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Outcast, Ch. 3
Epic
 Created on 6-16-07
 Views(85)
 Story Rating G
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Wind, harsh wind, and rain like knives penetrating the skin. Dismal days lie beyond a horizon, sullen misery left behind. The rain will never stop. Blood pours through my wounds like a gushing river, yet still we are forced to trudge through. I cannot see ahead. Lost within the storm, like the mind of a madman deepened within his own mental sanity. No food for days. No rest for weeks. We grow weak for every movement is a struggle against a vast world of grueling agony and unrelenting pain. A cry for mercy has no answer and pity is defied by rain.
“Are you still following me?” my brother calls to me, though I hear not but a few words.
“Yes,” I answer, above the rain of knives and wind of spears.
“Good,” he replies faintly.
“Though I fear I will fall.”
“Repeat.”
“Though I fear I will fall.”
“No, not here. Within a passing of a few days, we shall be dry again. You remember dry?”
“Yes. And warm…if only, if only.”
“So you cannot fall. Not yet. Not until…we’re…warm.”
Some moments pass, to talk from our mouths. Exhausted , though, I call to him.
“Where are we going?” No answer. Louder, “Where are we going?” Yet still, no answer. I thrust my hand out--but feel nothing. Nothing behind. Nothing around. Where am I? Am I alone? Alone, utterly alone. It is a sickening sensation, vile with every imaginable disgust, loveliness. It sucks all desire for life, all desire for anything. It is fearful to be alone. I sink to my knees and vomit, collapsing in the remains of rotted liquid, the only heat I’ve known in days. It seeps into my soft, sponge-like body. I breathe it’s fumes…intoxicating, nauseating, yet strangely warm. Warmth … warmth … warmth … heat … heat … heat … warmth … warmth.
I awaken to a strange place. Green, beautiful, filled to utter musicality, luscious trees, even the smell of fresh pine filly my mind with it’s gentle stroke. The air is damp, refreshing, like the spray of the ocean waves. I lie and let it all into my system…into my body. Where am I? What could have happened to me? Was it the wind? Have I been blown across the land? Or perhaps this is a den of thieves, sent for me for to plunder or ransack cities. Where is my brother? Dead? Alive? How could I know? How can I answer? Who would answer my slew of questions? How much time had passed between then and now? Why am I here?
“Ah, he rises,” says a deep, hopeful voice.
I look and an old man, a long, grey beard flowing as if a waterfall from his petit chin nearly to his waist. But he hums a catchy folksong while his eyes sparkle with energy, with life.
“In case you are wondering,” he continues, his voice nearly laughing. “It is a Wednesday. Nearly noon, by the looks of it. Don’t bother asking about where you are, for where you are, I have no idea.”
“Who are you?” I ask. “Why am I here? How did I get here? Do I blame you? Or another?”
“All in good time, my friend, in good time. You needn’t hurry through life for when you’ve gotten your fill from it, you’ll wish you hadn’t been hasty. Now, I am but a passer-by and found you. You are here because I brought you to health again.”
“And what of my brother?”
“Oh, I’m afraid he hasn’t yet returned. Your brother? Brethren, are you? Of course you are. I should have known . Strikingly similar, you are to him.”
“But what of him?”
“He is still out. Has been for some time, now.”
As if a bolt of lightning, summoned by a crash of thunder, I sink my head below the waters of sorrow. Dead? Gone? How could this have happened? My eyes flow as if a river of emotion urging to break free bursting a thousand miles.
“Dead…:” I whisper, silently.
“What’s that?”
“He’s dead!” I shout. “But how?”
“Dead? No, he’s just left to gather food. He has been gone some time, now.” He looks at me, glaring as if he knows a secret. His smirk sends suspicious notions through my head. I begin to wonder, as often I do. Who is this man? Does he know me? How?
“Tell me,” he says, leaning back. “Why were you lying about the ground among a savage rainstorm?”
“We were driven from our home,” I answer. “This forsaken war. When will it be over?”
Smiling, the passer-by seems to glare at me with eyes like fire. “Perhaps soon. But people were saying that a hundred years ago.”
“A hundred and a hundred more,” I say flatly.
Finally, my brother returns. In his hands, he carries mushrooms, ferns, apples and olives. But my spirit brightens at the sight of him. Knowing, seeing him still alive hives my soul a refreshing wave of comfort. He moves, breathes, nothing appears severely wrong nor disturbing about him. An essence of joy overcomes my senses.
