Tale of the Week 64 - The Vote

[molls]

2 Vote per person!!

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Submissions

Submission 1

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

The Great Storm

Suffering… it has been the way of my people for many generations. Always have outsiders plagued us, out of jealousy, or greed. Before my grandfather’s grandfather was born, my people had learned not to trust the outsider.

My ancestors had fought to keep rival tribes out of our hunting ground. I had to fight an unending storm of white men, a blizzard of colonists that came into our lands like the frosty white flakes of snow in winter.

But retreat into the sweat lodge would not protect us from this blizzard. This blizzard was not content merely to drive us into hiding; it would hunt us down and kill us. This was a new kind of storm. Not one from which to hide and take shelter, but one that we must meet aggressively. They must be destroyed.

Such was the determination of my dwindling village; such a fight must end in death. The rich soil would run with blood. I was determined that it not be my blood, nor that of my braves.

Too long had the gods watched our pain without pity; the stars foretold that they would not stand idly by as they had in the past. Braves assembled, ceremonial rites were observed, and our band moved out into the dark of the night.

We were merely shadows, spirits, as we glided through the forest. My men knew every tree, every thorn bush like an old friend; we were invisible to the outsider.

Finally, we saw the smoke of a white settlement. Soon we could make out the forms of men milling past campfires. We could hear their loud, oppressive laughter and raucous song. I never understood these creatures; they took no pleasure in sitting still. They did not commune with the Great Mother; always they were rushing here and there. I wondered how one could live in such a world; I am sure that I never could.

Soon, they would not live either, but not by choice. In the early twilight hours, my braves slowly crept toward the target. They had become the very trees and bushes; they would be invisible even from feet away.

I gave the call for my men to prepare. It was the call of a thrush. My men would know immediately that it was me. The foreigners, however, never spent enough time in quiet to realize that this call belonged to a bird that had not made its nest in our lands for many moons.

In moments, however, they would have the opportunity to spend the rest of eternity in peaceful silence.

Submission 2

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HOOOSHHH

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

The world came crashing down today...With sounds of "hooshhhhhhh" and countless thuds and squish sounds, as the arrows found their resting place for the day.

The world came crashing down today - and it crashed upon us with all it's might...
All of our advance guard has been cut down by the wretched arrows!!! And those stupid bastards?!!? Now they lay prostrate, as if they passed out after a drunken night, as if they were not supposed to live through it and defend their homes by standing in the square with us? The morons...

I told the bloody mongrel : "Have yer men draw they're archers up front, then retreat back to the cover of the buildings near the square..."
And what does he do? He leaves the bloody beggars to sit with they're butts wide open for a ride up from behind...

"B-but Sir..." I could hear his young aide trying to speak up, the fear obviously getting the better of him "They did start retreating the moment the archers drew themselves up front!"

Now, our commander threw a bewildered gaze at the young aide : "What the hell? How in the God's name did I happen to lose nearly two hundred men then, please do tell me?"

Squirming where he stood, with all the unease, panic and insecurity of this world boiling up inside of him, the young aide blurts, almost crying the answer out : It was a single volley, Sir! A single vo..."

HOOOOSHHHHH

Indeed, it came crashing down upon us...With the force of steel tipped pieces of wood, and in numbers that matched the total count of the invading army. A single volley it was. It cut the numbers of the men holding the square down to two thirds.

HOOOOSHHHHH

Another volley...Now there was barely a man without a feathered arrow tail protruding from his chest, leg, arm, skull...

"Oh bloody STOP! STOP IT" Now I could see and hear our commander trying to raise the white banner up, and the moment he did, we could hear the answer as it came:

HOOOOOOOOOOOOOSHHH

Submission 3

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Light after Darkness

I remember it rained hard that night in Scotland, not of water, but of cold steel. The rain had soaked the ground with a deathly dark red stain which covered most of the street. The gibbet was gloriously shinning in its black coat during the morning’s sun. The smell of the aftershock was bitter-sweet as the bodies among the road and buildings were strewn all over the place in a disturbing manner. The sound of pathetic moaning from the heap of blood soaked corpses, rags, and souls pulsated through the thick air and into my ears leaving a permanent memory of grief and pain.

