Creativity spurt
Somtimes, writing happens....
Always, Every Day
Running. Running. Always running. But never fast enough. She always seemed so far away. The man infront of her as she sat upon her knees, bound and gagged. He laughed. Always laughed. She would turn her head, like she always did, her eyes closed, brows upturned as her pretty red hair caught the wind from her movement. That bastard. He had to run faster. But he never could make it in time. No matter how much his chest burned. How much his head pounded. He was always running. Never arriving. There was a sudden burst of pain in the back of his right shoulder, as he felt the sword pierce through to the other side, like it always did. He stumbled, as he watched the red flash cut across her neck. He hit the ground at the same time she did, the lake of blood forming underneath both of their bodies. As it always did. Then came the laughter, as always. The same revolting, disgusting laughter from his ugly face. That bastard...
He sat up, gripping his chest as he caught his breath. His heart was slamming against his ribcage, as if attempting to escape from its prison of bone. The sweat coated his hair and face, his night shirt clung to his torso as he gasped. His right hand tugged at the wet bed sheets. They were cold, and soaked through, and stunk of sweat. She would scold him again. It always like this. Every morning, for the past year. Every thing repeated, like it always did. He blinked as a drop of sweat fell into his eye, as he still sat upright, there in the bed. The same bed, in the same inn. Above the same tavern. The same sun shone through that same damned window. The monotony of his life had began to drive him mad. She would come in, soon.
Just as he had predicted, a knock at the door came, and a gentle voice echoed from it behind. The same voice he had become accostomed to, this entire year. "Mister Owen?" She always called him that. "I'm coming in." Her cheerful voice announced, as the door knob turned, and a pretty face to match the voice came in. She stood a moment, in the door before she pushed a wooden food cart into the room, as she brought him the same breakfast she had made for him everyday. "Another nightmare?" She asked, with the same concerned tone in her voice. Every day, it was the same question. And every day, he never answered her. She seemed to draw her own conclusions. He wondered why she put up with him. "Honestly, Mister Owen. I dont know what I'm going to do with you." She placed her dainty hands infront of the same frilly apron she wore everyday, to work. "You worry me to death. I'm afraid I'll come in here and I'll find my favorite customer laying still, in bed..." She sighed at him, letting her head droop, her cute, short hair bouncing as it always did. "I would be sad if you had a heart attack in your sleep."
He watched her as she spoke to him, then began to fold up the wet sheets as she pulled them from the bed. "I'll have these ready for you before you return, tonight, as usual." She informed him with the same pretty smile she always gave him. Her amber eyes flickered over to him. This time, he really felt awful for being silent. For always giving her the cold shoulder. He stared at his hands that rested in his lap, before turning his head towards her, and flashing her a smile.She blushed, immediately. Touching her cheek with her tiny fingers, she looked away. Smiling meekly, she glanced back to him from the corner of her eye. "Y-you should eat your breakfast." She nodded, and hurried out of the room as fast as her legs could carry her slender form. "Have a good day, Mister Owen!" She closed the door behind her in her attempt to escape her embarassment. His eyes looked over at the steaming eggs and oatmeal. He took the milk first, as usual, and gulped it down.
An hour later, after finishing off the food and getting dressed, he strapped his armor to his chest, and picked up the short sword that lay at the foot of his bed. He slung it around his shoulder, and ran his fingers through his short black hair. Tightening the strap on the scabbard, he walked out the door, and down the same stairs to the tavern. There she was, waiting at the door for him, as always. But today, something different happened as she watched him leave. She stopped him. Tugging at the green fabric of his shirt, upon his sleeve, she pulled him over ever so gently. "Mister Owen." She looked up at him, her brows upturned. He frowned. What was that look for? "I dont know what you do, all day. Every day. Day in, day out." She looked as if she were about to burst into tears. "But I cant bare the thought of you not coming back." He watched her expression change from upset, to now weeping silently. "Your nightmares," She continued. "get worse every night. The whole inn can hear you scream in your sleep. Its a strain on us. But yet..." She choked, biting her lip.
"But yet we dont want you not coming back." She looked down, pulling away and stepping back. "I-I'm sorry." His eyes blinked for but a split second, as he watched her run her fingers through her bangs. "I know...you wont say anything." She went on, the hint of crying in her voice. "But please...Whatever you do, it must be important. But..dont let it kill you." Her hair wavered in the wind as she turned to look at him, her brows still upturned. His eyes widened, as he caught the look on her face. She was like her. It was like that time. He felt the pain in his shoulder return, as he reached up and gripped it there. She stood there, looking up at him for a long moment. "...I'll come back, Emma." He smiled at her again. "I promise, I'll run faster, this time. So..." He paused, placing his gloved hand upon her shoulder. "...So I can protect you. You dont have to worry." He turned away from her, and walked down the road that led out of town. She watched him, as she always did. A small smile came upon her soft features as she saw him dissappear as he always did. "I know you will. You always do." She sighed, placing her hands against her heart as she turned, and went back inside.
