careful to detect the slightest hint of movement. Over the rocks, under the branches, taking particular caution to avoid the brook to the East.
She managed to keep from letting out a startled cry as an owl swooped down and snagged a mouse from right in front of her. She realized she had just sneaked up on a mouse in the dark. She grinned, satisfied with herself, until she felt the air turn icy around her and the foulest of odors assaulted her nostrils. It was as if a frozen hand had come out of the crypts and gagged her. She couldn't decide if it was the godawful stench or the sudden surge of twisted panic that had overcome her. She found herself struggling to keep her calm, controlled breaths from becoming short and ragged.
That's when she saw the eyes. A horrible green incandescence in the empty darkness, these eyes soon found their way wandering in her direction.
In the nose, out the mouth, Anya repeated to silently to herself again. Don't lose my wits, it hasn't seen me yet.
She slowly, deliberately grasped her bow and drew an arrow from her quiver.
Well it's about time I see how the archery training fared, I suppose, Anya thought as she set the arrow and pulled it back against the sinewy string. Otherwise, I'll be joining the others soon. Mother save me.
She waited in this position for what seemed like an eternity, watching the green orbs ahead. The creature swiveled its head about, as if searching for something. Step, by step. Anya could see the glistening, wet sheen of the dreg's tar-like skin in a thin sliver of moonlight.
Hold still, It was all Anya could do to keep from shaking.
The dreg scratched at the ground, examining leaves and stones on the ground with its long, spindling as if it were on a hunt of its own. The moon was full that night. The creature stepped forward into the light perking its long, pointed ears and listening for the slightest disturbance. That was when Anya saw a glimmer of something around its neck. As it shifted, she saw two of the same totems she was wearing.
A strange feeling befell her as she felt her stomach bind into a knot. She bit her lip and tasted blood. In her silent rage, all she could do was concentrate on those damned glowing eyes. She shifted her foot ever so slightly.
Then she heard a noise, a sloppy, wet popping sound. It wasn't until her nostrils were filled with a familiar, rancid aroma. Suddenly her head felt heavy and she found it hard to stand.
She swayed slightly, as she looked down and to her horror she realized she had stepped on one of the mushrooms. That was another rule of the forest: always watch your step.
The creature's head shot up, easily spotting her. It barreled towards her on its knuckles.
This is where I join my fallen mates. Her eyelids drooped and scraped against her eyes like sandpaper. Her limbs were heavy. She was going to die and couldn't do anything about it.
I have to take it, this is my only chance.
She let go. The arrow flew, somewhat clumsily, spearing what she believed to be the creature's throat. It wobbled as it tried to lumber towards her before finally collapsing on the forest floor. A puddle of sticky ooze instantly formed around its body. Anya exhaled sharply as she struggled to wipe a stray tear from her cheek. Lurching forward out of the noxious cloud, she felt almost as if she were about to vomit her own heart as it pounded against the back of her throat.
Anya fell to her knees and crawled towards the creature, examining it carefully as she approached it to make certain it was dead. She brushed a stray silvery blond strand back as she gazed at the dead dreg. What a hideous thing it was. The squat, round body lied limp on the ground, with wiry arms splayed carelessly at its sides. Where there was a bright green glow were now two glassy orbs. Around its stout neck were the two eagle shaped talismans. A keepsake from her fallen friends.
“I'll be taking those,” She said quietly as she cut them from around its neck. She stared at them in her hand and sobbed quietly. After a brief moment of silence she stood up, realizing she had to keep moving. Where there was one dreg, there would soon be many.
Part of her wanted to praise Mother Nature, but Anya wondered, where was she when Hasul and Dasha needed her? Did she really deserve that kind of credit?
All of her life she had wondered; was it truly as the elders had said, that every aspect of their lives was susceptible to Mother Nature's will? Was she truly watching to make sure you kept up with your chores like a good little elf? Where the thought of an omnipotent, omniscient force gave the others comfort, it only served to frighten Anya as a child. It made her feel ashamed for things she felt hurt no one. It was up to the elders to inform everyone of what Mother Nature decided was bad. There was no rhyme or reason to it. Only faith.
As she walked, she mused to herself. Her task was to bring the initiates into the woods. Mother would deem them worthy. Anya's role was to be nothing more than a guide. So long as she stuck to the plan and didn't go poking around where she shouldn't, their safety was assured. It made no sense. Anya realized the elders used Mother Nature as a weapon against their greatest foe: Curiosity.
The scouts were nothing more than a title. Where their ancestors fought to keep the evils of the forest at bay, there were now only dregs which wouldn't dare attack an entire village. Where The Hunt was once an integral part of their survival, it was now just a ritual, a celebration and a testament to the power of Mother Nature's creation.
Mother Nature didn't aid me in killing that dreg, I did it myself. Anya concluded.
She set her jaw firm. Of course she felt responsible for her friends' deaths but the blood wasn't on her hands alone. The elders played a part as well. Rather than inform, they would just forbid. If it were called to question they would use this invisible force, this 'Mother Nature' as their scapegoat.
She found herself at the path where she stopped, looking down each way. She took the talismans out of her pocket and examined them. She had never thought of leaving the village before, but that was when she was a different person.
If I go back, I'll never be able to look at the elders the same way. It'll bring shame to my family. The thought frightened her more than any dreg ever could. There's nothing left for me here. Not right now.
She smiled and took off her necklace, placing it in her pocket with the other two. She stepped onto the path and just began walking. To where, she had no idea. It was an adventure, after all. There was an entire world to explore, rich with knowledge and ideas and cultures. Anya knew she would return to the village one day, but not until after she sampled what the outside had to offer so she could share it with her tribe.
If I can't bring the village out into the rest of the world, I'll bring the rest of the world to the village.
Each step became easier and easier as she ventured down the path.
I left the village a silly girl. From now on, I'm Anya the Wench!

