Bound: The Siblings (A story)

  

This story was inspired by a prompt by K.J Chapman who is a fellow blogger on WordPress (Kj86Chapman). Please check her blog out and I assure you won’t be disappointed.
The prompt was a couple of lines from a conversation in which two characters were talking about love. I tried to write a story involving work colleagues but it felt I was force-feeding them  words. Then I scrapped it and just wrote the prompt as the beginning of a story and then it blossomed. 
This is just the beginning, as the story that transpired was too much to tell in just one post and will continue on over three (perhaps four). It was refreshing to write as I did not need to think about it, the words just flowed. It is also slightly different to what I have written about before. 
I hope you enjoy the story and continue on the journey with the future posts until the climax. 
Please feedback and let me know what you think.

                           Operation: The Siblings

“Why are you so afraid to love?”
“I’m not afraid, just suspicious. Why do our souls crave the one thing that can hurt us most deeply?”
“Because it is natural. Fighting it is futile, love will always win.”
Jest jumped to his feet, placed his hands on his hips and looked out towards the vast land. It was beautiful. The green fields stretched out for miles with no sign of activity with the exception of cows and sheep grazing in separated areas. Each piece of land was segregated off with six foot wooden fences and a different colour flag to signify the farmer it belonged too.
Jest’s favourite area was the bluebell field to the left of the grazing area. They stood three feet tall, were vibrant and wonderful. He could recall the days spent wading through it with Fer, trespassing the farmer’s lands as it was the quickest route through. A lot had changed over the years, much for the worst, but there was still the view, and soon that would change. The farmers had already neglected their property and their cattle, they were of no use anymore.
Jest looked down at his sister and a pang hit his stomach. Fer was two years his junior but she sat on the grassy hill a grown woman. She would always be a little girl in his eyes, naive and optimistic, with the daisy chains she continued to braid in her hair and the dresses she wore even on a gloomy day.
“This I can love,” Jest said pointing out towards the beautiful fields.
“You, I can love. We are bonded by blood, we have been together since you were born, but a stranger, a friend, an acquaintance or someone that warms my bed, I cannot. There is nothing natural about loving someone and giving them your heart and soul, only for it to be lost so easily. That is stupidity.
“Life is about survival. We eat, drink, run, hide, sleep and wake. We repeat. That is all relatable  as we do it on a daily basis. Love is intangible, that what makes me suspicious.”
There were too many evils in the world for Jest to concentrate on anything but survival. There was the Operation, a force that formed shortly after the government was overthrown and the world was left in disarray. The country was segregated into sections, leaving much of it unpopulated. The Pit, formerly known as the City of London, was where the residents of the country were rounded up and sectioned. They were known as the Protected, everyone outside it, the Diseased. That was what Jest and Fer were. The siblings had escaped the purge and slid off into the outer lands for survival.
They were not the only ones, they knew that, but they had not seen another human in the two months that followed. They were the most susceptible to the sun rays that had been growing stronger each day. The heat had been increasing but was still bearable.
The sound of a firecracker could be heard in the distance, causing Jest and Fer to flinch. They knew it was coming, that was why they had spent the morning on the hilltop. To survey the land before it was destroyed. The solar flares would soon shoot through the atmosphere and end civilisation. There was no difference in being in a controlled state or out in the countryside, there was no escape. The world had been warned about it for the last year, but only when it was late did anyone act. A second and third sound went off and golden embers rained down across the land.
Jest shook his head and sat next to his sister, putting an arm around her as he placed his free hand in hers to protect her one final time.
“Is this It, you think?” Fer asked.
Tears had started to roll down her cheeks as she looked out towards the embers. Jest choked up, unable to speak, and ignored the question. There was no need to answer it.
“Do you have doubts?” Fer sobbed.
Jest held her tighter.
“No. Do you?” Jest managed to cough.
Fer rubbed her stomach in a soothing manner, something she had done a lot as of late.
“I just wish Joss could have been here with us.”
Jest nodded. He was the reason why Fer had questioned Jest about love. He was her soulmate, lost in the bundle and snatch that was the Purge. They did not know if he had survived the stampede, he was caught under the feet of the Operation soldiers and lost in the sea of residents and army alike.
Jest had survived the ordeal with scratches and cuts, Fer had left with emotional and psychological trauma. She suffered nightmares on a nightly basis, her screams, for Joss, for freedom, waking Jest who then soothed her back into a peaceful rest with calm words. He was the rock, she was the optimist, but occasionally he was needed to be both. He would offer her encouragement that life would be better if they continued on, but something nagged at him that maybe he was wrong.
The sound of solar flares roared high above them as the embers rained down across the land in bursts of golden light. Golden flakes begun to fall over them as the sobs of Fer grew louder, her hand caressing her six month in the making bump.

