Cloak, Dirt And Frost: A Short Story

How did I get here? His lips moved but everything else was quiet. Too quiet, too still. He was sitting with his legs swung over the bed, elbows on his knees. Sunlight bled through the window, casting shadows across the wooden floor. It made him angry. It's not fair. Rage rose slowly like a body might through water, filling up his chest until he felt whole, but it only lasted a second. That wholeness slipped like blood through his fingers and suddenly he was just a broken man mad at the sun for shining. The assassin looked down, reaching to brush his fingers upon the blood stain at his feet. He found it funny, that not one of the servants had been able to wash away the stain when there hadn't been a trace

I stood petrified. What had happened to me? My father had just been struck, in front of me, and I had not even blinked. I had watched and kept silent. Only yesterday, I would have dug my nails into this criminal's flesh. Had I changed that much? So fast? Remorse began to gnaw at me. All I could think was: I shall never forgive them for this.

Her lips formed strange and unusual sounds, her eyes closed softly and her cheeks paled. From her side belt she withdrew a small knife, a dagger. With a quick movement she cut her left hand with the dagger. As the drops of blood hit the cold marble floor the knife also clattered to the ground. The girl remained speaking her foreign tongue and let her life's blood run down her outstretched arm.

She whipped her eyes towards him, but suddenly lurched and fell to the ground. The world slowed, she felt something warm and sticky pool around her. She had managed to turn her head in his direction, only then seeing the enemy army that had caught up with them. One knight savaged her son with his sword and then discarded his body. She tried to reach him, but a spear protruding from her back weighed her down. Then she saw us again, watched as the way the enemy avoided us . She felt cold, knowing her time had come , she looked right in my eyes as her life thread was cut. The end frayed as her body slumped to the ground, but it didn’t matter. She was one insignificant life that we had

Instead her attackers were shrieking and blindly stabbing into the darkness, trying to attack the one attacking them. The woman dropped to her knees in terror, but Jessie never dropped her gaze. One by one the attackers fell to the cacophony of bones snapping, blood splattering against the stone walls, and howls of agony. The 'hero's' cloak swept around his body as he fought them, the edges of it stained in their blood, and in the distant moonlight Jessie could just make out his face - the deep blue eyes devoid of any light, warmth, or

I had been crying since I woke up that day and I was still crying. My sobs had droned on in the background as this stranger touched and sifted and opened each tiny piece of my life. As I watched her, I thought about how private my backpack and its contents always seemed. They were mine, They were to be kept or revealed as I saw fit. But now, I was in the

First came the pride, an overwhelming sense of achievement, an accomplishment due to great ambition, but slowly and enduringly surged a world of guilt and confusion, the conscience which I once thought diminished, began to grow, soon defeating the title and its rewards. Slowly the unforgotten memories from that merciless night overcame me and I succumbed to the incessant and horrific images, the bloody dagger, a lifeless corpse. I wash, I scrub, I tear at the flesh on my hands, trying desperately to cleanse myself of the blood. But the filthy witness remains, stained, never to be removed.

It has been at least an hour and a half since the attack. She does not remember anything that happened. She slowly get up and reaches for the doorknob. A sudden shot of pain went up her arm. Blood then started dripping from her hand. She had been cut. A knife stabbed her in her hand. “Ow.”, She then blacks out.

‘They hurt me. So I hurt them’ I said, emotionless, letting my feelings run out like a tap. My head was clear, dangerous. Objects became distorted. Clarice’s face became white. Her heart was a gunshot, piercing my ears with bullets. She waved her arms about and shook her head as if she was trying to will out the memories, the words, the actions.

Giving me only a fleeting look at the woman whom had transformed into a beautiful enchantress under an aura of shimmering sparks. The soothing image melted away almost immediately as the excruciating pain seeped through my veins. leaving me writhing in pain. Elongating every muscle, adrenaline pulsates through my veins with loud booms which seemed to magnify with each beat, but it didn’t stop. “I do not see kindness in your heart, you will soon learn how it feels like to be judged by your appearance” the enchantress hissed. Thick hairs began to sprout expeditiously over the surface of my entire body. Possessing razor-sharp claws and fangs, I gasp and stagger to catch breaths that were out of reach. All of a sudden an intense piercing pain shot up my neck making its way into my eyes, distending them, clouding them, then colouring them a sinful shade. “Please, I’m sorry, make it stop!” I begged but I saw no mercy in those cold black eyes. As I stumble backwards I could almost sense the twisted pleasure radiating off her skin with not a flinch of guilt. It felt like needles and burning irons were scalding my body. Then a rush of crimson tincture flooded through me, slowly, drowning my nerves leaving no trace of human trait, Until finally, I was called a

First came the pride, an overwhelming sense of achievement, an accomplishment due to great ambition, but slowly and enduringly surged a world of guilt and confusion, the conscience which I once thought diminished, began to grow, soon defeating the title and its rewards. Slowly the unforgotten memories from that merciless night overcame me and I succumbed to the incessant and horrific images, the bloody dagger, a lifeless corpse. I wash, I scrub, I tear at the flesh on my hands, trying desperately to cleanse myself of the blood. But the filthy witness remains, stained, never to be removed.

The stake glimmers in the rising light. It’s clean now. I washed it the same time I washed my clothing. The blood didn’t wash off my shirt though. I look at my reflection in the blade. I haven’t seen bruising on my skin in the reflection, but that doesn’t mean it’s not there. I finger my neck again. It’s sore to the touch. I couldn’t see my reflection well in the water’s tint, but in the knife’s reflection, I can almost pretend the gold colors are from the metal alone.Last night’s nightmare is still behind my eyes—of the terror of Alexis inside the statue—not dead, but dying of starvation. I shudder. I slide my fingers along the transition from dark brown polished wood to gold. My cheeks flush and my lip curls as I think back to me begging Midas and sobbing. I can’t remember the last time I cried. An intrusive image of my mother’s cross and her shallow grave flash through my mind. I mentally vault away from it.“Chrys?” I almost drop my it at Amaru appearing at my side. I stand and shove the

Failing can happen with whatever, whether it's riding a bike, taking a test, talking to people, or just plain walking. The importance of failing is that the lessons we take from failure can be fundamental to later success. My people will tell stories on how they failed at something and then were able to improve from that. Well here's my story.

She felt the warm, sticky coalescence of blood on the back of her skull, still running in a thin trickle down the back of her neck, trailing down her spine and creating dark stripes on her skin.She was naked, her defenses and any protections stripped away, meant to deprive her of her dignity and pride.

On a snowy and windy night, I was at Barnes & Noble in Green Bay with my friends, Alan and Karina. Christmas music played overhead, the smell of hot chocolate and freshly brewed coffee wafted over, the customers were kind and cheerful, and snow was beginning to blanket the parking lot outside. We were sitting near the cafe wrapping books to support their mom’s school fundraiser. I stared outside and remembered my mom’s warning of the large snowfall that was almost upon us. Around 7:15, the snowflakes were becoming larger and we could barely see outside the window.