It's so very quiet. I'm trapped, I think. By what? Can't move. I feel suffocated, but I don't seem to be breathing in the first place. Light appears a foreign concept, wherever I am. Eh, just who am I? The thought seems so distant. Like a month old dream, I feel like I can remember it; but whatever I grasp at dissipates too quickly for me to retain....Wow, I'm drowsy now. Guess that was too much for me to handle. Sleep takes me.
I...wake? Yep, clearly I'm no longer unconcious; so that must be it. With theory proven, I feel a bit greedy. Certainly, I can accomplish more than that...this morn...this night...now? Doesn't matter, the little details aren't that impor---.
"Never forget your foundation. The summit isn't reached just because you work hard. You get there because, you built your way up one stone atop another. These minor excercises may seem unproductive. Proper effort has its value, even if it remains unclear to you at the moment. Remember, if you place a few misshapen stones within a pile, all of it will eventually collapse."
Ah, right as always. Eh, just who is right? Well, someone believes I shouldn't just overlook things that seem arbitrary. But, it'd be nice to, at least, remember who told me that. Very well, lets do some diligence. It's too dark to make any informed decision on time, but maybe I can work my way towards a when....Well, this is harder than I'd hoped. C'mon, surely I can remember something, before being...trapped? Comatose?
"Hey handsome! Twelve fluorites and we can add adventurous to the list."
Umm, okay, not what I was going for. There's a slim, tanned arm littered with cuts and bruises. A hand nervously strokes the tarnished wrist. I can see some nice calves though...I CAN SEE! It's late. The ground is paved with clay. The dress stops just above her knees. Focus! There are some booths to the right. An...inn? On the left. A sign out front. Hard to read, with this memory being to hazy. Providing a Home away from---.
Nooo! I was just getting somewhere. Stop, don't fade away. I have to gain something from this. Just a lil' more.
It's gone. Just me and good ol' emptiness again, huh. I was young, wasn't I? At least, I can retain that much. That, and a sense of timid shame. I think if I could've seen my cheeks, they'd have been scarlet. Well now, what can I deduce with a shy youth and a home. Home? Yeah, I think it had somethin to do with a home. I've always wanted to go back, but never could commit to it. The slumber abducts me from my thoughts, once more.
----------------------------------------
Running...through a house. Left turn. The stairs are thumping with the boots of soon-to-be problems. Lift the window. Locked. A glance at the stained weapon. Break the window and jump? No good. Gotta go down carefully. Worthless man didn't even have the house built properly. Nervous pacing.
There's no time for this. Operated with all the crudeness of a first-timer, the blade severs the legs of a nearby table. Probably could've been quieter; closing the door, but what's done is past. Freshly acquired table legs are shoved underneath the too-high door frame. With those sticking out of the savaged bottom,, this room will definitely be checked soon.
Back to the window, frustration builds. By the four's watch! Who had the nerve to consider this a job done? Upon further scrutiny, there isn't any type of latch or lock. Boom! Thump! Thrump! Indecision is cast to the wayside. Swiping my blade diagonally across the glass creates a better mess than exit. A shard is stuck in the back of my left hand. I snatch it out, quickly followed by a wince. With some extra jabs at the opening, the construct can finally serve an actual purpose.
As the door is having its gut punctured, my escape is underway. I toss my retribution-harvester out first. Hands get bloodied further by the windowsill, and my legs receive bruises from the mismatched, disjointed hole coverings. The climb down is more like scaling down one of those nests, that those furry creatures build near the lake.
Success! Made it down, without handicapping myself. That'd be an impressive display, if we were enjoying a game of Barkslayer. Instead of a euphoric crowd of kids cheering, this reception of seniors is rushing down the winner, with palpable fury. Guess they weren't stupid enough to send everyone upstairs. Well, there's only three for now. It's not the worst case.
Mom and pops did always say, that,"Even if they include more in the deal, a rotten melon is still not worth anything. Don't just assume equality among the merchandise."
These three minions are definitely the bad melons. The stocky kiss-ass has been known for getting drunk and beaten in our lil' town bar. Mr. Slim, with the machete, looks scrawnier than kids my age, and the lack of any word at all about him; probably doesn't imply competence. Hah! Just maybe, this evening favors me; they actually brought the errand-minion, himself. He's probably the one of least threatening repute.
