literature

Foreboding

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Literature Text

Blood.  

A boy awakens from another dream of shadows that chase him down until he can't run away anymore, the smell of blood and death lingering in the darkness.  He whimpers, tears welling in the corners of his eyes.  He feels a hand reach out and grab his own.  “It was just a dream,” his twin brother mutters, still half asleep himself.  “Go back to sleep.”

As the boy closes his eyes, the tears slip away and wet his pillow.  His brother's presence reassures him, but the fear still has a hold in his heart.

“I would never let them hurt you,” his brother adds, quietly.

The boy knows it is a lie—his brother may be strong, but not strong enough to stop them, that's why they had to keep running—but it's the thought that counts, right?

It's comforting to know he's not alone.


(He doesn't know that within the month, his brother will be gone.)


Sword.

He knows she's had another nightmare—he heard her tossing and turning in her sleep last night, saw her reaching unconsciously for the sword that never leaves her side.  Whether she'll admit it or not, she's afraid.  He can smell the fear on her, can see it in her eyes even behind her reassuring smiles.  

“Are you okay?” he asks her.

“Yeah,” she says, trying to smile for him.  “I'm fine.”

Sure, she is.  That perfectly explains the way she's been laying awake night after night, afraid of what visions are going to be brought to her once she falls asleep.  She's not okay—if she were okay, she wouldn't be so afraid.

And her fear frightens him, because she's not scared of anything.  He wonders if she can feel it, too—the weight in the air, the heaviness so like that that comes before a storm.

He's scared of what must be coming, because it won't be like anything they've seen before.

He just hopes she'll be strong enough to face it.


(When she faces it alone, she won't be—she'll break like a poorly forged blade.)


Magic.

She isn't afraid of the darkness, not when she has magic on her side.  At least, that's what she keeps telling herself, night after night.  The darkness feels like it keeps getting stronger—and she wishes that her friend was still with her.  Because that is what the stranger she'd met by chance had become to her—a friend.  And she'd let him down, let him get captured by their enemy.

The darkness never felt so suffocating when he'd been around.

Alone, she curls up in her cloak and listens to the sound of rain falling outside the little rocky shelter she managed to find.  She shivers in the dampness of the night air, and prays that the rain will lighten up before morning comes and she has to set out again.

Honestly, she'll just be happy to see the light of dawn again.


(The rain doesn't stop—it falls on and on, and she must drag herself up again and face the dark days by herself at least once more.)



Heart.  

He feels it in his heart, knows he's going to die on this quest.  He knew it from the moment he agreed to take up his sword once again, to venture forth alone against the darkness.

If he always seemed too wise for his age, it was only because he'd seen enough to know things a man his age should not have to know yet—he was barely twenty.

He was lucky he'd even lived that long.  He'd heard the songs the bards sang of the heroes—he knew they all died young.

Just like he, inevitably, would.

“Don't write yourself off as a dead man yet,” his best friend had told him, but he'd lost his faith long ago—the same day he'd had to watch the light leave the eyes of the girl he'd loved with all his heart.

If he couldn't even save her, why should he be saved?


(He doesn't know that she's still alive out there, somewhere—in fact, she will still live long after his death.)


Phantom.  

As he lay dying in a pool of his own blood—blinded and broken—the warrior felt phantom hands trail their way across his body, halting once they found his wounds.  Perhaps they belong to whatever has come to bring my soul away, he thought.  He knew his time was up, his part in the war was over.  He'd failed, and he had failed miserably.

“I won't let you die,” a woman's voice rang out from above him.  And suddenly, the pain of his wounds subsided—he felt grounded to the earth once more.

He sat up suddenly and almost lost consciousness again—he was dizzy and disoriented.  His wounds may have been healed, but he was still blinded.  He felt hands rest themselves on his shoulders in support and comfort.

“I am sorry,” the woman spoke again.  “Some things I cannot heal.”

“What... what did you do to me?” he asked, unsure of what power this woman must hold.

“...I have decided our fate,” she whispered.  And though her hands were meant to comfort him, all he could feel was dread.


(He will only learn later the true risk this woman took in sparing him—breaking the laws of her own people to save the life of the one she loved—and what it will mean for both of them.)

An entry for the Writing Tournament at :iconwriters--club: on the theme of "imminent menace."

When I was trying to think of something to write on that theme, I wanted to tie it in with one of my stories. However, when I was thinking about it, I realized a LOT of my stories have a connection to the theme... So I opted to highlight a brief window into five of my different stories.

A couple of them might be obvious, while a couple are stories I've never posted anything for yet. :)

It might feel a bit disjointed (coming from different stories and all) but I think the theme binds it all together.

Enjoy!
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