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Frayed Ribbon |
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Frayed Ribbon
Tragedy
 Created on 6-13-07
 Views(301)
 Story Rating G
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Frayed Ribbon
As daylight faded into dusk, the electrical lamps flickered on, pouring a rancid yellow light across the cobble stones, deep puddles reflecting its glaring light. The rain had petered out from a harsh downpour to a soft drizzle. The innkeeper cast a wary eye over the desolate street, suppressing a shudder, before pulling in the shutters on his windows and turning his back on the dark, oppressive night.
Hidden in the deep shadows of a doorway, a man of impressive proportions lurked. A dull, black, leather coat with thick, shiny buttons and a smoke-gray wide brimmed hat made the wearer difficult to discern from the shadows, almost to the point of invisibility. The coat swept the ground, chunky black leather boots poked out from beneath the hem. A large uneven nose protruded from the gap where the coat’s broad collar ended and the drooping brim of the hat began. Broken veins, deep purples and shocking pinks, danced across the surface of the nose, suggesting high blood pressure, or perhaps a fondness for alcohol. His face would have been almost pleasant to look at if it hadn’t been for the vicious scar decorating his right cheek, making his lip curl unpleasantly. Deep smallpox scarring was hidden beneath a thin, greasy beard.
A moaning wind swept through the streets, casting straw and dead leaves into the air. The wind hurtled off the white-washed walls of the buildings, rattling shutters and whistling in the gaps between door and jam. Footsteps echoed in the night air and a tall, slender man appeared at the top of the street. He moved swiftly, with his head held high, occasionally sweeping a golden curl from his eyes. His face was delicate, a small mouth in a pale oval shaped face with high cheek bones and fine, smooth skin. He stopped, cupped his hands together and blew into the space between his two thumbs. The hoot of an owl was produced. The man who hid in the shadows placed his hands similarly and the call of a wood pigeon sounded. The thinner man hurried over to the larger man with a stern expression on his face. ‘’Marthikus, how many times have I told you not to use the call of a wood pigeon?’’. Marthikus just smiled and placed his big, beefy hands on the small trembling shoulders of the man and embraced him. ‘’Victoria’’ he murmured. (For the slim man was not a man after all but a female in the guise of a man). Marthikus reached up and knocked the soft black woollen hat from Victoria’s head and pulled the pins from her bun. Thick golden curls fell around her shoulders. If anyone had happened to pass by at that moment, they would have been mystified at the sight of the couple, a man swamped by his own flesh tenderly holding a beautiful young woman dressed in a man’s clothing.
Marthikus and Victoria stood as if frozen in time, the wind whipping their cloaks around them, the bitter scent of rotting leaves and horse shit mingled with the smells of a new dawn. They had talked, laughed and cried all through the night. Plans and promises had been made and both people felt the weight of their decisions on their shoulders. Larks and blue-tits took up their morning song, a merry tune cutting through the heavy atmosphere. As the sun rose the street came to life, a cock crowed in the distance and dogs began to scratch at doors, eager for the scents of a new day.
Marthikus and Victoria smiled sadly at one another, the news she had brought was both joyous and sickening. She was with child. She was four moons gone, and a gentle curve was almost visible through her thin, roughly-woven cloak. Barely eighteen summers old and with no match, pregnant was the most dangerous thing in the whole world for her to be.
In not much time the truth would be out and Victoria’s father and brother’s would either flog her to death or demand she rid herself of the babe, either way Marthikus would be hunted down by the village people and be tied to Cosgarne Hill and left for the wolves and other creatures of the night. She wouldn’t, couldn’t accept any of these options. Marthikus studied her, her left eyebrow was raised and she chewed on her full, soft pink bottom lip. She was in another world, lost amongst her thoughts. Marthikus had promised to ask her father for her hand in marriage but she knew her father would never agree, and she would be confined to the house until one of the village boys was found as a suitable match for her. If it could ever be possible to marry outside the village, Marthikus would not be accepted - he was from far away lands where the sun shone hot like the fire and crops grew plentiful and he was two decades Victoria’s age.
Would she stay and leave her lover and her child’s life at the mercy of the village people? No. She would leave. She would steal away during the night, her and her unborn child and travel deep into the forest which bordered the North of the town, perhaps coming back for Marthikus once the child was born. She knew she would be safe as the townspeople were superstitious and greatly afraid of the unknown, and would not venture into the dense forest. Victoria loved the forest for hundreds of animals lived there, and impressive, wise old trees, which seemed to be coursing with life when you laid your hand upon their bark, loomed high above the tallest man’s head and provided shelter from curious eyes and sharp tongues.
