Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-26444017-20180915164654

Alright, I've gotten approval to have a main character of this age, so I did a bit of reworking to fit with the theme of the collab, as well as some of the rules I overlooked the first time. I also did a clean up of a couple errors that spell/grammar check didn't catch the first time. I'll be leaving the first draft thread open for now, because I may want to use that one as an independant piece later down the line.

Anyway, here's the revision.

“Absolute power.”

The creature’s lips spoke words whose very aura astounded Mira. She could hardly believe that she was even here, standing before this mobile pile of flesh and bone. Though the home in which she stood was dusty, destroyed, and desolate, the glimmering steps before her were evidence enough. ''The legend was true. I never thought it possible, but here it is. The Memorial.''

Decades of searching had been worth it. She had found the fabled staircase of memories, hidden away in this crumbling home. And better yet, she was assured of the prize that awaited her. The tension in her chest arrived as product of nerves and anticipation, excitement and apprehension. If the tale was true, she knew the specter did not lie.

Ability beyond human belief supposedly awaited whoever could reach the top of the quartz staircase, whose silver railings gleamed blue in the moonlight. The steps wound and wound, spiraling up the central pillar, and seemed to stretch endlessly into the sky. The structure seemed to radiate an air of chill, strength, and foreboding.

Mira turned her gaze downward, back to the monster that now addressed her. Roughly humanoid in shape, she could vaguely see how this could once have been a man. Despite the missing parts and open rot, the remnants of a skeleton stood strongest beneath the bits of flesh. The clothing that shrouded this figure were little more than rags, worn and torn by age, the exact span of which she could not imagine. Any markings they once bore were now faded away, the tatters bleached and dulled to gray.

“What sort of power, exactly?” The remnants of her accent still punctuated much of her speech. Life in Germany was something she would rather forget, but the mark of it still bore in her voice.

“Hmhmhmhmh,” chuckled the corpse. He retorted with mock, “the absolute sort, as I said before.” His grainy voice came through in little more than a whisper, mildly echoing within itself.

“I need to know specifics. I need to know if it can-”

“It can. Easily.” His words came across in a monotone, as though he was bored of her questions already.

Mira stood, shell-shocked. ''That’s impossible. To undo that much damage… But the staircase alone should prove the legend is true.''

“What do I need to do?”

“Hmm. Straight to the point. Don’t you think you’re being a bit too eager?” the specter mocked again. “But, then again, at your age, there really isn’t much left for you to do with your life. Might as well go seeking the impossible, right?” He turned to gaze at Mira, as though judging the determination of this latest trial-goer. His eyes, too, gleamed in the moonlight; that same azure hue. His stare sent a shiver down Mira’s spine, her muscles tensing in response.

“Just, tell me what to do.”

He sighed in response. “Alright then.”The monster stepped up to the base of the stairs. “Let me introduce myself. I’m the gatekeeper of the Stairway of Chaos.”

“‘Stairway of Chaos’? I thought it was called the Memorial.” Mira took another look up the winding stairs.

“I have never called it that. Neither did the one who built it. No one else that’s ever been through here has called it that before, and I’m not going to change it now. So, if you don’t mind...”

“Wait, the one who built it? Someone made this thing?”

“Hmm...” the gatekeeper rubbed at his temples with his bony fingers, dislodging extraneous bits and pieces. “Rude, interrupting like that. Why am I even bothering with a withered hag like you? I mean, really, you thought it just came out of nowhere? This damn thing took a lot of work. I should know. I was the first one to attempt the climb after it was finished. There have been plenty of others after me, but no one’s ever managed to pull it off.

“But maybe you’ll be the first,” he droned, trying to force the conversation forward, “a precedent that proves that the challenge can be overcome. And if you are indeed so strong willed and,” he sized up her aging body, “dare I say, lucky, then you’ll claim the prize that waits at the top of the stairs. The absolute power I’ve mentioned thrice is waiting to be taken by someone worthy of using it. If you think that person is you, then you can take your first step. But be warned; the price of memory is a heavy toll, and this journey can’t be halted once it has begun. Success or failure; those are the options ahead, if you chose to begin.”

The Gatekeeper’s face contorted to a condescending smirk with his closing words. He stepped aside, gesturing to the winding expanse of steps set amongst the withered and fallen remnants of the once beautiful townhouse. Mira reflected on what he had just said. Did she truly want what he offered? What price would she need to pay? Was she strong enough to brave the challenge that stood before her?

But she then reminded herself why she came. What she had lost, what she had endured, and what she stood to gain; all questions were answered in the wake of this memory. The tattoo on her arm seemed to burn with the thought. Taking in a long breath of the frosty air around the steps, Mira strode forth toward the beginning of her journey. The Gatekeeper’s gaze followed her, the gleam in his eyes once more, and a wicked grin upon his face. She reached the base, took her first step, and began her voyage.

The grass was cool between her toes. The smell of fresh spring air pervaded her nostrils. A light breeze licked at her arms while the warm sun shone lightly on her neck. Looking down, she found that she was garbed in a yellow sundress and light pink shorts. She recognized the outfit, as well as the shortened limbs and torso that it contained, from her childhood. She couldn’t have been older than five years of age.

