This one's a bit weird - was basically having a play with words and a concept that just wouldn't bug off...
Hopefully you'll all enjoy :)
Arty
The door to the hospital room beeped then slid open.
"Hello, Artemis!" called the demon in a sing-song voice.
The teenager's reply was muffled by his arms. "The note I left attached to my digi-chart clearly requests that no-one bother me today."
"But I…I didn't come to bother you." The demon's smile dropped. "I came to give you a present."
Oh, for the love of–
Artemis gritted his teeth and lifted his head from his desk. "I am sorry, No.1. That was very rude of me. You have not caught me in the best of moods."
"I know!" trilled the demon as the door wooshed shut behind him. "Holly told me that you've been grumpy for days! Cantankerous, irritable, difficult–"
"Stop."
The warlock winced. "O- Okay, Artemis. I suppose Holly did warn me not to do that..." He reached into the little satchel hanging by his hip and pulled out a thin, rectangular box. "Just something small," he said, handing it to the teenager. "I know you're missing home so I thought I'd give you a little piece of it – something human."
Artemis tipped the lid. Inside the box, sunk into a cushion of plush velvet, was a gold-plated fountain pen.
No.1 watched him anxiously. "I engraved it myself. It got a little… burnt in the process but it still works..."
The teenager stroked at the word 'Arty' etched in shaky English on the side of the shaft. True to the demon's word, there was a deep, black welt where the 'y' looped round to meet the pocket-clip.
"Thank you… very much, No.1."
"Oh, no problem!" The little demon beamed. "Again, just a little something. I'll leave you alone now, I know you're busy."
And with that he vanished, skipping out the way he had come.
Artemis sat quietly for a moment, squeezing the pen in his hand… before hurling it with all his might to the other side of the room.
"Argh!" he screamed, knowing that his heart rate was elevated, knowing that he was acting as crazed as his prognosis but for once not caring.
A pen? A pen? What was he to do with a d'arvitting pen? He was shut up in a room completely bereft of paper! Bereft of laces on his shoes, cutlery with serrated edges, a bed with detachable sheets! Just four solid walls and a hastily placed partition in the farthest corner, making five sides where once there had only been four.
He backed into the wallpaper, glaring at the pen lying forlornly at the base of the skirting board.
Now, of course, he felt guilty.
The heel of his left hand snapped up and smacked sharply against his temple.
No.
He clawed the wrist down.
He had to stop doing that. Butler had told him so. Hurting himself wouldn't solve anything.
But the action was almost like a reflex now.
No.
He closed his eyes.
"No." The word pushed past his lips. "You will stop it."
He opened his eyes again.
There. That has told me.
His back slid down the wall. He crouched, his T-Shirt rucking up above his ribs, before falling forward onto his hands and knees. The floor scuffed his skin as he crawled, as he lurched, stretched himself across the last few feet of floor until the pen was level with his face. He picked it up.
Arty.
The four-letter punch was dulled by the medication but his hands still managed a tremor. He turned it over in his fingers. His back grew cold against the slightly spongy, plastic flooring.
"Arty," he whispered.
I wish.
He sat bolt upright, clapping his right hand against the wall and ripping sideways; three, thin tears appeared in the paper. He rose to his knees and set to work in earnest then, clawing back strips of plum and sliver paper, ripping it, stripping it back from… the plaster? He couldn't be bothered to analyse nor care about what it was he was revealing; all he knew was that it was blank and white.
He pressed his arm to the wall.
"My… name…" He muttered as he scribbled. "is…Artemis… Fowl…"
The script wasn't of his usual quality. A five year old could quite possibly have done a neater, more legible job. But he felt strangely proud. He laughed, suddenly elated…
…and then the letters flashed gold and peeled outwards then upwards from the wall. The words split into phonemes, curved into wings, butterflies of lexis. They fluttered in front of his face, dancing, teasing. One kissed his nose and then – Poof – a single puff of glitter and it was gone. 'Name,' 'My,' 'in' and 'Fowl,' buffeted by the demise of 'Artemis', winged their way to the ceiling, nestling among the gilded light-globes and winking lazily safe above.
The teenager stared at them.
Then he looked at the pen in his hand.
He flung himself back to the wall.
"This… is…" he wrote breathlessly, his hand even more uneven than before, "a… magic… pen."
He sat back.
And nothing happened. He was just left staring at five, unmoving, spidery words. He put his hands up to the white. He pushed at the ink.
Still nothing.
He realised a frustrated breath...
