Got the Swine Flu while writing, so it's been a while.

I'll explain some of the terms in it later on in the story.

I didn't wanna proofread too much until I get into writing a lot more, please check my continuity sometime >3


TEXT:

2
הראשון נולד בן

the sea was blood

there was no one alone in some place where the sun was cold

the moon was

the moon was

it made no sense the moon was black

The spasm hit him hard* and with enough force for his body to leave the mattress, sending his book tumbling to the floor. He had fallen asleep reading Aldous Huxley again.
The sleepy-headed* Picharisu made his way out of bed by habit in the late morning sun that filled his room with its warming sensations of a day begging the lazy* to awaken. He put his trade paperback back on his pillow, and began his daily routine anew with a trip to the WC, and a hasty dressing down into jeans, a striped polo shirt that was his trademark, and comfortable sneakers. With a practiced action, he stowed his novel and sketchbook (from under his pillow) into his nylon book bag. He was going out this Sunday to meet a few friends at a nearby park.
The now fresh-faced boy took his cell phone from its charger on his quaint student's work desk. Before going through the door, he scanned his walls with pride, glancing at all his art that he tastefully laid out in simple frames. The amount of different styles he had used over the years made him feel proud in a humble way. Some of works with characters stared back at him with their frozen and ideal expressions. Yes, he was proud of what he has left the world, even if some works had meanings that even he didn't understand fully.
A good many of his landscapes had red seas and dark moons.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o3p5v7z-IN4

“You sleep too much, Chancey-poop! You missed breakfast uh-gain!”
His kid-sister was being her normal charming self, even if it could be occasionally too much for an older brother to take. Chance rustled her hair to make her giggle while she attempted to eat an over-blackened veggie sausage , and made his way to the kitchen to see what his father was doing before he shoved out for a bright November weekend.
“It's a good thing I missed breakfast, or else I may have had to deal with flame-broiled cereal” Chance witted to his father with adolescent confidence. His father, a matured and proud version of himself, was busy cleaning the skillets and rinsing the sink. He glanced back with a neutral expression of intelligence, and answered with the calm, smooth tenor of middle age.
“You sure did better yesterday, what with it being around the same time of the morning and all. Your mother must've blessed you with the means to keep us from starving.”
He mentioned her
Chance fumbled, grabbing a banana from the counter. “I'm going out to meet some friends for a park social or whatever we feel like. I'll be back real soon to watch Mary, kay?” He said as nonchalantly as he could muster.
“Sure. Just make sure you're back by the time I have my appointment at four. Computer repair's a seven day a week setup now; we can't afford to miss all the opportunities in this crap economy,” as he wiped his hands and stood beside his son.
“Not a problem! Gotta get moving!” Chance hugged his dad quickly, and made his way out the door.
“Stay outta trouble!” father made his last remark.
“You know me,” Chance said with a smile.
Passing his sister making her way to the kitchen with her plate, he gave her a small yank on the tail, playfully making her lose her developing balance and totter. A laugh and another hug later, he was out the door and heading down the building's stairs to the street below and into the crisp daylight of the city.

Half a minute out in reality, and Chance had taken on a form and gait of sullenness. It suited him to seem unapproachable, not just because of his disagreements with the world around him, but as a way to get the sour taste of feigning the happiness back home. He adjusted the strap of his pack as he crossed a street busying for the day, and thought of everything wrong with life. His father: oblivious to anything wrong with anyone, be it family or everyone he meets. The fact that he ignores problems, and develops a temper whenever said problems are mentioned, made it surprising that he would mention mother.
He saw two of the more popular students on the other side or the street, and his mood soured up a cent more. It wasn't like he can remember her all that well, considering his features are more like his father and therefore stick more in his mind. Perhaps his sister would someday resemble her, but that would probably only serve to frustrate him further. She had left in the night, back when he had barely even mastered his own electricity, with an “I'm Sorry” note and no word from her ever again. One of the ways father would attack him in an argument would be to say that Chance was just like his mother. Perhaps this was true, and would explain his resentment.

