One of my friends said this story stunk, and I think she may be right, but its nice to get a second opinion. So, I'm asking you guys as readers to tell me if you think this story is as bad as she says it is. A simple yes or no review would suffice. I'm just curious, and I figured that the best place to find out was a fanfic site, seeing as that I wrote it as a fanfic to start.
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Forever Branded
By Hippoclymae
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Eyes wide with fear, heart pounding, sweat pouring. So many things happening, and in reaction to one simple thing. It moved closer, a piece of warped metal on the end of a rod, but oh the damage this could inflict. A drop of sweat fell, and sizzled as it evaporated against the red-heat of the brand. The man holding the torture tool grinned maliciously, he enjoyed his line of work. He was a heavy, solid man, and one eyelid drooping. No one knew how he'd managed to get it, by birth or by accident, and no one cared to find out. Which was so much better for him. He watched in amusement as the victim continued to struggle against his captors, courageous to the end, and he had to admit, that this one was the most entertaining yet.
The would-be receiver of the brand to come, was no more than a small boy, no older then 10. Inside, bravery wavered on the verge of fear, but nothing would persuade him to back down...nothing. He scrunched his eyes closed as the brand made first contact. At first, there was no feeling, as if the heat were beyond the flesh's ability to sense. But, seconds after, their followed a burning sensation, that worked up his entire chest where the brand was applied. There was no pain, just the heat, so incredible, his skin felt cold. He clenched his teeth, willing away the scream that dared to penetrate his lips. Nothing would get him to scream...nothing...he felt his world blacking out...everything was swirling. The boy suddenly fell limp.
Seeing that his amusement was to be cut short, the man removed the brand, and motioned for the guards restraining the boy to take him away. They obliged, half carrying, half dragging the boy back to the cell. Soon, he would be summoned...
******
Eriol huddled in the corner of a cell, hugging his legs against his body for warmth. The cellar-like prison was almost like an early freezer, being so far beneath the ground. He heard footsteps, and squinted as the door was thrown open. For the first time in many days, he saw light. The last time, was when they'd come to take his friend away. Was he next?
Someone was chucked into the cell like trash, then the door was slammed once again, bringing blindness. Eriol, believing the person to be his friend, started up a conversation.
" So, Syaoran, how goes the world above?"
The figure didn't reply, and Eriol took this to be a sign that something not good had happened. He scooted closer to the figure.
" Come on, Syaoran, old buddy. We've been friends since, what?, since you and I got dumped down here. Come on...just tell me what's wrong."
The figure still remained silent, and this time Eriol found anger at the silence.
" Look, if you're mad, don't take it out on me. I didn't bring this on you..."
No response. Eriol put a worried hand on his friend's shoulder. Suddenly, the door opened, and Eriol looked up. A guard stood in the doorway, carrying an unconscious heap. It was Syaoran! Eriol immediately looked to the person who's shoulder his hand rested upon, and discovered him not to be as expected...he, was actually a she...
Eriol immediately apologized, receiving only a silent look of glumness and fear. He hurried to attend the true friend, and cursed as the door was once again slammed. Feeling a little embarassed, Eriol searched the floor and found his friend's head. Seemed okay. He pushed Syaoran upright, and felt along the upper back. No scars, so it wasn't a whipping. Dread suddenly overcame Eriol. He turned Syaoran around, and put a hand right on the upper right hand part of his chest, where your heart would normally be felt. It was bumpy. No, they weren't bumps. They were blisters.
" So," Eriol said quietly," He's been Branded."
******
Syaoran woke as a nerve-wracking pain swept through his chest. He tried to get up, only to feel himself be forced back down. At first, he was incoherent, panicking at strange surroundings...but as the darkness adjusted, he realized he was back in his cell. Looking around, he watched two barely visible forms skulk about in the darkness.
" Eriol?" He croaked.
One of the figures approached, and he heard a hiss.
" Sssshhh. Lie back down...its okay...you've been asleep for 3 days."
" Three days!!!"
" Yes. Do you remember anything of what happened? Must have been rough to put you out that long."
" I don't remember much...except..I was about to be branded..."
" You were."
" What?"
" Branded. They branded you." Syaoran could almost see the solemn, serious look on Eriol's face.
" No. They didn't...they.."
" Feel." Eriol grabbed his hand and ran it across the flesh," Hmm? Explain to me what that is, if its not a brand, I don't know what is."
" It could be a scrape...I mean...burned flesh blisters...and I certainly don't--"
" Syaoran...we broke the blisters..."
" Broke?"
" That pain that woke you up? That was us, breaking the blisters so the scar would heal properly."
" Branded..." Syaoran nearly fell over.
" Yes..." Eriol's voice was quiet.
" Do you know what it means to be branded?" It was a stupid question: All prisoners knew.
" You two are being sent away...for the country."
Change of subject. There was no way, Syaoran was ever going to believe this.
" You mentioned 'we' before--"
" Yes. Saku and I fixed you up."
" Saku?"
Eriol's form moved away, and came back seconds later pulling a smaller, slimmer form. Syaoran reached out to shake hands, but the figure withdrew. Eriol came to the rescue.
