Clockwork Prince (The Infernal Devices #2) Review

Clockwork Prince (Infernal Devices) #2 Review

Author: Cassandra Clare
Reading level: Ages 14 and up
Hardcover: 498 pages
Publisher: Margaret K. McElderry Books; First Edition edition (December 6, 2011)
Language: English

Summary:
True love is shrouded in secrets and lies in the #1 New York Times bestselling second book of the Infernal Devices trilogy.

In the magical underworld of Victorian London, Tessa Gray has found safety with the Shadowhunters. But that safety proves fleeting when it becomes clear that the mysterious Magister will stop at nothing to use Tessa’s powers for his own dark ends.

With the help of the handsome, tortured Will and the devoted Jem, Tessa discovers that the Magister’s war on the Shadowhunters is deeply personal and fueled by revenge. To unravel the secrets of the past, the trio journeys from mist-shrouded Yorkshire to a manor house that holds untold horrors. When they encounter a clockwork demon bearing a warning for Will, they realize that the Magister knows their every move—and that one of their own has betrayed them.

Tessa is drawn more and more to Jem, though her longing for Will continues to unsettle her. But something is changing in Will. Could finding the Magister free Will from his secrets and give Tessa answers about who she really is? As their search leads to deadly peril, Tessa learns that secrets and lies can corrupt even the purest heart.


Review:
     Sixteen-year-old Tessa Gray is not only continuing to search for her brother, she's weighing her affections for the tall, dark and hunky Will Herondale and his sickly but sweet, loving best friend, James "Jem" Carstairs.
The Shadowhunters have taken in Tessa hoping her powers will help them prevail against the demons, but the Magister has a more nefarious, and unknown, plan that somehow involves Tessa and a clockwork army of robot warriors.

 The Clave and certain members are not happy with Charlotte and Henry's management of the Institute and make a move to remove them.  The Institute is put to the test, and everyone must work together to prove to the Clave that they are worthy of running the Institute.

Tessa is a strong-willed female who stands up for everything she believes in, even though she speaks without thinking which can get her into trouble.


The Magister is in hiding and the gang is trying to figure out how to stop him along with his clockwork army. The Magister's loathing for the Shadowhunters is personal, and he will do everything he can to end them.  Will is hiding a big secret-and no one know what it is- as he struggles to fix something that happened in his early childhood.


Tessa and the Shadowhunters must battle dreadful clockwork creatures, demons, and even treachery within their own ranks before everything around them is forever altered.




My Thoughts:
Will and Tessa are great.
But Jem and Tessa. Jem. And Tessa.
Jem and Tessa are Married!
"I can offer you my life, but it is a short life; I can offer you my heart, though I have no idea how many more beats it shall sustain. But I love you enough to hope that you will not care that I am being selfish in trying to make the rest of my life-whatever it's length-happy, by spending it with you. I want to be married to you, Tessa. I want it more than i have ever wanted antthing else in my life." He looked up at her through the veil of silvery hair that fell over his eyes. "That is," he said shyly, "if you love me, too." (pg 430)
Oh, man! That was such a beautiful quote!
I couldn't keep my squeals from escaping when I read this quote. But still-Jem and Tessa!
I wonder how Will will feel about this sudden change. I hoped it didn't ruin anything!

I really do believe that Tessa and Jem (Team Jessa!) is a great couple. While there is some tension between Tessa and Will, I know all along that Will was not the best for her. Jem treats Tessa right, unlike Will, who (like Jace, obviously) pushes Tessa away and treats her like a child. Jem is caring, sweet, loyal, and respectful. I wish that we would see more of Jem in more YA literature.
But that proposal, it still gets me. I never expected that to happen so quickly!
Now, I'm not much into history and historical romance, but they are sixteen-seventeen, now was that normal in the 1800s for teenagers to get married at such a young age? Well, I guess so. The Infernal Devinces, set back 150 years before the Mortal Instrument Series, is a good historical Victorian Era YA series.

Now, while I'm squealing over Tessa and Will, let's talk about Jessamine and Nate. Jessamine and Nate. Are married. I never expected that to happen. And indeed, it was shocking. Like staring-at-the-page-jaw-dropping-shocking. And then Nate figuring out it was really Tessa as Jessamine instead of Jessamine as herself! How did he figure that out?! Had Nate been aware of Tessa's powers all along, or had he been told by the Magister or Benedict of what she could do? I'm sure it was probably mentioned in the book, but I wasn't too much paying attention.

I learned that Tessa and Nate are half-siblings? Who would have thought? I surely didn't! But then, Will loves Tessa?! Oh God! Oh man..
This is going to be such tension between the trio. How will Tessa get herself out of this stick situation if Will loves Tessa and Jem loves and even proposed  to Tessa...
Poor Will's heartbroken. Will will still have feelings for Tessa in the next and last Infernal Devices?

But the thing that I did and didn't like about this book, of course, is the love triangle with Tessa, Jem, and Will. I know that Tessa has feelings more for Jem (because she said so), but sometimes I felt that Will kept interfering. Like, he even kissed Tessa right before she told him the Big News, which turned him off. That's a good thing, right?

But that ending... that ending was such cliffhanger material. And that girl, I knew immediately knew who it was before I turned that last page. And it was indeed a shocker...

So the thing that still vexes me is that, I don't know if it had been mentioned in the book (because I skimmed past the most boring/important parts) of what Tessa really was. She's not a Downworlder, a mundane, or a Shadowhunter, but something else entirely. And it is final that Tessa is NOT half-demon shadowhunter. Hopefully, we will finally know what Tessa really is in the last book.

So much exciting new things happens in this book that I do not want to spoil it all no matter how much I want to. I'm ecstatic.


Conclusion:
Sequel of the Clockwork Angel, Clockwork Prince is an amazing book! I enjoyed this book as much of Clockwork Angel. This book is recommended if you enjoyed the first book of the Infernal Devices by Cassandra Clare. Lots of twists and turns for me, that was enough! From the twisting marriage of Jessamine and Nate, the new proposal of Tessa and Jem, and a bunch of other amazing things in Clockwork Angel. Incredible romance, action, suspense, humor, and drama! Clare's work of the Infernal Devices, I would have to say, seems much better than the Mortal Instrument Series.

