State of my year

This year has been an interesting one. In fact, so interesting, that I feel like I’ve fallen off the rails three times already. I mean, Jesus, some of the situations I’ve faced this year have been absolutely bonkers. BONKERS I TELL YOU! Did that feel like I shouted at you? Good,  we’ll need that for later.

So, January was an interesting month to come back to. I had Christmas at my parents house in December, and after going back to University, I found that the girl I spent most of my time with, before Christmas, just disappeared from existence, even though I saw her in class, sometimes, anyway. I mean, at one point, I felt like shouting, “COME ON, WHAT HAVE I DONE!?” and when we did talk, it was very awkward, we avoided eye contact, though she still got jealous with my ridiculously harmless flirting with others when she was around. It was a conundrum indeed. Actually, I don’t think she knows how much that messed with my head, because before Christmas, we were spending 1/2, or 1/3 days together, and when I say that, I mean, the whole day. After we returned to University in January, it went down to a 20 minute coffee every 3 weeks. But, I suppose, that’s what happens when you tell someone how you feel.

In January, I also got myself into a difficult situation where I was trying to be there for a friend, but I ended up getting blamed for a problem that wasn’t my fault. It was just a shitty situation that had gone on too long, due to whatever reason, or most likely, people interfering. It taught me a lot about what to help people with, and what not to help people with. Relationships? THEY ARE A BIG NO-NO. See? Shouting that out, doesn’t that make you feel better?

So, anyway, in February, I got so upset, and distant, that I disappeared, and my cry for help was when I drank a copious amount of liquor, and drunk messaged everyone. I mean, I acted happy, but not a single one of the people who told me they knew me, and knew me well, noticed. Aside from a girl who was a very new friend at the time. I talked about this moment a dozen times, but I will always remember this moment as the time where I found someone I wanted to hold onto.

She came to my house one evening, and told me she read my posts, which were pretty dark at the time, and she demanded some answers, and started to cry over the idea that I couldn’t talk to anyone, and not her about my problems, even though she spilled her problems onto the table the second day we met. It was cute, and memorable. I’m pretty sure I fell for her quickly, though I told myself I wouldn’t, or tried to hide it well, anyway. But, we just had way too much fun, and what not.

In March, she was the only person to buy me a gift for my birthday, aside from having a card from my parents. Sure, I don’t expect anything from anyone. But even the people I bought presents for earlier in the year, or even a month or two before, didn’t even see me for my birthday, so I felt pretty alone. Though the girl couldn’t come over for my birthday, she bought me a lion teddy, to remind me of her because she dressed up in a lion-onesie one day, and knew I found it funny.

In the earlier months of the year I found it difficult to enjoy my time at University. I found the classes either boring, and very fruitless, or I found that they were telling us we should understand this, but it was something they hadn’t even mentioned, or not directed us to where to find the information. Then again, I was put off some of the reading because of the same reasons. It was very encumbering, and I fell into a rut.

My friend kept coming around, and trying to make me feel better, bless her. Actually, most of the beginning months of the year, the good parts, are based around her. It’s sad, in a way, but pleasant in another. I remember dancing with her in my kitchen, and spinning her around. I remember her yelling at me, or knowing what I wanted before I knew. It’s incredible when you get close enough to someone that you understand each other in a way that requires no communication.

Anyway, in April, I started coming back into social circles, and putting my face out there, again. It wasn’t much, but it was a start, though it put me off again, when everyone practically ignored me every time I spoke, and so I gave up on the group we had on Facebook. what is the point in having a group if everyone ignores you, right?

So, I started focusing on me. I managed to pull myself out of my rut, I had a girlfriend, (not the friend) but it didn’t go well, for two reasons. I may have been in love with someone else (Pretty big one, I know.) and two, she bored the hell out of me. I couldn’t talk to her, and all she wanted to do was watch television. AGAIN, BIG NO NO! Ha-ha, I bet you still read that as me shouting at you. In fact, I found more affection from the girl who had become a close friend, than I did my partner at the time. It meant that I had to break up with my partner, which I did. So, that was a very short 4 week relationship. But hey, at least I was being honest with myself.

Moving on, I told my best friend the truth, and how I felt. And she told me she couldn’t, because of several reasons, one being her leaving soon, and another one I won’t talk about online. But, alas, we still got closer, and perhaps it was a natural thing, once feelings are aired. So, in June, I ‘made’ (she came by choice, but didn’t like to tell me) her come to a BBQ/party we had. And that’s when it hit off between us. My fault, I thought I’d be nice, to take her upstairs, and I planned to sleep downstairs with the guys, because there were two other guys in the house, and she grabbed my hand before we left. I won’t go into anymore detail about that, but lets just say, it took about 4 weeks after she left the country (went back home after her year stay here), to get over it. For me, anyway.

What I found was that she didn’t care about what happened, and she did it for me. It hurt me, like a knife to my heart. Really. But, I survived it, and though it tarnished my motivational triumph of finally getting my ass to the gym, I found myself living my day around her talking to me for a while too. I had to get some space from her, so I did just that. Now, we talk very little, just now and then. I had an argument with her on the weekend, which allowed me to see her just as a friend, and though we are okay as friends, we are just that, and we won’t ever be more than that. I’m completely okay with that though. The way things went, it wouldn’t be a good relationship if we did try. As it wasn’t very virtuous to begin with.

