To reply, post publically or e-mail the author at <deepquote@hotmail.com>
Enjoy!


The FFML Refugee List

First off,
I'd like to thank T Hackwood, and Gary for their corrections. Ya helped me
out alot guys! Thanks!

Second,  HELP!!! I still need some C&C anything from grammar to plot
devices...


I have one specfic question for the readers.   I am trying to create a scene
in which a man, I wont reveal who. Is fighting his own memories. No he does
not have amnesia, and no he aint stupid. I am looking to create the effect
that he is trying to forget and failing miserably.

Ok with that in mind. PLEASE C&C!!!!!!

Thanks

Deepquote


The Storm

by DeepQuote <deepquote@hotmail.com>

"No soul of earth was ever so rapt
to seek it's good or flee its injury
as I was.-"

-  Dante  "The Inferno" Canto II





                 Countless gray clouds flowed slowly across the night sky,
as the pale moon peeked from behind them occasionally. While the night was
still young, the storm brewing within theclouds had been there ever since
the day began. It was an unusual phenomenon. a large cold front had moved in
over the mountains, and suddenly stopped. With each passing moment, the
storm grew restless, wanting to be released from whatever force held it in
place. The cold front had slowly replaced the burning heat of day. This
brought down the temperature in the mountains to a cool seventy degrees.
Despite the peaceful nature of the night thus far, storm clouds hung in the
sky and intermittent thunder ruined the peace of the dark.


              Aeons ago, these mountains stood tall and proud high above the
land and sea. Time had not been kind to them, as rain, wind, snow and ice
had reduced them to rolling mountains  ravaged by nature, and smoothed out
by time.  The region was sparsely populated, almost all people preferring
the comforts of "civilization" to the simple pleasures of mountain life.
Some homes did dot the countryside, a good many of them abandoned, and more
than a few of them home to hermits and mountain men seeking solitude.  The
mountains were a place of peace, a place away from home, and more
importantly a refuge. A refuge sanctioned by the government to protect plant
and animals alike. To him, it was a comfort that no  more than a hand full
of people also sought refuge here.


             The old cabin was like any other you would expect to see in the
woods.  It's age was shown quite clearly by the colored timbers grey with
age, and the wind blown dust deeply imbedded within its old wall.
Surprisingly for all the cabin had seen, it was in remarkably good shape.
Upon closer inspections, bright new timbers reinforced the ancient walls.
Small flashes of moonlight revealed the new nails connect the walls back
together.  A section of new timber revealed the roof had recently been
patched. Candlelight illuminated the small windows, showing that someone was
indeed home. The cabin itself seemed to take on a half-built look with it's
new improvements and age old walls.   In front of the cabin was a large tree
stump. So large in fact, it most have towered over it's neighbors before it
fell.  Looking closely at the stump, one might come to the conclusion that
it was the death of that very tree which cause the creation of the cabin.

             In the very center of the old tree's grave marker, was its
murderer. Almost looking as old as the stump itself. Deeply imbedded in the
very heart of the tree was an axe. It's wooden handle extenuating at an
angle toward the cabin, as if pointing towards it's user. Following the
direction of the axe, we come across the cover porch. Sitting there alone,
and deathly silent was a young man. Clear blue eyes shone out into the night
from underneath a mop a unruly dark hair.  Slumped in a crudely made rocking
chair, the man sat unmoving, except for an occasional blink from his eyes.
Plainly clothed in a dirty white T-shirt and a simple pair of black pants,
the only thing remarkable about the young man was  the  emotion his eyes
guarded. This was a man who wore a guarded face.

         The look in this man eye's made people get out of his way, when
crossing his path. This expression would make any punk, not feel that today
was his lucky day. Off to the man's right was a small glass, filled with a
small about of an obscure brown liquid.  The man's first motion in the last
few hours were only to raise the glass to his lips and take a small sip.
Despite the small amount of the sip, the fragrant liquid burned the back of
the man's throat as it slid down into his stomach.  A small grunt was the
only reaction to the minimal amount of discomfort. Only his second glass of
the liquid today, the warmth spreads slowly throughout his body.

         The wind picked up speed, as countless trays sway to it's power.
More thunder rumbled ominously in the distance, an exclamation of things to
come. Dust and branches flew by as the wind continue to beckon, sending
debris away from the cabin, almost point down the path infront of the old
cabin.  As the wind picked up, and the thunder continued to roll throughout
the country side,  The old axe gleamed in the moonlight, as the man's eyes
rested upon it.  His lips formed into a small line as his memory cleared, as
he remembered. Swinging the axe in the heat of day, swinging the axe as the
day fell, and placing it in the very spot it was now. It hadn't taken two
days, but he had finally managed to fix up the old cabin. It had taken a lot
of sweat, blood and hard work, but he had done it. Although, he was no
carpenter, he was quite proud of the improvements, he had made to the old
cabin.

         For him rebuilding the cabin, had been the closest thing to therapy
he would allow himself. Working with his hands and building something
worthwhile, it was quite a feeling. It was also a good way to hide from the
reason he came out her. A reason he had left his home, his family, his
friends, and he hoped all his memories of....her.  She was the type of woman
everyone noticed, whether they wanted to or not. There was just something
about, some upsoken, unseen factor, which drew men, and trouble to her like
flies to honey.  The only problem was she enjoyed it too much. He didn't see
at first, but later after all was said an done. The truth did as it usually
does, it came out.  It hurt as the truth often does, however in this case it
was more dangerous than most. A man like him, could level a city block with
breaking a sweat, or even being caught for it. A man like him, had very few
people that could match him, and even less that would dare try to.

