DA Holder67
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I have decided to take a swing at writing narratives. I now present to you The Run, a story about living on the run.
Chapter One
Ristur scurried out of the rain and into the barn like a mouse, his cloak nearly catching in the string-loaded doorway. His nostrils were instantly filled with the pungent, sour smell of sweat. He quickly hid behind the nearest stack of hay and hoped he would not be found. He heard a large crash, then a man speaking, "I know of no one named Ristur. Please leave me be." Ristur's heart sunk. They had found him.
A loud bang rang through the barn. The sound was followed by a sickening squishing noise and a bloodcurdling scream. A door a few feet away from was suddenly thrown open violently. A large, well fed man stepped in, followed by four or five skinny men dressed in rags and holding daggers. "Find him," the fat man said calmly, in a deep, rich voice. At that, the armed men began ripping apart the barn. Ristur held his breath. One of the men began to edge towards the hay stack he was behind. Ristur slowly began to reach into his cloak.
Ristur jumped up with warning, swinging the rapier he had in his cloak with masterful elegance. The tip of the weapon swiped across the nearby thugs' chest, leaving a deep red groove across his pectorals. A carefully delivered kick to the stomach sent the thug backwards and onto his back. Two more of the men attacked Ristur, and he disarmed and disabled them in seconds. The one remaining skinny man was not so lucky. An expertly executed upward slice severed several veins in his wrist, causing to fall to the ground, bleeding profusely. The well fed man, obviously their leader, approached Ristur carefully, drawing a flintlock pistol from his belt.
"Ristur," the man growled in his unnaturally deep voice, "if I were a stupid man, I'd shoot you. But I know what your capable of. Now, you've escaped me this time. But next time, you will not be so lucky. I'll be watching you. Closely." He pivoted and walked towards his three still living men. "Worthless weaklings!" he yelled in a voice thick with anger before remorselessly shooting the thugs. A fleck of blood splashed up onto Ristur's face. He moved the bodies outside, barricaded both doors, and collapsed on a haystack, crying lightly before fading to sleep.
"Where did I go wrong?"
< Message edited by Cow Face -- 5/20/2010 15:47:37 >
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