Prisca's_Writing_Area

Title: Stop being a coward
Characters: Casey Connor, Zeke Tyler
Words: 342
Finished: 15.03.2015

:::

For almost two hours Zeke had braved the storm, fought against the teeth of the wind, the heavy rain. And he felt great. All just because of Casey. Together with his best friend he always felt good. All the loneliness and emptiness in his life seemed to vanish into thin air. He still couldn't get it how it had happened that the school's geek had been able to sneak into his life.

"Zeke?"

He looked up, torn out of his thoughts. There he was, tousled hair, the face reddened from the cold. Casey carefully put his camera bag on the chair beside him, then he took off the rain-drenched jacket. Even his shirt was wet and seemed to glue at his skin. He rubbed his arms to warm them up.

"Shower! A hot shower. It's cold!"

Cold, oh yes. Zeke himself was chilled to the bones too. And who was to blame for that? But he felt much too happy to be annoyed. He shrugged. “Go ahead. Upstairs, first door on the right side."

"Thanks." Casey turned to the stairs, but stopped there, looking back at Zeke. His eyes were sparkling hilariously. "What's with you?"

Wait! What? Suddenly Zeke felt great heat rushing through his body, his mouth felt dry. "You first,” he said and his voice sounded rough.

“But you are shaking like a leave. You will catch a cold.”

Stubborn little shit. Why couldn't he just let it rest? "I will have a coffee to warm up.” While Zeke turned to the kitchen-counter, Casey followed him. Was suddenly standing behind him much too close, smiling wide. "Zeke, you are such a coward,” he whispered.

Warm breath hit his neck. Zeke turned around in the try to escape. All too close. Just eyes and lips. Wonderful lips. Touching his. Warm. Soft. Hot. Casey Connor was kissing him. Only for a split of a second.

Then it was over. Like through a haze, Zeke could hear steps on the stairs. Stopping again. Whispered words. "You coming? I'm gonna wait for you!"

Title: Birthday (Smith's POV)
Characters: Kurdy Malloy, Mr. Smith,
Words: 401
finished: 04.02.2017

:::

Today we did celebrate Kurdy's birthday. Usually I try to avoid crowded places like the cafeteria. And I try to avoid to think about my past. Because I don't have one. Days like these remind me of this fact all too clearly.

I'm the outsider, the guy no one wants to hang around with. Because I'm God's messenger. Sometimes I wish I could just lay down and die, this would be so much easier. But he is not willing to let me go. He has told me that the future of the world is lying in my hands. What kind of future can this be?

At this moment Kurdy tore me out of my thoughts. He dropped down onto the chair beside me, a forced smile on his face. Kurdy is a nice guy, I know, he doesn't want to hang around with me, but he feels pity.

"Do you have fun," he did ask me.

Fun? I don't know the meaning of this word, I can't remember if I ever had fun in my life. "Gid told me to come here," I said.

"Maybe he wants you to relax for a while. Birthday parties are supposed to be fun."

Are they? Well, I guess, Kurdy is right. Before the Big Death people did enjoy birthdays and parties and fun. Michelle told me once that it is important to keep the old ceremonies alive. But Michelle can remember, like everyone else. Memories can hurt, but they also keep you alive.

"Did you never celebrate your birthday?"

"I can't remember, maybe, when I was a child," I told Kurdy.
"I don't have a history. Everything is wiped out, everything that happened before the I died."

He stared at me, I could read the shock in his eyes. "You ... what?" His voice was slightly shaking. He wasn't ready to hear the truth. It would have been so more human to lie, but I couldn't. Because God has told me that it is about time to tell him about it.

"I died. But God wasn't willing to let me go. He brought me back to life." It was hard to smile but I did it anyway. "I'm glad that you still can enjoy your birthday. But for me, the day of the anniversary of my death is the only birthday I can remember. And, believe me, there is no reason to celebrate that."

:::

(Note: This story is also written from Kurdy's POV)

Title: The voice
Characters: Mr. Smith, Rose Smith, Kurdy Malloy
Words: 1107
finished: 17.11.2016

:::

Smith watched his little daughter thoughtfully; for the whole day, she had been unusually quiet as if she could sense the tension in the air. Since this incident in St. Louis and the loss of some very close confidants, it seemed as if the life in the Mountain almost had stopped.

Smith had tried to play down his sorrows; the time he could spend with Rose was rare and valuable, but the little girl was much too sensitive.

"Where is Mr. Kurdy," she suddenly asked.

