Silvers
April 23rd, 2012, 09:17 AM
{I haven't spent much time writing recently here is a quick free write of a story. Was wanting some opinions on if it is good enough to continue on with.}
A Stranger appeared in the Greenwood a mile outside Orphan City where an abandoned boy lie dying near an old tree. The spring wind blows to the east towards the city disturbing leaves as it goes. A wind full of peace, so contradictory to the perils that plague the rest of the world. He shuddered. Even after hundreds of years, seeing a boy so young dying of starvation pained his soul. It was not the fault of his parents. They probably could not feed themselves. Dropping children you could no longer afford to take care of off at Orphan City was becoming very common among the peasant class. Most are too embarrassed to take the children all the way. It is a sad twist of fate for this one. He did not seem to have the strength to walk the rest of the distance and would die soon.
“There is nothing I can do for him.” He thought. “Only stay here and watch him die.”
Once the Stranger had the power to help others, now however he was a shadow of what he once was. Heaven reigns over men. His powers were useless.
Hate filled in boiling his soul.
“I’m tired of this!” He roared. Eyes filled with grey intensity as he looked towards the capital. It was then he made a decision. He could no longer fight the beast his way. It was a lost cause. It was time to join the game. He will fight Heaven’s blades with white fire.
“Forgive me child,” his voice crackling ice. “Old magic will rise again in you. Do not fail me.” His voice grew soft. “If you do all is lost.”
The boy of 12 lie dying there. Reaching out the stranger put his hand to the boys chest and invested unto him ancient powers the likes of which this world has never seen. White flames danced from the child’s skin playfully. It seemed so wrong that the flames seemed so cheerful. All the Stranger saw in them were the deaths of millions.
The boy opened his eyes, flame retreating inside of him. Pain and hunger consumed him again. As if iron nails where being pounded into him by the thousands the boy howled. It seemed as though his very soul had shattered. Perhaps it had. The howls of the boy chilled the anger from the Stranger. He would have wept in sorrow if he could have wept at all. The pain receded as all consciousness was lost to the boy. When he awoke all he saw was a stranger’s ghost-white, pale face.
His first thought was of Heaven’s Cell. All atheists go to Heaven’s Cell, he could hear his mother saying. Worship Heaven and join the glory of Heaven’s Empire for all eternity. He knew he was in the Cell though, he was an atheist. In his heart he was at least. It was a dangerous thing to admit.
“Only 12 and I know I’d rather believe in the Old God than Heaven.” He thought. “Do the dead even think?"
The heat of a long run filled him. It was pure energy. How odd it was to be dead and feel more alive than ever. Realization took him. The Stranger had vanished without him even noticing. He was alive! The hunger and pain had gone. Memory returned to him. “That boy there, yes that one. Get him out of the line.” It was the Deacon running the soup kitchen in his home town.
“This food is supposed to be for all who need it. We have no money if we cannot eat here we will starve,” his mother complained.
The Deacon looked annoyed. “I said nothing of you and your husband just the boy. We will not suffer an Atheist among us. Heaven will not suffer them. Truth be told I would put his head on a chopping block, that is what the law states that I am to do! Be gone with him before I change my mind.”
He remembered his mother’s face turning pale. Gilt crushed his spine. He could scarce breath let alone move. He should have never spoken. It was impossible for anyone to have heard him. It was just a mumble under his breath. The words were still a vacuum draining all emotion from him leaving behind only gilt. At the soup kitchen there were Deacons everywhere preaching of Heaven and his empire. Preaching of living to worship the one true god. It irked at him so much that he made a stupid mistake. Heaven is not the one true god. The Old God, now him maybe I might believe. Only a few witty words, but they were words to make men bleed. In his case though starve was probably the better term.
