The Story So Far
First, I am going to say that this weekend was really good. I am suffering from a lack of blood-sugar right now, but it won't be too long before I eat. I don't really have much to write in here yet, so I am going t move on to the second point.
Point two: The story.
Part One
Just another day in search of paradise. Another dawn wasted as twilight breathes it's last breath before engulfing the land in the night. Another hero returns from a fruitless search for belonging. On the crest of a cliff, he watches the lights in the nearby houses flicker out, like candles against the wind.
He starts his down-hill tread, the scent of the evening home-fires ligering in the chill, still air. Just minutes from town, he stops, hesitates, and glances at his hand, where he can still see the blood that long ago washed away. He will never be clean again. Nothing will ever be the same. Closing his eyes to the tears, he turns his back to his home town and retraces his steps.
Glancing back one final time, he takes a deep breath and makes his decision. Into the wilderness, away from his friends, away from his family, and away from his pain. Sitting against a tree he climbed years ago, be sobs quitely. Nothing. Never. Where is paradise? What is paradise? He once thought it was somewhere where he could belong, a place he never found. He thought he needed faith, but faith he never knew.
Happiness was a faerie tale, and home was no longer sanctuary. What was there now? Nothing but the burden of guilt and the weight of sorrow. The only feeling he had that made a difference was real pain. Physical pain.
He watched the fresh blood trickling down his arm from his new cut on the palm of his hand. Smiling bitterly to himself, he clinched his fist in cynical punishment for his own wrongs. Why had his life gone this way? He had a home once, he had loved once, he cared once, long ago, before the war. Nothing will ever be the same in this life. Purhaps the next will be better.
Tears streamed down his face as the pain got more real than he had ever thought possible. Love, hope, faith. It's all as near or as far away as you make it, he realized. This last thought was feeble at best, as he had little time to think. He slid over to his side, blade deep within his chest, in an agonizing scene of pitiful suicide. His blood left his body as his hopes and dreams had done so long ago, staining his childhood playground for all that he'd left behind...
Part Two
Just another day in search of paradise. Another hero gone to find a home. The sun on his back warms his weary bones, as he rides his horse into town. Empty faces pass him by, nameless people watch him pass. Another bed that provides no warmth and more people that need no hero. Another town to pass on by.
Off again, to find a home, our hero lost in the wilderness unforgiving. Again he finds a town that has no heart. Again he finds cold faces. Unwelcome at home, though welcome nowhere else.
Doomed to wander with nobody to love, in the desert, on a horse that he didn't give a name. He knows it will die, no use getting attached to it. He knows he himself will perish. He harbors no faulse hopes or empty dreams. He knows that nobody wants him, and there is no place for man like him in this world.
He effortlessly removes his revolver from it's holster and opens the empty chamber and loads one bullet and closes and spins the chamber. He climbs from his horse and kneels. Pulling back the hammer he places the barrel against his right temple. Closing his eyes, he squeezes the trigger.
Click. Opening the chamber, he loads another cartrige, closes and spins. Click. Another bullet and a spin. Click. Load, spin, click. Load. Spin. Click. Nodding, he replaced his gun into it's sleeve. He isn't meant to die yet, but what is he meant for.
He was startled to feel something hit his bare hand. Gazing down at it, it was a drop of water. Rain. He looked up at the storm-clouded desert sky and smiled softly as the rain came down in sheets suddenly. He mounted his steed and started riding north. His home town was north. He didn't know what his purpose was, but he would start looking there.
His brother would return from war soon, perhaps he would see him there. Memories came to him, of his childhood. His brother had been his best friend, and his only real family. He felt no welcoming love from his parents. It was his brother driving him home. Maybe they could ride together, seeking purpose.
He remembered playing games that only children's imaginations could create, playing in a small forest of large trees with his brother. He smiled to himself at the memory. When his brother was called to fight in the distant war, he left his home to find belonging elsewhere. Now, with his brother at his side, he would find belonging where ever they went.
Nodding in resolution, he set his horse to a gallop. Two days and seven hours brings him home, gazing down at the town he once loved. He was above it, gazing down. He knew he wouldn't belong there. He knew this was no home. He sighed, wondering if there ever would be a home for him.