That being said, I’m sure she’s trying her best to be my friend. We are getting along, but that’s that.

So here I am, I had been to the gym for nine weeks, and lost 5KG, that’s all. I have much more muscle now, and feel better in myself. The plan is to jog three times a week, and I’ve come to a point where I feel comfortable enough in myself to believe, trust, and honour myself. The only people I have to worry about, presently, are myself, and my daughter.

That being said, I’ve found myself getting closer to an ex partner of mine, who I dated in 2013, and we’ve been good friends since. My Swedish Lady friend. She’s coming to visit me in September, and who knows, maybe things will improve drastically over the next few months, and though we are not expecting anything to happen, it will be a lovely surprised to see her again. It has definitely been too long.

So, over-all, I have much to do this summer, including actually reading the books I promised myself I would read, improve my grammar, and lexis and phonology, and become a better me. I already feel that happening. If anyone tries to interrupt that, or halt my path, I will move around you, jump over you, or just walk through you, and change you from someone who is in my life, to someone who is now a ghost of my past.

To end this post, I would like to state that I met many people on a short two week course I had in July, where I met many people I would love to meet again. Perhaps, I’ll have a holiday in Spain next year, and we could all meet up for a meal again. I’ve never been with so many people that we had a meal between 24-30 of us, but it was amazing, and an experience I will definitely not forget.

So, this has been my catch-up year. I’ve gained friends, I’ve lost friends, I lost myself, and found myself, I’ve been scraping the bottom of my motivation, and now I’m on fire, so to speak. NO DIRTY JOKES, COME NOW. Ha, I bet you read that shouting, again. It never gets old. But, over-all, I’ve come to rely on myself, and that, has been a more important lesson to me, than anything else I have experienced this year. It means that when my second year starts, I will be in a position to manage everything that comes my way, good, or bad.

So, bring it on.

A to Z

A to Z is an exercise where you create sentences starting with each letter of the alphabet, make a story with them, or write a poem. If you want to respond to this you are very much welcome!

A start to a wonderful, but cloudy day.

Because I hate it when the weather can’t make up it’s mind.

Careless, I’m wearing shorts and it is likely to rain.

Decisive, I have no time to waste deciding what to do with my day.

Exercising this, I find myself understanding more.

Funneling this creativity, I can say, things are getting fun.

Ghastly, is something I sometimes feel when I get up in the morning.

Heavy, though I know I’ve lost some weight, I still feel heavy.

Imperial “Stop, you imperial scum” my brain works in crazy ways, sometimes.

Justice, is something that I am quite sensitive about.

Kindness, is something that I preach.

Love, is something that I long for.

Music, is something that I’m always listening to.

Nothing beats a good old fashioned dance-off.

Omniscient, I wish!

Poly-amorous, do we need more of this, or less?

Quicksilver is another name for Mercury.

Ruthless is something I am, when it comes to games.

Sexy, is something I am incapable of being (so not true).

Trust, is something that is hard to give.

Understanding is another concept I long for.

Virtue is something human society lacks today and I wish it was different.

Whittington is my last name, and it is something that I always hear jokes about

Xenophobia is something that I do not agree with because I feel it is wrong!

Ying-yang is a symbol that I firmly believe in, balance.

Zealous, is something that is both impressive, and frightening.

Your turn.

Crisis

In response to Daily post’s Crisis.

I will be writing these daily post responses from a character’s perspective.

 

Crisis to me is a state of mind. Some deem it impractical, involuntary, destroying-I don’t; I find it relishing. The state of when your primal instincts are pushed to a new level of awareness. In whatever scenario, whether you’re surrounded by your enemies, lost in the woods with a bear, or a pack of wolves. Whether you have lost your home, or escaping the reaches of wild-fire; it is a rich, empowering feeling. I understand for some it can be fearful, but as deceptive as it is, if you understand it, and adjust your body to it… it can become addictive.

Crisis, like when I was surrounded by soldiers, ruthless, ungrateful idiots who called me a monster, and tried to strike me down. I remember it well. There was something about it which allowed me to enjoy it. Though I felt in peril, and the need to protect my wife, my family, I found myself surrounded by those soldiers, and something inside me was released. It was though a part of me which I felt disgusted with came to the brim of existence. It was a crisis that could’ve been avoided. I was the one to walk away from that situation. Here is my story.

-Seraph

The Monster Within (Daps Story)

I spent the last five years running away from everything I knew. Five years… I fell to my hands and knees weeping my very soul out. I begged the gods for a quick death; a quick death was all I asked, but none came. I walked for weeks upon weeks, sluggishly stumbling through the snow like an old, pale-faced frost giant. When I collapsed, the real Ice Queen found me… Esmeralda was her name? No, Emerald. I think. She had beautiful green eyes, oh, I remember those eyes well. Those eyes were the ones I woke up to; after dying in the snow – or at least I thought I’d died. Her hair: thick, long, light brown. That shade, light enough to reflect the light of the fire that warmed us. I was sure I was dead, blood everywhere, absorbed into my clothes. Where did my clothes even go?  Ah, I remember. She washed and repaired them, that’s right.

