Short Story

The Tavern

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Short Stories

Maximiliano Belvidere road up to the tavern upon his black horse, slowly stopping by a lamp pole where he would tie the horse to. He then looked up at the Tavern. Just earlier this day he was here having a few drink. He walked up onto the wooden porch just before the door and stomps his boots to get any mud or anything off of them. Max opened the door and stepped in. His olive green eyes scanning over the few people there. He wouldn't really bother with introducing himself to anyone as they were only patrons of the bar. He would walk to the bar counters and lean over it looking over the many different types of liqueur. His hand reached out as he grabbed a bottle of Gray Goose Vodka and then pulled a few gold coins setting them behind the counter for whenever the keeper was back. He then turned and looked about the room a moment before picking a table to sit at. He was silent besides the sound of leather and metal upon his body and his boots thumping on the hardwood floors. He sat down on one of the wooden carved chairs sat down. Setting the bottle on the table he would adjust his belt a bit so it wasn't bothering him with causing his sword to stick up. Maximiliano took the bottle and bit the top of before taking a long drink from the bottle. He then set it down and closed his eyes as he could feel the rush through his body from the strong drink. He then leaned back and sighed a little opening his eyes again and staring off into one of the corners of the room silently.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Constructive boredom.

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Warriors Reward

Flung west into the setting sun the rugged warrior with armor of dust covered iron and worn calloused hands dried with the blood and soot of the land.

No longer a plague, menace, or scourge of the land. He’s still a pariah from the blood that soaked his hands. War worn muscle strained and torn, yet still strong enough to keep him form a true collapse.

Struggling to stay still on knees bent mustering what’s left of pride and strength inside to keep from breaking in will, heart, and mind the humor of the gods he doesn’t find, while being blasted by the hot sands from desert winds feeling raw against bare skin.

The memory of features fair cling to his mind; Drawn from the winds battering waves delivering smells from long past days, when his conscience was clear as glass and all choices were his to the last.

Until the Great War when the sky was torn and into deistic service drawn without knowing he was now but a pawn on a board where the true fight was born from petty bickering beings of ethereal form using the fates of those yet to be born.

Serving through hundreds of years and thousands of tasks always beating the odds that others wouldn’t last, be it killing avatars or dragons rescuing old farmers and wagons even princesses from braggarts to the last.

Always overcoming finding victory where none once was for one or another just causes. The full tapestry of his actions his actions he thought of not or pause, sleeping most nights on a bed of only straw. Yet blessed with powers that left others in awe.

Tears now flow down his rugged and weary face caused by the smell carried on the wind though a scant trace, flood memories long thought buried at this place. Remembering lush fields in land now a waste lone survivor begging the dead mercy in his case.

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Accepted, [Chapter 1. A Fateful Meeting]

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Short Stories

Aisilyn stood silent before the gravestone of black marble. She knelt beside it and reached out, with a long, slender, elegant hand, to the words etched in blood upon the stone. She traced the epitaph which read, Aaron Melechios. Husband, Father, Abhorsen. April 8, 1464-June 15, 1997, slowly with her index finger, as the words seemed to glow at her touch. Her deep green eyes filled with tears as she read the words.

   It was now June 15, 2004, seven years after his death…and it was still too painful to think about. She shook her head slightly as if to regain her composure, and proceeded to perform the same ritual which she had done for the past few years since his death. She grabbed a vile of a dark red liquid from her side and pulled the top from it, emitting the smell of fresh blood from the opening. Chanting something heard only by those who understood. She poured the liquid out upon the top of the stone, watching it trickle down the sides and face. After all this was said and done, she stood, gathered her things, and attempted to head for another grave. Her Mother’s.

   As she stood, the moonlight would reveal what she looked like to those watching. She was a radiant girl of seemingly 19, but was truly far older than that. She wore a thin black lace shawl that covered her long ringlet’s of ebony curls that framed a milky white face with elegant cheek bones, and deep green, expressive eyes that were enshrouded in thick lashes. Her lips were formed in somewhat of a frown. She wore a long black Victorian lace, corseted dress, who’s skirt’s lower hem line would flow about her feet like a soft fog or haze. Around her neck, she bore a black metal brooch with a red stone in the center, that she would frequently graze her hand across, causing it to glow faintly. She was a captivatingly beautiful creature who was filled with a saddened darkness.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Chapter one of my book

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The Story: Part 5

The warm, rushing blood, escapes from the prison that is my body. As I slowly press the knife through my skin, and through my veins. I can feel every ounce of hurt and despair that has built up since the last time gushing out! Every single bit of blood, and every single bit of pain, released from my body, ready for it all to be built back up again! Ready for the next time, ready for when I go too deep! Ready for me to cut so deep, that I bleed until I die!

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Part 5 of The Story! lol!

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The Story: Part 4

After the first time, you become addicted! It makes you feel alive and you don't want to forget it. Once you're addicted you'll use whatever you can! A knife, scissors, sharpener blades! Each has it's advantages. The knife is sharp and the pain is more intense, but for less time! The scissors are less sharp, maiking them have a slower but less painful cut! The sharpener is blunt, and is slowest, it's most painful! Once started, you wont stop until you're dry!

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Part 4 of the story of course! lmao!

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The Story: Part 3

Sometimes I feel like letting go of life, letting go of the few things I have. Im not sure whether I should or not, if I need persuading, I think of my failures in life. But how to do it? Jumping from a tall building? overdosing on drugs? No! Those ideas are too simple! I'll cut myself, not on my neck, or on my wrists! I'd die too quickly! I'll slice myself on the top side of my arm, and gouge out chunks of flesh from my stomache! Then I'll be free!!

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Part 3 of the story! lol!

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The Story: Part 2

At first it was a way to escape from reality, from them! But as they got worse, so did it. It got so bad that I sliced through my artery eight times on my left arm! I spread the cuts open wide, they looked like great gorges, spilling over with thick, red lava! The 'lava' poured out so quick that before long I was standing up to my ankles in it! I fell, hard and fast onto my knees, and then face first into the liquid! Drowning, engulfed in the bright red!!

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Part 2 of the story... lol!

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The Story: Part 1

The liquid, red. It flows like a crimson stream at first, slowly getting faster and larger as the knife goes further! I stop. Just for a second, to think about what I am doing. Then I carry on.

The stream flows into a sea of deep red, oozing out over an ever increasing space! THUD! The sound of my head hitting on solid concrete! My face now in the sea. It is engulfing me. As I go under I utter, "Goodbye". With my last breath, I swallow my own blood!!

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This was written when I was 8 years old! It was the start of a long, hard depression. Which, I only recently came out of. After about 8 or 9 years.

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What really matters in Middle School

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Short Stories

Beginning to giggle slightly on the sidewalk was an inner cue for the girls to run as fast as physically possible up the stairs.  With her mother calling half-heartedly behind her, Jessica slammed the door of her bedroom once everyone was safely inside.  She listened to her mother give a shallow sigh on the landing and walk slowly back to the living room before giving an approving gesture to Cassady, Rebecca, and Piper.  All at once the girls let out an almost inhuman chorus of squeals, so loud they were sure he could here them across the street.  The hottest guy at Bedford Junior High had just asked Piper to a movie that coming weekend.  The group was so ecstatic with emotion that they forgot about the window being open…

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