I slowly walked through the dampened road and into the bloody mess. Reaching the near center of the mass of moaning and motionless bodies, a man of medium stature who was riddled with arrows from his feet to his shoulders, lunged for my leg in an attempt to pull himself up. He failed at his attempt to bring himself upright and landed face first onto my boot. In the process of hitting his face, his nose was crushed between his face and the hard leather boot. The feeling of cartilage and bone being crunched against my foot rippled up my leg and soared up my spine, producing goose bumps on my skin. I shuffled my foot from under his head, realizing he had just died. I felt weaker every step I took down the road of what seemed to be hell. I paused briefly in my steps to glance at a young women laying upright against a building whose jaw was hanging by only a tendon. An arrow must have tore through her lower cheek dislocating the right part of her jaw, allowing the rest of the jaw bone tear her mouth clean open with the help of the arrows momentum. Her long blood soaked hair was strewn over her face. Her empty lifeless gaze pierced the hardest part of my soul allowing a feeling of sorrowfulness, dreadful pain, and.......guilt to travel through my mind. I took a long moment to myself, staring at the men and women who had died that night. I thought to myself, 'What kind of monstrosity would drive a man to commit extremely heinous acts of unrelenting cruelty such as this.' I turned slowly and painfully to my men in the center of the village. I then gave orders to pile the dead and burn the place to ashes......

Submission 4

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Young Hearts

Little Timmy and little Tommy were heading out to play in the fields, as they usually did on a summer's day, as they usually did every day in fact. Cheerfully did they skip down the street, past the noisy tavern; where all the adults gathered, down to the bakery to beg old baker Bilbo for some sweets. After some resistance the old codger gave in and the boys got their reward. They knew the treats weren't good for them but they ate them anyway. Their parents wouldn't know of their mischief until it was too late, chocolate stains on old clothing being impossible to hide.

The boys continued on their journey, through the market where people bought and sold goods, past the man haggling with Donald the merchant. They paused a short while when they came to the gallows. Their parents had told them that if the boys ever did anything wrong there would be serious trouble, this was the trouble they would be in for. No the boys definitely didn't want to end up stuck in there. On down to the end of the road now and right at the fork, yes right, we don't want to go to the left. Unknown lands lie in that direction and it would not be prudent to venture that way.

So the boys went right and continued along the beaten track towards the outer fields. They waved to farmer Macc as they passed him on the road, he was always such a cheerful fellow. Finally they crested a small hill and stared out at the fertile field below. Yes, they had reached their destination, the fun awaited.

They played for what seemed like hours, all time and thought was lost. By the time they realised how long they had been gone it was starting to get dark. Their parents would be worried; they usually returned home before this time. Oh well, that couldn’t be helped now. Little Timmy and little Tommy started back towards the town.

They walked back along the path, passed the small hill and left at the intersection. They caught a strange smell in the air, was that smoke? Turning towards the town they saw black plumes rising in the distance. Curious and scared at the same time, they began to run towards the settlement. Quickly and quietly they crept ever closer, keeping low to the ground to avoid being seen. They found some large rocks, quickly ducking down to peer around them and look.

What they saw was death. Fire, smoke, and blood. The town had been burned, its people murdered, their parents, dead. Little Timmy and little Tommy began to cry, their lives had been destroyed, all that they knew gone. Old baker Bilbo, Donald the greedy merchant, everyone and everything. In their moment of confusion and distress, they failed to see the hooded figure creeping up behind them, knife in hand. In that instant, Little Timmy and Little Tommy would never care about anything again.

Submission 5

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A broken body combined with a broken heart

Though my eyelids rest heavily, blotting out the harsh, earthly light, I see… The most beautiful scene imaginable; my Elysium, complete with my sweetheart standing, waiting. It seems as though she has been waiting for me these five, long years, never wavering and never forgetting. She holds out her hand, murmuring words which soothe my heart and soul, though my body feels exquisite pain. Everything my heart has yearned for these past years since her death seems tangible at last, within reach if I could only make that one, last effort. “Not yet, my love,” she breathes, soft as snow and sweet as honey. For years the lingering memory of that voice has been my private burden, to be borne at all times, now it brings an intense sense of peace and bliss. A sharper contrast could not be possible between this and the carnage of mere minutes past. In this state, I lie confused, sapped of all my energy and willpower; what can she mean? We are united once more, never to be separated and she speaks in riddles to me? And then it all fades to blackness, heavy and impenetrable…

My eyes snap open as I attempt to remember. The pain swiftly puts an end to such an effort. It is unbearable and I soon find myself choking on a torrent of tears, though I’m unsure as to the source. Is it grief or pain? Perhaps a combination of the two sensations has reduced me to a whimpering wreck. Eventually, I recall the physical events that had occurred. It was folly from the beginning, outnumbered almost ten-to-one, though we had no choice but to defend our homes, our livelihood. To a man we had been cut down without ever coming into contact with the enemy and now here I lie, pinned to the ground with cold steel, a cruel mockery of Christ’s sacrifice on the cross.

