|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
The Devils Footsolder -Ch.1-(Please read prologue first! In description)
Chapter One: Fire Red.
I can feel myself growing tired as we unpacked the last of the kitchen boxes. All that was left now was the stuff that goes in the basement. Eager to get it all done, I walked over to the basement door. However, right before I opened it I heard a loud shriek and violent scratching noises. Lindsey was right across the kitchen, but looked as though she hadn't heard anything.
She was still humming "Straight to Video" and making lunch.
I opened the door and the loud, unpleasant, noises continued but they
where amplified by what seemed like a million. I held my hands over my ears as tightly, trying to block out the defining scream. Lindsey must have seen me. "Um... Gee what are you doing?" The noises ceased at once as she began to speak. I reluctantly released my ears and stared at her in disbelief. How could she not have heard?!.. Or was I just crazy? Either way, my ears felt as
The Devil's Footsoldier-Prologue-Prologue- (Narrator POV)
Gerard felt a smile spread across his face as he looked at the gorgeous home that would soon belong to him and his wife. Lindsey was excited too, as she grabbed his hand and sped into the house to look around. It was indeed, a marvelous home, and it looked just as it had in the pictures the couple had looked at online.
The front of the house was painted a striking white over its wooden panels. It was a two story with three windows at the top. The sides of the home had vines going up the walls. The house was extremely old, and it was built over an old Indian reservation.
Inside, there was a tall entrance with a crystal chandelier that sparkled and seemed to light up the hall. Beyond that was a living room that connected into the kitchen. The kitchen was a baby blue with wooden counter tops. However, Gerard was more interested in the old wooden door at the far end of the room. The basement. They decided the basement could be Gerard's work area for when
Volpi.You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see them. There is a place
of deep knife marks, a street
long as midnight
you may learn something there.
Valentina's voice glimmers like red wine.
You may enjoy intoxications. Still,
know alcohol has no story
and will swallow your own.
Find the sign with the wolf on it.
You'll know the place. Epiphanies ring true as church-bells.
Lucca still guides the wanderers
to well sp
Keep in Touch!