Pacer

This is something I wrote while bored (and possibly not entirely conscious) and later posted on my DA page. It's only 309 words, but I liked it. Unfortunatly, not many others did, so I figured I'd stick it here. Don't expect anything deep.




Along the edge of the mountains there is a slim path, too thin for carts and too dangerous for most travelers, that sits high above the sea. Here, a lone figure strides along this road less traveled, defying the pouring rain and booming thunder. He bears no weapon, save a small knife tucked safely away in his shirt. A wide brimmed hat is his only protection from the downpour.

Looking down, he watches the waves crash against the cliffs far below and the white foam churning on the sea. The gales are intense, yet he manages to hold himself up seemingly without effort. The sky and it's winds howl their outrage his trespassing somewhere far above. His face is concerned, but he never seems worried by the danger around him, merely preoccupied.

Distantly, he can hear something moaning, a sickly, dying sound. And then, a figure appears to our traveler, approaching slowly against the storm until finally they stand face to face. The mysterious character is dressed in a dark cloak that flaps wildly in the wind. A hood conceals most of his face, but the traveler can see disfiguring scars beneath it, illuminated by flashes of lightning. For a moment, both are still. Then the dark figure reaches into the inside of his cloak and pulls out a flask, gesturing for the traveler to take it.

Thankful, the noble traveler accepts the kind gift, and nods his departure, and the two set out on their separate ways. Taking a sip of the contents of the flask, the traveler is amazed by a delicious taste in his mouth, with a warming hint of alcohol about it. His spirits lifted, he proceeds along his lonely road with a new vigor.

A mere fifteen minutes later he collapses, expires, and falls into the sea.




Remember kids, never accept gifts from strangers.