/end
- Comments
{I've spent as many hours planning the story out and going over what was already written as I've spent writing & re-writing this opening scene (which isn't even complete yet) So I thought I'd like a few more opinions on how it's going so far. From a fresh perspective}
{The italics on this forum do not stand out very much so I've underlined where I had the main character recollect memory by direct wording. (words spoken inside his own head from memory) }
A Stranger appeared in the Greenwood a mile outside Orphan City where an abandoned boy lie dying near an old tree. The spring wind blows to the east towards the city disturbing leaves as it goes. A wind full of peace, so contradictory to the perils that plague the rest of the world. He shuddered. Even after hundreds of years, seeing a boy so young dying of starvation pained his soul. It was not the fault of his parents. They probably could not feed themselves. Dropping children you could no longer afford to take care of off at Orphan City was becoming very common among the peasant class. Most are too embarrassed to take the children all the way. It is a sad twist of fate for this one. He did not seem to have the strength to walk the rest of the distance and would die soon.
“There is nothing I can do for him.” He thought. “Only stay here and watch him die.”
Once the Stranger had the power to help others, now however he was a shadow of what he once was. Heaven reigns over men. His powers were useless.
Hate filled in boiling his soul.
“I’m tired of this!” He roared. Eyes filled with grey intensity as he looked towards the capital. It was then he made a decision. He could no longer fight the beast his way. It was a lost cause. It was time to join the game. He will fight Heaven’s blades with white fire.
“Forgive me child,” his voice crackling ice. “Old magic will rise again in you. Do not fail me.” His voice grew soft. “If you do all is lost.”
The boy of 12 lie dying there. Reaching out the stranger put his hand to the boys chest and invested unto him ancient powers the likes of which this world has never seen. White flames danced from the child’s skin playfully. It seemed so wrong that the flames seemed so cheerful. All the Stranger saw in them were the deaths of millions.
The boy opened his eyes, flame retreating inside of him. Pain and hunger consumed him again. As if iron nails where being pounded into him by the thousands the boy howled. It seemed as though his very soul had shattered. Perhaps it had. The howls of the boy chilled the anger from the Stranger. He would have wept in sorrow if he could have wept at all. The pain receded as all consciousness was lost to the boy. When he awoke all he saw was a stranger’s ghost-white, pale face.
His first thought was of Heaven’s Cell. All atheists go to Heaven’s Cell, he could hear his mother saying. Worship Heaven and join the glory of Heaven’s Empire for all eternity. He knew he was in the Cell though, he was an atheist. In his heart he was at least. It was a dangerous thing to admit.
“Only 12 and I know I’d rather believe in the Old God than Heaven.” He thought. “Do the dead even think?"
The heat of a long run filled him. It was pure energy. How odd it was to be dead and feel more alive than ever. Realization took him. The Stranger had vanished without him even noticing. He was alive! The hunger and pain had gone. Memory returned to him. “That boy there, yes that one. Get him out of the line.” It was the Deacon running the soup kitchen in his home town.
“This food is supposed to be for all who need it. We have no money if we cannot eat here we will starve,” his mother complained.
The Deacon looked annoyed. “I said nothing of you and your husband just the boy. We will not suffer an Atheist among us. Heaven will not suffer them. Truth be told I would put his head on a chopping block, that is what the law states that I am to do! Be gone with him before I change my mind.”
He remembered his mother’s face turning pale. Gilt crushed his spine. He could scarce breath let alone move. He should have never spoken. It was impossible for anyone to have heard him. It was just a mumble under his breath. The words were still a vacuum draining all emotion from him leaving behind only gilt. At the soup kitchen there were Deacons everywhere preaching of Heaven and his empire. Preaching of living to worship the one true god. It irked at him so much that he made a stupid mistake. Heaven is not the one true god. The Old God, now him maybe I might believe. Only a few witty words, but they were words to make men bleed. In his case though starve was probably the better term.
/end
- Comments
{I've spent as many hours planning the story out and going over what was already written as I've spent writing & re-writing this opening scene (which isn't even complete yet) So I thought I'd like a few more opinions on how it's going so far. From a fresh perspective}
{The italics on this forum do not stand out very much so I've underlined where I had the main character recollect memory by direct wording. (words spoken inside his own head from memory) }