Hi. Commare here. This is my third story to add to fiction.net
I'm working on this one, and I'm a bit nervous because I'm having these great ideas for it, and I really hope it turns out all right. This story, so far, is pretty much pre-Voltron, but don't worry; we'll see the rest of the guys and our favorite princess really soon.
I hope everyone will give me their opinions, even if it's flames. I'm one of those people that just eat up responses and constructive criticism because I also utilize them.
I hope you enjoy.
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Now on to the story.
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Black smoke filled the air, and dark mud was everywhere, splattered and mixed in the blood. Lying in a trench made from a missal, two bodies hid, halfway covered by the frigid water that had accumulated there. One, a young woman, had her arms wrapped tightly around the other, her little boy of five or six. The child buried his face into the crook of her shoulder and trembled convulsively, much too frightened to cry. His father had already been lost in the confusion, probably dead, and more civilians were dropping all over the ground. There was so much noise and chaos, screaming bullets, screaming laser fire, screaming missals, people yelling, soldiers yelling, machinery grinding, fire howling, explosions. But his mother held him firmly in her grip, determined not to let go.
The soldiers were shouting at each other in their harsh, ugly language, but the small boy understood them, comprehending one of many languages he knew. They were sacking the small fort, the exploration settlement that was home for the last year and a half to various scientists, explorers, and researchers. This slaughter, however... this massacre... was simply something to kill the time until further orders were given. They were barbarians, these soldiers from another world, cruel and irascible, sordid in their warfare, and brutish in culture. Their only goal, it seemed, was to either dominate or terminate. And this settlement of research was sadly being subjected to the latter.
"Come, Pedrian." His mother whispered in his ear, pulling him to his feet, and the moment of anxious tension was gone, replaced by panic. People, wailing and moaning and screaming, littered the scorched and destructed settlement, their mouths open and their eyes wild. All of them had gaping wounds, missing limbs, and burnt flesh, sending off putrid smells and dying on the filthy and blood-soaked ground. Shaking uncontrollably, Pedrian almost felt guilty that he was still alive while those poor souls cried and wailed in agony. He would never forget those sounds; they would haunt him in his sleep until the day he lay on his deathbed.
His mother had a tight grip on his hand and was pulling on his arm as they ran. Too little. He was too little, and he could not keep up. Out of the corner of his eye, however, he saw a soldier spot them and raise his firearm. In a spurt of adrenaline, Pedrian hurled himself forward and knocked his mother to the ground. They slid at least three feet across the slick ground, the sound of the zanging laser fire ringing in their ears. One of the braver civilians tackled the soldier, and mother and son scrambled to their feet again, heading toward the forest that lay a hundred feet away.
Some of the civilians were fighters, some of them simply defending their families, and a few of the soldiers had gone down, their weapons seized. But still, the scientists were grossly outnumbered, and holding off humanoid creatures with heavy armor and hides twice as thick as a person's was proving to be fruitless. This settlement would not last, and the only thing anyone could do was try to escape. Women and children headed for the forest, men trailing behind in their best efforts to cover them.
His mother was yanking on his arm again. He didn't want to complain, even though he thought she might pull his shoulder from its socket; she was frightened for the both of them, and it would do no good for him to slow them down. So he pressed his lips together and pushed his legs to their fullest extent. But fait would be cruel to him that day. Someone from far off called out his mother's name, and she turned her head, slowing her steps for just a tiny moment. It was enough for Pedrian to lose his footing and fall to his knees. His mother whirled about, then, and looked down at him, just about to pull him back up, and as he turned his gaze upward to look into her face, he saw assurance in her eyes. An expression that said that things would soon be better, and there would always, always, be someone to love him. No matter what.
An instant later, she lurched forward, and her face arched upward toward the sky as a blossom of scarlet began to bloom across her mid section. She fell into the mud beside her child, her lips parting as large, shining hazel eyes misted over. Gaping in horror, Pedrian grasped at her sleeves and tried to pull her up. "Mamma!" He cried out in a hoarse voice, raw from the smoke. "No! Mamma!"
She was smiling sadly at him, reaching up sludge-caked hands to touch his face even as the crimson flower grew and grew, taking her life further and further away from her. Pedrian resolutely stopped pulling at her sleeves and clasped one of her hands in his two little ones. He was looking down at her in grief and an emotion that spoke of wisdom far beyond his years.
"Give me a kiss, my darling." She breathed softly, her face composed and beautiful. Obediently, he leaned forward and brushed his lips upon her cheek. The soldiers were shouting orders now, and they immediately dropped everything they were doing to scatter away to their ships.
