Process Writing, Creative Fiction

Sudiksha Kochi 

Ms. Asuncion 

English 9H, Block 3 

10 February, 2016 

                            The Flames of Ignorance 

January 15, 1887 

"Hey little girl, I know you stole my piece of bread! Give it back before I pummel you to the ground," a group of boys snickered at me. 

Scared but headstrong, I responded boldy, "I ain't got none of your stinkin' bread! Just because I got a different skin color than you doesn't me you can blame me for all your problems!" That was the last straw as their anger grew into fury vengeance, and they stomped on me like a delicate flower. Blood was oozing like a nightmare of flashbacks, and my spirit was a bombshell exploding into the depravity of my heart. I could hear it all the way here, the gnawing of my hunger as it caved from my stomach and into salty tears that burned the pain of confidence I had mustered up.  

"Don't ever step foot here again or I'll personally have one of my bodyguards kick you till you're a bloody mess!" The leader of the gang yelled at me. "Surely, you have more sense than to cry for an apology?" 

"Ok boys that enough," one of the teachers from the schoolyard yelled, racing over the hidden corner to report the incident to the principal. "Let her go. I know times are hard here in London with the war coming up, but that doesn't give you a right to hurt other students because of your anger. Go to the principals office right now, all five of you. As for you, I need to know what your name is so I can send you to the hospital." However, I laid motionless, for this reality was just golden grace falling into the fiery pits of hell. Her words shot me like arrows, pounding like ongoing bullets into my heart, and the loneliness of eternity oozed like slime from the walls of the Handswell Homeless Center, where I lived. All I could see now was a miasma of black, and royalty itself was hope of insufferable defeat. I was losing my breath, and as the strands of my red hair were fading one by one, my dream vanished into a pile of muck, where I hoped it would rot there forever. I could hear the sirens flailing  from the ambulance faintsighted, as the emergency paramedics as for my information: 12 year old girl, enthusiastic about becoming a doctor, gets bullied a lot, red strands of fury, and of course, blue eyes that dance from the waves of the tsunami. The rushed words were like a spell casting above vengeance and hatred of this world, but the teacher didn't mention my broken heart, my loneliness. She didn't mention that my soul were icicles in the glorified state of mankind.  

12 years later... 

"Well, Mrs. Kiara Brunswell, your grades from high school are a series of unblemished A's and you have an impeccable record of keeping good exam scores. However, being a trauma surgeon, especially during war, requires a lot of endurance and experience. I could clearly see how much determination you've gathered over the years, but you lack what is essential of being a doctor. Give me one good reason why I should accept you into this extensive field," remarked the head of medical institutions, Mr. Ironsworth. 

"I insist that I do have the experience, sir. I may be a colored, but when I was younger, people would punch me like I was a devil ruining their petty little lives'. My childhood is what brought me into this position, Ironsworth Sir. I always wondered who my parents were, living in that junkyard of a charity, but I assure you I am nothing more than an avid young fella' wanting to help others around me," I stumbled on the right words to make a good impression on this arrogant beast. 

"Well, I suppose I can accept you, but I need you to follow a list of guidelines. You are allowed to move out of the charity you are living in, and must report to the military barracks at all times. Remember this important rule. If your scared, you're worthless. And if you're not up to the task, then you shall die, in front of the blood of many other worthless peasants fighting for our country. Now move it along!" His voice roared like a hyena in the jungle. I instantaneously gathered my things and ran outside, scared of this man's attitude towards coloreds, and walked in the scorching sun of the cobblestone roadway in Oxford, London. As usual, there were merchants, soldiers, slave and foreigners all sharing the crowded, noisy streets belonging to King James, a conflicted man with a pleasant attitude towards his subjects. There were a lot of roadside battles occurring once in a while, when an exiled person from another land comes to fight the British for glory and pride.  

Sooner or later, I knew I wouldn't be one of these powerless scoundrels, but a woman of greater prestige than any other upper class society gal ever. I had a life in my hands, a life worth saving, for the soldiers' bear souls are exposing their lives for these wretched savages. I looked over the list Mr. Ironsworth had given me, feeling a sense of confidence and heroism towards the minions of the commander. Report to the military barracks now? Get up at 4 everyday? I rehearsed the ongoing interrogations going on in my mind, and realized that I had two choices. Either stay and fight, or be the wimp I used to be in my childhood. 

