As a very few of you know, I like to write.
Let me rephrase that.
I must write or I will die.
Or close enough to it.
And since I must write, it's only logical to assume that other people might like to read it.
Agree?
Good, because that is why you are here.
You may now be wondering why I have called this the Unknown.
Good question.
The answer?
Because you will never quite know what I'll be posting on here.
And because I'll never quite be sure what I'll be posting on here.
But welcome.
Welcome to my world.
*creepy music sounds softly in the background as the lights fade to black*
P.S. To my WE friends (who will remain unnamed, but you guys know who you are), apologies that I won't be posting some of the you-know-what immediately. I just had this great little thing I wanted to share the instant of inception. Thank you for calmly accepting this inconvenience.
KTS P.P.S. It has someone you know I like very much in it!
-- Sat Dec 14, 2013 11:18 pm --
Here's the first I'll share of my works. Critique it all you like...I love it.
And tell me if you find any typos. I am displeased with typos. 
Smoke rises into the air, curling and billowing like vine tendrils. A layer of ash coats the ground, swirling whenever someone walks through it. Flames leap out from buildings on either side, grabbing for anyone close enough to fall victim to the scarlet fire. Rockets are whistling through the air, landing with explosive thuds on the nearest target. A low hum of gunfire fills out the black noise on the spectrum.
From the high palace balcony where I stand, the screams of terrified citizens fall like hail on my ears. I can't stand to hear it, but I can't tear myself away from it either. It's like I'm being held, spell-bound, to watch the destruction of the vast city spreading out in front of me.
My city.
My home.
My hands grip the railing tighter as a platoon of soldiers races around the corner of the palace and out into the street. They're the last of the palace guard; I now stand defenseless before the enemy save for my staff, which is laying on the ground behind me.
Where is my husband? I wonder. Where are the warrior brothers? Where is my personal guard? Have they died in the fighting? Why am I standing here alone?
I squeeze my eyes shut, unwilling to witness any more destruction. But I can't block out the sound of the screams and gunfire. And neither does the image fade from before my eyes. I can still see it, clear as day.
Shouts sound behind me. My eyes fly open and I whirl around to see my personal guard panting in the doorway.
“My lady, you must run now while you can,” she gasps out. A streak of soot tarnishes her forehead, showing through a veil of honey-blond hair. Black ash stains her hands and her white robe. Her staff is smoldering, a sign that she has been fighting the enemy soldiers down in the streets.
And winning, of course.
“I can't leave now,” I tell her. “I'm stilling waiting for my husband.” Even though my heart is beating like a drum within my chest and my hands are shaking with tension, I feel calm and composed on the outside. Only my voice reveals the inner turmoil surging beneath my skin.
“He's occupied right at the moment.” She picks up my staff and shoves it into my hand. “And if we don't go now, we won't be going anywhere except into our graves. Hurry!” She pulls me out the door and down a flight of stairs. I feel like I'm in a dream as I follow her. My feet don't even touch the floor.
Suddenly we're in the street, and the screaming and burning and shooting are close around us. My chest collapses from all the smoke and I feel myself gasping for air as my guard drags me along.
Come on, you can run yourself, I berate myself. Stop slowing her down!
But it's like I can't even move my own feet, much less make myself run. My mind is intensely concentrated on the situation around us, but my brain and its commands are floating away like smoke.
We round a corner and break out of the burning heat. We're in the forest now, a good twenty miles outside city limits. How did we get here so fast? I couldn't have run twenty miles in the best of conditions, and certainly not when I'm suffering from a case of smoke inhalation.
My guard lays me down on the ground where the smoke is very thin.
“Just breath,” she murmurs. “I need to locate the others.” She pulls a radio from her belt and starts talking into it, but I tune her out. My eyes are closed again, yet even so, I can see the city burning. I feel the heat inside, even though my skin is cool. It's as if my mind is inside another body, somewhere within the city.
“Wake up! We're surrounded!” my guard suddenly shrieks in my ear. I jerk up, my fingers automatically closing around my staff. We seem to have changed location again, though I don't understand how. A solid ring of enemy soldiers surround us, their colors the familiar yet hated red-and-black.
“You cannot escape, Queen,” one of them addresses me. “Your city is in ashes, your soldiers are dead, your husband, the King, has met his end. You've lost. Your God has lost. Surrender now while you still have a chance!”
A sob of grief gathers in my throat, but I swallow it back and shake my head vehemently. “Never!” I spit out. “You will have to kill me as well!”
With battle screams ringing in our throats, my guard and I charge our outnumbering foes. We don't stand a chance and we know it. But nothing will ever make us surrender to them.
Not this time, I vow, my teeth clenched.
We fly into the pack of them like a wolf into sheep. Our staffs smoke and spit fire, incinerating our enemies. Black smoke, putrid and thick, fills the air. It's the smell of victory and triumph, not of death and despair. Yet I know that we will not escape. We, too, will meet our end, just as my husband has.
My staff is suddenly yanked out of my hands. In the darkness, I can't see where it is or who has it. But I do feel the choking arm that encircles my neck, cutting off my breathing.
“No!” I hear my guard scream, but already my vision is fading to black. I struggle uselessly, feeling the arm squeeze tighter and tighter, feeling the life ebbing out of me, feeling time spiral out of my mind...
No!
I jerk up, the word formed soundlessly on my lips.