Night had fallen, blanketing this world in blue darkness, the moon covered with clouds. From the cliff on which he stood, he could smell the cooking fires from dinner, now out, distant but distinct. He saw only light from the local tavern, but he knew his brother wouldn't be there. He glanced at the forest behind him, the playground he and his brother spent so much time in, where they grew up. He decided to set up camp there, against a tree he knew all too well.
Dismounting, he walked his horse into the forest, not able to see, but knowing the path well. Reaching his destination he tied his horse to a small tree, he senced something wrong. Crows and ravens were the only birds that sang, and he smelled fresh blood. The wind picked up a little, driving away the clouds. He glanced around, hoping to find the source of the blood, probably a wounded deer.
Just as this thought crossed his mind, the moon's light hit the body against that familiar tree, knife deep in his chest. Recognising the face immediately, he fell to his knees in tears. The birds scattered as he let out a scream... His brother's name.
Part Three
He knew what he had done. He knew it with all his being. Opening his eyes, he gazed down at his hands, stained dark with dried blood. Why had he gone fight that creature the other night, why? Had he not, he wouldn't have been bitten and wouldn't bare such a horrible curse. Now, because of this, he has killed someone. He didn't know who, but it didn't matter.
He had to leave this place, leave his home, before he killed again. Getting up out of the chair he had slept in, he walked to his desk and pulled out a pen and inkwell. On a blank piece of parchment, he began to scribble a letter to his wife and daughter, telling them that it would be ok, he just had to leave for a while. He would be back to see them, his love wouldn't allow him to venture off for too long. He wrote about the curse now afflecting him and his plans to find a shaman that could break it. There was stories of one in the Desert of Kha, a powerful one, so it is to there that he was bound.
The letter completed, signed with his dearest love and best intentions. He walked from his study to the dining room, and set it on the table, and went to see his daughter one last time before he left. He crept to her room, hoping not to wake her and paused at the door. She was 17 now, his baby girl. He swallowed his tears as he remembered her first steps and first words, not sure when he'd be back to see her again.
Pushing the door open only to find that she wasn't there. He sighed. She's sleeping with her mother. He hadn't wanted to go in there, as his wife was a light sleeper, but he had to see his darling little girl. Slowly and silently, he went to the bedroom he shared with his wife. Opening the door, he felt hungry suddenly, and his stomach growled. He shuged it off.
Stepping in, his eyes adjusted quickly to the light and he stared, in horror at the sight before him. His wife, his love, was torn to pieces. Her entrails and limbs spread across the bed, the flesh around her neck and chest looked as if it had been eaten off by some animal, bite and claw wounds all over her. It was then he realized what had happened. The thought made him sick.
He started towards the lamp on the bedside table when his foot caught on something on the floor. He knelt down and found his beautiful daughter, troat ripped open, she died not an hour ago. He cried out-loud for a long time, holding his baby until resolve set in. Picking up the body, he carried her to his study.
Lying her down, he wrapped a bandage around her once-delicate neck. Then, leaving her where whe was, went to the closet and got two jugs of lamp oil. Drenching his wife and as much of the small house as he could, he then lit a lamp and retrieved his daughter's body. Carrying it to the back door, he opened it and stepped outside. He threw the lamp, still lit inside, breaking it and igniting the oil within. He went to his horse behind the house and placed her on it's back.
He began making his way south, towards the forest, and then to the desert. It was not long before he reached the steep climb up the cliff-like hill, but after a great amount of effort, he reached the crest. there was a scent on the wind that he caught then, made his blood churn. He tied his horse, knowing what was taking place with his body.
He gritted his teeth against the pain of transformation, but the smell of fresh meat was foremost on his mind. His mind went a little fuzzy, but he kept concious, unlike the first time, just hours ago. The change complete, he sprung into the trees, searching for the source of the smell.
He came upon a small campfire, in front of which was a dead man, a stab wound in his chest. The knife was not far from him, and it was obvious that it had been used as a digging tool. He smelled life nearby, but the prospect of food cloaded his judgement. At the moment leaped at the corpse, there was a loud crack, like thunder in a desert storm. Pain exploded in his shoulder and everything went black.
