Wind Singer
By Carbonated A.
'I looked out into the ocean and saw him, lying on the shore. He was still breathing.'
'When I finally opened my eyes, all I could see was sunlight, and an angelic face. A thought rippled through my mind. "Am I in heaven?"'
Chapter One: Unfolding
The sun was fading, and dark was taking over. A part of the blue-black sea shimmered with fiery gold; a final reflection of the sun's last rays. In the distance, twinkling stars started to appear, signaling the coming of night. The pale moon was halved, shining brightly in the swirled blanket of sky.
All else was silent, as the ocean's waves lapped up to the shore. A hermit crab or two scurried across the beach, fleeing to the safety of its home. The tide was coming in. pieces of driftwood and seaweed met with the shore, carried by the moving waters. A dog bark was heard in the distance, but that was all. Silence took over once again.
The seaside town of Grisnook was a small one, and had yet to be found on any map. It consisted mainly of fishermen, potters and their families, and the occasional storekeeper. One would find this community to be a quaint, yet friendly one, with their busy streets, merry shouts and clanging of bells whenever a good catch came in. the mayor himself was a simple man, accustomed to the fisherfolk's life that he had lived for so long. The locals respected him, yet, as always, there was more to be desired in spite of the man's good intentions.
Seldom would you see any folk from the mainland here; for Grisnook was isolated from the cities, and preferred to keep to itself. The sea was its life source, and the sky was its company. The sun would rise and set, yet nothing would break the quiet way of life that these people had enjoyed living for the past eight decades.
A light blazed in through the windows of a simple wooden cottage, built by the sea. Inside, a young woman sat by her typewriter, looking forlornly at a blank page. A half-empty cup of coffee sat on her desk, apparently forgotten. The woman sighed, and rubbed her eyes. She had had a long day today. Daily demand and constant brainstorming slowly wore her down.
A phone rang, shattering the silence. She stood up, and reached for the receiver. "Yes?" A monotonus voice responded. "Miss Arnoul, at what time would you like to have your meeting rescheduled?" it asked. The woman's eyes darted to the scarpped-up calendar. "Um, next week, at three." An awkward silence followed, then the sounds of several papers being shuffled. "Very well." Came the voice. "Mr. De Camio will see you at three." The caller hung up.
The girl replaced the receiver, and collapsed back into her chair. She stared at her typewriter, before slamming her fist onto the desk. "Why? I came here for rest and peace, and this, this is what I get?" she slumped against the backrest, cradling her head in her hands.
Francoise Arnoul was a writer. And Grisnook's newest resident. She was city born and bred, and knew nothing but the polluted atmosphere, the noisy highways, and the tall skyscrapers of the urban jungle. She worked for a newspaper, called The West Gale.
Initially, Francoise had relocated to Grisnook seeking rest and relaxation; a break from the hectic life she once led. But there are some things that cannot be escaped, and The Gale was one of them. Upon moving to the seaside town, Francoise noticed with dread, the building labeled 'The West Gale'. It seemed that work followed her constantly, and she had no choice but to give in to it.
The young woman was of French descent, with blond hair, fair skin, and azure eyes. She was of medium height and build. Like a white flower in a vast meadow, Francoise's beauty was found in her gentleness and simplicity, and the fact that she had an open mind and an honest heart. Many had gone after her, yet many had failed. For she would have her heart broken only once.
She brought the empty cup to the kitchen sink. It was already midnight, and she needed sleep. The digital alarm clock on the desk chimed 12:01. She sighed. Francoise turned to glare at her typewriter one last time, before changing into her nightclothes. Above the lulling sound of the sea, a gull's cry was heard in the distance.
The sea breeze blew steadily, by the bay. It was night, and the little town was asleep. Bright stars twinkled through the clear patches of sky, in between heavy grey clouds. No living creature stirred the breaking of waves upon shore, save the hermit crabs and molluscs, scavenging for dinner, and clinging onto mossy rocks. A little sparrow hopped to and fro among the masts of anchored boats, nestled on the other side of the bay. It searched for food, like the crickets that filled the air with their nocturnal song.
Yes, this was night, in the little town of Grisnook, when the people slept and regained strength. While the night-creatures sang into the twilight, anticipating the sun's first rays.
The azure sea gleamed brilliant in the morning sun, as the crew of The Sea Dragon prepared to take off from Port Anuc, near the capital city. Professor Isaac Gilmore was holding an expedition with his team of archaeologists and treasure-hunters. The stout, stubby man was known throughout the scientific world, for his daring exploratory investigations into the unknown. This time, Professor Gilmore and his team were searching for the isolated graveyard of an extinct ethnic tribe.
The short, mild-mannered professor turned to The Sea Dragon's captain, Mr. Daniel Clem. "Captain, I trust we are all set to go?" he asked, eyeing the boat's keen white mast. The man nodded. "Aye, that we are, sir. It is the lad that delays us." "Lad?" Professor Gilmore shot a quizzical look at Clem. He was answered by a gesture to the spot behind him. turning around, the professor spotted a running figure, carrying his briefcase full of important documents. The old man chuckled to himself. "Ah, yes. I do recall sending Joe for my papers. Forgive me." leaving the captain, he turned to meet the young man.
"Professor. I got them." Panted Joe, handing Gilmore the leather case. The professor nodded his approval. "Thank you. Let's go then." with a click of heels, he and Joe began to climb the wooden staircase to the Sea Dragon's deck.
The slight but sturdy and fast sea vessel was painted white, except for a bright red dragon that blazed along its starboard side. Waiting at the top of the stairs was cryptologist Amy Brant, from New Jersey. She nodded, as Joe ascended the stairs, her sand-colored hair tossing in the light breeze. At last, they were ready to leave. The woman waved the signal to captain Clem, who in turn revved up the engines. Professor Gilmore then retired to his cabin to pore over some century-old manuscripts, describing the graveyard's location.
A soft sea breeze whooshed past their faces, as the Sea Dragon sailed out into open water. Joe remained on deck, walking to the railing. Clasping the cold steel, the young man stared out into the blue green depths. He could only guess what would happen next in their expedition. Was the team going to be able to uncover the secret that lay behing the Tegaworis' resting grounds? Would they even get there? The boy smiled half-heartedly. There were a million posibilities,and only one was to be decided upon. Each little occurrence prompted that decision. He sighed, and turned his head to the glass window where Captain Clem navigated from. Behind the man was Amy, acting as a backseat driver. Joe chuckled softly. Yes, there were millions of possibilities. And there was no telling which one was for him.
The digital clock read three a.m. on her desk. Outside, the sky was dark and moody, overcast by grey-black clouds. A soft, cold breeze came in through the open window. In her bed, Francoise shivered, and pulled the blanket closer. The young woman shifted in her bed, hugging the pillow tighter. Wshing. The clock read 3:01. She was having a dream. Her golden locks spilled over her face, which was coated with sweat. "ohh…" a frightened whisper escaped her lips. Wshing! 3:02. Francoise's headband clattered to the floor. The breeze stopped.
Then, as if called to do so, a raven cawed into the night. The hermit crabs escaped into their holes. The sparrow flew off. And waves crashed onto the shore, as they always did, and as they always shall. But,again, there are a million possibilities; and the day called Tomorrow is always unsure.
Hi! This is the first chapter of my story, and first Cyborg 009 fic. It's kinda short, but this builds up the setting for the events that are going to happen. Please read, review and criticize…but do not flame! Thanks, and till next chapter… Carbonated
Disclaimer: I wish I did…but I don't! Cyborg 009 doesn't belong to me…;;…but at least I have my oc's.