B
Black Dahlia
Guest
A Troubled Mind
Another short story I wrote...nothing epic by any means, but maybe a little more reflective...lol, this is the product of listening to too much "Troubled Waters" lately!
A Troubled Mind
The silence stretched on and on, unbroken, absolute. The sky hung overcast, the angry light of the dying sun bleeding red into the clouds. A bitterly cold wind whipped the bleak landscape, and yet no whistling sound accompanied it, almost as if the gods had turned off all sound, tired of hearing the earthly noises. The very silence almost seemed to cry despair.
For the lone woman who stood in the middle of the land, the sorrow weighed heavy on her shoulders, reflected in her face and etched in the faint lines that were beginning to trace delicate patterns across her visage. She was young, and yet the grief she had suffered showed plainly in her appearance. Brushing a piece of straggly black hair behind her ear, she glanced around at the land, which was far from empty. Dead corpses lay scattered across it, their blood pooling, seeping into the cracks in the ground. Looking out over the carnage, and knowing it was all beyond her control, the woman began to weep, head hung, oblivious to the world. She failed to here the footsteps of the man approaching. He stopped, just behind her, just out of her view. He leaned in, silent as ever.
“Raven, Raven,” he sang softly in her ear. Snapping back to reality, the woman stopped crying.
Raven. She hated that nickname with a passion. As a child, all the village children would call her that, because of her jet black hair, which resembled the colour of the foul birds’ feathers. It wasn’t a nickname given to her out of fondness, either. Everyone knew that ravens were omens of bad luck, of death. Rumor had it that if you spied one sitting out side your house, or watching your neighbour’s cottage, a member of the household would soon be dead. The children would always tease her, warning each other to make sure she stayed away from their house, else someone would soon die. Raven had always been treated as such, as if she was form of bad luck. Some days, she even believed that lie. Born to a merchant and his wife, they had died when she was still a babe, and so Raven had been sent to the little village of Hook Coast to live with a grumpy old lady who rarely gave Raven the time of day. From the very beginning, she had been out of place. While everyone else in Hook Coast had white hair and pale skin, Raven’s hair was black as night and her skin tanned darker from the southern sun. Then there were her disturbing blue eyes, bright as stars, which seemed to simply look right through people.
It had been Raven’s saving grace when the old lady finally got tired of her, and had sent her off to the Heroes Guild where maybe her oddness would fit in. There, Raven wasn’t as bizarre, but she still stood out. She greatly surpassed all of the apprentices at the Will, something that disturbed the acolytes…
Dragging herself back to the present, Raven turned around, facing the man who had disturbed her from her mourning. The anger was plain to see in her eyes, and the young man threw his arms up in defense.
“I was only teasing you!” he said hastily, “you know I’m only kidding, Sinead!”
Sinead turned away grumpily from him, crossing her arms over her chest, as if to protect herself.
“This isn’t funny, Lucifer! These poor people are dead, and all you can do is joke around?” she hissed, her back still turned to him. The man gave no response. Instead, he looked past Sinead, to where another man was approaching.
“Who are you talking to, Sinead?” the man barked, coming right up to her face. He was an imposing man, taller than her by a foot, wearing the typical clothing of a 5th Regiment Guard. She looked up at him, startled.
“Why, Lucifer, sir,” Sinead explained calmly, bemused. “He’s standing right behind me.” The man shook his head, looking worried.
“There’s no one there, Sinead,” he said softly, as if talking to a little child. “You must be suffering from the trauma of the battle. Come, let’s get you back to the Guild and get you fixed up.”
Sinead almost felt like resisting, like screaming to this clueless man that there was in fact a man standing behind her, in the flesh, but she knew it would do her no good. Instead, she acquiesced, allowing him to take hold of her arm just before she teleported away in a shimmering haze of blue.
Sinead sighed and rolled over, opening her eyes again, and was startled to see Lucifer leaning in the doorway of her room, arms crossed, a familiar smirk on his face.
“They probably all think you’re crazy now,” he murmured, uncrossing his arms and walking towards her, “That guard will have told all of them by now. That you see things that aren’t there.”
“But they’re wrong,” Sinead whispered, drawing the covers up to her chin, “they are wrong, aren’t they?” she asked, knowing she sounded desperate. Lucifer paused, as if thinking it over and deciding whether he was indeed a real and physical being or not.
“I’d imagine, yes. Although I suppose that’s all up to what you want to believe. To them, I’m a figment of your imagination. They can’t see me, hence I’m not real. But you can see me. Isn’t that proof enough?”
