Tale of the Week 284: It is only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly - SUBMISSION THREAD

[Alwyn]

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"It is only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly."
- Flemeth, Dragon Age II

Christian Mehlführer, A Kea flying in its natural environment on "The Remarkables" near Queenstown, New Zealand, source, CC BY 2.5

Keywords
Fail
Ashamed
Rock
Wings
Hope

Rules - PLEASE READ

• The title and picture are there simply for inspiration, you do not have to use them if you don't want to - besides the keywords everything else is up to you!
• Each theme will have a number of keywords that have to be used in your submission. They can be used in any way, but please place these words in bold so they can easily be seen by the competition organiser(s).
• When using the keywords you may change singular nouns into plurals and vice versa; and you may change the tenses of verbs. No other changes are permitted.
• The submission must have a minimum of 200 words. The title counts towards this minimum, but footnotes, explanatory notes, and other supplementary texts do not. The submission must also have a maximum of 500 words INCLUDING all titles, footnotes etc.
• The submission must be placed in a spoiler.
• The submission period will last at least two weeks. If we have three entries after two weeks, voting will begin. The submission period may be extended at the discretion of the competition organiser(s).
• If you are a contestant you are honour bound to not read other contestants' writings until you have submitted yours.
• If your entry is found to be substantially similar to another entry your submission will be disqualified. This is at the discretion of the competition organiser(s).
• Contestants are not allowed to directly advertise their stories or ask for votes. If this is discovered you will be disqualified. Posting "Please vote for my entry in TotW" is NOT allowed. However, posting "Please vote for your favourite entry in TotW" is not only allowed, it is encouraged!
• This thread is for submissions only. If you have any comments or questions then please post them in the commentary thread.
• Please note that all rules including word count and key words will be strictly enforced. Rule breakers will be disqualified from the vote.
  

Awards

Each winning story will receive 1 Writers' Study Competition point. This point will be added to the total number of points you have won from TotW and other Writers' Study competitions, and recorded in the Writers' Study Hall of Fame. When you have accumulated enough points, you will be awarded the appropriate Writers' Study Competition Medal.

• 6 points - bronze medal
• 12 points - silver medal
• 24 points - gold medal

[SanyuXV]

Was fun to do this little tidbit, albeit abit out of my comfort zone but still fun

WC: 396.

TOTW 284: Despair

The man's strained voice squeaked out a barely audible gasp. His mouth a desert, his throat a void of silence. In his last presumable moment he musters a question for his captor. "Are you not ashamed of what you have done?" "Are you not afraid of god's wrath, that you are the cardinal sin of which many preach against?" No reply met the man's question as he sat in the darkness. His chapped lips returned to their previous state; cracked, sealed and unwilling. No words could describe his discomfort as he sat in the deafening silence. His hands bound above him, continually chafing against his bloodstained skin. The man had lost all sense of time, since his capture as he drifted in and out of consciousness. He was simply a rock in the vast ocean of time, a blip in the infinite expanse of existence. A creaking rippled through the damp cell as a quick breeze sauntered into the tiny cell. The stench of death invaded his nose, and asked no questions as it burnt itself into his memory. "Thirsty?" a voice rang out from the darkness. The man could not muster the strength to produce an audible reply, the vocal components of his impoverished body had surrendered indefinitely. The captor amused that the man had not replied continued to speak in a slow, seditious tone. "To answer your question 3 moons ago, tsk how should I word this" as he lights a candle with his long, pale, scared fingers. Illuminating the room, chasing the darkness to the fringes of the stifling cell. "Does fire think about what it does when it consumes the resource it needs to survive? Does a bird desire to understand how their wings gift him with the ability of flight? - I do this because . . . I was made for this. And I have never failed. The man summoned one last act of defiance, attempting to lay eyes on his captor and to his horror he could not comprehend the sight that was beholden to him. A ghoulish laughter left the lips of the captor, as he observed his prisoner become paralyzed in complete fear. "Did you hope to retain a shred of honor?" The captor unsheathed a jagged, hellbent knife as he sized up his prisoner. "Such a mortal concept, such a silly concept. I will cut it out of you -- forever."

