Post by Rose Brennan on Mar 1, 2008 8:56:05 GMT -5
The last of his kind- a piece for school
Do you feel pain? No, of course you don’t. Well, you might feel pain as in the ‘cut your hand on a knife pain’, but not the pure gut wrenching sorrow of someone that has lost a dear one, the pain of someone who knows that he shall be alone forever. I stagger through the night, the cold wind buffeting me back and fourth under the black sky speckled with small beads of white. But I cannot see it, I can not afford to remove my eyes from the path in front of me and change the scents pressing into me as I take each step; I keep my eyes ahead of me. I can smell it though, smell tiny creatures curled in their nests under the kind spell of sleep...something I can not afford to succumb to right now...I don’t know if I ever will.
The night reminds me of happier times, the times when I was free to do as I pleased, to run wild, but now is different, now is a different time. I slow my pace; I must be far away by now. There is an old willow tree; I can smell it, warped with age and with old inhabitants gone. There must have been hundreds of them, I sense rabbits, badgers and foxes, death and new life; the tree has seen many things in its time.
Now it is my turn to take refuge in it, I almost slip where the ground gives way, I repeat almost. I’m always on my guard; I wouldn’t be fooled by a simple burrow in the ground. As I slip in I feel as if I’m coming home, I know all around me will be dark so I’m not missing out on any sights. I close my eyes and finally, feeling safe, I slip into the realm of sleep.
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I don’t really want to do this, but it’s my job you see...I have no choice in the matter. I’ve already done it once, so it shouldn’t be so bad this time. I can still hear the yowls and screams of its family as the fire I lit consumed them. They escaped when they shouldn’t have and that was the price, the price they had to pay for their disloyalty. I don’t think they knew what they were doing though, they were wild animals and to be kept in that small area with so many of them must have driven them mad. I don’t know who left the windows open; I hope no one finds out. It would not be pleasant. Anyway, they flew out, across the realm of our king and no one knew where to. So they called in me.
I tried to convince the king not to make me harm the, they’re magical creatures, the only ones around. They’re an amazing sight to behold, an animal with the body and mind of a wolf with the wings of an owl. Most of them were young, but there was one old one. He was probably killed straight away.
I drop down and trace the earth with my hands, there’s some droplets of blood mixed with something that smells foul...I decide to follow it. My steps become faster and I reach for the hilt of the dagger in my belt. People think I enjoy this, but the stench of blood and the feeling of hopelessness pulsating of the animal or person in question makes bile rise in my throat. I am the king’s assassin, who does his dirty work and (although I’d never want it) never gets recognition. I’m still thrown to the ground in the street, called names and beaten by boys who want to prove their masculinity to the girls around them; if I so much as raise a hand to them I will lose my job, that’s my life.
I’ve been travelling for about five miles now and weariness is spreading through my limbs, making them feel as heavy as lead. I spot an old tree, its branches gnarled and warped with age. I curl up beside it, I’ll only take a few minutes rest, but the fight to keep my heavy lids from closing is too much. I close my eyes.
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He thinks he is safe, it makes me laugh. His scent is strong and yet he is still only a child. I wish I could see him, maybe them I could take pleasure from the terror in his eyes when he finds out how close I am to him in his vulnerable state; I let out a growl from the back of my throat, it sounds rasped, cracked with age like the tree I’m hiding in...But I don’t care.
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A noise wakes me from my sleep; I see two eyes watching me from a hole in the ground, sightless, a milky blue like the moon above us. He growls and I back away, he keeps advancing forward. I draw the dagger from my belt and hold it toward him and he stops, sniffing the air and backs away...as if he smelt the cold metal in my hand that he knows will kill him if he comes to close.
I pull something else from my belt, a bag filled with meat which I throw at him. He sniffs it and wolfs it down and immediately I feel guilt, but at least the way of poisoned meat that will send him to sleep is better than the cold dagger to his old throat. He has had his time and he is alone now poor beast. I get up and move silently into the shadows, it was cold that night, for the last of his kind.
It's a one off 