"I love you, Mamma." Pedrian whispered. Curling up beside her, he laid his head on her shoulder and felt her arms wrap gently around him.
"I love you, sweetie." She mouthed into his ear. And then there seemed to be quiet from all around. The soldiers were gone in a matter of moments, and Pedrian blocked out the rest of the noise, shivering with the cold, and lying in wide-eyed shock. Dead. She was dead now. She looked like she was sleeping, serene and peaceful, displaying the promise that things would soon be better. Her arms were assuring and sweet, reminding him that there would always, always, be someone to love him... no matter what.
Something from deep within the small boy told him that there weren't enough tears to accommodate for all the times that would obligate crying. It told him of tragedies to come. So, shutting his eyes tightly, he willed himself to grieve quietly for his mother, send out a prayer, and then he lay there in her arms, trembling, feeling the warmth drain away from her and waiting for the few survivors to come and find him.
************************************************
Chip Segrin found his little sister, Brenda, looking out the front window of their home. He sighed and rolled his eyes. "Brenda... they won't be here for another half hour."
The four-year-old girl turned from her perch on the headrest of the couch. "What will he be like?" She asked.
"Get off of there, and maybe I'll tell you." He answered, going over to the bookcase and scanning for his algebra text for next week. It was a little bit advanced for a nine-year-old, but Chip was smarter than most nine-year-olds.
Brenda had scuffled over and was soon standing right behind him. "Tell me." She persisted in her little voice.
"Well..." He began carefully, "He'll be really sad for a while, because his mom and dad died."
"How come?" Asked Brenda, her eyes wide and a bit worried. The distraction was making it harder to concentrate on reading the bindings of the books.
"Because of the war. Those aliens from Doom have been going around and terrorizing every planet they can get their grubby paws on. They attacked a star system where some people were studying. A lot of people died."
"Oh…" The girl moaned sympathetically. "Will we make him happy again?"
"Sure we will. But you'll have to give him a little time." He answered, echoing the very words his mother had used a few days before.
"How much time? Will he play with me?"
"I don't know, Brenda. Dad says he's six... that's two more than you." Where was that dumb book?
"Awwhh," she whined a little. "Can't I cheer him up at all?"
Chip paused to look down at her. "Sure you can... Maybe mom knows how. Go ask her." He watched her dart off, then went back to searching for his... what was it? Oh, algebra. Chip had to admit, the whole "foster child" idea sounded a bit exciting, and he, too, was anticipating his father's arrival with the new boy. He would be gaining another brother. What would they do together? Maybe Chip could take him out and teach him to play some baseball or how to ride a bike or something. Mom had said that the boy's lifestyle hadn't really given time to do those sorts of things. It was because his parents traveled, a lot, and he never had the chance. Chip finally found his algebra book and sat down, but he didn't open it.
That couple that died, the Nichols... they had been old family friends to the Segrins. Chip faintly remembered that they had lived close by for a while, when he was three or four, but they would soon be leaving again because they both were scientists, in this field or that, as well as explorers for the Military. They were on the Board of Science, and they had been assigned to work together. They were kind of young, and they had had been given a little time off because of the baby they had recently had. That boy who would now be part of the Segrin family.
Chip remembered Mr. Nichols was really tall. And lanky. His hair was sleek and dark brown, his arms and legs seemed to go forever, and he had the most interesting set of glasses Chip had ever seen, large and round. When the time came that Chip ended up needing his own spectacles, he chose a very similar pair. Mr. Nichols absolutely loved him for that, laughing delightedly when he first saw them.
Mrs. Nichols was really pretty, he remembered. She was small and delicate, and she had auburn colored hair that curled into spirals and waves around her head and down her back. Chip remembered her better because she kept treats in her pocket for him. Both the Nichols' were really nice; he liked them a lot. Chip found it very hard to imagine that they had died... horrible deaths at that. It was saddening. They used to baby-sit Chip sometimes, and Chip's parents sometimes baby-sat the little Nichols boy. Pedrian, his name was.
Curiosity overcoming him, Chip stood and went to the window, leaning his head over to see down the street, much in the same fashion his little sister had moments ago. Would Pedrian be absolutely unreachable? What does seeing your own parents' slaughter do to a person? Would he cry a lot? Would he not want to talk to anyone? What would he be like? Not wanting to make himself impatient, Chip went back to his chair and forced himself to open his book and read some of it. He actually managed to absorb himself in a problem, his black-haired head bent forward, making pencil scratches in the book as he worked it out, and sooner than he thought, he heard the family car pull up the drive. He'd barely stood when Brenda came dashing through the front room and took hold of the doorknob. She was too little to open the door, though, and Chip came and pulled it open. Their mother was soon behind them, a loving hand on each of their heads.