Maybe it is for the best, maybe this life isn’t suited for a new generation,
Jest would think anytime he thought of his unborn niece or nephew. This made his stomach lurch but he managed to hold his composure. It was a rarity but he was thankful for a light breakfast.
Jest felt a cold metal cylinder dig into his neck. He noticed Fer tense up which he took as the same thing had happened to her.
“Stay calm and stand,” a male voice said.
Jest gave Fer a gentle squeeze and nodded. He let go of his sister, pushed himself up and held out a hand to Fer to pull her up, which she accepted. She was short at five foot and her bump was visible.
Three armed soldiers stood with their rifles directed at them, two on Jest, one on Fer. That made sense as he was the one who would have put up more of a fight. Jest noticed they were part of the Operation, their emblem was emblazoned on each of the soldiers blue uniforms.
They were all men, in their thirties, black hair, a tan present on their face and a nonchalant expression. Jest knew they would fire on demand.
“How may we help, gentlemen?” Fer said, taking hold of Jest’s hand.
An explosion erupted above their head. They all looked up, shielding their eyes partially from the bright spectacle, to see a blistering fireball roar through the sky and hit far in the distance followed by a billow of smoke. The once placid farm animals were now acting irrationally around their part of the land. A second explosion sounded shortly after with a third and fourth following. The sky lit up with solar flares engulfing the land in a shower of golden light.
“We need to move. Now,” a soldier shrieked.
A solider waved their rifle for Jest and Fer to walk ahead and without any fight they headed down the hill as quickly as they could, hand in hand, with the soldiers following close behind. In the distance Jest could hear explosions. Jest wondered what brought the members of the Operation out at such a precarious time, but found no answer in his thoughts.
“Through the forest,” a solider ordered once they reached the foot of the hill.
Jest held on to his sisters hand tighter and continued on, following the soldiers orders.
“Everything will be okay, sis.”
Fer squeezed his hand in acknowledgement. The forest was overgrown and debris of fallen trees sprawled across the ground, so they had to be careful of where they stepped. The sound of explosions continued in the distance, a golden light spread throughout the forest. Any other time, Jest would have stopped to admire the beauty, but this was a horror he had no time to bask in.
“To the right, follow the path,” the soldier screamed.
Jest pulled Fer to the right and the pathway was clear. They trundled on, Fer slowing as she was tiring, but the soldier behind urged her on with the nozzle of the pistol. A few minutes on, after stepping over a fallen tree and past a log they reached a clearing. Several jeeps, around twenty soldiers all with weapons and a man a in a white suit and trilby stood waiting for them.
“I see you found them, just in time it seems,” the man in the suit shouted.
An explosion hit behind them causing a tremor along the surface. Jest fought the urge to look back and instead kept his focus on the main in the suit. The dapper dressed gentleman removed the trilby from his head and held it to his chest. He was bald with heavy scarring on his scalp. Jest stopped and held his sisters hand tighter.
It was Logan Johnson, the leader of the Operation.
“What do you want?” Jest spat, not hiding his hatred.
“We came for the girl,” Logan said.
Jest and Fer glanced at each other with confusion. Logan clicked his fingers and two of the soldiers that had escorted them took Fer by the arms. Jest tried to hold on for as long as he could but was struck hard by the rifle of the third soldier and he released his grip. 
His vision darkened and nausea settled in as he collapsed to his knees. The soldier followed up with a hard kick to the stomach. The blow left Jest winded and unable to breath. He could hear Fern scream but was powerless to stop the Operation as he dropped to the ground. He could see Fern dig her heels into the soil in resistance but was lifted off the ground by the soldiers and taken to a vehicle.
Jest started to fight the pain, digging his nails into the ground and clawing towards his sister. Logan stepped towards Jest and knelt in front of him, his forearms resting on his thighs to balance himself. He held Jest’s chin in his right hand and applied pressure.
“In a few short hours, the land you have come to love and call your own will be nothing but ashes. You will pay for your disobedience, you will regret ever crossing me. You will die alone, but be happy, for your sister will be fine, for a little longer, anyway. Fer will too pay for your actions.”
Logan pushed Jest back to the ground and sneered as he cocked his head to the side as he stood. “Let’s move out.”
“Fer!” Jest cried out, but to no avail.
She had been pushed in to one of the vehicles and was no doubt gagged. Jest would not put up without a fight and continued his crawl to the jeeps. Logan had caught eye contact, shook his head in disbelief and turned towards Jest. There was nothing he could do as Logan swung his foot and caught Jest in the temple. Pain and nausea struck instantly, the urge to vomit overwhelming as he groaned in agony. Jest could do nothing but hold his head, on the verge of unconsciousness. The vehicles roared and disappeared in the distance as Jest laid motionless on the ground. Soon there would be darkness to cure Jest’s pain, but not before hearing explosions nearby and having the feeling that he was being dragged across the hard ground and hearing strange voices barking orders.
“Fer,” Jest mumbled, as he fell unconscious.


