06-25-2015, 05:22 PM
The coins imprinted on his hands forming circular streaks of red lines. Their dense weight required some muscle, but it was not heavier than the pain that sagged at his shoulders. The young boy tilted his eyes under the shaded covering of his visor as tears streamed down his face. He stood in place, hanging on his place in the middle of the cobbled bridge. There was no feeling more disgusting than being betrayed. The consequences this time were too grim. The whispers in his own silence filled his ears as the confused boy felt his heart sink into the deep pits of cold despair.
The gold, it stunk of blood. The unnamed boy wondered why it wasn't red to match the stains on his own hands. Why did his treasure shine when it was so dirty? And why, oh why, did he willingly feed into his own ignorance and take the payout. It was cursed. He was cursed. And the wooden gate of the castle closed behind him in exile.
"DAMN IT! YOU CAN TAKE YOUR STUPID FREAKING MONEY! I DON'T WANT IF IT COMES WITH ALL THIS PAIN! I DON'T WANT IT! TAKE IT BACK! GIVE THEM BACK!"
"GIVE THEM BACK!"
"GIVE THEM... Back."
His depleted strength was replaced with sorrow so wretched, it made him fall to his knees. His weak shout had not been heard over the shrill shriek of the door, but what had been heard by many casting ears and littered the airwaves was the tune of treasure as his gold coins were flung to the ground, only to roll off the bridge's edge and into oblivion.
The water rushed below in a violent rage. There was no hope for its return as no one would be able to salvage the money without it meaning their own death. The chime of treasure caught the attention of a few guards, who shook their heads as they wondered if it was worth the jump. The closest, and angriest, stared at the point of his lancer, wishing the boy's aim has carried at least one of the three coins to his feet rather than over the edge. That little brat just threw away enough to buy him three castles and four wives! A sickened scowl parched the guard's lips as his eye twitched testing with restraint not to skewer him.
The boy was left looking at his empty hand. With a curious expression he tilted his gaze. The weight remained, the red imprints still etched in his skin. The agony of the betrayed and dead.
It had looked so lustrous in the gleaming sunlight, and now, the fond and tempting gleam had faded into an ugly saccharine yellow before plunging to the roaring waters below. It was so futile to go back on their trade. Worthless. Childish. His age wasn't the only thing that showed him he knew nothing. A folly that left him tricked, deprived, and he had chosen to lose it all. A deal was a deal and there would be no trading back what he had lost.
His honor too, corroded by the act. Deathly thoughts swirled in his head as he could not fathom the overwhelming waves of his own emotion. Sick with himself. So very sick. There had to be an end to this pain.
Worthless. So completely worthless were his vain words and now he stood stranded on his motionless legs before finally deciding what needed to be done. He would end the disgrace. He would end the shame. He would end the curse. He would end his life.
-
The size of his tears grew as he struggled to climb high upon the castle's walls. He wasn't sure why, but he had wanted to see it all before he died. The outermost wall would provide a good vantage point for this. Perhaps he wanted to see what he hadn't changed. The endless landscape of farmland and free. All while the guards watched him squirm without protest, he ascended to death one foothold at a time.
The resolution was sound in his mind while his hands struggled against the slippery rock. His fingernails soon grew bloody, but he didn't notice, for the scarlet kept his numbed fingers warm. His commoner clothes were splashed with the hisses of sprayed water. White and rushing just below him.
A missed mark left smeared blood on the wall, and his empty grasp left him hanging by a single hand. He was loosing his grip, and imagined looking down. Swirls of froth created vehement whirlpools that suctioned even the air and threatened to pull him under.
Fear, adrenaline, and a flash of excitement flooded his bones as he felt a surge of strength to resist what we would soon become. I shall arrive ON MY OWN TERMS! He thought proudly, for it was something – perhaps the only thing – that he could control. He felt the greatest sense of purpose as this thirst for life defied the great weight of agony in his chest.
Another hand grappled as his sleek boots kicked into the wall and he scaled it's flat vertical surface once more.
Last breath. The cupped claw of his small palm grappled over the side of stone. The watch tower, circular and serene, he had made it.
