(Jan '16) Prompt 2 - Renegade

[Naraness]

The second prompt of January is the word "Renegade"



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please visit the rules (http://role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=63004) thread or PM Naraness (http://role-player.net/forum/member.php?u=24919).

Happy writing!

[Griff]

Ugh, she had to write another one of these? The writer was annoyed, but at the same time knew she wanted the badge. Unwillingly, she started to write. What kind of theme was renegade anyway? Maybe somewhere there was a song about it…

---
Renegade. A person who betrays or deserts. That works. Leandra thought to herself as she wandered around the desolate wasteland. A battle had occurred earlier that day, the bodies still littered the area, soaking the ground with blood.

The injured around her were groaning, just barely clinging on to life, but Leandra ignored it. She ignored the suffering, content to chew her gum and smirk at her victory. Uninjured, she skipped, smiling and taking no action to avoid trampling the bodies and injured below her.

The battle wasn’t originally supposed to end up this way, in fact, Leandra originally tried to prevent this outcome. She was a general on the now dying side, and was loved by many. At home they even had posters with her asking for recruitment. Soon when the news of this loss hits home they’ll realize how ironic that is. Once the “The Iron Shield”, a champion of war who was sure to get the men she ordered home to their mothers, was now the opposite. She now sent those men to their deaths, willingly. Maybe they would call her “The Iron Executioner”, or even “The Iron Bitch”. Both made her giddy with delight.

Soon the army that she helped would invade her home, and all those that she once loved will die. Leandra laughed at that.

Hearing her laugh, a heavily wounded man grabbed at her ankle, he was unable to stand. Tripping, Leandra looked in fury at the man, before realizing it was one of her subordinates, a commander of one of her divisions.

“How…could you?” He sputtered and gasped, hacking out blood as he spoke.
Smiling as she watched the life slowly drain out of him, she replied, “Because,” she paused, “I just wanted too, I guess.”

Widening his eyes in horror, he swore at his former general before finally slipping out of consciousness, death wouldn’t be too long after.

Shaking the man’s hand from her ankle, she continued her way through the battlefield.

---

The writer bit her lip. What should she write now? Should she delve into this woman’s mind? Why was she crazy? Was there truly a reason? Or was she just evil?

---
As nightfall approached, Leandra started to wonder many things. Why did she do this? It’s not that she regretted it. No, she definitely didn’t regret it. Just, why? Was it money? She didn’t recall receiving any money. In fact, she didn’t recall anyone telling her to do it. The side she helped was actually surprised when she came to them. Why? Why was she fine with killing her family and friends? Leandra didn’t know the answer to this, and was quite shocked when she realized this.

Frustrated she paced around the battlefield once more. Why? This question kept repeating in her head, her mind completely occupied with that one question. So much so that she tripped and fell to the ground.

Glancing back at what she fell on, she saw a young girl, only about 19, her pale face and long eyelashes standing out against the dark moonlight. Her eyes were staring blankly out, and a trail of blood was leaking from her mouth. This girl was dead. This beautiful, innocent girl was killed, no slaughtered, in this battle, and Leandra still couldn’t find out why she did it.

Sitting up, she placed the dead girl’s head in her lap and closed her eyes. Still sitting on the ground, she combed the girl’s hair with her hands as she contemplated the question. What could she have wanted that made her want to kill her soldiers?

Looking down at the girl’s angelic face, she noticed it was at peace. Is that why she did it? No, that couldn’t be right. Why did she laugh at this massacre, at the death of all of these men? What did she want? Leandra hung her head in frustration as it started to rain. The rain ran red with blood. The blood of her soldiers. The soldiers that she trained, that she made sure were prepared. Why? Why would she do that if she meant to send them to their deaths in the first place?

Did she intend to do it from the start? Was it a spur of the moment decision? Leandra didn’t recall wishing her soldiers to die before. What happened? What was wrong with her?

Staring down at the young girl’s face, she suddenly felt her breaths coming in sharp and ragged. It was becoming harder to breath, like a lump at her throat. The feeling was alien to her. What was happening? She felt something run down her face, and saw drops of water appear on the girl that she was holding. Was she crying? Why was she crying? Suddenly she felt herself making an anguished, choked cry, like a desperate animal. She was sobbing her heart out over one girl, a girl that she had probably only seen once before.

