Tremayne Joiner
Bio
Just a guy with too many stories in his head just trying to get them all written down...maybe one of them is something worth something
Stories (5/0)
The Voice in the Void
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. Captain Einreb and his Immediate Response Team of fifteen comrades stood at the Bridge of the J. Wrecker 72: a support vessel. The J. W. 72 was not a particularly large ship. It was large enough to have a fully equipped hospital that could hold forty-five passengers on the lowest deck, feed twice as many in the chow hall on the second floor, and still have room for thirty bodies to sleep on the first floor outside the Bridge of the ship. However, it was small enough to be crewed by just three people if it came down to it and fast enough to avoid any pirates or any planetary governments audacious enough to lay claim and set boundaries on the ceaseless infinite of space. This ship was perfectly designed and equipped for one purpose. To provide aid to lost and damaged ships before the ruthlessness of the void could claim them. In the past seven years this ship did exactly that. They responded to every distress call, finding and recovering everyone they could. Since Einreb took over as captain he has recorded a 97% survival rate if a distress call was received within two hours of an incident. Today marked the first time he arrived too late the call.
By Tremayne Joiner2 years ago in Fiction
The Owl N' I
Looking back to my days before I was King, I remember laying down under a silent night sky in the open fields of Galagdriz. An acting barrier between two nations, the wheat fields grew up to five feet tall, and they danced with the whispers of the wind around me as I stared up at the stars, dreaming of a better life; a life that would take me far away from the tattered clothes and begging for scraps. As I lay dreaming, hypnotized by the wind, I was startled by a noise, a faint echoed howl. I opened my eyes to see a creature circling above me. I noticed it to be an owl and it first seemed to be a normal barn owl, circling the fields for its next prey. Though as it descended I realized that it was much larger than an ordinary owl. It had its distinct round, flat face with a short stub of a beak and deep, wise eyes; however, its underbelly was untarnished, pure white, and its wings were all colors of red. As she flapped her wings, her feathers reflected the moon and star light in such a way that it looked like she caught the light's fire in her wings and willed it as she pleased. Captured in her beauty, before I knew it she was perched on my chest looking down at me. We stared at each other for eternity. I was drowned in her gaze, falling into her eyes as she peered into my soul. The wind danced and whirled again, only this time I heard a soft, slow, and gentle voice riding the whispers, "Come...and follow me," and she pushed off my chest and took flight. It was not a suggestion, it was a command to be followed, spoken with an authority that demanded obedience despite how calm and small the voice was. Before I could even hesitate I was standing in the fields and following her into the Forests of Bastile, away from the Kingdom of Gamorsia, into the Territories of Talsahan. I tried speaking to her, trying to discover where it was she was leading me and why I was following her. I walked for miles, chasing the night, to the point I had almost convinced myself that I had not actually heard a voice. It must have just been the wind playing tricks on my tired and weary mind. Just as I began to doubt, the owl landed on a branch of a large Redbirk tree, turned only its head all the way around and stared at the horizon from which we came. I followed her gaze and I saw that the sun was rising and I remember thinking to myself, "What a sunrise! How can a simple moment of everyday life begin with such beauty? But this particular morning wasn't the typical sunrise. Yes, it was as bountiful and springing with color, the reds and pinks and blues and oranges and purples dancing in the night sky. But there was a smell in the air that you only get in the late summer's day. After the fires have burned the dead and dying Redbirk trees preparing the forests for the winter and the following spring. The smell of death, but also the sweet smell of the potential of life. I say this to you as odd because only at the time of summer's end does one experience this smell, but it has been recorded from around the nations: that day, twelve years ago, on a midwinter's dawn, people experienced that euphoric smell. And it was rumored, that was the day that the nations began to feel a shift, and the world forever changed.
By Tremayne Joiner2 years ago in Fiction
Heart of the World
The people of Ashka, the village destined to remain abandoned in the desert, were once again preparing an assault. The men raced back and forth through the streets with towels, damp and dry, others running with buckets, full of water, careful not to spill a drop. The women were herding the children into one main building in the center of the village, frantically making sure they were keeping a head count of all the children of the village, so as to not lose a youngling. An elder woman, wrapped in a long gown with grey hair flowing in the winds, eyes covered with a black cloth, shouted as the last of the kids and women were running into the shelter, “Did you find William and Nate!”
By Tremayne Joiner3 years ago in Fiction
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