Chapter 1: Desperate Hopes

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The crushed honeycomb in the plastic bag over the water began to slowly melt as she held it in place. They had already extracted all of the honey from it. The bees that made it lived in the outlands not to far from the city. Grandmother had always walked there every few months during spring, summer, and fall and come back with an armload of honeycombs. Extracting the honey was hard work, but everyone appreciated the sweet honeyed scent it gave the apartment.

4 honey jars and 4 honey candles always went to the apartment manager to pay rent. The rest were kept in cabinets or sometimes sold to neighbors. She wasn't entirely sure where the rest of the honey went, other than grandmother always took a jar or two with her when she went out during the day, and always came back with the Unicef Foods.

She knew what the street name for honey was though Liquid Gold, she'd found that out soon enough. Liquid Gold was worth a lot, but not as much as water, you couldn't buy pure water with Liquid Gold. The first man she'd talked to had told her so, it had to be paid with something more fine and pure.

The melting wax gave off a slightly sweet scent as it slowly melted itself into a golden liquid. She readied the plastic candle molds and wicks and carefully stirred the golden-white wax. At first it wanted to stick to the spoon, but gradually it became warm enough to just slip right off. She carefully picked up the bag and poured the wax into the first of the eight candle molds.

She had only gotten to the fifth candle when there came a knock at the door. She ignored it at first, because beggars were always knocking at the door trying to get in. Finishing with the wax, she set the bag down and was trimming the wicks when the knock came again with a gruff voice saying 'Police! Open the door!' She hurried over to open the door, when it was abruptly kicked in, and a gun pointed at her and her brother on the floor. She looked at the man open-mouthed.

The man she'd had it with last night came in with a uniform on. He looked right at her, and pointed. That's her, the little girl that stole my wallet last night.

I didn't... she started to say when she was abruptly grabbed and pushed up against the wall by the man. Don't Lie, were the police, he snarled at her. She turned silent, realizing the hope for her grandmother had been a trick to get them into more trouble. Well girl? Where is it? He snarled at her again. She pointed to the room where her grandmother was laying in bed. His friend checked it out. He came back with the bottle of water she'd paid for. Well here it is. You like water? he chuckled at his friend.

That's she started to say and stepped forward. That's what? he snarled at her, that's my paycheck you little wench.

His buddy stopped and looked at them. He held up the water in one hand. Outside he said to his partner. The man snarled and walked outside. He held the water up to the girl and said, did you receive this water as payment for... he swallowed and looked nervously around... doing anything for my buddy last night?

She nodded and said Yes, I gave him Unicorn's Blood for the bottle of water for my grandmother.

He seemed to smile but it was a twisted smile, and for a moment she thought he was going to hurt her too. Then he handed her the water and patted her on the shoulder. I hope your grandmother gets better. He stood up and walked out, shutting the door behind him.

Standing near the door she heard some harsh remarks and words in the hall as they left. She looked in on grandmother, still the same as before, not moving, just laying there. She too hoped Grandmother would get better.

Chapter 1: Desperate Hopes by Diana Smith

Page 1

The crumbled pavement still had a large hole in it from the era of the past, the last war, on terrorism had left The City living in a hopeless mix of the very rich, devastation, crime, and petty hopes.

A clump of chipped off pavement jumped up and skittered across the pavement, like a mouse trying to escape it's lonely destiny to be food for one of the other vermin that lived along the street side, discards of the past making a living off of whatever little castoffs they could from the rich.

She was pretty in an innocent kind of way, tears trickled down her cheeks as she clutched a single bottle of pure distilled water. Worth more than gold that was, and the price she'd paid for it, was probably more than many would care to calculate, although most, if they were desperate enough would pay.

She stopped at a shambling apartment, and unsteadily made her way up past the bodies of those who couldn't pay, up to a small apartment where her grandmother lay dying of The Fever. Her little brother was sitting on the floor still in his pajamas with his small toy caboose, it was the only toy left that she knew of from a by-gone era. Their parents had been killed years ago in a terrorist attack, and now they were about to lose the only caretaker they had.

She opened the bottle of water and carefully poured it into the glass by Grandmother's bedside. The doctor, an elderly man himself, a friend of Grandmother's had told her to keep Grandma hydrated with the good water, and some salt, and she might pull through. But he had looked sad when he walked out, as if he knew there was no hope here.