A girl who she had sent to her death.

A girl who will never see her family again. Her family would probably be dead by next morning, seeing how she had allowed them to invade the city. Where was “The Iron Shield”? What was wrong with her? Wiping the tears off her face and sniffing, she rested the girl’s head and grabbed the gun, probably unused, out of the girl’s holster.

She had let her country die. She had killed thousands. She had no idea why. What was wrong with her? Why? Looking up at the pale moon, she felt the crisp, cool air breeze through the battlefield, briefly masking the scent of blood and bile. Staring at the bright stars, she wondered if they could see the carnage. All caused by her. Could taking one life redeem a thousand? Did it even matter? Closing her eyes, Leandra brought the gun to her head, fired it, and fell next to the young girl, her scarlet blood marring the girl’s perfect features.

---

The writer paused. She really hadn't intended this to be so dark.

I really didn't start this out so dark. It was supposed to be a tiny bit happier. I'll fix the grammar later.

[m139]

Renegade
beginning of story - and prequel to The Other Side


Run, run, run. The words echoed in his head as his feet hit the remains of what used to be a sidewalk. They're going to find you, they're right behind you. Run, run, run. Again and again the endless loop. And again and again his feet hit the ground.

It was a good running tune, even if it wasn't exactly true. Well, they were eventually going to find him. That part was true enough. However, he thought- at least he hoped- they were not looking for him yet. He did not have much time, but any time, even down to one extra second, was greatly appreciated. He just had to see it. He just had to. Just once, one time, even just a glimpse. It would content him, and it would be the last thing to do so, before he inevitably died.

Run, run, run. The words continued to repeat themselves as he got closer and closer. The trees were just as thick as before, but the remains of the road were getting wider and wider. He was nearing the city.

He had risked his whole life for this. And this time, he knew he would not be able to wiggle his way out of it. The Government, with eyes everywhere, was willing to let a few squirm and writhe free of its grip focusing its grasp on the more important people, but the Resistance- well, there was no way to get rid of them. Once they set their eyes on you, you were a goner.

He had joined them a long time ago. He really did not know quite when. Actually, come to think of it, he could not name a time he was not part of them. He had always known them, they had always been his brothers.

But not anymore. Now, they were after him. And all because of a silly little accident...

Before, he had been a good little resistance fighter. He tried to struggle against the oppressive government, who kept way more for themselves than they should have. He tried to help the oppressed people, becoming part of the system of spies, part of the system of informants, and even part of the system of snipers.

And it was part of his last mission when everything went down hill.

He was sent to kill a girl. Target couldn't have been more than twenty five. You will recognize her by the coat she wears. She tries to act like the people, so the coat is a bit raggedy. But you will know it. Sees this brown? And the inside is lighter than the outside. There will be a slightly gray patch on the back upper left shoulder. Black hair, straight...

And on and on went the details.

They had been right about one thing. She was easily identifiable. It was hard to miss any one who was as strikingly beautiful as she. Even in those worn out clothes, with the smudged bits of dirt all over her face, she could easily be seen for what she was: one of those special elites. He was not quite sure what she had done to get the attention of the Resistance, but it must have been pretty bad: how else could they kill such a beauty?

And so, that night, as she started to climb the city walls, in an effort to get a better vantage point over the city, he leveled his rifle at her. He would hit her squarely where it mattered, a quick and easy death.

Steady... Steady...

She reached the top of the wall, her back bathed in the moonlight. He was ready. He began to press the trigger.

And then she turned. His rifle wavered. He still hit her, but it wasn't the deadly shot he wanted it to be. As she fell forward, back into the city, she seemed to be looking straight at him, as he crouched on a side street. But there was no way she could see him right?

Right?

Either way, it wasn't like she could do anything. She was dead, quite dead, he was sure. After the shot, after the fall, there was no way it could be otherwise. Still, always best to be sure.

He took out his knife, and after listening a bit, ventured out towards where her body was ling. He knew this was risky, and he knew he probably should not be doing this. But he had to make sure. Or he had to see her face again.

Either way, he soon found herself beside her. She was face down, and if she was breathing, it was barely. Gingerly, he turned her on to her side, using the but of his rifle. so as to see her face.

