My Memory Jar

Have you ever had an idea that just kept nagging? Flitting around in your brain demanding to be freed? Who hasn't right. Well that is what my memory jar will be for. For those ideas that just need to get out, yet unfortunately no one else wants to do them with you. Most of my writings here will be one shots, probably my role plays that don't get selected normally. Or even role play responses that I like a lot and don't want to loose. Every day or every other day I will write something and put it in. It can be anything. Now let's get to writing!

A small figure shrouded in a deerskin cloak swept gracefully into a ring of onlookers. Torches stuck strategically into the dirt added their light. A hush fell over the tribe as the young woman threw off her cloak. She was naked underneath body adorned by nothing but bone bracelets circling her wrists and ankles, and paint. The figure of a mammoth dominated her body, the trunk curled over the top of her right breast, the tusks circling underneath. The body of the great beast curled around her torso the tail almost meeting the head of the animal resting on her right hip. On her left breast was painted an upside down triangle representing the giving live of the mother. A second upside down triangle was painted over her mound right above the blonde curls to signify her ability to bring forth life. Red circles enclosed both of her buttocks, representing all life from birth to death. Blue eyes stared out a face as painted as her body. Red ochre paint lined her eyes fanning out gracefully to her temples,

The young woman turned her vivid gaze on the circle of people, finally ending on a young man. He sat grass woven mat the skull of a mammoth nestled between his spread legs. At a nod from the woman he lifted a bone club, made from the femur of a deer, and started to beat out a rhythm. A short series of booms, sounds that resonated on a primal level with man. First one and then another of the tribe members picked up the chant, only when everyone's voice melded together as one did the woman finally move. She began to dance. Her hips gyrated erotically, body contorting into fabulous displays of acrobatics. Her bone anklets rattled as her feet stomped the hard dirt ground, bracelets jangling as she waved her arms in wide, expressive, graceful movements. The beating changed to match the dancing as she whirled quicker and quicker sweat a light sheen on her tanned body. With a leap she stood in front of a cloaked figure, dropping to her knees she bowed her head. The drumming stopped on a disjointed unfinished rhythm that only heightened the tension in the air, the chanting only growing louder as the tribe leaned forward expectantly.

The figure was cloaked and hooded in the whole skin of a cave lion. Slowly the great old spiritual leader of their camp approached the kneeling figure with a limping shuffle, dragging along a leg badly mangled many years ago. His intense dark gaze fixed the woman until her eyes were inexplicably drawn to his. From the folds of the pelt he drew forth a wooden bowl. Within the bowl was a swirling white liquid. Holding the bowl out he tipped half of it into her mouth. The other half he brought to his own lips and swallowed. The woman's head slumped forward body going limp.

Coldness seeped into her bones as she floated on the swirling white watching as the endless grassland sped beneath her at a dizzying rate. Someone was with her in this confusing landscape, a familiar presence. One she drew comfort from and who slowed their speed. Below a herd of the majestic massive animals their tribe hunted and revered for its life giving meat, hide, and bone trudged through the biting wind. A small herd, one mammoth hung behind the others her body heavy with pregnancy. Mammoth the beast with no predators. Even the cave lion, a feline hunter twice the size of modern day lions did not prey on them save for the very young or the very old. Only human with cunning, courage, and cooperation could ever hope of bringing one down. The scene faded as the woman, guided by the old man, speed back to her prone form kneeling in a circle of onlookers. Guided back by their chanting voices. Tears tracked down her face causing the red paint to run, making it seem as though she wept tears of blood.

“They have come.”

The clash of steel, men dying, blood. So much blood. A lone figure ducked between the columns keeping to the shadows, blood stained the front of her beaded dress. Dark kohl rimmed her brown eyes arching in graceful fans out to her temples. Jewelry adorned her as befitted her status, gold bangles in the form of snakes circled her slim arms. Anklets jingling as she ran for the next column, the next shadow. Bare feet hennaed, whispering softly on the marble floor. Fear propelled her forward, always forward and away from that horrible scene. Fear gripped her heart, the Roman's had won. She was the Pharaoh's newest wife, Isetnofret. The marriage ceremony had been celebrated earlier that same day. The Pharaoh's way of showing his people that he did not fear these Roman invaders. He should have feared them, he should have feared them very much. Iset slowed heart thundering as she rounded a corner coming nose to chest with a burly man. His dark eyes flashed, taking in the blood staining the front of her linen, the elaborate headdress crowning her head, understanding came. She was part of the harem, one of the Pharaoh's many wives. Many of the women who crowded the wing of the palace devoted to the Pharaoh's harem were minor nobility, daughters of wealthy families, gifts from other countries, or women the Pharaoh had taken a fancy too and decided to take for his own. But not Iset, she was from a family that had supplied the royal family with wives for generations. She had royalty in her blood. With all the royal family dead she was a tenuous link to the throne.

