Taking the Dark to the Next Level

It’s a slow going morning, that’s for sure.  Last night I went out to our local Transgender Day of Remembrance, which is one of those unofficial holidays that have popped up over the decades.  The TDR is meant to shed light upon those transpeople who were murdered during the past year, and those who killed themselves because there wasn’t a light at the end of the tunnel–and if you’ve followed the blog, you know I’ve had a few of those moments myself.

The event sees the names of the known dead read off, and this year, my first, I read the second of twenty-five names.  It’s not meant to be a happy moment; it’s meant as a reminder that just by being who I am my chances of being murdered increase by about fifty percent over the odd of ciswomen, and those odd literally double for transwomen of color.  Which is why when someone tells me this is a “lifestyle choice” I now ask them on the statistics of people who were killed because they were hispters, or who killed themselves due to being discriminated over their preference to drink PBR.

But it’s not my intention to bring you down today, not after finding out it’s World Hello Day.  So hello!  Let’s get to the writing.

I didn’t write anything last night, and this morning I haven’t exactly burned up the keyboard today.  However, I do plan on writing throughout the day between doing the wash and getting lunch and taking a nap:  all the normal stuff, you know.  But what I have written–ah, shit.  Yes, it’s not some happy time stuff, that’s for sure.  It’s just under three hundred words, but it’s going to set the mood for this scene like few others have set one.

What am I talking about?  This:

 

(All excerpts from The Foundation Chronicles, Book Two: B For Bewitching, copyright 2015 by Cassidy Frazee)

Unlike normal Mid-Level Sorcery classes, the B Levels assembled at the Firing Line instead of starting this Thursday morning at The Witch House. Few of the students were happy with the change—the walk to the Firing Line wasn’t any shorter than their normal walk—and some students got lost in the tunnels on their way to class, as they weren’t certain of the route to the building.

No one was certain of why the change of venue occurred, for the message detailing the change showed up as an email sent just after the previous evening’s dinner. Then again, few bothered challenging the thoughts and intentions of the Head Sorceress, as that usually led to grief the questioning student didn’t desire. More that a few students pointed out that it was better to say nothing and play to her whims than speak up and find an angry Kiwi glaring from a few centimeter beyond the tip of your nose.

At eight sharp Professor Lovecraft walked into the main section of the Firing Line where the students had been asked to gather. There was a low mummer among her students as a few commented softly on the sliver-colored sweater she wore under her ever-present leather duster, and that she had her black jeans tucked inside her high-heeled boots, something she only did on those occasions when she wanted appear extra menacing.

She stood before the gathering of students and regarded them for almost ten seconds. Finally she stuck her hands firmly within the pockets of her long coat and clicked her tongue before addressing her class. “Today I’m going to show you how to kill another person.”

 

Hey, good morning, kids!  Did you have a nice breakfast, ’cause I’m certain I can make a few of you toss that shit before class is out!

"Yeah, bitches:  time to show you what I do best."

“Yeah, bitches: time to show you what I do best.”

Before this scene is out you’re gonna know a little more about sorcery and these crazy death spells, and that’s what I’m gonna be working on today–

So you’ll have a bit of easy reading for your breakfast tomorrow.