Pale moonlight shines down on me from the skylight in the ceiling. Soft sheets cover my body and my head rests on a fluffy pillow.
It was just a dream.
I take a deep breath, feeling the terror surging through my veins. Even if it was a dream, I can still feel the fear, the desperation, the hopelessness that gripped me. It's like fire, burning into my very soul.
My husband's peaceful breathing fills the silent night. Looking over at his sleeping form, thankfulness floods over me. He's still alive, and it was truly, only, a dream. I reach out and touch him, just to feel him, and once again relief fills my mind.
Slipping out from under the sheets, I pad over to the large glass doors that open onto a balcony. Unlike the balcony in my dream, this one looks out over a garden instead of the city. More moonlight cascades over me as I step out into the night air. Coolness washes through me, taking away some of the terror of my dream. I take a deep breath and lean my hands on the railing.
Like a thunderbolt it flashes through me again: the screaming, the burning, the shooting, the smoke smoldering in my lungs.
I gasp and catch my breath. My heart pounds vigorously underneath my skin. I can feel the skin throbbing without touching it.
That wasn't just a dream, I slowly realize. An ordinary dream wouldn't scare me like that. It must have been...
Another vision?
Unspoken thoughts claw at my mind. Ever since the visions began years ago, I always fear and dread them—yet long for them. They are something that I don't ask for and wish I wouldn't get. But I do, because I am the chosen one.
The foresighted one. What people in this world call an Eagle Eye.
However, I don't always know right away when something is a just a dream and when something is more. Sometimes it isn't until the event I saw really begins to happen that I realize it.
But now I have no doubt. What I saw will come to pass.
My only question is, When?
I hear a sound behind me and turn quickly. My husband is sitting on the edge of our bed, watching me. I thought he was deeply asleep. I guess not.
His eyes are tired and there are dark rings under them. He hasn't sleep well in days. Being the young King of a vast realm can have that effect, I've heard. And I, as his Queen, have my stressful days as well. But I do hate to wake him up when all I've had is a bad dream.
That's not true, I remind myself. It was more than just a dream.
He doesn't say anything at first. He doesn't need to. He can always tell when I've seen something. He knows.
But he asks anyway, just because he knows that I need to talk about it.
“What did you see this time?”
I lean against the railing, feeling a chill wind blow through my nightgown. “The capitol burned,” I begin quietly. “They had invaded again. Only this time the whole place was going up in smoke. I ran, but they surrounded me. They told me you had died, that our faith was useless. I fought back. Someone strangled me. Then I woke up.”
He stands and joins me on the balcony. In the moonlight, he looks even taller than his actual height of six feet and four inches. Even though I measure at five foot seven, he's still a head taller than me. I look up into his eyes that glow green and brown at the same time. The green means he's agitated because I'm agitated; the brown means he's empathetic toward my fear.
“Did you dream as well?” I ask, almost afraid of the answer.
“No, not this time.” He looks around, then asks, “Did you stand on a balcony like this one?”
“Yes. But it was the one in the front wing, overlooking the gates.”
“An attack from the east,” he murmurs. “What time of day was it?”
“I—I don't know. It was dark. The sky was red.”
“Did you notice anything unusual about the sun?”
I think hard for a moment, then reply, “Yes. It was a different color.”
He tense. “What color?”
“It was green. An emerald green.”
He sighs, a deep, heavy sigh. “The fourth moon rises. The fourth turn of the wheel spelling the demise of our realm. Of our planet.”
“Of our home,” I whisper. “You saw the third moon rise, didn't you? The purple one?”
“In my father's time,” he says slowly, sadly. “It foretold his death.”
“Do you think this one foretells yours?” I ask quickly.
He considers it for a moment, then shakes his head. “Not necessarily. Perhaps...” he looks sadly at me “...perhaps that of the son you carry.”
I move my hands protectively over my womb, cradling the child growing there. “It is not his fate I saw,” I murmur. “For him the sun will shine blue. You know the prophecies. No, green is for someone else.”
“Not me?” he asks. There is a slight twinkle in his eye that takes some of the solemnity from our conversation.
I smile and move into his embrace. “Not you. Not me. Not anyone we know. It is for another I don't know.”
“You are certain?” he asks, wrapping his arms around me tightly.
“Yes, certain,” I reply without hesitation. “I know these things, remember? I am foresighted.”
“Like I could forget.” He's silent a moment, playing with my hair. Then he says, “The fourth moon means that the end is near for us.”
“Yes,” I agree. “But you know that not all planets have five moons. Some have two or three, or even seven. The lifespan of each planet and its inhabitants is different.”
“Yet their end is the same,” he reminds me.
“All the same,” I echo. Then I snuggle deeper into his arms. “But our end is still coming. It's just a long way off.”
“Which means?” he asks quizzically.
“We need to go back to bed.” I poke him in the ribs. “Besides, I don't like the way you look with those rings under your eyes.”
“I didn't know you married me because of my looks,” he says in a mock offended tone.
“Of course I did,” I tease. “What else was there to marry you for? Certainly not your intellect—or your lack of it.”
He laughs and for a moment his eyes glow completely brown. Then they shift color again into a muted gray. I know that look all too well. It means he's worried about me.
“I'm all right, really,” I tell him.
“You look so pale.” He brushes strands of black hair away from my face. “You look pale so often lately.”
I sigh. “I know. But this will soon pass. As all things must.”
“Yes,” he murmurs in agreement. “All things must pass.”
