inkydink: dwagon (Default)
[personal profile] inkydink
 For [community profile] inkstains challenge, it was a dark and stormy night
825 words
just a little violence

*in case anyone who reads this actually read my previous inkstains entry,  the one with Nurian, (which I actually wrote as a one-off, but then I got to thinking " I spose I could do this" and things you think when people say nice things about what you write ),  this is the other lead character in the novel which I may or may not write depending on whether I can scrounge up some decent sentences
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It was a dark and stormy night when Sander finally saw.

The wind howled, almost muffling Pilak the Puppy’s pitiful whimpers, but Sander could hear the sound of him yelping between crashes of thunder.

At first Sander thought it was just the weather that had Pilak running around the garden in circles, jerkily trying to shake off something off his fur.  Rain? That was strange, Sander thought. Pilak was a Lab, he liked water, splashing in mud puddles every chance he could.  Maybe storms were just too different, too scary.

He opened the screen door, and he felt the wind lash at his face, whipping his hair wetly against his face. “Pilak!” he called, squinting against the beating rain. “Come in, boy!”  He took a step outside.

Instead of running inside as expected, the dog scrambled away, letting out loud hurt yips.  Sander rushed out to follow him, and he saw Pilak fall against the big rock at the end of the garden. He was on the ground, four legs flailing, shaking and whimpering in fear and pain.   

“Pilak! What…”

Pilak gave out another loud yelp, then whimpered some more. He was in pain, a lot of pain. A loud crash of thunder, a flash of lightning, and Sander saw why.

The lightning outlined little figures gleefully biting and poking tiny swords and lances into his dog’s poor body. He remembered when his grandmother told him to keep Pilak away from the anthill, the supposed fairy mound, the one where Grandma kept leaving the best parts of the meals they had. If they liked you, she said, they would give you riches and good health—white engkantos were good, unlike the black ones who were only evil.

He knew he always kept Pilak away from that mound—his grandparents always warned about the things that happened to people who angered the little ones. A neighbor who died of a lingering disease, after he had been tasked to raze an old mango tree growing over a giant mound. An aunt who disappeared after going near the engkanto mound, that they found three days later with her clothes torn, out of her mind. The neighborhood seamstress, whose business died, and afterwards, her children, then her husband, and finally, the seamstress herself, her heart broken. They said she didn’t believe in them and never left them anything, not even the ginger  they loved, that grew in her garden.

But Sander always kept Pilak well away from the anthill—they had no reason to torture him like that. He was just a puppy, a baby dog.

Another flash of lightning, and Sander saw the glint of tiny grinning teeth.

He was angry. They’d done everything to appease these little creatures, given them the best of their harvest,  their meals even when there wasn’t enough for the families.

And here they were torturing his poor puppy. These were the white ones.  The good ones? Hah.

They needed to be taken down, but nobody dared to fight them before.  He figured it wasn't because they were invincible or powerful.  Nobody could fight them because no one could see them.

Well, he’d seen them. They were just mean.

And tiny, he thought. Tiny enough for an eight-year old's feet to stomp.

He could see them every time the lightning flashed.

He ran to his dog, swatting away at the creatures he could only see in outline-- pale, shadowy little things of pure meanness.  He saw one faintly,  falling  into the mud behind the roses. Another one had been thrown against the bougainvillaea thorns and was trying to untangle his coat.  He swiped at the one biting his dog’s neck, making it bleed, and tried to squash him benath his feet, but the lightning was gone and he couldn’t see it anymore.  Others followed, scurrying away.  Another sheet of lightning rolled all over the sky, but there were no more of the creatures who were torturing his dog.

He carried the bleeding Pilak inside, covered the shivering dog with his blanket and turned to close the door, then stopped.

Horrible little things, he thought. They hurt too many people. They hurt his neighbors. They hurt some of his friends.

They hurt his dog.