" Saku is a bit shy...And who wouldn't be if they couldn't speak..."
" He can't speak?"
" She..." Eriol corrected.
" Why not?"
Syaoran could sense the hesitation.
" What?"
" It's just...a bit...gruesome."
" Oh? Well, after what I've been through, it can't be all that bad..."
" Oh, its worse," Eriol contradicted," Muchhhh worse..."
" Well, you might as well tell me, before I stew so much I'll break your neck..."
" O--kay..." Eriol said skeptically.
" Before you start, you might want to explain how she told you if she can't talk..."
" Just because she can't talk, doesn't mean she can't write..."
" And how were you able to SEE this writing? It's pitch black!"
" Not anymore..." Eriol grinned. He prodded an area of low ceiling, and the rocks tumbled down. Suddenly, a beam of light illuminated that part of the cell.
" And you didn't tell me this before, because---?"
" I just found it a couple nights ago with Saku. You were still unconscious, so there really wasn't anyway to tell you..."
" I see...now that I get that, what about that story."
"..."
" Well?"
" Well, a few days ago, it seems, Marcka decided he was sick and tired of his Mistress, 6th I believe, and held a little Execution Party. Saku here was serving as a entertainer, and Marcka fancied her voice and body..."
" That royal son of a--"
" HE.." Eriol interrupted," took her back to his place, ready for a 'wild' night. But, Saku resisted..."
" ..." Syaoran could feel himself already burning...already, tales of the Prince's Wild Personal life popped up in his mind.
" The Prince, insulted at being refused, had her branded...just like you--"
" And that's the gruesome part?"
" --except, he had it done on her throat..."
Though it was dark, Syaoran could almost see himself visibly wince at this. Saku had retreated to a corner of the cell, huddling in remembrance of her torture.
" Poor girl..."
" --I haven't even finished yet."
" There's more?"
" Oh, yes. There was one gruesome detail I neglected to mention. She didn't just lose her voice, as in 'there's a miniscule chance she can get it back' kind of loss."
" What do you mean?"
" I mean, this is permanent. Her voice is gone..."
" I don't understand..."
" It was removed, Syaoran...They cut it out..."
The image of this wrenched itself in Syaoran's mind...he turned and felt his way towards a support. His hands lingered, and suddenly he felt and uprush, a churning and before he knew it...had thrown up. Eriol patted his back reassuringly, as he emptied his stomach, as disgusting as it was. Meanwhile, Saku sat all by herself, trembling from a combination of cold and fear. She absently felt her scar, where they'd branded the wound shut. A hideous, disfiguring thing - Marcka's punishment: if she would not surrender her gift of beauty and song to him, then she was not worthy of it...
******
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Forever Branded
By Hippoclymae
*************************************************************************************************
Eyes wide with fear, heart pounding, sweat pouring. So many things happening, and in reaction to one simple thing. It moved closer, a piece of warped metal on the end of a rod, but oh the damage this could inflict. A drop of sweat fell, and sizzled as it evaporated against the red-heat of the brand. The man holding the torture tool grinned maliciously, he enjoyed his line of work. He was a heavy, solid man, and one eyelid drooping. No one knew how he'd managed to get it, by birth or by accident, and no one cared to find out. Which was so much better for him. He watched in amusement as the victim continued to struggle against his captors, courageous to the end, and he had to admit, that this one was the most entertaining yet.
The would-be receiver of the brand to come, was no more than a small boy, no older then 10. Inside, bravery wavered on the verge of fear, but nothing would persuade him to back down...nothing. He scrunched his eyes closed as the brand made first contact. At first, there was no feeling, as if the heat were beyond the flesh's ability to sense. But, seconds after, their followed a burning sensation, that worked up his entire chest where the brand was applied. There was no pain, just the heat, so incredible, his skin felt cold. He clenched his teeth, willing away the scream that dared to penetrate his lips. Nothing would get him to scream...nothing...he felt his world blacking out...everything was swirling. The boy suddenly fell limp.
Seeing that his amusement was to be cut short, the man removed the brand, and motioned for the guards restraining the boy to take him away. They obliged, half carrying, half dragging the boy back to the cell. Soon, he would be summoned...
******
Eriol huddled in the corner of a cell, hugging his legs against his body for warmth. The cellar-like prison was almost like an early freezer, being so far beneath the ground. He heard footsteps, and squinted as the door was thrown open. For the first time in many days, he saw light. The last time, was when they'd come to take his friend away. Was he next?
Someone was chucked into the cell like trash, then the door was slammed once again, bringing blindness. Eriol, believing the person to be his friend, started up a conversation.
" So, Syaoran, how goes the world above?"
The figure didn't reply, and Eriol took this to be a sign that something not good had happened. He scooted closer to the figure.
" Come on, Syaoran, old buddy. We've been friends since, what?, since you and I got dumped down here. Come on...just tell me what's wrong."
The figure still remained silent, and this time Eriol found anger at the silence.
" Look, if you're mad, don't take it out on me. I didn't bring this on you..."