And yet, strangely, none of this matters to me now. Only whether what I saw was real, or perhaps a heartless vision conjured by some evil spirit to torture my already angst-ridden soul… Is that what really waits for me after death? If it is then I surrender myself to it, had I the strength, I’d embrace it with a voracious passion, dirtying my blade for the first time today...


Thence I lie, allowing myself to wallow in these fantasies, though, deep down, I know it was but an apparition, perhaps even my dying wish made true. No matter how close I felt to her, how plainly I could hear her soft voice, how clearly I could smell her sweet scent, she’s lost forever. Gone. And with this knowledge I release my stifled grief, combined with the unremitting, excruciating physical pain in a single scream of anguish.

I must have lain here, helpless as a Spring lamb, for some time and been mistaken for dead as the raiders seemed to have passed on. My scream had roused the women though, no doubt tending the few other survivors, and I could feel, rather than see, that I was soon surrounded by bustling bodies, crying out for further help. Alas, is it not obvious that I’d rather they left me?

Submission 6

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Collateral Damage

They will burn us now, I have seen the faggots being carried to their village square. The crowd
taunts us, my whole body throbs with pain from the beatings. Dominic whimpers, crouched in
the corner of his cage, doe eyes staring with uncomprehending hurt at the stone-faced throng.

How can they say I am a witch? I've never hurt anyone, only tried to protect my brother from
those who would exploit him. He fits so well the role of cretin, his shambling walk, his lack of
speech, his trust, even the deformity of his back. He needs me to protect him and to control his
powers. Though older than me, I still see him as my child.

What was so wrong with what we did? We wandered the land, repairing metal tools for food
and money, no worse than Gypsies though our methods were different. But then I was
negligent and a curious local caught a glimpse of Dominic's talent in action.

I still can't believe how quickly they changed from smiling friends to crazed zealots. We were
bound and beaten and dragged to their village. Their priest performed rites of exorcism upon
us and we were sentenced to death.

The crowd makes an ugly sound, like a pack of dogs with a rabbit. Even the Militia, marching
out today to join the Emperor's army, have stopped to watch the sport.

Two Sheriff's men approach with the Blacksmith, iron keys rattling in his hands. An idea comes
to me... maybe Dominic at least might escape, if only I can get him to do the right thing...
Now is the moment, before they touch the lock!

“Dominic!” I scream. “Fix the keys!” He looks up, panic films his eyes, we have never done
it this way before, he isn't prepared mentally. But he obeys automatically. He focusses on keys
and lock, the air shimmers with heat-haze, the keys fly out of the huge hands of the surprised
Blacksmith, and the lock explodes in its urgency to be united with them.

My head rings, the whole crowd has been bowled over, even the Militiamen at the back.
Dominic's cage swings open. I open my mouth to order him to run, but before I can speak
something hits my cage with a crash. Then another, and another. I crouch in the corner as
belts, coins, hobnails and all manner of metal objects strike the bars.

The fusillade dies down and I call to Dominic. He jumps down, opens my cage and we run.
My back itches with anticipation and I can't help looking back. They are mostly back on their
feet now, some already running after us. Then I look up and my mouth falls open in shock.

I pull Dominic flat against the wall of a barn, under the eaves, and we watch the cloud of
arrows ripped from the Militia, some still trailing their quivers, as God's judgement descends
upon our tormentors.

Submission 7

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

"Freedom!"

yelled the Scottish commander as he led the Infantry charge. He led not a horde of Infantry, but a pack of Lions. Wolves, on the hunt. They weren't fighting for loot, or conquest, or glory; They were fighting for their lands. They were fighting for their loved ones. They were fighting....for their lives.

It was the year of our lord 1297. Scotland was in a fierce war for independence against it's Southern Rival, England. And, although the English Army had Ten men for every Three Scottish Soldiers, the Scots were on a winning streak. However, no country's war for independence didn't have a defeat.

