Rain.
Rain.
Rain.
Typical England weather today. Also very ominous. Seriously, why do all the sad chapters have rain in the background?
I was only mere meters past Reece's house when I fell in a ravine. Inconvenient, isn't it?
Say maybe fifty millenia ago. This area was unknown to whatever creatures that may have resembled humans at the time. There was a river, and there was a forest. The river slowly carved a ravine and a bunch of trees fell into it. Now, it's a mere creek in a smaller ravine, covered by a bunch of old fallen trees.
So of course ants loved it.
I'd slipped on a cone that had fallen from the nearby tree. Both luckily and misfortunate, I'd fallen right into a very large anthill. It could've been worse. I could've been concussed or even died. As it was, I was laying headfirst in a pile of ants and coniferious. It was itchy, and it hurt. I stood up. A whole bunch of needles and tiny insects moved themselves to make space for my legs.
I brushed the ants and conifeious from my face, slowly eyeing my surroundings. It was as easy as to climb up. The slope I'd falled down was barely enough to prove a challenge for an amateur climber. So I climbed back up, but instantly fell when I lost control of my body, and moments later, my consciousness.
You must realise, Esme, I'm telling the truth. Your uncle will die. Soon.
He violently turned his head as he heard a door slam behind him. Someone had entered the house, and it wasn't his neice. He stood up, closing down the computer, then slowly turning around. He heard the intruder's steps, recognising the rythm tapping from his shoes.
"So, it's time, huh?" Frank said, his tone anything but happy.
The intruder was an old man, with graying beard and a somewhat brown hair that looked more like a crow's nest than actual hair. His clothes were simple sandals. His legs were hidden behind a grey robe, as were his chest and arms. The sleeves were long, keeping his hands mostly shadowed. His skin was a darker pale, almost making him look Asian. "It's time." The man said. He had a thick American accent, and his voice was shaky but controlled. His tone was so sharp, you could be able to cut through a rock effortlessly if it was concrete.
"Killing me won't grant you anything." Frank said. His face was all of a sudden grim. He despiesed this man, clearly.
The man looked away. "It won't?"
"You said it yourself. Death is a burden on everyone involved. Killing someone grants you nothing but guilt. I am no exception, despite my heiritage." Frank said.
"You are a threat to this world. One that must be kept at bay." The man responded.
Then, the door opened again. Three men and two women clothed in a dark blue uniform came in. The woman in the lead said with a dominative tone:
"You, my good sir are under arrest."
The man turned to the police. He focused on the door. It creaked, and then, nothing. The man was shocked, but ultimately turned to Frank. "You... You don't even know the consequences of what you just did."
Frank looked down at him, as if he was a noble judging a peasant. "I am just trying to preserve what little good there is in our world." He said as the police handcuffed the man and took him away. "Goodbye, old friend."
I returned to consciousness in an instant. Gasping for air, I stood once again. It was quiet. The anthill was just about gone. The ants must've relocated or something. I sighed in slight relief that they wasn't here instead of crawling over my body like ants do or something. I haven't researched them, really.
I staggered down to the river, trying to wash my face. In the end, it became a dripping mess of goo. I spat the small amounts of dirt in my mouth, and once again tried to wash my face. This time, I got relatively cleaner, and I proceeded to deduce that I would take a shower once I got home.
It wasn't a long walk. In fact, it was a very short walk. I'd say it was probably about five hundred meters, though I'm not good at rough estimations, so I'd say maybe four hundred meters. Which is a rough estimation.
I will not cease to make this story as ironic and self-contradicting as possible.
After a not very long, but still refreshing, walkabout, I reached my uncle's house. It was a small one, made from what probably wasn't the sturdiest of wood and had a very gothly asthetic.
It was also extremely small. Despite being its own house, it wasn't much larger than an apartment. It did have a basement, but that was basically just a washhouse and an old scrub remade to act as my room. As you can probably imagine, living in a room designed to be a scrub isn't all that pleasant. I suppose there's a thing with Fantasy protagonists living in a scrub, huh? Might be to make the beginning feel underwhelming.
On the topic of underwhelming, what happened next was extremely so. Told you people always make the beginning of a story underwhelming, didn't I? Anyways, I walked through the wide open front door. On the floor, I saw muddy footsteps of about five or six people, according to a rough estimation of mine.
I chose not to mention it and instead directly look at the analog clock in the hall. It was one of the few modern things in the house, with clean plastic glass and aluminum edges. The numbers were clearly defined with a midnight black colour, along with some very very dark grey hands. Yes, I can see the difference.