She gave me hope, a renewed sense of conviction. That being said, I’ll always remember her soft lips. Her kiss, untouched by the cold. She was the one who ignited my fire by telling me news of my Freya. My lady. Such a beautiful woman, not only for her looks. Some spoke of her being the incarnation of the Goddess Freyja, herself.  Once I heard of her being pawned off to the brother of the prince that killed my mother, my eyes lit up with a boundless rage. I spent no more than a month training my body, my mind, and my soul. I left Emerald at her house to embark on a mission to save Freya. I owed her that much – ever since we were kids. She was the only girl who would go near me, never mind dance with me. I threw on my grey, laced tunic, and black leather trousers. I noticed Emerald watching me as I dressed, wrapping my legs with the cloth bandages that held my family seal in its stitching; surely a reminder of the shame I brought to my father. I stood in ankle-high boots and turned to face her. She handed me my father’s cloak, weaving words of wisdom that would stay with me for the remainder of my days, “You don’t have to wear this cloak. You’re not him. You’re not your father.” In her boldly spoken words my eyes uncomfortably glistened, expressing an uncontrollable emotion seeping from my heavy heart.

I was so sensitive back then, though that side never left me – it grew worse. You see, I had a monster inside me. My own shadow. It walked alongside me every step of the way, and I see it now I look back. My father gave it power. My father gave it rise. He taught me how to control it or did he hope to unleash it? My head shakes at the thought of it. Were they all that? So twisted, and broken that they wanted me to kill them all? I always felt this presence in my heart protecting me from such things like the first time my shadow reached for my body. Let me tell you the story.

Freya, and I were running from the soldiers hunting us down like wild dogs we ran through what seemed the heaviest of rains I had ever had the pleasure of enduring. My mind, lost. My body reacted on its own, empowered with adrenaline. My mind searched for answers, piecing puzzles together. Freya always noticed. I remember the way she looked at me when I caught her falling through the mud. My cloak covered in dirt, and heavy with water; stained with the blood of many men by this point. Though I had not yet taken a life in the name of revenge. I looked into those eyes, just like every other time watching the sea flow around them. I still remember those crystal blue eyes so clearly, so vividly, and just thinking about them makes my own eyes flow like a fresh water river. I clung to her bust, sliding through the mud myself. I found I held her away from the mud, I was protecting even when I, myself stood broken.

She saw the sadness in my eyes; and I watched her long, raven-black wet hair stick to her face, and clothes. I don’t quite understand why it fascinated me, perhaps it was that even with her hair stuck to her face I could only see beauty. She was the only person I had left. I felt my heart beat pound in my chest like the hammer of a blacksmith battering the hot, burning anvil. My breath weakened, my balance swayed. My hair fell in front of my face and I stood in the mud, Freya in my arms. I felt the touch of her hand on my cheek which brought me back to her, “I’m sorry you lost your father, my love.” She announced, swallowing her sadness with a strong gulp, and wiping the tears rolling down my face. How did she know? The rain covered my face, and with the sweat squeezing through my pores it should have been undetectable. Is this what love means?

I carried her through the rain, using my father’s teachings to keep my balance. My pupils must have seemed wide, or at least I think that was why Freya looked at me with such a tilted gaze. Whispers of my past showed me the way to a village I used to visit, I hoped I still had a friend there. Was he still a friend? I had no choice; my dearest Freya was in no condition to be slushing through the mud, and rain – unlike myself. I liked to think of myself as the hero… oh, I wish I could. I’m really sorry I couldn’t save myself. I couldn’t keep the part of me you longed to keep… could I?

After squelching through the softened earth, much like my calmed heart I reached an inn. I carried Freya inside and whispered the words that liars, pretenders and heart-breakers sing. I was good at that. While she rested and the rain calmed down I sought aid from my childhood friend Vincent, son of the Raven. I always used to win the little duels we had as children. I made him so envious of me; I miss those days. Again, tears ran down my face, crafted from the darkest trenches of my heart. Why can’t I understand my tears?

I knocked the door twice, and opened it enough to peek inside. I shouted, “Vincent!” The door creaked open revealing the great hall inside. Something came over me when I entered, like the memory of the future engraving the ink of the world onto my back. Alarmed, I tried to close the door and walk away but he had already heard me. In front of me stood a larger man than I. He still stood over me, even with a crooked back and bum leg. He looked like he had been through more of Hel than what I had been through. He invited me in, and we drank a horn of wine together. I explained my story, and he explained his. I hid details from him to protect Freya, of course. He seemed very welcoming and it was a nice change. I did notice his mood changing, however. I could not help but feel the tension of the room getting stronger. I noticed his focused eyes, stiffened upper-lip, cautious movement, restless leg.

I felt my empty scabbard now, more than ever. I left my sword next to Freya’s bed. How stupid could I have been. I bowed my head, ever so slightly, humbly thanking Vincent for the food, and then left to attend Freya. When I closed the front door of the inn, I heard a horse outside whinny, and the sound of galloping pursued. At first I silenced my mind and shrugged it off. I couldn’t leave, as Freya was asleep, and her clothes still soaked. She rested by the fire, and I thanked the inn-keepers. My father and I met them when I was young, before all this.

My mind opened up, my eyes slowed down time they moved so fast. My heart raced. I was studying my memories. The ones from my past and the ones of my future; counting the days to my death. You’d call me stupid for staying, wouldn’t you? My dearest Freya. I could have woken you at the first sign of trouble. I didn’t. You needed your strength. You do not have my endurance, nor my resistance to the weather. You’ve lead a soft life. Not like mine… Oh how I admire your innocence. My hands are coarse, scarred and filled with the blood of innocent people.

