Smash!
Thud!
" Damn!"
At an ungodly hour, the certain window of a two-story building smashed open and a dark figure fell down with a thud.
That dark and somewhat short figure, was -me.
I was Murmuring curses after curses as I held my ankles and rolled on the ground in pain, the pain sustained from a bad landing.
My heels hurt as if pricked by mutliple needles. Needles, slowly piercing my skin and prying my flesh, moving here and there, unwilling to let me be at peace.
There was no blood, only agony.
It was a pain similar to stubbing one's pinky at the table leg, the only difference- it was hundred -no- thousand times worse than that!
I had already foreseen this and made best efforts to land on toes, only to end up like a dry leave.(blown away by the wind of fate)
Afterall, I am just a Writer neither a cat nor a knight!
Before jumping, I had meticulously imagined each step I would take to land safely. At that time, my confidence was soaring, my liver as big as an elephant. But, when the moment came, it shrunk to the size of an ant.
How could the two be compared?!
I wasn't able to follow a single step and reflexively closed my eyes, leaving everything to my body. Alas, now I know, my body is not be trusted; just a little writer, what could I possibly do? ┐(￣ヘ￣)┌
One would think -oh, what a mess! He should have just used ropes or made one out of sheets.
But, this writer was dirt poor.
I have only one blanket which barely even reaches my toes!
I am only 5'5 feet tall!
With more of the rolling and curses, the pain subsided and I could -finally- somehow stand on my legs.
The first thing I looked at was not the road ahead of me, but, the window I jumped up off.
My eyes fixed on the empty space.
Though, the window itself was quite small(measuring only about 45×60cm) but strangely enough, right now, it felt like staring at the abyss.
My eyes stung, I didn't want to leave neither could I stay any longer.
Still, I wished to see him one last time, but that was not possible.
He, no, I chose this path, for the best or for the worst.
The place I had jumped off, wasn't appealing in the slightest, unless one's a fan of gore.
Faded white walls with dirt and soot stamped at the ends, creaking door and windows.
A friendly neighbour to rely on, what's that?!
The three sides were surrounded by forest and the fourth side lead to the road to city, which may lead to hell if a friendly snake showed up, which they did, very often at that.
The first floor was inhabitable -because of the frequent snake visits- and the second floor, surrounded by tall trees, barely got any sunlight.
All night, only the wind's rustle and wolf's howl could be heard.
In short, it was not an ideal place for a child to grow up in from any angle. Despite that, I spent ten years in there.
During my childhood, when I would go out and try to play with others -not by choice- they would fill my ears with stories of terror and how my home was haunted.
Little kids would surround me, some laughing, some concerned.
Telling me to do all sorts of things- performing rituals for knowing the uncanny presence, giving me different kinds of talisman.
A little girl even gave me a dagger to protect myself, saying I should keep it under my pillow while sleeping.
At first, I laughed it off. But, somehow the idea of a supernatural entity seeped into my mind.
But my idea of fear was a bit different from them.
I did not fear death nor ghosts, I was afraid of life.
This unpredictable and uncertain fickle life, scared me to death.
It felt as if I was being written by someone, like the pages I read, I was also being read by someone.
Just someone's plaything, designed for nothing but amusement.
Thinking such things didn't bring money so I could only avoid that line of thought and keep living.
I looked up at the dark sky, the fading moon, the cold breeze, they all just felt so endearing...it felt like freedom.
"...."
..Maybe I just hated my circumstances...
Well, well, whatever it was, now I was leaving it all behind with that house of mine.
From now on I would live well and freely, writting till my hands go sore!
" Life, here I come!"
_._
....life, here I go.
I thought, as the sharp pain in my abdomen made me aware of my chances at survival.
" ...f, fck this.." The unpredictable life, is- once again-showing it's true colors.
I dragged myself up, taking a look at the blood oozing wound.
Seriously..I am dead...so dead.
All of this! All of this is because of that psycho knight!!!
I wanted to shout this sentence out loud, but unfortunately, I didn't have the breath to do so.
That mad person, that stupidly mad person, died and is now taking me down with him!
If I could, I would go down that cliff and kill him again!
"-Ahhh!"
The churning pain did not ease and I could only groan and cry.
But, I rather chose to curse the idiot knight who caused this mess.
The wound, was bleeding and everything but I didn't have the courage to look at it -or I couldn't- my clothes were sticking to the stabbed region and I was unable to pull it up.
My hands were trembling uncontrably, the best I could do was, move less to minimise the bleeding.
I could only wait for help, which would never arrive.
Afterall, in the middle of forest, at this hour, only bandits and someone crazy would roam.
My body had started to feel heavy.
The blood loss did a toll on me, I felt dizzy all over, my body losing all sense of self.
I felt sleepy, really sleepy.
I just wanted to sleep cozily without a worry in the world.
And that was the last thing I remembered of doing.
*
When my eyes opened again, I wasn't in a clinic nor at some stranger's house, rather I was back in the woods.
And in front of me was that knight.
He was holding a bandit by his collar while spewing nonsense about honesty and virtue...just like in the past.
This made me confused, only for a moment though.
'If God has given me another chance I will gladly kill that guy myself.'
I thought as I took a step forward, but I didn't move.
I tried and tried again, but I couldn't take a step ahead. It felt like fighting air.
My body was oddly light and I was unable to coordinate my physical movements. I could only helplessly gaze at the sight in front of me.
'Maybe this is just a dream.. or just a recall?'
That guy was already surrounded by some other seven bandits and they were hitting him like crazy.
He couldn't even get up, getting kicked and kicked till he lost consciousness and got thrown off by the same cliff I knew off.
'Jeez, what was he thinking? One against seven?'
The scene began to crumble like sand. A new scene appearing before me.
In it, I saw myself, lying in a pool of blood. Tota~lly k.o-ed
'Yup! Surely a recall of past.'
Guess someone did arrive. Death.
.
To the writer, this was the second time - full-stops felt this evil.
The full-stop on his life.
The first time? Everytime was the first time!
Whenever he would write and end a sentence with a full-stop, he felt it's power.
The next sentence could be totally out of place, could have years of time passed through it, could be totally unexpected, could be totally uncertain. And he did not know, how to define this uncertainty, other than "evil".
Afterall, evil is anything that stirs chaos in you heart, that drives you to an edge.
If to compare, full-stops were just like blinking. No one knew, what would be happen in the next blink. Your whole life could be gone in one blink, like in an accident or through a stab, as in the case of the writer.
'Or in the next blink, the weird world you are in may collapse and you wake up to find yourself being poked in the head with a stick by a dumb looking man!'
Writer took one look at the guy -still poking his head- and rolled his eyes to unconsciousness.
_._