Anyway, back to the underwhelming thing. My uncle was somehow not gambling at the moment, which slightly surprised me. He was, in fact, making an omelette for lunch, which didn't slightly surprise me.
Yeah, that was the underwhelming part. Surprised?
Frank turned to me and raised an eyebrow. He probably wasn't expecting me to arrive so early. I mean, it wasn't like I was almost covered in mud and conferious, right?
Oh wait, I was. How underwhelming.
I took a cold shower (there's been a problem with the , changed clothes, and returned to the dinner table, where lunch was now served and half-eaten. I was amazed of how quickly my uncle could devour his own cooking. His cooking was horrible, even by my standards. The bottom of the omelette was completely burnt black, and the bacon almost completely covering the actual omelette. It wasn't much of a problem, though. You get used to it when you've been living with him for the past five years.
Oh god, five years. I feel old.
My uncle had been completely silent since I came back. He hadn't spoken a word, and there was some kind of tense atmosphere in the house, as if he'd been fighting with someone. Not literally, of course. My uncle wasn't very strong, so seeing him after a fight would either be accompanied with the sight of a distorted body because there would be a lot of burises or it would force me to cover him in bandages. Yeah, I'm exaggerating again.
Anyway, my uncle was silent for the rest of the day, only speaking when he wanted me to do some menial tasks or chores. The rest of the day went on as usual, my uncle sitting by his computer on some shady website, and me doing whatever. It wasn't until dinner that something very very peculiar happened.
Remember how people usually make a story underwhelming? Well, what happened next was not. I suppose this isn't a story in reality, huh? I was hoping I dreamt all that stuff.
It was half past five. In the afternoon, of course. We were sitting by the kitchen table, a near buffet of egg-related foods in front of us. There were leftovers of the omelette and fried eggs from today, mostly.
Dinner proceeded much like the lunch had. We ate in silence and mostly ignored each other.
Then, the door slammed open. A cold, hard wind came rushing in from the rain outside, some drops of water splattering on my face, carried by the wind. A silhouette emerged from the dark outside. With unhearable steps, the silhouette slowly walked into the warm light of the house. It was a tall man, with grey beard and a crow's nest of a haircut. He was wearing a completely black cloak that seemed to be a part of the darkness behind him, and his eyes were shadowed by a hat. His voice was no less colourless than my uncle, and he spoke with a hick American accent.
"Sorry for the wait, Frank."
My uncle stood up in apparent and obvious shock. "What are you doing here?" Then he calmed down a bit. "You always were a devious man."
I was confused, so I stood up too. "What is going on? Who is this?" I questioned my uncle. He ignored me, as he had the whole day. I decided to watch the conversation transpire.
The man chuckled. "I always were." He said with arms crossed. "Tomorrow morning. I'll get you an excuse." He smiled deviously. I think my uncle was right.
"Tomorrow what? Are you going to kill me?" Frank said. "You know that you can't wipe out our bloodline by killing us all." He said, his exression blank and emotionless.
"I swear by my name and honour, I will not kill you in the coming twenty-four hours." He said with a bow.
My uncle let out a snort. "Fine. What is it?"
The man smiled. "We need to talk. I cant sustain myself here for long, so we better take it back there." He said in a calm tone.
"Oh, well then." Frank said, and the man faded into nothingness. My uncle turned to me, and finally acknowledged my presence.
"Are you confused?" He asked, in the same emotionless tone that he spoke to the intruder.
I nodded. Of course I was confused.
"Good. Keep being." He said. He looked me in my eyes, and for a moment I think I saw his iris gleaming. He then suddenly snapped his fingers, and everything went black.
I staggered down to the river, trying to wash my face. In the end, it became a dripping mess of goo. I spat the small amounts of dirt in my mouth, and once again tried to wash my face. This time, I got relatively cleaner, and I proceeded to deduce that I would take a shower once I got home.
It wasn't a long walk. In fact, it was a very short walk. I'd say it was probably about five hundred meters, though I'm not good at rough estimations, so I'd say maybe four hundred meters. Which is a rough estimation.
I will not cease to make this story as ironic and self-contradicting as possible.
After a not very long, but still refreshing, walkabout, I reached my uncle's house. It was a small one, made from what probably wasn't the sturdiest of wood and had a very gothly asthetic.