----
I will update more, and write more, later.
Yep.
Later.
Point two: The story.
Part One
Just another day in search of paradise. Another dawn wasted as twilight breathes it's last breath before engulfing the land in the night. Another hero returns from a fruitless search for belonging. On the crest of a cliff, he watches the lights in the nearby houses flicker out, like candles against the wind.
He starts his down-hill tread, the scent of the evening home-fires ligering in the chill, still air. Just minutes from town, he stops, hesitates, and glances at his hand, where he can still see the blood that long ago washed away. He will never be clean again. Nothing will ever be the same. Closing his eyes to the tears, he turns his back to his home town and retraces his steps.
Glancing back one final time, he takes a deep breath and makes his decision. Into the wilderness, away from his friends, away from his family, and away from his pain. Sitting against a tree he climbed years ago, be sobs quitely. Nothing. Never. Where is paradise? What is paradise? He once thought it was somewhere where he could belong, a place he never found. He thought he needed faith, but faith he never knew.
Happiness was a faerie tale, and home was no longer sanctuary. What was there now? Nothing but the burden of guilt and the weight of sorrow. The only feeling he had that made a difference was real pain. Physical pain.
He watched the fresh blood trickling down his arm from his new cut on the palm of his hand. Smiling bitterly to himself, he clinched his fist in cynical punishment for his own wrongs. Why had his life gone this way? He had a home once, he had loved once, he cared once, long ago, before the war. Nothing will ever be the same in this life. Purhaps the next will be better.
Tears streamed down his face as the pain got more real than he had ever thought possible. Love, hope, faith. It's all as near or as far away as you make it, he realized. This last thought was feeble at best, as he had little time to think. He slid over to his side, blade deep within his chest, in an agonizing scene of pitiful suicide. His blood left his body as his hopes and dreams had done so long ago, staining his childhood playground for all that he'd left behind...
Part Two
Just another day in search of paradise. Another hero gone to find a home. The sun on his back warms his weary bones, as he rides his horse into town. Empty faces pass him by, nameless people watch him pass. Another bed that provides no warmth and more people that need no hero. Another town to pass on by.
Off again, to find a home, our hero lost in the wilderness unforgiving. Again he finds a town that has no heart. Again he finds cold faces. Unwelcome at home, though welcome nowhere else.
Doomed to wander with nobody to love, in the desert, on a horse that he didn't give a name. He knows it will die, no use getting attached to it. He knows he himself will perish. He harbors no faulse hopes or empty dreams. He knows that nobody wants him, and there is no place for man like him in this world.
He effortlessly removes his revolver from it's holster and opens the empty chamber and loads one bullet and closes and spins the chamber. He climbs from his horse and kneels. Pulling back the hammer he places the barrel against his right temple. Closing his eyes, he squeezes the trigger.
Click. Opening the chamber, he loads another cartrige, closes and spins. Click. Another bullet and a spin. Click. Load, spin, click. Load. Spin. Click. Nodding, he replaced his gun into it's sleeve. He isn't meant to die yet, but what is he meant for.
He was startled to feel something hit his bare hand. Gazing down at it, it was a drop of water. Rain. He looked up at the storm-clouded desert sky and smiled softly as the rain came down in sheets suddenly. He mounted his steed and started riding north. His home town was north. He didn't know what his purpose was, but he would start looking there.
His brother would return from war soon, perhaps he would see him there. Memories came to him, of his childhood. His brother had been his best friend, and his only real family. He felt no welcoming love from his parents. It was his brother driving him home. Maybe they could ride together, seeking purpose.
He remembered playing games that only children's imaginations could create, playing in a small forest of large trees with his brother. He smiled to himself at the memory. When his brother was called to fight in the distant war, he left his home to find belonging elsewhere. Now, with his brother at his side, he would find belonging where ever they went.
Nodding in resolution, he set his horse to a gallop. Two days and seven hours brings him home, gazing down at the town he once loved. He was above it, gazing down. He knew he wouldn't belong there. He knew this was no home. He sighed, wondering if there ever would be a home for him.