[NorseThing]

just under 500 words

John was happy but a bit ashamed. How could he fail at such a simple task? His friends would often head out for rock climbing. He preferred to label it as rock scrambling, but it was still a climb and these were rocks. So his friends won out on the naming on the days when he would meet up with then at a rock face to mess around together. This was all great fun climbing up the shallow limestone cut faces that were the result of road construction. It made the road more level. It became a very scenic drive with the pine trees and the limestone exposed as the hills were cut away. John did notice many of the older ones would take the scenic drive as a couple. Often this was near sunset when he should be settling in for a good night's sleep. Of course we were all too immature as young ones for the activity of a scenic drive. One bright sunny day John was out rock scrambling by himself. Yes, by himself it was rock scrambling and with his friends the same activity was rock climbing. On this particular day, John had tried a new but recently cut rock face. This was created by the new road construction. There was a great deal of activity, noise, and of course the rock dust and dirt of the construction. All this just added to the adventure of the scramble. John had climbed up only about 25 feet when he discovered he had run out of easy foot holds. Then, the world fell out from under him. Well not the world, but rocks did give way and now John was perched on a ledge with no obvious means to go up or down. Now for the shame of John. He was never very effective at communicating with others. This moment he needed to communicate. He cried out for help. There was no reaction from any of the workers in the road construction gang. How could he hope to get down? No path and no attention. This meant no means of escape and no help was available. He knew he was on his own and would simply have to try and work his way down the rock face. It was now looking like about a mile to work his way down and not the 25 feet. Determined, John began his descent. His footing failed and rocks began to tumble down with a ferocious amount of noise. He began to fall.... Below one of the construction workers noticed the commotion and looked up. He nudged his buddy, and said, "Look at that! A rock slide on our fresh hill cut. It is not stable" The buddy then responded, "More amazing is that young eagle with outstretched wings just able to get out of danger. How the heck can an eagle cause all of this and still avoid the chaos?"

[C-Beams]

Hello! Here is my TotW 284 submission. Word count 498

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Himilco

The Roman guard shoved Himilco into the sun baked arena.

“Toughen up this whelp, Thracian,” the guard said to a gladiator who stood like a bronze statue.

Himilco shuffled into the training area as the hot sand stung his feet. A clack of iron rattled and he turned to see the guard lock the gate.

“Here.” The Roman tossed a wooden sword through the bars.

Himilco watched the guard return to a shaded bench where the rest of his troop sat. They were raucous, drunk from too much wine in the sun. Himilco picked up the sword, chipped and splintered, and faced the Thracian who bore his own blunted blade. The man was taller, broader and he gazed with the keen eyes of a warrior. Himilco was a Carthaginian, a lowly gambler sent to pay his debts in the arena. He knew little of combat but figured all life’s endeavours were a game of chance. The Thracian seemed strong, though he moved with slow steps. Himilco hoped that with speed the odds were in his favour to land a blow. When the gladiator took his next step, Himilco pounced.

The Thracian moved with the suddenness of a spark. His sword cut through the air like a wing to strike Himilco across the knuckles. Himilco winced and dropped his sword. The Thracian’s saunter had been a deception.

A roar of laughter bellowed from the guards and they clapped their cups to the bench. The gatekeeper threw a rock at Himilco.

“You should be ashamed,” he said as he wiped wine from his chin. “A Roman cripple could fight better.”

Himilco clawed his sword from the sand. His hand throbbed. He took in a breath and readied himself for another try. The Thracian was poised to fight, though his eyes were fixed on the guards with a cold stare. He looked to Himilco, paused, then charged like a bull.

Himilco ducked, swung his sword and struck the gladiator. A victory, though the Thracian’s charge seemed suspiciously inept. Himilco looked to the guards and saw they no longer cared to watch. He shook his head. To fight and fail with no cheer would be a final shame on his family name. He loosened his shoulders, closed his eyes and tried to focus his mind. He flinched when a broad hand touched his shoulder. The Thracian was stood beside him, his figure bright in the sun like gold.

“Save your strength, Carthaginian,” the Thracian said as he spied the drunken guards. “You will need it. Tonight this ludus rebels.”

“Rebels,” Himilco whispered. He looked at his wooden sword and to the sharpened steel of the guard's. “You will take quite a chance then.”

“We gamble our lives to win our freedom.” The Thracian smiled and held out his hand. “Will you join us?”