Victoria and Marthikus embraced one last time before going their separate ways, one satisfied yet nervous and the other guilty but determined.Two people who had fallen deeply in love against all reason the wrong place, the wrong time - the wrong people. The villagers would curse and condemn them - for their love to survive they would have to part.
A man with thick black hair, greying at the temples detached himself from behind a wall as he saw the fat man named ‘Marthikus’ stumble towards his caravan at the edge of the town. The man motioned to two younger men to follow him.
They followed Marthikus to his caravan where he went round the back, out of sight of the road to relieve himself.
The younger men closed in on Marthikus, trapping him from each side while the older man drew out his knife.
‘I’m going to enjoy this’ he sneered. The knife sliced through the air and bit deeply into Marthikus' left hand, cutting off three fingers and severing a vein. Marthikus cried out as the two younger boys started to beat, crushing his nose to a bloody pulp with their flying fists, slamming their feet into his back. The older man struck out wildly with the knife, slashing at Marthikus’ face and body, cutting deeply into the layers of fat and slicing at the delicate organs beneath. Blood splattered across the smooth skin of the younger men, drops dyeing their golden curls a garish pink.
A raven as black a tar circled above, its glassy eye taking in everything below it. The innkeeper opening the shutters on his windows to welcome in the morning air, the electrical lamps flickering off and the puddles of water which grew smaller by the minute. And the two people, one hastily packing clothes and food in a bag, rushing before her father and brother’s returned home from the morning milking and the other lying in a pool of his own blood, his eyes becoming cloudy as with his dying breath he gasped ‘Victoria’.
As daylight faded into dusk, the electrical lamps flickered on, pouring a rancid yellow light across the cobble stones, deep puddles reflecting its glaring light. The rain had petered out from a harsh downpour to a soft drizzle. The innkeeper cast a wary eye over the desolate street, suppressing a shudder, before pulling in the shutters on his windows and turning his back on the dark, oppressive night.
Hidden in the deep shadows of a doorway, a man of impressive proportions lurked. A dull, black, leather coat with thick, shiny buttons and a smoke-gray wide brimmed hat made the wearer difficult to discern from the shadows, almost to the point of invisibility. The coat swept the ground, chunky black leather boots poked out from beneath the hem. A large uneven nose protruded from the gap where the coat’s broad collar ended and the drooping brim of the hat began. Broken veins, deep purples and shocking pinks, danced across the surface of the nose, suggesting high blood pressure, or perhaps a fondness for alcohol. His face would have been almost pleasant to look at if it hadn’t been for the vicious scar decorating his right cheek, making his lip curl unpleasantly. Deep smallpox scarring was hidden beneath a thin, greasy beard.
A moaning wind swept through the streets, casting straw and dead leaves into the air. The wind hurtled off the white-washed walls of the buildings, rattling shutters and whistling in the gaps between door and jam. Footsteps echoed in the night air and a tall, slender man appeared at the top of the street. He moved swiftly, with his head held high, occasionally sweeping a golden curl from his eyes. His face was delicate, a small mouth in a pale oval shaped face with high cheek bones and fine, smooth skin. He stopped, cupped his hands together and blew into the space between his two thumbs. The hoot of an owl was produced. The man who hid in the shadows placed his hands similarly and the call of a wood pigeon sounded. The thinner man hurried over to the larger man with a stern expression on his face. ‘’Marthikus, how many times have I told you not to use the call of a wood pigeon?’’. Marthikus just smiled and placed his big, beefy hands on the small trembling shoulders of the man and embraced him. ‘’Victoria’’ he murmured. (For the slim man was not a man after all but a female in the guise of a man). Marthikus reached up and knocked the soft black woollen hat from Victoria’s head and pulled the pins from her bun. Thick golden curls fell around her shoulders. If anyone had happened to pass by at that moment, they would have been mystified at the sight of the couple, a man swamped by his own flesh tenderly holding a beautiful young woman dressed in a man’s clothing.
Marthikus and Victoria stood as if frozen in time, the wind whipping their cloaks around them, the bitter scent of rotting leaves and horse shit mingled with the smells of a new dawn. They had talked, laughed and cried all through the night. Plans and promises had been made and both people felt the weight of their decisions on their shoulders. Larks and blue-tits took up their morning song, a merry tune cutting through the heavy atmosphere. As the sun rose the street came to life, a cock crowed in the distance and dogs began to scratch at doors, eager for the scents of a new day.
