Story: The Book of Generations

Rough Draft

Eth Un Aboriginal Presentuni:
The Aboriginal One Presents:

Eth Liba Degeneratirago
The Book of Generations

Chapter 1:
In the Beginning...

   Everyday, before bed, my mother used to tell me bedtime stories about a man named Braven Shell. He was my childhood hero, and I would always have dreams that I was him. When I grew older, and tired of such silly dreams, those said dreams stopped coming. Now, I'm 18 years old. Those dreams are coming back, but they are different. Now, I see a woman with me, covered with blood. I see a man with a gun in his hand. I don't know what to do. I just don't...
   Brandon Green, age 18. A peculiar boy with a strong imagination. Most people claim him eccentric when he speaks of magic. As a young boy, he was shunned by his peers. Still, he remains true to his imagination.
   A very philosophical person, he implemented his words of �indifference brings entertainment� and �Pride honors yourself� attitude in everything he does, showing a strong background of self-discipline. He began a liking of martial arts as a teenager, and later on created his own crude fighting style. The Marquis-style Evasion Art is one of his accomplishments he mainly does not talk about to anyone. At least until this day.
   Partly after his 18th birthday, he met a young woman by the name of Krishna. A few moments after their friendship, he started to teach Krishna the Marquis-style Evasion Art. The Malayali from New York finished half of her training, but never seemed to care about the rest.
   Soon after they finished her short-lived training, Brandon decided to leave the States. Leaving his apprentice behind, he sets off to take a well deserved vacation.

   �Brandon Green, is he?� A man says as he reads a book. �A chip off the old block.� As he closes the book, he looks up. He embraces the big room, all white with emerald chandeliers. The big window which spans all the way through the ceiling. That same window the practically views the entire world, even when you are a distance away. The long marble table, and the man sitting on the far extreme of it. This room that shouldn't anyone be able to hear anything at the range from him to that man, but you do, and it sounds like he's right by you.
   �Brandon Green, he is. A remarkable young man, but he'll be big trouble,� the second says. The first, a muscular built man of African origin, his staff, a polished redwood pole with unique design and a ruby as a headpiece in one hand, the book in another, dressed up in a boubou that kings will give up their souls for, smiles. In a proud manner, with his deep voice, he says, �It always gets worse before it gets better.� The second, a Caucasian man with a white suit smiles along with him. �You are right, I suppose. In some point in time, it's always worse before it gets better. I just don't any more of mine to go in harms way.� The African looks at him with a troubled look. �I understand you. He is a person in my heart. However, that's the reason he's in the Book. He will be fine, though. I just know it.� �He's stopping by Spain,� the white-suited man says. �Leave it alone,� the African says. �I'm going back to my wife.� �You do so,� the Caucasian says. �Thanks for everything.�
   By the corner of the door, a gasp can be heard. Not trying to interrupt the conversation, the woman responsible for the outburst runs across the hall, almost nicking the African during his exit. �Must be in a hurry,� said the man, as he heads back towards his destination. The woman, with a black and crimson priestess dress, made her way through the door. Before the door stands a patio In a hypnotic-like gesture, she jumped off the hedge into the clouds, the only thing in view are birds along the edge of the building.
   The white-suited man, still in the white room, stands up to walk to the big crystal window were he can see the land below. He sheds a tear for reasons unknown, then goes on to the end of the room, where the book the African was reading still lays. He picked it up, and opened it back to Brandon's entry. �Age: 18. Current location: Transatlantic flight 54. Occupation... i can't believe they let him go overseas!� The man on white puts the book down and leaves. The book, still on Brandon's entry, has family members highlighted. Even more so, a name inside the family section is highlighted. The name highlighted is Braven Shell.