“You’re up, finally,” he says to me. “I was worried you had died.”
“Likewise,” I reply.
He sits down, as does this traveler. They distribute the food and we eat. So wonderful it is, to have a full stomach again. The taste of food again…so wonderful, like a blissful sensation powerful as a rising sun. never again, I thought a day like this would come.
“Well,” my brother returns. “Where are you men traveling to?”
“We’ve been overthrown form our home and have been forced to wander the forest again.”
“And is that all your lives amount to? Wanderers in a forest? I assume you have been doing so from some time. You had mentioned ‘again.’”
“Yes.,” I reply. “Nothing more nor no less.”
“Supposing, then,” the traveler continues. “You are faced with a quest. Would you dare accept?”
“What would be this quest?” asks my brother.
“That answer is irrelevant. Would you go?”
“Yes,” he answers. “If you would tell us.”
“There is,” begins the traveler. “A woman who washes beneath the waterfall. Her water is said to contain never ending life when drank.” He rises and turns to leave. “But, this is your decision, should you choose to accept it.”
He leaves. My brother and I look at each other.
“Wait,” we exclaim. “Where is this woman?”
“West,” he replies. “A thousand miles. You will come to the Ta-Ta Nease village. In a tall tree, tallest in the forest second only to the one that drinks from the lady’s waters, a wise king lives. He will guide you. But I caution you, fellow travelers…he does talk a lot.” He turns to lave but pauses; turns around. “And,” he continues. “If circumstance allows, give word unto my brother. Tell him, Saul says ‘hello.’ You’ll know him when you see him. He has my appearance. Identically.” And he turns, leaving us two to ponder. Do we leave? What will become of us? Are we destined to die along the way? How? Or perhaps how painful? mournful?
“What do you say?” my brother inquires. “Shall we leave?”
My decision. Do we leave the promise of a safe home, if any? Do I abandon and disregard my emotions, my overactive mind telling me to venture into any journey but the one we are now faced with? Certain death lies ahead, but does it lie behind? Do we go forth to shadow and nothing to perhaps pursue the dream of a joyous conclusion? The promise of death lies ahead…both ways. To die for a purpose is far greater than an empty life.
I stand, confident, almost as if I were a king. “Let us go.”
“Are you still following me?” my brother calls to me, though I hear not but a few words.
“Yes,” I answer, above the rain of knives and wind of spears.
“Good,” he replies faintly.
“Though I fear I will fall.”
“Repeat.”
“Though I fear I will fall.”
“No, not here. Within a passing of a few days, we shall be dry again. You remember dry?”
“Yes. And warm…if only, if only.”
“So you cannot fall. Not yet. Not until…we’re…warm.”
Some moments pass, to talk from our mouths. Exhausted , though, I call to him.
“Where are we going?” No answer. Louder, “Where are we going?” Yet still, no answer. I thrust my hand out--but feel nothing. Nothing behind. Nothing around. Where am I? Am I alone? Alone, utterly alone. It is a sickening sensation, vile with every imaginable disgust, loveliness. It sucks all desire for life, all desire for anything. It is fearful to be alone. I sink to my knees and vomit, collapsing in the remains of rotted liquid, the only heat I’ve known in days. It seeps into my soft, sponge-like body. I breathe it’s fumes…intoxicating, nauseating, yet strangely warm. Warmth … warmth … warmth … heat … heat … heat … warmth … warmth.
I awaken to a strange place. Green, beautiful, filled to utter musicality, luscious trees, even the smell of fresh pine filly my mind with it’s gentle stroke. The air is damp, refreshing, like the spray of the ocean waves. I lie and let it all into my system…into my body. Where am I? What could have happened to me? Was it the wind? Have I been blown across the land? Or perhaps this is a den of thieves, sent for me for to plunder or ransack cities. Where is my brother? Dead? Alive? How could I know? How can I answer? Who would answer my slew of questions? How much time had passed between then and now? Why am I here?
“Ah, he rises,” says a deep, hopeful voice.
I look and an old man, a long, grey beard flowing as if a waterfall from his petit chin nearly to his waist. But he hums a catchy folksong while his eyes sparkle with energy, with life.
