Rebellion From The Fire

A novelette by Alex Moore

Prologue

…Darkness. A necessity to man, to human nature. We cannot live in a world of pure light. Sometimes a bit of pain goes a long way after enduring compliment after compliment, smile after smile, kiss after kiss.

Vicki walked along the burning hot corridor at a suddenly hurried pace, clutching her bleeding arm and quietly crying tears of pure fire. Her radiant and tear strewn yellow eyes glared ahead with a solid rage as she endured the pain of her injury. The dark demon blood that flowed through her body now dripped rapidly to the sizzling ground. As a tall mystical mirror appeared further down the hallway, she hurried her pace form a hurried walk to a steady jog. The blood loss was beginning to affect her. Running a bit faster, she stumbled on, gasping as the sharp pain hit her again and again. Finally reaching the mirror, Vicki collapsed forward to a kneeling position in front of the mirror.

"Heal m-me," she whispered.

"Health is not needed for a demon," a lost, disembodied voice whispered back. "You will feel fine within minutes. Death is not a concern for your kind."

"I need it… my soul isn't demonic…" Vicki admitted, sobbing quietlynow and still clutching her arm.

"Forgiveness for such a truth does not come easily. Your suffering brings me joy at this moment."

"Please… I…feel…the pain… for the first time…" Vicki continued in a monotone, silent as the tears streamed down her face.

"It is only because of your fear, Vicki. Tell me. What do you fear? The darkness? ...Or perhaps... the things prowling in the darkness frighten you."

"I do not..." She paused to wheeze from lack of blood, then raised her head and glared at the mirror. "I do not fear either. What I truly feel uncomfortable around... is the light."

"Aha. We are learning, I see. Alas, you have broken what little guidelines your kind has. Exile is your punishment."

"Damn," Vicki slowly managed to whisper.

"It is you who are damned, child."

And with that final statement, she was immediately sucked into the void of the mirror, her body twisting and writhing in the white burning flames of oblivion. Escape seemed to be an illusion from this point on.

Vicki shot open her red and puffy eyes as sunlight was cast onto her face from the window. Her rapid, heavy breathing wouldn't seem to stop, even when she sat upright and fanned herself with her unfinished test. She had been sleeping, collapsed on her desk, her face moist with drool, sweat, and tears. Another dark daydream (or "daymare" as she called them) had tortured her mind. Her test sat clutched in her palm, crushed, wet, and slightly sticky. Sighing and reluctantly turning her head to face the clock on the wall, she saw that she had missed two hours of precious time. It was impossible for her to even guess the remaining hundreds of questions by this point; failure was the only option. As was the story of her demented and tear-strewn life.

A/N: This story is long dead; I finally gave up on it when I started Arsenic Kisses. Besides the fact that I absolutely hate the juvenile writing style, this story simply never stood out to me as one that I or anyone else could truly fall in love with. It's shallow, cliche, predictable and very very choppy. The only reason that I don't delete it is to display the evolution and progression of my style over the years. Read this story at your own risk.