Ending of my Mind Plot
So I have a story that has been floating about in my brain for oh...say about 2 years. I really need to write it down. I therefore, started with the end. WTH not, right? Anyway - wrote this in a half hour cold. Hasn't been edited, didn't intend for it to be. Just wanted to get something down and thought I'd share in the process. Sorry if this ever becomes something more than a way to break the monotony of Engineering classes and becomes a novel cause the ending is now Fucked for you. But right, anyway. Here it is. If you want a run down of the plot, or if you think this is a decent start to something, or it you think it is utter shite, let me know. :)
He ran quicker than he had ever thought possible, willing his legs to move faster because it could never be enough. His grip around her wrist would cause a bruise in the morning, but that only made him grasp tighter. If he let go for even a second, if he loosened his grip and she fell behind, he would lose her completely. There would be no happy ending then, no ending at all.
Tristan’s feet carried him smoothly over the rough ground, but she wasn’t a trained soldier used to running over holes and rocks, and in the end it was simply that which caused their downfall. Her foot got caught in a hole probably created by the constant traffic of the many carts that delivered food into the city. He wasn’t quick enough to catch her and not strong enough to lift her and run. His own momentum carried him a few yards past, but by the time he turned around to go back she was already flanked in guards. There was nothing they could do, they had lost, everything they had fought for had come down to this and they had failed. Two more of his father’s guards began advancing toward him, weapons held at the ready like he was still a threat. He backed up slowly, couldn’t stop himself. Tristan was more terrified than he could ever remember being in his life. He had defied his father, his government, his life for a silent girl whom he loved, for the people he had come to love. He had signed his own death warrant.
Tristan tore his eyes away from the men who he used to joke with, who used to tease him for his youth and innocence, looked away from their murderous intent driven by orders and potential rewards and into her eyes. Her eyes, too bright and too young to be so full of the anguish plainly visible. They had never needed words to communicate before and they didn’t now.
I’m sorry, I love you.
I’m yours forever, don’t forget.
Never.
In the end it was two words that saved his life. “Tristan, Run!” And so he did. He turned his back on everything, but he turned towards the future and he ran.
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Even now those two words haunt him. They split his dreams like a gun shot in the fragile air of a winter morning. Sometimes they are merely whispered, sometimes screamed, he can’t remember how they actually sounded that night, but he tries to convince himself that it doesn’t matter.
It took him five years, five years of waking up with that voice ringing in his ears to realize whose voice it was: Hers. The first words he had ever heard her say were the also the last. He cried himself to sleep for two weeks afterwards.
It wasn’t until two more years had passed that he realized he had never even known her name.
He ran quicker than he had ever thought possible, willing his legs to move faster because it could never be enough. His grip around her wrist would cause a bruise in the morning, but that only made him grasp tighter. If he let go for even a second, if he loosened his grip and she fell behind, he would lose her completely. There would be no happy ending then, no ending at all.
Tristan’s feet carried him smoothly over the rough ground, but she wasn’t a trained soldier used to running over holes and rocks, and in the end it was simply that which caused their downfall. Her foot got caught in a hole probably created by the constant traffic of the many carts that delivered food into the city. He wasn’t quick enough to catch her and not strong enough to lift her and run. His own momentum carried him a few yards past, but by the time he turned around to go back she was already flanked in guards. There was nothing they could do, they had lost, everything they had fought for had come down to this and they had failed. Two more of his father’s guards began advancing toward him, weapons held at the ready like he was still a threat. He backed up slowly, couldn’t stop himself. Tristan was more terrified than he could ever remember being in his life. He had defied his father, his government, his life for a silent girl whom he loved, for the people he had come to love. He had signed his own death warrant.
Tristan tore his eyes away from the men who he used to joke with, who used to tease him for his youth and innocence, looked away from their murderous intent driven by orders and potential rewards and into her eyes. Her eyes, too bright and too young to be so full of the anguish plainly visible. They had never needed words to communicate before and they didn’t now.
I’m sorry, I love you.
I’m yours forever, don’t forget.
Never.
In the end it was two words that saved his life. “Tristan, Run!” And so he did. He turned his back on everything, but he turned towards the future and he ran.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Even now those two words haunt him. They split his dreams like a gun shot in the fragile air of a winter morning. Sometimes they are merely whispered, sometimes screamed, he can’t remember how they actually sounded that night, but he tries to convince himself that it doesn’t matter.
It took him five years, five years of waking up with that voice ringing in his ears to realize whose voice it was: Hers. The first words he had ever heard her say were the also the last. He cried himself to sleep for two weeks afterwards.
It wasn’t until two more years had passed that he realized he had never even known her name.