Fight as she might she couldn't break the man's bruising grip as he dragged her through the corridors. Her headdress had fallen at some point revealing her true hair, long and dark. Pinned in place for the wig that was now lost somewhere in the palace. She lashed out with a bare foot aiming for whatever she could get. Her feet scrapped against metal shinguard’s, her flailing hands hitting a light breast plate. Fear was a tight fist around her chest, a small rather unimpressive chest. She was dragged back to the throne room. Her golden brown eyes fell first on the head artfully resting on a serving tray at the hand of the man now sitting on the throne. Bile rose in her throat and she turned away face paling. Hard fingers caught her chin forcing her to look at the general sitting on the Pharaoh's gilded throne. Brown eyes meet hers in a steely gaze, sweat beaded his brow, dirt and blood a smear on his cheek, cheeks holding the hint of a growing beard. Iset swallowed hard fighting not to look at the head of her husband. She was just one of many women who had been widowed this night. The Pharaoh's chief wife was prisoner in the arms of yet another burly soldier. She wouldn't live the night. She was old, past child bearing age. Her proud gaze met Iset's, she knew her fate, she did not fear it. Her gaze was inexplicably drawn back to the Roman on the throne, he had said not a word since she was brought in. Simply examined her with those dark eyes. Reading her secrets. Reading hersecret. Could he see what none other could? It certainly felt that way. Unable to bear the power of that gaze Iset dropped her eyes, staring at the painted tile floor.

Once upon a time

There was a precious little girl.

Her friend,

The Princess of the Red Rose

was always by her side.

Then one day,

Her mummy and daddy died suddenly,

and the poor little girl was sent away

To a strange house.

Dull lights flickered overhead, casting an eerie shadows upon the rows of bus seats. One of which was occupied by a pale lonely girl. A small suitcase rested at her feet containing all her wordily possessions. The bus creaked and groaned its way up the dirt country road, there was nary a sign of civilization in sight for the past ten miles. At long last it rolled to a stop in front of a single lonely looking bench off the side of the road. It was here that the bus driver let his passenger off.

Clutching her stuffed dog Zachariah to her chest the young girl watched the bus trundle away leaving her behind. Twilight was creeping over the landscape, the cold reaching icy fingers into the threadbare jacket she wore. With no options left the pale young girl picked up her bag, turned, and followed the overgrown dirt path. Fifty feet in brought her to a fork in the road, a worn sign pointed down the left hand side. Rose Garden it read. This was her destination. Lights burned in the windows of the mansion, glowing like yellow eyes. Someone was waiting for her at the gate.

“You must be Catherine, well come on we haven't all night.” An elderly man with glasses stood just inside the gate. He was stout, white haired, wrinkled, and cross at having had to wait so long. His voice wheezed as if each word was a battle to get out. His name was Mr. Hoffman and he was to be her new caretaker. Taking her by the shoulder he forcibly steered her inside, the foyer was dark, but Mr. Hoffman required no light to lead her straight to his office, just off the entryway. A desk lamp struggled to light the gloom, an overstuffed armchair rested in the corner surrounded by a pile of books. A fish tank green with mildew rested in a corner, instead of fish it held a mermaid doll sunken at the bottom. Right over the unlit fireplace was a self portrait of a younger Mr. Hoffman. Nothing about this room put her at ease, from the thin rug underfoot, to the yellowed hand drawn pictures on the walls. If this room had been designed with the idea of “cozy” in mind, the designer had a skewed definition of the word. It was dark, cold, and musty. Bad things had happened in these four walls, she could feel it.