"Lackinballs, Fatnall, Slacknjawls, Regina--nope, definetly one of the first three," I recollect the third's name. The gopher of the now-former town headsman is a courageous man. If by courageous, I mean he is an excellent wielder or another's authority. Quite obnoxious, when he has accompanying goons, but he's just a subdued caster of shrewd words on his own. Sometimes he sporadically does this disgusting snort-like sound, that just drives everyone crazy. No one ever mentions it to him, cause it's assumed the portly fellow has respiratory problems. Although, he's clean shaven and well-kempt, he manages to ruin, even that, with the foul-odered cologne he chooses to wear.
I see them in all their inglory. They see me, and I remember what I did just a short while ago. Vomit might be coming up. Can I really do that, again. The pursuit begins. Grab the dropped sickle and get it back in the waist-strap. Run! I blow straight past the vegetable patch and vineyard. I hope, anyway. The tall crops should be over here, right? Should've snatched a firestick off the wall, before leaving. Tripped and fell onto the low-hanging fruits; by my shirt's damp smudge I'm assured I went the right way. Don't Breathe! Did any from higher up fall into this pile? Too dark to tell, and I don't have time. I didn't swallow by reaction, did I? Lift shirt off, and flip it inside out. Wipe face and spit.
Well, they shouldn't be able to see either. Silly optimism, of course they brought firesticks. Get up, gotta go deeper into the field. Ack! Bitten a third time by one of the emerging roots. Rustle. They are close.
"Oy! Just come out, obediently, and we won't treat you too bad. Not worse than the oniberis, anyway. Certainly, you don't wanna be eat---."
Some words that I've been taught not to say, alert me to one of my pursuers position. Whew, he's just on the other side of this stalk. If he hadn't made that noise, I might've been caught. My hands tremble. I reverse my shirt back to the proper side. Wrap the ends around both of my wrists, tightly. I leap out, while he's swatting down at the carnivorous roots. Just by the fortune of his posture, do I get the shirt over his head and manage to cover his mouth and nose.
He inhales deeply. Bad instincts. Now, just need to hold out for a flickar or two.
Uh-oh! "Y'know, I'd never have tried to hold a cloth over Pop's face. He was just so big, so strong. Why did I ever believe I could keep hold of someone, much more massive," my final thoughts criticize.
Left hand loses grip of his shirt. Like the girthy boar of a man he is; he grunts and flails with an uncontainable frenzy at the first sign of liberty. Realizing the inevitable, I use my feet to launch myself off his back. No good. Oof! A wild forearm of the struggling goon blasts me in the gut. I'm blasted back through the brush. My leap from his back softened his blow enough for nothing to be broken. I heave. I...I'm alright, but lets not do that again. Through bleary eyes and a runny nose, I navigate a roll to another row of the crops.
"He's over here!" the man wields his firestick high with boorish enthusiasm. "Hurry'n help get the lil' bastard! Ghluh! hem-hemm," he hacks jerkily.
Bitten another four times, while on the move,"These things are in quite the mood tonight. Not like they ever get an opportunity for a feast, such as tonight," my thoughts finish. Luckily, theses bites don't go very deep and just form layers of red across my skin. Flunky-slim and Yes-boss are hot on the trail, just ahead. Subtlety doesn't suit them, anymore than they fit capable henchmen. With the obnoxious machete-wielder, brute forcing the way toward me; I notice the hype-man's firestick isn't as bright, as it should be.
I grab one of the toxic offerings from the plant on my right. Using my index, I quickly jab a few holes throughout the juicy, paralysis-inducer. Failing to be completely quiet---although my clumsy pursuers don't notice---I strafe right, as I try to circle around the bumbling duo. Avoiding the reach of nipping roots, I end up closer than intended.
"Thought ya said he was oer' here," lanky, flimsy, and sleazy complains.
"Obviously, he wasn't just gon' sit in the one spot, yeh fool of Salmeth," the thickness of brittle action shouts back.
"Come off it, eryone knows, good tithins wit Salmeth is like a raffle. Gambling ish not crazy, just watch yer face, when I make it big."
"Can we not discuss this here? Just lower your flame and look at these tracks," sir More-Competent-Than-Expected interrupts. "Let's get this over with, already, I'm tired of these little feeders scuffing my boots."
Making use of their inattention, I throw my freshly made fire-dowser at Lackinballs' flame.
"Argh! Fraggle your mum's bum. Look at this, you louts just cost us a light," the lightless one shoves responsibility.