As she poured it, she marveled at it's clear, like glass texture, and smooth fluidity. Like everything else it was a relic from the past when things had once been good. Some of the other children had given it street names. Life Elixir, Unicorn's Blood, it was all the same, grandmother had told her once, it was the life of how the world was once all bottled up in plastic.

She filled the glass to the brim and set it aside, closing the cap on the water that smelled fresh like the first day of Spring. She started to boil the water for breakfast. The predawn light was filtering in, by noon the water would be good enough to drink, but by then there would only be a few ounces left, and that would go to her little brother.

As she cleaned the kitchen the way grandmother used to, and went about making the candles that were their livelihood she tried not to think about the last man she paid a price for a bottle of water. His hands were rough and dirty against her young skin, and she hated the way he had looked at and touched her. She didn't know how much longer grandmother would last, but she did know that she couldn't go on doing this every night.

Maybe grandmother won't live any too much longer, and maybe I won't have to keep doing this... but in her heart she prayed with all her might that her grandmother wouldn't leave her too soon, grandmother was the only one in this world she'd do this for. She'd prayed with her brother for her grandmother every night the way she'd taught them too.

Remembering the past

I remmember what I used to write about.

Characters and Factions

The Children
Teenagers toting guns on bombshelled streets, and ruling parts of a city by themselves. Living and dying on their own because they were orphaned, runaways, or nobody simply cared about them. I'm going to call them The Children in my new set of stories.

InnerCore
A corrupt remnants of a corporation which now supplies Unicef food from the outside, at a cost. Bottled water, food rations. They all have their different prices, some that only the most desperate would be willing to pay. One of the many fuedal and powerful ganglord families in The City.

The City
The city itself lives and breathes with a life of it's own. Hopes and Dreams have been made and lost here. There's always a constant influx of people from outside who have heard the City offers more hope than the desolate farm lands, which have been dying from exposure to nuclear radiation for the past 20 years.

Adult Citizens
Most children don't make it past the age of 14 in the City. The lucky ones that do, either flee to other countries, or fall in love and try to make an honest living in the city. Some do, some don't, others fail and become junkies, streetwalkers, or the other kinds of walking filth that roam the city streets at night. Preying on newcomers, the innocent, weak, or simply unfortunate.

Some fight the bad fight, others fight the good fight, some don't fight at all, and just keep their heads down and hope they don't get noticed for trouble.

The Church
There's only one church left standing in the city. That's only because The Church minister negotiated with the mob bosses, and every major faction around for this to church to be a safe haven for everyone. It's become a cultural taboo to fight on Holy Ground, especially in the City where there is SO much death and suffering. Many attend mass, mob bosses, to underlings, They believe in a god too.

The Free Lady's Society
After 10 years of suffering from rioting and rape, the Free Ladies of the city, rich in some respects, pooled their money and resources together to buy a part of the city, the worst part, a stinky, sewage-seeped island with a bridge they could lift to restrict access if they wanted too.

They maintained and cleaned the place up, offering respectable quarters for visitors, and even opened the only airport into and out of The City. Airspace is restricted and only helicopters can really fly in or out, unharassed by the mob kingpins. Almost nobody ever leaves, except maybe one or two people a flight, and you can't evacuate an entire city this way.

The Kingpins
Drugs, special appetites, or even homes, security systems, and luxury goods, all of these can be bought from the Kingpins for a price, your first born child, Ratting out a loved one, anything anyone could possibly name as a price has been done and served.

The Government
Self-Ruled, a council runs the City like a city-state in old Greece. Most of the council is corrupt, and only seeking to use their power for wealth and self-gratification, it's a rare man that'll do it for the right cause, and a rarer man who can stay alive while doing it for the right cause.

The Vermin
The unfortunates, vagabonds, and wanderers who happen to get bitten by either of the many werewolves or vampires that stalk the nightly streets. Mainly claim it's a myth, just a legend, but even so, many people have taken to anoiting their doorways with holywater and sleeping with silver knives clutched in one hand.

The general populace fears them more than you might suspect, they manifest the horrors and fears within everyone, and when found alone, are generally killed on sight.

Frank Miller

A teacher once told me that my writing resembled the work of Frank Miller, who just had a movie based on his work turned into the movie Sin City.

These are my attempts to recapture my forgotten gritty writing style.