Same day, 11:00 AM- Handswell Orphanage 

"Where do you think you're going, missy?" The head of the orphange, Mrs. Lacy called out. "Did you even get a job yet, little rascal?" With the mop of unwashed hair and brown, rotting teeth, the colored stood still, not wanting more of the lachrymal baby in her hands. 

"Yes, ma'am. I can finally achieve my dream of becomin' a trauma surgeon. I'm leaving," I inquired firmly. I was finally ready to go. Having nothing more than a light suitcase filled with clothes from the olden hipster days, I thought about bringing my special locket that was on my neck ever since I was born, with the initial K on the cover of the opening. Losing it wouldn't be the best option, and I placed it in the pocket of my jacket sleeve before saying my final goodbyes. 

"Oh honey! Give me a hug! I'll miss you sweet angel! Come back and visit someday if you ever get the chance!" Mrs. Lacy wept as she placed the baby in the crib and held me tight to her chest. "Now, you don't forget to brush your teeth everyday and put on clean clothes, you hear me?" She inquired in a mocking tone. 

"Yes, I'll be fine goddess of motherhood," I answered, as I gathered my bags and saw the look of disbelief and scrutiny in her eyes. 

"You'll do amazing out there! Now go before its too late," she gave me her final blessings and touched my cheek. "Be the change you wish to see in the world." 

Military Barracks-Day one 

When I entered the cubelike barrack after traveling for three days on foot, reading the diagrammatic map, and signing in to my assigned room, I saw the three most beautiful girls in the entire universe. Laura, while her eyes were like stars in the galaxy, had been in her second year as an accomplished trauma surgeon. There was Crystal, whose gifted eyesight could spot anyone bleeding from 20 to 100 meters, and a personality of a quiet rabbit, yet a powerful numina in the inside. Lastly, my favorite was Prancy, whose bubbly and perky relationship with me grew from attraction to lasting friendship. Yet none of them were coloreds (all were barbarians from China), everybody had walked through pain in their lives, and respected me for who I was. The training was just about to being. 

"Okay nurses! Listen up! The war is coming tomorrow, and I know we are starting early, but there is no time to go through the training process. As each and every one of you are experienced at performing surgery, I except you to be in your most disciplined, but attentive form. Is that all clear?" The leader of the nursing stations, Mrs. Mancy, exclaimed. We all stood shoulder to shoulder, listening to the men practicing gunshots in the background, and the cavalry preparing their horses for harsh labor. 

"Rumor has it that Mrs. Mancy has such fat lips that whenever she speaks, she spits everywhere!" Prancy whispered next to me. I rolled my eyes, seeming a bit frustrated with her today. Although Prancy is an excellent surgeon, she tends to disgress from the main subject being mentioned everywhere.  

"Now I want all of you to prepare your first aid kids today and get a good nights rest. Bring all your supplies onto the battlefield. We fight for our lives, we lead our army, and most of all, we save those whose blood is being tortured by the rebels. Now, split up!" Mrs. Macy screamed at the top of her lungs.  

  Military Barracks- Day One- Nighttime 

"So, aren't you people scared for tomorrow?" I asked all three of my roommates. 

"Not really," Crystal replied. "Once you get used to saving people, it becomes a normal thing. I remember my first time. It was a nightmare, seeing all the blood strewn over the banks of the river in the naval battle that occurred between London and Paris, but-" 

"She tends to get off topic a little," Laura eyed her angrily, "All we are trying to say is that hope is like a pair of wings. Sure, if you're god you can easily break fragile clouds and soar through the clouds like a free blow of a wind. Unfortunately, the only thing left for us to do is go to bed and think about the mistakes we have made in the past, reminiscence old memories, and at the end of the day, feel like we are the growing flowers in a field of dirty, rotten weeds." Then Laura closed out the lights and spoke inspiring words I will remember for the rest of my short life. "You are the firefly in the upheaval of darkness."  

