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Johnathans story (standard:fantasy, 3119 words) | |||
Author: Mark Tival | Added: Sep 20 2007 | Views/Reads: 3150/2130 | Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes) |
a magician is looking to fullfill his prophesy, this is only the first few pages but I want to what you think of it | |||
The man walked through the desert neither enjoying the heat nor noticing it either. Ahead of him, the sun climbed ever higher in the sky as if attempting to reach the dead centre above him, some thing it would achieve the man thought in the next few hours. He continued to walk his backpack flapping empty of all food against his leather travelling coat he was loath to give up to the scorching desert. Ahead of him, little more than a blot now on the landscape a small town continued to emerge out of the sand. The glass panes of the houses glittered like diamonds against the backdrop of the deep blue sky that rested above him. Above him also buzzards flew, circling him their cry cutting through the quiet of the day. The man looked up at them and smiled oddly to himself as if the whole thing were a joke. Casting his gaze back forwards he continued his long journey towards the desolate out post of a this desolate land that passed for a settlement these days. Behind him his steps told the tale of his passing, like ant tracks in the distance reaching the edge of the horizon and disappearing off the edge back to lands and worlds unknown to the people of the small towns he'd come across since he reached the brilliantly white desert. He continued to walk ignoring the hunger that gnawed and clawed at his belly knowing he had no food with which to cage the beast again. Finally an hour after the town had grown near enough for the man to make out the individual shops and houses though at this distance he could still not tell which were which. Most of them were small lean too's showing the shanty history of the town. Half of the houses to the west were buried under years of blown sand from the desert. Their corrugated Iron roofs glimmered with a dull fire in the evening sun as he came nearer to the town he had seen many days ago, at the start barely a black do on the edge of the horizon, on the edge of his vision. When he'd seen it the man had sat down crossed legged on the side of the compact sand road on the boiling hot ground driving the pain out of his mind as the heat seeped through his trousers to his buttocks. He'd rested there for a minute casting out his mind. Images whorled and formed in his head till he brought his mind to a point and sending it down to the town still barely a scratch on the horizon. In his mind he man travelled the streets searching for a certain house. Finally after wandering for nearly ten minutes he found the house. The one he'd been searching for so many years. Through the harsh and forbidding desert that had met him as he'd come from the bitter coldness of the mountains that had nearly claimed his life on so any occasions. The house he was looking for stood on the opposite edge of town, a small run down hovel that to the mans eyes stood out immediately as having being built to blend in with the other rotting houses that surrounded it. It had known magic. It was in slightly better condition than the others he had passed to reach the other end of town. He called his spirit back to his body sitting still, rigid on the ground devoid of human life. He lifted himself up into a squatting position and fumbled around in his back pack the suns glare shielded from him by his round cowboy style hat. He found what he was looking for and pulled out a large sheepskin canteen a deep worn black that betrayed its age. The man took no joy in the thought of his find as he drank deeply from the water-skin feeling the water spilling down his mouth to hit his stomach which still only cried for food. Replacing the water-skin he hoisted his backpack onto his shoulders again feeling no weight as he lifted it, there being no weight to lift and resumed his long hard march, nearly at its end now after years of hardship. A long walk towards the small town that lay ahead of him looking almost death in the heat. The walk to the town took a little over five hours during which time the man stopped only once more to take another drink of his now empty canteen. The sun was deep over the horizon hanging over the distant hills like a red blot on the sky when he man took his first step into the town. Sounds came to his ears of people talking, of music being played in the background to rowdy voices drunk to the point of sickness. Smells of cooking, mainly meat the man thought, attacked his nostrils making his stomach roar with hunger in his body. The man continued to walk through the dusty town, to his right lamps were being lit in the evenings dusk in preparation for the darkness of the night that would soon fall draping the town in a velvety darkness. As he walked he sensed eyes following him down the street. People watching him as he walked towards his destination along the improvised main high street. The sounds of people sitting out in the cooling evening were silenced as he walked, word obviously spreading of a strangers arrival in town. Soon the only sounds in the town other than the fearful whispers of the small children siluetted in the bright of the doorway hidden behind wondering mothers. To his left out of the corner of his eye the man saw a doorway whose light shone brighter than the others around it. It was from this building that most Click here to read the rest of this story (164 more lines)
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Mark Tival has 4 active stories on this site. Profile for Mark Tival, incl. all stories Email: tomwgasa@hotmail.co.uk |