There was his father, Torant Segrin, stately and handsome as always, and beside him, clutching his large hand in a death-grip, a small, pale boy, Pedrian, smaller than Chip expected. He was scrawny and short, looking almost malnourished, and there were faint shadows under haunted, large hazel eyes. His hair was dark auburn, darker than his mother's was, and it hung limply to his ears. The expression on his little, elfish face held a mixture of fear and hope as he peered with wide eyes through a pair of... Chip blinked in surprise. Were those Mr. Nichols' old glasses? Large, round, and wire-rimmed. Chip was beginning to feel like he may have gained a twin. The thought was both pleasant and amusing.
"Hi." Brenda stated loudly as she trotted forward to meet her new brother. The little boy was just a little taller than her and looked down into her face, a half of a nervous smile working its way around his mouth. "Are you Pigeon?" Brenda then asked, causing Chip to stifle a groan.
"His name is Pedrian, honey." Torant said patiently. "And this is Brenda."
"Hi." The boy said in a small voice, allowing Brenda to boldly take his other hand. She looked up at him fondly.
"We're going to have lots of fun, Pigeon. You and me and Chip." In emphasis, she skipped the last two feet to the door. "Look mom! My new brother! Look Chip!"
Chip and his mother looked down at the boy, and he looked back up at them a little shyly. Torant cleared his throat.
"Here's Nehinn, my wife. I don't suppose you remember her?" He asked. Pedrian glanced up at him a brief second.
"Yes, I kind of do."
"You were very tiny, dear. But it's good to see you again." Said Chip's mother. Pedrian smiled a little.
"And Chip. He remembers you." Torant continued.
Pedrian scuffled his feet a little. Chip was about to say something; he wasn't sure what yet, when the younger boy said frankly, "I like your glasses. They're like mine."
Chip let out a relieved breath. "Yeah. Great minds have great fashion sense." To his pleasure, the sad smile gave way to a sincere grin. He thought he even heard a faint glimmer of bubbly laughter from somewhere in Pedrian's throat.
"Are you hungry?" Nehinn asked as Torant deposited Pedrian's hand into hers in order to scoop Brenda up into his arms. "I hope so, because dinner is almost ready."
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That's it for now. Please tell me what you think. C and C gladly welcome.
I'm working on this one, and I'm a bit nervous because I'm having these great ideas for it, and I really hope it turns out all right. This story, so far, is pretty much pre-Voltron, but don't worry; we'll see the rest of the guys and our favorite princess really soon.
I hope everyone will give me their opinions, even if it's flames. I'm one of those people that just eat up responses and constructive criticism because I also utilize them.
I hope you enjoy.
*********************
Now on to the story.
*********************
Black smoke filled the air, and dark mud was everywhere, splattered and mixed in the blood. Lying in a trench made from a missal, two bodies hid, halfway covered by the frigid water that had accumulated there. One, a young woman, had her arms wrapped tightly around the other, her little boy of five or six. The child buried his face into the crook of her shoulder and trembled convulsively, much too frightened to cry. His father had already been lost in the confusion, probably dead, and more civilians were dropping all over the ground. There was so much noise and chaos, screaming bullets, screaming laser fire, screaming missals, people yelling, soldiers yelling, machinery grinding, fire howling, explosions. But his mother held him firmly in her grip, determined not to let go.
The soldiers were shouting at each other in their harsh, ugly language, but the small boy understood them, comprehending one of many languages he knew. They were sacking the small fort, the exploration settlement that was home for the last year and a half to various scientists, explorers, and researchers. This slaughter, however... this massacre... was simply something to kill the time until further orders were given. They were barbarians, these soldiers from another world, cruel and irascible, sordid in their warfare, and brutish in culture. Their only goal, it seemed, was to either dominate or terminate. And this settlement of research was sadly being subjected to the latter.
"Come, Pedrian." His mother whispered in his ear, pulling him to his feet, and the moment of anxious tension was gone, replaced by panic. People, wailing and moaning and screaming, littered the scorched and destructed settlement, their mouths open and their eyes wild. All of them had gaping wounds, missing limbs, and burnt flesh, sending off putrid smells and dying on the filthy and blood-soaked ground. Shaking uncontrollably, Pedrian almost felt guilty that he was still alive while those poor souls cried and wailed in agony. He would never forget those sounds; they would haunt him in his sleep until the day he lay on his deathbed.