Suddenly, her eyes shot open, and, gasping and staring past him, spoke, "There's... city. Better... ah... Outside... walls.... ah... ahh.. liiiiieeeed...

Then, she again her eyes shut. He could tell she was still breathing, and a bit curious as to her words, would have loved to stick around and see if she woke up to say more. But, in the distance, he could hear the guard coming. Quickly, he bent down, and with his knife slit her throat. And then, he disappeared, off into the darkness...

But just because she was dead did not mean that she was completely gone. No, her image lingered in his head, and her words, though few, repeated themselves, over and over. Until, one day, compelled as the result of too much time left alone to think, he asked at the meal table,

"What if there was another city out there?"

His friends near him all laughed, and one said, "Oh, come on. You know there's no other city but our own. All that's out there is just wastelands filled with contaminated soil. Why do you think they build such high walls to keep it from poisoning us?"

He smiled in response and said, "Just thinking."

At this, everyone burst out laughing. "Well, my friend, thinking is a very dangerous thing. But at least it brings stupid ideas for laughter." And they all continued eating and went back to the topics that usually amused them.

And he joined in with them, although always with an eye on the one at the end of the table. For, when he had spoken of another city, he had noticed the strange behavior of that man: instead of joining in the laughter right away, that man had for faltered for a moment. For a second, it looked as if that man had the look of pure shock on his face,

After dinner, he sought the man out. He found him alone in a hallway. The man was not much older than he himself, but just enough so that his age was starting to become visible.

"Hey!" the younger called.

The elder turned around and kept walking.

"Hey," he cried again, this time ran up to him. "What do you know about the city?"

It took a while, a bit of coaxing, as the other pretended not to hear him. But finally the other gave in. He told him how yes, there was a city out there, not to far off, directly east from here. The purpose of the Resistance, which had always been to reform this their own city, was to model it after the other. This other city, by this man's descriptions, seemed as if it were the best place on earth.

The other was some ways into the city when the younger blurted out, "Well, why don't we just go there?"

"And leave these people here to suffer under the government? No! The purpose of the resistance is to save everybody, not a few."

"Well, I can go. And maybe I can bring back some information."

The other chuckled. "I doubt you would make it a day outside these walls. And besides, you would be deserting our cause. How could you leave our people?"

"How could I not want to see this great city? Actually... why has not everyone been told of this?"

The other stared at him. "Don't you see, we don't need any more people like you. People who would desert our cause, just for a little thing. In the long run, it's worth it."

"Why?" the young man was beginning to grow angry, "Why should we suffer now? Why are we keeping people from an end to their suffering? Sure, the journey may be hard but... I can't believe you have kept this to yourself. I can' believe-"

Suddenly, the younger noticed the other was pointing a gun at him.

"I'm sorry." The elder said, his hands shaking, "but I can't have you just tell everyone." He closed his eyes, and pulled the trigger.

That was his mistake. The speaking, the closing his eyes... In the end, the other missed. And in the next few seconds, that man was dead, and the younger was out, running, running as fast as his feet would carry him.

[Kicks]

Everyone knows what the people outside of the church face from the believers coming from the inside. And though it isn't all believers that do it, it's enough to turn heads. To make people say "why so cruel?" And stray away from the church because they don't want to be part of something that they can't feel like they're part of the family.

But what about the members inside of the church? What about the ones that are in fact the very definition of what their brothers and sisters would classify as a renegade? A traitor to their beliefs and statutes. A person that did not truly belong there or had to repent for how they were born. Sometimes it's genetics and not the devil messing with your head. Sometimes the problem isn't with sin or whether or not you're faithful enough to God. Sometimes it's not your fault. Sometimes it's just something you're born with.

Something you can't control. If you could control, you would have gotten rid of it by now. Did they honestly think it was something you wanted to live with? That you chose to live with? Didn't they know that if there were a cure for it you would have prayed for that by now? Did they realize how many hopeless nights you spent crying and pleading with God to just get rid of it? To rid you of this awful curse?

But they only understand the simple things. They can only measure up something to either be good or evil. But what if something were neither? What if were just something that didn't fall into the category of "sin"? What if it were a genetic mutation passed onto you to haunt you for the rest of your existence? What if you didn't choose that path, but instead it was bestowed upon you like some crown meant for the king of all hell?