Whether directly, or indirectly, I have caused the end of my closest friends, my allies, and the people I’ve considered family. I ran, I always ran. I’m still the same fool I was when I left the breast of my mother. I should have listened to the warnings. I should’ve followed you, Lisett. You knew me, before we even met. Maybe things would have been different if you took me with you. I can’t change my path now, though. I’ve been set in clay. I’ve been re-heated, and re-worked too many times. My nails brittle, body cracking, pieces of bone chipping away from my arms and legs. I feel like that to say the very least; the innocent souls were growing each passing day; they are beginning to engulf my soul; soon, they will swallow me. I am sinking into a sea of nothing, becoming no-one, where nothing but darkness resides. I am okay, as long as I am not the cause of another person’s death. I cannot let anyone else die, I simply cannot run away anymore. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you, Dad.

My eyes closed for a moment. I fell asleep, one hand gripping my sword tight and the other holding Freya’s hand. Moments like these seemed perfect, euphoric even. The inn-keepers walked in and told us we had a bed upstairs. I thanked them graciously, took Freya upstairs, and we sat in our room. She always knew when I was strategizing, learning, overcoming my fears, unlocking doors, and walking through the corridors of my mind. She put her hands on my cheeks, and held my face still. She forced me to look into her eyes, and asked, “Are you afraid?”

Every bone, and every cell in my body tried to procure the strength, and guile to tell a white lie – to protect her. I announced with streaming eyes, clenched fists and a gulping tongue, “The only thing I am afraid of” She took me closer, interrupting me, “Is yourself?” she pulled my head to her chest, and clutched me tightly, embracing me in her arms. I couldn’t help it. There was nothing I could do. I wept. My eyes flowed like a mountain steam, snot shamefully dribbled out of my nose. My hands quivered, and shook. I felt weak, and I held this unbearable pain in my chest. It felt so tight like the blade of a knife piercing my lungs. I cried out, and I’m sure everyone in the inn heard me whimper. It was pathetic.

I fell asleep in her arms after almost an hour of humiliating myself. My dreams manifested in my mind. It produced an over-bearing feeling. I came face to face with a green eyed devil through my mind’s eye. He had the skin of a snake, face of a human, and the eyes of a fox? Perhaps it was too dark to tell. It scared me. It talked to me, scratching the walls of my corridors, my halls, my peace. It tormented my very foundations. It was so angry, bitter, and wild. Are you my anger? My hatred? My malice?

I gasped for breath and woke to not a single soul in my room. “Freya?”, I called out, but received no response, not even an echo to console me. I tightened my leg wraps that kept my body strong. The bandages on my arms were gone, revealing the long eight armed tattoo that stretched down the sleeve of my wrist, from my elbow to my hand. The engraving of scar tissue proved a dark memory. The gruesome sight of my bare skin, defiled by the magic of blood left a sickening taste in my mouth. I had used it, defiling my soul. It made me strong, too strong. It made me a monster.

I had no choice but to find Freya, arms bare, and scars vulnerable to others. Christians would crucify me for the path I walked. Most Nordic people would fear me for my knowledge, my ways of old, pre-dating the ways of the new world. She knew it would be dangerous for my tattoos to be shown. Why did she take them? I walked down the set of wooden stairs, leading into the main hall. I stood, aligning my arms with the oak banister that curled at the bottom of the stairs. I saw my bandages hanging over the fire, drying. She had to wash them at a time like this…

I knew what she would say, “They were dirty.” Or, “Someone had to wash them. You wouldn’t, would you?” That was her way, always demanding me be clean. I found myself giving a soft smile at the idea of her arrogant, cleanly ways. I waited on the stairs as she talked to the inn-keeper. He was nice enough, a short haired man, stubble hanging off his chin. He was an honest bloke. A family man, two children, a wife. This type of setting made me forget, forget about myself, my stained past.

I heard the sound of a galloping horse moving in the opposite direction to last time. Could it have been a messenger? I had hoped it was just a traveller. I looked outside and felt the darkness reaching out. It wanted me. I saw nothing but the wilting trees, and heard little else. I caught glimpses of the full moon hovering in the sky, breaching the soft skinned, floating defenders we call clouds. That was the moment. The moment it talked to me.

“Thomas… Thomas!” it spat out words, like a ghoulish revenant, “They are coming for her. They are coming. Let me in. I’ll save her.” I shook my head. Freya clocked it. My hands shook, I gripped the other hand tight. Tight enough to leave bloody marks in my palms. I closed my eyes, and chanted an old tune, recycled with time. “In our darkest days, our darkest nights,” the voice hauntingly spoke, “We will run the colour sanguine down the walls of the world of men.” I tightened my grip, pushing my nails inside my skin. I continued, “We shall overcome, for all to see, the power of our own devils.” I repeated this, and repeated it. Until the voices stopped. Freya came up to me and spotted the dripping blood.

“What are you doing!?” she shouted, so refined, so confused. I looked at her, and breathed so soothingly,

“It stopped.” I announced, wiping the sweat from my brow.

Her sorrow for my soul was true. She fiercely approached me, brimming to the rim with bravery, “You will tell me what in the name of our ancestors you were doing!” I smiled, I found this side of her so lovely. “Don’t you dare smile, what aren’t you telling me!?” she shouted with a crunched up brow and sharpened eyes.