No seat was offered, no tea, no meal, not even a drink of water. Catherine was left standing there in her scuffed up marie janes, white stockings with a tear in the knee, black and white plaid skirt, and white button up blouse. All covered up by a jacket two sizes too large for her dainty frame. All of nine years old the pale, blue eyed, blonde haired girl had lost her parents in a fire that had taken everything from her. Safe for her pajamas, jacket, and Zachariah. Every item she owned otherwise was a gift from distant cousins who had cared for her in the few days before sending her here. To Rose Garden, an orphanage.

Mr. Hoffman had seated himself behind a large oak desk, looking at her over the wide expanse as if trying to decide what was to be done with her. It was an uncomfortable intense stair that had her fidgeting. The silence stretched on, the events of the day had left her fatigued. When he finally spoke she was fairly asleep on her feet.

“You will earn your keep, just as every other child here does. Be a good girl and you will be rewarded, be bad and you will be punished.” his hands were clasped together, chin resting a top them as he peered at the young girl. “The other children are a bed, night means sleep in this house. Now go.”

It was a clear dismissal, grabbing her bag she backed from the room. Her heel caught on the rug sending her sprawling. Scrambling to her feet she found her bag and ran from the room. The hall was dark, lit only by the glow of the moon through the window. She could feel eyes on her as she found the staircase. Night might mean sleep to Mr. Hoffman but clearly the children here didn't share that belief. A hand drawn railway ran along the floor, following it she found it ended at a door. When she opened it she found the sleeping quarters of the other children. Most of the beds were empty.

Finding a bed that didn't seem as if it was claimed Catherine dropped her stuff on it. Without bothering to change she crawled into bed and rolled herself in the blanket. The sheet was thin offering next to no ward from the cold, but coupled with her coat she found a semblance of warmth. She was asleep before the curious children returned from their club. A group of five surrounded the new child's bed. Wrapping the small form in a blanket they wrestled the struggling child up a flight of stairs and through a narrow doorway in the attic.

Freed at last Catherine battled her way out of the sheets heart pounding, she was laying in the center of a ring of candles. A child sat behind each candle, faces grave. At the far end of the room was a sort of throne, covered in sheets and surrounded by roses, both alive and dead. A bear sat on one of the thrones, next to him was a doll. One of those creepy ones with the china faces, staring eyes and rose bud mouths. Out of the gloom a young woman approached the circle stepping over a candle, a bandage was wrapped tight around her leg as if she had suffered an injury. Though her steps were sure as she crossed the room to tower over the quaking nine year old.

“Welcome to the Aristocrat Club”

The small bound figure fell to their knees for the umpteenth time that day, growling the captors yanked impatiently on their ropes forcing a tired body to stand once again. With a soft whimper the Avian lurched to their feet, a trickle of blood snaking down a slender bare leg where a pebble had lodged itself in the pale flesh. The rat captors hissed yanking again on the rope connected to their prisoners hands. Their prisoner was small, big yellow eyes peered fearfully out of a classically attractive face; a pretty heart shaped face, big golden yellow eyes, a straight nose with the slightest of hooks, and plump red lips. White feathers like hair fanned back from the Avian's head falling somewhere around mid shoulder and held back from the face with a golden circlet that rested on the brow. Sprouting from the back, and giving no doubt as to the status of this particular Avian, was two pure white wings. The beautiful white wings were dirtied, a few feathers missing, and bound tight to the small miserable form. Nothing was so horrible for an Avian as having ones wings bound. Which also served to prevent a full transformation. The dress the figure wore might have been beautiful once before being dragged through dungeons and sewers. Now it hung off one shoulder, torn in spots, and stained.

Most Avian's came in a variety of colors, mostly gray and brown. There was the rare black but that was still more common then a pure white Avian. Only one family could claim this bloodline. The royal family. The young royal was led at long last to a dark room, a cage dominated the center already filled with an occupant. Unlike the newest captor this one was bound and gagged with a sack over its head. It was hard to make out in the dark but one smell and it was apparent. This prisoner was a serpent. Tossed into the cage the royal landed with a soft cry, rolling onto their side to ease the pressure on their still bound wings. While their hands were still tied it was only their wrist so they still had the use of their hands, in a limited sense. Still without being able to reach the ties on their wings what was the point.