"You lost your light, how is that any problem of mine," mr. Large-And-Posturing splendidly dodges.
"Yeah, just stay on my tail. Not like we need much vision to deal with a whelp," the stem with a sharp weapon supplies.
"Fine, just give me your burner and we'll head this way."
"Why would I give mine up, you're the one who wasn payin due? And couldn't ya just increase the setting, anway?" the sleazy one decides to argue.
"First off that's stupid. My arm is already slightly burned cause I took to long to turn it off, after the light was snuffed out. The sludge is hot enough to burn. And you, my man, want me to increase the power; not only risking blowing this stuff everywhere, but possibly setting this field ablaze? So, are you planning to follow his track, so while you're looking down; he can get the jump on you. Or does it make more sense for me to follow his path, and you watch my back?" He finishes his flourish of superior goon-knowledge, but still half-wittingly decides to holster his ruined tool between his belt and pants.
"Er uh, well I can see the sense in that," solid logic quickly suppresses the dunce.
My plan was more effective than I could've hoped. The discarded fire-producer is putting off fumes and the imbeciles are actually going to bring it along. I rip some cloth from the low-end of my pants leg to tie around my mouth and nose. I finish peeking at the dullards and continue trekking through the field.
They are gaining on me, as I'm weaving in-and-out of rows. The machete-handler is adept enough for the snaproots to adopt a less active strategy. Mr. Big-For-No-Reason looks to be slowing, after my crippling encounter; but it's not enough, yet. Leaving the field would either put me back in the open for far too many paces, or lead me back to the headman's residence. This needs to come to an end, here. Whoomp! Ack, no. Crept my way onto the end of a forgotten spade, and the wooden handle reciprocated me with a memorable greeting.
Thump. Thump. Thump. Three heartbeats of time proves too long of hesitation. Lanky thwacks through the hedge, with Portbelly of Gooncademy in tow. My arm is numb. Hmm?
Sickle the savior is already in my grasp. I must have grabbed it, as soon as I stepped on the spade of minion-calling. Even more fortunately, I'm managing to hold off the baraging machete through raw perserverance. I don't even recall his first swing, but these follow-ups are just as deserving of catatonia. Just where is he storing all this strenth? Urk! I splatter onto my back. The sickle is lost, and I feel utter exhaustion for possibly the first and last time.
"Hey, it really is the kid from ol' *******'s place. He's umm ya'know *******'s son, right?"
"Yea, the vagrance must be strong in the blood. His father had no real skills, so he used the blade for a living. I see his bastard has learned a blade can pay rent, as well. Surprised you even recognize him with that silly cloth over his face. Anyway, time to put an end to this family."
"An end? Isn't his sis---"
"Just go with it. It sounded good, didn't it?"
Ah yes, I didn't come here because of my home, but because I discovered that refuse had sold Mum and Sis off three elapse ago. At least, I ended him before my departure.
"It's only after a man has given everything, that he can prove a hunred isn't the end," wisdom of a soon-to-be joined father speaks to me, one last time.
Srrish! I...died. Why don't I feel a machete lodged in my face. The wetness of my trousers proves I am actually feeling, at all. Hah hah hic, oh no. I...I'm actually sniveling. Snot and tears are flooding out in relief. Why? What relief? Nothing has changed. Actually, I think I feel a lot of hair missing on the side of my head. Just how did I even manage to move my neck in time? Do I really have to watch my death approach, a second time?
"How could you miss? Are you enjoying playing in this piss-begotten field?"
"Look, he didn look like he could move. Was just a bit lazy on that swing. He's still done for, anyway."
"Heh! hehehheh, ha! Oh, such a sorry sight now, ain't ya?" The, actual, muscle arrives in time to gloat.
The foot of the uselessly-proud beast stomps down on my chest. Wheeze! My throats so dry, I feel like this cloth is going to suffocate me. Oh joy, I'm gonna live to wheeze my life away. His foot lifts for a second smash of my battered frame. Yet, to everyone's shock, he sways like removed bar-patron, and the second drop of hammer-foot doesn't force me to spewl my insides. Although, it wasn't exactly harmless, I can live with some arm abrasion. Look at me. Living for another few seconds, satisfied with just having a scuffed arm.
"You solid, Izomer?" Regi-Knows-All checks.
"Yea yea, course I am. Was just distracted thinkin bout' who takin the headsman's place."
"Really? Well we can discuss that, after. Csétlen finish it." He doesn't appear to buy the seller's manure, and he follows with a superior bargain.