In her juvenile form, she found herself in what seemed an endless field. As she whirled and twirled in the April air, she caught glimpses of her brother, Hans, and sister, Ninette. Their curled, ebony locks were a perfect match for her own, grown longer and rarely cut throughout the years. The family castle also came into view, a towering structure that rose above all others. With walls of cinder block and supports as wide as trees, the family castle was a symbol of power and safety in the eyes of young Mira.

She had long forgotten about this place. It seemed a fantasy land to her adult mind. Yet, here it was, exactly as it used to be. Everything was real. She took the opportunity to frolic and spin and play just as she had when she was a child. Her brother and sister chased her as she ran around the yard, trying desperately not to be tagged.

She didn’t notice the large tree root until it was too late. Her foot caught and sent her tumbling. The pain, too, was real, and it shot up her leg to her spine. Picking herself up from the dirt, she found that the smallest toe on her left foot bore a long laceration, blood puddling out of the wound, and the digit adopting a deep purple bruise.

The pain was nothing new to Mira; she had broken far more in far worse ways. But her child body was not as accustomed to it as her adult mind. Tears welled up in her eyes, threatening to spill forth. Hans and Ninette looked on from behind, their expectant gazes rousing embarrassment to compound the pain. Her lip quivered, and her jaw dropped and locked open.

But though the cry seemed imminent, Mira knew better. She knew how inconsequential the pain of a stubbed toe was, and even a broken toe wasn’t as bad as it seemed. The watchful eyes of her brother and sister meant little to the adult observer, as they would find many more ways to embarrass her when they were older. She forced her gaping mouth to close, clenching her teeth against the ache. The tears remained stationary, held fast within her eyes. Not a single drop fell as she stood up, brushed herself off, and turned to continue the chase once more.

“What just happened?” She asked the gatekeeper, finding herself once more upon the steps.

“Well, I’d say you remembered something.” the keeper replied in a tone that implied that his answer was obvious. “That’s what the Staircase does.”

“I was a little girl again. I tripped on a tree root and broke a toe.”

“Did you think the memories would be good ones? This is a trial, after all. You’re supposed to be challenged. Though, from what I saw, that was about as pleasant a memory as one could ask for, given the circumstances.

“But I wouldn’t linger on it for too long. You have a lot more steps to go, and patience isn’t in my job description.” He turned away, his gaze falling further up the winding staircase. “They’re only going to get worse, you know.” he said with his back to Mira. “The Staircase is kind at first, but the greatest challenge is waiting at the top.” His voice low, and somber, the keeper stepped up, leading her toward that final task.

Mira followed, and with each step she found herself somewhere in her past. With each, another memory of trauma surrounded her. The early steps mostly reminded her of physical pain; broken bones, cuts and scrapes. Then the psychological torture started. Her first rejection by a boy she liked, her first birthday without her parents or siblings, and the time a stranger broke into her home; these were the memories that she tried to bury, but were dug up with ease by the Staircase of Chaos.

Then, on a step somewhere in the hundreds, she caught sight of the end of the staircase. She noticed something resting on the top step; something tiny, round, and gray. “What is that?” she asked the gatekeeper.

“The end.” he said bluntly. “And maybe the beginning of something very interesting.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You know, you ask a lot of questions.” he replied, turning to face her from the step above. “Ignorance doesn’t suit you very well. It makes you look incompetent.”

“You could just answer me, you know. It’d save us both a lot of time.” Mira crossed her arms and shot a nasty look at the corpse.

“You may be in a rush to see this through before you die, but I’ve got all the time in the world. Besides, I have a job to do, and making things easy for you isn’t part of it.”

“Some help you are.”

“Hey, ask pointless questions, get pointless answers. I’m not going to repeat myself. I’ve already told you what’s waiting at the top.”

Mira understood what he meant. The power she sought; that must be it. She hadn’t realized that it was a physical object, instead thinking it was some intangible thing she would be able to use herself. In any case, the end was in sight, and that knowledge spurned her on to take the next step.

The memory that started her on this journey was brought forth, enveloping her for a second time.

She felt more comfortable in her body this time; a side effect of her increased age, no doubt. She was fifteen years old, once again in the front yard of her childhood home. Now, though, it was a pittance, pathetic compared to what it was when she was a toddler. The day was overcast, dulling the world to near gray. The grass had dried in response to the drought, and lay all but dead in bunches about the yard.

“Mira! Get inside, quickly!” a voice called to her in a frantic whisper.

She turned to find her mother standing in the doorway of family house. Though identical in structure to the castle of her youth, the building before her held none of the splendor and gave no impression of strength. The cinder blocks that formed the foundation of the mighty palace were reduced to mere bricks. The trees that held the castle together were little more than decoration, accentuating the miserable stone.

Mira followed her mother’s instructions. The wind was light, but made just enough noise to disguise the marching footsteps in the distance. She, her parents, and her siblings all crowded into the basement, which her father barred from their side. The room was cold and damp, and darkness took residence as there were no windows or candles.

