Story Sunrise: Sparks of Innovation Chapter 1: Rousing the Sleeping Dragon.

St. Clover

Thunder rolled across the sky outside, shaking the room enough to rattle both the glass bottles lining the walls and the window. Sheets of rain hammered into the metal roof, creating a constant drone that was almost as annoying as the ear-bleeding sound of the alarm clock. Angry red numbers flashed on the small device’s screen, lighting the otherwise dark room up every few seconds. Shelves and bottles, the workbench in the corner, and the bed the clock’s owner slept in were illuminated in distorted, twisted shadows. To the casual observer, the scene might have been the setup for a horror flick on a Cyberspace Network.

To Sparks, it was a living nightmare she wished she could escape.

Pulling the sheets tighter around her body, the young Arcanist in training groaned and curled up further in her four hundred thread count nest.

She tried her best to ignore the piercing sound of the alarm clock that sat not two feet from her, doing everything in her power to go back to sleep. Pulling the pillows over her ears drowned out most of the noise, but part of the sound remained, enough to somehow be even more distracting than before. She tried rolling over in the hopes that facing another direction would save her. Still, the muffled cry of her nemesis remained.

Next, she tried outlasting the alarm, thinking that if she could somehow wait it out, maintain that half-asleep state of mind for just a few more minutes, she could beat it. Ten minutes passed and yet the alarm continued to pluck at the edge of her hearing.

A growl was just beginning to issue from the sheets when something hard thumped her in the side. It wasn’t enough to hurt, but certainly, enough to get the message across. She yelped, shooting up from the bed and shooting pillows and sheets everywhere.

The room was completely dark, save for the steady flash of the alarm clock, but Sparks didn’t need light to see what had hit her. Her yellow eyes could pierce through any natural darkness without issue, a product of her inhuman heritage. It was that very heritage that allowed her to see the broom that floated menacingly above her, bobbing every now and then in the air not two feet from her.

It was her uncle’s enchanted Ever Clean Sweeper.

“What are you-”

Before she was able to finish her question, the broom made its next move. Flying back several feet, the floating Ever Clean went for a wide swing at the girl. Her eyes widened and she threw herself to the ground, narrowly avoiding the blow no doubt intended for her head. This was just like her uncle, she thought as she hit the ground with a grunt. He always loved to send his enchanted crockery and cleaning supplies after lazy workers and good-for-nothings. And today it seemed that nieces were added to that list too.

Rolling onto her stomach, Sparks attempted to rise to her feet and make a mad dash for the bathroom. She knew she’d be safe there, that the broom wouldn’t be able to fit through the space between the door and the ground. It was her only hope of escaping her uncle’s extended wrath. She had to make it!

Those hopes were dashed an instant later, when the broom swung back around the moment she rose to her feet. Colliding with her head, the momentary stun the blow delivered was enough to seal the would-be escapee’s fate.

Blow after blow rained down on the girl’s head, each met with a squeal and ‘hey!’ as she tried to fend off the frenzied attacker.

“Alright, alright!” she shrieked after the tenth whack left her spitting out a wad of straw. “I’m up! I’m up! Uncle! Uncle!”

And, just like that, the broom stopped.

Sparks glared at the floating stick as she fixed her hair, an unfortunate casualty of the clash of lifestyles. She wanted nothing more than to set the thing on fire, watch it burn and laugh maniacally as it was reduced to cinders. But she doubted her magic could really harm the enchanted wood by itself, and her uncle would no doubt tan her scaly hide if he lost a crucial member of his nighttime cleanup crew.

The broom would have to be spared, for now, she thought.

“I’ll be down in a few,” she eventually announced after restoring some measure of decency to her unkempt hair. “Need to get ready, okay? Now shoo!”

On command, the broom did a somersault, spun twice, then sped out of the room through the partially open door nearby.

She really hated that broom.

St. Clover

Behold my good people! It is done! Chapter 1 of what I hope to be a good story! I decided to change things last minute and rework the chapter, and entire story, to have a new direction! I'm insane! But this was fun to work on, really. I hope to get regular uploads made once I finally get used to my new job schedule, and motivation is definitely high right now.

Provided here is artwork of our protagonist, wonderfully produced by the talented moronface moronface , who worked with me to make something I absolutely love to death. Seriously, consider throwing money their way, their work is fantastic for the price they ask. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy the story, feel free to comment or whatever! See you soon! Hopefully! :'D


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