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Haiku Challenge #2

  

This is the second Haiku that I have completed and this time linked in with a short story I have planned for the beginning of next week. I was hoping to have it completed for this weekend but the week was busy so thought I would give a taster with a Haiku – also it gave me more practice with writing the short poems.

                                     ——–
They watched the sky fall,

Siblings hand in hand and strong

Their future in doubt

Haiku Challenge

 I had not heard of a Haiku poem until earlier this year. Since then I have learnt much more about it, especially from my friend and colleague Paul Tingey (@paultingey on Twitter you can find his own Haiku poems).

I learnt that they do not have to rhyme, they have a select amount of syllables (usually 5,7,5) and more often or not, nature based.

My friend finds Haiku challenging. He enjoys writing many strange and bizarre ones, about hedgehogs and furry animals, and such like. To try my hand at a new creative outlet was an opportunity hard to pass up so I decided once a week I will try and complete my own one. So below you will find my first ever try at writing a haiku! 

The oncoming strike

Ice, snow and fire, 

Together to rule as one

Life changed forever 

Writing prompts: Thank you!

  
I recently asked for first lines or writing prompts to aid me in writing short stories for posts on here! These short exercises will keep my mind working whilst my WIP and Novella side project take a nap. 

I just wanted to say a big Thank You for the writing prompts that have been submitted! I am currently working on a few; some flow easily and others take a little bit of thought. All are extremely fascinating experiences and learning curves! 

All credit is passed onto the prompter. The story is nothing without the spark at the beginning!

I look forward to many, many more! So please, if you would like to offer me a first line (or an option of first lines to choose from), a writing prompt scenario or choose the genre, get back to me via the comment section on here or via Twitter @nobodyetall. It would be greatly appreciated 🙂

Dapper: A short story

  
The first line prompt was submitted once again by Paul Tingey (@paultingey on Twitter). 

This story took awhile to write as it was such a random first line. I trundled through and wrote a story that shows you should never judge a book by its cover. 