Clockwork Princess, it is no doubt that I will be buying the last book of the trilogy. I mean, just look at this beautiful cover for Clockwork Princess, and we finally get to see Tessa on the cover!Cover for Clockwork Princess releasing in March 2013:

So, I will defintely be reading Clockwork Princess once it's released.
Clockwork Prince deserves a 4.8/5

Everneath (Everneath #1) Review

Everneath

Author: Brodi Ashton
Reading Level: Young Adult
Publisher: Balzer + Bray
Release Date: December 26, 2012
Language: English
# of Pages:  400 pages


Summary:
Last spring, Nikki Beckett vanished, sucked into an underworld known as the Everneath, where immortals Feed on the emotions of despairing humans. Now she's returned- to her old life, her family, her friends- before being banished back to the underworld... this time forever.

She has six months before the Everneath comes to claim her, six months for good-byes she can't find the words for, six months to find redemption, if it exists.

Nikki longs to spend these months reconnecting with her boyfriend, Jack, the one person she loves more than anything. But there's a problem: Cole, the smoldering immortal who first enticed her to the Everneath, has followed Nikki to the mortal world. And he'll do whatever it takes to bring her back- this time as his queen.

As Nikki's time grows short and her relationships begin slipping from her grasp, she's forced to make the hardest decision of her life: find a way to cheat fate and remain on the Surface with Jack or return to the Everneath and become Cole's...


Review:
I was never really into Greek Mythology, but after reading a few other Greek Mythology retellings in the YA market, it wasn't so bad. Everneath is one of those books that retells the Greek Mythology of  Persophone in a modern teenage persepective.

Everneath is the story of Nikki Beckett, a teenage girl who has been missing for six months, only to mysteriously reappear one day in her hometown without explanation. There had been rumors that she had gone away  But the truth is that Nikki has been spending a century in the Underworld called EverNeath, where her Everling host, Cole, has been feeding off of her.

Cole, Nikkie's Everling host, wants her to join him in Everneath so she can become his Queen, but Nikki refuses because she doesn't want to be like Cole; Feeding off of other humans like the way Cole had Fed off of her.
But if unless she refuses Cole's offer, she would be defeated to suffer in the Tunnels, where she will be a apart of what keeps Everneath going--till she is gone forever. She has six months in the Human world before the Tunnels come for Nikki and drag her back. All she wants is more time to see the lives of her friends and family before she is gone again.


What I like:
* Mary: I thought Mary was a crazy old woman. Though, it was a twist that Mary wasn't really an old woman at all.
Mary, like Nikki, had also been in the Everneath, but she escaped, like Nikki.
There are similar connections between Nikki and Mary that goes well along with this book.

*That Nikki doesn't have to chose between two guys because she clearly knows who she wants: Jack. There had been times where Cole doubted that Jack didn't want anything to do with Nikki, which is so not the case. Cole is a manipulative jerk.

What I didn't like:
*The love square, not a love triangle. A square. Because that's what I percieved it to be. A love square between Nikki, Cole, Jack and Jules.
* The time sequences between Nikki's time before the Feed-before she was dragged into the Everneath and the present--it would have been better if it was just consistant in just one or the other . But I guess that it was still great even though it switched back and forth alot. Though this is a first-person POV told through Nikki's eyes
*Jack sacrificing himself for Nikki to the tunnels. My only reaction was "WHAT?! NO, JACK! NOOOO!!!!"
Because, it was a twist, I never expected it to happen. Oh, Jack...
Team Jack!
But I still hope in Everbound that Nikki's choice is still Jack and NOT Cole.


Conclusion:
I would recommend this book. If you're a lover of Greek Mythology, then this is your book.
This books has it's quirks, it's cliche's and downfalls, but it's still a good book.
Brodi Ashton writes a good-written YA mythology book of Everneath and I will definetly be looking toward into reading Everbound, the sequel.

Art!

These are just some art work that I have completed when I was in watercolor and illustration class.
Which one is your favorite?

Funday Fiction #3- The Red Sin

This story I have written right here-The Red Sin- was based off the inspiration of the Seven Deadly Sins and the 4 Horsemen of the Apocalypse.

The first part that you are about to read is a little poem that I orignally wrote myself and the rest is just the first chapter. Enjoy!

Why don’t you show them the hell you boast about so openly? Show them no mercy. Show them your wrath. Show them the insanity that control your every move.  Bring out the monster that sleeps within your heart.—The Red Sin

Have you ever felt a burning Rage, boiling you alive from within?

Have you ever screamed because the boiling, burning Rage is too much?

 Have you ever damaged the ones you loved out of Rage?

Have you seen the Rage?

The Red?

If you have, you’ve experienced Blood Rage.

Have you ever tasted the Rage?

The Red?

It’s an exquisite, wonderful taste:

It’s dangerous, sour, spicy, hot, and acidly sweet. It melts and burns in your mouth like cotton candy, making it tingle with peppered heat. It’ll wrap around your body like a warm blanket, caressing you in heated ecstasy. Like a taste from the angry, heated heavens, once you have a little taste, you’ll be wanting to more.

Have you ever seen the Rage?

The Red?

It surrounds us all:

Like blood-red clouds, crackling and zapping like electricity, pulsing hard and slow like a dying heart. Heat rolling off of you in deep, swaying waves. The more Rage there is, the larger the Red gets. Eventually, all the Rage and the Red will shroud this world into a darkness of red, furious fires, and agonizing, swelling heat.

Can you hear the Rage?

The Red?

It’s like there are bees buzzing around in your head and you can never get them out. They sting inside your head with their razor –hot stingers, giving hot, angry migraines. It can be too much, if feels as if your head will explode. There’s a deep, hurting hot pressure in the back of your skull, eyes, and neck that makes you want to claw the buzzing bee’s out.

Have you ever experienced the Rage?

The Red?

It hurts. All over. It feels as if the boiling, burning rage is eating you alive from within. It’s like you’re burning in a roaring, raging pit of fire, but you can never die. You’ll burn, and burn, and burn, and burn. But it feels so good. While it burns, you feel tingles. You’re consumed in the Red Waves and the Fire.