What It Means To Be A Girl Gamer (aka my first writing gig!)

I sent this as a sample article to Examiner.com, which they accepted. Things are still being set up, but I am now a local "Girl Gamer Examiner" for Kansas City. :D
Examiner is nation wide, but it focuses on local issues in various cities. I'm fairly pleased with myself considering I have no professional writing experience and submitted this on a whim.

The article is posted below:

When you hear the word 'girl gamer', what do you think of? Popular culture paints us as the sullen girlfriend, watching on as our boyfriends ignore us while playing Halo. Hardcore gaming just isn't our forte. We're the care takers, lovers of all shiny pink things, who spell everything plural with a “Z” and think violent games are “icky”. It would seem that because of our gender, we're doomed to the title “casual gamer” and are confined to our baby pink Nintendo DS to play Imagine: Babyz.
It's as if hearing our voices on Xbox Live is a rare and melodious phenomena that only occurs once in a great eon. In a 2009 study conducted by the Entertainment Software Association, 40% of the gaming population is female and women 18 and older comprise of 34% of the gaming population. While we are certainly not the majority, these statistics indicate that we're more than just a novel concept.
Luckily there are those in the industry setting out to change the perception of girl gamers. Professional gaming groups such as Ubisoft's Frag Dolls aim to encourage women to play video games and prove that women can enjoy the same games as men. Sony has an annual scholarship running for the past three years called G.I.R.L. (Gamers in Real Life) to “positively impact the way females are depicted in video games and create and influence content to be appealing to women", as stated on their website.
While girl gamers have come a long way, there seems to be this parallel between the Frag Dolls and the “gurl gamerz” marketing would depict us as. Despite the slick, shiny, pink packaging, girl gamers are more than baby simulator enthusiasts with dubious spelling skills.