An English army had surrounded a small but Important scottish town, for it was the place where Merchants where trained, and, at this point, they were Scotland's only income. Scotland had the best Merchants, so their income made up for the expendature of the the Scottish army and Construction projects. The Scots had a garrison of about 3,500, but most were either Peasants or Militia, with a small force of about 100 Crossbowmen. The English had 10,000 men, including 6,000 Infantry, 2,000 Archers, 1,000 Knights and 1,000 Scottish Mercenaries.

Despite the overwhelming odds, the Scottish Garrison managed to hold out for Eighteen Months. Finally, out of Frustration, the English General ordered the full attack. The Infantry advanced and blocked off all roads in or out of the Town. The Archers took up positions behind the Infantry, took aim, and opened fire. Instantly, roughly 150 Scots fell. Dead. They litter the ground. For a full 30 yards, it is just Bodies and Arrows. No ground.The Scottish Commander decided to make a bold move. He signaled a Charge, dismounted his horse, and then led that charge.

"Freedom!"

It, although rallying the men, would turn out to be the last word he ever said. A second Longbow Volley was fired, and the Scot General was hit at least Half of a Dozen times. He fell, blood gurgling from his mouth, eyes twitching. But, just before he blacked out and died, just before he met the Lord in heaven, he saw his Countrymen run right past him. He saw them hit the English Line. He saw them fight. If he had been alive at the moment that the English had shouted "Retreat!", he would have wept with happiness. But it was too late now. He had died leading the charge. The charge that broke the English army. Broke the army which hoped to win the war. That charge saved Scotland. If he had been alive to see that day, to know that his men had saved his country, he would have been proud.

But, now, he is dead.

[Dave Strider]

voted.

[Sunbird Alkibijad]

Voted for "the great storm" and "broken"

One significant comment for Ketchup, mate the only weak part in the story is the title...The story is dark and kicks royal behind

P.S. Molls, you split my story into 2 spoilers, any specific reason, other than that "hoosh" is the part that ought to stand out as it happens in the story?

[Dave Strider]

Am I really that bad?

[molls]

Voted for "the great storm" and "broken"

One significant comment for Ketchup, mate the only weak part in the story is the title...The story is dark and kicks royal behind

P.S. Molls, you split my story into 2 spoilers, any specific reason, other than that "hoosh" is the part that ought to stand out as it happens in the story?

I screwed up and now everytime I try to change the codes, it just goes back to this format again It's like the post does not accept editing...

[Sunbird Alkibijad]

Heheehe, thx for reply.

Been away for too long too

[Ariovistus Maximus]

I've had the same problem, especially when I paste large amounts of text into a post. It makes up annoying stuff like spoilers and millions of quote tags. Some kind of bug I guess.

[Mega Tortas de Bodemloze]

Am I really that bad?

Since no one has fielded this... I'll take a crack at it......What do you mean? In what way?...

1. We write stories because they are there....We go with the ebb and flow of how we are feeling when we write. Some All emotion, some all intellect and precision like a master surgeon. We should strive to please ourselves with our creative manifestations.

2. It's all or nothing....We Must Win, Win, Win!!!!!!. Kay cite me as example. My last 7 entries or so before "The regrets" garnered a sum total of ZERO votes....not a solitary one yo......So last week lightning struck. I had something to share and by shear luck all the pieces fell right....OMG ...I actually received a vote...Victory!!!!!
Also the story carried the week, which was'nt bad either...but at the cost of some great stories which didn't receive due justice....

3. You should be proud of your creations, for they are....majestic...

[Kip]

A very, very nice lot of stories here. There wasn't a single one I didn't enjoy.

My top two, in no particular order:

The Great Storm - I love evocative pieces like this. The writing is descriptive and powerful, and I get a sense of the narrator's character just from the word choice. I love the abrupt power of the line "They must be destroyed", which is a brief, forceful sentence preceded by several lengthy, descriptive ones.

Young Hearts - I really enjoyed the tone of this one. It begins like a fairy tale, something you might find out of a children's book - the kind that teaches you a moral at the end. The sudden, harrowing turn it takes comes as a shock, even though I had already expected it from the picture. The simplicity of the narration exemplifies this; it is a stunning twist from carefree childhood to a gruesome massacre.

Special mention to Collateral Damage: Absolutely loved the direction you took it. Extremely original and interesting. I think it was only weakened by the length limits on the contest - if you had had more room to flesh out your characters, and make the discovery of his powers a little more of a surprise, it would have easily earned one of my votes.