AN: This story is going to be so different from anything I have written to date! I really hope everyone likes it!
Also, when you review (hint, hint) let me know which story you would like to read. I want to start a new story, but I have so many unfinished already that I'm only starting one! So, would you rather read: I, Monster; Insignificant; Hit The Floor; or Liar, Liar. Pick one please!
WARNING: Language, some slight abuse, but nothing like Life Is Hell... that's actually it! (shocker)
Disclaimer: My pen and I are alone in the world… I REALLY don't own anything!
Prologue: Hello My Name Is:
I found myself sitting in the dark. Alone. Again. I couldn't figure out how I always seemed to end up here. In the dark. Alone. I never did anything wrong. Yes I was defiant when I knew I could be, but I still did the things I was told to do. Yet somehow I'm here again. Waiting. In the dark. Alone.
My chains rattled. I attempted to shift into a more comfortable position, but as always, the chains were designed for a much taller person. To keep from breaking or mangling my wrists I was forced to stand on the tips of my toes at all times. The position didn't allow for solace of any kind, including sleep.
The door opened shedding a sliver of light on my dismal cellar. I cringed at the sound of boots on the stairs, knowing all too what was to come.
"You misbehaved again," he said with his usual air of superiority. "Come now, how many times must we do this before you realize that I OWN you!" He reached to bottom of the stairs, laughing at my stance. I hung my head to avoid looking at him.
"Apparently one more…" he mumbled to himself. He strolled lazily to where I hung and slowly lifted my chin till my defiant eyes met his. "Still not talking I see," he slapped me. Hard. My head snapped to the right and hit the wall almost causing me to pass out from the sheer force of the blow. "I'm talking to you!" he shouted. "Now speak when your master addresses you!"
I remained silent and turned my head, deliberately refusing to look him in the eye. "Fine then," he drew a knife from his robes and lifted it to my face. "Your mother always did love that disgusting face of yours." He traced the knife agonizingly slow across the hallow of my cheek bone, drawing blood. "Then again, what did she know anyway? She's dead isn't she!"
I normally wouldn't give him any satisfaction in knowing that his words or actions affected me in any way whatsoever, but no one insults my mother. I bit the hand holding the knife, causing him to drop it. Clink. The knife hit the floor. He jumped back in surprise, victory evident on his face. I struggled against the chains to get at him.
"Wow, I didn't know you felt so passionately about that whore," he mocked me from a safe distance. "Aw, is someone angry." I turned my hatred toward him. I wished every curse I knew upon him. I damned him to hell. I wished for the gods to smite him where he stood. But the evil people always seemed to win. They were more powerful. Older. Wiser... Why me.
"Calm down you little bastard, you can't confront your people like this," he taunted. He picked his knife from where it lay and made a cut mirror to the one on my left cheek. "Why do you keep pretending to be strong? You lost! It's over!"
He kicked me in the stomach and I instinctively bent over as double as the chains would allow. "You're pathetic," he kicked my knee in then tromped on the opposite foot. "Why do you resist the inevitable?" He pulled my hair back and slammed my head back repeatedly into the stone wall. "You've lost! Accept defeat!"
He removed the chains and allowed me to fall to the floor off of my pained limbs. He put his foot on my head, digging his heel into my temple. He bent over and whispered in my ear, "This is where you belong. At my feet, under my shoe like the scum you are."
He kicked my ribs breaking at least 3 of them. "Get up," he commanded. I complied as best I could. Although he had unhooked my chains from the wall, they were still hooked to my wrists and I tripped over them while trying to get up.
He stabbed his knife into my shoulder and left it there. "You worthless bastard," he cried. He grabbed the ends of the chains and dragged me up the stairs and to the door. "If you try to remove that blade, I WILL kill you." I inherently knew the threat was not empty.
He dragged me to the end of a hall and onto a balcony. I landed on the blade of the knife, and without a view of what was below the balcony.
"People of Normandy!" he announced. "There has been recent speculation as to what has happened to the King and Queen in the last month. I am pleased to inform you, that they are dead!" What? I thought. No one had told me what had happened, I didn't know.
"I bring before you, the heads of the King and his prostitute wife." I looked up to see two men carrying the heads of the King and Queen for all of the Norman people to see. Had I anything in my stomach, it surely would have met the floor.
"And of course," he continued pulling me to my feet for the audience. He placed a crown of black thorns on my head, "Your hero, my brother, the Black Thorn Prince."
AN: Ahhhhhh!
Wow, that was actually really intense!
This story actually holds NO historical accuracy, although, the Black Thorn tree is a symbol of bad luck, strife, unexpected changes, resentment, and confusion. I didn't actually know this until I had started writing this story, I named the story without knowing the connotation, but I must say… it SO works!
I wrote this a few months ago and just went back and read it... It is really fnickin' good! It gave me chills, which is rare for anything I write! If you don't love it, you suck!
Reviews are the cookies to my lonely milk… yeah, that sounded cool! 10 reviews and I'll update soon!
As always,
Ali