Not Pulitzer material, mind you, but it's a start. ^^

How To Piss Off Your Online English Class

So as stated in my profile, I'm currently attending Academy of Art University online. Because as much as I'd love to move to San Francisco, alas, I can only afford to live in Kansas City.
Anyway I'm taking this creative writing class, which is part of my graduation requirement. It's been a disappointment because I was looking forward to the class, and it's turned out to be god awful.
So for this week we're reading "Keith" by Ron Carlson. It is a story about the popular girl in high school and her romance with a kid who has cancer who she never noticed before. The story is awful. The discussion, even worse. Being that our grades are dependent on our participation on the readings, I posted that i didn't like the story and why in hopes to spark discussion since we weren't getting any guidance from our professor. My post was pretty much ignored in the interest of everyone posting and agreeing with each other and pretty much repeating what the other classmates had said ten times over. It's like a forum full of Furbies.
"It's, like, totally about these two finding each other!"
So, out of frustration with the discussion, I decided to take a more satirical approach.
So from now on if you're stuck in bad literary discussion, just say the main character is a vampire and use bits from the story as evidence.
"Wouldn't that be trolling the class discussion?" One might ask.
Depends on how sound the evidence is. I, for one, think I have a pretty strong case.



Here's the picture I attached with it:




This was inspired by a similar thing that happened to a friend of mine who took an honors class on Poe. Apparently they were convinced the main character in one of the stories was a vampire.

Wench - Second Draft

Looking for feedback for this short story I'm doing for a class. Any feedback is appreciated.
---


