1Hello. Prepare for a not-so-happy story.
This story is about a young woman who is living in a rather scarred world, with war going on and other terrible things.
Something in nature is unbalanced, and Nature is becoming angry and dangerous. No one knows for sure what is going on. More and more people die from forces of nature like wind, earth, water, fire, plants... her land is in deep trouble, and she is exhausted and frustrated. What can one girl do?
Please keep in mind that I am inexperienced writer and I beg of you to be lenient. I would love any constructive criticism. Please review!
And here you start:
A brisk wind gusted from the north, tugging jerkily at her headscarf. Theblasted garment had been pestering her for the entire journey. Gritting her teeth in annoyance, she brushed her hair out of her face, berating herself for not wearing a thicker shawl that would not sway at the slightest breeze, and then proceeded to yank the scarf off her head completely and stuff it in her bag. Unfortunately her ferocity was not enough to keep her head and ears warm as before, and she quivered slightly. The breeze whistled ominously around her, foretelling that trouble was brewing.
The figure a handful of paces ahead of her trudged along with a sack thrown across his back. He stood many inches taller than she, though his age could not have differed from her own by more than a few months. She knew him - knew him well - knew the smallest tidbits about him that none but she could possibly know; and she noticed his gait was sturdy and unwavering, as it always was during the rare times when he decided to act serious. As he walked, his boots made crackling noises from the dead leaves under his feet, just as her own boots did, stepping on the occasional branch and causing a small crack. His tousled black locks were familiar in the way they were parted, just above his right ear. Over his tunic he wore a pale green vest that was blotted with bits of mud and dirt, and the corner of her lips almost twitched into a smile, remembering his humorous reaction as she had presented it to him as a gift years prior. His arms, always strong, gripped the musty sack heavy with goods. She found herself dreaming of them wrapped around her to shield her from the cold of the day, and quickly shook away the thought, her cheeks reddening with embarrassment, as though he was watching. She sighed a small sigh, her hot breath appearing as steam in the chilly air, and hugged her shoulders to stay warm, pushing away any intimate thoughts she tended to have about him as of late.
The gales whinnied dangerously, chilling her even more, and she pulled her coat tighter against her chest. Her tired eyes roamed across the graying sky; the mangled branches of the forest trees; the expansive patches of green rolling out far to the south; the snow-capped mountains nearby in the north; and her thoughts wandered aimlessly as the hem of her dress skirted around her legs in rhythm with her walk.
We're just friends, the logical part of her mind told her in a reassuring tone, he's the silliest boy I've ever met. Always pulling pranks or teasing, he is.
But the war, pleaded another voice, the voice that always seemed so smitten by him, the war, it's changed him so. He's no longer your brotherly best friend that you must badger and look after. It is different now.
Different how? Demanded the reasoning part of her again, now sounding defensive. He is still simply a boy. It would be wiser to love a man.
This was a lie, considering they were both nearing nineteen years; though most women commonly married men two to four years their senior, even if it was not unusual to have a husband nearer to your age.
The other voice was now adamant, and starting to speak reason. Acting thick in the head, are you? He saw people die. He saw people burn, smolder, from the explosives. He was one of those who killed in spite. Becoming a skilled swordsman sobered him. If he is not a man, what can he be?
The argument that was constantly ricocheting off the walls of her skull waned, until finally it disappeared. The other voice was making sense, whilst her usual one was seemingly in denial…
Perhaps she did fancy him. Maybe she did love him. They had been through so much together, knowing each other as children. Sometimes she imagined a blissful scene in which he revealed feelings for her and proposed on the spot, proceeding to live a long, happy life together.
But sometimes the wonderful scene spiraled into a nightmare; though still remaining a scenario in which he confessed his true love. But here the difference was the identity of the true love.
She then prepared to replay the events of her dreams, brain working furiously, cobwebs untangling themselves from hollow areas, and she began pulling details from the far edges of her mind, finding the most hurtful memories buried inside her cluttered cranium as she walked still forward behind him in the true forest, paying no attention to the scenery around her, eyes glassy and distant.
Her vision slowly seemed to be replaced by merely a foggy sense of surroundings, but then new and more verdant trees and plants began to form in her mind. Rustling leaves were heard from a calm zephyr, and both of them were in a seemingly innocent, dense wood. Moist soil sat under her leather sandals and his black loafers, and before anyone spoke there was a still silence; she felt like she was holding her breath, waiting for something. Tension in the air could have been sliced with a knife, and she groped for a word to say, but her mouth seemed sealed shut.
The woods were darkened by the shade of leafy summer trees, and small patches of sunlight were scattered across the forest floor.
Nearly forgetting she was in the dream, her breath shorted with a start as she remembered her fantasy's beginning and her nightmare's beginning were exactly the same. He looked at her skeptically, obviously wondering what her problem was. His gaze had a definite coolness to it, so she replied with a steely glare and a shrug.
They sat on mossy logs opposite to each other, and he started by huffing out a short breath, muttering that he had something to tell her. Her eyebrows raised and she snorted, but she lowered her eyes to the ground, fingers grazing her caramel hair.
Was this the nightmare or the dream?
He then stood with an air of pride and announced that he had found his true love at last. She looked up, and her eyes shone with unshed tears; she prayed with desperation that this was her fantasy...
But the very next second his mouth moved in a hasty manner, his tongue rolling in a harsh accent. She stared with wide eyes as he finished pronouncing the sounds in a seemingly foreign language.