Do you know what the Rage does?

The Red?

Too much Rage, it can get out of control.

Too much Red, you can lose yourself.

It breaks, maims, shatters, dismembers, destroys, damages, breaks down, kills, and murders.

Everything.

Everyone.

One day, that boiling, burning Rage you feel,

That Rage?

That Red?

That Blood Rage?                                                                                

It will destroy us all and this world.

Although silent, my Rage is loud enough to be heard by the dead who have perished before my massacre. My vision is as Red as the blood of my victims. I will continue to lose control until everything is demolished. It could either mean my downfall or their execution. Their survival is never an option. This world will end fire, rage, hate, and blood.

I am Rane Heller.

I am the Rage.

I am the Red.

I am the Red Sin.

I am Wrath.

1

“Tell me about the accident, Rayne. Did you really kill your cat?”

                Sometimes I wished I was born deaf, so I didn’t have to hear what people had to say. But I wasn’t paying attention, my mind was drifting elsewhere. I was too busy staring out the window of the office, watching the rain from outside slither down the window like a waterfall of never-ending tears. It wasn’t quite eight-thirty, but the dark clouds outside make it look like nighttime all over again. It was comforting to say the least. If I opened that window and touch that never-ending waterfall of tears, what would it taste like? Salty? Would it sting and burn my skin? Will it drown and suffocate me to my very last breath?

                No, it wasn’t. At least, I didn’t think it would.

                “Rayne, where are you?”

                I tore her gaze from the window and Gave Dr. Kessler the meanest, irritated nastiest glare I could muster. His round, pudgy face was pushed into his neck, making it look like as if he didn’t a neck to begin with. I wondered if I grabbed a safety pin and poked him, what would happen. Would his neck squirt long, runny streams of blood or yellow bacterial pus instead? But like usual, I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. He had that stupid vague look on his face of the original psychiatrist; that patient, quiet and patronizing stare that never gave anything away. It irritated me. His pen made a few scribbles down in his notepad. What was he always writing down in that thing?

                “I just came down into the reality called Hell,” I sneered at him.

                He meekly nodded and looked down at his precious notepad. “Just checking, Rayne.”

                “Why do you do that? Why do you always say my name?” I ask, looking back at the window, not really wanting an answer. The rain was falling harder, the waterfall of never-ending tears. They were running down the window and I can almost see the water turning ruby red of blood, steaming and crackling. It was growing redder, thicker, and heavier. Pounding and pulsing hard against the class like a heart, it threatened to break through and take me in the Red.

                I blinked. There was no Red.  No blood. Just crystal clear water from the clouds. No, they were not clouds, but never-ending waterfall of tears. I gave a quick glance over at the doctor to see if he noticed any reaction. Nothing. He just stared back at me, waiting.

                “So, tell me what happened,” he said after a long period of silence. He left my name out this time. “About the accident you had with your cat.”

                The accident, the accident, it’s always about this goddamn “accident.”

                My head tiled and locks of red and orange hair blocked my vision and I examined it carefully. It looked dry and brittle. The ends were dead and split. The ‘bleach job’ I did only damaged the hair. But it wasn’t an actually a bleach treatment that caused this, but my mom decided to make a big deal about it anyway. “Not only do you look like a big head of cherries and oranges, but you ruined your beautiful hair forever!”  I was glad that it hurt her more that it did me. I just wanted change. Brown hair was so dull and boring. Besides, it was my family’s fault that I was here. Not some “accident.”

                With a deep sigh, I peeked through the curtain of hair. It created a spunky red-orange curtain and I liked the fact that I couldn’t see Dr. Kessler clearly through it. It made everything easier  to deal with him that way.

                “Why don’t you tell me about the accident, doc. Let me hear what you think about this ‘accident’ about me ‘killing’ my cat. Because I would never do such a thing.”

                Dr. Kessler tilted his head up and cleared his throat, adjusting his tie around his neck. “You want to know what I think?” he asked.

                I nod.

                “What I think is that you were angry.” That’s one way to put it because he was right. I was angry, but it was a different kind of angry that he was thinking. “You were angry and out of control of your emotions, so you killed your cat because it was the thing closest to you and you needed to find a way to release it. Am I correct?”

                No. He was utterly wrong. Dead, dead wrong.  “It was a far worse situation than me just ‘needing to find a way to let out my anger.’”

                When he figured out that his conversation was going nowhere, Dr. Kessler asked I the most heinous question I never thought I’d hear from him:

                “Tell me about the Red Sin. Who is she?"

                I flinched. I didn’t know why, but it was just her name alone that made her skin blister and crawl, spiking Goosebumps.

                “The Red Sin is a thing,” I say hesitantly.

                “What do you mean? What kind of thing?” he asked.

                I twiddled her thumbs. “An entity…” I say quickly.

                “What kind of…” he paused “…entity? Like a demon?”

                I shook her head. “No. nothing like that. She's different.”

                “How different? Care to elaborate?” he continued.

                “She's…” How can I say this without being declared a total nutcase? Oh right, I already am.  “I don’t’ know.”

                “Is the Red Sin real?”

                “Yes, “I say.

                “So, she’s not imaginary?”

                “No.” Didn’t I just say she was real?

                There was a brief silence between us except the sound of pen on paper.

                “Do you still see the visions and hallucinations?” I swallow thickly. Indeed I still experience them, but not as frequent and often as I used to. Ever since the Red Sin had fallen silent when I was discharged, everything turned normal. Sort of. I believe these are just the “side effects.”

                “Rayne?”

                My gaze fell on Dr. Kessler’s.

                “What?”

                “Do you still experience the visions and hallucinations?”

                I just had one like ten minutes ago. I nod. “Yes.”

                “Does she still talk to you?” he asked.

                I was now biting the nail polish off my fingers. When I was discharged, not only did the hallucination stopped, but so did she. I haven’t heard her say a word though I still hear other things. Must’ve been another “side effect.”