…And 'magic' and 'pen' burst from the wall, trailing sparks like a New Year's firework. His eyes widened. He thrust his face closer to the plaster and blew with all his might. The rest of the sentence slipped from between his fingers, dripping to the floor in a flood of mangled consonants. The vowels raced between his legs and Artemis whipped his head around, just in time to see them disappear under the foot of his bed.
He scrambled to his feet.
His pen trailed across the wall, drawing bigger, shading rapidly…
…The inked sun exploded from the wall, blasting his weak irises with light. He fell back onto his rump, laughing, as the shapes behind his eyelids darkened from peach back to rosy pink.
When he opened his eyes again the wall was blank. He grinned and crawled closer. This time he drew limbs, a thin torso, a gun, a shining helmet…
… and Holly Short popped from the wall, landing catlike on all fours and shaking the glitter from her hair. She stood up, standing less than the height of Artemis's hand. Looking around her, she caught sight of her abandoned helmet and snatched it from the ground. She saw Artemis then and pointed up at him, squeaking angrily.
His eyebrows shot up. "What? What's wrong–?"
Holly jammed the helmet onto her head and gestured rapidly to her back.
"Oh," he muttered, "of course."
Artemis hurried back to the wall, sketching in solar plates, pistons, stealing occasional glances back at the elf to make sure his proportions were right. He breathed on his design…
…and Holly Short slung the wing rig impatiently onto her back. She buckled the harness, flicked the ignition and buzzed quickly to Artemis's eye level. The teenager stared at her, cross-eyed, her angry features unmistakable even at this scale. She squeaked at him, rolling her eyes, flapping her arms, before poking him hard in the nose. It felt as if he'd been prodded with a daisy stem. She huffed and somersaulted away from him, shooting to the ceiling lights and sending 'name,' 'My' and 'Fowl' scattering away from their perches.
Artemis watched her for a moment from the floor.
And then he began scribbling again…
…A gangly teenager in shining, crested, armour burst forth from the plaster, brandishing a great-sword in one hand and a golden shield in the other. He landed hard on mailed feet, flicking up the visor of his helmet and squeaking in a surprisingly cavalier manner. On the ceiling, Holly cocked her head. She swooped over the light-globes. The mini Orion swizzled, intent on chopping down this new enemy from above, but on catching sight of the hovering elf he ditched both sword and shield, dropping straight down to one knee. He spread his arms, squeaking eagerly in her direction.
"Meep!" he proclaimed. "Meep meep meep!"
Holly folded her arms. "Meep," she said, apparently unimpressed. "Meep, meep."
Orion shuffled closer. "Meep-meep, meeeep!"
Holly rolled her eyes and flew upwards. Orion ran after her, vaulting over a pair of complimentary hospital slippers.
"Meep!" he pleaded, settling into a sprint. "Meep, meep-meep! Meeeeeeeep!"
She ignored him, speeding up into the lights. The mini Orion slowed and seemed to wilt where he stood. He flopped down onto his armoured backside and sighed.
"Meep…"
Artemis frowned. He looked up at the elf half-hidden amongst his flutter-by words and felt a pang of pity.
Perhaps a common cause..?
He raised his pen. Horns, spines, lizard-like scales and some heavy shading later…
… Orion's eyes lit up as he spotted this new enemy, sprinting back towards his abandoned sword and shield as fast as his inch-long legs could carry him.
The dragon had four heads, four tongues, four feet, forty claws and a singular, scarlet and prong-humped body. Its plume was black and scarlet, its belly a dangerous, speckled plum. It turned its eight eyes on Orion and hissed. Then all four heads took a breath, their necks stretched forwards, and fire streamed from between their fangs. Artemis shielded his eyes with an arm. Orion flicked down his visor, scooped up his weapons, and threw himself right in its path. Holly gave a strangled cry.
Orion was barbequed. To put it simply. He froze in the midst of the blaze, gave a weak, smoke-choked squeak and crumpled straight to the floor. Holly shot down from the ceiling like a hawk that had spotted a sparrow. The dragon swung up its heads and flame streamed out in her direction. She spun away, dodging the worst of the inferno, and pulled her mini-neutrino from the holster at her waist. The dragon screamed as it was hit: a high, keening noise that forced Artemis to clap his hands over his ears.
Holly gave the dragon another five bursts of laser. The creature roared again and charged. Despite it only being the size of a reasonably plump Jack Russell terrier, the floor juddered as it ran and the elf's eyes widened. It spat out a torrent of flame and Artemis gave a cry of his own as the scarlet reared towards her… but the fairy swerved at the last minute, the fire only just catching at her boots.