Himilco shrugged. “Gambling brought me to this arena. Perhaps then, gambling will save me from it.”

He shook the gladiator’s hand as the guards gulped more wine.

[Kilo11]

Here's my submission, coming in at 438 words.

Hope

“Tell me, can you feel the thunder of their voices?” Blood dripping from his chin and the long wet gash in his side, he did not answer. However, there was a tightening around the corners of his eyes, perhaps a change in his breathing as well. There might even have been the beginnings of hope, that most fragile of men’s gifts, that most stalwart of his curses. The stadium was wide, its raked sides teeming with Citizens. Teeming with murderers and cowards, the bloodied man thought to himself. He knelt down and put a hand on the sand underfoot. It was fine and slightly warm, its uniformity broken here and there by the spreading pools of blood and gore. It would not avail him any boons. None save that final gift; to rest. He bowed his head and the surrounding multitude of spectators roared all the louder, their lust for blood not yet quelled, but Boiorix shut out their hateful noise, focusing on the imperious southerner before him. “Do not be ashamed little warrior.” the arrogant man said, mistaking the signs on his face. “The time of your kind is passed, and though you have failed, you have failed with majesty. It is not a thing for which you deserve shame.” The man then walked a short space away, his confident steps betraying no weakness or gap, and the rising optimism in Boiorix’ breast began to fade. His blade lay broken beneath the overturned chariot he had been thrown from, his shield splintered and useless. There were other arms he might take up, but all were scattered and distant, and to run for them would be unseemly. It would not be fitting. And so he stayed, his head bowed, waiting for the end. After a time thus, the man, who seemed to have had his fill of the mob’s affections, slowly began to walk back toward Boiorix. His short sword had already been glutted on blood that day, but it would be willing to take more. With each step Boiorix moved closer to the realm of shadow, where he would meet his ancestors, and when finally he began to resolve himself to that fate his fingers, which idly had been scraping in the sand, met some hidden resistance. There, beneath the surface, lay a stone, edged and slick. The man was nearly on him, moving to strike the death-blow, when high above an eagle cried, its wings casting a fleeting shade over the bloodied earth. In that moment Boiorix took the rock to hand, stood, and swung with all the fury of the Arverni. It would be enough.

[Big War Bird]

I hope you like it, 491 words

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Wabanaki’s legs ached as he made his way up the incline to the top of the bald mountain. He had been tracking the she-cougar for six days and nights. At last he could become a man. The men of his tribe had all hunted the predators of the forest - wolf, bear, cougar. His wearied mind now recalled his dream hunt, he was the great eagle and he had swooped down on a cougar on just such a bald mountain top and carried it away. But Wabanaki was no no eagle, just a boy desperate to become a man. Should he fail here he must return to the tribe ashamed, resigned to wear the woven garments of the woman folk for another year.

The she-cougar lay atop a flat rock, warming herself in the cloudless morning sun a hundred paces away Wabanaki watched her through reddened, burning eyes. He must think, he must ready himself. Spear, knife, bow. For a moment he could not think. His arms became like stones, heavy, hard. Fear froze his wits.

No. The fear must go. A man must face fear. The cougar was fear. Wabanaki rubbed his eyes with his palms and the lightning bolts unfroze his mind, He unslung his bow and and slowly lined up his arrow. It was no good. The she-cougar was laying with her haunches almost directly at him. He could only wound her, not pierce her heart. He would have to move if he hoped to become a man this day.

The she-cougar dozed as Wabanaki maneuvered to take the killing shot. With every step his spirit rose, he was becoming a man. He was ready. For eight seasons Wabanaki had been the equal of any man with the bow. He silently laid his spear down and unslung his bow again. This was easy he thought as he pulled back the bow string and let the arrow fly. Then the sun went out.

The great eagle screamed death at Wabanaki. Wabanaki didn’t see the great eagle as it ripped its claws into his back and should, but he felt its wings beat his head and legs and buttock and arms. He felt a beak rip the skin of his skull and the blood flow into his eyes. All was pain and red. Wabanaki fell to his knees flailing with one arm while wiping the blood from his eyes with other. For just a heart beat the great eagle relented, a wing beat carrying it upward while Wabanaki fell onto his back. The great eagle’s wings each longer than two men blocked out the sun. The great eagle fell in for the killing blow. The boy Wabanki pulled the knife from his belt and thrust it up into the chest of the falling killer.