Didn't they realize how infuriating it was just for you? You're suffering with something invisible on your own and when you do pursue the help of your "brothers and sisters" they turn their backs on you and spit how unfaithful you are. How you're such a traitor. If only you had more faith!

If only that were the cure.

I wonder if they ever thought... if the thought ever crossed their mind... That maybe God has a better plan than just it being a simple thing like a lack of faith. I wonder if they ever thought as well that sometimes he lets these things happen to make us stronger. To give us experience to help others with the same problem down the road.

Had that thought ever crossed their mind? And if it were something that God allowed for the betterment of others, was it really a sin? Or was it simply a gateway to better things down the road? Something that was neither bad nor good? Maybe a curse to me was a blessing to held on others.

Countless days, nights, hours, minutes... I've spent thinking it over. I've ran it over my head multiple times. And these people only took seconds to come up with the conclusion that I was just merely faithless. That I could easily solve a genetic mutation if only I believed harder.

I could bleed from my knees of having prayed so long and they would still not be satisfied.

Seconds. It took them seconds to come up with the conclusion that it was a sin and a lack of faith. Such an infuriating thing. But also so hilarious. A twitch of a smile could be had from their statements.

If it took me months and years to think it over again and again and still not have an answer, then they surely can't have one within seconds of knowing.

Nothing is as easy as black and white.

And it's not God you feel disgust towards. You feel disgust towards the people that can make it seem so simple. The same people that if they looked at a physically crippled person they would not tell them that they just had a lack of faith. So why was the physical illness treated differently than the mental? Just because you cannot see it does not make it any different from the physical illness.

You would not tell a physically crippled person that they had a lack of faith and that's why they remained crippled. It's the same with those mentally crippled. Do not make it any different. Illness is still illness no matter what form it takes, what silhouette it has manifested itself into.

---

Her name was Maddelyn. She was a woman struggling with depression and anxiety. Many nights she tore herself apart with the thoughts that ran rampant through her head. She thought through all of what she was told at church, through all of what she knew to be truer.

She believed that her mental disorders were not a sin itself. Nor were they a product of sin. She was born with these disabilities, inheriting them straight down her mother's line. Her mother, her grandfather, and her grandmother before that all suffered with similar mental disabilities.

Though the stigma of mental disabilities remains unchanged, she was a hopeful soul that believed if she could change the mind of one person she had done enough for mankind. It would be enough to satisfy the gnawing voices in her head that she wasn't a sinner. That she wasn't unfaithful. She was merely misunderstood.

But things build up. And when you're part of the family that turns its back on you, it destroys you from the inside out. It makes you wonder what is between the lines and what lies outside of them. Is all that you had learned a lie? Or just what others think? Things begin to collide inside of your head as if the present curses weren't already enough.

Maybe the sin and the attack isn't from the inheritance of a curse. Maybe the attack comes out of the curse. Maybe those that and simplify things are the sinners and the attackers. Wouldn't that be a twist?

Confusing thoughts and theories were what kept Maddelyn from completely turning her back on her stricken family.

[~N~]

The atmosphere is warm, humid...

You can taste it... Her perfume, Her scent. Lingering in water droplets that hang like kisses waiting for lips and skin to lie upon. Floating there, above the drifting, puffed up islands of translucent visions, these scents lie upon the sighing winds, brushing like a tropical breeze over them. Caressing, languidly, over the hills and valleys, the peaks and troughs of rippling images, swirling within a sea of shapes and scented heat.

She sighs, sliding Herself back and underneath the silk slip of steamy waves that lap upon Her skin, leaving it glistening with sensual wetness, rosy with the glow of life flowing through Her veins, flushing Her cheeks with each quickened beat of Her heart, pumping out a harmony of relaxation and impassioned thoughts.

My company is hardly acknowledged, let alone desired.

Still, Her fingers rise, and approach. Sliding over me with mild disinterest, i imagine that She caresses me out of some sweet measure of secret affection. She wraps Her warm, soft, moist hands around me, coaxing me up, lifting me to verticality; a proud erection--the one tool fit and shaped for what She wants. i respond to Her touch, hard and ready to do Her bidding. She is my mistress, and my sole purpose is to serve Her as best i can.