The single watchman wasn't quite sure what to make of the boy, who looked about ten to fourteen, as the soaking wet child heaved himself with blood soaked hands over the edge and panted himself back into reality.
Life surged into his lungs, yet with each breath he felt the tremendous sense of despair return.
"Well howdy there laddie, that's quite the feat you pulled, I'm questioning as to whether or not I should call the guardsmen on ya! Hah! I don' think one boy is enough to be considered a raid on our town though, wouldn't ye say?" Hearty laughter followed, it was soon smothered by the somber tone that was cast by the boy's pained eyes.
"Are... Are you alright there laddie?"
Silence. The guard frowned. Boots clunked up the wooden stairs from below and a trapdoor opened.
"Hey Georgie, yer' shif' is over! Georgie go home! Don ya hear me?" A new face popped out, it was twisted and swiveled like a rat. "Oh lookie here, ya made a friend. Go home Georgie. I'll look after the intruder. Unless you want what happened last time to happen again." The vile threat stung the air.
"There will be no need." The nameless boy met the rat-man's eyes as Georgie was nearly thrown down the stairs and the door slammed behind him.
"Oh? No need, boy? Just who do you think you are?.... Do you know why I took this shift?" The guard sneered, "Because I get a better view of the execution."
The youth hadn't heard the last part, he was too preoccupied, procrastinating his end wouldn't bring them back. He had climbed up on the ledge, hovering only on the thin lip of wall. Below his toes, a distance of air and water flowed. Behind his heels, the stable surface of wood and stone made up the watchtower. Past the guard's back, the town square, assembly had already gathered yet soundless and wordless were those who remained were forced to watch an unjust sentence.
For the moment, the rat-guard only watched the boy, intrigued, he would get another execution and wouldn't have to lift a finger. The queen wouldn't have to know and he would be pleased with himself. They would purge the kingdom one useless scum, traitor, or idiot at a time. One mere boy made no difference.
The unnamed boy held his fatigued arms and raised them from his sides to shape a "T." He wanted to feel it. The life of air stream beneath him, the extension of his fingers in the wind.
There was a clacking sound at the back of his mind. They paused at times increments, the sound, with an origin he didn't know made for the countdown of his demise. When the last one stilled, he would jump.
One. He took a step closer to the edge and felt another breath bring life to his lungs.
Two. Clacking almost sounded like tightening rope, but death slithered into the air prematurely. He wondered of this chilled sense, but rationalized it as the damp weight of his clothes and the blasting breeze from this height.
Three. The ratman did not attempt to persuade the child, despite having once been his age. True evil, sickening greed, and a falsely placed pride layered the man's persona. The lack of humanity matched the mood of the town square as the guard's head swiveled back and forth, not wanting to miss a single moment. The unnamed boy didn't pay him a second thought, especially when the man wasn't interfering.
There was a long pause after three, and the boy leaped forward with a spring in his step. He began to fall, fall, fall...
The thick crack of his head as it banged against the side of the stone wall made him dizzy and he felt nausea swirl in his chest and weightless gut. Dead... Was this death?
He was rather disappointed until he felt the throbbing in his back and skull submerge his meaningless thoughts. Eyelids flickered open as he searched for the source that kept him from death. He could not find it as he fought the suspension in the air. He only felt whatever it was choking around his throat.
His fingers immediately reached for the collar of his throat and looked up only for his eyes to widen. Caught by a freaking flagpole? It had skewered his jacket, clawed into the flesh of his back, and left his feet dangling as he was suspended in air. No one turned from the execution in the square. But that was when he saw it.
Them. The nooses. The corpses. A loving couple prepared to die. Last words cut off by a hanging thread.
The chill of tragedy froze his flailing struggle.
This was murder.
His hands fell from his shirt collar for a moment as he looked at them. Useless, weak, and small. Such were the thoughts of a boy, tortured by time. Yet the desperate words still hung in the air, waiting to be delivered. For the queen certainly had no intention.
He saw it. His fleeting honor.
I'm sorry... For being a failure.. Everyone deserved to get to say that, no matter how the dirty the deed. Even if the boy himself would never get the chance to.
His eyes steadied as he knew purpose once more. His death. It would have to wait a little longer than he would have liked, but his feet touched the ground as he wriggled lose from his slain jacket and leapt the remaining ten feet.
