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Rated: E · Fiction · Melodrama · #1465968
A night of sorrow and despair turns into one of something much more.
         As fair as the spring had been thus far, the unmistakable smell of frost still clung in the air. The sun shone brightly, but never enough to warm.The coolness was not unpleasant per se, just enough to keep one on edge. My horse galopped slowly along the dirt path that had been beaten down by man such travelers as I. A slight breeze blows by, causing my cloak to billow and wave in the wind. I duck down closer to my equine companion, hoping to steal some of the body heat i could not seem to keep within myself.
         As the path widened slightly, opening up to a more traveled route. "Hmpf, a trade route. I suppose this will hasten my journey, but the unwanted attention is more than i care for." I mumbled to myself aloud.
         The well trodden path seemed entirely devoid of anything but leaves and the occasional bird feasting on the minuscule morsels left behind by camped out parties of bandits or merchants. I tossed a small piece of stale bread i'd been rationing for this trip towards the numerous avian feasters. My sentimentality knows no end, i thought. I watched the birds greedily devour the small gift and smiled. If only a mans life could be so simple.
         After endlessly going down a road i felt uneasy on to begin with I saw a sight that made my stomach finally go from merely fluttering, to turning. A town. Reluctantly, i thought of myself and my steed and realized we'd both need nourishment soon if we were to survive this trek without passing out from starvation. I went to the local inn and looked around at the dingy surroundings. Some dilapidated counters, a few scrap wood tables and chairs that looked about to crush underneath their own weight. I only saw a couple patrons in the corner partaking of some kind of strong black ale, at least that was my impression from the smell that permeated the room. I walked up to the empty bar counter and rapped my knuckles on the wood. The dark oak made a heavy thudding sound as a burly yet jovial man came through the back door of the bar and gave me a half-hearted smile. "Good day to you sir, what may i ask ye' be wantin?" the man bellowed.
         "Just a room for the night, and a pint of your strongest drink." I said soft and darkly as i threw down a few pieces of silver. The man nodded and grabbed a mug as i sat at one of the bar stools, a brooding expression on my face. The alcohol arrived in front of me and i nodded my thanks without looking up. I took a swig of the wretched swill. Fire filled my throat and warmed my soul. Not like the warming comfort of a blazing hearth, but the warmth of sweltering coals and slag of a blacksmith's shop. The bartender fled to the back room, assumingly to prepare more of the slop i saw one of the patrons begrudgingly eating. It gave me time to think, which i would have given anything to lack.
         The thoughts raged back like a wildfire. The plague, the burials, the false accusations, the pain. I had been a simple farmer then. Not the black cloaked wanderer i was. I had lost my beautiful daughter Laura and the love of my life Elizabeth. That damned wretched disease had taken their life. I buried them with my own two hands. Digging every chunk of earth out with tears welling in my eyes. It was i who did this. I who lived through all this pain and turmoil and for what? To be condemned as a murderer because they died alone with no witnesses. That i had joked once in the local pub that my wife was a pain at times. To be condemned by townsfolk of which i had absolutely no contact with other than to barter goods. They had intended on hanging me in the gallows shortly after my departure. My narrow escape with my only horse. An honest man, an honest life, but never an honest death. This was my fate.
         By the time i'd snapped out of my mental flashback it was already dark and some how there were many more empty mugs that once held the wretched brew. My mind was clouded enough to not to be able to focus on the horrible memories. Smirking at the inebriating reprieve, I decided to talk outside for a time. Possibly to take in the surroundings before I leave this town like all the others. I decide to start heading east. I look at the lanterns lit in rows along the cobbled street and imagine a life alone in a town like this. I pass by a prosperous butcher shoppe with a large sign about saying "O'connor's Meats". I pass by a quaint general store with dusty windows and a slightly unkempt appearance. An
elderly man is just locking up his store for the evening and waves towards me in a fatigued manner, obviously eager to get home.
         I walk for another ten minutes or so when i hear a faint noise in coming from an alley on the other side of the street. I walk towards the high pitched sound with pure curiosity. As i reach the other side of the street i slowly creep around the corner. There i see a man dressed in all black backing a woman and her child into the wall. A dagger clutched in his hand screaming obscenities in the air and demanding all their jewelry and money. They had complied in tears except for a small bracelet the child refused to give up. The thief screamed to the child "Damn you! Unclasp your bracelet or i'll unclasp your jaw young one!" But the little girl would still not comply.          
         After my moment of utter shock, I had an intense urge to do something about this horrible injustice. I must stop this man! The alcohol in my veins put darker thoughts into my head though. Why should I help this unfortunate pair? I have lost my wife and daughter, why not let these two suffer the same fate?. I struggled with what i should do for what seemed like hours, but were mere seconds. "I must help them....My loved ones were given no savior...i am but one man, it is not for me to judge...they need me." So many conflicting thoughts. it all swirled into a mess in my thoughts as i tried to separate reason from emotion. I walked slowly toward the attacker, his back to me facing the alleys back wall. Tonight is the night my suffering ends. A dagger, wounds, pools of blood. Salvation.
© Copyright 2008 Ryan Sundin (ryansundin at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1465968-Salvation