Wench

Breathe slowly, don't panic. I got myself into this situation, I can get myself out, Anya silently repeated that mantra as she crouched down behind a random bush.
How could she be so reckless? She fingered the eagle-shaped talisman around her neck, the symbol of her tribe. They had stressed to her time and time again the importance of returning before sundown. That the lives of the others were in her hands. This was her chance at proving to her elders that she was no longer a child. Six hours ago she lead two scout initiates into the woods for the Hunt. Her companions were now dead, and she had been reduced to hiding behind a bush with the darkness around her doing breathing exercises with stale air that smelt of muck and despair. Fantastic.
The Hunt had been an age old tradition. It was a coming of age of sorts for the young members of the tribe. A young scout leads initiates into the woods to hunt. When they were successful, and they were always successful, the scout would become a veteran and the initiates became scouts. Every spring, the cycle began anew. Anya wanted to prove she could be a veteran. The kill would then be prepared for the festival, an homage to Mother Nature (affectionately referred to as “Mother”). The festival was done in hopes to assure Mother would provide them with safety and prosperity. Mother always protected her children from harm. So long as Mother was there, you needn't decide anything for your self.
Oh, how Anya had longed for the opportunity to prove she could do it, to finally have that recognition that she was more than a silly girl. She had always been the curious sort, always asking questions and poking around where she didn't belong. Usually her curiosities were met the elders stifling her explorations, writing her off as absent minded or a “bad” girl. Soon the others paid little mind to anything she said or did.
She sat between that bush and some roots contemplating the cursed forest her coterie had settled. They were always careful to keep their distance from humans. The forest was the cloak that hid them from distractions such as human affairs to maintain order in the wilds.
“Leave the human business for the humans, your place is here.” Gran said when Anya asked about the human cities. There was no room for curiosity after all, not when there were animals to be looked after and plants to be harvested. The dances, the offerings to the elders. Chronicling the seasons. Stay away from beaten paths, lest you be seen. And always, always, always be discreet. Mother Nature should be respected as if she were your own mother. And Mother doesn't like to be disobeyed. After all, Mother always knows best.
Mother Nature's a finicky wench! Anya swore silently as she punched the forest floor beneath her.
Wench. Anya once had an encounter with the humans. . . if witnessing them from a nearby tree as they passed by without noticing her counts as an encounter. They laughed and carried on oblivious to the dangers that the woods wielded for those who dare venture beyond the path. Humans and elves spoke the same language closely enough, but what seemed eons of isolation caused the elves to develop a dialect so different from the humans, it made it near impossible for Anya to understand. Anya's favorite word that she managed to glean from their conversation was the word “wench”. She only understood an inkling of what they were talking about. Something of a wench, a bar, and the large pianist. Anya had assumed a wench was a free spirited woman who loved music. It quickly became one of her favorite words and was the quickest one to earn her a good flogging when she uttered it in front of the elders. Twice, in fact. Once for using what they saw as profanity, and another for getting so close to the path.
“Mrph!” She stifled a pained gasp as she realized she struck a thorn.
Now is not a time to lose my wits. She reminded herself.
The thorn was probably a good thing, she would reflect later. It brought her back to the situation at hand.
The forest was a dangerous place at night. Not only were there the mundane tasks of caring for the flora and fauna of the wilds, there was also the matter of the Dregs. Everyone knows for every enchanted forest they encounter there's always a cursed creature. And these were beyond vile.
The nights in this forest were a misty mix of mud and dew. It stank of overripe mushrooms that burst when you stepped on them, letting out spores that could knock a man out if he breathed them in.
They've already claimed two souls tonight, they won't have another. Anya vowed to herself she would have revenge for her fallen comrades.
It was about two hours back to the village. She was sure she could make it if she used her stealth and a few well placed arrows, though she prayed she wouldn't need to use them. Dregs were deadly at close hand combat. The preferred method for keeping them at bay were bows and arrows. Even in the foggy nights, all you had to do was aim between the glowing green eyes and hope you hadn't been lazy with your target practice.
She gathered her wits about her and slid out behind the bush with a practiced, silent grace. Yes, the elders had taught them well. Silent art started with the breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth. She would remind herself of this often. So long as she remembered it, she was nothing more than a shadow.
Weaving in and out of the trees at night, the feeling was liberating. Over the rocks, under the branches, careful to avoid the brook just to the East.
She managed to keep from letting out a startled cry as an owl swooped down and took a mouse from right in front of her. Then she realized she had sneaked up on a mouse in the dark. She grinned, satisfied with herself, until she felt the air turn icy around her paired up with the foulest of odors. It was as if a frozen hand had come out of the crypts and found its way around her throat. She couldn't say if it was the godawful stench or the sudden surge of twisted panic that had overcome her. But she found herself struggling to keep her calm, controlled breaths from becoming short and ragged.
And that's when she saw the eyes. A horrible gleaming, green incandescence in the empty darkness, these eyes soon found their way wandering in her direction.
In the nose, out the mouth, Anya repeated to silently to herself again. Don't lose my wits, it hasn't seen me yet.
She slowly, deliberately grasped her bow and drew an arrow from her quiver.