The sensation sparked in his ankles and he ran with a new destination. Ambrosia.
The gold, it stunk of blood. The unnamed boy wondered why it wasn't red to match the stains on his own hands. Why did his treasure shine when it was so dirty? And why, oh why, did he willingly feed into his own ignorance and take the payout. It was cursed. He was cursed. And the wooden gate of the castle closed behind him in exile.
"DAMN IT! YOU CAN TAKE YOUR STUPID FREAKING MONEY! I DON'T WANT IF IT COMES WITH ALL THIS PAIN! I DON'T WANT IT! TAKE IT BACK! GIVE THEM BACK!"
"GIVE THEM BACK!"
"GIVE THEM... Back."
His depleted strength was replaced with sorrow so wretched, it made him fall to his knees. His weak shout had not been heard over the shrill shriek of the door, but what had been heard by many casting ears and littered the airwaves was the tune of treasure as his gold coins were flung to the ground, only to roll off the bridge's edge and into oblivion.
The water rushed below in a violent rage. There was no hope for its return as no one would be able to salvage the money without it meaning their own death. The chime of treasure caught the attention of a few guards, who shook their heads as they wondered if it was worth the jump. The closest, and angriest, stared at the point of his lancer, wishing the boy's aim has carried at least one of the three coins to his feet rather than over the edge. That little brat just threw away enough to buy him three castles and four wives! A sickened scowl parched the guard's lips as his eye twitched testing with restraint not to skewer him.
The boy was left looking at his empty hand. With a curious expression he tilted his gaze. The weight remained, the red imprints still etched in his skin. The agony of the betrayed and dead.
It had looked so lustrous in the gleaming sunlight, and now, the fond and tempting gleam had faded into an ugly saccharine yellow before plunging to the roaring waters below. It was so futile to go back on their trade. Worthless. Childish. His age wasn't the only thing that showed him he knew nothing. A folly that left him tricked, deprived, and he had chosen to lose it all. A deal was a deal and there would be no trading back what he had lost.
His honor too, corroded by the act. Deathly thoughts swirled in his head as he could not fathom the overwhelming waves of his own emotion. Sick with himself. So very sick. There had to be an end to this pain.
Worthless. So completely worthless were his vain words and now he stood stranded on his motionless legs before finally deciding what needed to be done. He would end the disgrace. He would end the shame. He would end the curse. He would end his life.
-
The size of his tears grew as he struggled to climb high upon the castle's walls. He wasn't sure why, but he had wanted to see it all before he died. The outermost wall would provide a good vantage point for this. Perhaps he wanted to see what he hadn't changed. The endless landscape of farmland and free. All while the guards watched him squirm without protest, he ascended to death one foothold at a time.
The resolution was sound in his mind while his hands struggled against the slippery rock. His fingernails soon grew bloody, but he didn't notice, for the scarlet kept his numbed fingers warm. His commoner clothes were splashed with the hisses of sprayed water. White and rushing just below him.
A missed mark left smeared blood on the wall, and his empty grasp left him hanging by a single hand. He was loosing his grip, and imagined looking down. Swirls of froth created vehement whirlpools that suctioned even the air and threatened to pull him under.
Fear, adrenaline, and a flash of excitement flooded his bones as he felt a surge of strength to resist what we would soon become. I shall arrive ON MY OWN TERMS! He thought proudly, for it was something – perhaps the only thing – that he could control. He felt the greatest sense of purpose as this thirst for life defied the great weight of agony in his chest.
Another hand grappled as his sleek boots kicked into the wall and he scaled it's flat vertical surface once more.
Last breath. The cupped claw of his small palm grappled over the side of stone. The watch tower, circular and serene, he had made it.
The single watchman wasn't quite sure what to make of the boy, who looked about ten to fourteen, as the soaking wet child heaved himself with blood soaked hands over the edge and panted himself back into reality.
Life surged into his lungs, yet with each breath he felt the tremendous sense of despair return.
"Well howdy there laddie, that's quite the feat you pulled, I'm questioning as to whether or not I should call the guardsmen on ya! Hah! I don' think one boy is enough to be considered a raid on our town though, wouldn't ye say?" Hearty laughter followed, it was soon smothered by the somber tone that was cast by the boy's pained eyes.
