Photograph

Sorry I'm late, guys!

Due to being swamped by way too much Real Life right now, I won't be able to keep up with updating Blade Queen and Lynn's Trip on weekends only. Until further notice, all new installments of all stories will be posted throughout the week instead of confining them to one day. I'm sorry to anyone this inconveniences.

For today, please enjoy the prologue to my new story, Photograph. Photograph is a flashback story, taking place seven years back; everything written completely in italics is the present, and everything written completely in normal text is in the past.

This Photograph:

“August 21, 2005” is written in red ink on the back of the photograph.

            On the far right is Amber. She hasn’t smiled like that in years. Bright red hair, bright yellow tank top. She was going out with Galil back then, and both of her arms are wrapped around his big, thick right arm. His smile is so big, it nearly takes up his entire face. I remember it all; she squeals “Galil! Galil! Galiiiil!” and grabs onto his arm. He laughs—a tiny, throaty laugh that contrasts so sharply with his build and stature. He pats her head. Click! The photo is taken. Click! Click! Two more times, for good measure. The last time I’d seen Amber, her laughter and smiles were forced. I wonder if she’s ever smiled and laughed the way she did for this photo again. Galil’s lost his mind. I don’t even think he remembers Amber anymore. I don’t even think he remembers me anymore. Does he even remember himself anymore?

            On Galil’s left is Alice. She is so beautiful. This was one of the days when she looked her very best. Her smile shows all her teeth. Her brown curls bounce at her shoulders. Her white, ruffly button-down, her smart-looking khaki pants. I wonder if she knew how beautiful she was on that day. I wonder if she knows now. Her brown curls are gone now, and so is the smile.

            Beside Alice is Jessie, hiding behind her hair. It’s not that Jessie is ugly or afraid of the camera, it’s just that she likes to be silly. She wraps her long, stringy black hair around her face and growls. Click! Click! First two pictures, and Jessie looks like a bear. Click! Third, and suddenly she’s more like a wolf. Jessie is gone now. Who knows where she went?

            Finally, there’s me, Birdie.  I’m on the far right, right next to Amber, my best friend who is like a sister to me. My head is resting on her shoulder, and I am just so happy to be out here on this summer day with my best friends. My wide smile reflects this. My normally-unruly black hair falls neatly around my shoulders and my back, like a picture frame. I’m wearing one of my favorite navy-blue blouses and a plaid skirt—navy and red plaid. I still have it. There’s a flower in my hair like I am a fair damsel from a fairy tale. I’m at my most content.

            This photo defines that summer for me. That summer was one of the most influential summers of my life. To this day, I can still remember every face with perfect detail. I can remember the sound of everyone’s laughter, the feelings of joy that seemed to pass from one person to the other until it encompassed the entirety of our small rural town. I can remember the TV episodes we watched and the flavors of ice cream we sat on our porches and ate. I can remember the swings at the park, the individual conversations, the occasional drama and the everyday joy. I can remember it all with just one look at this photograph…

The Sack Knight, part 2

Ignatius was a deserter.

            The punishment for desertion, especially by a member of the king’s guard, was execution. Ignatius wasn’t afraid of being executed; he knew the king would never execute his chosen heir, but he didn’t find it fair at all that he would be the only knight able to get away with desertion. So he wouldn’t let himself get away with desertion. He couldn’t go to live among the peasants, because they were sure to recognize him and inform the king, who would have him brought back to the palace. He decided to isolate himself on the outskirts of Fair Alora’s border, where there was nothing but lonely grassland and woodland for miles and miles. The chills of early spring penetrated his thin potato sack and felt like bites from tiny dragons, but Ignatius carried on until he found a lonely grassy spot by a bubbling creek. He set himself down and cried bitterly.

            “Sir Ignatius!” a strange, bubbling voice called out. Ignatius leapt to his feet, and his first instinct was to take off running. But the strange little voice said, “Please, Sir Ignatius, do not run away and desert me, for I require the aid of a good knight!”

            “Then it is not me you want,” Ignatius replied, “for I am one of the very worst knights there is.”

            “You are Sir Ignatius of Fair Alora, are you not?”

            “That I am,” said Ignatius, for he did not feel that he could rightly leave his name behind.

            “Then you must be the good knight I am seeking.”

            “Where are you?” Ignatius asked, for there was nobody around but himself.

            “I am the creek that you’ve set yourself beside,” said the voice, and Ignatius now realized that the voice did sound like the gurgling and bubbling of the creek. “What ails you?” Ignatius asked.

            “If you are to walk along the north end of my bank for sixty-five paces, you will find a very tall tree that has fallen in, blocking the passage of my waters,” the creek explained. “It is horribly painful, and my waters weep for being unable to fulfill their purpose and continue on their way. Please, sir, if you are willing to lift this tree, then I shall be forever obliged to you, and my waters shall laugh instead of weep.”

