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Outcast, Ch. 8 |
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A Rose |
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Outcast, Ch. 7 |
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Outcast, Ch. 6 |
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Outcast, Ch. 5 |
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Outcast, Ch. 4 |
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Outcast, Ch. 1 |
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Outcast, Ch. 1
Epic
 Created on 3-7-07
 Views(299)
 Story Rating G
|
We are outcasts. We are lowlifes and wanderers and thus, we are outcasts. I hunt with my bow and my brother with his sword as we wander through these woods; lost, aimless, ready and poised for danger may be stalking any corner, any dark shadow. Every dawn brings a new adventure, every sunset a new sensation that some starving beast hungers for human flesh. All around the trees reach in the night with their claws as if to grasp a victim, or perhaps some concept that no man could possibly know. Such is the meaning of existence. An empty concept swift as nature it honors some, yet leaves others meager guesses, those outcasts and wanderers like us. Our names? Don't ask, that is not important.
But tonight, all is calm, all is silent. The stars shine brightly, the oceans never surrendering to the beauty of the night. A soft breeze flows through the grass as a river weaves through the stones. The moon glows as it's light sooths the soul. We lie, my brother and I, upon the softest earth, watching falling stars, wishing if only to catch one.
"What do you suppose," my brother whispers to me. "What do you think about when watching the stars slither across the sky?"
"Could this question be a trick?" I ask. I always ask questions, thought the answer is seldom found. A curious mind I have, darting always from one possible conclusion to another. 'If I answer with a dance, it implies that my eye sees art and beauty over logic. If I reply with nature I am soft or humble, often calm and philosophical in dark and bleak moments. But yet, if I say about someone I love, maybe I care much for the human emotions, the human in general."
My brother just laughs, always smiles with a warm spirit.
“ I see a beautiful woman,” he answers. “She beckons t me with her delicate skin, her eyes being as if two doves locked together of an endless battle of love and redemption.”
“A man of love and beauty,” I tell him.
“And what do you see?”
I stare hard, curious. What do I see? The stars, yes, the moon, yes, all that is plain to see. Looking past the surface beauty, finding meaning in an instant of space and time woven between a thousand clouds of midnight shade all to revert into my mind and to somehow find a conclusion about my soul? Perhaps impossible. I stare at the clouds and they reflect nothing. The stars-nothing as well as the moon. The movement-nothing nor the light nor glowing clouds of years gone astray. All nothing.
“I see an empty abyss,” I answer. “Nothing comes to me, all I see is an empty void of nothingness.”
“It’s a pity,” my brother hums, his voice as if a gentle wind across the grey canyons. “A shame your life has no meaning.”
“And yours?” I ask.
“The same,” he answers. “But I can find beauty and love. An ambition to love is what keeps a steady pulse in my veins.”
“And what of when love is found?” I ask. “Who will remember your legacy?”
“None,” he humbly answers, calm as a darkened sun. “But I do not resent it, for love, not fame, is what I seek.”
I lie and rest my head upon my hands as my body sinks into the soft and warm ground. This gentle breeze flows through me, under me, into my mouth and into my head where it swims in an endless ocean of thought. What makes night? Why? Perhaps the moon, or the sky, or the stars? Or perhaps the wind carries it along its route around our world?
“Do you wonder about the dark?” my brother asks me. “What lies beyond what the light could reach?”
“I do not know,” I reply. “But I have seen all that I wish to see and am content where I am.”
“We could be on the brink of an adventure and still you would turn away?”
“My dear brother,” I explain to him. “To live is an adventure. So many possibilities lie beyond the corner. What will happen tomorrow? What events will lead us there? Never knowing nor seeing the future is the anticipation of a lifetime. The events of one man’s existence never nee lead to adventure, for adventure is a state of mind in which one dwells daily.”
We both are silent for a very long time, listening to the crickets chirp into the warm summer breeze. Far, far into the distance, the howl of a wolf softly calls the forest to rest. His tranquil crying pours out into the dark and the world is again at rest. But soon hundreds…many hundreds join into a symphony, a choir of humble voices. Listen, quietly, what music they make, children of the night. From every corner they call the forest to rest as everything slowly becomes dark, the world is asleep once more.
Hours may have gone by, days even, time could not know. But the world slowly comes into sight again. Suddenly, my heart drums hard, loud, as I lay unmoving, frozen cold with sudden fear. A hooded figure stares down upon me, no face revealing a man nor woman, human nor beast. The black shadow beneath his hood reveals the deepest night, where no music howls and a call is never answered.
“The answer lies in the water,” comes a whisper. And he rises and disappears into the misty distance.