                “No. not anymore. Not anymore,” I repeated.  And I’m glad that I don’t hear The Red Sin anymore. I’m glad not to feel her raspy voice; hot, burning, and breathing down the back of my neck. No more visions or hallucinations and no more of her temptations.

                Dr. Kessler cleared his throat, and my gaze shot in his direction. He was cleaning off his glasses. His eyes were small and dark and beady and I wondered how blind he was without them. He looks disgusting. I wanted to grab his neckless fat, dig my nails in deep, and tear it wide open. I wanted to watch his blood run free and paint the walls red. Under his clothes, beneath his skin, there was movement. Things moved. His skin and fat jiggled. They moved all around his body, up into his neckless, bloody, tissue fat and into his face. His scalp.

                “Rayne, are you OK?”

                Oh god. He should’ve have talked. He shouldn’t have opened his mouth! No! Because the moment he opened his mouth, a great flood of maggots and flies burst free, flowing down his suit and lap and onto the floor. The yellow maggots twitched and squirmed on the floor and the flies filled their room with their black buzzing bodies.

                Horrified screams filled the room and they were mine. Arms flailed and legs kicked, thrashing wildly. Strong hands held me and Dr. Kessler was speaking but I didn’t hear. I couldn’t hear over the loud flies buzzing.

                “Rayne? Stop and look at me,” he ordered.

                As soon as I did, I wish I was blind. Under his clothes, beneath the skin, they moved rapidly now. They pushed out into his skin, threatening to pop. A few maggots and flies poked through the openings of his eyes, nose, ears, and mouth.

                At that moment, my screams were caught up in my throat. My heart thumped hard in my chest. Blood roared in my ears. Then, the screams started all over again. My throat ached and burned. And the screams heightened a frequency as his head popped open, like a cork in a wine bottle. Maggots and flies fell into my open mouth, wriggling and squirming down into my throat, choking me. Slithered, flew, and crawled.

                “Rayne? Rayne! Stop, stop! Look at me, look at me!”

                “No!” I screamed.

                “There’s nothing there. Trust me, open your eyes!”

                And I did, hesitantly. Dr. Kessler’s face blocked my vision. No maggots. No flies. Nothing moving under his skin or clothes. Everything was perfectly normal. Sort of.

                I, on the other hand, was a shaking mess. My throat ached and burned, and I felt hot all over; skin flushed with heat.

                “Would you like some water?” Dr. Kessler asked genuinely.

                I could only nod, too lost for words. As Dr. Kessler left, I jumped from my seat, running my hands all over my body, hands shaking. Shivering, I sat back down, and lowered my face into my hands. That never, ever, happened when I had a session. Why now? There was no way that was a “side effect.” That was a full blown hallucination.

                “They didn’t have any more water bottles so I got you a soda instead,” said Dr. Kessler, nudging the cold can on my arm. Lifting my head, I took the can and popped the top. The fuzzy drink burned, but that didn’t matter.

                “What happened?” asked Dr. Kessler. “Was it another one?”

                I nod. “It was.”

                He leaned forward, interested. “Can you tell me what you saw?”

                The last time I was here, he asked the same question, and like the last time, I didn’t answer. I didn’t want to reveal what I’m hallucinating about, so what? So he can report it back and I’ll be on my merry back to the Happy House? No, thanks.  I don’t understand why he is so interested in my hallucinations, anyway.

                Knowing he wasn’t going to get another answer from me, Dr. Kessler let out a sigh, leaning back into his seat.

                “You know, Rayne. It’s mandatory that you answer my questions. I’m here to help you.”

                Yeah, right.

                “So, I’m going to ask you one more question and then we can end this session, OK?”

                Now we’re talking! So I nod again, examining my brittle, damaged ends of my hair, taking another sip of the cold, fuzzy beverage.

                “When was the last time you took your medication?”

Funday Fiction #2-Blood and Ink

My mother was murdered on the day of my birthday.

It was nighttime. She had served me cake and ice cream, and sang me ‘Happy Birthday’. I made a wish, and blew out the candles. While at the same time as I did, she died.  A shot to the head by a silencer. Just like that. No warning. Just cake and ice cream, splattered blood and shattered glass. I, on the other hand, walked away without the scratch by the protection of the Little Rippers. I had always wondered what if.  What if I had protected her before she had died? What if I had shielded her from the bullet that was aimed for her head? What if, what if, what if… There was too many ‘What if’s’. It was too late to save her. There wouldn’t have been enough time to save her before it had happed. It was too long ago…but it still hurt to think about…so I try not to think about it too much.

It’s a cold day. Frost, snow, and ice covered the streets, cars, and pavements. Beyond the dark gray clouds and falling flakes, was the sun, hiding from view. I looked down at my hands and lifted the black gloves that covered them. Shiny black tattoos were etched in my skin. Moving. Always continuously shifting. Constantly moving. Never stopping unless I peeled them off my skin with my blood, commands, or by their own free will. It hurts like hell, too. My little rippers. My babies. My baby demons. Despite the cold air, my body was completely room temperature. The Little Rippers absorbed the coldness, blocking it out so I wouldn’t have to feel it. They were my own personal body thermostat. Lowering my hands and shoving them deep into my winter jacket, I looked around my surroundings. Standing underneath Dunkin’ Donuts in Market Square, piles of snow crunched under my black winter boots. Cars pass, voices chatter, people walking in and out of book stores and restaurants, trying to get away from the harsh coldness. This combination evokes a rush of nostalgia, and it didn’t make me feel well

I blame the Accursed. I’m surrounded by them: Humans, Shells, Drainers, Shriekers, Vampires, Lycans, Demons, and Fairies-you name it, whatever mythical creatures there is, belongs here. The world of Anathema. A world of hexes and curses. World of the Accursed. It has many names. The Accursed is everything. Every breathing and living thing-is cursed. They’re there. They are all around me and they are staring. Staring and casting glances at me as they walk by. They don’t look too happy to see me. Well, I can say the same thing about them. But they don’t stare and glance for too long.