Maybe she was having a better life. A glorious life.

In the communal park near the school campus, Chance found himself wandering with his usual cloud above his head. Places like this put his gripes in perspective. The mons training on the courts, the teams milling around the trees and benches, the pairs of lovers goggling over one another in predictable fashions, and the constant din of duckspeak conversation. All of this noise and color from such mercurial and pointless events, all for the attention they are guaranteed to get from all the chaff of their overinflated lives.

Not I, said this little white squirrel.

And there she was, at the fountain. The firm-built, business dressed Nuzleaf, white hair kept back in a tasteful ponytail. When she made eyes with him, from her he felt no judgment or resentment, but he straightened his posture anyhow. He knew what she was and what she stood for. Learned it a month ago in a letter, and yesterday morning when he met her in person. She, Gehrin, was his connection to the Truth, and the only way he'd discover it.
“And with Chance, we are all accounted for,” Gehrin spoke with a tone of business, but a hint of personal satisfaction, “We can now go to the next contact point, and meet the rest of the local Members. Follow me.”
“Uhh, okay,” Chance said with mild confusion. No matter how much he thought of her as the voice of some secret society, he still couldn't get over her simple business posture. As he followed her back to the street and began to speak, a piping voice close to him surprised him.
“So why do you act so casual about all this stuff, may'am?” asked the Magmar close to his left. He didn't notice her at first; her skirt, top, and knee socks camouflaged her with the rest of the crowds. Her body talk and shrill voice said she was an attention-grabbing type, but as long as they shared the same goals he would tolerate her presence.
“The authorities search out people on an already existing list of suspicions; we can easily meet in public at this time. Your friend happened to be on this list due to her subjective essays and public opinions. In fact, all three of you not only have spotless public records, but your activity in school has never pulled a single red flag. I'm impressed,” said Gehrin.
“Good,” muttered the Luxio Chance happened to notice to his far right, “'Cause I play by the rules in my school.”
His school combat uniform told Chance he obviously was a gym jock. Oh boy! he thought, an attention whore and a brickhead. I hope this whole thing isn't some kind of giant scam.
Gehrin began to walk in backwards without falter to address the group, “Chance, our young lady here is Tanya, and your fellow gent is Andrew. Last names are not necessary in the Organization, but can be shar-,”
“I go by 'Andy',” interrupted Andrew with a combined air of frustration and fuzzy-headedness.
Gehrin continued unabated, “... but they can be shared if you would like. Your orientations will happen when we reach our destination.”
“I can't wait to meet everyone! We're really going to be doing something awesome, aren't we?” squeaked the excited Tanya, making herself look as optimistic as possible.
No answer was given, but both young men sighed with aspiration.

* * *

“It is confirmed. The Gehrin has made contact with two from the Karass.”

“It has begun. This is your time, Kardas.”

The fluorescent lights in the room were completely off in the windowless meeting room. The entire office complex, once used for a construction contractor, now lay abandoned and quiet. Only a small, bright desk lamp shone in the darkness of the room.
On the large conference desk sat fifteen intercom phones, borrowed from the other rooms. From each one, respectively a voice came. Garbled and robotic in style, many with thick accents from deep-seated dialects.

“The eve of Arceus is at hand. The time has come for a new Genesis for Arcei.”

“They have become weakened in their soul, and have reached the terminus ad quem.”

“Our intervention must happen now.”

“And you, Kardas, are the Wampeter of the entire Arcei. Make the first move.”

The last voice was from the phone opposite the illuminated seat. It was deep, clear, and the most humane of them all.
In the light of the desk lamp, sat a Scyther. Plainly dressed in a grey tunic, black slacks, arms crossed loosely across his chest. His shoulders weren't broad, brown hair in ordinary short fashion. The blue eyes were shadowed by the angle of the light, and his visible face gave no sign of any emotion.
His face never changed. This was not unusual.
“Thy will be done. Genesis has begun,” the Scyther had the last word.
All the phones hung up.