Spark

[MessengerOfDreams]

A/N: Hey guys, the first official work about my 'mascot' Spark. It's being entered into a local writing contest, so if you could take a look over and offer further critique, the more the merrier!

Spark 1495 words

Around here, things are quiet. The life is gone. The city is a graveyard full of living people, if you’d like to call them that, ambling around the town with no purpose or drive. The color has been drained out of everything, replaced with a sterile white that seeps into the towers, the clouds, the clothes and the people’s spirits. We’ve become a hopeless generation, unable to move, unable to fight as we are surrounded from all sides and eventually suffocated by those who use their power and pride in extreme, lethal ways.

Rebellion was thought to be useless. They own everything, from our food to our homes to our clothes to our art. The takeover was quiet with no one aware of its existence until it was too late. We’ve been told that there is literally nothing we can do. It’s much too easy to die nowadays- in Monticello it’s an offense punishable by death on the spot to simply grow food, to sew clothes, to create a piece of art- even singing a song of your own creation within hearing distance of the Judges, the agents of the government, will have you shot in the streets before you know it.

But we are already dying, aren’t we?

They’ve taken the one true fundamental power we’ve always had- to create. Now what are we worth? We are simply sheep, herded by our masters. The ones who stray are left for the wolves. For the longest time, we have been convinced that there is simply no hope.

But it turns out we were wrong.

There’s a woman who comes through the city streets every now and again. You’d be lucky to catch even a flashing vision of her because she runs at a bullet’s speed and with a stray cat’s reflexes. Does she even know what a hero she is?

To simply watch her makes my heart race. She is a rebel by only existing. She knows it, and she lives for it. She dashes through the lifeless streets, full of energy and passion, as if she’s chasing after a dwindling possibility. She’s a tall, slight being, looking so thin it seems that she could be blown away like a branch in the wind. She is clothed in a jumpsuit with colors like a rainbow, something the children thought to be
Spark-Page 2

a fable by now, brimming with long forgotten colors- reds, greens, blues and yellows of all shades and colors that I never dreamed I would see again.

Where does her passion come from? Some think she’s blissfully unaware of the oppression we all face. I’d like to think she knows all too well, and simply does not care. I’d like to think that the passion she puts into every bounding footstep is from the excitement of rebellion- knowing that by only wearing your clothes you could be slain at any moment. I’d like to think she has pride just in being a rebellion of one. Of course, that’s all I can truly do, is to think.

The people light up when they see her pass through, not stopping for anyone or anything. She is truly an impressive runner, and you’ll never know where she will turn up next. Sometimes she will fly just past a Judge’s vision, daring him to shoot and being out of sight before his gun is even ready. Sometimes she dodges around the gray-clad people on the sidewalk, stopping them in wonder, unsure if they truly saw what they have. I’ve even seen a colorful dot bounding over the distant rooftops, clearing the massive distances without the slightest determent. The adults look at her as if they’ve witnessed a holy being from the heavens. The children look to her as a hero, smiling ear to ear as she graces them with her presence. The youngest look in fascination, witnessing the miracle of color for the very first time in their lives. I simply look in adoration, finding myself in love with the brilliant woman I never thought I’d exchange a word with.

She’s simply incredible.

Her appearances in town are unpredictable, but I await them like an answer to a prayer; never something guaranteed but something I invest hope in. It’s the only thing I think anyone invests hope in- that she will return, bringing a silent joy to all those who witness her as she flies through our lifeless world.

She’s brought back something I thought to be long gone- the idea of hope. I’ve dreamt of the entire city, dressed in every color that could ever be imagined, running through the city all at once. The judges would never be able to shoot us all as we marched through this city Monticello, into the building where the leaders pick us apart. We’d remove them all from their high seats and take back the power that has
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been gone for much too long. It seems impossible, but I don’t believe it for a second. I can’t. It’s my source of hope and life, that dream is. At times I think the rebellion’s fantasy keeps me alive.

I should think it wouldn’t be a fantasy much longer.

They call her Spark because she runs like a single fuse to a bomb. Personally, I think she runs to be the single fuse to a bomb. She is the spark that I hope someday will light the fire, a fire that will burn down the tyranny and the evil that surrounds us, a fire that will provide a powerful blaze and life back to the dead cities that we so desperately need.

But it can’t happen if no one is willing to catch the flame.

It’s an incredible search, the one I partake in, driven not by courage but passion. I’ve skittered through the city for a week now- I’m sure that no one has noticed my disappearance. I search the corners of this city for just the slightest hint of color, turning up short, until…
Perfect.
It’s on the edge of the city, where the towers are a story tall and the artificial light is dim, this abandoned patch of nature. I observe the colorful world, teeming with life that the rulers simply chose to avoid, to pretend didn’t exist. But it does, and it’s so alive, so beautiful.

Part of me never wants to leave, but I know I must. I gather patches of grass, wild berries of reds, blues and purples, handfuls of dirt, fallen petals of pink and yellow flowers, and the fruit of a gigantic wild orange tree that sticks up fifty feet in the air. Soon, my collection is enough and I venture to take my clothes off. From there, I begin my handiwork, mashing and mixing and pounding all the colors into the clothes in any way it will stick. At last I feel the power of creation long withheld from me as I create my own protest and my own power with nature’s painfully beautiful colors.

I take a second to examine my handiwork- a wild, unkempt menagerie of natural colors spread about haphazardly. The color’s there, and that’s the best part.
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I don’t hesitate to put the clothes back on, and, letting my shoes absorb the dirt, find my way back outside the small abandoned forest. I look back at it longingly, wanting to hide within its comforting shade for a lifetime, but that would get nothing accomplished.

I leave it behind and begin to run back to the city’s center. It takes a full day before I get there, hiding behind a building from the judges before they see my own rebellion. It will be the last time I’m in this town. I’ll miss the people, but I don’t think I can stand it anymore in this graveyard.

Luckily, it’s not long before I see her again, her enticing hues daring a reaction from the people. She’s running as fast as usual, and before I can lose the courage to, I begin to run just behind her.

And finally, I feel alive again.

I could get by for months on only the adrenaline I get from dashing through the city, uncaring or unaware. The idea of being shot down is at the back of my mind; in fact I barely find myself thinking. I find myself running, a victorious euphoria overtaking me. I wonder how the people are reacting as I join the spectacle, nearly able to keep time with the magnificent Spark.

I look up at her, the heroic woman I have come to love, wondering what she’s thinking. She doesn’t look back at me, but I can barely see a smile reaching the corner of her mouth and hear just the hint of a laugh through the air.

“Success,” is all she says, and I smile. Success, indeed.

Hope is alive, and that hope is to live. The rebellion has started, and I’m the first to have caught Spark’s fire.

[BrawlerEX]

It's a great story!

That was excellent portraying of the woman.
Although it is kind of tough to see what is going on in the story. Surely the rest will be explained, but good luck on the contest!

[SuperMIC]

you damn pen15

im still using spark in ma story. D:

But in other words, very nice. I still don't feel description was enough, I could barely get an image of the town or the outskirts and wildlife in my mind.

8.5/10

[MessengerOfDreams]

That would be the 1500 word limit.

Also, for the record, I reserve the copyright to Spark. So don't act like I stole her.

[NyansIsAPyro]

It was well written, and the character that you're attempting to portray is done well. I just didn't get a feel for the setting. The world this Spark is inhabiting doesn't feel...I don't know, real for lack of a better word. It's good, but it could be improved upon.

[MessengerOfDreams]

Oh? My mistake. I had actually edited it 4 times since posting it here. The edited version is up- don't mind all the little formattings I had to insert for the contest itself. I'm in a hurry