His mother had a tight grip on his hand and was pulling on his arm as they ran. Too little. He was too little, and he could not keep up. Out of the corner of his eye, however, he saw a soldier spot them and raise his firearm. In a spurt of adrenaline, Pedrian hurled himself forward and knocked his mother to the ground. They slid at least three feet across the slick ground, the sound of the zanging laser fire ringing in their ears. One of the braver civilians tackled the soldier, and mother and son scrambled to their feet again, heading toward the forest that lay a hundred feet away.
Some of the civilians were fighters, some of them simply defending their families, and a few of the soldiers had gone down, their weapons seized. But still, the scientists were grossly outnumbered, and holding off humanoid creatures with heavy armor and hides twice as thick as a person's was proving to be fruitless. This settlement would not last, and the only thing anyone could do was try to escape. Women and children headed for the forest, men trailing behind in their best efforts to cover them.
His mother was yanking on his arm again. He didn't want to complain, even though he thought she might pull his shoulder from its socket; she was frightened for the both of them, and it would do no good for him to slow them down. So he pressed his lips together and pushed his legs to their fullest extent. But fait would be cruel to him that day. Someone from far off called out his mother's name, and she turned her head, slowing her steps for just a tiny moment. It was enough for Pedrian to lose his footing and fall to his knees. His mother whirled about, then, and looked down at him, just about to pull him back up, and as he turned his gaze upward to look into her face, he saw assurance in her eyes. An expression that said that things would soon be better, and there would always, always, be someone to love him. No matter what.
An instant later, she lurched forward, and her face arched upward toward the sky as a blossom of scarlet began to bloom across her mid section. She fell into the mud beside her child, her lips parting as large, shining hazel eyes misted over. Gaping in horror, Pedrian grasped at her sleeves and tried to pull her up. "Mamma!" He cried out in a hoarse voice, raw from the smoke. "No! Mamma!"
She was smiling sadly at him, reaching up sludge-caked hands to touch his face even as the crimson flower grew and grew, taking her life further and further away from her. Pedrian resolutely stopped pulling at her sleeves and clasped one of her hands in his two little ones. He was looking down at her in grief and an emotion that spoke of wisdom far beyond his years.
"Give me a kiss, my darling." She breathed softly, her face composed and beautiful. Obediently, he leaned forward and brushed his lips upon her cheek. The soldiers were shouting orders now, and they immediately dropped everything they were doing to scatter away to their ships.
"I love you, Mamma." Pedrian whispered. Curling up beside her, he laid his head on her shoulder and felt her arms wrap gently around him.
"I love you, sweetie." She mouthed into his ear. And then there seemed to be quiet from all around. The soldiers were gone in a matter of moments, and Pedrian blocked out the rest of the noise, shivering with the cold, and lying in wide-eyed shock. Dead. She was dead now. She looked like she was sleeping, serene and peaceful, displaying the promise that things would soon be better. Her arms were assuring and sweet, reminding him that there would always, always, be someone to love him... no matter what.
Something from deep within the small boy told him that there weren't enough tears to accommodate for all the times that would obligate crying. It told him of tragedies to come. So, shutting his eyes tightly, he willed himself to grieve quietly for his mother, send out a prayer, and then he lay there in her arms, trembling, feeling the warmth drain away from her and waiting for the few survivors to come and find him.
************************************************
Chip Segrin found his little sister, Brenda, looking out the front window of their home. He sighed and rolled his eyes. "Brenda... they won't be here for another half hour."
The four-year-old girl turned from her perch on the headrest of the couch. "What will he be like?" She asked.
"Get off of there, and maybe I'll tell you." He answered, going over to the bookcase and scanning for his algebra text for next week. It was a little bit advanced for a nine-year-old, but Chip was smarter than most nine-year-olds.
Brenda had scuffled over and was soon standing right behind him. "Tell me." She persisted in her little voice.
"Well..." He began carefully, "He'll be really sad for a while, because his mom and dad died."
"How come?" Asked Brenda, her eyes wide and a bit worried. The distraction was making it harder to concentrate on reading the bindings of the books.
"Because of the war. Those aliens from Doom have been going around and terrorizing every planet they can get their grubby paws on. They attacked a star system where some people were studying. A lot of people died."
"Oh…" The girl moaned sympathetically. "Will we make him happy again?"
"Sure we will. But you'll have to give him a little time." He answered, echoing the very words his mother had used a few days before.
"How much time? Will he play with me?"
"I don't know, Brenda. Dad says he's six... that's two more than you." Where was that dumb book?
"Awwhh," she whined a little. "Can't I cheer him up at all?"