Sinead nodded slowly. “Fine time to finally explain this all now,” was all she could say by way of response. “I’d have liked to know this a while ago.”
“It was never a problem a while ago. No one’s found out until today.”
Sinead sighed, knowing he was right. Being so adept at Will had its advantages and disadvantages. Being able to see spirits and otherworldly beings had to be a bit of both, she admitted. True, they were helpful, so long as they weren’t the spiteful sort, but at the same time, they could be a curse, for if you were caught talking to one, you were proclaimed insane. Sinead knew she wasn’t the only one in Albion’s history to be cursed with this ability; the great Scarlet Robe’s daughter, Theresa, had possessed the same powers, not more than half a century ago. Sadly, her life had ended in tragedy. Sinead often wondered if the same fate awaited her.
“You’re awfully pensive tonight,” Lucifer remarked.
“I’ve had a lot to think about lately,” Sinead replied curtly, starting to feel annoyed. Why couldn’t he just go away? Lucifer sensed her exasperation, and fell silent. Then,
“Do you wish for me to leave?”
Sinead paused, unsure. “For tonight, yes. Come back tomorrow, when I’m feeling better.”
Lucifer nodded, and Sinead turned away from him, not wanting to see him disappear. It was unnerving, she felt. Pushing those thoughts from her mind, she sighed heavily. Some days, she hated being a Heroine. The stress from it was too great she felt. And laying there in the stillness, her mind grew agitated again. Was it actually because of the Will that she could see Lucifer, or was she simply going insane? Was he only part of her dark imaginings? They say that Theresa was gifted, but mad as well, and that the spirits she saw had nothing to do with her power. What happened if Sinead was going mad, and simply using an invented figure to comfort herself? After all, it wasn’t uncommon for Heroes and Heroines to go insane after having to put up with too much trauma, and Sinead had had more than her fair share of it.
Sinead tried to cut these thoughts off, knowing it would do her no good. She was simply suffering from the shock of the recent, horrific battle, that was all. It would eventually pass. And with this thought, she fell into a state of semi sleep, half in the dream world, half out. She had almost fallen asleep when she heard a voice whisper in her mind,
“Raven, Raven…”
Another short story I wrote...nothing epic by any means, but maybe a little more reflective...lol, this is the product of listening to too much "Troubled Waters" lately!
A Troubled Mind
The silence stretched on and on, unbroken, absolute. The sky hung overcast, the angry light of the dying sun bleeding red into the clouds. A bitterly cold wind whipped the bleak landscape, and yet no whistling sound accompanied it, almost as if the gods had turned off all sound, tired of hearing the earthly noises. The very silence almost seemed to cry despair.
For the lone woman who stood in the middle of the land, the sorrow weighed heavy on her shoulders, reflected in her face and etched in the faint lines that were beginning to trace delicate patterns across her visage. She was young, and yet the grief she had suffered showed plainly in her appearance. Brushing a piece of straggly black hair behind her ear, she glanced around at the land, which was far from empty. Dead corpses lay scattered across it, their blood pooling, seeping into the cracks in the ground. Looking out over the carnage, and knowing it was all beyond her control, the woman began to weep, head hung, oblivious to the world. She failed to here the footsteps of the man approaching. He stopped, just behind her, just out of her view. He leaned in, silent as ever.
“Raven, Raven,” he sang softly in her ear. Snapping back to reality, the woman stopped crying.
Raven. She hated that nickname with a passion. As a child, all the village children would call her that, because of her jet black hair, which resembled the colour of the foul birds’ feathers. It wasn’t a nickname given to her out of fondness, either. Everyone knew that ravens were omens of bad luck, of death. Rumor had it that if you spied one sitting out side your house, or watching your neighbour’s cottage, a member of the household would soon be dead. The children would always tease her, warning each other to make sure she stayed away from their house, else someone would soon die. Raven had always been treated as such, as if she was form of bad luck. Some days, she even believed that lie. Born to a merchant and his wife, they had died when she was still a babe, and so Raven had been sent to the little village of Hook Coast to live with a grumpy old lady who rarely gave Raven the time of day. From the very beginning, she had been out of place. While everyone else in Hook Coast had white hair and pale skin, Raven’s hair was black as night and her skin tanned darker from the southern sun. Then there were her disturbing blue eyes, bright as stars, which seemed to simply look right through people.
It had been Raven’s saving grace when the old lady finally got tired of her, and had sent her off to the Heroes Guild where maybe her oddness would fit in. There, Raven wasn’t as bizarre, but she still stood out. She greatly surpassed all of the apprentices at the Will, something that disturbed the acolytes…
Dragging herself back to the present, Raven turned around, facing the man who had disturbed her from her mourning. The anger was plain to see in her eyes, and the young man threw his arms up in defense.
