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Outcast, Ch. 8 |
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A Rose |
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Outcast, Ch. 2 |
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Outcast, Ch. 1 |
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Outcast, Ch. 2
Creative
 Created on 6-13-07
 Views(100)
 Story Rating G
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Day break…dawn arises. I watch as the fire of the sunrise thrusts itself into the sky, pouring it’s light onto the world. The voice stretches beyond the mountains and breaks the barriers of the forest as a calling of war, the terrifying clash of death in to nothingness and shadow brims the eyes to flow to tears. But all we can do is watch as power overwhelms our senses, each passing and each setting each day each year. A monotonous routine of scheduled behavior.
My brother has woken up and is tying his spear together as I am by mow. The morning hunt…work for food. Each new hunt, new kill, brings a slight rush of adrenalin into my blood as thoughts and dreams of the possibilities rush into my eyes. Meat, delicious meat, or ham, any food for the hungry man. The morning hunt, an adventure all it’s own.
“Are you ready?” my brother asks me.
“Always ready,” I answer. “Always alert, forever aware.”
Together we rise and leave.
The creatures are all silent, blissfully unaware of the demons sulking around them. Within the shadows we lie, diligently surveying our territory. We watch as they eat, fattening their delicious bodies with glistening grass. Silent we are, silent as a phantom hung by the gallows, an arrow drawn by a bow within my grasp.
Stallions-white stallions-an entire heard. Delicate as angels, they seem like a child…soon to be stained with blood.
The wind whispers along the trees. The grass rustles. The pulse of a b eating heart quickens. I draw my bow. Aim, conscious of my world. Always ready. Always alert. Forever aware. Concentrate. Watch. Listen. The hooves, the feet. Concentrate. Aim…release!
For a moment, all is still. The air, the rustle of the leaves…an unsettling stillness of mind and emotion. Unease covers the world, a hope that yet now the dart will not miss. It lands in it’s white flesh. The stallion cries if fear and pain, helpless pain. It’s cry would be piercing were it not silenced by the gnawing of our unrelenting hunger. It collapses as a sound of a thousand hooves trample upon the hard ground.
Finally… nothing, not an echo save the whines of a stallion. We turn and rise, walking toward it. Blood spills onto the cold soil, drinks for kings. Standing over it, it’s eyes glare at us as if to say ‘help me’, or perhaps to wonder why this punishment befell it.
“My sincerest apologies, sir,” my brother whispers. He throws his spear into it’s heart as it falls forever into death. Yet another cry is heard above the field. A young cry, growing more distant than the mournful cry before.
“Well,” I say, looking up. “This thing was a father.”
My brother looks up and beholds a white stallion. Small, just a child, yet still a stallion. A small stream of silk grows along it’s back as it’s gleaming fir shines like a cherub. There is an emptiness in his song, like the downfall of a pouring rain. Thunder emits from it’s small mouth and like the waging of a terrible war, it kills the heart and drenches the soul in remorse. Just a child, yet such power within his words , as if to call his father back to life.
But we take him up and bring him to our shire in the woods. Ah…stallion tonight. It will be a feast, indeed.
We arrive. The air is fresh, the grounds green and the trees whisper “welcome home”. the gentle breeze resonates like ocean waves as we set the animal upon the ground. It was a good hunt today, indeed, a great hunt.
For a brief moment, everything is still. It is an unsettling feeling, a setting of the mind. Anticipation waiting for a fire to strike. And it does. A flaming arrow descends from the heavens, hardly missing my brother’s rough skin. It lands within the stallion, covering the flame within it’s flesh. He rises as we both stare, bewildered. Yet all around us men rise from bushes and behind trees. Dressed in metallic white, their bows and arrows, all drawn, are directed toward us. One man approaches us. Within his eye, I can see his sense of victory, perhaps an ungodly sense of kingship.
“The ground you walk upon,” he says, shrill as ice. “Is no longer yours.”
My brother swiftly draws his sword, thrusts it to this king’s neck, if so he may be called a king.
“Move your men,” my brother commands forcefully. “Step down from our land for you infect our home with your poisonous presence, king.”
“You will treat authority with respect,” he demands, not a blink nor a sliver of joy within his eyes. Empty pools…vast abyss of empty emotions. But why?