“I’m running from my-” Every bone in my body stopped. A pain ripped through my head like no other I had ever experienced.  Everything was quiet. I raised my hand to Freya and the world grew silent.

My eyes clung to something in the shadows. Something stood in the darkness looking back at me.

That was the moment I became something else.

I bore my teeth, witnessed my breath mark the window. I clenched my fists, and felt no pain. I looked at Freya, and even she took a step back. Had my eyes changed? I pointed to the top of the stairs, “We’re not alone, now hide!”.

My pupils widened, my eyesight focused. I felt it coming. What was it? What was this shiver, this sinister sensation, this pain creeping up my spine? The lights needed to die down. Freya needed a chance to hide. She shouldn’t witness this, not this – not now! Don’t be silly, let her see. Let them all see. I won’t, I can’t, I refuse! Let me out, I’ll protect her, save her. She’ll die here otherwise. Face it, you need me. No, I can’t. I stepped away from the window, feeling uneasy with this place. What was that smell? Oil? Burning? Oh no… Not again!

I grabbed the bucket of water and sprayed it over the fire dowsing the flames. Everything turned black. There was a flicker of a candle near the window but it was too risky to show my face now. I needed my shroud, this black fog. I could feel my shadow beckoning, tainting me, and pushing me to let it in. I couldn’t… could I? What would happen to me? Who would I become?

The door knocked.

I questioned everything, my existence, even whether this was a dream. My hands were bleeding, blood had covered my fingers, and I smeared it through the centre-point of my tattoos. I smeared it well, smudging it from my palm to my elbow. The ritual, complete.

I looked to the right of me, watching the world slow to a stop as the inn-keeper approached the door to answer. I felt Freya’s stare tickle the hairs on the back of my neck. What am I? To feel such things? I closed my eyes, but there was never a moment I saw more. I had a clear space around me. I clenched the handle of my sword, and grew ready.

I inhaled and everything disappeared.

The door knocked.

I exhaled, and the sun shone? No, too orange, too fiery. Torches.

The door knocked louder.

It was symbolic, a message. Was I to answer deaths door?

You’ll never protect her like this. Look at yourself…

Myself? I thought. I looked at my hands, only seeing the colour of sanguine coating my arms from my elbow, to the tips of my fingers. I let go.

The door opened.

I watched as the Inn-keeper fell to the ground. He fell into the table, knocking it further away. Why are my arms not moving? Why can I not do something. Move, Damn it!

I felt calm, my heart beat stopped. I tilted my head down, and breathed easy. Soldiers rushed in, surrounding me in a tight, ring formation. There were six of them. My father’s tactics. These ridiculous excuses for soldiers’ dare use my father’s tactics against me… they dare use THAT, his specific formation… the one where my body got broken, and bruised trying to defend, blindfolded against six of the best warriors this world had ever known…

Let me deal with them.

I stopped his words rattling around my head, I agreed, but I waited. My patience was at the precipice of exploding. My vision blurred with anger. Blood wormed its way around the handle of my sword, slowly slithering down the sides of my once white steel blade.

Then I saw her.

I saw that wretch. The woman who condemned us, the one who cast us down. When I saw her face… when I saw the flickering of the flames in her eyes, everything I knew was gone.

Finally, I am free of these chains… I shouted to my foe, I beckoned her, standing isolated in a circle of food, “Katherine! Why do you follow me so blind, so daring? Your reach, too far. You come for me? The boy you protected, practically worshipped. Have you come to beg for your life?” Disrespectful, disreputable, waste of life.

She threw her weight around, chanting nonsense. My ears turned off. My eyes closed. I grew weary of her screeching voice, demanding my head. She called a familiar name, “Vincent!”. My eye twitched. She noticed. He expressed a repugnant laugh, a bitter, and cold look. A large, fictitious smile, bearing his teeth in my direction. Oh how he looked at me with such distain, such malice. I warned them, “If you take another step…!”

“Or else what?” she taunted me. She kept my eyes focused on her, though my eyes were everywhere. I heard every single step he made. I saw the smirks sitting on the noses of these soldiers. These poor saps, pillars of mud that will melt away under my dirty boot.

I laughed, and I laughed.

I warned, and waited.

My hands still dripping with blood. They thought me weak.

Katherine’s voice hummed another command, “Kill him.”

At last…

The soldier to the right of me came rushing in, left knee vulnerable, right arm weak. He aimed for a downwards slash? At wood? Childs play. I let him come closer, and closer. Until he was but a step from cutting my throat. I let him swing. I moved towards him, and pirouetted around him. By this moment, the soldier next to him tried to protect him. It was a decent effort, I suppose. I reached for the dagger out of the first one’s boot. Open, vulnerable. Mistake.

I pulled it out and stabbed his sword at the base of the blade. I altered his direction. He spurted blood everywhere. I liked it. First soldier, dead. Second soldier, covered in the blood of his friend. I threw the knife to the other side of my circle blinding the soldier. The blade pierced his eyeball… Third soldier, dead. I smiled. I kicked the bodies of the bleeding corpse, and the second soldier to the floor. The second soldier fell into the blade, still standing out of the wooden floor, held up by a bloody corpse. He wouldn’t have died from just that; so I pulled my sword out, parried the sword of another, and pressed my boot on the back of him forcing his neck to slowly, slowly slice by the blade of the sword… dead.

