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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

The Woman's Game - Prologue. Part One: The Book of Genesis I

I didn’t know where I was. I was dreaming. It wasn’t my fault; oh goodness it wasn’t my fault.

I remember. I remember that someone did it to me.

I could sense that I was in the darkness. I could sense the birds chirping and the woodpeckers pecking at a fresh tree in the forest.

But then I tried to shuffle forward and felt that I was on a small piece of stone and I started to smell the cooking from above; the smell coming from a grate; I realised that I was in some sort of basement.

I was missing; I didn’t even know who I was.

Oh lord I was afraid. I couldn’t. I couldn’t open my eyes. It hurts. I could see the light that shows when you have your eyes closed. I don’t even know my emotion.

I thought it was fear but then I realised it was much worse.

I was horrified.

I touched my arms and felt several cuts and bruises running up my arms. I checked and I was right, my legs were the same. I had been dragged and I must have been kicking and screaming.

I couldn’t even open my eyes because all I could see was darkness. I was sure the darkness was not as prominent to other beings.

My mind was succumbing to the pain I had caused others. My memories are coming back. I have control of something strange. I have control of something quite wild.

I tried to lift myself up but I hit my head on something very hard. The light was going again.

I began to dream of the game and an action I had taken in order to save my soul.

Why was I dreaming like this? I could see all my dreams. I could see all of them.

Every single one since when I was a child.

A crash woke me up and I curled into a ball of absolute fright.

I could see through my dark eyelids that there was more light shining; no longer through the cracks but a full beam into my eyes. I began to will my eyes to open and they finally did.

There was natural light. It was what I had needed.

However, there was a man blocking the light.

He was my angel. He made the dark go away from my mind.

Was he too good for me?

He had come to save me. He was good. He was so very good.

He was someone good when I had broken so many natural rules.

It was bright outside and my eyes struggle to adjust to the light. I could see a long line of traffic in the distance.

He pulled me out of my makeshift jail. He didn’t say a word and I couldn’t speak.

He was so dominant. He held me as we walked. I didn’t know where we were going and he didn’t know where he was going either.

Someone did something to me. They played too hard with me.

My eyes adjusted to the full severity of the light that hit me and then I stared down; towards my chest area and I saw the large pendant that hung from my neck and then the tattoo like imprint on my arm.


I felt myself stumble but he caught me in his other arm. My fine physique had been toned into the form I was in at that point by hours of conditioning and treatment. All I could remember was; in fact, I couldn’t remember anything.

My head was shaved. It was like I had come out of a mental institution. He lifted me into his arms as we walked off into the woods.

I was nude and for the first time I was free.

It took a lot of time for me to feel physically and mentally liberated from my dark past. It took time but slowly I figured who and what I was and I was disgusted at the fact.

I began to remember it all. I knew why I wasn’t strong.

I wasn’t strong enough for man.

I grew. I aged. I had sons and I went through the process of marriage. I had sons though never a daughter, the one thing I had so desperately wanted. God knew I deserved it, after all the hell he had put me through.

But I’ve put others through hell too. Was this my punishment? I was never to have a daughter to call my own? It was more than likely.

Oh, but what would that be like? To have little girl fingers curled around mine.

Oh what a wonder it would be to have those soft ringlets bouncing as I walk her to school for the very first time…

It wasn’t much that I could remember but I always remembered the place where I had been tested; in that grotty little corner where not even pigs should live; I was forced to carry on.

My youth had been taken from me and I had moved on from my darkness.

How was I to know that in the near future my dreams were going to be revoked?

I know, no, I fear it. My transformation is going to be hard and it is going to be vile.

For I know in my heart of hearts that I am going to become the thing that I hate most in this world.


I am a snotty little child who is fourteen and is ever so nice to anyone that I meet and I’m obviously not in love with anyone or anything I have ever met. In fact I don’t think I even have hormones.

Now that is what you would expect to hear from a goody two shoes little creep who is a mummy’s boy and wants to be painted in his father’s image.

I am nothing like that. My name is Ash. I am 14. I’m here. Live with it.

I know that I am able to do so much more than what is given to me. I can do so much better than the rest of these pitiful people around here. My parents are boring as well.

Mother is always smiling and Dad spends all his time in his office.

But I am doomed to hide. Doomed to hide for my entire life and you know why?

It’s because my family are criminals.

Yeah you got it right. My family are criminals. Born and bred.

Yet there is my mother who is clueless to absolutely everything because she just smiles and gets on with it.

That’s my family way.

If my father wasn’t such a criminal I could make something of myself but I’m doomed to take on my family’s guilt when my father passes away.

And the greatest thing about it is that I don’t even know what we have done wrong.