It’s easy to distinguish Shells from Drainers, and from the rest of the Accursed just either by their spiritual pressure, vibrations, whatever. Shells have no souls-literally. The human body that they host, once held a soul, but it had either been stolen, traded, or possessed. Their bodies are completely filled with darkness. Eyes are black as the dark abyss. They have no reflection or light within. Crowns of thick dark shadows pulse around their heads. But the thing that makes Shells stand out from the rest of the Accursed would be the rings around their necks. Of course, they are invisible to the human eye, but any other Accursed, such as myself, can see them. Shells, on the outside of their appearance, look normal. Regular. Ordinary. Alive and human. They hold jobs. Have relationships. Laugh and cry, and they look like the people you love because they are the people you love. That’s why they are so dangerous. But everything, every single detail of the darkness about these Shells, like every other Accursed, is covered with glamour-to hide their true nature. But once that glamour is stripped, they are as ugly as dang. Shells can get under your skin and you wouldn’t know it. And with that, they can hurt you. They can tear you apart and kill you. Get into your head; mess you up. Break down your heart into fragmented pieces. Shells can feel no mortal pain, but they sure can fake it.

Now with the Drainers, that’s another story. The big thing to be warned about Drainers is not to touch them. No-don’t let them touch you. Better yet, don’t ever go near them. Their auras are like a vibrating sucking black hole. Once you’re near them, it’s difficult to get away. Everything from you is drained-energy, stamina, and will power. And if they’re lucky, they can drain your life force away too, killing you. Drainers are just as dangerous as Shells. And I hate them too.

I leaned against the brick wall to the small little café and watched the Accursed. They watch me. I want to leave. I want to run and hide, but I don’t move a muscle. There hadn’t been this many Accursed gathered in such a large place like this. Some of the Accursed aren’t really hostile-some are curious, some just mind their own business. It’s just the bad baddies, like the Shells and Drainers that I really dislike. They’ve been trouble for my Ancient Blood Mothers for centuries. It’s not right. Not right at all. But something bad was going to happen, and like always, I’m going to be a part of it. Most of the time, the Accursed don’t show their true nature to me. Not in public. Not without a fight. I sometimes hate how they look. It makes me think of those childhood monsters and creatures. The kind of monsters that live under your bed, in your closet. The ones in the dark depths of your mind, just waiting to be unleashed.

Today was not the day. Today was not the day to be dealing with this. All I wanted to do was take a little stroll in the snow. Do some window shopping. Go to Starbucks and order some hot coffee and a donut by the window and stare out in space. Something told me that I shouldn’t have gone out today. I would’ve been in my apartment, curled up on the couch with some hot chocolate, reading a good book and listen to Beethoven or Mozart. Dr. Who was on.

I pushed myself off the wall and walked the opposite way through the crowded street. It was like downtown New York, but smaller. I forced myself to go slow, mesmerizing the faces, the rings, the shadowy pulses of the Shells, the other vibrations of the Accursed. They do the same, but again, they don’t hold their gaze for long. They’re afraid. Good. They better be.

The bitter wind flipped my hair around, nipping harshly at my reddened cheeks. My body felt too warm in this winter gear. Sweat is gathering. The tattoos absorbed the moisture. They’re moving rapidly. The only time they’ll get like this is when wicked is near. A shoulder bumps harshly into mine. Words of profanity or apology spew from the Shell, but that wasn’t important. The most important thing that caught my eye was what was occurring across the street.

He was being surrounded by Shells. The large shadow pulses around their heads gave away a big blob of black mess. Of course. What a total giveaway. Through the falling white veil of snow, I saw a young man. No dark aura, no sucking vibrations, no sign of the Accursed Mark. He was mortal. Human. Totally human. There was something about this man…his aura…his…spiritual pressure. It completely different than a normal human, but I couldn’t exactly put my finger on it. Wet dark blonde hair matted against his head down to the base of his parka hood, hanging unzipped over a large black cotton sweater. His dark jeans are old and slightly faded, and his boots were ankle high in the white snowy mush. His face held strong angles, but he was tall and his body was lean with a slight muscular tone. He was youngish. His back was against the wall, a backpack slung over his shoulder. His eyes were wide with shock, confusion, and fear. They roam around, trying to look for help. But when they fell on me, he stared.

He stared at me so strongly, I had the urge to either scream or run away. I didn’t like it when people stared at me. But I couldn’t look away. I didn’t blink, though my eyes squinted. Movement activate, drawing closer to the man. He was hugging close to the wall as they got closer. There was an opening gap between the groups of people. Instinct took over and without complete thought, I dashed across the street. The snow slightly slowed me down. The tattoos moved more urgently against my skin. Go, I thought. Run fast!

They’re getting closer. I have to stop them. Like always. Through the opening gap, I shoved my way through them and stood in front of the man. Catching my breath.  

I didn’t look at their faces, but I didn’t have a choice but to. Six people stood before us-all Shells. This isn’t good. Not good at all. Their eyes transferred from the man to me. Their faces, human faces, their bodies, their “shell” looked so fake. Leather and waxy and dull at the same time. Dark bags and shadows hung under the eyes. Squinty and large pitch black eyes, that engulfed their entire cornea, held no reflection, life, or light, stared into mine. I look away.

“What do you want with his man?” I asked the group, though now, I looked at the shell on my right. He opened his coat and something silver flashed. A silver gun. A silencer. I’m not impressed, really, though I still shudder. I had the urge to grab that gun and shove it down his old wrinkly throat. Every Accursed, mostly the Shells and Drainers, know how my mother died. It was the same way how her mother died, and her mother before that, and her mother before that. It will be the same way that I’ll die, unless someone tries to kill me in a non-shooting creative way. And I doubt that. Seriously. With these tattoos on my skin, it’d be nearly impossible. As the gun glinted dangerously, I couldn’t look away. A red light bulb in my head was flashing rapidly. Danger. Danger. Stay away from the Shell with the silver gun!!!