Ren settled himself in the corner eying the other prisoner. He hadn't moved since Ren had been tossed in. It was instinct to be on guard against such a dangerous cagemate. Their races had been at war for a very long time, currently there was a peace. That peace was to be cemented with the marriage of two royals. Ren being one of them. Without him the small peace the two races, Avian's and Serpents, had shared would be ruined. That of course was the obvious plan of the rodents. No doubt threatened by the coming together of two powerful races. No longer at war with one another they would then turn their attention on a new hated foe, rats. The rats were a dirty disgusting race.

A low hiss had the royal jerking to his feet as a pinched face rat came into view, the man thrust a jug of water through the bars. Ren didn't grab it fast enough and the container spilled puddling on the packed earth flooring and soaking into the clothes of both prisoners. Exclaiming in discuss Ren jumped to his feet knocking his head on the cage bars. Rubbing his head he ignored the rat chuckling beside him, simply wishing it would go. Job done evidently Ren's wish was granted and they were left alone again. Making a face he tried to find a dry spot and sat back down, again eying his companion. The two races shared a peace now and they were in the same boat. If he had to take a chance between the rats and this guy here. He would take the snake. Creeping forward Ren whispered his intentions in a hushed voice, this was probably something the rats didn't want him doing. Well they shouldn't have left the pair alone. He untied the hands first, it was all he had to do. For the instant the hands were free the snake yanked the hood off and tore the gagging from his mouth. Ren scooted back pressing himself against the bars of the cage. He was an intimidating figure for sure.

“Looks like we are in the same boat huh. What did they take you for?”

Tree branches snagged in her clothes, slapped at her skin leaving thin bloody scratches on her arms and legs. Gasping for breathe the young woman pushed her way through the brush trying to put as much distance between herself and the carnage as she could, mind flooded with bloody images, ears ringing with the sound of gun shots and screams. Blood that wasn't even her own stained the front of her clothes. She came to a halt, chest heaving in the middle of a clearing. Senses on alert she scanned the tree line, blue eyes wild with panic. A light drizzle started misting her pale skin, Emily sank to the ground legs to weak to carry her on. Pressing her palms to her eyes she fought to stifle the tears that threatened. Everything gone in an instant. The only family she had known since it had all started. All gone. They hadn't had a chance, weakened by sickness and hunger they were easy prey. They had taken refuge in a ramshackle house nursing the weak and wounded. They were only four. Their youngest was Emily, then the married couple Susan and Jack in their mid thirties, and their oldest Howard who was close to seventy and the father of Susan. All gone, they should have posted a sentry. But they were all so weak, so tired. It was the screams that alerted Emily, but by the time she came to the others had already been lost. She could only flee with their pleas resounding in her ears. Biting back a sob she raised her head, it wasn't until she stood that she realized the drizzle had turned into a full fledged rain that soaked her to the bone. Shivering she slogged through the mud taking scant shelter under the trees. She wandered, for an hour or two before coming on a small wood cabin. She had left everything behind when she fled the house, all her clothes and worse her weapons. She had nothing. Creeping closer to the solitary house she pressed her ear to the door listening, hearing nothing Emily eased the door opened and sidled through. It was dark, the only light valiantly trying to filter in through a dirt caked window. The fetid smell of something dead assailed her nostrils and the culprit was soon found. A man dead in his bed, body half rotted away. He had taken his own life, the gun still clenched in his hand.

Swallowing hard she sucked up what little courage she had left and stepped closer. The smell only got worse, holding a hand to her nose she focused solely on the gun in the corpse's hand. She couldn't bring herself to look at the ruin that was his face, afraid if she did she would lose the small amount of food in her stomach. His fingers were reluctant to free the gun and it was only with a stumbling wrench that she managed to free it. Checking the clip she found she had ten bullets plus the one in the chamber. Sweeping the room she found no more bullets but she did find a backpack, a jacket, and a canteen. All of which she took eagerly soaking up the warmth of the clothing as she pulled it on. Rain still pounding outside forcing her to stay in the cabin far longer then she wished. The rain eased up, still falling but she didn't want to stay in there any longer. Pulling up the hood to cover her long red hair she squished through the muck and found a path leading away from the cabin. She was lost in thought playing the scene of her friend's death over and over in her mind. She failed to notice the small herd of Walkers that started after her, their slow shuffling gait bringing them slowly but surely towards the young woman. It was the growl that brought her mind back to the here and now, her head snapped up wide eyed with terror when she saw the number following her. She had found the road in her wanderings and ran along it putting space between her and the Walkers, rounding a bend in the road she ran directly into another herd following the road as she was. She didn't have a chance with them, careening off to the side she sprinted back into the tree's feeling safety in their camouflage. That feeling didn't last long, the groaning, the rustling as they followed her told her she wasn't alone. An involuntary scream was ripped from her lips as one of them lurched for her arms reaching, whipping out the gun she fired two shots. The first blasted him in the neck, the second brought him down. But the sound drew more and soon she couldn't turn without coming face to face with yet another. She would die fighting at the very least.