He walked purposefully to the anthill, thinking of all the things his Grandma told him. If he hurt them, even by accident, they would make him sick, sick enough to die. They would hurt his family, and he wouldn’t be able to do a thing because you couldn’t see them to fight.  

Unless there was lightning.

There were still five or six months of typhoon season.

There would be lots of lightnng.

He walked to the anthill, and knelt. “You know this is war, don’t you?” he whispered. He couldn’t see anyone there, there was no lightning, but he knew they were listening.

Then he stood up and  stomped the anthill until there was only flat earth beneath his feet
.

 

on 2011-03-01 12:43 am (UTC)
silverflight8: Barcode with silverflight8 on top and userid underneath (_support)
Posted by [personal profile] silverflight8
Very intriguing! I like that you brought the supernatural into this; a piece that starts with it was a dark and stormy night seems well-suited for the strange goings-on in the garden. Terrible foreboding for the poor boy, though. I'd love to see if you have more of this story!

on 2011-03-01 07:19 am (UTC)
paganpaul: (Default)
Posted by [personal profile] paganpaul
Very good!
Now there is really a war happening...

on 2011-03-11 11:35 am (UTC)
thorarosebird: Blue cupcake (Default)
Posted by [personal profile] thorarosebird
Hello! I'm your stand-in editor for inkstains!

I loved your entry. :D The fairies sound absolutely horrible, and I'm intrigued by the setting of this, which I assume is in a country hotter than my own, what with the mangoes and typhoons!

I just have a few comments for you that I will list now, and I hope they are helpful. :)

"Pilak the Puppy’s pitiful whimpers"
<-- Good alliteration here, but "puppy" shouldn't be capitalised as it's not a proper noun or anything.

"jerkily trying to shake off something off his fur"
<-- Jerkily may not be the best adverb to use here; perhaps something more like "roughly"? Jerkily's an odd word for me, it doesn't often flow very well. Also, I think the second "off" should be "on"?

"Pilak was a Lab, he liked water, splashing in mud puddles every chance he could"
<-- Perhaps different punctuation here could make the timing of this better, such as "Pilak was a Lab; he liked water and splashed in mud puddles every chance he could."

"and he felt the wind lash at his face, whipping his hair wetly against his face"
<-- Be careful that two adjacent sentences aren't too similar in contruction, like here where you have "at his face" and "against his face" one after the other.

"Pilak gave out another loud yelp, then whimpered some more."
<-- Saying "some more" makes it sound quite casual, as if you're using whimpered as often as you can go get across the pain the dog's in, and whimpered is used a few times very quickly. Perhaps you can use fewer, and stronger, words and descriptions to show that the dog is hurt?

"A loud crash of thunder"
<-- This one is very much subjective, but "crash", especially with the hard c sound, doesn't seem like a the right onomatopoeia for thunder, which tends to be more like a growl or rumble. You can, however, leave this one, as it's quite plausible that thunder would crash!

"The neighborhood seamstress, whose business died, and afterwards, her children, then her husband, and finally, the seamstress herself, her heart broken."
<-- Again, be aware that varied punctuation can help you with your pacing in sentences that are this long. Like here: "The neighborhood seamstress whose business died, followed by her children, then her husband, and finally, the seamstress herself - her heart broken." It breaks it up a little more and takes away the monotony of many commas.

"He was angry."
<-- Show, don't tell! :) Instead of saying this, describe an action that show's he's angry, like clenching his fists.

"benath" & "lightnng"
<-- Watch for typos!

"If he hurt them, even by accident, they would make him sick, sick enough to die."
<-- I don't know for sure how old the character is, but the simple way in which he vows revenge for his dog being hurt is quite child-like. If he is an older character, you can probably do more to justify such a reckless thing - perhaps you can stress the pressure the sacrifices of food have had on him, or perhaps they've harmed one of his good friends? Not to say that Pilak being hurt isn't motivation enough - I have a dog myself and I'd be plenty angry in his position - but it's a pretty radical change of heart to declare war on killer fairies!

That's all I have for you; thanks for the fun read. :)

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