“What do you want with this man?” I repeated though I continue to stare at the man with the gun. The man behind me was quiet. I hope to God he didn’t faint. It could be good possibility. Each of them stared at me as if I was speaking a different language, but I can almost see the image of them wanting to plant a bullet in my head. No one really pays attention as they walked past, though they, rather trying to be nonchalant, stole glances our way from their corners of their eyes. A few in the distance decided to stop and watch. Movement. The old man shell on my right withdrew the gun from his holster and aimed. Did they really think they could shoot me with my tattoos on? But I was wrong, he wasn’t aiming at me, he was aiming at-

Shit! I spun and there, running like hellhounds were at his heels, was the man. They always run. Not such a good idea. You can never outrun a bullet. I gave chase after him. Man, he sure can run fast! Come on babies. Make Mama run a bit faster. My body tingled and pulsed. It felt as if my legs weren’t touching the ground, as if I was on an ultra-fast roller coaster just moving forward. Blurs of white and colors flew past my vision. The man was the only thing in focus. People cursed and complained as I dodged around them with my graceful ninja-like skills. A gun fires in the distance. No more than centimeters away from the running man, I threw myself at him, taking him down just in time as he turned around. My arms went around his head to cushion the blow as we both tumbled in the snow, knocking several pedestrians in the process, who were trying to take cover of the fire. The bullet missed, ricocheting off a pole and elsewhere.

The man beneath me grunts. I try to get up but the man locked me against him, holding tight. He held me so tight against him, I had difficulty breathing.

“Let go,” I rasped, curling my fingers deep in the snow. Puffs of white evaporated as soon as it hit the frost atmosphere. And then he does, a gasping cry escaping deep from his throat. But he was too late. His body tensed, and so did mine. The Little Rippers made my skin hot. They wanted to rip off and kill them. I wanted them to. Something hard pressed at the back of my skull. A gun. Cold. Metal. Hard. The old man. The shell. Not good. Not good at all.

“Bang, bang, Blood-Ripper. Time to die,” said the old Shell. And that was it. The trigger was pulled. I went deaf. A harsh flash of white exploded in my vision. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think. My mind was empty. My body shifted. The man was leaning over me and cradled my head. He was saying something, but couldn’t understand. His lips were moving too fast. He must’ve been in a high frenzy. Brown eyes were wide a wild with deep fear and concern. Though who could be in deep concern if they were shot in the head? I blinked, and took in a deep inhalation of breath-gasping and everything, the sounds, the feelings, returned. My body was burning. I forced to push myself up and stared at the wide-eyed man. I knew that he wasnt safe. Not here.

The old man was lying down in the snow, bright liquid staining the snow red. Like a red slushee.

I wonder if it tastes like cherry, adored Jax, who moved around my chest. The blood was coming from the old Shells neck and from the left side of his face that was in the snow. But it was nothing compared to the red fountain gushing from its dismembered hand. The gun tried to plant a bullet in my brain was gone. Blown to pieces. I almost wanted to giggle. That’s what he gets. He knew better. He was stupid. He was so stupid not to pull a gun on me. My Little Rippers were excellent body guards.

The human body was going to die. But the darkness inside was going to go away to find a new body. Steal the human soul and takes it place. The man moves away from and stands, extending his arm toward me. I refused to take it. Instead, I push myself up. Balance was awkward and I sway. Strong arms held me. I hadn’t noticed, but my heart was pounding hard like a vibrating drum. My ears were ringing. My head pounded hard like a jackhammer. My knees shook as my hand touched the back of my head. Nothing. Everything was still here. Where the gun fired, it was hot to touch. It tingled. I felt weak. I hated this. This wouldn’t be the first time that they tried to plant a bullet in my head. Bile rose to the base of my throat, and I wanted to let it go. I wanted to vomit. But I swallowed the acidic, burning chunks down hard and breathed deeply through my nose.

“You okay?” the man asks. His voice caught me off guard. It was loud and deep. Maybe because my ears were still ringing. His hands were wrapped around my forearms, holding me straight. His warm brown eyes stare into mine. I look and pull myself away. My balance returned, though I felt I was still swaying.

“Are you okay?” my voice trembles, shaking. I cleared my throat a couple of times. I felt shaken all over. Shot in the head, shot in the head.

“I’m fine. But I’m not the one who was shot in the head and survived nonetheless. Are you sure you’re okay?”

I shot him a glare. ‘I said I’m fine.’ My gaze then shot around the scene. People were still hiding; some were peeking out at us in curiosity. Some just stared. Well, there goes my one-way ticket to the circus. In the distance, were the wails of the police and the ambulance. I didn’t want to stay around. I always left scenes like this. When it comes down to it, I always leave. Don’t want to be questioned the unquestionable. It caused trouble.

“We have to go.”

I never used that word before. We. It sounded weird. I never used that word with another person than the Little Rippers and my Mother.

“He’s dying,” he says. He glanced at the dying old man in the red slushee of snow and frowned. I hated pity. He deserved it.

“He tried to kill you. He’s nothing but an empty shell. There's nothing in him anymore. He’s gone.”

“Doesn’t matter. He tried to kill you, too.’ He stares hard at me and steps up. ‘If you have to go, and then leave. I’m not stopping you.”

My jaw clenched and so did my firsts. I took another step forward and grabbed the collar of his shirt tight and squeezed, inching my face close to his. I stare hard at him. His face and hair was wet with snow and sweat. Slightly chapped and cracked lips. I probably should leave. I could just leave him alone. Leave him defenseless. I should have just leaved the city, the state, the country. Go somewhere peaceful and quiet. The woods, the mountains. Hawaii. New Zealand. Go somewhere where I don’t have to worry about the Accursed, my bloodline, somewhere I don’t have to worry about someone trying to shoot me in the head 24/7.

“Let's go. I’m not going to tell you again.”

His jaw tightens. His hand reaches up and covers mine with his own. I released his collar and shoved my hands, once again, into my pockets.

The man says something underneath his breath but I ignore him. Flashes of red and blue appear. That’s our cue to leave, so we started to move. I didn’t know where we were going and I didn’t care. I see some stairs and we went down them.

Where we ended up was the train station. It was unusually crowded. Scents of coffee and fried food from the city combined with underground earth made my stomach oddly growl. Humans and the Accursed mixed together were here. A knot in my stomach twisted. A quick look over my shoulder to make sure the man was still with me, who now stood beside me.