She brings me closer, closer to Her body, which shifts and moves in anticipation. She's ready for me, ready to press me against Herself. But no, She must moisten me first, and so, She lowers me, dips me into the water, soaks me a bit in that warm wetness. She strokes, back and forth, with Her fingers, moving me this way and that, until She is satisfied that i am ready.

My mistress is very good to me.

She lifts me again, dripping now by Her preparations, and brings me against Her, finally. She presses, making me kiss Her skin, dig into it. She is my world, and i live to serve. Her body welcomes my touch, dragging over Her skin, digging in, caressing and leaving trails of my long strokes over Her sensuous body.

Her legs are a lovely wonder. Each time i stroke them, each time i caress them, they feel like silk. So smooth, so sensual, so sexy. She shifts them around me, and i move around them, over them, between them. i know every single inch of Her body, but i have spent more time on Her legs than any other part of Her, by Her own power and desire.

She's so very careful with me, usually, but sometimes, She is in a hurry, and i make Her bleed. She doesn't like that. Says dirty, filthy things; discards me after. Keeps me away from Her body after that happens. Until She comes for me again.

She has forgiven me. She comes for me, and wraps Her soft fingers around my hard body once again, and i know, we are going to be together once more.

I carefully trace up every inch of Her calf, Her shin, Her thigh, Her hamstrings, i get to explore every inch of Her. i taste Her skin, lick the moisture from Her thighs, and then, She plunges me back into the steamy wetness below. Swishing, stroking back and forth, at the pace and rhythm She decides.

Back and forth, back and forth.

i live to serve, and do my duty faithfully. In and out of the warm wetness i go, by intervals according to Her movements and ministrations. When i am out, i slide over Her skin, under Her arms, my tip caressing over Her forearms sometimes (on certain, special occasions) and under, around beneath Her arms. She is always so smooth, always so slick after i have caressed Her, dragged over Her warm, slick, wet body.

But She barely makes eye contact. She is above me in all ways, and Her eyes, barely noticing my presence with Her rhythmic strokes, remind me constantly, consistently, that i am here to serve only. My purpose is not pleasure. She uses me. She uses me and uses me and uses me.

i have known Her to do this with others. Use them. Use them and throw them away, discarded, like so much trash. i do not think less of her for it; She is a goddess and we are not here for any other purpose but to make Her more glorious in our sight.

Her movements are smooth, but mechanical. She knows the pattern, the rhythm, the routine. She performs it beautifully, with me in hand, like She has hundreds of times before. She knows which areas need extra special attention, which areas i am to spend longer in and upon than others. i say nothing, performing my duty in solemnity and silence, in reverence and worship to Her.

Pressing into Her skin, i slide along, slowly, carefully, savoring every bit of wet, white cream that lays delicately upon Her inner thigh. Lapping up every drop, gathering each foamy bit from Her silky, smooth skin, i take it happily from Her body, leaving glistening, divine perfection in my wake.

It is an honor, to make Her more attractive, more beautiful, more breathtaking than She already is. i live for these intimate moments together; hot, humid, flushed moments that we share in relative silence, with just the dripping wetness and the fragrant, scented humidity clinging to us like pearls of manna, fresh-fallen from its heavenly angel.

i know then when my task is done, i may be discarded as well. Set aside, forgotten, my duty performed to the best of my limited capabilities. But it is all worth it, so long as She is made more beautiful as a result. i have no higher purpose than this. i do not know the fate that awaits me. i wait, lingering in hopes of one more chance to serve; one more chance to be pressed against Her skin, for one time longer than those have come before me. That when She finally sees no further use for me, when i can no longer serve Her as She deserves, i may at least go to the place that all who have gone before me ended up, knowing that the others might know that i outperformed my predecessors in honorable service and duty to my Goddess. That She kept me longer than all the rest; that i lasted longer, endured and in enduring, pleased Her more than all of my brethren. Such an honor i may yet still dream of, as my Mistress finishes up with me.

And sets me aside.

Her Renegade Vixen XS300 razor.

[Kris]

I heard few more gun shots from behind the closed metal door. The battle was still raging on. Without me. Without her.

As I was lying there, more wasted than I ever was in my prom party, I watched her beautiful frame from afar.

"Did you know that educating and seducing have the same Latin root?"