“I was only teasing you!” he said hastily, “you know I’m only kidding, Sinead!”
Sinead turned away grumpily from him, crossing her arms over her chest, as if to protect herself.
“This isn’t funny, Lucifer! These poor people are dead, and all you can do is joke around?” she hissed, her back still turned to him. The man gave no response. Instead, he looked past Sinead, to where another man was approaching.
“Who are you talking to, Sinead?” the man barked, coming right up to her face. He was an imposing man, taller than her by a foot, wearing the typical clothing of a 5th Regiment Guard. She looked up at him, startled.
“Why, Lucifer, sir,” Sinead explained calmly, bemused. “He’s standing right behind me.” The man shook his head, looking worried.
“There’s no one there, Sinead,” he said softly, as if talking to a little child. “You must be suffering from the trauma of the battle. Come, let’s get you back to the Guild and get you fixed up.”
Sinead almost felt like resisting, like screaming to this clueless man that there was in fact a man standing behind her, in the flesh, but she knew it would do her no good. Instead, she acquiesced, allowing him to take hold of her arm just before she teleported away in a shimmering haze of blue.
* * *
The moon light fell in luminous bars across Sinead’s bed, throwing shadows up onto the stone walls. They loomed and leered, and in the darkness, they seemed terrifyingly menacing to the young woman. She closed her eyes tight, trying to block them from her view, but it did no good. They remained, imprinted onto her mind like a bad stain that wouldn’t go away.Sinead sighed and rolled over, opening her eyes again, and was startled to see Lucifer leaning in the doorway of her room, arms crossed, a familiar smirk on his face.
“They probably all think you’re crazy now,” he murmured, uncrossing his arms and walking towards her, “That guard will have told all of them by now. That you see things that aren’t there.”
“But they’re wrong,” Sinead whispered, drawing the covers up to her chin, “they are wrong, aren’t they?” she asked, knowing she sounded desperate. Lucifer paused, as if thinking it over and deciding whether he was indeed a real and physical being or not.
“I’d imagine, yes. Although I suppose that’s all up to what you want to believe. To them, I’m a figment of your imagination. They can’t see me, hence I’m not real. But you can see me. Isn’t that proof enough?”
Sinead nodded slowly. “Fine time to finally explain this all now,” was all she could say by way of response. “I’d have liked to know this a while ago.”
“It was never a problem a while ago. No one’s found out until today.”
Sinead sighed, knowing he was right. Being so adept at Will had its advantages and disadvantages. Being able to see spirits and otherworldly beings had to be a bit of both, she admitted. True, they were helpful, so long as they weren’t the spiteful sort, but at the same time, they could be a curse, for if you were caught talking to one, you were proclaimed insane. Sinead knew she wasn’t the only one in Albion’s history to be cursed with this ability; the great Scarlet Robe’s daughter, Theresa, had possessed the same powers, not more than half a century ago. Sadly, her life had ended in tragedy. Sinead often wondered if the same fate awaited her.
“You’re awfully pensive tonight,” Lucifer remarked.
“I’ve had a lot to think about lately,” Sinead replied curtly, starting to feel annoyed. Why couldn’t he just go away? Lucifer sensed her exasperation, and fell silent. Then,
“Do you wish for me to leave?”
Sinead paused, unsure. “For tonight, yes. Come back tomorrow, when I’m feeling better.”
Lucifer nodded, and Sinead turned away from him, not wanting to see him disappear. It was unnerving, she felt. Pushing those thoughts from her mind, she sighed heavily. Some days, she hated being a Heroine. The stress from it was too great she felt. And laying there in the stillness, her mind grew agitated again. Was it actually because of the Will that she could see Lucifer, or was she simply going insane? Was he only part of her dark imaginings? They say that Theresa was gifted, but mad as well, and that the spirits she saw had nothing to do with her power. What happened if Sinead was going mad, and simply using an invented figure to comfort herself? After all, it wasn’t uncommon for Heroes and Heroines to go insane after having to put up with too much trauma, and Sinead had had more than her fair share of it.
Sinead tried to cut these thoughts off, knowing it would do her no good. She was simply suffering from the shock of the recent, horrific battle, that was all. It would eventually pass. And with this thought, she fell into a state of semi sleep, half in the dream world, half out. She had almost fallen asleep when she heard a voice whisper in her mind,
“Raven, Raven…”