Wartime Interrogations

You guys are probably getting tired of me changing my mind! First, I had my regular blog, then I decided to try my hand at fiction and decided to rewrite Disney classics. Well, you know what? I changed my mind again! Sorry, but Disney's tough competition. No matter how good my fiction writing is, it's not gonna beat the original versions! Readers will always be comparing my versions to the real ones... it's just human nature.

I wanted to find a Pocahontas meme to insert here, and this was my favorite...

So! Keeping on the fiction theme, I'm gonna start writing short stories. As I've said before, I want to be a fiction writer, and I actually have some pretty decent ideas, I'm just not ready to give them to the world yet. So I'm gonna do short stories and see how it goes.

I had kind of a long day today, so I'm actually publishing a short science-fiction story I wrote in high school, circa 2008, that I thought was pretty good... or at least interesting.

As always, I value your feedback!

_________________________________________________


The war was in it’s final stages, and every maneuver had to be executed flawlessly. A single mistake could end all hope of victory. But, unexpectedly, a stroke of luck had been granted to them- one of the enemy’s higher-ups had suddenly been captured. Normally, they took no prisoners; every living creature bearing the mark of the enemy was slaughtered. Men, yes of course, but they weren't about to underestimate a woman’s love or a child’s determination.

But they weren't about to kill this enemy. He alone possessed secrets that could be used to win the war in an instant. He wouldn't have been chosen for his position if he couldn't keep secrets, but they had ways of making even a mute man talk.

He was brought into the interrogation room, a small, cold cell with no windows, harsh lights, wires running all around, and soundproof walls. He sat in his chair tall and proud, like a wall made of pride and honor and every brave man that had fallen for his side in battle.

As they waited for the chief interrogator to arrive, they began to hook him up to the machines, wires circling him, clamped near his brain. The door opened and the chief interrogator entered. The technicians rose, nodded curtly and exited the room. The chief sat down by the control board and said briefly, “Let’s begin, shall we?”

He hit and button, and a wave of energy surged through the prisoner’s brain, collecting memories and emotions, and then sending them to the computer.

The computer screen instantly flooded with names and images and feelings from the captive’s
mind. The interrogator studied the information for several minutes and then turned to the prisoner.

"We have now scanned and copied information from your brain. These machines are made to take this information, mutate it, and feed it back into your brain as a hallucination. You have information we need. Give it to us willingly, and we won’t have to use the machines.”

The prisoner just maintained his cold, stony gaze, but with just a bit of fiery determination festering behind his eyes.

“Very well, then,” said the interrogator, and hit a series of buttons.

Instantly, the prisoner’s mind was filled with horrible, gruesome images. He saw his 6 year old daughter beaten and mutilated, his wife shot in the head, his parents festering in the bottom of a ditch, his home burning to the ground.

Suddenly, the images stopped, gone from his brain. He looked quickly around the room, becoming aware of the sweat on his brow, and screams still hanging from his lips.

“Ready for some more?” the interrogator asked, his face polluted with mock concern and sympathy.

Half an hour later, the interrogator emerged from the room, smiling. The technicians approached and peered behind him into the room. There was a man in there, but it wasn't the same one. This one was broken and defeated. His head hung low and he was crying.

The interrogator said, “He broke. Go get the information and then finish him off.”

The technicians all went in except for one. She lingered for a moment by the interrogator as if debating with herself. Finally, she asked him, “Sir, why is it that you don’t just extract the information from his brain? The hallucinations really aren't necessary.”

He smiled strangely for a moment. He put his hand on her shoulder and said quietly, “Where’s the fun in that?”

And walked away.

Pocahontas 2

Continued from last Wordsday Thursday!

Catch up with last week here: Pocahontas Part One

______________________________________________________________

"Close your eyes," she prompts. I do. We are sitting cross-legged on the ground next to her small fire. The dying embers provide a gentle heat on the bare skin of my arms, legs, and face. My idle hands find their way to a scab on my ankle and I pick at it absent-mindedly.

"Now," she instructs, "Think about your dream. In your mind, what stands out most?"

I screw my eyes shut tighter and let my head fall back. What do I see? What do I remember? Running. Always running. The day beginning. I am always running into a lightening sky; a rising sun. But why? Of course...

"The face," I answer. "It's a man's face. But I don't know him. He is strange looking. He looks older than me... definitely not a boy any longer. He is strong, but I feel I must save him." I open my eyes. "Why, Grandmother Willow? Why would I have to save him? How? I mean, look at me." I do not mean this literally- she cannot see anymore. But she knows what I mean. I am small and scrawny.

She chuckles quietly. "You can save him, Pocahontas, because you are so much stronger than you think you are." I am unconvinced, and she can sense it. "Pocahontas, what is more powerful: the rain or the wind?"

I sigh. "The rain, I guess. We need it to water our crops, and fill our rivers."

"But Pocahontas," she says, "Can't the wind make the rain go where it chooses?" I have no argument. "And with wind, my dear girl," she tells me fondly, "you can't see it. You feel it." She puts her hand gently on my cheek, then stands, brushing herself off. She heads away from the fire, facing the river. Her silvery mane of hair is blown gently around by the breeze, as though proving her point.

"And change is in the wind, I fear," she says quietly, almost to herself. I scramble up off the ground to join her.

"What do you mean, Grandmother?" I inquire. It is obvious things are changing: it is harvest time, and now the leaves of the trees begin to change color. We are on the cusp of fall. But I sense she is speaking of something else. "Is it the spirits?" I ask softly.