“Mother,” Ninette whispered, “what are we doing?”

“We are hiding. The men we’ve been worried about are coming.”

“What are they going to do to us?” Hans implored, tears escaping his eyes to roll silently down his face.

Mira’s father spoke up. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure nothing happens.” He armed himself with a poker normally used to adjust coal in the furnace. “Just be silent for now.”

The children heeded their father, curling into the corner of the room. As he took up post just beyond, and out of sight of, the doorway, the Mira and her siblings sat quivering, fear a greater factor than the chill of the basement. Everything was utterly silent for nearly an hour. Were her father less certain in his choice, Mira would have left to play long ago. But seeing him in such a state frightened her most of all. What could possibly terrify him like this?

Above them, on the main floor of the house, came a sudden slam of a door that made them jump. Ninette let out a short, fearful gasp, but her mother pressed a hand over her mouth, stifling the sound. Slow footsteps from heavy boots released a creaking from the floorboards above, and tapped toward the staircase leading to the second floor. Meanwhile, another set of footfalls approached the door to the basement. The knob turned slowly, silently, and the door pressed open, halted only by the wooden bar. An eye peeked through, and locked on Mira.

CRACK

The beam splintered apart under the force of the battering ram. The door burst open, slamming and bouncing off of the wall. Three men dressed in thick, dark clothes filed down the stairs, guns pointed in all directions. Instinctively, Mira and her siblings pressed themselves further into the corner, while her mother sat between them and the invaders.

As the first reached the bottom of the stairs, he was caught off guard by the fire poker colliding with his head. Blood sprayed from the wound as Mira’s father dislodged his makeshift weapon. He took a second swing at the man on the ground, the poker finding it’s way between the body armor and helmet. More blood and chunks of face were ripped away as he pulled with all his might.

He had no chance to react to the gunshot. The bullet ripped through his lung and tore a hole in his heart. His body recoiled from the impact, and his face locked in a painful expression. With his final breath, he managed only a small, wheezing gasp. He collapsed to the stone floor, his blood pooling out and mixing with that of his fallen foe. Mira could only look on in horror as he passed away just feet from her.

“Father!”

Hans jumped up from the corner, sprinting past Mira and Ninette. Their mother reached out to grab him by the hand, but he slipped out of her grasp. He ran to his father, bitter tears streaming down his face. Rolling the fresh corpse onto its back, the blood of his father drenched his hands, staining them red. Hans stared at his crimson appendages, horrified. He could not find words to speak. But his body found action to take. His fear was swallowed whole by rage. He shouted in fury, taking hold of the poker that had already taken one life, and cost him his father.

The gunmen were prepared. They fired mercilessly, executing the thirteen year old boy with one round apiece. The first punctured his collar, lodging in his left shoulder blade. The second was fatal, a bullet to the head. Hans’ body fell backward, the poker clattering toward the remaining family members. He lie motionless, his death quick, but painful.

The soldiers turned to face Mira, Ninette, and their mother. All three cowered in horror, tears pouring out uncontrollably. One of the men stepped closer, shouting for them to stand up. Mira never feared the nuances of the German language before, being that it was her native tongue, but in that instance, it seemed to carry the rage and power-madness of an entire people. At that age, she didn’t fully understand what was happening, but her adult mind knew perfectly well. ''Not again. I won’t go back there.''

As the women stood and the soldiers turned to march them out, Mira took hold of the discarded fire poker. The scraping of metal across the stone floor seemed to echo around the room as she plunged the spike into the leg of her captor. The spray of blood caught her off guard, splashing her face, and forcing her to clear it from her eyes. Wiping away the crimson blood, Mira found herself staring directly into the barrel of the final soldier’s gun.

Mira’s screaming filled the staircase, resounding through the remnants of the townhouse. Without realizing, she had broken into a cold sweat, and tears streamed down her face. Realizing where she was, she turned quickly, searching for the gatekeeper. His footsteps echoed off of the shimmering steps as he approached from above. Her eyes followed up his legs, past his torso, and finally rested on his eyes. Wispy, azure mist trailed from them, and as he approached, the room seemed to chill.

He rested a hand on her head, gazing into her eyes. “The price of memory is a heavy toll. It’s time for you to pay yours.” He thrust his bony, rotting hand into her gaping mouth as she choked and gagged. The azure fog burned more brightly than ever. Mira desperately clawed at the withered appendage, trying in vain to pry it free of her throat. From within, the gatekeeper plucked a mote of light and, raising it to his tattered lips, extinguished it with a gentle breath. Mira’s struggling ceased. Hand still resting upon her head, the rotted corpse crumbled away, leaving behind a pile of ash and dust.

Coming to her senses once more, Mira took a moment to wipe away her sweat and tears. She pulled herself up from the cold stone steps, taking hold of the silver railing. As she worked her way back down the winding staircase, something on her arm caught her eye. A tattoo in forest green ink.

6-38602

“Well now. I suppose that’s not too bad a thing to want to wish away.” she said to herself, with an azure gleam in her eyes. 