The teenager gritted his teeth and reached for the pen.
On the floor, a metre from the skirting board, Orion was coughing soot from his lungs. He squeaked pitifully and raised a hand to his pin-wheeling beloved. Holly dove towards him. Then the dragon turned and she was forced to beat another hasty retreat.
"Corneliani," muttered Artemis, brows drawn, his hand scribbling rapidly. "Or perhaps the Canali?"
Holly squeaked at the armoured boy beneath her. Orion reached out for his abandoned sword. Then the dragon actually seemed to smile, all four hundred of its teeth glinting in the light from the lamps above. It took a deep breath. Holly's squeaks became decidedly more urgent, her arms flapping wildly. Orion's eyes widened.
"No," decided Artemis, "definitely the Westwood..."
… And a black-haired, spider-limbed teenager in bespoke Vivienne Westwood burst from the plaster, landing on the floor in tumble of arms legs and grey cotton. He staggered up and brushed the dust from his trousers. The mini Holly spotted him mid cartwheel, a jet of flame just soaring past her wing rack. She gawked at him… and then noticed the weapon abandoned at his feet. She began squeaking frantically, pointing and kicking. The newcomer scowled, squeaked his own, comparatively calm, reply before hoisting the 3.5 in HYDROAR M20A1B1 Rocket Launcher to his shoulder. It went off with a boom, sending the miniature teenager shooting backwards. The rocket itself spiralled towards the dragon which gave one last, piercing, wail before it exploded into a million pieces of scarlet glitter.
The elf slumped with relief. Then she sighed, adjusted her helmet and shot over to the collapsed black-haired boy. She dropped to the floor beside him, the red rain catching in her hair.
"Meep," he said weakly; he was exhausted, his limbs spread-eagled. "Meep."
She smiled down at him. "Meep, meep, meep."
He closed his eyes. "Meep…"
And she kicked him hard in the ribs. The boy squeaked indignantly and sat up. The elf giggled, blew him a swift kiss, and shot off.
Orion was just struggling to rise when she arrived.
She sighed. "Meep, meep?" She offered him a hand.
He took it and she hoisted him roughly from the floor, his mailed feet flailing for a moment before she dropped him back down again.
"Meep, meep, meep," said the boy, one hand pressed to his breast. "Meeeep! Meep, meep!"
The fairy wrenched backwards.
The other boy was just straightening his tie as he reached them. The elf sped over to him and grabbed his shoulders from behind.
He frowned back at her. "Meep?"
She shot out an arm towards the mailed teenager. "Meep, meep."
Orion looked suddenly wounded. "Meeep!" he protested. "Meep, meep, meeeeep!"
The black-haired boy raised an eyebrow. He smirked at the elf over his shoulder. "Meep, meep, meep."
Her face fell and she punched him hard in the shoulder. Orion looked suddenly angry. He drew his sword and spread his legs apart. "Meep!" he declared to Artemis. "Meep-meep!"
But Artemis only scowled and rubbed at his arm. Orion tore off one gauntlet and threw it at his twin's feet. "Meep!" he declared.
The mini Artemis scowled, snatched the neutrino from Holly's hip, and blasted Orion to the other side of the room. The blonde teenager collided hard with the wall and disappeared with a last squeak and a burst of golden sparks. The mini Holly gaped. She flew sharply upwards, turning only to stare disbelievingly at the only teenager left below her.
"Meep," she said, tears actually beginning to brim in her pin-prick eyes. "Meep, meep, meep."
The boy's expression fell. "Meep!" he squeaked. "Meep-meep!"
"No," breathed the fully-grown Artemis.
She shook her head, pointing accusingly at the point where Orion had just poofed out of existence. "Meep!" she spat. "Meep, meep, MEEP!"
A few vowels peeped tentatively out from beneath the bed, their phonetic wings twitching. The little Artemis could only stare at the fairy, his hands outstretched, his expression distraught.
"Meep," he offered weakly. "Meep, meep."
The little elf turned away, tears streaming, and buzzed to the ceiling, leaving only a trail of turquoise sparks in her wake.
"Meep!" cried the boy, trotting uselessly after her. "Meep-meep!"
But she was gone. The mini Artemis stopped where he was, his own eyes becoming glassy. He flopped down to the floor and buried his nose between his crouched knees. His shoulders soon began to shake.