Still I lay, almost in disbelief. Who was that? What, even? Perhaps a man, for the voice of a man whispered into my ear. Or a demon sent to condemn a soul. Was the a god, some mystical being? Or maybe a phantom? Yes, for now, he is a phantom. But then, why is he here? Will he kill an unsuspecting victim, eat his flesh and gnaw upon blood? No, never in this sanctuary, for this is our solitude and nothing may harm us here.
But tonight, all is calm, all is silent. The stars shine brightly, the oceans never surrendering to the beauty of the night. A soft breeze flows through the grass as a river weaves through the stones. The moon glows as it's light sooths the soul. We lie, my brother and I, upon the softest earth, watching falling stars, wishing if only to catch one.
"What do you suppose," my brother whispers to me. "What do you think about when watching the stars slither across the sky?"
"Could this question be a trick?" I ask. I always ask questions, thought the answer is seldom found. A curious mind I have, darting always from one possible conclusion to another. 'If I answer with a dance, it implies that my eye sees art and beauty over logic. If I reply with nature I am soft or humble, often calm and philosophical in dark and bleak moments. But yet, if I say about someone I love, maybe I care much for the human emotions, the human in general."
My brother just laughs, always smiles with a warm spirit.
“ I see a beautiful woman,” he answers. “She beckons t me with her delicate skin, her eyes being as if two doves locked together of an endless battle of love and redemption.”
“A man of love and beauty,” I tell him.
“And what do you see?”
I stare hard, curious. What do I see? The stars, yes, the moon, yes, all that is plain to see. Looking past the surface beauty, finding meaning in an instant of space and time woven between a thousand clouds of midnight shade all to revert into my mind and to somehow find a conclusion about my soul? Perhaps impossible. I stare at the clouds and they reflect nothing. The stars-nothing as well as the moon. The movement-nothing nor the light nor glowing clouds of years gone astray. All nothing.
“I see an empty abyss,” I answer. “Nothing comes to me, all I see is an empty void of nothingness.”
“It’s a pity,” my brother hums, his voice as if a gentle wind across the grey canyons. “A shame your life has no meaning.”
“And yours?” I ask.
“The same,” he answers. “But I can find beauty and love. An ambition to love is what keeps a steady pulse in my veins.”
“And what of when love is found?” I ask. “Who will remember your legacy?”
“None,” he humbly answers, calm as a darkened sun. “But I do not resent it, for love, not fame, is what I seek.”
I lie and rest my head upon my hands as my body sinks into the soft and warm ground. This gentle breeze flows through me, under me, into my mouth and into my head where it swims in an endless ocean of thought. What makes night? Why? Perhaps the moon, or the sky, or the stars? Or perhaps the wind carries it along its route around our world?
“Do you wonder about the dark?” my brother asks me. “What lies beyond what the light could reach?”
“I do not know,” I reply. “But I have seen all that I wish to see and am content where I am.”
“We could be on the brink of an adventure and still you would turn away?”
“My dear brother,” I explain to him. “To live is an adventure. So many possibilities lie beyond the corner. What will happen tomorrow? What events will lead us there? Never knowing nor seeing the future is the anticipation of a lifetime. The events of one man’s existence never nee lead to adventure, for adventure is a state of mind in which one dwells daily.”
We both are silent for a very long time, listening to the crickets chirp into the warm summer breeze. Far, far into the distance, the howl of a wolf softly calls the forest to rest. His tranquil crying pours out into the dark and the world is again at rest. But soon hundreds…many hundreds join into a symphony, a choir of humble voices. Listen, quietly, what music they make, children of the night. From every corner they call the forest to rest as everything slowly becomes dark, the world is asleep once more.
Hours may have gone by, days even, time could not know. But the world slowly comes into sight again. Suddenly, my heart drums hard, loud, as I lay unmoving, frozen cold with sudden fear. A hooded figure stares down upon me, no face revealing a man nor woman, human nor beast. The black shadow beneath his hood reveals the deepest night, where no music howls and a call is never answered.
“The answer lies in the water,” comes a whisper. And he rises and disappears into the misty distance.
Still I lay, almost in disbelief. Who was that? What, even? Perhaps a man, for the voice of a man whispered into my ear. Or a demon sent to condemn a soul. Was the a god, some mystical being? Or maybe a phantom? Yes, for now, he is a phantom. But then, why is he here? Will he kill an unsuspecting victim, eat his flesh and gnaw upon blood? No, never in this sanctuary, for this is our solitude and nothing may harm us here.
Comments
Please Login to post comments| On June 18th 2007 rochesta Said : | |
|
Ch. 2 is not under Epics (oops). For easy access to Ch. 2, go here-
http://www.testriffic.com/story/rochesta/10530 |
| On June 16th 2007 oreoash Said : | |
|
wow, you are such a great writer...way better then me |
| On April 26th 2007 peterzshadow Said : | |
|
I might possibly love this. : ) But I need more to decide. More please. |