Chip paused to look down at her. "Sure you can... Maybe mom knows how. Go ask her." He watched her dart off, then went back to searching for his... what was it? Oh, algebra. Chip had to admit, the whole "foster child" idea sounded a bit exciting, and he, too, was anticipating his father's arrival with the new boy. He would be gaining another brother. What would they do together? Maybe Chip could take him out and teach him to play some baseball or how to ride a bike or something. Mom had said that the boy's lifestyle hadn't really given time to do those sorts of things. It was because his parents traveled, a lot, and he never had the chance. Chip finally found his algebra book and sat down, but he didn't open it.
That couple that died, the Nichols... they had been old family friends to the Segrins. Chip faintly remembered that they had lived close by for a while, when he was three or four, but they would soon be leaving again because they both were scientists, in this field or that, as well as explorers for the Military. They were on the Board of Science, and they had been assigned to work together. They were kind of young, and they had had been given a little time off because of the baby they had recently had. That boy who would now be part of the Segrin family.
Chip remembered Mr. Nichols was really tall. And lanky. His hair was sleek and dark brown, his arms and legs seemed to go forever, and he had the most interesting set of glasses Chip had ever seen, large and round. When the time came that Chip ended up needing his own spectacles, he chose a very similar pair. Mr. Nichols absolutely loved him for that, laughing delightedly when he first saw them.
Mrs. Nichols was really pretty, he remembered. She was small and delicate, and she had auburn colored hair that curled into spirals and waves around her head and down her back. Chip remembered her better because she kept treats in her pocket for him. Both the Nichols' were really nice; he liked them a lot. Chip found it very hard to imagine that they had died... horrible deaths at that. It was saddening. They used to baby-sit Chip sometimes, and Chip's parents sometimes baby-sat the little Nichols boy. Pedrian, his name was.
Curiosity overcoming him, Chip stood and went to the window, leaning his head over to see down the street, much in the same fashion his little sister had moments ago. Would Pedrian be absolutely unreachable? What does seeing your own parents' slaughter do to a person? Would he cry a lot? Would he not want to talk to anyone? What would he be like? Not wanting to make himself impatient, Chip went back to his chair and forced himself to open his book and read some of it. He actually managed to absorb himself in a problem, his black-haired head bent forward, making pencil scratches in the book as he worked it out, and sooner than he thought, he heard the family car pull up the drive. He'd barely stood when Brenda came dashing through the front room and took hold of the doorknob. She was too little to open the door, though, and Chip came and pulled it open. Their mother was soon behind them, a loving hand on each of their heads.
There was his father, Torant Segrin, stately and handsome as always, and beside him, clutching his large hand in a death-grip, a small, pale boy, Pedrian, smaller than Chip expected. He was scrawny and short, looking almost malnourished, and there were faint shadows under haunted, large hazel eyes. His hair was dark auburn, darker than his mother's was, and it hung limply to his ears. The expression on his little, elfish face held a mixture of fear and hope as he peered with wide eyes through a pair of... Chip blinked in surprise. Were those Mr. Nichols' old glasses? Large, round, and wire-rimmed. Chip was beginning to feel like he may have gained a twin. The thought was both pleasant and amusing.
"Hi." Brenda stated loudly as she trotted forward to meet her new brother. The little boy was just a little taller than her and looked down into her face, a half of a nervous smile working its way around his mouth. "Are you Pigeon?" Brenda then asked, causing Chip to stifle a groan.
"His name is Pedrian, honey." Torant said patiently. "And this is Brenda."
"Hi." The boy said in a small voice, allowing Brenda to boldly take his other hand. She looked up at him fondly.
"We're going to have lots of fun, Pigeon. You and me and Chip." In emphasis, she skipped the last two feet to the door. "Look mom! My new brother! Look Chip!"
Chip and his mother looked down at the boy, and he looked back up at them a little shyly. Torant cleared his throat.
"Here's Nehinn, my wife. I don't suppose you remember her?" He asked. Pedrian glanced up at him a brief second.
"Yes, I kind of do."
"You were very tiny, dear. But it's good to see you again." Said Chip's mother. Pedrian smiled a little.
"And Chip. He remembers you." Torant continued.
Pedrian scuffled his feet a little. Chip was about to say something; he wasn't sure what yet, when the younger boy said frankly, "I like your glasses. They're like mine."
Chip let out a relieved breath. "Yeah. Great minds have great fashion sense." To his pleasure, the sad smile gave way to a sincere grin. He thought he even heard a faint glimmer of bubbly laughter from somewhere in Pedrian's throat.
"Are you hungry?" Nehinn asked as Torant deposited Pedrian's hand into hers in order to scoop Brenda up into his arms. "I hope so, because dinner is almost ready."
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That's it for now. Please tell me what you think. C and C gladly welcome.