I know my father has something to do with it but whenever I ask I get a grunt from Dad and a beaming smile from Mum and then she gives me cake. I really do like cake. I need to remember the cake is a lie or whatever that quote was from a game I played but I lose myself.

As I was saying, there was always a problem with my family but we just grinned and got on with it.

I went downstairs and into the kitchen and saw Mum had made me a cup of tea.

‘Mum, you’re so sweet you know. Thanks.’

‘You’re welcome Ash. Have you brought your washing down? I have to visit your Nan today and I have to have it all done and then I have to go to the bank and then do something else.’

‘What?’ She never kept secrets.

‘Oh it’s just to see a man about a car. I’m going to learn to drive.’ She had never driven. She lost her license because of a major crash on the motorway. But now she wants to try again? It had been 10 years and I was only 4 at the time so I don’t really remember much of it but I knew that she was afraid to go in a car.

‘Mum. Aren’t you afraid of going in a car?’

‘No dear, I can do it. I have to do it. I have to do so I can travel to work.’

She hadn’t worked for years. There was something seriously odd about it.

‘Are you sure you are okay Mum? You seem to be doing an awful lot considering a few years ago you wouldn’t even leave the house.’

‘My psychologist said I have to get out and do more stuff so I got a new job that is not close enough to walk but far enough away to drive. This will be a perfect chance for me to get out of the house. It’s only ten hours a week but money is money.’ She sat up on a breakfast stool and leant on the desk and signalled to me to sit down next to her.

I went over to her but I didn’t want to. I had to. You know family traditions and all of that malarkey.

‘Now, after school you are going to be alone for an hour or two every day because of this new job. Now because of this, I want to talk about girls, Ash.’

Oh shit.

‘What about girls? Oh you don’t know how much I love them.’

‘I’m not fooled dear.’ My heart sunk to my stomach. ‘I know. I’ve always known.’

‘How did you know?’

‘I guess its mother’s instinct.’

This wasn’t right; I must have been showing outward signs. ‘I’m not that obvious am I Mum?’

‘You and all those girls from school. I don’t blame you but I don’t want you getting hurt. Are you using protection with all those girls?’

Oh my god. She thought I was sleeping with all my friends. Okay, that’s just wrong but if she believes it then I’m not going to argue with her.

Girls are not cool. Certainly not cool. Best play along.

‘Mum, I’m not sleeping with my friends. We are just friends. I’m just waiting for the right person.’

‘I know I know. Just I worry about you baby, you are so young and I don’t want you getting over your head.’ She ran her hand through my hair and scratched the back of my neck which was something that always felt oddly good.

At that point my father stormed downstairs and we could hear his grunts and his moans. He wasn’t a ‘happy chappy’ as my nana always said. Mum suddenly clammed up and went to go wash up a plate she had been washing for about half an hour waiting for his return.

Dad came into the kitchen, grunted at me for sitting at the breakfast table and stuck the kettle on. I think I took his tea. Ah well, who cares. He can make another.

He glared at Mum and she glared back. There was an obvious problem. They still loved each other but give him half an hour and he would be right as rain. This sort of thing always used to happen. Day after day, week after week, a never ending cycle of awkwardness.

I sighed and buried my head in my hands trying to drown out the silence.

I heard Dad storm upstairs and then as usual go into his office. He spent probably 80% of the time in his office working on things that were not to be seen by me or Mum. I went over to Mum and hugged her. She needed it. I love my mum, much more than my father but I do still love him.

God these are the times I wish I had someone to love.

I wanted to get in to see him and just see what was wrong so I tried to join him upstairs. I walked along the long corridor to his office, my stomach churning before I put my hand on the handle to the door and closed my eyes.

I tried the door.

The door was locked like usual. There was nothing unusual going on there. He always liked to keep his office locked, in case of any nosey busybodies going around the house. At least, when we had people visiting.

There is something going on. I know it. There must be something going on. I’m determined to find out. I know my father has committed many sins.

I just have to for my own sanity have to find out the nature of those sins.

The following day my father had to rush off to work so I thought I would try getting into the room. I went through the same sweats and nerves as I did the first time.

Ever since I was a child I was taught to fear my father and love my mother. Like it was in the great Greek Tragedies. For example, when Creon commanded Haemon to leave Antigone but he wouldn’t and it caused his death and Eurydice’s mourning. I’m nothing like Haemon but my mother is a lot like Eurydice.

£150 to the man who guesses who my father is like…

Commanding. Authoritative. Well done, all that money for you. Cheques in the post.

I had an idea of trying to get in. Maybe, just maybe, today would be the day that he left it open. I went up to the door and lightly pushed on it and the lock clicked and the door moved backwards. I was quite shocked because it had never opened so easily before.

I walked into the office, having never properly seen it in recent years; it had faded from my memory. It was dark with posters all over the walls and sticky notes all over a huge map. Some red, some yellow, and some blue.