"Are... Are you alright there laddie?"
Silence. The guard frowned. Boots clunked up the wooden stairs from below and a trapdoor opened.
"Hey Georgie, yer' shif' is over! Georgie go home! Don ya hear me?" A new face popped out, it was twisted and swiveled like a rat. "Oh lookie here, ya made a friend. Go home Georgie. I'll look after the intruder. Unless you want what happened last time to happen again." The vile threat stung the air.
"There will be no need." The nameless boy met the rat-man's eyes as Georgie was nearly thrown down the stairs and the door slammed behind him.
"Oh? No need, boy? Just who do you think you are?.... Do you know why I took this shift?" The guard sneered, "Because I get a better view of the execution."
The youth hadn't heard the last part, he was too preoccupied, procrastinating his end wouldn't bring them back. He had climbed up on the ledge, hovering only on the thin lip of wall. Below his toes, a distance of air and water flowed. Behind his heels, the stable surface of wood and stone made up the watchtower. Past the guard's back, the town square, assembly had already gathered yet soundless and wordless were those who remained were forced to watch an unjust sentence.
For the moment, the rat-guard only watched the boy, intrigued, he would get another execution and wouldn't have to lift a finger. The queen wouldn't have to know and he would be pleased with himself. They would purge the kingdom one useless scum, traitor, or idiot at a time. One mere boy made no difference.
The unnamed boy held his fatigued arms and raised them from his sides to shape a "T." He wanted to feel it. The life of air stream beneath him, the extension of his fingers in the wind.
There was a clacking sound at the back of his mind. They paused at times increments, the sound, with an origin he didn't know made for the countdown of his demise. When the last one stilled, he would jump.
One. He took a step closer to the edge and felt another breath bring life to his lungs.
Two. Clacking almost sounded like tightening rope, but death slithered into the air prematurely. He wondered of this chilled sense, but rationalized it as the damp weight of his clothes and the blasting breeze from this height.
Three. The ratman did not attempt to persuade the child, despite having once been his age. True evil, sickening greed, and a falsely placed pride layered the man's persona. The lack of humanity matched the mood of the town square as the guard's head swiveled back and forth, not wanting to miss a single moment. The unnamed boy didn't pay him a second thought, especially when the man wasn't interfering.
There was a long pause after three, and the boy leaped forward with a spring in his step. He began to fall, fall, fall...
The thick crack of his head as it banged against the side of the stone wall made him dizzy and he felt nausea swirl in his chest and weightless gut. Dead... Was this death?
He was rather disappointed until he felt the throbbing in his back and skull submerge his meaningless thoughts. Eyelids flickered open as he searched for the source that kept him from death. He could not find it as he fought the suspension in the air. He only felt whatever it was choking around his throat.
His fingers immediately reached for the collar of his throat and looked up only for his eyes to widen. Caught by a freaking flagpole? It had skewered his jacket, clawed into the flesh of his back, and left his feet dangling as he was suspended in air. No one turned from the execution in the square. But that was when he saw it.
Them. The nooses. The corpses. A loving couple prepared to die. Last words cut off by a hanging thread.
The chill of tragedy froze his flailing struggle.
This was murder.
His hands fell from his shirt collar for a moment as he looked at them. Useless, weak, and small. Such were the thoughts of a boy, tortured by time. Yet the desperate words still hung in the air, waiting to be delivered. For the queen certainly had no intention.
He saw it. His fleeting honor.
I'm sorry... For being a failure.. Everyone deserved to get to say that, no matter how the dirty the deed. Even if the boy himself would never get the chance to.
His eyes steadied as he knew purpose once more. His death. It would have to wait a little longer than he would have liked, but his feet touched the ground as he wriggled lose from his slain jacket and leapt the remaining ten feet.
The sensation sparked in his ankles and he ran with a new destination. Ambrosia.
![[Image: -Gildarts-fairy-tail-35651033-300-180.gif]](http://images6.fanpop.com/image/photos/35600000/-Gildarts-fairy-tail-35651033-300-180.gif)
"I have never met a strong person with an easy past." -Atticus