All posts tagged Fiction

Heartless Lover

Published June 19, 2015 by Jess Arwen

Blood, death, anger, and violence permeated the frigid environment on that early winter morning in March. The war carried on, ignoring my presence as I gazed down into the valley from my perch on a cliff.  I shuddered at all the carnage at my feet and fought to gain control over my suddenly flimsy body.  Grim silence overtook me as the battle raged on.  These people, who never thought their lives were worth anything, fought for more than themselves.  They fought for freedom, friendship, family, and love.  Love, which forces even the strongest of men and women to give into its gentle, but inescapable clutches, is the reason I sit here today.  Someone stole my heart when I was younger, but I do not yet know who.  The search dictates the sole mission of the crudelis, the heartless.  We search for those who made us what we are, unfeeling monsters.

To find my thief, I came to the place where I would surely discover deceit, hate, violence, and worthiness of the task incarnate.  As one by one the men fell, the carrion birds swooped lower and lower to devour their next meal.  Passing time, I watched these birds wallow in their horrible, disgusting filth.  They did possess a trace of grace as they let the wind carry them through the air, all except for the corpulent one who could now hardly fly.  Unwillingly, the bird gave into the harsh effects of gravity and fell towards the ground, but at the last moment, he took to the sky once more.  How resilient even the most disgusting creatures act, I thought to myself.  Pondering the birds, I must have drifted off to sleep, for when I awoke, both sides reached concordance.

The carrion birds resting around me flocked away startled as I rose to my feet.  I walked slowly between each dead body and examined faces.  This one viewed death as cordial, that one as terrifying.  Once, I came upon an innocent young woman with a kind face who clung to the dead lover of hers.  Her heart was stolen from her as well, but she gave it willingly.  How was I to find my heart in this mess?  There was no way for me to even know if my thief participated in the battle.  As I rifled through the belongings of each dead soldier, I wondered, as I often did when searching close to death.  What would I do to my thief were I to find him today?  Would I give him my heart willingly, or would I take it back after murdering him in cold blood?

My logic dictated that I shouldn’t murder him at least, for once my heart returned to me, remorse and guilt would plague me for my wrong-doing.  Perhaps murder without the return of my heart would best fit me.  The crudelis live for decades without hearts, so what’s a lifetime in comparison?

What do you think, readers?  What should I do when I find the thief who made me this way?


Response to the Daily Prompt,  Choose Your Own Adventure.


A Dream Haunts Me

Published July 6, 2014 by Jess Arwen

A dream haunts me. Well, it was a dream within a dream, within a dream to be perfectly clear. This all occurred while lying beside one of my friends. I lay in my bed, all snuggled up in the blankets, yet still feeling cold, and looked up to see him sitting beside me. Natural light flowed in, reflecting off each of the not too many dust particles dancing in the warmth. This was odd, for the darkness usually still ruled the light by the time I awoke for the first time in any given day. However, the afternoon clearly ruled. He glanced up at me as I began to move. His eyes had been slowly tracing the pattern on the bottom edge of my blanket.

How easy it is for a man to be tired of waiting and discover solace in simple repetitions of shape! A sombre smile appeared upon his face. He appeared tired. How long must he have sat beside me? The fog of my mind lingered, yet slowly lifted a little more each moment. I could not recall even coming home that night. The last memory rooted in my consciousness was long gone by then. My father walked in, and seeing me awake and a little confused grumpily informed me that it was just like me to fall for the guy who would not dare tell me that something was wrong. He could not bear to destroy my smile. My father asserted that I only have nine months to live, and my friend grimaced as he tried so very hard to keep back tears, those salty drops which flowed fast and easily on many occasions from his eyes but never graced my lashes. We were left alone in silence. Neither of us even attempted speech.

Later, I walked about the kitchen and bathroom, leaving bloody footprints wherever I stepped. I glanced down at my hands and legs to see one thing: blood everywhere, covering every inch of my being. This was my curse. The blood which never ceased flowing from me would eventually kill me. My stride faltered, and I stumbled about. I could not even stand, so I sat right where I was, on the ground. After many tears finally glistened upon my countenance, I tried to stand erect once more. My mother walked in as failure attacked me and asked what I was doing. She told me to be careful. The source of tears finally evaporated, and with one massive gulp, I stood up and yelled as loudly as a sick and feeble girl can, “I will live! Do you hear? I will live.” I walked about, stumbling, being assisted by mother, as I declared over and over that I would win. I would live. I believed myself, but I also feared the inevitable. I hoped I would live.

I awoke next to my friend. My breath came in shallow, short bursts, and I grabbed his arm. My other friend sat up and asked if anyone had just had the same dream as him. The others replied affirmatively, and I feared for their sanity. However, they had a different dream than I. Theirs was a battle, from one of their favourite video games, and out of fear, I chuckled along with them and declared that I too imagined myself as epic. However, this was fallacy.

I then awoke next to my friend. I listened for a moment as I no longer heard banter about the dream world. He snored, and the others breathed heavy as if still in REM sleep. My entire body shook, not from cold, but from fear. I woke him up to ask him how long I have left to live. He spoke and calmed my nerves, but then the worst happened.

I awoke next to my friend, or under him, rather. He had rolled over in his sleep and was crushing my face with his shoulder. After a moment’s reflection from the dreams while listening to his gentle breathing, I decided not to wake him, but to lie in fear alone. This was short-lived, for I fell back asleep soon, and the dream deserted me until morning. However, it still haunts me, and I fear. Perhaps I should talk to someone about it. It felt so real, and though I carry on as if I live without fear, I am the most fearful you may meet. I cannot shake this feeling. No piano or singing has helped yet, and I fear. My stomach is twisted in anxiety, and I fear to go to sleep for two reasons: first, I do not want that dream again, and, second, I fear I will not wake up again.