Night had fallen, blanketing this world in blue darkness, the moon covered with clouds. From the cliff on which he stood, he could smell the cooking fires from dinner, now out, distant but distinct. He saw only light from the local tavern, but he knew his brother wouldn't be there. He glanced at the forest behind him, the playground he and his brother spent so much time in, where they grew up. He decided to set up camp there, against a tree he knew all too well.
Dismounting, he walked his horse into the forest, not able to see, but knowing the path well. Reaching his destination he tied his horse to a small tree, he senced something wrong. Crows and ravens were the only birds that sang, and he smelled fresh blood. The wind picked up a little, driving away the clouds. He glanced around, hoping to find the source of the blood, probably a wounded deer.
Just as this thought crossed his mind, the moon's light hit the body against that familiar tree, knife deep in his chest. Recognising the face immediately, he fell to his knees in tears. The birds scattered as he let out a scream... His brother's name.
Part Three
He knew what he had done. He knew it with all his being. Opening his eyes, he gazed down at his hands, stained dark with dried blood. Why had he gone fight that creature the other night, why? Had he not, he wouldn't have been bitten and wouldn't bare such a horrible curse. Now, because of this, he has killed someone. He didn't know who, but it didn't matter.
He had to leave this place, leave his home, before he killed again. Getting up out of the chair he had slept in, he walked to his desk and pulled out a pen and inkwell. On a blank piece of parchment, he began to scribble a letter to his wife and daughter, telling them that it would be ok, he just had to leave for a while. He would be back to see them, his love wouldn't allow him to venture off for too long. He wrote about the curse now afflecting him and his plans to find a shaman that could break it. There was stories of one in the Desert of Kha, a powerful one, so it is to there that he was bound.
The letter completed, signed with his dearest love and best intentions. He walked from his study to the dining room, and set it on the table, and went to see his daughter one last time before he left. He crept to her room, hoping not to wake her and paused at the door. She was 17 now, his baby girl. He swallowed his tears as he remembered her first steps and first words, not sure when he'd be back to see her again.
Pushing the door open only to find that she wasn't there. He sighed. She's sleeping with her mother. He hadn't wanted to go in there, as his wife was a light sleeper, but he had to see his darling little girl. Slowly and silently, he went to the bedroom he shared with his wife. Opening the door, he felt hungry suddenly, and his stomach growled. He shuged it off.
Stepping in, his eyes adjusted quickly to the light and he stared, in horror at the sight before him. His wife, his love, was torn to pieces. Her entrails and limbs spread across the bed, the flesh around her neck and chest looked as if it had been eaten off by some animal, bite and claw wounds all over her. It was then he realized what had happened. The thought made him sick.
He started towards the lamp on the bedside table when his foot caught on something on the floor. He knelt down and found his beautiful daughter, troat ripped open, she died not an hour ago. He cried out-loud for a long time, holding his baby until resolve set in. Picking up the body, he carried her to his study.
Lying her down, he wrapped a bandage around her once-delicate neck. Then, leaving her where whe was, went to the closet and got two jugs of lamp oil. Drenching his wife and as much of the small house as he could, he then lit a lamp and retrieved his daughter's body. Carrying it to the back door, he opened it and stepped outside. He threw the lamp, still lit inside, breaking it and igniting the oil within. He went to his horse behind the house and placed her on it's back.
He began making his way south, towards the forest, and then to the desert. It was not long before he reached the steep climb up the cliff-like hill, but after a great amount of effort, he reached the crest. there was a scent on the wind that he caught then, made his blood churn. He tied his horse, knowing what was taking place with his body.
He gritted his teeth against the pain of transformation, but the smell of fresh meat was foremost on his mind. His mind went a little fuzzy, but he kept concious, unlike the first time, just hours ago. The change complete, he sprung into the trees, searching for the source of the smell.
He came upon a small campfire, in front of which was a dead man, a stab wound in his chest. The knife was not far from him, and it was obvious that it had been used as a digging tool. He smelled life nearby, but the prospect of food cloaded his judgement. At the moment leaped at the corpse, there was a loud crack, like thunder in a desert storm. Pain exploded in his shoulder and everything went black.
----
I will update more, and write more, later.
Yep.
Later.