Smith kept silent, thinking about his friend and Elizabeth. Kurdy was not a guy who talked much about his feelings, but Smith had known, who much the young woman had meant for him. A wonderful woman, caring, gentle, but determined when it was necessary. Despite all she had to go through, she had never given up hope that one day the world would be a better one again. This hope finally had been her death.

And Kurdy had changed; he had buried her all alone and then locked up himself in his quarter, refusing to talk to anyone. He had even yelled at Markus, and Smith was for sure the last one he wanted to see.

"Why didn't you warn her," he had asked him, his eyes dark with anger. "You are the prophet who knows what will happen. Why couldn't you save her?"

A question Smith couldn't answer; he wasn't God's messenger by choice. The pieces of information he got were mostly cryptic and hard to understand, and sometimes God decided to keep quiet and just to let it happen. And there was nothing he could do against it.

„Daddy?“

He tried to shook his thoughts off; this was Rose's time, and he didn't want to ruin it for her. „Mr. Kurdy can't play with you this weekend,“ he answered. „He needs some time for himself. But we could go, visit Michelle, would you like that?“

…

Rose loved Michelle; the young woman always told her stories from the old world and taught her long-forgotten children's games. But today it was just half the fun. Rose couldn't get rid of the words in her head.

„Go and find him,“ the voice had told her. „He might need your help.“

Though she actually wasn't living in the Mountain, she knew the ways around there. It wasn't difficult to find the quarters, the door with two names on it: Kurdy Malloy. Jeremiah Johnson. She hesitated a moment before she knocked and finally pulled it open.

The room was only small; a bunk bed, a chair, a table, and two old chests. The light was dim because the neon lamp on the ceiling was turned off. It smelled of sweat and booze; the air was sticky. Kurdy was lying on his bed, panting hard, a half-filled bottle in his hands.

Rose bit her upper lip; she knew Kurdy for some months now; he was a nice guy, always laughing, playing with her, and often he had some candies in his pockets. This guy on the bed was like a stranger, and he scared her. For a moment, she thought about it to turn around and run away. But then the voice was back again.

„Don't go! He needs you, Rose!“

And she knew what she had to do. „Mr. Kurdy,“ she whispered.

He virtually jumped up, stared at her with wide-open, deep-red eyes. Rose winced slightly when she noticed a big knife in his hand.

„What the hell,“ he yelled. „Leave me the fuck alone.“ Only then he seemed to recognize her. His hand started to tremble, and the knife dropped down onto the floor with a loud bump.

„Rose,“ he whispered. „What are you doing here?“

She breathed in deeply before answering. „He's told me to come.“

Kurdy narrowed his eyes. „Your Dad?“

She shook her head. „No. A voice, in my head. Sometimes he talks with me. But don't tell my Dad, he always looks so sad when this happens.“

For a while Kurdy kept silent. „Get it,“ he finally answered in a tired voice. He dropped back onto his bed, closed his eyes again, hoping that she would realize that all he wanted was to be left alone.

But she stepped closer, put her small hand onto his big one.
„He says it is necessary to make sacrifices because we are not ready for the new world yet.“

Kurdy felt rage seething up; he clenched his fists; the urge to kill was almost overwhelming. Kill … kill … kill. Destroy the world because a world without Elizabeth had lost every significance. It was only a split of the second; then he did remember: Rose! She did nothing wrong. She and all the other children in the world deserved a chance to live. This was why Elizabeth had never stopped fighting.

When he started to tremble, he felt her fingers touching his sweaty forehead. „It's okay,“ she whispered. „Maybe you can tell me about her.“

„About her,“ Kurdy repeated, feeling numb.

„Elizabeth,“ Rose answered, "That was her name, wasn't it? I know she is dead, but that's not a reason to be desperate. My mom died, too, when I was a baby. But Sister Hannah says she's still here, watching over me. As long as I remember her, she will be a part of my life.“

It was so easy, Kurdy thought when you still were a child. So innocent, always full of hope. But he knew better, he had seen too much, had done too much since the Big Death had turned his life around. Everyone's life.

He couldn't forget that Elizabeth was buried deep in the dark earth, and nothing would bring her back. Never again, he would touch her hair, wild brown curls, falling on her shoulders. He would never hear her soft voice singing again, or her laughter. She was gone forever, and she had taken every hope, every light with her.

Tears were running over his face. Rose gently wiped them away, put her arms around his neck. For whatever reason, it felt comforting. And his thoughts started to drift off.

„She loved these little glass figurines, had a whole collection of them in her room. I remember the day I gave her the first one. It was a little dog, with a much too big bow. Not very pretty.“ He chuckled slightly. „But when she unwrapped the small box, her eyes were outsparkling the sun falling onto the dog. And I thought that she was the most beautiful woman I've ever met..."