Okay, this story is just a crazy little idea I've had for some time. I'm not serious about it though. I have practically no idea what to with this, how far I will go or what its ending will be. My plan is this: I'll write down the first few chapters that have been floating around in my mind and once I have written down all I can, I'll put this thing up for adoption.
To my dear "The silver dagger and its sheath" readers. Sorry, I'm still stuck on the next chapter.
"Hah... hah... hah..."
The little boy struggled hard to breathe. He leaned heavily against the tree he had just reached; and felt the full brunt of his poor state:
He was so out of breath, he felt as though he'd die of lack of air. Already he was feeling light-headed; any moment now and he'd faint. His little lungs worked desperately to take in the air he needed.
The little boy clutched at his chest; his heart stung. It stung so badly he feared he'd die. His little heart hammered like crazy; any moment now and it'd burst. And yet, it still felt as though it beat not enough; not fast enough, not strong enough.
The little boy shivered; his skin felt so hot... so why did he feel so cold? His eyes stung; it was storming and the wind kept throwing sharp raindrops into his sore eyes. His hair and clothes were plastered to his body; wet and heavy, soaked through and through by the rain.
His legs shook; he barely felt them, they had grown cold and numb. And yet, though he could not really feel them, they felt so heavy. And they burned! And stung! The little boy thought there was no way he could run again; his legs would just give in and he'd collapse.
A rain droplet trickled down his face unto his lip. He eagerly licked it up! His throat was parched and his head felt sickly light from all the thirst. So his tongue swept up any drop of moisture it could get!
But this droplet was strange... its taste was wrong. It did not taste like clean water should. Neither did it taste like a drop of sweat. It did not taste like a teardrop either. No, this one tasted like...
...blood...
Startled, the little boy's hand flew up to his face. There on his forehead was a deep cut. He must have gotten it when that sharp branch had smacked him in the face. The little boy soon discovered that was not the only cut he had; his face had many more cuts and scratches; more so his arms and hands. They all stung and itched very badly!
But he couldn't have helped it. It was dark. Night had fallen a good few hours ago. There was no way he could have avoided all those branches as he had ran though all those bushes. And he had to run! His uncle had told him so! He had to run...
"Find the boy! Find him, you worthless scum, find him! Bring him to me!"
The little boy froze.
Then he broke out running again!
Away from him!
Away from the black warrior!
This is just supposed to be a prologue/teaser. The real story hasn't started yet.
Well...? So far what do you think of this? I may not be too serious about continuing this, but I seriously would like to know what people think about it; I'm developing my skills as a writer, see?
Please review and comment. All forms of reviews, comments and criticisms are very welcomed and appreciated. As are numerical ratings from 0-10.
0 = Delete this shit. 10 = Perfect.