'My,' 'I' and 'name' peeped warily down at him from the ceiling above. A few consonants floated to his side. A bold 's' ringed in a purple haze even nudged at his elbow but the boy didn't respond.
Artemis grasped the pen in his hand. He turned back to the wall…
…And a pencil, tiny, just a third of a toothpick, rolled across the floor before coming to to rest beside the boy's foot. He sniffed and looked at it with bloodshot eyes.
"Pick it up," ordered his bigger self.
The boy gazed at his creator.
"Pick it up."
The teenager got to his feet, dragged a sleeve across his face, and did as he was told.
It began with a boy, a little boy with shaded hair and a sharp suit. That boy drew another boy, then another, then another, until there was an army of teenagers scrawling over the white. They each drew a wave, waves that crashed, churned into oceans, rivers, lakes, against shores of sand and crag and brush, into savannahs, woods, moors prowled by creatures both tall and small. Some waves froze. They rose from the water, great behemoths of cold, kingdoms of ice ruled by shadows and things with teeth, and snow that snapped and bit at the others who all grew wings and flew away. To canopied rainforests and rolling valleys, prairies, meadows, mud pits, springs.
Artemis closed his eyes and blew.
Life began in a rush of colour. Tigers and foxgloves slipped between his fingers, mountains grew under his hands. A rebellious baobab sprouted beside his kneecap, forcing him back, making room for the cave that was crumbling beneath his left foot. The sun burned high, but this time his eyes were ready. He swept his arm over his head, ink splattering across the ceiling. New stars shone, moons, planets. Five swift equations, a breath, and the symbols peeled back from the wall – time had begun; the sun set behind his desk, the moon rose high above his bed, things were born and began to die; a circuit had started.
On the ceiling, the elf was watching.
The mini Artemis threw his hands towards her. "Meep!" he declared, a tornado stirring his jacket tails, rising, whipping his dark hair across his face.
This.
"Meep meep meep!"
This is what I would give to you.
"Meep meep!"
If it would make everything alright again.
The fairy came slowly, sinking through iron-bellied clouds and flocks of god-like swallows. She landed softly, neatly. The pencil slipped from the boy's fingers. She stooped to pick it up and smiled as she folded it back into his hand.
"Meep," she whispered.
She drew the point close to her chest, guiding the shape. He knew it; what child didn't? One low breath and it fell into his hands still warm.
He swallowed.
"What were you thinking?"
He heard feet. Heavy feet. Cold rushed over his own pale limbs. Artemis felt the plastic beneath his back.
"I'm sorry! I meant it as a present!"
The fairy and the boy sank to the floor, vanishing into dust and nothingness. The mountains crumbled, the oceans washed away. The sun burnt out.
"He's ill! He's not in his right mind!"
Stars imploded, forest and grass and rock all faded. Above him, his words burst into fluffs of colour, puffs of vowels and silent 'p's.
"I'm sorry!"
He blinked as the doors swept open.
There was a sharp intake of breath.
"Artemis."
Four figures stood, appalled, at the door of his suite. What was left of it. The walls were black with ink, stripped of the paper which was scattered in tatters about the floor. Symbols, insignias, letters, notation, numbers, formulae; the plaster was black with it. And so was the boy himself.
Butler swore and shoved aside a stunned Argon and No.1. The teenager looked up, muttered. He was trembling, ink bleeding from between his teeth. He was hefted up into muscle-knotted arms.
"My wallpaper," Argon was moaning, his nails dragging at his cheeks. "My beautiful wallpaper." Butler growled at him and the gnome's hands slipped. He caught sight of the black dribbling down his patients chin. "Take him to the next room," he said, sobering. "I'll need to check for any ink poisoning before we can get him cleaned up."
The bodyguard nodded and they stalked away. The little demon stumbled after them, his chest hitching.
Holly Short allowed their footsteps to fade before taking a step inside the teenager's abandoned room. She looked up, took in the star-spattered ceiling, gazed at the animals with their dripping faces, the still-wet sun. She turned, crouched, picked her spot, and raising a hand to the wall, pressed her bare palm to the plaster. Ink stamped to her skin. She gave it a moment of pressure, gazing at the smiling stick-figures that flanked her thumb and little finger. She drew her hand away. She stood and stared a moment at the ink heart in her hand...
Ah, another brain dribble. Did a presentation a few weeks back on the relationship between word and image - thus, this was born. But I held myself back and didn't write it properly until now. Well, I say properly...
Review please? :)