            When the creek had finished its lament, Ignatius nodded. “I shall certainly come to your aid, and remove this tree that is causing you so much misery,” he said, and set off to the task. He walked along the north end of the creek’s bank and counted each of his paces aloud, until he reached the sixty-fifth pace and discovered the offending tree.

            The creek’s poor waters had been forced to halt in their passage where this tree had been lying, and the jam had created an ugly white foam that gurgled and bubbled and increased in size with each of the waters’ efforts to pass. Ignatius could hear the waters’ cries that created the pitiful gurgling sound that emerged from the spot of foam.

            “Please, cry no more,” Ignatius said to them, “for I will release you from your trap, so that you may go on your way.” He wrapped his arms around the trunk of the tree and lifted with all his might. He found that he could only move the tree about twelve inches at a time, so that is what he went about doing. His back ached terribly, and his arms felt as if they were to fall off at any minute, but he kept going. He would not stop until he had cleared the path completely.

            Finally, Ignatius had managed to move the tree off to the side and out of the creek path. The waters cheered and laughed and squealed and shouted their thanks to him as they darted off on their way. Ignatius smiled, nodded, and bowed at each cheer and exclamation of thanks. Then he collapsed exhaustedly on the creek’s bank. 

Weekend hiatus.

Real life decided to fuck with me. I can't put up any new stuff this weekend, I'm sorry.

I'll be back Tuesday and I'll put up all the new stuff throughout the week.

Bye.

The Sack Knight, part 1

The army of the kingdom of Fair Alora was large and respectable, containing a grand total of forty-five knights. Each of these men was as honorable and valiant as any knight could be, and each was seen as a truly valuable asset to the army and the kingdom as a whole. But the most iconic and notable of these men were the ten who made up the king’s personal guard. These were the men charged with defending the king personally, placing the life and welfare of the king before all else. They never left the king’s side, and at night they slept on the floor of his bed chamber. They were Elgon, Arwinn, Rothgar, Cecil, Ivan, Riven, Leron, Elric, and Ignatius.

            Out of these ten men, Ignatius was the one who most reflected the characteristics of a knight and a good man. He was the king’s bravest and most willing knight, and therefore the king’s most valued. At meals he sat next to the king at the head of the table, and at night he slept directly beside the king’s bed. The king had officially named Ignatius as his sole heir, and was undoubtedly certain that he would make a great king someday. To the citizens of the kingdom, Ignatius was known for his kindness and his constant desire to perform good deeds. The citizens all loved him dearly, and when he passed by they would salute and cheer and bow more intensely than they did for any other knight. They would invite him to take part in their activities and their merrymaking, and he would accept without hesitation or question.

            Ignatius himself couldn’t stand being given all these kindnesses and privileges. He hated his place at the king’s table and his place at the king’s bedside, he winced when he was saluted or cheered at, and when invited to take part in merrymaking he kept quiet and out of sight. Most of all, he hated being named the king’s heir, as he felt that Fair Alora was surely doomed if he was next in line for the throne. Ignatius did not feel that he was worthy of any of this treatment; in fact, Ignatius felt that he was the worst knight of the Aloran army. Regardless of how heroic and noble his deeds were, he didn’t feel that they did anything to change this; they were only done out of what he saw as pure necessity. Of course he had gone to the front of the line when the palace had been ransacked by bandits, and of course he went straight for the bandits’ leader. He had to, because the grunts would fall out of order and be dealt with much more easily with their leader gone. He didn’t see why slaying the bandit leader made him a hero. It was just what he had to do.

            And what was so heroic about rescuing a child who had broken her leg out in the middle of the forest? She had been alone, and she would’ve had no help if he hadn’t been there. He had to do something, even if it meant carrying her all the way into town on his back, with no horse. He didn’t see why this was worth cheering on. He just did what he knew had to be done.

            So despite these deeds and more besides, Ignatius felt that he was nothing but a failure of a knight and a man. He didn’t feel he deserved the cheering, the privileges, or the kindnesses of others, and he felt nothing but guilt for being given things he didn’t deserve. At night, he would lie at the king’s bedside and cry. This was a great annoyance to the other knights.

            “Aw, Ignatius, shut up!” Elric shouted one night when Ignatius had been sobbing more intensely and uncontrollably than usual.

            “I can’t!” cried Ignatius. “All I can think about every night is how I’m only a failure who gets so many wonderful things that he doesn’t deserve a bit of! If you were a failure like me, you would cry every night too!”

            “For heaven’s sake, Ignatius,” Elric said, “if you don’t think you deserve them, then why do you take them? Why don’t you just throw on some rags and go live like a peasant, if that’s what you think you deserve!”

            Ignatius sniffed loudly. “Well,” he said, “perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I really should be a peasant!”

            So that night, Ignatius left the king’s chamber. He searched his entire wardrobe for the ugliest and most downtrodden rags he could find. When he found nothing but the satins and brocades given to him by the king, he decided that he would go around in a potato sack from the kitchen instead.

            So he made his way to the kitchen, dressed himself in one of the old potato sacks, and left the palace.