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From the depths of fear, I snag onto a piece of hope. Some might say it's just a pants-leg. They'd be wrong. I reach onto big and clumsy, pulling myself toward the future with zealous fervor. Seems they gave me enough time to escape despair, and enter the realm of fanciful delusion.
"Hey don't you try and die on me, ger off you whore's son. Take your death like the rogue, you are. Eh? You're just gonna slit him open, all over my leg."
Big-And-Scared-of-Laundry tries to shake free, the machete falls, and I just pray. Truly a pig. His face scrunches up and the wild hog uses absurd force to shake me off. His right leg pulls me along as he tries to yank away, using his firmly-planted left foot as a base. I receive a bone-scratching slash in my right leg, as I'm pulled toward the future, once more.
The buffoon's turn transformed into more antics of a drunkard. The half-spin stops, and he is unable to steady his momentum. I slide across the ground in the turmoil. He bumps into Shorty-in-Charge. Thlump, thrump, thlump. Both drop their light in the collision.
"You two have a penchant for having your coop clustered, this evening, don't you?" Regi-Whoeth-Earned-Half-His-Name laments.
He grabs the dropped vision-aids and tosses one back to Csétlen. Yea, he's proven, I better treat him like he has a name. Holding up the light,"Now just where did he get to?" Regi scans. "Um, no, just wait," his left hand waves frantically. Yea, he spots me.
In the four to five flicker gap, I've found destiny manifest. They fail to notice all three firesticks had dropped. The one held by his belt escapes, and I provide the former prisoner of ass-stench, a shot at compensation. I collect my earnings with all the joy of a kid on Vasfelten. I turn up the setting to mid-high. Don't believe I can make it out of here on this leg, if I set everything ablaze too quickly.
The great hog rushes forward, Regi turns to withdraw, Csétlen throws his blade. That last action is actually a bit scary, but it's too late for that. I press the switch. Residue of the splattered berry pops the big guy in the face and catches Regi across the wrist. It's of ill-importance, though, as the flame follows not even a flicker later. Wonderful. Ha haha, I...I'm actually going to live? I wave the cold stick side-to-side and bathe everything in front of me in the orange-consumer. Such a scream, the descendant of swine unleashes, as he falls. His burning visage, interrupts my vision of the other two.
Smelling the roasting flesh disturbs my onslaught. I stop the onslaught of ash production. More and more blister-laden fruits fall from their home and burst upon impact. The burning- citrus scent mixes quickly fuses with the less pleasant mentionables.
The enchanting sight releases its hold over me. I won't be any different than this roast pork in front me, if I don't get a move on. First, I take my firestick and scrub the heated tip up my leg. Yep. Took it like a man, I did. Definitely, didn't just release a cry, that only a mother could remedy. I rip more fabric from my pants. Probably, should've been alternating legs, when I tear material. I look like some kind of eccentric perv with one dusty pant leg, the other leg sporting a weasel-squeezer, a smudgy half-mask, and my naked, crusty body. My self criticism finishes, as I finish tying off my lacerated leg.
Alright, let's give it a go. I struggle to rise, but yea, I believe I can pull through. To my horror, I'm not the only one planning to pull through. Izomer---charred and with a dregs of a former shirt still hanging on him---stands before me.
For some reason, I remember the only time I'd seen Pops drunk. A few of his former comrades had been visiting and rehashing old adventure tales amongst one another. He just couldn't let go of Sykay's death, knowing it came within a grantat of his retirement. They had loosened his chains, that night. It had been good for him, I think. That may have been the first time I'd ever seen him so unreserved. Was just enjoying a nice bonfire gathering, when we notice some guy pestering Mom.
I didn't think much of it at the time, but apparently another man shouldn't dance so closely with another's wife. One of his friend's tries to stop him, but Father wasn't in the mood to listen. The two men exchanged words for a brief moment. Then, the guy turned and smacked Mother on her bottom. I couldn't see father's face at the time, but what I could feel was enough to let me know; it wasn't a face I should ever see. The carnage wrought within a single flickar ensured I'd never lay eyes upon the face of the other man, as well. It was said, he'd have to keep his head wrapped for many a grantat, and even after healing; it'd never be the same. That night, Father wasn't someone I knew. He had told me it was a relapse of his adventurer days. I only remember seeing a beast and being terrified.