“I serve no one,” my brother replies, his sword unmoving. They stare coldly. “For no king serves me.”
The king glances down upon my brother’s sword.
“Put down your weapon,” he commands.
“Step down from our land.”
“Put down your weapon.”
“Surrender our land! Do not believe I cannot kill you.”
“This is not your war,” the king calls, bitterly and coldly. “And so you cannot kill me. You serve no king, and so you fight no war. You will fight no war and so you cannot kill me because I am the war. You fight no war, and you have shunned the world around you and so have shunned me. You cannot kill what does not exist and so you cannot kill me. You have no power here, your crooked words and rustic blade are no exiled…on pain and agony of unspeakable death.” All men around us draw their weapons, draw their bows. The king smiles maliciously, his eyes lie coals upon our heads. “Nothing,” he whispers, like a bladed twister. “Can yet kill me.”
Reluctantly and outnumbered, we leave our former home and wander, once more, through the vast wilderness.
My brother has woken up and is tying his spear together as I am by mow. The morning hunt…work for food. Each new hunt, new kill, brings a slight rush of adrenalin into my blood as thoughts and dreams of the possibilities rush into my eyes. Meat, delicious meat, or ham, any food for the hungry man. The morning hunt, an adventure all it’s own.
“Are you ready?” my brother asks me.
“Always ready,” I answer. “Always alert, forever aware.”
Together we rise and leave.
The creatures are all silent, blissfully unaware of the demons sulking around them. Within the shadows we lie, diligently surveying our territory. We watch as they eat, fattening their delicious bodies with glistening grass. Silent we are, silent as a phantom hung by the gallows, an arrow drawn by a bow within my grasp.
Stallions-white stallions-an entire heard. Delicate as angels, they seem like a child…soon to be stained with blood.
The wind whispers along the trees. The grass rustles. The pulse of a b eating heart quickens. I draw my bow. Aim, conscious of my world. Always ready. Always alert. Forever aware. Concentrate. Watch. Listen. The hooves, the feet. Concentrate. Aim…release!
For a moment, all is still. The air, the rustle of the leaves…an unsettling stillness of mind and emotion. Unease covers the world, a hope that yet now the dart will not miss. It lands in it’s white flesh. The stallion cries if fear and pain, helpless pain. It’s cry would be piercing were it not silenced by the gnawing of our unrelenting hunger. It collapses as a sound of a thousand hooves trample upon the hard ground.
Finally… nothing, not an echo save the whines of a stallion. We turn and rise, walking toward it. Blood spills onto the cold soil, drinks for kings. Standing over it, it’s eyes glare at us as if to say ‘help me’, or perhaps to wonder why this punishment befell it.
“My sincerest apologies, sir,” my brother whispers. He throws his spear into it’s heart as it falls forever into death. Yet another cry is heard above the field. A young cry, growing more distant than the mournful cry before.
“Well,” I say, looking up. “This thing was a father.”
My brother looks up and beholds a white stallion. Small, just a child, yet still a stallion. A small stream of silk grows along it’s back as it’s gleaming fir shines like a cherub. There is an emptiness in his song, like the downfall of a pouring rain. Thunder emits from it’s small mouth and like the waging of a terrible war, it kills the heart and drenches the soul in remorse. Just a child, yet such power within his words , as if to call his father back to life.
But we take him up and bring him to our shire in the woods. Ah…stallion tonight. It will be a feast, indeed.
We arrive. The air is fresh, the grounds green and the trees whisper “welcome home”. the gentle breeze resonates like ocean waves as we set the animal upon the ground. It was a good hunt today, indeed, a great hunt.
For a brief moment, everything is still. It is an unsettling feeling, a setting of the mind. Anticipation waiting for a fire to strike. And it does. A flaming arrow descends from the heavens, hardly missing my brother’s rough skin. It lands within the stallion, covering the flame within it’s flesh. He rises as we both stare, bewildered. Yet all around us men rise from bushes and behind trees. Dressed in metallic white, their bows and arrows, all drawn, are directed toward us. One man approaches us. Within his eye, I can see his sense of victory, perhaps an ungodly sense of kingship.
“The ground you walk upon,” he says, shrill as ice. “Is no longer yours.”