My grandmother is one of the few who communicates with the spirits- it is an honor, a rarity. We grow up respecting the spirits, and we are taught they are everywhere. In the rocks and trees and water. In the sky and in the ground and everywhere in between. I have heard many people in my village whispering to one another that I might someday have the gift, but I doubt it.

"Yes, child, the spirits. They tell me something is coming. With the autumn breezes comes something else. Something we have never seen before. Whether it will be good changes or bad, I cannot tell. But I know the transition will be difficult." I can tell she is worried, and that troubles me.

I reach over and hold one of her hands in both of mine. We are together, and together we will face anything.

Something skitters across our feet. Meeko. "Hungry again, you little pest?" Grandmother Willow laughs. "It is comforting to know some things will never change."

She smiles, and I smile back.
______________________________________________

Till next time!

Sarah

Sarah's Pocahontas, Part 1

For a few years now I've had a blog, http://jesusbeanlaiho.blogspot.com/, where I basically shared thoughts and experiences from my life. I enjoy it very much! But eventually as a writer, I want to write fiction. So I've started this new blog to do just that! To start with, I plan to write my own versions of classic Disney tales and see how it progresses. It goes without saying that I did not come up with the characters on my own! This is basically fan fiction- just a writing exercise to help me practice. If you like what you read, please comment and share! I need your help! And if you hate what I write, please tell me how I've failed, to help me improve.

I'm starting off with one of my favorite Disney stories... Pocahontas! I intend for this to be kind of a work-in-progress- not a full story in each blog, just sort of chipping away at it as I switch from story to story.

Thank you for reading!
_____________________________________________________________________


As soon as I wake, I feel the heat. The air is heavy on my skin, weighted with the hot, wet feel of late summer. My eyes open slowly, adjusting to the dim light. Outside my hut, I hear the village has already risen without me. Children shout, and their parents answer. I see the blanket that hangs in my doorway stir in the breeze. I squeeze my eyes shut again, trying to hold on to the dream.

I was running, running. My lungs ached with exertion, drawing shaky breaths. I could hear the slap of my bare feet on the heavily worn path. Trees flashed by, their skinny, knobby branches all pointing the same direction: forward. I was running faster, almost flying. In my mind I saw a face, a strange face. Pale, like the moon, with hair like fire. The face was linked with danger, with blood. I must save this face. I--

I feel a tickling sensation on my bare arm. I open one eye to see my raccoon, Meeko, sitting on the ground besides me, his nose in the crook of my arm, looking-- no doubt-- for food. He is always hungry. I give him a playful nudge, and he chirps at me. I sit up, stretching. The dream begins to trickle away, like usual. But I know it will come back. It always does.

When I draw back the woven blanket hanging in my doorway, I see the village teeming with life. People are fixing and eating breakfast, getting ready for a day of work. It is getting near to harvest time, and everyone is busy. The air smells of smoke and food, and suddenly I am hungry too. I head over to my family's fire, and sit next to several of my half-sisters. One of them is heavy with child and the others crowd around her, brushing her long black hair and braiding it neatly, and preparing her food. She sits there, still. Serene. She has always been beautiful, but the pregnancy has made her glowing and content.

My sisters smile when they see me, and hand me a plate of food. Before I take a bite, I hand a bit of it to the ever-present Meeko, who dashes off to devour it. I am about to take my first bite when I feel a slap on the back of my head. Alarmed, I crane my head from side to side, and see only the retreating shape of my oldest half-brother. I decide to repay the favor later. Now, I am busy.

Breakfast is fresh-caught fish and cornbread. As I eat, I listen to my sisters and enjoy the shade here under the big trees. The day will soon be sweltering, and I am glad it is not my day to work in the sunny fields. I spot my friend, Nakoma, and wave to her. She grins and waves back, then turns back to her family. I feel a sharp stab of pain in my heart when I see her talking to her father. I have not seen my father in months. He is our chief, and is always busy. He has been gone making peace with some of our neighboring tribes, and I miss him terribly.

After finishing my breakfast, I stand to help clean up. I see a shape flash in my peripheral vision and turn my head. I see Kocoum walking towards the river, solemnly. Kocoum does everything solemnly. He was once one of my closest friends, but when our tribe went to battle with another, everything changed. Kocoum saw both of his parents slain, and has not smiled since. All the village elders comment on his strength and bravery, but every time I see his serious face, I hear in my head his wailing cries of loss.

Something about his solemn face reminds me of my dream. I am troubled. I decide what I will do today. After cleaning up, I run back to my hut and collect my traveling bag. I sling it around my neck and whistle for Meeko. He dashes out from a nearby bush, cheeks full of something. I head towards my canoe on the river's edge. One of my sisters, the nosiest, calls after me, "Where are you off to, Pocahontas?" I have no problem telling anyone where I am going, but her prying annoys me. I pretend not to hear her.

I push off from the bank, and skillfully paddle my way upstream. Meeko chirps at me and I playfully splash water at him. He shakes off the water and eyes me resentfully. I laugh. It is not a far journey, and we are at our destination quickly. I hop out of the boat and pull it onto the shore. Here everything is much quieter, chirps from birds replacing arguing voices, and there is only one lone campfire. I spot her standing on a hill, eyes cast out across the valleys, seeing everything and nothing at once. She is blind, but notices more than anyone I've ever met. She hears my approaching and smiles. "Is that my Pocahontas?"
I grin. "Hello, Grandmother Willow."
____________________________________________________

To be continued!!

Sarah