Imogen

“You don’t have to keep going.” A small voice said from behind him.

Atlas looked back at Imogen. “Do what?”

She gestured at the tents, the people around them. “All this.”

“Of course I do.”

“You can stop.” Her hands were balled into fists.

“Gen, I have to do this."

“No you don’t!” She shouted.

Atlas shook his head, shocked. It was the first time she’d ever raised her voice with him. “Don’t you remember what the Empire has done to us? To our parents?”

“Of course.” She echoed. “But you’ve done enough. We’ve had our due. We don’t need to keep fighting anymore.”

“If we stop now, everything will go back to how it was. The Empire will go back to how it was. Nothing will have changed.”

“And if we don’t stop now, we’ll be no different from they are.” Imogen stepped closer, her grey eyes beginning to glisten with tears. The wind flicked her hair around her head. “Can’t you see what’s happening? What you’re becoming?”

“What would you have me do?” Atlas stepped towards her, his initial shock turning to anger. “The Empire needs to be overthrown. If not for us, then for everyone else, the generations to come.”

“Then let them fight this war.” She threw her hand out at the encampment. “Not you. You’ve done your part.”

Atlas looked at her incredulously. “Are you giving up?”

“No!” Imogen ran her hands through her hair. A tear escaped her left eye. “I’m not giving up, I’m letting go.”

Atlas looked at her for a long moment. Then, quietly, “What would you have me do?”

“We’ll sneak out while they sleep. We can take a boat, sail off in the night. We can come clean, start over.” She stepped closer. “Atlas, we have the rest of our lives. I don’t want to see you die for this cause.”

The wind died. To Atlas, the whole world ceased to move. The noise of the camp around them faded out of existence; all he could hear was Imogen’s breathing. Her heart thudded loudly in the silence, threatening to break free of her chest.

“I’m sorry, Gen.” He said finally. “I started this. I have to see it through to the end.”

The tear began to make its way down her face. She turned and began to walk away. “Then you’ll have to go on without me.”

“Imogen, stop!” Atlas grabbed her hand.

“No!” She yanked her hand away and stepped back. Her face was filled with fury, but none of it touched the sorrow in her beautiful grey eyes. “When I first met you, you knew what you were trying to do. You were trying to help people. To stop the suffering the Empire wrought.”

“I’m still trying to—”

“No, you’re not.” Imogen shook, her jaw clenched almost as tightly as her fists. “This isn’t about helping people anymore. You won’t stop until the Empire and everyone in it is either dead or in chains. You’ve long since stopped giving them a chance to redeem themselves.”

“They have killed our friends! Our family!”

“And we have killed theirs!”

They stared at each other, three feet apart and miles away. The camp around them truly had gone silent now, anyone nearby either politely leaving or listening intently.

“Why can’t you just let this go?” Imogen asked. “Why can’t you trust anyone else to do it?”

Atlas shook his head. “I just can’t. I need to finish this.”

Imogen stood for a long time, tremoring faintly. “Fine,” she said finally, running her hand through her hair. “Fine. But I won’t follow. I can’t watch you, what you’re becoming. I wish you luck, Atlas. And I hope you realise before it’s too late.”

“Gen, please…” Atlas held out his hand, but the grey-eyed girl just turned and walked away, disappearing in the maze of tents. He felt a drop of rain land on his outstretched hand, then another on his shoulder. The rain gradually increased, pouring from the grey sky, until Atlas felt he might drown under its weight.


Look! More Fifth Citadel!
Feedback and criticism is welcome.

The Slow Regard of Silent Things.

I finished this novel a few days ago and I felt the need to write about my feelings at the time of finally shutting the book. So I wrote.

The Slow Regard of Silent things is a book that ends on paper and not in your mind, a book that you close and hold and feel with your eyes closed and heart open and you feel. I have read books like this before, books that whisper to you when they're nearby, books that fill a hole in your soul that you didn't know existed and yet you know you are bigger inside for it. The Slow Regard of Silent Things is a rare thing, an experience more than a story and yet a story still. It makes me want to write and think and feel and laugh and love and look at the world in a way I haven't done before, in a way I'm not sure I can. Much of the book is spent finding things that are perfect, that fit in their place. This story fits, perfect and whole inside of you without pretending to be something that it is not. And if that's not enough to make you want to read it, I don't know what to give you.

Remember

The angel was heavy in Stacy’s arms, but still lighter than a person its size would normally be. Its eyes were open, staring, less a single colour and more a prism reflecting all light in different, constantly changing directions. Its skin was alabaster, not in colour but its smooth and unyielding nature. No, it was paler than alabaster, an almost blinding whiteness matched only by the wings that unfolded from its back. The wings were spread wider than the angel was tall, the tips only just brushing the ground, far to each side. The feathers that touched the ground were wet and gold from the pool of blood that spread gradually around Stacy, steadily dripping from the gaping hole in the angel’s chest. The angel’s eyes moved slowly, ponderously, until they met Stacy’s.

“You caught me.” It said. It did not speak the words, but Stacy heard them regardless.

Not trusting herself to speak, Stacy simply nodded, tears streaming from her eyes. She couldn't remember when she had started to cry. The angel seemed to sigh, although whether it was capable of breathing Stacy was unsure. The prismatic eyes burned brighter for a moment and Stacy was aware of the angel’s hand at her temple. She hadn’t seen it move.

“Remember this, Stacy.” The angel spoke-without-speaking. “When the darkness draws close, when you feel you have lost your way, remember this.”

Stacy felt a searing pain in her temple and screamed, her entire body convulsing, soaking her jeans further in the golden blood. Before she was aware that she made a noise, the pain was over and the angel’s arm was back in its lap.

“How do I fix this?” Stacy’s voice came out cracked and broken. She didn’t know how long she had been crying for. “How do I help you?”

The angel smiled, an expression so full of kindness and benevolence that Stacy almost forgot that it was dying. “You cannot help.” It replied. “My time is done. Such is the will.”

The angel drew in a breath and let it out slowly, the sound like a flock of doves taking flight. By the time it had finished sighing, Stacy was alone, kneeling in a room she didn’t recognise, her hands soaked with the blood of an angel. She stayed in that position, crying until her eyes dried up and then for a while longer. The blood dripped like honey, each drop swallowed eagerly by the pool under her. Her temple throbbed in time with her heart, but somehow she knew that it wasn’t her heartbeat she felt.

When her chest finally stopped heaving, she stood up. She had not noticed in her fugue state, but the golden blood had been slowly moving, draining from her jeans and forming a large shape around her; a circle but more complex, although she couldn’t say where or how. The blood began to glow softly, then brighter, then brighter still, until the entire room was awash in the golden radiance, so bright that Stacy had to close her eyes.

When she opened them again, she was in her room. Her jeans were dry, her hands clean, but she could still feel the blood on her palms and between her fingers. The pulsing in her temple had stopped, but not gone away. Stacy could feel it lurking just out of sight, waiting around the next corner, waiting until it was needed. A tsunami of exhaustion nearly brought her to her knees and she stumbled over to her bed, lying down fully dressed. She closed her eyes and within moments, woke up.




This was inspired by a couple of lines from Bridges, by Rise Against. If you listen to it you'll hear the ones I mean.