It was also extremely small. Despite being its own house, it wasn't much larger than an apartment. It did have a basement, but that was basically just a washhouse and an old scrub remade to act as my room. As you can probably imagine, living in a room designed to be a scrub isn't all that pleasant. I suppose there's a thing with Fantasy protagonists living in a scrub, huh? Might be to make the beginning feel underwhelming.
On the topic of underwhelming, what happened next was extremely so. Told you people always make the beginning of a story underwhelming, didn't I? Anyways, I walked through the wide open front door. On the floor, I saw muddy footsteps of about five or six people, according to a rough estimation of mine.
I chose not to mention it and instead directly look at the analog clock in the hall. It was one of the few modern things in the house, with clean plastic glass and aluminum edges. The numbers were clearly defined with a midnight black colour, along with some very very dark grey hands. Yes, I can see the difference.
Anyway, back to the underwhelming thing. My uncle was somehow not gambling at the moment, which slightly surprised me. He was, in fact, making an omelette for lunch, which didn't slightly surprise me.
Yeah, that was the underwhelming part. Surprised?
Frank turned to me and raised an eyebrow. He probably wasn't expecting me to arrive so early. I mean, it wasn't like I was almost covered in mud and conferious, right?
Oh wait, I was. How underwhelming.
I took a cold shower (there's been a problem with the , changed clothes, and returned to the dinner table, where lunch was now served and half-eaten. I was amazed of how quickly my uncle could devour his own cooking. His cooking was horrible, even by my standards. The bottom of the omelette was completely burnt black, and the bacon almost completely covering the actual omelette. It wasn't much of a problem, though. You get used to it when you've been living with him for the past five years.
Oh god, five years. I feel old.
My uncle had been completely silent since I came back. He hadn't spoken a word, and there was some kind of tense atmosphere in the house, as if he'd been fighting with someone. Not literally, of course. My uncle wasn't very strong, so seeing him after a fight would either be accompanied with the sight of a distorted body because there would be a lot of burises or it would force me to cover him in bandages. Yeah, I'm exaggerating again.
Anyway, my uncle was silent for the rest of the day, only speaking when he wanted me to do some menial tasks or chores. The rest of the day went on as usual, my uncle sitting by his computer on some shady website, and me doing whatever. It wasn't until dinner that something very very peculiar happened.
Remember how people usually make a story underwhelming? Well, what happened next was not. I suppose this isn't a story in reality, huh? I was hoping I dreamt all that stuff.
It was half past five. In the afternoon, of course. We were sitting by the kitchen table, a near buffet of egg-related foods in front of us. There were leftovers of the omelette and fried eggs from today, mostly.
Dinner proceeded much like the lunch had. We ate in silence and mostly ignored each other.
Then, the door slammed open. A cold, hard wind came rushing in from the rain outside, some drops of water splattering on my face, carried by the wind. A silhouette emerged from the dark outside. With unhearable steps, the silhouette slowly walked into the warm light of the house. It was a tall man, with grey beard and a crow's nest of a haircut. He was wearing a completely black cloak that seemed to be a part of the darkness behind him, and his eyes were shadowed by a hat. His voice was no less colourless than my uncle, and he spoke with a hick American accent.
"Sorry for the wait, Frank."
My uncle stood up in apparent and obvious shock. "What are you doing here?" Then he calmed down a bit. "You always were a devious man."
I was confused, so I stood up too. "What is going on? Who is this?" I questioned my uncle. He ignored me, as he had the whole day. I decided to watch the conversation transpire.
The man chuckled. "I always were." He said with arms crossed. "Tomorrow morning. I'll get you an excuse." He smiled deviously. I think my uncle was right.
"Tomorrow what? Are you going to kill me?" Frank said. "You know that you can't wipe out our bloodline by killing us all." He said, his exression blank and emotionless.
"I swear by my name and honour, I will not kill you in the coming twenty-four hours." He said with a bow.
My uncle let out a snort. "Fine. What is it?"
The man smiled. "We need to talk. I cant sustain myself here for long, so we better take it back there." He said in a calm tone.
"Oh, well then." Frank said, and the man faded into nothingness. My uncle turned to me, and finally acknowledged my presence.
"Are you confused?" He asked, in the same emotionless tone that he spoke to the intruder.
I nodded. Of course I was confused.
"Good. Keep being." He said. He looked me in my eyes, and for a moment I think I saw his iris gleaming. He then suddenly snapped his fingers, and everything went black.
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