                                     Dapper

The handlebars had been greased. The moustache pointed at the tips with a slight curl for emphasis and beard straightened. His grey and white checkered three piece suit ironed, crisp and sharp; brown shoes polished and gleaming and hair gelled to perfection. His shirt cuffs were pulled through so the silver cuff links were showing, his tie neat in a windsor knot and collar positioned just right. Denton ‘DJ’ Jones was dressed to the nines.

DJ stood admiring himself in the mirror and was satisfied. On his way out of his second storey flat, he fed the tropical fish with a sprinkle of food, sprayed cologne on his neck and wrists, a light spray of deodorant over his clothing and hooked his arm underneath the curve of his Derby cane. He was ready for the evening ahead.

The Greyhound and Red Rabbit pub was on the outskirts of the Kentish Town which was a ten minute walk for DJ. The sun was setting but the summer evening was far from over. The air was warm so DJ took a calm steady walk to avoid perspiring. The cane was just an accessory but DJ maximised its usage wherever he walked. 

The pub was a stand alone three storey new build. The red brick was prominent as was the wooden white slates that made up the top half. The car park was concealed around the back and a few benches placed out the front for evenings like that. A trio of young men, inebriated and loud, stood over a couple of pretty young girls on a bench like vultures. DJ took a peek from the corner of his eyes as he walked past them and up the steps into the entrance.

No matter how long the smoking ban had been in place, pubs and taverns still had an aroma of cigarettes. It brought back memories each time DJ took a step in the place, of long nights drinking and smoking, playing pool and engaging in conversations varying from the bizarre to the unbelievable. 

The pub was quiet that evening with a few people scattered about the tables or playing the fruit machines. DJ headed to the bar where a couple of older gentlemen sat drinking and ignoring the presence of each other. Behind the bar was Dean, a young looking forty year old who had been working at the pub as long DJ could remember.

“Is Sammie around?” DJ asked slapping his hands against the counter. 

“Out the back, just tidying up,” Dean replied. 

“I’ll wait out the front, just let her know, please.”

Dean nodded in agreement and DJ headed back towards the way he had entered. Sammie was always running late but that came with the job and DJ could easily waste the time enjoying a cigarette. He stopped in the porch at the entrance, rested his cane against the wooden panelled walls, removed a cigarette from the packet in his pocket and froze. The cigarette hung out of his mouth unlit.

“Come on, girls. Ya know ya want to,” a deep voice boomed.

DJ picked up his cane, took a stride forward so he was on the top step outside of the pub and looked towards the three guys who had been surrounding the two girls earlier. They continued their pursuit of the young females but there was more menace and urgency in their voice. 

The taller, broader man who stood over powering the girls was obviously the ring leader. His two friends, short, stocky and looked like they were a sandwich short of a picnic both stood giggling behind, only offering filthy quips. The young ladies refused to comment and instead waved their hands as sign of disinterest. 

The leader of the trio did not take no for an answer and caught the wrist of the nearest girl.

“Come on, come back to ours. We can drink and have some fun,” the brute said through gritted teeth.

The girl flinched and tried to yank her arm away to no avail.

“Leave us alone,” the other girl squealed.

The two friends moved around the table and mumbled encouragement to their friend.

DJ had seen enough, placing his cigarette back into his pocket and approached the fiasco. 

“I do not mean to sound rude but do you mind me interjecting myself here?”

The brute turned relinquishing his grip on the girl to face him. He was a good several inches taller than DJ and had a domineering presence, but this did not put him off. DJ flicked an eye towards his two goons, then to the young ladies who were consoling each other.

“Who are you?” The brute shouted looking him up and down, “some sorta freak?”

“Just a concerned citizen,” DJ said with a smile.

“Walk on by weirdo, or end up in a world of pain.”

The brute turned his attention back to the girls who were now cowering away. DJ shook his head.

“Excuse me,” he said tapping the brute on his shoulder.

The brute turned. “What?”