Marthikus and Victoria smiled sadly at one another, the news she had brought was both joyous and sickening. She was with child. She was four moons gone, and a gentle curve was almost visible through her thin, roughly-woven cloak. Barely eighteen summers old and with no match, pregnant was the most dangerous thing in the whole world for her to be.
In not much time the truth would be out and Victoria’s father and brother’s would either flog her to death or demand she rid herself of the babe, either way Marthikus would be hunted down by the village people and be tied to Cosgarne Hill and left for the wolves and other creatures of the night. She wouldn’t, couldn’t accept any of these options. Marthikus studied her, her left eyebrow was raised and she chewed on her full, soft pink bottom lip. She was in another world, lost amongst her thoughts. Marthikus had promised to ask her father for her hand in marriage but she knew her father would never agree, and she would be confined to the house until one of the village boys was found as a suitable match for her. If it could ever be possible to marry outside the village, Marthikus would not be accepted - he was from far away lands where the sun shone hot like the fire and crops grew plentiful and he was two decades Victoria’s age.
Would she stay and leave her lover and her child’s life at the mercy of the village people? No. She would leave. She would steal away during the night, her and her unborn child and travel deep into the forest which bordered the North of the town, perhaps coming back for Marthikus once the child was born. She knew she would be safe as the townspeople were superstitious and greatly afraid of the unknown, and would not venture into the dense forest. Victoria loved the forest for hundreds of animals lived there, and impressive, wise old trees, which seemed to be coursing with life when you laid your hand upon their bark, loomed high above the tallest man’s head and provided shelter from curious eyes and sharp tongues.
Victoria and Marthikus embraced one last time before going their separate ways, one satisfied yet nervous and the other guilty but determined.Two people who had fallen deeply in love against all reason the wrong place, the wrong time - the wrong people. The villagers would curse and condemn them - for their love to survive they would have to part.
A man with thick black hair, greying at the temples detached himself from behind a wall as he saw the fat man named ‘Marthikus’ stumble towards his caravan at the edge of the town. The man motioned to two younger men to follow him.
They followed Marthikus to his caravan where he went round the back, out of sight of the road to relieve himself.
The younger men closed in on Marthikus, trapping him from each side while the older man drew out his knife.
‘I’m going to enjoy this’ he sneered. The knife sliced through the air and bit deeply into Marthikus' left hand, cutting off three fingers and severing a vein. Marthikus cried out as the two younger boys started to beat, crushing his nose to a bloody pulp with their flying fists, slamming their feet into his back. The older man struck out wildly with the knife, slashing at Marthikus’ face and body, cutting deeply into the layers of fat and slicing at the delicate organs beneath. Blood splattered across the smooth skin of the younger men, drops dyeing their golden curls a garish pink.
A raven as black a tar circled above, its glassy eye taking in everything below it. The innkeeper opening the shutters on his windows to welcome in the morning air, the electrical lamps flickering off and the puddles of water which grew smaller by the minute. And the two people, one hastily packing clothes and food in a bag, rushing before her father and brother’s returned home from the morning milking and the other lying in a pool of his own blood, his eyes becoming cloudy as with his dying breath he gasped ‘Victoria’.
Comments
Please Login to post comments| On August 11th 2007 bubbles1224 Said: |
| this is cool! later! can u comment mine?? lol |
| On June 24th 2007 JWalker2406 Said: |
| I loved it! Loved how descriptive it was, made it easier to visualize the characters in my mind. Great job and I hope you write more!! |
| On June 23rd 2007 BillysGirl2005 Said: |
| awwwwwww That's so sad =[ Your an amazing writer. The story was extremely well written and described. Tell me if you write more! |
| On June 23rd 2007 TheBranster Said: |
| wow, very great description. really enjoyed it, should get better views and ratings. thanks for the read |
| On June 21st 2007 kolorful1khaos Said: |
| Wow! Its so descriptive!!!! If you get more keep me posted!!!! |
| On June 18th 2007 sqgirl1010 Said: |
| DANM thats descriptive gosh ur a pretty good writer! lol |
| On June 14th 2007 krista32890 Said: |
| Love this shit. So god damn descriptive. keep on going. |
| On June 13th 2007 Aegle Said: |
| I ABSOLUTLY LOVE THIS!!!!!!!!!!!!!! YOU SOOOO TOTALY HAVE TO WRITE MORE>.< I'm writing a story called The Elf and The Witch. I'll tell u when its up! |