            It had been six months since... It all happened. Six months of
pain, distraction, memories, and eventually departure. Six months in which
to live, learn, and breath as if the past had never happened.  How can a
person rebuild himself or herself after a pain that lasted years?  He had
yet to figure it out. Out of answers, and out of patience, he sought answers
elsewhere. That path had lead him here, to the moutons, to the cabin in need
of repair, to the old bottle of bourbon hidden below the floorboards.  He
had yet to find his answer, but for some reason, he stayed. In his bones, he
felt the answer was here, maybe under a rock, or hidden in a tree.
The answer was here.

           Taking his eyes from the woods, he looked into his hands, hands
that learned how to fight since he was little, the hands that had defeated a
god, hands that has never failed him, hands that hand saved a great man
people from their own death. Death due to their own stupidity or due to the
inherent evil in the world. Saving people was his specialty, the knight in
shining armor, even if his armor has a few dents or scratches.  Right now,
he was learning the hard way, In order to save someone, you have to be able
to save yourself.  Scars from battle won, and battle lost adorn his hands,
calluses from a life of martial arts, and calluses from swing an old axe
also adorned his hands.

           With the combination of the wind and the moonlight, the  woods
took on a frightening transformation from nature to that of an area under
siege by the weather. Gusts of wind sent trees in every direction. Loose
leaves and branches followed small paths as the wind carried them along. The
moon's pale face no longer hid behind the dark clouds above. The moonlight
filtered in through the swaying trees, illuminating the howling winds as the
evening weather got worse.

        Then, it happened an unnatural rustle of clothes, the steps of a
sure-footed person as they prowled around the wilderness.  A glimpse of a
fleeing figure, and then the evidence of having no one there.  The smell of
ramen waffs through the air, mingled with okonomoyaki. Memories past and
present floated along with the howling wind. The ghosts of things left
behind, as if they were here saying...

" We are here to stay".

     He wasn't quite sure why he left, but he was quiet certain he didn't
want to go back.  His memory was not all that clear of what had happened on
his last day in his hometown. He was not even sure where his hometown was.
Waking up as you claw your way from under the dirt, was not good for your
memory. That was how he was born into this world. A gasp, a burst of
consciencousness, and a frantic race to the surface for oxygen.

         Place, people, things, they all seemed to float along his memory,
it was just the specifics that were not there. His name, the names of the
countless faces that haunted him each night.    And then there was her...
She was  the evil vigilant spirit. her image haunted him night after night.
The smile of a girl turned woman, and a woman who knew what she wanted. She
followed him everywhere, to sleep, to work, and even in the middle of the
day.

        She was a very beautiful woman, her long hair seemed to shine
brightly whenever, his memory envisioned her. The smile upon her face was
ever present, and her presence was like a calm breeze after a summer storm.
Beyond that, she was a mystery. No name, no location, and no relation to him
as far as he knew.  Who was she? What was she to him? Why did she haunt his
every waking hour?  He knew, he just was not about to tell himself.


      Then it happened, the storm broke and a light rain began to fall on
the mountain.  Flashes of lightning lit up the sky, and thunder rumbled.
The small sounds of the raindrops as they hit the roof were a soothing
sound. One of nature's most beautiful lullaby's. It was the type of sound
that calms.  He enjoyed this turn of events, for some reason, he was happy
to see the rain.  It's timid sound echoing through the cabin behind him was
very soothing.   Finally he was able to relax, finally he could close his
eyes and just ... sleep.


Sleep...


              Sleep...



                                  Sleep...




@@@@@@@@@@@AUTHOR NOTE
<Flash back to her...Pain...clue to what happened.>

This is where I need the help people!!!!!!!

<Storm takes on a bad turn, and then the running.>

         Pushing himself forward, he exploded of the porch, his body soaked
to the bone the moment he stepped into the torrential downpour. The only
pause  in his step was caused by the lifting of the axe from its
resting-place.  With measured breaths and fleet footed steps he ran deep
into the woods.  Bugs, Branches, weeds, and even the terrain itself fought
against him as he traveled deeper into the forest. Flying by at a blur the
ground and trees were hardly recognizable as he continued his mad dash into
the forest.

     The breath bursting forth from his lungs only to be replaced anew as
his lungs filled with the slow burn of exertion. His pulse racing
desperately trying to keep up with the made pace his mind had set for his
body. The pounding of his heart seemed to him the only sound as he burst
forward deeper and deeper still on his journey. His clothes clung to him
like a second skin as the effortlessly added at least ten pounds of water
soaked weight to his body.  His wild hair was matted to his head, moving
only to release a spray of water to get lost in the pouring rain. The joints
in his hands began to complain at the unnecessary bulk within them. The dead
weight of the axe was not helping the over exertion, he was putting his
exhausted body through.


       Running, running, simply running was all that matter as
he kept up his mad pace. The destination was not important, the why was
irrelevant, all that matter was he was running... running away from the
memories.



---------------------------------------------------------------------------
                     desaix@sysnet.net
Sir Desaix, member # 116 of the Knights of the True Fiancee
              anime  fanfics available at
  http://www.geocities.com/zednik.geo/fanfics.htm

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