When I lifted my foot they fell flat. The Inn-keeper watched me, horrified by my change. I enjoyed it. I laughed so hard. Clearly, they had enough? But they kept coming. So I parried the fourth, broke the nose of the fifth, dodged the six, cut the fourth’s arm, gripped the fifth’s throat – pulling him in front of the sixth’s blade, dead. I wasn’t satisfied. I quickly dropped the remaining two soldiers in a pool of blood.

By this point Katherine had ran outside. I followed, covered in the blood of my hunters’. They were stupid, weak, senseless and unworthy. “You are just like your mother” I vaunted, echoing back from the trees that stood around us. She screamed injustice, injustice, like a child that had just had her sweets stolen. I took another step closer until I left the darkness of the room and entered into the light of the standing torches placed outside.

“Why are you walking away? Don’t you want to play!?” I laughed, enjoying the look of peril she gave. I loved it. It excited me – made me lust for the sight of her blood splattered along the off-road. I had a chance to return her to the shit she belonged to. “Your life is forfeit, your soul, mine.” I stood in front of her gazing into her eyes reflecting a figure covered in pints of blood, soaked in hate, dancing with death. I whispered into her ear, “You wanted a monster? Come on then. Have your monster!”

I hovered my sword above her head. The light shimmered from my bright, white steel sword that I held in my left hand, in judgement. Blood dripping from the tip, onto her face, “Is there anything you wish to say before I take your head?” I saw the fear in her eyes, sweat pouring from her face. The sweet aroma of a bladder failing, “F-F-Freya…” she uttered in my ears. Then I heard it, so clearly, so loud. It echoed around the world and back.

I heard the wailing scream, “Thomas!” from inside; My monster and I stood aligned as one. We ran. Our eyes glance at the bodies we butchered but we do not stop to pay any respect. We skip steps, running up the stairs as we reach for Freya with every breath, every stretch. We reach the top and see Vincent strangling her near the window facing the river. We run our fastest. We bolted down the corridor like Thor’s hammer, roaring like thunder. My right fist cracked his cheek-bone, I felt it. My left – his ribs. My knuckles broke, but I did not stop. He defended against some but not all of my attacks. I fractured his nose, chin and shoulder bones. I chipped away at his arms, brutally, forcefully swinging my fists with a fury, that even the Gods not capable of.

He broke my relenting attacks and pushed me back. My knuckles broken, blood covered every inch of me. I stood there like a demon, no… I stood a monster. I couldn’t let Freya see me. She had fallen to the floor, gasping for air. Vincent aimed for my neck, squeezing my throat with his enormous hands. He threw me into the wall which tunnelled my vision. I had to close my eyes.

I knew what I had to do.

I did what I must.

Without a second thought, I acted.

I broke his guard, performed a hay maker, causing him to stumble towards the window. I threw myself into him, and launched him out of the window, myself included. I landed on him in the water, hearing one of his bones crunch as he hit the bank first. I hoped for the back, but perhaps the leg. We rolled into the water. We were swallowed by the river, a fleeting idea that once darkness claimed you; it would take you straight to Hel. I held onto him, at first; strangling him in the water, ensuring his last ounce of breath was taken from him by my hands. We both fell under the water, and my grip loosened. He drifted away, as did I.

 

 

Back to School

If you could go back to school to master a subject what would it be?

If I could go back to school for a specific subject, I think I would go back to master English in, in the first place. I wouldn’t have spent so much time messing around, or not taking things seriously. If I was honest, I would do it all over again, and do it right. Seeing as I can’t, I’m doing it now instead. I’m currently at University studying English and Creative Writing, so I’ve got here, in the end.

But when it comes to school, I would have definitely gone back and put 100% of my effort into everything, rather than 10%… It is a little disappointing that it took until I had a child to realise how important it is to try when it comes to life, and I do regret I did not learn my lesson sooner. But, we are here now, and so, it took some time, but I am finally on track.

What about you?

I’m going to tag a few people in this post, and see if they respond.

MeganNicolaDanielleBryonyCeriLucy.

Would love to hear some responses. Just tag this post in your responses. The same goes for anyone else who would like to join in!

 

Sanctuary

In response to Sanctuary

Sanctuary…

Sanctuary is the place you feel most safe, a place away from the dangers of the world. A haven, from the living, and the dead. A sanctuary is a place where we find comfort, a place where we find peace.

I will write about sanctuary in the terms of Thomas’ story, in the universe of the novel I’m planning.

There was once, once upon a time, where I found sanctuary. It felt brief, almost like the fleeting warmth of a beautiful dream, or the disappearing memory of someone’s touch. I did not feel safe in my home. A place where much death had taken place, and the place where my father taught my how to struggle, and how to kill. That place, took what innocence I had left-no, it was not my sanctuary. I did not feel safe in the biggest castle, or out on the furthest reaches of the sea. I did not find comfort drinking myself to sleep, in the merriest of inns, or the drunkest of halls. I thought I felt at home, when I stood on top of a mountain side, but when I stood there alone, I felt nothing but whispers in the wind. That was the moment I realised I had already found my sanctuary, but also lost it, too. That was when I had discovered that my sanctuary was you. For me, my sanctuary was a person, not a place. The person who you felt safest with, most at home. That person who made everything feel right. My sanctuary was always moving, for it was not something built, or part of the ground we walked on. Even in my darkest moment, or when I stood facing my strongest adversary, or even when I was broken into a hundred pieces, what kept me together was you. For that, I will never be able to repay you.

