Spanxxx

This is something I wrote long ago and just found it again today. It is unpolished and probably needs some grammatical work here and there, but I'm too lazy to fix it Anyway, I thought I'd post it and see what folks might think of it.



Staring down into the shimmery surface of the blade's edge you see yourself and close your eyes to the hideous mess that is your own reflection. The long, massive sword with its ornate neck and handle, weighing down on your arms with a weight unlike any you've known before. You close your eyes momentarily only to see the memories of a terrible past flash by like the bursts of lightning in a stormy, dark sky. Painful and horrific as they are, they are now starting to come less frequently and as you focus on them, they start to fade. This sword held the key to your salvation, your return to the world that is your birth right, the return to the throne that was to be yours.

As you survey the carnage, you are amazed at the amount of death laid out beneath you. Your entire party slain and ravaged where they lay out before you. Small creatures already scurring over them looking for their next bite of warm flesh. The enemies, most dead, or in retreat since their leader gone, weren't going to be able to capture his dying body from the pile and carry it to a proper burial. Instead it lay at your feet with what was your trusty sword only moments before now implanted deep into its sternum. You were proud to snatch this legendary sword you now hold from this monster's clenched fist as he breathed his last sighs. You were even more proud to lean over his hideous face and spat on him and whisper that you were the son of King Romier, his once most hated enemy who he savagely murdered in the night 15 years earlier and that you will now claim stake to what is rightfully yours. Crushing his throat just enough to prevent him from speaking while you enlightened him on the fact that you had already ordered any and all of his followers to be burned in the commons until their dying bodies were turned completely to ash. They were to die a fiery death on earth before their long tormenting death in hell, just as he was to do. On this, you pull out a small vile of oil and pour it gently over his scarred, bloody form. Pulling out your flint, you strike in the direction of the lifeless body. The spark travels gracefully through the air before landing atop the oily, bloody mess. As if trapped in time, the spark seems to hesitate a moment before igniting the oily rags on the man. A flame starts, quickly becoming a roaring fire of stench.

You turn your back on the burning mess and slide this magnificent sword into its lavish sheath with a sense of completion. Your hope that with it by your side, you will now rule a kingdom in trouble with patience and fairness that was lost over the last decade and a half. With all who were loyal to the now burning king to be dead within days, you will be able to start anew with hope of a once powerful, prosperous kingdom rising again.

The smoke curling around your legs and rising into the night sky produces a hazy fog in the clear night as you look out toward your previous home. A glorious, walled castle once covered in lush green and adorned with colorful flags now lay as dark and damp as your clothing soaked with sweat and blood. You close your eyes and envision what it will be in time and a smile crawls up your dirty cheeks. You throw the sheathed sword over your right shoulder and grasping its beautiful handle to balance it there, you start toward your new home.

You look up into the sky as you walk and whisper to no one in particular, mostly to yourself, "Father, I'm coming home."

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I think that's what they mean by "nickels a day can feed a child." I thought, "How could food be so cheap over there?" It's not, they just eat nickels. - (supposedly) Peter Nguyen, internet hero

J.R.V.A.

Nice I like the story line here

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And as she plays,
her sweet song of laughter
floats through the air
and warms my heart