Glances shot our way. As usual. And as usual as that gets, I gave them my what-are-you-looking at-face. It averts their looks temporarily. Movement activated from my peripheral vision. I turned and the man moves towards the direction of the restroom. I follow. The place smells bad. I hate public bathrooms. Completely unsanitary. So dirty. The floor is covered in blue and white tiles. From one of the stalls was a limp body, groaning lowly. Human. He’s the only other person in the bathroom, other than the man and I. Nothing I can do to help him.

The man glanced at me from the mirror.

“Why are you here?” he asks.

“ I followed you.”

A slight twitch to the corner of his mouth.

“You came here to watch me pee?”

Without protest, I turned around, facing the stall where the man behind it continued groaning. Junkie. Addict. Urinal flushed. Water ran. I turned around and at the same time, the Little Rippers burned my skin. A little voice in my hand, Jax, hissed trouble and wickedness this way comes.

  

Funday Fiction #1-The Red Man

Funday Fiction are days where I will be posting up random stories that I have written over the years on here for you, the readers, to get a little taste of what my writing style is like. I just like to have people read my stories for fun and entertainment. I like to know what people thought about my stories, what they like and didn't like. Things that can be improved and all that jazz.
So,without further ado. Here is my first story I'm posting up called, The Red Man.

Have you ever heard of him?

He has many names.

The Red Man, the Man in Red, the Blood Man, the Man in Blood…

 They say once you dream of the blood at night and see the red in day, you’re marked

 Once you think of the Red Man, the Man in Red, the Blood Man, the Man in Blood, you’re plagued

  But once you hear the Mourning Whispers, you’re the Red Man’s next victim

  But once you see the Red Man, The Man in Red, The Blood Man, the Man in Blood, your life has already ended.

It occurred to me that I instantly knew I wanted to be like my father, because when I was nine, I saw my first ghost.

            My father and I were raking leaves in the cemetery where he’d worked for years as the caretaker. It was late autumn, just in time to bring out the sweaters and heavy coats for Winter, but on that particular evening, there was a noticeable bite to the air as the sun dipped beyond the horizon. A mild breeze carried the scent of murky, wet earth, and as the wind picked up, fallen leaves twirled in the air. A flock of birds took flight from the treetops and glided like a dark storm cloud across the pale blue sky.

            I put a hand over my eyes to watch them. When my gaze dropped, a freezing chill engulfed me. I saw him in the distance. He stood underneath the dying, dropping branches of the oak tree, lurking in the shadows. The gold light slipped through the tress, casting a glow on the space around him. I wondered for a moment if he was a mere figment of my imagination. The gold light started to fade, he became more defined, and his features were slightly visible. He was old, even more old than Papa, with light colorless hair, brushing the collar of his dark suit coat. He had light colorless eyes that seem to burn with an inner flame.

            Papa was bent to his work as the rake moved steadily over the leaves, he said under his breath, “Don’t look at him.”

            I turn in surprise and blink.  “You see him, too?”

            “Yes, I see him. Get back to work, please.”         

            “But who is-“

            “I said don’t look at him!”

His raised tone stunned me. I could count on one hand the number of times he’d ever raised his voice at me. Now that he done so, without provocation, made me instantly tear up.

            “Theo…”

            There was regret in his voice and what later to come to realize, was pity in his eyes.

            “I’m sorry, Theo. I didn’t  mean to make you upset, but its important that you do as I say. You mustn’t look at him,” he said in a softer tone. “any of them.”

            “Is he a-“

            “Yes.”

Cold heaviness bites the atmosphere, and I saw my white breath puff into the air before evaporating. Something was lurking close and the coldness touched my back, and it was all I could do to keep my gaze trained on the ground and not at what stood behind me.

            “Papa,” I whispered. I always called him this. He always seemed very old to me, even though he was not yet fifty. For as long as I can remember, his face had been heavily lined and weathered, like dried cracked mud, and his shoulders drooped from years of bending over graves.

            I loved him with every fiber of my nine-year old being. He and Momma were my whole world. Or had been until that moment.

            I saw something shift in Papa’s face and then his eyes slowly closed briefly. He laid aside our rakes and placed his hand on the top of my head.

            “Let’s rest for a moment,” he said with a sigh.

            We sat on the ground, our backs to the ghost as we watched the setting sun. The remaining light was still warm on my face, even though I couldn’t stop shivering.

            “Who is he?” I finally whisper, unable to bear the silence any longer.

            “I don’t know.”

            “Why can’t I look at him?”

            “You don’t want him to know that you can see him?”

            “Why not?” I picked up a twig and poked it through a dead leaf, spinning it like a pinwheel between my fingers. “Why not, Papa?”

            “It’s because what they want more out of anything else is to be apart of our living world again. They’re like parasites; drawn to our energy, feeding off our warmth and life. The dead is dangerous, Theo. If they know you can see them, they’ll cling to you like blood-thirsty leeches. They'll haunt you forever.”

            I didn’t know if I completely understand what he told me, but the idea of being haunted  both terrified and thrilled me.

            “Not everyone can see them,” he continued “for those of us who can, there are certain precautions we must take in order to protect ourselves and those around is. Don’t look at them, don’t speak and don’t let them sense your frear. Even when they touch you.”

            A chill climbed over me. “They touch you?”

            “Sometimes they do. Some more than others, yes.”

            “And you can feel it?”

            He drew in a breath. “Yes. You can feel it, and it’s painful. Don’t ever let them touch you, understand?”

            I threw the stick away and pulled up my knees, wrapping my arms tightly around them. Somehow, even in my young age, I was calm on the outside. But my insides were filling with dread.

            Silence once again found its way between us, except the bristling of dying leaves around us. Papa’s voice finally broke the silence, startling me to have his attention. “You should always keep your distance from those who are Haunted and Possessed.”

            “Possessed?” I perk. “Like…demons? They actually exist?”

            “Yes. They really exist. But its important for you to know that if they seek you out, turn away from them for they constitute a terrible threat and cannot be trusted. But its getting late. We should probably head home before your Mother starts to worry.”

            “Can Momma see them?”

            “Yes. But you cannot tell her that you can.”

            “Why not?”