He called out the foreign name again whilst an unknown, faceless girl pranced to his side, a veil shrouding her eyes, her small frame dressed in a frilly gown.
Her mouth gaped open in shock and she started shaking in anger.
She stood up in tears, hair flying wildly around her, and she confronted him, uncaring of her feral appearance. Her voice came out a strangled scream, but he and his lady merely leaned back in disgust. His girl then whispered something in his ear, and he laughed.
Somehow, his garb had also changed magically in a cloud of mist into matrimonial cloth, and he and the unknown woman strutted away, leaving her sitting slouched in the dirt with her face in her knees, but not before he turned around to tell her that he wished to never speak to her again. She sobbed even harder.
Shaking her head vigorously, she was brought back from the dream…the nightmare…and found herself still walking in the forest, and, to her immense relief, he still walked right ahead of her, looking the same, no unknown girl by his side.
Her forehead ached from the painful false memory, and she rubbed her eyes laboriously.
She knew in her heart he would never be so cold towards her. Even if he loved another, they were still close and his true character was not the cruel depiction in her nightmare... she hoped.
Perhaps it was melodramatic to think such nonsense thoughts, something that was quite unlike her in truth, but love, she knew, seemed to coil a person's heart into a twisted maze of great length. A maze that was so intricately weaved, so confusingly complex, only one person was meant to, and be able to, navigate their way to the center. It was a powerful thing, love: even dangerous. It drove people to do strange things. For the most part she was a sharp-tongued young woman with a rebellious streak and quick mind. But lately she was acting pale and meek, not just thanks to her infatuation, but by the awful things happening all around her. She shuddered as gory images of bloodshed and torn bodies from the war invaded her mind.
A sorrowful noise to match her dreary mood was abruptly heard when a breeze trickled around the wiry branches of the bare trees. She continued walking, unwilling to admit to herself that the sound spooked her. A bitter draft then gnawed at her face; newly introducing the biting cold she had endured the entire journey. Shivering, she looked up, and remembered him walking just in front of her, feeling like yelling to him for some comfort. But when she opened her mouth no sound seemed to come out, and she shut it as the wind howled again, moving closer towards her in fast movements, gushing through her ears and nose and making her eyes water in irritation. Her grip on her bag slackened and her eyes went out of focus.
The wind whizzed around her vehemently, making her now billowing skirt slap her legs and loosen her neck collar. Her gait ceased sharply and she stood in silence, knees bent, trying to compose herself and continue walking.
But the drafts – they were too much… the winds beat against her face and stung like angry hornets, the cold gusts feeling like needles on her skin. She must have let out a cry of pain without knowing so, and her feet teetered as she fought for balance. She took a small step forward with great effort, fighting against the wind, barely aware that he was yelling her name, appearing as if from a great distance, waving his hands and rushing to her side. Her mind worked groggily; time slowed down; dust entered her mouth.
Once it reached her throat, she choked: she began to cough violently, her bag slipping out of her grasp as she bent over, clutching her stomach. She hardly noticed him holding her shoulders, saying in hushed tones that she would be all right. She wheezed again, gasping out words of her fatal weakness to earthy substance.
"Allergy."
More heavy coughing, but no answer. Drafts now blew at both of them, and her throat constricted more as she struggled to breathe. She knelt to the ground, retching until it turned to vomiting.
Sitting beside her with worried eyes, he cursed and sputtered out words to himself, something about disasters arising and nature becoming unsettled. The only words she could make out clearly were "calamitous events" and "Lord's fury."
She could understand no more, the lack of air causing unsettling light-headedness. The world sluggishly swam before her eyes and she threw her head forward to retch again, face contorted in pain.
The wind circled her in ringlets, enjoying her misery. Everything was too much… her throat bled, her stomach churned unhappily, her head panged, and her whole body ached and trembled in cold. She was a strong woman... would she truly be killed by wind, something always thought to be a gentle force?
He was now sobbing silently beside her, grasping her hands, tears flowing down his face. His face was ashen and hers, in turn, was white as a ghost. He begged for the Lord to spare her, and then thought frantically of remedies for her ailment from the dust.
Nothing came.
She took one last dazed look up at him, squeezing his hand, taking in his handsome yet terrified face, and then whispered something incomprehensible. Her lips moved once more before she crumpled to the ground.
Thanks so much for reading! Please review and tell me what you like/dislike.
I am sorry for poor organization. Fictionpress does not have the best formatting tools, I suppose.
I am unsure of whether I'll continue or not, though I wish to. I started typing from nothing when beginning this story, so my story outline is still unfinished/barely done, haha. I'm not very good, but perhaps if enough people like my story I will continue. ;)
If you could give me some ideas to continue with, it would be appreciated.
And is she dead? Yes, I believe so. Seems stupid to die from wind and dirt, but she has a severe intolerance to them, and they are more poisonous somehow... I'm not sure I can describe it. But mostly I wanted to show the destructive power of nature, how something very simple can murder.
If you're wondering why this is under fantasy, it is because I am planning to have fantasy elements in it.
Apologies for rambling. xD
Okay, good-bye. :)
P.S. Also, I'd like to share with you a song called Colico by Kris Wilson (an author of web-comic Cyanide and Happiness). It is wordless, just a beautiful instrumental/techno song. Half this story was written while listening to it. Check it out, it is very serene and I love it.