Writing Samples from Myko

[Crystalia]

This is one of the unedited excerpts from one of my novels that I altered for RP a while back. The novel it's taken from is still in the works. I'll add more samples to this thread as I locate them or craft them.


Sometime in the night, the sound of sirens had awakened her and since then she found herself unable to return to sleep, pacing in fear. It wasn’t an unusual habit for her anymore, but with the instilled curfew and the risks that had increased lately, being awake so long into the night was proving to be more hassle. No one could say that she didn’t have a good excuse for her inability to sleep in peace; she was like many of the escapee’s from the re-education camps. It wasn’t wise for her to ever relax her vigilance because the moment she did, she would find herself caught once more and returned to that dark hell or worse yet, sent to the institution.

The very thought of such a thing caused her to shudder. The fear was raw, living and leading her toward a need to run further. If she could get out of the States, then she would be free. Only the United States had the rulings in place that inhibited the things that she was known for. It was these thoughts that kept her pacing as she waited, the waiting seeming endless to her with the knowledge that her life depended on it. If she didn’t hear soon, she feared that she wouldn’t ever hear anything. That wasn’t something she wanted to bank her life on, especially with the knowledge that she had only had her freedom for the last month after spending nearly four years in her prison, in the torture.

She knew she had to be careful, knew that she couldn’t afford to be seen by the wrong people. More, she knew that the Agency had special task forces that were out hunting her and her fellow escapee’s. They had all gone their separate ways, but it didn’t stop Liandra from wondering when Agents would knock on the door of her hide out. Liandra James was a woman known by the Underground for creating new music, for making small films and for her dancing, but more she was known as having been in the Camps and survived.

The United States never had to worry about immigration unless those coming to the States were being oppressed in ways they felt was even worse then the entertainment and services bans. Which of course meant that the numbers of new immigrants had dwindled over the past hundred years since the ban took effect. Businesses weren’t allowed to make more then a certain amount of money each year, no entertainment forms were legal unless they were approved by the Government. This left music without lyrics as common place, legal formats but no movies or television shows unless they were educational. No dancing was allowed unless it was in a legal production.

Artists and Sculptors were only allowed to work with non living inspirations. Most that existed now were simply flowers and the sort. Anything else was contraband and punishable without trial. The creative sparks of those people were dying out and yet there were still those like Liandra that refused to ignore what was inside her and had done hard time because of it. There were those that said the camps were like a vacation, but that was pomp and circumstance told to the public so they wouldn’t know their loved ones that were taken away were undergoing tortures. It wasn’t just light deprivation or being locked up, there was so much more to it.

Liandra never wanted to return to those chambers again, they weren’t cages, it wasn’t bars… it was a cylindrical chamber barely tall enough to sit in, no window and a single closed door. Those inside that were being dragged out always felt like they were being pulled from a tunnel, if they could even see anymore. In her captivity, her eyes had taken on a slightly pale sheen but she’d seen worse. One thing about the camps, there was always something worse.

[Crystalia]

This one is an excerpt from a story that takes place some time after Liandra's own.


“In Congress today, a decision was reached that the world’s entertainment has now become illegal. All forms of music, television, art and movies will now be removed from the homes of individuals and any such things will be considered contraband. From this day forward, the only form of television that citizens of the world will be allowed to view will be those that are deemed educational. This is Nikki Rogers, signing off with one final message.” Though she had looked as though she were accepting everything that she was saying, the expression of the reporter changed just before the camera shifted off, “Rise up! Rebel! We have rights!”

Everyone in the underground was taught early what happened to Nikki after that broadcast, it was almost like being told a story about the boogie man except in this case the story was true and happening every day. It has been nearly four hundred years since that broadcast, yet the law still stands. If laws are broken, people aren’t placed in a prison, instead they are taken to re-education camps, or so they are called. In reality, the camps were used as brainwashing techniques and those that were considered successfully re-educated were released back into the community but those that weren’t were never heard from again.

Lowjackers, a faction of people that acquired bootlegged materials, are the one’s that risk the most. Anyone caught with entertainment propaganda, from an old tape to a DVD, from painting supplies to musical instruments; they were taken to the camps. Once in the camps, their age decided just what level of treatment they received. Most of those that were lowjackers or worked in some underground movement had heard of people being taken, seen loved one’s taken but never knew anyone that came back out.

That was why, the leader of one of the largest organized crime factions, Elysian Fields, was willing to pull out all the stops. Caleb Wright, had formed Elysian Fields when he was just fifteen, pulling together drug sales first, then later adding a prostitution ring and finally adding in a slaving cartel. However, there were three people in his life that meant a great deal to him. His sisters Gypsy and Myst, and his brother Wynd. At present his concern was with Gypsy, hoping she could withstand the treatment she was bound to be receiving long enough for him to find a way to get her out of there.

He couldn’t help but feel responsible for her being caught. If she hadn’t been coming to meet him, she wouldn’t have been anywhere near a raid area. But, that was neither here nor there, his concern now was with getting the information he needed to locate her with and spring her from the hell. He paced his bed chamber trying to determine just what he was going to do on that matter, Myst was sitting on his bed staring at him in silence.

As the door opened, he looked over to see their brother walk in. Wynd and Gypsy both looked like twins and though the four of them were quadruplets, one would never think Caleb and Myst were related to them. The reason behind this is both simple yet complex. Along with laws about entertainment, the government had also placed laws into effect on how many full term pregnancies a woman was allowed to have. Since the number was four, some of the women chose to have artificial insemination with two extra fertilized eggs. In this case, their mother Marissa had two of her own; Gypsy and Wynd then chose two more. As all four were implanted, she expected that only one would survive as was often the case.

Instead, she got four children. Wynd and Gypsy who looked Asian just like their mother, and then Caleb and Myst who both looked like complete opposites. Where Caleb had blonde hair, Myst had black, Caleb had gray eyes, Myst had green. Their height differed by about five inches where as Myst also looked beyond model thin and Caleb was extremely muscular. Of course, using forms of steroids would do that.

“Any news?” Myst’s voice sounded as she glanced at their brother with concern, her voice showing that she was on the edge of breaking down yet again.

Wynd shook his head, “Nothing. Silver is putting her sources into the mix to see if she can learn anything through her network, but she’s skeptical that she’ll find anything that can really help us.” His expression was saddened; the thought of never seeing his twin again was breaking his heart. Not to mention, the bond they shared told him that she was scared and in pain. He lifted a trembling hand to run it through his shoulder length hair and sighed deeply. “There has to be a way…”