The gun spun from her hand knocked away as another walker arms raised snatched at her, hood falling back so her long red hair spilled free. The coat was really her saving grace as the nails couldn't touch her skin. That didn't mean the teeth couldn't. Before being turned the man had been a lumber, massive and muscular. Even dead he was still a burly man, he bowled the young woman over and it was all she could do to keep the thing from sinking its teeth into her flesh. She was going to die, there wasn't a doubt in her mind. She only wished she could reach the gun to at least save herself from this painful death. Arms shaking with the effort it took to hold the walker off. Her arms gave out as the dead weight of the walker crashed down on her driving all the air from her lungs. Gasping in a lungful of air she watched with disbelief as another walker fell its face disgustingly close to her own, an arrow sticking out of its forehead. Gagging she turned her face away struggling with the corpse pinning her to the still wet forest floor.

With a grunt she managed to roll the walker off of her. By that point the owner of the arrows had already moved onto the others knife in hand. She could only see his back as she inched sideways fingers searching the leaves for her gun. He was saving her she had no intention of shooting him, but she felt better with it tucked into her belt. Emily watched mesmerized as the stranger fought with an almost animalistic ferocity. He was strangely graceful in his movements, like a wolf, he was after all a hunter. Such a feeling of safety overwhelmed her as the man whirled around eyes fixing on hers, blade stained black with the decayed flesh of the walkers. This man had saved her from certain doom.

His blue eyes probed hers as he advanced on her with that lithe stalk. He stooped to wrench his arrows free splattering brain matter on his vest as he did so, still his eyes never left hers. Blood rushed to her cheeks, his deep husky voice like a soothing balm on the woman's frazzled nerves. Tears blurred her vision and with a shuddering sigh she launched herself into the surprised man's arms. It was more then just saving her, with him she wasn't alone. Once started the tears would not stop and she buried her face against his neck the tears hot on his tanned skin as the sobs wracked her small body. He didn't say anything, but the small reprieve was short lived. It was dangerous to stay out in the open like this. A groan drew the both of them apart and the straggler was soon brought down with a well placed arrow. Emily was impressed, it only built the regard for which she already held this man.

Daryl his name turned out to be. The pair hurried through the tree's Emily making far more noise then him, and she had thought she could move fairly silently. Next to him she felt like an elephant. “Thank you for saving me back there.” She said after a long silence, the man didn't seem particularly verbose. They continued on the man determined to do his job encumbered by a young woman or not. He was around forty by the looks of him, muscular. He had the feeling of one who had been outdoors his entire life.

Emily had not been. Before all this had gone down she had been a newly made nurse fresh out of school. She had been the doctor for her group. She had grown up in the city, lived in a small apartment with a cat named Tibbers. She had read books, watched anime, went out to movies with friends. Even had a boyfriend of a few weeks when everything had happened. The pair had escaped together, he was lost a month in. Emily couldn't bring herself to be truly sad about him. She had cared about him, but he had turned into a sniveling coward it was only because they found a group that he lasted so long. It was hard to remember there had been a time before this, her old life felt like an almost forgotten dream.

After almost ten minutes of walking the tree's thinned, just ahead a large building could be seen. It's barbed fences and watch tower told of its nature. It was a prison. Walker inmates could be seen wandering just inside the fence, trapped inside. She expected them to continue on, perhaps rejoin the group of people he had come from but he stopped, inspecting the prison. Whatever he saw must have satisfied him. After a quick scan to where they ventured closer to get a good count of how many walkers roamed the inside he did an about face and hurried back the other way. Confused but swallowing her questions Emily jogged after him. They didn't speak much on the way back, in fact he hadn't spoken much to her at all. Now that he saved her he wasn't going to leave her that was obvious, what was also obvious was he didn't know what to do with her now. Fatigue dragged at her limbs, it had been a horribly long day. She dropped back having a hard time keeping his pace. Seeing this he slowed down for her, something she was immensely grateful for.