My brother swiftly draws his sword, thrusts it to this king’s neck, if so he may be called a king.
“Move your men,” my brother commands forcefully. “Step down from our land for you infect our home with your poisonous presence, king.”
“You will treat authority with respect,” he demands, not a blink nor a sliver of joy within his eyes. Empty pools…vast abyss of empty emotions. But why?
“I serve no one,” my brother replies, his sword unmoving. They stare coldly. “For no king serves me.”
The king glances down upon my brother’s sword.
“Put down your weapon,” he commands.
“Step down from our land.”
“Put down your weapon.”
“Surrender our land! Do not believe I cannot kill you.”
“This is not your war,” the king calls, bitterly and coldly. “And so you cannot kill me. You serve no king, and so you fight no war. You will fight no war and so you cannot kill me because I am the war. You fight no war, and you have shunned the world around you and so have shunned me. You cannot kill what does not exist and so you cannot kill me. You have no power here, your crooked words and rustic blade are no exiled…on pain and agony of unspeakable death.” All men around us draw their weapons, draw their bows. The king smiles maliciously, his eyes lie coals upon our heads. “Nothing,” he whispers, like a bladed twister. “Can yet kill me.”
Reluctantly and outnumbered, we leave our former home and wander, once more, through the vast wilderness.
Comments
Please Login to post comments| On June 19th 2007 Ditten Said : | |
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Meh, I'm his girlfriend, I can say what I want and he can't get too mad at me. ;D No, my real objective is to actually help critique the story and offer suggestions so that he can improve it (not that it needs much improving or anything ^_^) rather than just saying "I liked it". Honestly, I critique hard and I don't sugar coat anything; I try to make what I say meaningful, and therefore when I do give my compliments, they are incredibly sincere. Anywho, not taking offense or anything, just trying to explain so that I don't come off as a nazi drill seargent or that I hated it, because I'm not and I didn't, I liked it very much so.
As far as the horse thing goes, I think there are a few ways to look at it. I agree that yes, it does have a "weird" feel to it, but it's not entirely possible that it couldn't happen in our world as we know it (think tribes in South America and Africa maybe). So I dunno, the distinction and explanation that I feel it needs doesn't have to be monumental and completely turn over the story or anything, just something subtle. I just feel personally, knowing what I know about animals and that I am not alone, it is possible that it could cause some confusion among readers that might detract from the main part of the story (e.g. someone sitting there focusing on how the horse behavior patterns are so abnormal rather than how it contributes to the story and the plot as a whole) Again, just me being nit picky in your best interests. I still think it's wonderful though. =) |
| On June 18th 2007 peterzshadow Said : | |
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I love your main characters. The brothers. I disagree with Ditten. I don't think you should have to explain that they're "weird" stallions. The whole feel of your story is "weird". That's why I like it. ANYTHING could happen. And yet it has a base of real. And that's why I REALLY like it. It's our world. But it's not. Still enjoying. Going to read the next chapters. |
| On June 16th 2007 oreoash Said : | |
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but i agree!!! NO KILLING HORSES!! |
| On June 16th 2007 oreoash Said : | |
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good job |
| On June 13th 2007 krista32890 Said : | |
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Wow, 'Ditten' just drilled ya. Well I liked it, keep on writin' |
| On June 13th 2007 Ditten Said : | |
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I like and I don't like at the same time, no killing horsies mister!!! 'Tisn't nice!!! Okay, I know why you put it in there, but it's still Saddddd, capital s and all. Still check up on your horse knowledge though. Stallions are male horses and they don't like to travel in herds together (they dominate a group of mares, that is, female horses, and fight off other stallions that come into their territory and try to steal their mares/food/water/shelter/colts/all of the above, and if you have weird horses, somehow you have to explain that or people will be like wha...?), and if they're all stallions, there can't be a baby, unless your stallions are asexual. o.o;;;
A few typos in there too, but really, other than that, it's great. You really get the mood/feeling going in this. My one suggestion is pull the heart strings even more with the baby horse, throw the really really deep, powerful words that convey ultimate sorrow in there, since that is a very sad moment.
lol, this is why if I had to hunt and kill my own food, I'd so be a vegetarian. Mmmm....grass, yum! xD |