DJ lifted the cane and stubbed the ferrule part of the aid into the brutes foot and the handle into the chin knocking him back a step. His two friends stood in shock not quite sure what had happened but by the time they realised it was too late. DJ struck the cane across their heads in succession and they fell to the ground in a groan. The bigger brute went on the offensive but was caught by a fist to the nose, his wrist grabbed and twisted behind his back as he was pushed over the table the girls were sitting. Blood poured from the nose of the brute as the girls sat eyes wide open. 

“Now if you would like to do the honourable thing and apologise to the ladies,” DJ demanded applying extra pressure on his wrist.

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry,” the brute blubbered. 

DJ leant down to him and whispered in his ear, “Don’t you dare think you can get me done for assault. The security video will disappear, the girls would have not seen a thing and I will put you in more pain than you are now. Got it?”

DJ pulled him off the table and three him onto his groaning friends and they land in a heap on the floor.

“They won’t bother you again.”

DJ smiled, stepped over the fallen trio, pulled the cigarette out, lit it with his lighter and sat at the vacant bench opposite. 

He checked his watch. Sammie wouldn’t be too long now.






Napkin: A short, short story

This short, short story was written under strict time restraints and the first line was offered by Paul Tingey (@paultingey on Twitter). 

I found the first line quite difficult to move on from but finally managed to get my head around it and I chose a genre unfamiliar to me as a test.

I hope you enjoy.

                                   Napkin

My napkin flew in the wind.

I panicked like any normal person would. It contained the number of the prettiest girl at work. Her name was Jou. She had worked in administration for the planning department for the last five years and was moving up to the north of the country for development purposes. She had the most beautiful smile. Her eyes were big and brown, her lips small, her skin soft with an amber complexion and she had the longest and smoothest legs. That was the joy of the summer. It was always skirt weather for her.

I had spent many days searching the web for her, checking to see if she had a Facebook or Twitter account or used any other social media outlet that I could trace her too. In the age of technology I did not think it would be too difficult. 

As I found out on her last day, she thought social media was a bore, phones a distraction and email accounts a pathetic waste of time. Not only was she gorgeous, but she was an intellectual goddess.

We had spoken briefly over the years and got to know each other well. On the last day, I braved it and asked for her details to keep in touch. This was where she denied as there were no means, but offered me a link to her parents who lived in the north. She begged that I did not pass it out to anyone else to which I agreed. It turned out that I was the only person in the five years she worked there that she could tolerate.

That compliment was also my biggest downfall. As the napkin flew from my hand and along the sea front, I realised that was my only link to Jou. So I ran. I ran towards the sandy beach at full speed, the napkin blowing in the wind, first high, then low, and then level with my eye line. Every time I took three streps, the napkin blew four, edging closer and closer to the water. 

I increased my stride, gaining on the napkin with each step. It was within touching distance, I could feel it, and then –

I was head first in the sand, body slumped over and foot in pain. I rolled over to find that I had been defeated by a stray pebble. I looked ahead of me and there was no sign of the napkin. It was gone. 

I reached over and threw the pebble in frustration. Some things are just not meant to be.

Escape or Perish: Part three

image

So here it is! The final part in the short story exercise where three first lines were submitted and broken down into three short stories. For this I kept the same storyline. This last one did not turn out as planned to which I am happy. This story was able to write itself.

So as ever, please read and give feedback on how you found it.

If you are interested in supplying me with first lines and challenging me to complete the story, let me know and I will try my best to please.

I hope you enjoy.

