A snippet from the novel, "Freedom Fight": 9:37 p.m. Tara sat in her dorm room and brooded, one question perpetually playing on her mind. Why in hell am I here? She was nineteen years old, and had asked herself the same question every day for what seemed like years. Sometimes it was directed toward her involvement at this college. At other times it was directed at life in general; at life on this speck of cosmic dust hurtling through what seemed a cold, uninviting, and indifferent universe. The low light and incense burning in the room—against dorm regulations—played on her emotions. The darkness may have been more comfortable for her, but it also had a tendency to usher in mild depression. Tonight was no exception, except that it was a bit more than mild this time. She walked to the mirror above the sink in her room and stared. Eyeliner was starting to smudge around her right eye. She stared hard and long at the way she looked. Where had she gone? Tara Darlene Baker, the naïve, strawberry-blonde girl from Branson, Missouri, was nowhere to be found in the reflection. Why in hell am I here? Where am I? Who am I? She turned away from the mirror and walked to her window. Looking down at the courtyard, she could see that the lamps along the sidewalks had come on. The students below her were casually passing the evening by. Two guys laughed and pushed each other as they strode; a threesome of girls walked arm-in-arm. A guy sat with his arm around a girl on a bench underneath the huge oak tree in the center of the courtyard. Without time to ward it off, a twinge of longing sprang up in her soul. What would it be like to be normal again? The question hung in her mind for a moment. What?! She pushed back from the window, hardly able to contain the rage that surged from her core. "Like them?! I’ll die first!" She paced back and forth in her small room. Irritation fueled her. Through clinched teeth she forced out, “To hell with them. To hell with all of them.” Approaching the mirror again she stared into her own eyes and seethed. “You are not one of them! You never will be. They are weak. You have power. Real power.” After a long moment she decided on a course of action. “I think it’s time to tap into that power once again.” She felt a tingle creep up her spine. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. She hadn’t even summoned one of the dark ones yet, but she could already feel her spirit guide’s presence. She walked back to the window and picked out her target. It would be that pathetic lovey-dovey couple on the bench. She knelt down before the small table in front of her window; opening a drawer, she pulled out a rolled-up piece of black felt and spread it across the table to display her pentagram casting cloth. Two freshly-painted, concentric red circles looked like rings of blood at the center of the fabric. The center of the two circles contained a star—a pentagram—that touched the inner ring with all five points. Between the two circles and within the five points of the upside down star were symbols that very few people would recognize and, of which, even fewer could know the relevance. Next she pulled out four small black candles, set them outside the circles, creating a square, and lit them. She was already beginning to feel the darkness swirl around her. This is what she knew. This is what she understood. This was her environment, and this is where she thrived. She reached again into the drawer and pulled out a hag stone—her amulet. It was a stone that she found that had a naturally-made hole through it. Many people searched for decades for a hag stone, never to find one. The day she found hers, she knew it was a sign that she had received the blessings of the gods and goddesses. She also withdrew a chromed pentagram necklace and clasped the chain around her neck. It rested midway down her chest and reflected candlelight onto the walls. Lastly she pulled out her personal grimoire3, her personal ‘book of shadows.’ She fingered through the book, looking for a nefarious spell to cast upon the young lovers, knowing that a dark one would enter into the room with her to take on the assignment and carry it out … if she could just find the right incantation. A chill of fear coursed through her as she realized how close she came to a mortal mistake. She ran to her closet and pulled out another piece of black fabric and unrolled it on the floor in front of her small altar. On it were two more concentric circles of red, big enough to allow her to sit fully within their confines. Between the crimson rings were more magick symbols and the names of the spirits and gods she most often conjured. How could she have forgotten her own protection? Several years ago she had remembered too late, and she had paid a price for it. A brutal price. Before sitting, Tara looked at every inch of the circle to make sure that there were no breaks in it, breaks that, if penetrated all the way through, would create a hairline entryway from the outside into the protecting area. She centered herself in the blood-red circle, making sure that not a single part of her body or clothing lay outside its boundary. Grabbing her grimoire she turned a couple more pages before landing on the invocation she found suitable. She laughed as she pictured the end result. "Oh," she thought, "this ought to be good. Real good." Before beginning her spirit summons, she first spoke the spell of protection that was needed to create a barrier between her and whatever being came forth to answer the call. "By the dragon’s light On this May night I call to thee To give me your might. By the power of three I conjure thee To protect all That surrounds me. So mote it be So mote it be!" Comfortable with her environment, she looked down at the handwritten words in her book of shadows and spoke forth the words that would throw a fear-filled disruption into the lives the young lovebirds sitting, oblivious, five stories below.
Posted on: Thu, 08 Aug 2013 04:27:31 +0000
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