I wrote another piece of writing for Rats next contest. It wasn't my best work, actually some of my worst, but I wanted to post it anyway. My excuse for writing so miserably was that I started on the very last day and rushed it badly. I only finished writing it five minutes before it was due, and sent it to her one minute before. Feedback would be helpful, since I was trying a new type of writing, in first person, present tense.
I press myself against a tree desperately, the hazy wind biting into cheeks, as the man walks by. Though everything is covered in an unnatural white mist, I can tell through the set of his jaw and the height with which he walked, that he cannot be much older than me, merely nineteen at the highest.
It doesn't comfort me. However old he is, it doesn't take away from the fact that he's been following me for quite some time, or that he's brandishing a magnificent, gleaming sword at his side. It looks sharp, sharp enough to take down one of these trees with a single blow.
Sweaty with fear, I claw my fingers through my straight black hair. I haven't been in this forest for long, it's still nearly as straight as it was when I set out. My other hand presses into the bark of the tree, panic allowing me extra adrenaline. Then, as he walks directly in front of me, oblivious to the easy prey shuddering just to the right of him, I lose myself. I take a sharp, furious, and noticeable intake of breath, and he looks at me.
For a moment I can only see his eyes. His golden eyes, meeting with my cobalt blue eyes. They lock, and instantly I am captivated. Then he takes a step closer. And I regain my consciousness. Sprinting the other way, faster than I knew I'm capable of, I try to tear my thoughts away from those golden eyes. Not only were they beautiful, but they looked familiar too. As if I had forgotten some important part of my life.
My thoughts crash into a solid, firmly built wall as I see him standing in front of me. “What...how...why are you doing this to me?” I shriek, though I know there is no reason for me to ask that.
Is it my imagination, or is that pain in his eyes? I'm frozen with terror as he reaches over and grips my hand, firm enough so I can't escape, though careful enough not to hurt me. Then his other hand swipes gently across my cheek.
I cannot tell if I'm supposed to recognize the touch. Somehow his brush stings me slightly, leaving my skin tingling. I can't stop staring into his eyes. He says, “Lez...I've missed you so much.” And my fantasy comes falling down. Of course I recognize him. Why had I been so oblivious to Ian's familiar gold eyes?
A painful flashback confirms my suspicions about the identity of Ian.
I jump as Ian curses, laying on the ground, his leg curled underneath him. The baby grass is crushed beneath his weight, its light green spread covering the length until the horizon. Waterfalls splash, scattered around the meadow, vivid rainbows or foreboding cast between each strand of water.
He stands up slowly, a sudden hatred burning in his eyes. I don't understand it, it's as if he's possessed. Just two moments ago, he'd been laughing at my sudden ability to fight him to the ground and actually manage to injure him. “Lez. Watch out,” he mutters, not meeting my eyes. I want to ask him what's come over him, but his words startle me. Watch out? Watch out for what?
Suddenly a line of fire runs between us, splitting the meadow in precisely half. “Ian!” I shriek, shocked and afraid. “Help!” I know he is the one with the broken leg. Still, he's more able of sparing our lives than I'll ever be.
To my bewilderment, he staggers a few steps back, trying to regain his balance. Though the cold fire still resides in his eyes. “Sorry,” he shrugs.
I leap back as the flames reach out to lick my skin. Glancing around me wildly, I realize I'm surrounded in a circle of flames. And Ian is leaving me. I can see him, limping out the other side, occasionally tripping and almost falling to the ground.
Realization dawns on me. He did this to me. He trapped me in fire, and now I'm going to die. “Ian!” I shriek again, desperation catching the better of me. Hope flares up as he turns around slowly to face me.
“Sorry,” he shrugs again. This time, pain is reflected in his eyes. His pure, golden eyes that I had once been attracted to, that had imprisoned me from the moment I'd seen them. I'll never trust them again.
I continue staring into Ian's eyes, as he grips me. Finally, I catch my voice. “Traitor,” I growl. Yanking free of him, I turn to flee, however he catches me from behind in his arms.
“No. You're not escaping from me.” I can feel myself being slowly rotated, so I face him again, though closer than before. “You have no idea how miserable I've been without you in the past three years.”
“Get away from me,” I growl again.
“You have to listen to the whole story.” Ian's voice in coarse, and pleading. Finally, I resign.
“What?”
Ian sighed. “I didn't abandon you that day. I really didn't.” I roll my eyes at him. “Serious!” he continues. “I had no choice. Either I had to set that fire, or have my life taken. Painfully.”
“Oh, how courageous of you!” I exclaim, letting my sarcasm roll out. “You didn't want to die, so you kill you girlfriend!”
“No!”
“Definitely the heroic action to take. Now will you please let me free?” I pull away from him, and lean against the tree trunk behind me, making it a point that he can't touch me.
“I didn't leave you,” he repeats stubbornly. “Please, let me explain.” Ian takes a deep breath. “I didn't have a choice. I was under his power. I suppose you can say I was possessed, only I knew what I was doing and chose to go through with it.
“The second I saw you collapse, I knew I couldn't handle it. I raced back, well as fast as I could without causing myself to black out from my leg, and escorted you out of danger. Then, horrified at what I had almost gone through with, I resolved never to see you again.
“It was too much. Then he took over me completely. I have the scars on my neck to prove it. He used a curse blade against my throat every day to make me swear my loyalty. And if I did not oblige immediately, he would cut in a bit further.
“I was a coward. I'm so sorry, Lez.”
I hardly realize I'm gaping at him when he finishes his story. Then I recollect my composure. “Who exactly is he?” I ask finally.
A crooked, cruel smile takes place on his mouth. “My brother,” he replied, the hatred and fear towards his brother easily identifiable.
“What!” I ask, shocked.
This also serves as a reminder. For my contest. All entries due by Friday, at midnight. I will not be allowing late entries, because this time I've given you almost two weeks. Good luck!
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