Other Windows and Mirrors (Northe’s Random Written Works)

Northe

Bird of Broken-Wings
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I suppose this was always meant to come. My hand has been itching for something for so long, I only hope this will satisfy it.

Hey there, I am Northe. I write. Kind of. Sometimes my brain renders me unable to work on my actual projects, so it decides to invent something entirely new. These new things rarely stick longer than a week until I’m back to the things I really want to work on, but there’s times when the new thing becomes an entire project.

But, this isn’t about those projects. This isn’t about what sticks and what doesn’t. This is about me. My stupid, annoying, overly-complicated brain. And the stupid little stories it decides to come up with. Maybe I’m doomed to write dead-end stories and plots that vanish into oblivion.

Nothing here has an ending. Nothing has an overarching plot. Nothing has a reason to exist. Nothing exists within the texts except for hidden silence and meanings unknown to the writer themself. Who even is the writer? Is it me? Is it my consciousness? Is it that voice who’s always whispering and wondering? Is it the characters themselves? Are they begging for someone to make meaning of their pitiful lives? Well, I’m the wrong person. I don’t understand the meaning in my own life, so how could I ever create one?

Windows and Mirrors. Windows into my soul. Mirrors of my life. Windows into worlds vastly different from our own. Mirrors of the world in which we live and breathe. Windows and Mirrors.



A collection of short stories, poems, other random things.

Index:
Story Number - Segment of the Story - Size of Story

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The land is vast and open, all waving grasses and rolling hills. A thin stone path can be seen weaving among the hills, climbing then diving back down. There are no trees, no clouds, and barely a breeze. The sun is ruthless, beating down upon the earth and grass. A shrill call of a ground dwelling bird echoes. It’s replied with the chatter of some mammal hiding between the tall grasses. Another bird swoops through the endless blue skies, hovering and diving between invisible unfelt currents. Its wings flare, twisting to catch the light between its glossy black feathers. A silent arrow sneaks across the expanse between land and sky. It glides along an unseen thread, pulling it closer and closer. It strikes, and the bird releases a strangled call as it hangs in the air, transfixed to the blue backdrop of the sky.

Then it falls.

The inky black feathers twist upon themselves, a tiny void opening in the sky as the bird falls. The sun glares down its wrath, a few of its rays engulfed by the darkness of the bird. The body thumps against the ground, broken and bloodied. The grasses are silent, nothing moves. Only a small patch shudders, the tall grass shivering as a boy stands up between them.

His eyes pass across the land as the earth takes in a breath. Everything moves again. The breeze picks up once more, the birds cry, and the critters chit-chat.

His eyes are bright, glowing blue. He sees the dead body of the bird, the arrow still stuck inside it, and his whole face lights up. He grins widely as he gets up and runs toward it, taking a wide leap across the stone road. He lifts the body proudly, and slings it over his shoulder as he marches back toward the path. His achievement will bring him glory and honor in his home. He has succeeded where another has failed. His life is growing, expanded, while another has been snuffed out.

His victory is the bird’s destruction.
 
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He stumbles as he walks, an exhaustion that runs deep into his bones plays with his mind. The trees rise up, dark shadowed strangers who peer down at him with beady eyes. The moon is pale and watching, a guardian who only pretends to stand guard. The stars laugh in twinkling little giggles, endlessly amused by the young man’s sufferings.

He’s been walking for days. He’s trapped in this endless forest of snow. The sun never rises, only the moon looks down from the skies above. Day and night, the moon watches, but it never does a thing to help.

The stars laugh at night and sleep all day. Clouds shroud the sky in a foggy endless way. The cold mist that has clung to the ground rises higher. The man sees it, he’s been fighting so long. That mist carries his fears, rising up from below. He’s so tired.



He was sent here for a reason, he can remember that. He can’t remember the reason, but he knows there’s a reason. He’s been afraid to stop, afraid to sleep. The days and nights blur together, wandering through the forest. The purpose if his life evades his mind, he’s lost entirely in this barren snowy landscape.

The snow used to crunch beneath his feet. He used to hear the branches rattle in the breeze. The cold used to bite his fingers, send his toes into numb pain, but he feels nothing. Empty.

The only he can see is the light of the day and the dark of the night, all pale dull and glowing; half warmer, half cooler.

He once remembered his purpose. Maybe a few thousand steps ago. But he can’t remember remembering it. Did he ever have a purpose? He didn’t think it was real. He remembers that. He didn’t want this purpose. It was forced, this or death. But this was death, wasn’t it?



