earlier of the now.
When I was thirteen, the day I turned it, I had stood on the path outside my house. Listening to the birdsong, and the rustle of wind in trees, my mind had wandered, I recall, to a story told many times by firelight whenever my extended family came together. A warrior had stood forth to except a sword, and had fought a dragon, and married the princess. When the princess dies, in the story, the warrior melted into a river of tears, becoming the Teardrop River flowing not far away at that time. I loved that story.
When I was thirteen, the day I turned it, I had stood on the path outside my house. Listening to the birdsong, and the rustle of wind in trees, my mind had wandered, I recall, to a story told many times by firelight whenever my extended family came together. A warrior had stood forth to except a sword, and had fought a dragon, and married the princess. When the princess dies, in the story, the warrior melted into a river of tears, becoming the Teardrop River flowing not far away at that time. I loved that story.
But when, later on, a warped form of that same tale came upon me, I realized it wasn't as beautiful as it seemed. it was ugly. the truth of the story killed people. But of course no one mentioned that in the version told by the fire on warm nights under the stars.
I walked forward, humming a song, and then it started. the sad part of my story began.
A man walked toward me on the path. He was dressed in peasants garb, greens and browns, and had brown hair and blue eyes. He smiled warmly, and reached out a calloused hand to shake. He told me who he was, his voice warm and friendly.
"Hello! I'm Carl. Lovely weather isn't it?"
This was the beginning of our friendship. And perhaps more than friendship.
Carl looked to be about 19 or 20, though still boyish at heart. Always laughing, smiling and joking. Little did I know.
That night, we ate dinner together by the fire outside, and I told him the Warriors Tale. He looked thoughtful, and was quite the rest of the evening, then departed not long after to head home.
Then, the next morning, I awoke to a scream. I leapt out of bed, and found Mother and Trav, my younger brother, huddled in a corner, and a man with a dagger in one hand and a sword in the other, threatening them.
"NO!" I screamed, and ran after him, He turned and cracked my head with the hilt of his sword. I was to become much more familiar with that pain in days to come. I blacked out.
~Z
A man walked toward me on the path. He was dressed in peasants garb, greens and browns, and had brown hair and blue eyes. He smiled warmly, and reached out a calloused hand to shake. He told me who he was, his voice warm and friendly.
"Hello! I'm Carl. Lovely weather isn't it?"
This was the beginning of our friendship. And perhaps more than friendship.
Carl looked to be about 19 or 20, though still boyish at heart. Always laughing, smiling and joking. Little did I know.
That night, we ate dinner together by the fire outside, and I told him the Warriors Tale. He looked thoughtful, and was quite the rest of the evening, then departed not long after to head home.
Then, the next morning, I awoke to a scream. I leapt out of bed, and found Mother and Trav, my younger brother, huddled in a corner, and a man with a dagger in one hand and a sword in the other, threatening them.
"NO!" I screamed, and ran after him, He turned and cracked my head with the hilt of his sword. I was to become much more familiar with that pain in days to come. I blacked out.
~Z