I can only surmise, every adventurer among the public is merely an animal at rest. After all, right now, with this man's gaze bearing down on me; I've never been more afraid. I've been looking down on this guy? Have my father's lessons truly never been understood. I even cracked jokes about this guy with the other kids. Everyone considers an uninjured adventurer retiring at age twenty-one to be hilarious. I'm not laughing now. In front of me stands a man, who has survived encounters; I could never imagine. To him though, I'm sure ending me isn't even something he has to envision. It is simple cause and effect.
He swings his mallet of a fist down toward my head. I roll to the side and grab the firestick. Um...why am I airborne? For a moment, it feels as though time has slowed. I see the crater from his fists impact. The firestick is floating away from me, but I know it's about to be much further away. I lock eyes with the monster disguised as man. Has time slowed for him too? During our moment of connection, I reaffirm my resolve. I couldn't tell, if he was actually thinking anything. Or so I thought, before slamming back into the ground.
Oomph! Breathing should never be this hard. It sounds like a carriage made with square wheels is abounding toward me. Oh, his foot already above my head? I roll. Nevermind, I bounce onto my feet after dodging my impending squish. My wounded leg cause me to stumble. An open palm is traveling to my face. I'd like to not suffer death-by-slap. So opt for the boneless technique. Yep, trust excercises are useful in combat. Following with my popular rolling technique, I head towards the flames. Maybe I'll get lucky and find a machete, but more likely; I'll join the corpse of its ex-wielder.
During my dexterous roll, I bump into the partially destroyed remains of Minion-Alarm. He still has all his trusty teeth, obviously. The flame just took his large wood. Hmm, I have too much time on my hands, if I'm thinking silly things. Where's the runaway transport? Oh, well that is interesting. He's keeled over at the moment, trying to get his breath in order. Quickly, he uprights himself and wildly swings at nothing a couple times. The targetless frenzy over, he appears to be waiting. I can win.
I grab one of less mushy pieces of fruit off the ground and---. Just how? He tracked the sound of me grabbing something that quick? An elbow iw about to reshape my face---throw the fruit. It connects with another stalk, before my face becomes remodeled. His attack changes trajectory, accordingly, and a plant ceases to exist. Even the flames are blown away by his swing. Pick up spade. Unsheathe sickle. I hurry to reap some leg flesh. He brutishly knees the sickle. Physics favor him in this clash. My face receives my returning fist. I tumble a few meters backwards, but manage to maintain grip on both tools. An axe? I receive no respite, instead an incoming leg seeking my life. I lift the spade toward a chance at redemption, as I try to twist my body out of the path.
Crunch! "Arghghuh!" He grunts agnonizingly.
I again, slip the fate of becoming Flatman. My forearm doesn't share in that glory. It has an awful crook in it now. The spade, on the other hand, has earned my forgiveness. The forks are lodged deep in the man's leg. He reaches down and yanks the tool out.
"Mhgh aghh, that's enough out of you. You had a good run kid." His eyes focus down on me.
The fists comes falling. Why both? Guess I get a fancy death. Shouldn't my life be flashing, instead I'm just admiring how large these fists are. I close my eyes. I'm sorry Sis, Mom...,but the end doesn't come. My lids ease upwards. He's on his fist and knees across my body. With my good hand I slide from under him. It'd have been a true shame to have been stuck underneath. I make my way to the front of him. It's a sight to behold. Face scrunched in fury, veins pulsating along his neck, snot running down his nose, and eyes pouring unremittingly is quite a spectacle. I think my face probably doesn't look much different, but then I realize we aren't remotely the same. That...that is the face of defeated. This...this is the face of the victorious.
I don't waste any time. I grab my sickle and hobble up to my feet. I take care of the only one, who can dispute my win. Now, got to get out of here, before I suffocate in all this smoke. As I'm limping through my way around, I come across Csétlen. After looting him for his jacket, firestick, and machete; I notice voices just ahead. I fasten the firestick to my left side and the sickle on my right.
I've made it. The exit is just a few paces away. I creep forward and try to peek at the source of chatter. I almost start a fresh bout of waterworks. I'm so glad, that I was going the right way. It's just a few normal townsfolk up ahead. They've assembled a line of people passing pails of water. Ah, they were quick to stop the spreading of this crop disaster.
After making sure I can't find any of the headsman's henchman, I sheathe the machete into one of the jacket's inner pockets and drag myself out of the field. I spot Hölgyin, one of our village elders, as I approach the fence. The group has stopped gathering water, and now all eyes are drawn to her.