The mist has risen up to his waist. He can feel the cool stiffness of the ice clinging to his pants. His arms cross over his chest to keep away from it. The ice particles are dangerous. He must avoid them, he must.

An evil little whisper tells him that if he just were embrace it. Embrace the cold, embrace the ice, he’d be free. He’d be like a bird, lawless, floating, free. If he would just embrace it, it’d all be over. The fight is a futile battle. Why is he still fighting?

He is tired. The mist swirls around his stumbling footsteps. The milky whiteness calls like a peaceful sleep. Like the moon so far above, silent and guarding. Like the pale sky of the comforting day, the sunless day.

It wouldn’t hurt, would it? Just one break, just one rest. The clinging ice isn’t that bad, is it?

Yeah, it would be okay, right? Yeah.

He stumbles to his knees, bracing his palms against the frozen ground. The mist swims up over his face and he closes his eyes. The ice clings to his skin, it fills his lungs. He can’t breathe. The ice invades his blood, it runs downs his veins. He can’t move. The ice settles in his heart, crystalizing.

He could rest. Finally. For the first time in what felt like centuries, he could rest.

It was all his. The forest, the ice, the sky, the birds. It was all his now. He could feel the ice on the trees pulsing alongside his own heart. He could feel the shift in the wind like his own breath. The ice crept up over his fingers and he could feel again. He can live again.
 
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My coming was long awaited. Apparently. Something happened one time when they jumped. I was left behind. Apparently. It’d been ten-thousand jumps since I had last been seen.

It was the strangest thing, really.

I found myself above a deep chasm, dangerously close to tumbling over the edge. I had this feeling that I’d just landed. Someone came up over the crest of a little hill nearby. He didn’t seem to see me at first, then his eyes lit up in recognition and his jaw dropped.

“You- you’re- Jess? Jessie? Is that you?”

“Hey,” I said, feeling a like an idiot. “Just thought I’d, y’know, drop by.”

He didn’t seem to know what to think, then his face split into a grin and he rushed towards me. He wrapped his arms around me in a crushing hug. I couldn’t breathe, but weirdly, it felt okay. It was such a relieving feeling. Safety, comfort, tears of joy. Through all the turmoil in my brain, it was suddenly strikingly clear. It would be okay. But all too soon he released me and stepped back, holding me by my shoulders.

“I’m so sorry Jessie, I forgot you hated hugs. I was just- it’s- I- I’m sorry.” He was crying, smiling, his fingers squeezing my shoulders. “Come on, Sandy’s going to be so happy to see you.” He stepped up next to me on the ledge over looking the chasm.

I couldn’t quite take my eyes off his face. “Sorry, who?” I asked.

His face fell. He didn’t look at me for a second, just staring out over the open expanse only inches from our feet. “Jessie?” He whispered softly. “Don’t you remember us?”
 
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“He’ll be alright, won’t he?” Perry’s voice is soft, not only for fear of his most dear friend, but for fear of being discovered. “He’s our Phoenix, he has to be alright.”

“Hush,” Farley warns. “He’ll be fine, just watch.”

“I really don’t know how you can be so sure. He’s in the hands of the enemy Farley. Why won’t you just let me go down there and send all those lunatics back to Jarnishla where they belong?” Jeremy spits.

“It’s Tarnashla, you idiot. There’s a reason you’re the Gargoyle and not the Griffin. Sit tight and be quiet.” Riley hisses.

“All of you shut up before I drop you down there and you can all end up like him.” Farley threatens. They all go quiet.

The four of them hide up in the ceiling crawlspace of above a brightly lit room. They’re all balanced precariously over a couple of metal vents whose only duty is allow for more airflow. They fall back into the same uneasy silence they waited in before Perry spoke.

The subject of their attention was a sort of glass tube where a young man appeared to be resting peacefully. Once looking closer however, there was a clear line of tension along his forehead and his hands seemed to be grasping something that wasn’t there. A quiet fan hummed in the background, and periodic waves of frost and fog crept over the surface, only to melt back a few moments later.

None of them could do anything to save their dearest friend. Attempting to simply break him out could result in his death or paralysis. Ending the process early could cause even worse consequences. Farley had known the second that he’d fallen, their chances of rescuing him and bring him back the same sank down to zero. As far as any one of them knew, he could just as well be going through a Memory-Wipe or a Body-Enhancement. Either way, something was to be lost, and it remained to be seen if anything could be gained.
 
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