No response. Eriol put a worried hand on his friend's shoulder. Suddenly, the door opened, and Eriol looked up. A guard stood in the doorway, carrying an unconscious heap. It was Syaoran! Eriol immediately looked to the person who's shoulder his hand rested upon, and discovered him not to be as expected...he, was actually a she...
Eriol immediately apologized, receiving only a silent look of glumness and fear. He hurried to attend the true friend, and cursed as the door was once again slammed. Feeling a little embarassed, Eriol searched the floor and found his friend's head. Seemed okay. He pushed Syaoran upright, and felt along the upper back. No scars, so it wasn't a whipping. Dread suddenly overcame Eriol. He turned Syaoran around, and put a hand right on the upper right hand part of his chest, where your heart would normally be felt. It was bumpy. No, they weren't bumps. They were blisters.
" So," Eriol said quietly," He's been Branded."
******
Syaoran woke as a nerve-wracking pain swept through his chest. He tried to get up, only to feel himself be forced back down. At first, he was incoherent, panicking at strange surroundings...but as the darkness adjusted, he realized he was back in his cell. Looking around, he watched two barely visible forms skulk about in the darkness.
" Eriol?" He croaked.
One of the figures approached, and he heard a hiss.
" Sssshhh. Lie back down...its okay...you've been asleep for 3 days."
" Three days!!!"
" Yes. Do you remember anything of what happened? Must have been rough to put you out that long."
" I don't remember much...except..I was about to be branded..."
" You were."
" What?"
" Branded. They branded you." Syaoran could almost see the solemn, serious look on Eriol's face.
" No. They didn't...they.."
" Feel." Eriol grabbed his hand and ran it across the flesh," Hmm? Explain to me what that is, if its not a brand, I don't know what is."
" It could be a scrape...I mean...burned flesh blisters...and I certainly don't--"
" Syaoran...we broke the blisters..."
" Broke?"
" That pain that woke you up? That was us, breaking the blisters so the scar would heal properly."
" Branded..." Syaoran nearly fell over.
" Yes..." Eriol's voice was quiet.
" Do you know what it means to be branded?" It was a stupid question: All prisoners knew.
" You two are being sent away...for the country."
Change of subject. There was no way, Syaoran was ever going to believe this.
" You mentioned 'we' before--"
" Yes. Saku and I fixed you up."
" Saku?"
Eriol's form moved away, and came back seconds later pulling a smaller, slimmer form. Syaoran reached out to shake hands, but the figure withdrew. Eriol came to the rescue.
" Saku is a bit shy...And who wouldn't be if they couldn't speak..."
" He can't speak?"
" She..." Eriol corrected.
" Why not?"
Syaoran could sense the hesitation.
" What?"
" It's just...a bit...gruesome."
" Oh? Well, after what I've been through, it can't be all that bad..."
" Oh, its worse," Eriol contradicted," Muchhhh worse..."
" Well, you might as well tell me, before I stew so much I'll break your neck..."
" O--kay..." Eriol said skeptically.
" Before you start, you might want to explain how she told you if she can't talk..."
" Just because she can't talk, doesn't mean she can't write..."
" And how were you able to SEE this writing? It's pitch black!"
" Not anymore..." Eriol grinned. He prodded an area of low ceiling, and the rocks tumbled down. Suddenly, a beam of light illuminated that part of the cell.
" And you didn't tell me this before, because---?"
" I just found it a couple nights ago with Saku. You were still unconscious, so there really wasn't anyway to tell you..."
" I see...now that I get that, what about that story."
"..."
" Well?"
" Well, a few days ago, it seems, Marcka decided he was sick and tired of his Mistress, 6th I believe, and held a little Execution Party. Saku here was serving as a entertainer, and Marcka fancied her voice and body..."
" That royal son of a--"
" HE.." Eriol interrupted," took her back to his place, ready for a 'wild' night. But, Saku resisted..."
" ..." Syaoran could feel himself already burning...already, tales of the Prince's Wild Personal life popped up in his mind.
" The Prince, insulted at being refused, had her branded...just like you--"
" And that's the gruesome part?"
" --except, he had it done on her throat..."
Though it was dark, Syaoran could almost see himself visibly wince at this. Saku had retreated to a corner of the cell, huddling in remembrance of her torture.
" Poor girl..."
" --I haven't even finished yet."
" There's more?"
" Oh, yes. There was one gruesome detail I neglected to mention. She didn't just lose her voice, as in 'there's a miniscule chance she can get it back' kind of loss."
" What do you mean?"
" I mean, this is permanent. Her voice is gone..."
" I don't understand..."
" It was removed, Syaoran...They cut it out..."
The image of this wrenched itself in Syaoran's mind...he turned and felt his way towards a support. His hands lingered, and suddenly he felt and uprush, a churning and before he knew it...had thrown up. Eriol patted his back reassuringly, as he emptied his stomach, as disgusting as it was. Meanwhile, Saku sat all by herself, trembling from a combination of cold and fear. She absently felt her scar, where they'd branded the wound shut. A hideous, disfiguring thing - Marcka's punishment: if she would not surrender her gift of beauty and song to him, then she was not worthy of it...
******