Escape or Perish: Part three

I woke up in a start, and stared hard at my outstretched hand. I didn’t recognise my own body. The clothes I wore felt awkward, itchy and tight. My skin was damp and cool. My heart thumped hard against my chest as if eager to escape. A metallic taste filled my mouth and my sense of smell had been lost.
The room span making my vision blurred, but I knew something was different. My fingers were long and my hand club like. My clothes were a lighter shade than before, my hair no longer brushed against my shoulders or felt heavy. I contemplated moving into a seated position but by then I was gone.
I was no longer in the dark, clammy underground. I was in a field, on an overcast day. There were a mass of cadavers spread throughout all brought down by some evil. They were soiled in dirt and blood, their eyes open but lifeless. Some had been mortally wounded with swords and daggers through their heart, others by a force not seen by the human eye.
In the midst of the horror, a man and a child walked through surveying the carcasses. The man, early twenties in a pristine white army uniform of the highest regard, walked along with his hands clasped behind his back. The child, barely over the age of five, walked close to him, each time attempting to hold the man’s hand he was rebuffed. Immediately I knew they were father and son.
“Dead, dead, dead. They have paid for their sins, son. They are weak and feeble,” the father said to his son.
The man stopped at a body that was writhing in pain and was avoided the pleasure of being put out of his misery. The father removed his hands from behind his back and looked at the body with disgust.
“I am going to teach you son not to be afraid of death. For if you fear death, you will become consumed by it. The man said removing a dagger from a sheath on his hip. “Son, I want you to place this in the man’s heart.”
The father pointed to a spot and nodded towards the suffering body. The child was confused and scared. He went to grab the trouser leg of his father but was forced off by a shove. The child fell backwards, landing on his back next to the wounded man and began to cry. The father was disappointed and showed his contempt by spitting on him.
“You will never amount to anything with that attitude.” The man raised the dagger and completed the deed himself.
I could do nothing but watch on. As the dagger pierced the man’s chest, I am not too sure who screamed the most, the dying soldier or the child. Then-
I was no longer in the field but in a room. I didn’t have any sense of feeling but I knew the room was warm. A round table was placed in the centre with two chairs opposite. There was was no other adornments made for the room. The door swung open but I couldn’t move, I wasn’t really there. The two individuals walked into the room, closed the door and literally walked through my incorporeal state. It was the father and son, this time at an adult age. The two stood in regal attire with their backs to me. I recognised the voices but nothing else.
“How did it feel, son? Liberating? Powerful?” The older man asked with passion.
“To be honest father, I found it unnecessary,” the son answered with little interest.
“Unnecessary? Unnecessary? You just killed a man, a man that is a threat to our land,” the Father said with gesturing hands.
“He had already surrendered, there were no means necessary for you to make me slaughter him. It was not pleasant.”
The fathers mood soured. His hands were held close to the side of his body, his body tensing up and even though I could not see it, I knew his teeth were clenched together.
“If I had it my way, I would never allow you to serve as King,” the father said as he turned and spat hard in the face of his son.
My heart sank for the younger man, to live with such a cruel father. The scenario was fitting into place but I did not realise the impact it would have on me. The two men faded along with the table and chairs and were in turn replaced with flames circling the room and a large broth at the centre. Two dark cloaked beings were hunched over the broth, their hoods concealing their eyes and lips. The shorter of the two removed the hood and revealed an old woman with long grey hair, wrinkled skin and a fragile frame.
“As you can see,” the woman croaked pointing towards the broth, “they are coming.”
“All the pain and suffering he has caused the villagers, reducing their belongings to nothing but ashes and this all for the purpose to cover his failings and leave the blame on his Son. You are awkward, shy and do not own a voice. You allow yourself to be dominated by your Father. At the Grove the King’s men slaughtered innocent cattle and set it on fire, leaving a trail that led to you. They are turning everyone against you so he can hand pick his successor. He is afraid you will be twice the man he will he ever be and you have something he despises. A heart,” the old woman said with a cackle.
If I could have moved, I would have. If I could have felt my heart at that moment I knew it would hurt. The Grove was my family’s business and was destroyed as an example of disobeying the Prince’s order of not selling up. That was the confession made by the King and now doubt filled my thoughts.