So, that is what sanctuary means to me. Is it a place for you? Or is it a person you’ve already met, or have yet to meet?

A Father’s Duty P.1

It had been two years since I said goodbye to you. Two years since I had last seen your face. I would say I had hoped that you would endure the recent winter. It was harsh, and you were alone, but I know you; I didn’t need to hope- I knew you would survive.

My son would be two years old now. I had been doing my last duty as the King’s hand, and guardian of Sweden. I had been in a state of peril for far too long. Danish troops had infiltrated our land, and have been working their way north. I can’t figure out what they’re searching for though. They seem precise, only killing people who have direct connection to certain people. I am not quite sure who that is though.

My name is Trinson Vargr, and I have been on their trail for the last year. I have tallied twenty seven soldiers in my book. I should not need to fight. I should return to the King, while I still can. I’ve been watching this group move, for some time, and after today, I will be able to go home, for I’m sure that the leader of the group will show up.

“Lennart, where do you want the black powder?”

Lennart? I pondered. It couldn’t be the little boy that I spared in the war, could it? Son of King Harold. “That bastard. I knew I should’ve killed him.” I needed to get a closer look, and a description of him. I scaled into the trees. I had already set-up small iron nails, to help me climb. They had been in place for weeks. My white cloak was now full of mud, and I looked more like a swamp-monster, than a white wolf.

I looked around me, and aside from the tall ash trees, that I balanced on, I observed the twenty or so men stacking weapons, shields, and repairing their armour. They were preparing for battle. I needed to leave, to report to the King, but also, I needed to see whether this was the same kid I let live.

“Lennart, the black powder is in place.” a soldier announced to someone standing behind the tent.

I looked to the tree next to me, it was close enough to jump to. I had to get eyes on him. I pressed my hand firmly against the bark of the tree. I weighed myself down, on the thicker branch, and leaped across. My hands reached the tree, but I slipped. I scuffed my boots on the bark, and grazed my hands. It was nothing. Luckily, I remained unnoticed. I waited for the man to get back up, he was bent over behind the tent, checking the containers. When he stood up, it could easily be seen. The square jaw of a man of stature. The well-combed thin blonde hair, and the same complexion as his father, King Harold. This was Prince Lennart. The younger brother over the present King of Denmark.

“He must be here as an act of espionage.” I muttered.

He had grown so much. He stood perhaps a whole foot higher than his father. “Perhaps, six foot seven. By Thor, he’s practically a giant.”

A soldier approached the tree I was clung to. I was well hidden, and thanks to the leaves, I remained so. I had the information I needed, now I needed to leave…

 

Divine intervention

I often wonder whether people get ratty with me because of how I am, or how blunt/honest I can be to everyone; I often thought it was because I was too nice, and though I’m not the best listener, which is something I’m working on, I try too hard with people. That is something that rings true for me, but not the reason. I have felt an apathetic look towards some people as of late, some people who have stopped speaking to me because of the smallest thing. Maybe I say the wrong things sometimes, or I do something silly, and I mean silly, not horrible, or ridiculous.

Now, I used to hate myself for it. I used to blame me “Oh no, I fucked up, again! Boo-hoo.” Well, that stops. I don’t have time for self-pity, and I certainly don’t have time for people who are so off-the-edge sensitive or otherwise moody, that they can pick on the people who will take it. So, if you read this, and assume this is about you, I think it’s time for you to delete me as a friend, and walk away. I mean, I’ve already been told I’m the reason for someone’s depression this year, after only talking to them for three months. That in itself is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.

Now, the truth of the matter is that I may listen to you, or talk about your problems, but if you’re going to stand in the way of my goals, and my dreams, then you’re not worth the time of day, and I will drop you like the sack of weight that you are. Frankly, I cringe at the idea of giving this post enough thought to coherently tell everyone that I’ve had enough.

I’ve taken a few weeks away from society, and just been on my course. I’ve had an amazing time, and coming back to reality helps me realise that this is the way it is supposed to be. And if anyone, anyone has a problem with the way that I am, then please exit my life at the nearest door. Thank you!

Between having a child, a house to keep, bills to pay, a course to study, trips to plan, books to read, books to write, I have no time for people who want to kick up a fuss over the tiniest little thing. So, if you act like a poke in the arm is a dagger in the heart, then remove yourself from my presence. I’ve got more important people to talk to.

I’d like to use the quote that I have been using over the past month or so, which is:

“Believe in yourself, for when you don’t, I will.” – Now, I love this quote. It helps me understand the importance of being there for people who can no longer stand for themselves, for we all reach the point of falling, and finding it difficult to get back up again.

Though that is the case, I find myself distant from most of the people I considered my friends, even a month or two ago. The worst thing is that I prefer it this way. I don’t want to feel like I’m stepping on eggshells all the time, or I have to select my words in case I say something that gets interpreted as something bad for them.

So, speaking from the soul… I’m done with people like this. If you want to be my friend, you understand that I am not here to baby you, and I am not your parent, I am not your keeper, and I am not your comforter, I am a person, with as many faces as you, and though I am someone who is also very sensitive, I try my best not to let people get to me, and though sometimes those same people have wronged me, I have forgiven them as soon as they apologised for I have no room for the madness that is hate. Sadly, I do not receive such a luxury.

Whatever this is going to be, and whether I lose many friends from this post is another question. But, I’m going to start living my life for me, and my daughter now. Anyone who tries to affect that, is out. Simple.