"Együtt Arcan Pluvias!" Her arms spread wide, as if imploring the sky. The sight of her rain call amazes me every time. For a moment the arcana is actually tangible, whilst drifting away from each of the assembled. Oh, wow, even I was caught in the radius. I slide my healthy index finger through the air, and feel all the hair on my body prickle in response.
This is my chance. Everyone's attention follows the summoned cloud, and I move at top speed for the fence. I'm so fleet-footed, an infant's crawl could only submit. My right leg and left arm disagree wholly with going over the top. I yield to my body's plea. I drop and slide under the fence considerately. Two people spot me struggling back to my feet.
I'm certain they recognize me. I visit their stalls every morning, after all. One of them makes a gesture, implying,"We are gonna talk later," and I nod. I think they might be giving me a chance to come up with an excuse. Stop. It's easier for me to not think about it. I don't want to be aware of their concern. We aren't going to have any talk, ever. I limp down the slope, and begin following the clay-paved path home.
I ignore the looks of the concerned. Seems my late-night squabble has woken the entire town, already. Fire in an agricultural town is akin to catastrophe. I'm probably just surprised, because of how rarely the town needs to respond to something like this. A few kids, that've grown alongside me, try to come toward me. Their parents or relatives wisely pull or persuade them otherwise. I'm certain I reek of trouble. The dragging coat is caked in aftermath, and I am definitely no prettier.
Home. It's been a long night. Also, the last night for us both. The two story building sits at the edge of town on a well-trimmed grassy plain. Looking at how it has retained all the beauty of the day Pops finished it, brings moisture to my eyes. There's a tiny crack on the second of four steps. Dad hadn't even brought his gait back under control on that drunken night. I'd bet there is still one of Sis's dresses in the treehouse. She did so love to play the princess in the tower. Even the window near the door remains half-open. Mother would always leaves treats and drinks on the windowsill. If we were really lucky, we'd also be greeted with her smile. Three elapse and I've never found the courage to close it. I wipe my eyes with my right arm, but the bawling won't stop.
Sniffle. The rain has infected the entirety of the town now. Standing in it for a while does little to relieve my mood, but I do feel more clear-headed. On the third step, I step in a bit of mud. I step onto the fourth and approach the door. I take off the battered jacket. Such filth isn't allowed in here. I remove the machete and place it in the back of my waiststrap. I enter.
Hic! I'm bulldozed from the side. My left wrist hurts so much, I can't produce any other thoughts. A firestick clicks on. I hear the prongs unlatch and see the light now hovering a meter above the floor.
"You know, I was going for your sickle. I hadn't even imagined you'd make it out of there with one of these. Now listen ki---"
He implements a turn to dodge the incoming sickle. His face contorts in rage. He's made a mistake. I'm upon him, just as he turns back toward me.
"No wai?!" he doesn't get to finish.
The machete is through his chest, before he can even attempt to wield more words. Less a shiver, than an abrupt spout of convulsion, I experience, as I watch life leave him. Our bodies drop to our knees in synchronicity.
"Pops was right. A hundred percent isn't everything," my final thoughts, before passing out.
It's still dark out, when I return to consciouness. Everything hurts. I try to push myself up with my good hand. I feel so overwhelmingly heavy. Oh. Well, duh. My latest kill is lying across my back. Rather than lifting up, I slowly slide my way from underneath him. As the townsfolk aren't here trying to barge the door down; it's probably to safe to assume my nap was quite brief. Got to hurry. That merchant said he was leaving at 1900. It shouldn't have been a pass, since I've visited the headsman.
I drag the cumbersome Reginald outside and leave him in the grass. I re-enter my home, dampen a cloth, and diligently scrub the floor. Once I'm satisfied, I take in a cleansing breath. I travel upstairs to my room for an upgrade to proper clothing. I walk out with a pre-prepared bag strapped over my shoulder. Visiting each room of the house on my way out, I relive days long past. In passing, I grab a toy slime, a make-up brush, and a petrified bone.
"Mother, Father, I'm sorry. I can't protect this place," I explain myself to my imagined parents. "But, I won't hand it over to anyone else, either."
I step outside with the firestick, that had been camping near the doorway. I turn it to the highest setting. Click!