Chapter Two:
Braven Shell

�Braven Shell,� said Brandon. �My old hero. Why are you haunting me now?� As he sits by a window seat, he wonders, �Who are you, really?� He looks outside his window to see the beautiful lights at night, only to see them disappear, for they just left the coast of Florida. The sea of nothingness is all his eyes comprehend, thought his mind sees more. Not answering his own questions, he left it alone and went to a deep sleep.
   Far away, in a place now unreachable, a man of Spanish origin is seen. His eyes closed, he holds up a thing unknown to his target. This object seems to be a metal stick with a handle. The stick has smoke coming out like a fire was inside it. This thing that spit spits black spheres that made whoever touches it scream on impact. He commanded it with a smile on his face. A woman, her husband beside her, has just finished screaming. She seemed to be sleeping peacefully Her husband knew better. She was touched by the spit of the metal demon. She bled her last stream of blood. The husband understand death. He understands what anger is, and anger is what he now shows. In a fit of rage, he ran like a lion towards the Spaniard, who is now feeding the demon.
   The Spanish man aimed the gun towards the running lion of hatred, and pulled the trigger, but to no avail. The bullets seem to either change their course or passes him. Now, after all his tries at shooting them, they are now point blank. The angry widow now lunged towards him, bounded by his rage. The Spaniard now sees his opponent. A Black man with a large build, wearing a makeshift coat in which the material seems to be cannabis leaves tightly woven to look like a pelt. He had no choice. He must fight.
   The Black man began to headbutt the Spaniard like he was a ram, but it was easily averted. He had another trick of his Marijuana sleeve. He quickly hooked his legs on the waist of the Spaniard. Then, using one hand, managed to turn 180 degrees where he let go of his grip. The Spaniard flew long , and landed hard on the barren ground. That made him furious. He went to his pack and brought out a whip and proceeded to wait for the opponent's next move.
   The Black man couldn't wait, and ran towards him. Much to his dismay, a long black rope came towards him. The rope tapped him on his chest. He felt a sting not even one hundred wasps can dare to beat. It lingered all over his body. As he winced in pain, the Spaniard took this advantage to walk up on the deceased woman.
   �Now, I can finally take your powers.� He gently pushed the head of the woman upright and opened her eyes. A strange light appeared, as time passes by. Suddenly, it was over, and he seemed satisfied. He then walked over to her husband, still wincing in pain. �No hard feelings, stranger.� He said with a smile, where he noticed his wounds are healing. �You're one bold soul,� said the Spaniard. Aiming the gun towards the man, he finishes with, �Join your wife. She misses you.�
   A flash of light roars as Brandon wakes up from his nightmare. �We are experiencing turbulence due to the thunderstorm. Please remain in your seats.� He looks at his watch, then looks at the window. Whilst the plane moves up the air to go on top of the storm, he notices the gray of the clouds turn into white, then open sun. The fasten seatbelts light then went dark. �It is now safe to leave your seats. We will be in Madrid International Airport in about an hour. Thank you for flying Interatlantic Airlines.� Brandon looks at the sky once again. �I think I can squeeze an hour in,� he said, as he closed the window and dozed off.
   Back to the Man in White's setting, the African has finally made it to his destination, home. When he entered, he was immediately embraced by his wife. �Welcome home, Braven.� she said. He smiled. �You seem to be the only one who knows my name around here. Or, at least, the one who cares.� She rubs her cheek with his and says, �Of course I care. I'm your wife.� He smiled. �Of course.� He took off his white boubou, showing a build fit for a god, albeit slim. �It's nice to be back. You know he went to the trouble of having me read the book?� �What book?� The woman said. Braven realized he barely mentions the book, so he proceeded to explain.
   �Alaku, my wife, there's this book called The Book of Generations. The Book of Generations was made as a result of a deal between good and evil. In the beginning of the World, 3 stones were created. These stones brought forth remarkable enhancements. The side of good wanted to hide them, so that their powers won't be unleashed so easily. Evil wanted to give them away, so that their powers can be fluent. After 40 years of arguing and debating, they agreed to hide the stones, but when it's time, they will choose their user. The Book of Generations is a list of past, present, and future wielders of the stones, and the people of importance, in example, the people who led to the findings of the stones, the people who died by the wielders, and the people who influenced the wielders prior to their endowment.�
   Alaku sat down by her husband and put his hand to her face. �Don't worry, Braven. What does this have to do with us?� Braven looked down at his wife with a grim look. �It's not us, it's our offspring.� Alaku looked up at him with a confused look. �You understand that I was a wielder, you were a wielder and... that man..� Braven stopped himself. �He's gone, Braven.� she said. �Gone to a different place,�she finished. Braven sighed. Yes, he is, but he's still in that wretched book!� She nudged him to sit down. He instead laid on her lap. �What was different between us is not only I survived, but I resurrected you in the process, after he was finished with us...
   There's this boy named Brandon. He is our descendant. He will not wield a stone, but he will be of great importance. He will be the one who will influence all 3 in his journeys. I don't know the child's fate. He is strangely the last entry in the book. That's a mixed omen. It either means after this, it is the... end... or he has the choice of it.� Alaku stroked his forehead. �It's that important. I hope our descendant can help the world.� Braven looked at her with a fake smile, in which she answered with a sincere one. �I hope so to, wife.�

	Author	Topic: Story: The Book of Generations (Read 902 times)
0 Members and 1 Guest are viewing this topic.