I guess each meant something different. There was a yellow one on where we lived and another one on Russia. Then a red one on the middle of America and another one pinpointed on Australia. But then there was another blue one on Russia. This system was incredibly confusing but I guess you can let him off. It was just a really strange system to just recognize what a country name was.

I guess my father was just a little strange. But that was the life he led.

I sat down in his office chair and spun round. Well this is fun.

There must be more about this place than just his office, a few signs and a strange map on the wall.

I looked at his computer screen and saw a little symbol. It was a depiction of a cross and anvil with a half moon behind it. No relation to anything that I can think of. I can only think of Communism but there are no communist states now are there? Well, there is only China but recently that’s been crumbling since the death of their leader…

I placed my feet up on the desk and then a bright light came from the camera attached to his computer screen and it went directly into my eye. A female voice began to speak.

‘Retinal Pattern: Not Recognised. Cell evidence required.’

A small tube came out of the camera with a slight needle on the end of it. I put my finger against it and allowed it to draw blood. I quickly cleaned my finger up and then heard the result from the woman’s voice.

‘DNA Pattern: Recognised. Welcome Sir.’

I jerked back in the chair, startled by the strange voice that broke the silence.

A camera screen appeared on the computer and it wobbled a little. Someone behind the camera was preparing themselves.

They came around and sat in a chair and I realised it was my father. He was sitting in the same chair I was sat in.

Did he deliberately leave the door open? Or was he just busy getting off to work? I never found out even to this day.

He started to speak slowly and surely making sure each word was emphasised.

‘If you are watching this then I have laid my trap. Hello son. I knew you would go into my room. Ever since you tried the other day I knew. I am going to tell you the true reality of the world. This was going to be the reality of Utopia. That is the ultimate dream throughout time and space, travel to Utopia. The constant call ‘Come to Utopia.’ The prophets have foretold change throughout time and that is what is coming. The Mayans predicted it when their calendars ran out. The prophets have always said so and they were so right son.

“Observe the map behind you. The tectonic plates, each of them, are going to force into each other because of the bombs. Someone, although we are sure it was her, has planted a collection of bombs and has the trigger ready for whenever this person desires. We have been investigating her but it has appeared to be quite difficult. This means that there will be no stopping the happenings of the events that are to follow. We also have reason to believe someone is planning to take over Utopia and run it as a communist nation. We are the communist resistance; our purpose is to stop the end of the world.” He took a sip of his coffee.

“There are many powers in the world but none as great as the power of the crystal skulls. If they are gathered in the right place at the right time the power will be intensified and we also have reason to believe that they have the power to control these skulls of power. We have to find them.” Ash saw that his father was getting himself worked up. He saw that he was near the end of the video.

“If we do not find the skulls first, the nation’s leaders would have the chance to control everything, even minds… The prophets have foretold change for better or for worse. Now that you know; you must never mention this to anyone or you could bring about the death of the human race through panic, looting, and destruction. Do you really want that? I’m sorry but you needed to know. Things are going to happen and my boy is going to get hurt. My family is going to suffer… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…’

The screen went to blank.

How can this be true? I should never have gone into that office.

What am I going to do?

I was going to have to carry on as before. I was going to have to be ready to take my father’s place.

It was going to be difficult but I was ready.

I ran out of the office, locked the door behind me and I slowly started to weep.

What had I done?


The light still affected her from time to time. Her darkness always started to surround her whenever she left the place of honesty. She walked into the warehouse and saw the other figure in the middle of the light.

‘It has been too long. I have the money. I assume you have the papers.’

She did not speak. She did not need to. She placed her hands upon the sides of his forehead. She was transmitting the message. She smiled from behind her shroud and took her hands and covered his eyes.

‘What are you doing? No! No you can’t do this!’

A crowd of boys entered the warehouse and took him. Then she threw a card to each of them.

‘Make sure he is never found’ it read upon the cards.

She signalled to one of the boys to pick up the suitcase for her containing the money that she needed.

She brought the boy into her shroud and kissed him. A most simple kiss.

He was then even more controlled than he was before. She liked this model. She would keep him for a few weeks till she could find another boy who was far more attractive than the boy she had at the moment.

She controlled each of them. She reached inside her satchel and there it was, The Skull of Culture. Her first skull; she rubbed it intensifying her power. Once she had enough boys she knew what she would do.

She would rub the skull slowly, slowly killing each of the boys by rotting their brains from the inside.

She truly enjoyed it.

But it was never enough for The Shrouded One.

She wanted everything for herself. She wanted the skulls and she wanted all of them for herself.

Even if she had to kill every last person on this stinking planet to get it.

Copyright © 2013 Johnathan Colourfield; All Rights Reserved.
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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