Script adjusted to Vocal's format. Characters are Quaive, Eris, and Kander.
----------------------------------------------------------------
QUAIVE: K-Kander!
He winces to him. It takes him a second to see what he has done, firmly regretting it. He doesn't say anything or go anywhere to help his brother or father- too shocked to move. Luckily, the shock was minor. Quaive stands back up. Kander is unable to apologize. His father stands up.
A tense staredown happens between Kander and Eris. Eris looks stern, and Kander is emotional. This time, Kander doesn't win this battle. He closes his eyes and steps away from the throne. He opens them, and the torches turn back on in a flick.
KANDER: (Mumbles.) Sorry... (Speaks louder to his father.) Perhaps, you are right all along. I must control it; no one should see me like this, not even you.
He walks out of the room, ashamed. Quaive reaches out to him, feeling sorrow for his brother.
QUAIVE: (To Eris.) I've never seen him like this. Maybe, you should've kept him as king, Dad, and let things play out. It was only a matter of time until people focused on another controversy, drama, or something viral.
ERIS: It was not easy for me to decide. I hated doing this to him. (Deeply inhales, swallowing his emotion.) I don't want him to blame himself if Tremis falls over this. I'd rather let it fall on me. (To Quaive.) I don't want it to fall on you either, Quaive.
Quaive doesn't say anything, but his eyes gaze at the floor.
CUT TO:
INT. KANDER'S ROOM
Kander slams the door of his room.
KANDER: Why did I have to lose it all?! What did I do to deserve this?
Kander sees a photo of him with Haelo on his bedside table. He picks it up, sets it on fire, and throws it at the wall, breaking it. The fire goes away. Haelophes's side of the photo has fully burned, while his side still has leftover heat. He sobs.
KANDER (CONT'D): Is it the darkest veil that people can only see? The empire has seen me since my birth. They loved me, admired me, and were proud to have me heir to the throne. A scholar told me, ‘You're the finest Prince of Tremis.’ But when I become tainted by evil disguised in sweetness, all of it disappears! A tyrant is not what I seek! A throne is not that I seek! It’s just a chair in a big hollow room. I seek the prosperity of the empire and myself. Gods, Lords, Angels, please hear my cry and remove the curse! Lift the veil to see the good in my (Beats chest.) beating heart! I, son of Feira, Angel of Tremis, please beg the gods to help remove her burden from her soul. You know I was fooled by the demoness, not in love with me. I did love her, but I thought she was a siren. I’m too weak to revoke the curse because I am only a mortal mage. If you are here, please, help me.
Silence. Kander sighs.
KANDER (CONT'D): Can’t hear me from the Heavens? Perhaps, the legends are false. The Mutant Century- the Celestial Era- when the eternal angels, the gods, and the devils fully ruled the world is long gone. I will have to live with my curse forever- no respect from people, no longer an heir. I wish my brother, Quaive, best of luck. My faith is still there for him while my faith in my cure is bleeding. If a god can’t hear me far away, they can hear me close-up. Possibly, they already know. I’ve been blessed with luxury and praise all my life. They gave me another challenge-- a cruel one at best. I do what it takes to earn the hearts of Tremis again. Time will be my only prayer.
Thunder rumbles from a nearby storm. It can be heard from Kander's room. He looks out the window, seeing the dark clouds from the west. He can see the lightning. If the gods didn't answer, nature did; the darkness is still approaching.
TO BE CONTINUED.
About the Creator
Ace Melee
Hello, everyone! Creative writing is an essential asset for me since it frees my imagination from getting hit by the barrier of the skull. It hurts when it's locked in and roars when oppressed- it was destined to soar.
Peanuts and Crackerjack
Bottom of the ninth inning. The game is tied with two outs, two strikes and a man on second. I tap the bat on home plate. The rigid vibrations it creates reminds my aching digits that this isn't over. The practice swing only adds to the heft of mental burnout... Man on second, willing to chance it. Pitcher eyes him but doesn't give in to the dangerous bluff. I kick up dust, readying the peculiar stance I've had since the days of little league. The bat lays stiff upon my cramping shoulder. Pain has no reason to be acknowledged; it's a fleeting afterthought. The sun sits passed high noon, but the stadium lights are on anyway. They trick my brain into believing they are the cause of this sweltering heat. Sporadic clouds are motionless, they too, don't want to miss this exhilarating predicament. Anticipating the next pitch, intensifying roars from the crowd rumble the stadium... Behind me, the crafty catcher adjusts his stance and spits to the dry dirt. Behind him, the staunch umpire doesn't flinch or even blink; he knows how important his call will be. The pitcher winds up, his grip tells me its gonna curve. The release is fierce! Beads of sweat from his hair and face disperse in every direction as the force of his might is unfailing. My left leg lifts—an instinctual move that will increase the power of my swing. It's all down to my two, bloodshot eyes. They lock onto the speeding, white dot as it instantly becomes the target I intend to destroy. The swing is late, but I manage a solid tip. The ball is taking a fast bounce toward the pitcher who is recovering from the almighty throw! Man on second leaves in a desperate rush! I fling the bat to the side with a sense of urgency and make a mad sprint to the only destination I have—first base. Three defenders race inward to be the first to retrieve the skidding ball. Man is almost on third! I watch the open glove of my adversary, wondering if I’ve done enough to win this race. I switch my attention to his eyes, looking for a clue, some kind of reaction that tells me the ball is in the air and heading his way. All I see is frustration. The deafening roar of the crowd spikes! Something happens that I can’t see! My opponent abandons his post right as my left stride touches the bag. I waste no time turning my head to see the pitcher laying on his stomach, pounding the mound with an open glove. He misses the opportunity to out me and the ball has quickly bounced past him. Excitement grows! This isn’t over yet... It's become an imperative fight to tag out the runner heading homeward. The catcher falls to his knees in obvious despair as he watches my teammate make the run of his life. He knows it’s going to be close when he sees the shortstop fumble the ball a second too long. I jump up and down with no plans on leaving first base. All my chips are on the speed and agility of the active runner. His cleats dig into the dirt, trailing a dust-filled cyclone from the rapid and strenuous strides. With a thrusting dive and an outstretched arm, he lands on his chest to begin the crucial slide to home plate. The shortstop fires the ball to the catcher! It immediately begins closing the gap! Nail-biting doesn't begin to describe the anxious vibe permeating the stadium. The bench begins to celebrate even before he reaches the plate. Forty thousand cheering fans reach maximum crescendo, filling the air with a glorious sound. Everyone knows how this story will end… My teammate is met by the entire bench as his fingers inch across home plate, instantly followed by the unmistakable motion of the catcher's glove attempting to tag him out—its milliseconds too late. The ump swings his arms outward, officially calling him safe.
By Lamar Wiggins3 days ago in Fiction
Elderly Woman Behind The Counter In a Small Town
When the worn-out cassette caught her eye, the elderly woman, memories flooding back, pulled it from the drawer, feeling as though the fabric of time had been torn, revealing a different dimension. Behind the counter, she embarked on a journey to the past when she stumbled upon that old cassette, a gift from a friend when she was fifteen.
By Yasemin Yiğit Kuru6 days ago in Fiction
Create Your Personal Vocal Homepage
I'm not a Vocal Newbie (not that there's anything wrong with that), and I'm technologically comfortable. But, I'm also perhaps too comfortable. I think I know, even if I know that I don't know what I don't know, I still think I know more that I do know.
By Judey Kalchik 4 days ago in Writers
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.