“There is only one way around this. We must stop the King, by giving you powers that are unlike any other and reduce to him to nothing but a being. If he is allowed to remain at the throne, the world will be destroyed and there will be nothing but creatures left to pick apart our meats. He is raising an army to hold overall power. I warn you though, if you do accept, you will be seen as a villainous Prince turned King, as darkness will swallow the light, the soil will turn to dust and the creatures will still rise. But you, you will be able to control them in a manner that will not cause harm. You must use them in your favour, and no-one must know of this.”
The taller cloaked figure removed the hood and before it fell I knew the face it would reveal.
“I am willing to sacrifice myself for the good of the people and the land,” Prince Christmas choked as tears ran down his face.
The room faded into dust, the flames burning out and all that was left was a corridor lit up by lanterns. I knew the corridor well as it led to the Head Servants room, a place I had been on many occasions. King Christmas strode down the hallway with a whistle and a bunch of hand-picked roses in his most pristine uniform. I had never seen this side of him before, it was as if he had no care in the world. He headed to the room with determination and hope. As he placed his hand around the door knob, I knew the horror he would witness. I wanted to scream so he would turn back around, I wanted to warn him. I couldn’t and it was a futile thought as this was a flashback and this moment had already taken place.
He slowly opened the door with the flowers tucked behind his back and went to step in but stopped dead. I could not see his reaction but I could see his view. His desire, his love, his Lizzie was curved over a writing desk; her dress ripped with her breasts exposed enjoying a man that was not him. Her eyes were closed, pleasure expressed across her face, her screams increasing in pitch. If I could I would have turned away. I could see myself, standing tall behind Lizzie, a hand pulling on her hair as I thrust repeatedly deep inside her, blissfully unaware of the King’s eyes upon us.
I could feel the King’s heart break at that moment. I could sense the pain and the anguish and if it was me in his position, I would have struck the two down there and then. He was not me. King Christmas turned, closing the door silently, tears once again streaming his face. His expression turned to frustration and anger as he threw the flowers hard against the wall and clenched his fists tight. The lanterns shattered and scattered glass across the corridor carpet. That was the moment his hate for me began and never ceased.
I gasped for breath and spluttered a cough. I was back in the basement and I could move. I understood everything that had transpired for King Christmas to be the man that he was. I felt guilty as I was partly to blame for his foul attitude and anger. I seduced his love as an act of revenge, extending the truth, making her despise the man. I was just as bad as his father. He had sacrificed himself for the good of the land and would never be respected as King.
As I sat up I looked down at the strange form and realised that I was in the King’s body. When I was thrown across the room from the force the cell, something must have transpired for our minds to switch. The magic that filled the room, the hold the King placed on me and the charge from the cells all combined had adverse effects. That explained the flashbacks. They were the horrors he tried to put past him but lingered on his mind. I glanced across the basement to find the cell door open, the monsters corpse lying flat a few feet from it with the King’s sword buried deep inside the chest. I looked at the man that stood above him. It was my body, my thin form and my tattered clothing. It was not me though. The eyes and smirk disturbed me. My stomach dropped.
I looked at the glazed over eyes of the beast and a chill ran over me. The eyes were different from the monster that I saw previously. Before I knew it, my corporeal body was walking over towards me with hatred in its eyes; the sword removed from the beast’s corpse and hung high above my form. I stared over at the final resting place of King Christmas and whispered ‘I’m Sorry’. I did not bother giving old King Jered, the person now owning my body, the satisfaction of flinching. I was to pay for my actions so I did not put up a fight. The sword cut through the neck with ease and the head of King Christmas rolled off.
I felt my soul release from the dead form. I was mixed in the air and I could see everything; the blood, the dirt and the horror of the basement. My body stood tall with a smug look, blood from the murdered beings splattered across the clothing. I continued to rise and I felt the darkness take me.

———–

My eyes opened to darkness wits the smell of death and soil present. I twitched my body and I could feel wood surrounding me. I was in a coffin like structure. My body felt weird as if it did not belong to me and inherited to serve a bigger purpose.
My story had just begun.