Recount of The Mortal Instruments
Author's Note: This is one of my first stories. The format I chose is a type of omniscient third person, not in prose. Each stanza represents a different point in each of the five books. They center around Sebastian, Clary, and Jace. I was writing stories and this work just starting flying out of my fingertips. I didn't mean to write it, but it just sort of happened.
Tumbling, ascending, he reaches for the stars,
Not caring if he falls, he'll never fall so far
As to hit the ground. All around,
The sounds of a battle rage on,
His gold halo whipping about as the long
night strides with. Slicing, cutting, stabbing –
the noises of a rivalry at hand, the living
barely left to stand. On their own, they
rejoice to be in their home, their land, their Idris.
Somehow, fighting brother against brother,
Something seems amiss. Fighting one
Another, how can any side consider it a win
to slaughter brother, sister, or friend?
Will this pointless battle ever end?
At last, through a mire of blood,
A cease occurs; the end is not good.
Many dead on either side,
What did he expect from this dreadful fight?
The angel boy just smiled and stood still,
The demon boy said "don't stop,"
He said, "I will."
A cry arose from the din of the crowd,
With all those words, it didn't seem so loud.
But the meaning was heard, and the words understood.
Already gathered, they jumped into action,
The new rune offering some traction.
A binding agent, to bring two binaries together,
Pulling power from the ether.
The whorls and swirls add intricacies to
The secret weapon hiding within her,
Slowly escaping through her fingers,
The stark black lines moving through
the tip of the instrument, drafting worlds
within those secret words. As they grew,
motors flew, claws raked, wings take'd.
Pairs rose, night froze, demon drones
Went on. Howling in the darkness,
Racing the streets. Fire started, spread. Gold
Weaved within the eaves, stepping, springing, lifting above everything
Until his wings scrape against the heavens.
A chance, perhaps, perhaps, to dance.
A waltz with the one of love, the one
Adored, the never ignored. The flames
Meet the heavens, grating, eroding,
Ripping each other away until only
One entity remains. And then, a
Split, they never thought it could occur.
Him, torn from her, never seeing,
Never feeling the heat he so desperately
Needs. Angelic emptiness
Sweeps the surface of his soul. Unyielding
Shattering drags the shards of his weighted heart across his
Skin, deep gashes tearing apart the
whole of his essence. Screaming at his
unfortunate disaster, calamity burns
up any hope of ever starting
that fire again.
Soaring through the sky,
Crossing borders without scratching the ground,
They wound over bridges and treacherous roads,
All they could think about was the majesty
Displayed all around. They thought to
Never return home. Almost, they achieved
their splendid rebellion. An obstacle
sprung, a trap closed, motor
sputters, until they fall. Twisting,
wringing the air, the wings evaded,
escapades abounding. No chance
to regain height, momentum tossing
their limp, helpless bodies into the
concrete, asphalt grinding against
their skin. Together, they rose from
the black street, bruised, tattered, and
shredded, but breathing. Her sweater
torn to threads, his leather jacket
snared and ripped in many places.
Hand in hand, they laughed
their survival off as they left footprints on the
street.
Thank you for reading; reviews welcome. Also, sorry if the spacing is a little off.