“In case you are wondering,” he continues, his voice nearly laughing. “It is a Wednesday. Nearly noon, by the looks of it. Don’t bother asking about where you are, for where you are, I have no idea.”
“Who are you?” I ask. “Why am I here? How did I get here? Do I blame you? Or another?”
“All in good time, my friend, in good time. You needn’t hurry through life for when you’ve gotten your fill from it, you’ll wish you hadn’t been hasty. Now, I am but a passer-by and found you. You are here because I brought you to health again.”
“And what of my brother?”
“Oh, I’m afraid he hasn’t yet returned. Your brother? Brethren, are you? Of course you are. I should have known . Strikingly similar, you are to him.”
“But what of him?”
“He is still out. Has been for some time, now.”
As if a bolt of lightning, summoned by a crash of thunder, I sink my head below the waters of sorrow. Dead? Gone? How could this have happened? My eyes flow as if a river of emotion urging to break free bursting a thousand miles.
“Dead…:” I whisper, silently.
“What’s that?”
“He’s dead!” I shout. “But how?”
“Dead? No, he’s just left to gather food. He has been gone some time, now.” He looks at me, glaring as if he knows a secret. His smirk sends suspicious notions through my head. I begin to wonder, as often I do. Who is this man? Does he know me? How?
“Tell me,” he says, leaning back. “Why were you lying about the ground among a savage rainstorm?”
“We were driven from our home,” I answer. “This forsaken war. When will it be over?”
Smiling, the passer-by seems to glare at me with eyes like fire. “Perhaps soon. But people were saying that a hundred years ago.”
“A hundred and a hundred more,” I say flatly.
Finally, my brother returns. In his hands, he carries mushrooms, ferns, apples and olives. But my spirit brightens at the sight of him. Knowing, seeing him still alive hives my soul a refreshing wave of comfort. He moves, breathes, nothing appears severely wrong nor disturbing about him. An essence of joy overcomes my senses.
“You’re up, finally,” he says to me. “I was worried you had died.”
“Likewise,” I reply.
He sits down, as does this traveler. They distribute the food and we eat. So wonderful it is, to have a full stomach again. The taste of food again…so wonderful, like a blissful sensation powerful as a rising sun. never again, I thought a day like this would come.
“Well,” my brother returns. “Where are you men traveling to?”
“We’ve been overthrown form our home and have been forced to wander the forest again.”
“And is that all your lives amount to? Wanderers in a forest? I assume you have been doing so from some time. You had mentioned ‘again.’”
“Yes.,” I reply. “Nothing more nor no less.”
“Supposing, then,” the traveler continues. “You are faced with a quest. Would you dare accept?”
“What would be this quest?” asks my brother.
“That answer is irrelevant. Would you go?”
“Yes,” he answers. “If you would tell us.”
“There is,” begins the traveler. “A woman who washes beneath the waterfall. Her water is said to contain never ending life when drank.” He rises and turns to leave. “But, this is your decision, should you choose to accept it.”
He leaves. My brother and I look at each other.
“Wait,” we exclaim. “Where is this woman?”
“West,” he replies. “A thousand miles. You will come to the Ta-Ta Nease village. In a tall tree, tallest in the forest second only to the one that drinks from the lady’s waters, a wise king lives. He will guide you. But I caution you, fellow travelers…he does talk a lot.” He turns to lave but pauses; turns around. “And,” he continues. “If circumstance allows, give word unto my brother. Tell him, Saul says ‘hello.’ You’ll know him when you see him. He has my appearance. Identically.” And he turns, leaving us two to ponder. Do we leave? What will become of us? Are we destined to die along the way? How? Or perhaps how painful? mournful?
“What do you say?” my brother inquires. “Shall we leave?”
My decision. Do we leave the promise of a safe home, if any? Do I abandon and disregard my emotions, my overactive mind telling me to venture into any journey but the one we are now faced with? Certain death lies ahead, but does it lie behind? Do we go forth to shadow and nothing to perhaps pursue the dream of a joyous conclusion? The promise of death lies ahead…both ways. To die for a purpose is far greater than an empty life.
I stand, confident, almost as if I were a king. “Let us go.”
Comments
Please Login to post comments| On June 18th 2007 peterzshadow Said : | |
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Becoming a little disappointed. It reminds me some of something I've already read. Will read ch. 4 still. |