Well it's about time I see how the archery training fared, I suppose. Anya thought to herself as she set the arrow and pulled it back in the bow. Otherwise, I'll be joining the other two soon. Mother save me.
She waited in position, watching the green orbs in front of her. The creature turned its head back and fourth, as if searching for something. Step, by step. Anya could see the glistening, wet sheen of the dreg's tar-like skin in a thin sliver of moonlight.
Hold still, It was all Anya could do to keep from shaking.
The dreg scratched at the ground, lifting leaves and stones on the ground with its long, spindling as if it were on a hunt of its own. The moon was full that night. The creature stepped forward into the light perking its long, pointed ears and listening for the slightest disturbance in the woods. That was when Anya saw a glimmer of something around its neck. As it shifted, that's when she saw it. Two of the same talismans she was wearing.
A strange felling came upon her as she felt her stomach become a knot. She bit her lip and tasted the metallic taste of blood. In her silent rage, all she could do was concentrate on those damned glowing eyes.
She eased herself into position. She shifted her foot to maintain balance.
And that was when she heard the noise, a sloppy, wet popping sound. It wasn't until her nostrils were assaulted with that familiar, horrible, rancid smell. Suddenly her head felt heavy and she found it hard to keep balance.
As she felt herself swaying slightly, she looked down and to her horror she realized she had stepped on one of the mushrooms used by her village as a tranquilizer for the injured animals they nursed back to health.
The creature popped its head up and perked its ears again, easily spotting her and began rushing towards her on its knuckles.
This is it, I this is where I join my fallen mates. She thought, sure that she was as good as dead. Her eyelids drooped and scraped against her eyes like sandpaper. Her limbs were heavy. She was going to die, and could barely lift a finger to do anything about it.
The dreg let out a piercing squeal similar to that of a boar's, as if to call out to the others that it had found fresh meat.
I have to take it, this is my only chance, she thought.
That was when she let go. The arrow flew, admittedly somewhat clumsily, toward its target piercing what she believed to be the creature's throat. It slowed instantly, wobbling as it tried to lumber towards her before finally falling in a puddle of a sticky ooze forming around its body. She exhaled sharply and wiped a stray tear from her cheek. She lurched forward for a moment, feeling almost as if she were about to vomit her own heart as it pounded against the back of her throat.
She fell down to her knees and crawled towards the creature, examining it carefully as she approached it to make sure it was dead. She gazed at the dead dreg for a moment. What a hideous thing it was. The squat, round body lay limp on the ground, with wiry arms splayed carelessly to its sides. Where there was a bright green glow was now just two glassy orbs. Around its stout neck were the same two eagle shaped talisman necklaces as what she was wearing. A keepsake from her fallen friends.
“I'll be taking those,” She said quietly as she cut the talismans from around its neck. She stared at them in her hand and sobbed quietly. For how long she stayed like that, she wasn't sure. She stood up, resolving herself to keep moving. Where there was one dreg, there would soon be many.
Mother Nature had truly been kind to her. But then Anya wondered, why would Mother keep me alive after I allowed two of my brethren to be murdered?
All of her life she had wondered; was it truly as the elders had said. That every aspect of their lives was susceptible to Mother Nature's will? That she was truly watching to make sure you kept up with your chores like a good little elf? Where the thought of an omnipotent force gave the others comfort, it only served to frighten Anya as a child. It made her feel ashamed for things she felt were no harm in doing. It was up to the elders to inform everyone of what Mother Nature decided was bad. There was no rhyme or reason to it. Only faith.
She kept walking, silent and alert.
As she walked, she mused to herself. Her job today was to bring the new scout initiates into the woods. Mother would deem them worthy. Anya was just their guide, and yet, she was supposed to keep them safe. It made no sense. The Hunt had been a ritual, a celebration and a testament to the power of Mother Nature's creation. Their village was smiled upon by Mother and shouldn't share its secrets. The initiates were going on this spiritual journey alongside a guide that all but assured a positive outcome. The elders used Mother Nature as a weapon against their greatest foe: Curiosity.
Mother Nature didn't aid me in killing that dreg, I did it myself. Anya concluded.
She set her jaw firm. She accepted responsibility for her mistakes, that the decisions she made cost the lives of two innocents. But the blood wasn't on her hands alone, the elders played a part as well, that they would use this invisible force, this 'Mother Nature' as their scapegoat.
She found herself at the path where she stopped again, looking down each way. She took the talismans out of her pocket and examined them.
If I go back, I'll never be able to look at the elders the same way. It'll bring shame to my family. The thought frightened her more than any dreg ever could. There's nothing left for me here. Not right now.
That's when she smiled. She took off her necklace and placed it in her pocket with the other two. She stepped onto the path and just began walking. To where, she had no idea. It was an adventure, after all. There was an entire world to explore, rich with all of its knowledge and ideas and cultures. Anya knew she would return to the village one day, but not until after she had sampled what the outside had to offer so she could share it with her home.
If I can't bring the village out into the rest of the world, I'll bring the rest of the world to the village.
Each step became easier and easier as she ventured down the path.
I left the village a silly girl. From now on, I'm Anya the Wench!

I'm Here to Write Stuff

Since my other blog is a sketch blog, I thought I'd make a separate one for my written stuff.
I'm working on finals right now, so I don't have time to customize it. I will definitely do this when the semester is over.