Okay, first part of the third story in my novel: The Everlasting Rondo. As I’ve said before… It’s unedited and might have tons of grammar mistakes. Heed this warning and read at your own risk. If you’re not a grammar junkie… step right up! 😀
The frame creaked and vibrated as the machine took a steep left turn, scratching the building’s outside structure, holding on to a stone statue for leverage. An empty cartridge fell on the ground, crashing on top of a brand new beetle. Each step made every alarm go off, the engine whirred as the machine dashed onwards, once again. Surrounded by the familiar hums of comrades, he shuddered at the sight of devastation; urban warfare was a sick affair.
Running down the street, he saw it; an Automaton’s silhouette poking from the corner of the Irk Museum. Loading his rifle, he waited patiently for the machine to walk out from the security of the building’s shadow. Just a glimpse, that’s all he needed; after all, he is Britannium’s finest sharp-shooter. The gears creaked as his Automaton positioned itself for the ensuing recoil. I’ve got you now! Three shots, a trinity of punishment racing down the boulevard, piercing the cold, hard metallic casing of the Automaton; falling lifeless on the street, victory was his.
Dashing down the road, the echoes of the machine’s footsteps upon the hard asphalt was drawn to close as bullet fire scrapped his armor casing. Amateurs. He glanced to where the retaliation was coming from, as expected, there are three remaining units. It’s time for Plan B. Smoke poured out of his machine, engulfing the whole block. As bullets trailed across the smoke, he fired once, twice, till one machine was down.
He prayed for some backup, two against one wasn’t fair neither was being low on ammo. He was a sniper, not a frontline soldier. Holding his own against seven units was bad enough, but the last two could be too much for his overwhelmed machine. The gears are creaking, his battery is low, the frame is encrusted with debris of shattered machines; things were looking grim. Either God will send me a couple of angels or I’ll have to look for higher ground.
A loud beeping alerted him of incoming Automatons… Friends or foes? There was nothing on either side of the road. Finally, he realized there was only one place they could come from: the sky! As he gazed into the sun-light heavens, the familiar parachutes etched with his squad’s coat of arms. A sigh of relief escaped his lips, another day another fight he’s had to prolong till the cavalry finally reached.
Gazing at the photograph of a young blonde beauty, he smiled.
“Miss, there is a letter for you.” The maid tried to catch-up with her mistress’ speedy pace. “I believe it’s another love letter.”
“Oh god… not again. Please, don’t tell me it’s from him…” She shoved the doors of her room, open.
“Yes, miss, it’s from Alessandro.”
“That man never gives up!” He took the letter from her maid’s hand and tossed it on the fireplace. “I told him I’m not interested in him.”
“He is persistent; you have to give him credit for that.”
“I told him I hate older guys.”
“Miss, he’s only twenty-five years old and the heir to the Pastore bloodline.”
“I’m only seventeen; he’s seven years older than me.”
“Need I remind you that the Mistress is twenty years younger than the Master?”
“Geraldine was forced to marry Viktor out of necessity and greed.”
“Miss Patricia! Do not speak ill of the heads of the family.”
“Cynthia, don’t tease me into speaking ill of them… After all, I was bought by you people.”
She sat on the small chairs lying outside on the backyard. The sky was clear, but her mind was flustered. Patricia gazed at the small silver ring around her finger, the feeling of captivity and helplessness could be cured by Alessandro’s constant requests for a relationship; she wasn’t sure anymore. Marriage was a scary thing. They were waiting on her eighteenth birthday, like a fruit on the verge of ripening, right for the picking. Her parent’s had no future and as such, decided that Patricia should have one. Living a middle-class life was a torment royals would never even dream of.
The quite tranquility of the evening breeze and the sound of birds chirping away, this was paradise. Patricia needed to find a way to escape her present situation and run as far away as she could. Today she would formally meet her fiancée and husband to be. How was he? Tall and handsome, suave and witty; she’d hang herself if he was a spoiled child. After today, her days of adventures and travelling were officially over. Britannium is such a cruel kingdom, even for people who seem to have everything.
Londinium, the center of the Britannium Kingdom, a city filled with modern structures and medieval architecture all in a mesh of culture and technology; no wonder it was known as the De facto King of Europa. The smog that filled the skies was filtered out by massive structures knows as Sky Blowers, and energy was provided by Tesla Energy Transfer Systems. Dr. Tesla lived his last days in this city, remembered forever as the man that made Britannium a present day Rome; a land of scientific and cultural understanding.
Patricia took a bite of her apple and giggled. She wondered what it would be like to have a title such as Your Majesty, or Your Excellency, probably even Mistress would suffice. She wasn’t greedy, she was curious as to how the life of luxury was. Like Lucifer, it might even go to her head… She shook her head slowly, it was a stupid idea. She had great ambitions but not the type spoiled-royals could comprehend. The apple and cinnamon tea was splendid, so were the crackers and the grapes. A few more hours to go and she’d be holding the hand of a complete stranger.
Flipping through her magazine, she looked at different wedding dresses. All unappealing, looking like spider webs saturated with jewels and rare metals. She needed something different, well, what Patricia needed was freedom. Silk cages aren’t really her thing, she had always wanted to become an Automaton pilot and work for the Royal Forces. A dream that is now so distant.