Have a nice day everyone, and I’m sure, most people reading this, will understand that it isn’t them I speak of. The people who read it and feel a sense of embarrassment, and shame, will be the ones who should click the unfriend button.

‘I will never give a man a fish, but I will always offer to teach him how to.’

The end to a hyped two weeks

So, over-all the last two weeks of my life have been pretty amazing. I have met many lovely people, and have had a lovely weekend with some pretty special people. Now, it’s not often, at all, that I enjoy spending so much time in a class, or around people, but it has been an amazing experience getting to know people from different cultures such as Spanish and Italian. From spending time in a class full of teachers, I’ve come to realise that teaching is definitely the path I want to walk down.

Now, I’ve been on a two week methodology course in Teaching English as a second Language. It was only a short course, two weeks long. We’ve done many activities throughout the last two weeks, such as hunting the area of Cardiff for sites, and making a classroom activity out of it; making an activity out of a museum trip; even learning how to be a serene teacher during class-time.

It has been awesome, and certainly worth melting a little in the summer heat. I was told to put my feet up on the desk to annoy the teacher, to make sure she stayed serene… though when one of the women threw a paper ball at the teacher, that was just priceless. It is not often, to practically never, that we get to be so childish, and the looks on everyone’s faces showed the inner children coming out. Ha-ha.

That being said, the amazing people I met could only be topped by a great farewell meal, and drink with them, and another on Saturday. I also met someone I will definitely be keeping in touch with, and I showed them how different having a cocktail in an expensive bar is, compared to having one in Wetherspoons. Fantastic. To be quite frank, I will miss all of them, but who knows, maybe I can go test their English and visit them next summer. That will be the day. Ha-ha.

I have managed to get an internship for next year, from talking to one of the managers of the school, and that will be grand, and I could quite possibly get to meet more teachers/students next year. That’ll be fun.

Other than the course, I found out a lot more about my capital city – Cardiff thanks to the group, and the activities we did. So much so I annoyed my friends Saturday whilst we spent the day in Cardiff (pokemon hunting, because we’re cool. Right?)

Today, I found myself waking up late for the first time in a long time, though I did wake up 5am, for no reason. Yay, thanks body. So, overall, I’ve had a pretty good two weeks. And though I had a bit of an argument with a friend, I’ve also had a great evening talking to a friend from Holland, and my Swedish lady friend, who seems to think it’s okay to call herself Queen Vargr, for a username. I think I have some competition. We’ll find out when we play a game or two together. She’s also coming to visit me in September before I go back to University.

I’ve had so much more to look forward to, over this summer, and though I have tried my best to not piss anyone off, I have managed not to, par one. I think that’s good, for me. Usually there are many more. Again, ha-ha. I wish I could say I was bothered by it, but frankly, I’m not. This summer has helped me understand my goals, wants, and where I want to go, and for the first time in a long time, I feel free. I know what is important, and I know how to get it. Now, it is time for the effort.

So, thank you to everyone who has made the last two weeks awesome, and thank you to those who have yet to make my live amazing, for I know things will only get better from here. I hope everyone enjoyed their stay in Wales… come back soon!

Clock

In response to Daily post’s Clock.

How much time do we have left?

Do we have much? Do we have little?

How much have you found yourself doing things of value? How far have you come?

What is your biggest ‘A to B’?

Imagine a world where we could see how much time we had left, right down to the second. Would you be too scared to live? Would you still fear death? Or would you do the strangest thing, and use it as a reminder to live?

Time is fleeting from all of us, and we are pieces who sit on top of the Old man’s clock, Chronos watches our lives, with one eye always open.

So tomorrow, when you wake up, do something you’ve never done before, and if you’ve gotten out of bed and sighed, too many times in a row, then change the way you’re living, and start living for you.

Punishment

In response to Daily post’s Punishment

To define punishment, I think we should look at ourselves, for pure, undefiable, undeniable punishment comes from ourselves. It comes, from within us.

When we make a mistake, we choose one of two things… to walk away, and look the other way, where we pretend that it does not exist, or we hold onto it, engraving it into our skin, into our minds, and we let it haunt us. That is punishment.

Sure, the government can punish you, civilians can punish you, and your parents can punish you, to an extent. Real Punishment however, comes from our own minds.

We allow a battle between two versions of ourselves to happen inside of us. Two versions of ourselves that we both want to be, and run from.

The person who deals with the situation, head on, who takes the blame, and the person who relieves themselves by giving the blame to another, and forgetting about it. What we are not told, is that there are people out there who have one stronger version than another, where they are more or less defined by the amount of time it takes for them to move on from their punishment.

They make a mistake, they harbour regret, and that regret eats at them. I am like this, and this is me. The things in my past that I have regretted sometimes feel like they are whirlwinding around me, keeping me trapped in a place with no bars, but as the same time, I know, that is is my own doing. It is who I am.

That, I think, is punishment, creating a way of thinking where we haunt ourselves from our own mistakes, drives, and paths that we walk.

Though this is punishment, it is something about myself that I would not change, because I value each and every decision I make, and there are reasons, time and time again for me to look back at the things that I have done; be it obstacles I have overcome, bridges I have burned, or ties I have cut. Sometimes, I do look back and wonder how things would have changed if I walked another way, but I wouldn’t be the person I am today.

Though I am not perfect, and have many, many faults, I am me.