Flames consume the two-story building from top-down. Ash and chips of wood flit about the smokey wind. It's not melancholy I feel, but a smoldering resolve. The embers are so close. A plank from the second floor snaps and is upon me too quickly for any evasion. Augh! The soundless scream that follows, releases all the frustration built in the passed elapse. Tears falling and a thick splinter lodged just underneath my left eye, I finally turn away.
"Yo, look up, it's this kid I was talkin about," the caravan leader points his thumb at me. "Gyah Hha! I thought you had changed your mind. Plenty of young'uns talk big, but don't really have the nerve to leave home. But from the looks of you, I'd guess your more of the running away sort."
"Only this once, only this once. Oh, um, thanks for waiting, sir."
"Heha, who was waiting, ol Alviirch here was movin' slower than a man with soggy boots. We'll work you good, boy. You planning to stay along till the capital, right?"
"Yeah, my father had been born there. I don't think I could ever fill his shoes without, at least, walking some of his steps."
"Well said boy, well said. Yah!" The mounts charge out of town at his call.
They say you don't become a man till you're sixteen. I can't wait those two elapse.
"Mother, Sis, Father, if any of you are alive; I'll find you."
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Again, I fail to rise from this prison. Among many nonsensical visions, I think a memory appeared. Small pleasures and a lifetime of happiness. Yeah right. I'm not in the mood for a placating victory. Urrrgh! I can break these walls. Ok, I can't break these walls. My endeavor to do...anything proves as fruitless as usual. Wait just a flicker. I still recall the memory. Hah! This is clearest my mind has felt in...in a long time. So, I am young, huh. It's too bad some names weren't recognizable. Seriously now, even the welcoming sign the merchant was riding toward was blurry. Bah! I am a pretty awesome kid, though, ain't I.
No. Um. Yes. Failure. Er, thoughts. I got even with the bastards. No bandits fitted as decent folk got to claim mine, as theirs. Just like Pops---okay, maybe he was a bit overboard---I didn't just show my belly to a beast. I let them see the teeth. Did I? Huh, what's that mean? Did I not show my belly, and have him rub it. Um, what? I drank from the bowl, played catch, and rolled over when called. Excuse me? The story ends with me going to become someone capable of finding my family right? Possibly, I die on the ride to the capital. Is that really, what I think?
"Hey, I know you're like all dying and such. But I have this great joke. What do you call a son, who serves his familial women's paramour. Well, ex-paramour on the mother part, but I digress. A hero. Ahh, those eyes. Oh, you think I mean me. No no, my friend. Stealing more than one cookie from the jar is bad form. Certainly, you can excuse me for Yeva. Honesty on a hero's bedside, that thing with her is not even my fault. Now then, look around the room. Pretend they are many an elapse younger. Imagine them without the clout they have now. They have hunger. They are proud. Scheming is not beneath them. What does a win look like to that pers? Oya, relax. Shh, just get this hand off my colar, thank you. Seems my joke was in poor taste. Think nothing of it. Ah that's already been decided hasn't it?"
Trygg!!!!!! My nonexistent gut boils. Haha. I am indeed, a failure. How? How dare I? Sip drink with you. Serve the people. Sacrifice my time. Share my women. Surrender my life. He had been right there, all along. The one with the nerve to purchase my family. I searched. I really tried everything. It was impossible to find a lead. Yet even knowing now, it's too late. No! No! No! No! No! I'm hyperventillating. Call it an existential crisis. More. More. More. Whatever consitutes my being, is experiencing a seizure. Prison! Begone!
Light! Not much of it, actually it's barely an upgrade. The rage swells ever further. Butcher. Tear. Ravage. Maim. Dismember. I'm setting an excavation record, if this is indeed dirt surrounding my grave. The fury slows it's seething for only a moment. I finally notice, being free of my container may not be, as great as expected. Oh four's mercy. Since shattering my enclosure, I'm started losing myself. It feels like I'm scattering in every direction at once. My assumption,"Finallity." Pull together. Stop seperating. Trygg!! Ah, something's shining. Halting my inevitable destruction is not going to well. I sure hope this brightness is fate throwing me a raft. I try to spread my fading existence towards that warm light, give me that much. It's the hardest thing I've ever attempted, according to my tiny, scrambled recollection. It's working! Eh, this feels weird. I'm becoming...small. Dense. The more I condense, the more whole I feel. Until...my eyes open. Um, don't think they were closed. Okay, my vision is normal again; rather than the weird omni-directional thing; I had going on. Ohh, this is a body.
Trygg, I'm coming.