Wabanaki the man returned to his tribe with two trophies, the she-cougar skin and the wings of the great eagle.

[Turkafinwë]

Submission: Anxiety - 475 words

Anxiety What if I fail, what if I fail, what if I fail, what if I fail. These were the thoughts constantly mulling through his brain to the point it almost drove him insane. His breaths came at an irregular interval and his heart seemed it would burst out of his chest or drop dead any given minute. Such panic attacks were not uncommon for him though that did nothing to alleviate them or make them the slightest bit less distressing. Ashamed he was, ashamed that he was this weak. He did nothing but just sit there, staring into the middle distance. Then a voice rose from within. “Stop your whining” the remorseless voice said. The voice also was not something he was unaccustomed to. Through the years it had been his companion and had helped him overcome many problems. He both loved and hated it. It demanded he take back control over his mind. “If you don't I will” it threatened. Slowely he felt his breath steadying and his heart returning to its normal pace. Okay, okay, okay, the man thought to himself as he steadied his nerves, his hand still trembling a little bit. “So what do we do now” he asked. The voice's reply took awhile and the man felt fear clawing at him once again. Then its unforgiving voice rang again. “We must be like a rock, strong, hard and determined.” it said. “We must have faith” it continued in a friendlier tone. Faith he thought, faith in what. He had lost faith a long time ago. What hope was there left in this barren, cold and lonely world. “If you don't try you will never know” the voice retorted. “Jump and who knows what treasures you might find.” it said suggestively. “You will never know if you don't try.” it repeated. The voice was right. It could not go on like this. Something had to change. As the man stood up and walked towards the abyss, the voice uttered two final words before disappearing. “Good luck.” Was that sarcasm? Nevermind. He had something to do and waiting any longer would not make it any easier. He looked down into the gaping darkness before him and recoiled at the sight of it, taking a step back. “No!” he cried aloud, returning to the edge. “No longer shall I fear any darkness! Come what may, this ends here!” With clenched fists and closed eyes he jumped and fell. And fell. And fell. And fell. Then he realised he was not falling but flying. Opening his eyes he saw wings had sprouted from his back and were carrying him safely through the air. Tears of relief flowed from his eyes as he flew back into the light. He had survived another day.

[Cohors_Evocata]

431 words. I hope the foul language is allowed.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

You’d think they would try to be less annoying. Pissing off the guy holding a gun to your head is never a good idea, but doing so after you WRECKED THEIR VERY COSTLY PROTOTYPE is just asking for trouble. The figure on the ground seems to have realised this as well, as he has finally stopped squirming. Good, at least he understands the situation. Pity I had to raise my voice.

The man in front of me looks up. John Doe here must really be commended for his bravery. Most of his predecessors would have switched to their most miserable puppy-look by this point, but he has continued to meet my gaze. Admirable. Does he still hope he’ll survive this? No, that can’t be, he must have heard the rumours before he signed up. Does he think it more honourable to show no fear in the face of death? Regardless, such defiance does merit some reward. I suppose I’ll humour him and give him an explanation for what is to follow.

“You understand why I must kill you, right?” “I understand you’re a rich bastard and most of your employees vanish without a trace. They meet the same fate?” “Yes. They all get one chance and one chance only. If you succeed, you share in the glory. If you fail…” “you become a loose end.” He chuckles. “So that’s really it? You kill all these people because you’re ashamed? Because you don’t want the world to know about your failures?” “Of course not. But I have a reputation to uphold and a lot of associated benefits I’d rather not lose. So I have to take care of my image.” He laughs out loud now. “What a fine image indeed. Brilliant inventor and beacon of progress. The man who never fails. They ought to know you as you really are.” I can’t hold back the smile. “They never will. Any last words?” He spits at my feet. “Go die in a fire, you choleric whoreson.”

I glance backwards at the site of the crash. The remains of the contraption are scattered all over the rocks, but you can still make out the wings. I make a mental note to make sure the next version is welded together. After all, what would be the purpose of these experiments if we continued to make the same mistakes? Perhaps I ought to try wax. Now it’s my turn to chuckle. “Humanity”, I say to no-one in particular, “will learn how to fly. But it’s probably for the best they never learned how we got there.”