Rounding a bend in the road they had been following Emily could just hear voices ahead of them, arguing voices. Sticking close to Daryl's side she clutched his sleeve as he plowed forward towards voices he obviously knew. Nervous Emily smoothed her mussed hair away from her face. A silly thing to do since it did not make her appearance any better. She was dirty, sweaty, and a streak of dried blood marred her cheek. The talking stopped as Daryl with a strange girl at his side made an appearance.

The trolley filled with a strange assortment of items including; a pewter cauldron standard size 2, a large trunk filled with freshly laundered black robes and a jumble of required books, but it was mainly the spitting and hissing large black cat locked in a carrier that drew that people's eye to the young girl pushing the trolley. The nervous young girl hurried along after parents that were just as lost and nervous as she was. After a truly eye opening summer it was time to set off for school. That one letter had explained much of the mysterious events that happened around the young blonde girl. Luckily that letter had been followed by a very helpful woman who told the baffled parents what a special little girl they had, and gave them all the instructions they needed. Though she had neglected to mention just how to get onto the platform. It must have slipped her mind. Lia's parents were reluctant to ask anyone about it, for who had ever heard of Platform 9 and ¾ ? Surely not them. So they passed the area between platforms nine and ten as if they thought the right train would magically appear. Although, Lia wouldn't have been surprised if it had.

The summer after her eleventh Lia opened their front door to retrieve the paper for her father, when a large brown owl swooped in through the open doorway. It circled the couch once and dropped a letter on their living room table, hooting once it zoomed out the door again before the girl could quite collect her bearings. Her parents had come to find out what was going on and found their daughter wide eyed, eyes glinting with wondering, reading a letter. At first they thought it a hoax until a kindly witch whose job it was to help muggle born witches and wizards find their way. After seeing Diagon Alley and watching their daughter be matched with an Ollivander wand; ten inches, alder wood, core of phoenix feather, surprisingly swishy. They had to consed. And once accepted they were thrilled. They had a witch in the family.

Lia came from a family of comfortable middle class. Her father was the owner of a small bookstore, which had fostered an early love of reading in her. Lia's mother was a housewife, who was working on her book of her own. It was a dream of her's to one day find her book on her husbands shelves. Though she would never let Lia or her husband look at the book as she said it was still in the rough stages.

They finally managed to get on platform 9 and ¾ by asking a woman leading a daughter and son whose trolley's looked distinctly unmuggle like. The girl looked to be around Lia's age, she had long black hair and bright green eyes, and an owl perched in its cage a top her trunk. Having finally found the train with ten minutes to spare Lia Alden breathed a sigh of relief. Loading her stuff in an empty compartment she hurried out to hug her parents goodbye. Blinking back tears the eleven year old stepped back and boarded the train, leaning out the window for a last glimpse of her parents. They waved merrily at her smiling, though their faces looked sad to see her go. She waved back and her mother blew a kiss as the train pulled out of the station. It was better to think of what was to come, a magical world awaited her. Feeling better she let Poe out of his carrier. The large black tom leaped out and hopped up onto the empty seat purring contentedly. Poe was named for Edgar Allen Poe, her father loved him and Lia loved the name. The girl from before joined her in the compartment as all else were full. The girl was a first year too, her name was Alicia. She launched into her life story without Lia even asking. She learned Alicia's brother, Robert was a second year. That Alicia had a muggle mother and a wizard father. That she hoped she got into Gryffindor. And that Alicia lamented that her parents wouldn't let her get her own owl and instead had her sharing with her brother. Lia couldn't really get a word in edgewise. But she was happy to listen, hearing about a girl who had grown up surrounded by magic was fascinating to her. The door opened again and two boys filed in a short time later. Soon the compartment was uncomfortably full and poor Poe fled to the luggage rack above to avoid being sat on. Everyone was talking excitedly about Hogwarts.