I cant stop you, but please dont copy, or steal. =(
Always, Every Day
Running. Running. Always running. But never fast enough. She always seemed so far away. The man infront of her as she sat upon her knees, bound and gagged. He laughed. Always laughed. She would turn her head, like she always did, her eyes closed, brows upturned as her pretty red hair caught the wind from her movement. That bastard. He had to run faster. But he never could make it in time. No matter how much his chest burned. How much his head pounded. He was always running. Never arriving. There was a sudden burst of pain in the back of his right shoulder, as he felt the sword pierce through to the other side, like it always did. He stumbled, as he watched the red flash cut across her neck. He hit the ground at the same time she did, the lake of blood forming underneath both of their bodies. As it always did. Then came the laughter, as always. The same revolting, disgusting laughter from his ugly face. That bastard...
He sat up, gripping his chest as he caught his breath. His heart was slamming against his ribcage, as if attempting to escape from its prison of bone. The sweat coated his hair and face, his night shirt clung to his torso as he gasped. His right hand tugged at the wet bed sheets. They were cold, and soaked through, and stunk of sweat. She would scold him again. It always like this. Every morning, for the past year. Every thing repeated, like it always did. He blinked as a drop of sweat fell into his eye, as he still sat upright, there in the bed. The same bed, in the same inn. Above the same tavern. The same sun shone through that same damned window. The monotony of his life had began to drive him mad. She would come in, soon.
Just as he had predicted, a knock at the door came, and a gentle voice echoed from it behind. The same voice he had become accostomed to, this entire year. "Mister Owen?" She always called him that. "I'm coming in." Her cheerful voice announced, as the door knob turned, and a pretty face to match the voice came in. She stood a moment, in the door before she pushed a wooden food cart into the room, as she brought him the same breakfast she had made for him everyday. "Another nightmare?" She asked, with the same concerned tone in her voice. Every day, it was the same question. And every day, he never answered her. She seemed to draw her own conclusions. He wondered why she put up with him. "Honestly, Mister Owen. I dont know what I'm going to do with you." She placed her dainty hands infront of the same frilly apron she wore everyday, to work. "You worry me to death. I'm afraid I'll come in here and I'll find my favorite customer laying still, in bed..." She sighed at him, letting her head droop, her cute, short hair bouncing as it always did. "I would be sad if you had a heart attack in your sleep."
He watched her as she spoke to him, then began to fold up the wet sheets as she pulled them from the bed. "I'll have these ready for you before you return, tonight, as usual." She informed him with the same pretty smile she always gave him. Her amber eyes flickered over to him. This time, he really felt awful for being silent. For always giving her the cold shoulder. He stared at his hands that rested in his lap, before turning his head towards her, and flashing her a smile.She blushed, immediately. Touching her cheek with her tiny fingers, she looked away. Smiling meekly, she glanced back to him from the corner of her eye. "Y-you should eat your breakfast." She nodded, and hurried out of the room as fast as her legs could carry her slender form. "Have a good day, Mister Owen!" She closed the door behind her in her attempt to escape her embarassment. His eyes looked over at the steaming eggs and oatmeal. He took the milk first, as usual, and gulped it down.
An hour later, after finishing off the food and getting dressed, he strapped his armor to his chest, and picked up the short sword that lay at the foot of his bed. He slung it around his shoulder, and ran his fingers through his short black hair. Tightening the strap on the scabbard, he walked out the door, and down the same stairs to the tavern. There she was, waiting at the door for him, as always. But today, something different happened as she watched him leave. She stopped him. Tugging at the green fabric of his shirt, upon his sleeve, she pulled him over ever so gently. "Mister Owen." She looked up at him, her brows upturned. He frowned. What was that look for? "I dont know what you do, all day. Every day. Day in, day out." She looked as if she were about to burst into tears. "But I cant bare the thought of you not coming back." He watched her expression change from upset, to now weeping silently. "Your nightmares," She continued. "get worse every night. The whole inn can hear you scream in your sleep. Its a strain on us. But yet..." She choked, biting her lip.
"But yet we dont want you not coming back." She looked down, pulling away and stepping back. "I-I'm sorry." His eyes blinked for but a split second, as he watched her run her fingers through her bangs. "I know...you wont say anything." She went on, the hint of crying in her voice. "But please...Whatever you do, it must be important. But..dont let it kill you." Her hair wavered in the wind as she turned to look at him, her brows still upturned. His eyes widened, as he caught the look on her face. She was like her. It was like that time. He felt the pain in his shoulder return, as he reached up and gripped it there. She stood there, looking up at him for a long moment. "...I'll come back, Emma." He smiled at her again. "I promise, I'll run faster, this time. So..." He paused, placing his gloved hand upon her shoulder. "...So I can protect you. You dont have to worry." He turned away from her, and walked down the road that led out of town. She watched him, as she always did. A small smile came upon her soft features as she saw him dissappear as he always did. "I know you will. You always do." She sighed, placing her hands against her heart as she turned, and went back inside.
I cant stop you, but please dont copy, or steal. =(