            “We want you to have a normal childhood as possible. It’s too dangerous, especially if you’re with us. But this has to be our secret, just between you and me. When you’re older, you’ll understand. For now, just do your best to follow the rules I told you and everything will be fine. Can you do that?”

            “Yes, Papa.” But even as I promised, it was all I could do to keep glancing over my shoulder.

            The breeze picked up and the chill deepened inside me. Somehow, without turning, the old ghost had drifted closer. Papa knew it, too. I could feel the tension as he murmured, “Just remembered what I told you.”

            “I will, Papa.”

            The ghost’s frigid breath feathered down my back of my neck and the pungent odor of murky swamp water and decay filled my senses. I closed a hand over my nose and mouth and started to tremble. I couldn’t help myself.

            “Cold?” my father asked in his normal breath. He wasn’t concealing his noses like I was. He was probably use to the stinky smell. “Well, it’s getting to be that time of the year. Summer can’t last forever.”

            Papa pulled me to my feet with him. The ghost skittered away even further, then slowly floated back.

            “We should be getting home. Your mother is cooking a mess of lasagna tonight.” He picked up the rakes and hoisted them over his shoulder.

            “And corn potato chowder?” I ask, though my choice was hardly louder than a whisper.

            “I expect so. Come on, I want to show you the work of the gravestones in the cold cemetery. I know how you love the angels.”

            He took my hand and squeezed my fingers in reassurance. The ghost followed, unable to get any closer than a foot. By the time we reached the old section, Papa had already pulled the key from his pocket. But something else caught my attention. It appeared to be a simple knife with a glowing blue crystal jewel embedded in the butt of the black handle followed by four crafted finger groves. The blade was sheathed in a black leather case that hung loosely against his hip. I could feel slow, vibrating pulses coming from the knife.

            I reach out to touch it and the glowing blue crystal, but Papa’s hands restricted me from doing so.

            “Don’t touch it,” he says, a hint of warning in his tone.

            “Why not? What is it?” It was obviously a knife, but from the slow, vibrating pulses and glowing blue gem, it was something else, too.

            “You see how it’s glowing?  Whenever there is a good ghost, the crystal will turn blue, and if there’s a bad ghost, it turns red. And, it’s protecting us.”

             I tilt my head and squint. “How?”

            “That ghost isn’t getting any closer to us because the knife is making them stay away.”

            I stare at the knife as Papa turn the lock and the heavy iron gate creakily swung open.

            We stepped through the cemetery and suddenly I wasn’t afraid anymore. My newfound courage emboldens me. I pretended to trip and when I bent to tie my shoe laces, I glanced back. The old ghost hovered a few feet away. It was obvious he was unable to advance any closer, and I couldn’t help but give a childish smirk.

            When I straightened, I glanced up at Papa.

            “I want to be ghost-hunter, Papa. Just like you. Will you teach me?”

            Papa looked down at me, kindness returned in his brown eyes, laughing as he ruffled my hair. “We’ll see."

As the childhood memory faded away, I found it hard to concentrate while driving because the woman in the passenger seat kept staring at me. I immediately knew what I got myself into as soon as I picked her up. The phrase of “Beware the hitchhiker!” flashed through my mind as I did so. The thing is about this little situation was that she wasn’t a hitchhiker. Well, not an ordinary one, anyway.

            The dripping, pale colorless hair was the dead giveaway, and so were the tendrils of black veins pulsing slowly across her blue-white skin. Shiny black eyes of tar. And the way the occasional shiver and twitches would occur in her neck, hands and feet. She looked as if she was having a seizure.

            The woman is mostly seen wondering the Metal Mill Bridge, surrounded by shallow river water, a never-ending highway, and a whole lot of trees. Unsuspecting drivers probably pick her up out of pity, worry, and curiosity, thinking she is lost and in need help.

            “My child is in severe danger, you must help me!” she said with desperation in her voice, like she was going to fail on helping her endangered child if we didn’t get there soon. The soft drip, drip gets to me, and I glance over to see that there was a small puddle of water expanding beneath of her bare, pale feet. Not only was that but the seat she was sitting in was getting soaked. And this isn’t even my car!

            “I will help you, “I say as calm as possible.

            “You must hurry, please!” she says, her voice heightening an octave.

It was then when I felt it. I always felt it; the soft hum and dull, throbbing vibrating sensation against my right leg. Taking a swift glance down, the outline was a slow pulsing bright blue of my spiked Bowie knife. It was telling me that the woman beside me was a harmless one, but knowing from experience, that can change at any moment if she decides to attack.

“I will help you as much as I can,” I tell her, glancing at the water-dripping woman who resumed staring at me. Once again, the silence became eerie. A slow curve was taken around the corner of the dark, somewhat haunting highway. I let my foot slowly ease off the gas. The Metal Mill Bridge was just five miles ahead.  “Just taking safety precautions,” I said aloud, as if I had to force the words out. “Driving at night is dangerous, who know what might run across the road or...jump off it...”

            I realized that I shouldn’t have said that. At any moment now, she would try to exit the car and disappear. Reappear and attack. Ghosts were pretty sneaky like that. Before that happens, I had to find a way to kill the poor woman. But she was already dead. I went past the speed limit of thirty, killing the speedometer over fifty—too fast for her to consider of jumping out and disappearing, but with whatever ghosts do, you can never be too sure.

Working fast, I reached down to take my blade out from under the leg of my jeans, the blade pulsing welcomingly in my hand, and that’s when I see the familiar outline of the Metal Mill Bridge. Right on cue, the woman shrieks and lunges for the steering wheel, jerking it to the right. I jerk it back straight and fumble to slam my foot on the break. The sound of rubber burning against asphalt stings my ears, and out of the corner of my eye I see that the woman’s face was changing, and at the same time, so was the pulse and heat of my blade.

Dripping, colorless hair wet hair began to rain black water. Her oil eyes, skull and face were embedded with sharp, jagged rocks and pebbles. Filling up with a darker substance, running thick, slow and black from the openings of her mouth, nose, eyes, and ears like black sludge. The black veins expanded, growing thicker, darker, and pulsing erratically.....