 War between London and Latvia- 1899 

There was blood everywhere, tormenting the poor, and shreds of skin were peeling away like the colors of a sunset. Men were yelling at each other, and gunshots were being fired from one end to the other, as innocent horses died on the spot and the fast-paced cavalry raced from one end to another, crushing the enemy strikes from weak lines among the army. It was no longer the organized army marching towards victory, but just a bunch of oblivious, bloodthirsty demons attacking for broken hearts, ghosts that phantom each other's feelings, and thunder that strikes pellets of unscathed venoms lurking in the shadows of doomsday.  

"Hey nurses, quickly treat them! We haven't gotten much time left, y'all! Our numbers are reducing, while our forces are weakening. If you want to be part of this bloody nightmare, start acting fast! " Mrs. Mancy proclaimed with the greatest strength. Helping one soldier after another, I treated scars of misery and pain to triumphal death. The gift of stitching the skin was like patching two weeds and a twig. Barbarians were meandering through the crowd; some lying on the ground with a restless night ahead of them, while others fought to save the daylight, like time was frozen in its own relapse, a symbol of chaos and destruction. Figures of silhouette hallucinations crowded in my brain, and my emotions started clashing with business. The tears of blood dripping down ragged sacks of weapons was nothing to bear, but the greatest enemy of all was continuing to stab at the same pain continuously. The flashback reappeared, stronger than ever. 

"Little girl, are you awake yet. You have been out for such a long time," the doctor stretched out my dead fingers one by one, cold in the winter months while the frostbite lingered in my skin. My eyelids began to flutter, and I saw the sun peek into the windows of my imagination, comforting its rays of energy into my lethargic soul. Standing right next to me was Mrs. Lacy, as she threw herself on top of me into a loving hug, and kissed me right on the cheeks. Her tears were just the beginning of my vengeance against  weakness.  

"What are you doing newbie? Start working! This is war! Start using your common sense and go and help our soldiers! Don't be a slacker during critical times!" Mrs. Mancy shouted at me. 

"Yes ma'am!" I exclaimed, snapping out of my past. Suddenly, I saw a young man reaching his bloody hand for a symbol of peace. I quickly raced over to him and saw his uniform, with a symbol of a phoenix sewn on the corner. He was an outsider, the rebel of the battlefield. 

"Help me pleasee..." He whimpered with pain and reached out to touch my hand. I couldn't do it. I shouldn't do it. Yet, it felt like we were already connected with our nerves tingling and feeling a shock of the same pain. Seeing him suffer reminded me of a long time ago, with nobody to bolster me in times of my struggle. I was a graceful ballerina, a strong wrestler, and kind nurse. I wasn't going to let him down. 

"Look, you have to be extremely quiet and hold your screams while I heal you, or else they'll kill me. Alright sir?" I asked nicely. 

"Please, do whatever you can.." He replied with a voice of a tingling bell, and then passed out. As I was cleaning the blood off his legs and stomach, and went to patch him up, two soldiers caught sight of me. Determined to cure him before I was penalized, I finished the last of his wounds and told him to run off as quickly as possible. It was coming for me, the long-awaited Satan was going to end the revolts I have started, the disobeying of rules I have set forth, and a graceful act I one day hope to be remembered for. Their shadows were coming closer, with a blade of a knife ready to stab me and in my ears, one of them whispered the last words I needed to hear. 

 "You have helped the rebels. You are not one and another. You are just a broken piece of artwork now little girl." The words continued to screech in my ears and throughout the bombs of the battlefield, I was lost within myself. It had been done. The war was over, the British have won, but my eyes never opened to see the orange bulb spray tensions of relief into the flowers, or shine its beauty onto the victor of the soldiers. I lay dead among all of them, just another puzzle piece to the enigmatic solution of war. Long sleep lay ahead of me, filling my soul with darkness and debris from that night, and ascending into heaven was my ailment. For I, Kiara Brunswell, was no longer a trauma surgeon, but just another star dancing in the moonlight. Words were no longer viable, and the fog clouded in the tears of heaven. Bless the flag that continued waving, for you are the brave one.