I found myself counting the holes in the ceiling above as the lights flickered. The sensation of increasing wetness on my cloths made me realize the bleeding hadn't stopped. I couldn't feel my legs or my left hand and I could barely move the fingers in my right hand or my eyes.

And yet, I was eager to observe and as I looked slowly, I found myself to be sinking in and out of consciousness. Her back was still facing me.

"What do you think about that?"

Think? I hardly gave her words any consideration. I was bleeding to death for crying out loud. Can't the bitch be less melodramatic now and just kill me?

Or fuck me?

Either will be good. At least then I would go with a big bang. I kinda hoped that if she did decided to kill me she would aim for my head. That would be epic death.

Of course, being the bitch she is, she may go for my...

That would be an aweful way to go- even worse than having a spoon shoved into your eyeball.

Why am I trying to be funny now? No one can even hear my thoughts.

As I was blubbering to death I noticed her as she was crouching beside me with a scorched grin. Those lips of her. Always dyed dark. Who knew this was all to hide her shame. A mark of the Lilith, a Renegade symbol to the angelic freedom fighters of the Earth Space colony. And she was hiding it all along. Smart girl.

With horrible scar to be forever a mark of shame.

The tumult has died outside. The battle has ceased.

Did we won? Did we lose?

I looked above her only to find more space crafts still shooting at each other. Of course the glass window prevented me from hearing anything... or maybe I have gone deaf?

My god. Another proof I was about to bite the dust soon. Not good. I never wanted to die like this. Well... no one wants to die a hero.

My gaze slowly returned to her. Her dark eyes were hungry and her smile didn't fade.

God.

I always wanted to die in the arms of a woman... But I hoped both of us will at least be naked or something... Geez... I guess careful what you wish for... Have to spell it out exactly to our great Devi- I mean god. I'm sure he is having a blast somewhere, wherever he is. If he is up there.

"What do you think?", she asked again.

"Well", I said as I coughed blood on her face. Shit. How uncool. She cleaned herself and looked at me, waiting for me to go on, "I would say there is a wisdom there..."

"Why?", she tugged herself closer to me. Her body was cold.

I wondered why the need for the sudden intimacy only to find out I was capable to do a number on her as well. She was bleeding too, from her right arm and left leg... I think I also pierced her lung...

Man. It will be so cool if she had the same ideas as me. But then again she is the daughter of the Lilith Order so maybe it's unlikely? Besides I do wonder how much we can hump each other before we pass away...

Still... what a way to go...

"WHY?!"

She... hissed?? God my mind is almost gone.

Of course she seemed to be persistent... After all she pulled me by my shirt's collar and demand with such rage that her eyes almost turned red.

Maybe they did?

"Learning... there is passion there... You have to lure another to teach...", I smiled.

She let go and I fell back, hitting my head against the wall. Of course at that time nothing could have pained me anymore. I shook my head and looked at her as she viciously pushed me down.

Again... the pain ain't so bad... but damn woman... you can try to be a little nicer... I am a drying man for god's sake!

But as I looked up I couldn't bring myself to be upset with her. Not after I saw her smile. And I cringed. Within her black lips I could see the bleeding mark. Dry and black. Ugly. And it had swirled like a snake.

The Lilith Mark.

And as I looked more into it and as she was bringing those lips closer to me, her mark... her wound... seemed to be more contained - relocated on a sound spot, ready to bite, to infect.

And as crazy as this whole scenario was I decided to just go with it. I just wanted it all to end. And frankly, I wanted to taste her... it. Maybe if there was a small chance to life I would have never done anything and fought her off. But death brought me courage.

And as I braced myself forward and gave myself to her, surrendering myself to her lips... Which... and as crazy as it might sound.. have became more beautiful the more they approached.... The sensation of the promised death that will take over me the minute our lips were to touch was exhilarating.

I was so aroused I pushed myself at her.

And so we kissed.

Aggressive, hard, long and tongueful kiss where we both sucked each other of the remaining power and life that was left in our bodies. At the end she had the upper hand. I felt my mind was kissing this cold world goodbye.

I was the subject of this rough lesson... And so I have fallen from grace, into the pits of snakes and bliss of death, into the horrible nightmare of the otherworld.

Did I win?

Did she win?

Have we both lost?