FantasyWorld

Ch. 1. A Chosen Path

"I'm sorry. They've chosen our paths. There's nothing we can do, and there's no point in us. I'm sorry, truly."

He grabbed her arm, begging her to stay, to change her mind. With a sad look she closed her eyes and a tear fell down her cheek. She turned and walked slowly towards the door, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand as she went. She turned when she reached the door, "I love you. I'm sorry."

He fell to his knees and slammed the ground with his fists before becoming enveloped in sorrow. He broke down and cried. He cried for his loss, and for where his life was promised to go.

"No… no, no! Not now. Not with everything so perfect!" He cried until he was exhausted and he fell asleep on the cold, lifeless, wooden floor.

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He awoke to the beat of pounding and a bang. He jumped to his feet, running to his front room. Men in dark blue polyester uniforms were running into his house 2 by 2. They began toppling chairs and tables and knocking over lamps and flower vases.

" 'Eh boy, where is you 'idin?" one of the men yelled as he walked crouching around corners.

Another man cleared his throat, "Ahem, we 'ave orders to take from this 'ouse 'old a one Tristan Beckett. Tristan show yourself or die trying to escape!"

"We 'ere to save ya boy, not 'urt you. We gonna make your life betta!"

Tristan of 18 scrambled through his bedroom then into his bathroom. He pried open the window above the sink and pulled himself through. The window faced a hill, covered in trees and mossy undergrowth in Tristan's backyard. He pulled the window closed before running into the protection of the trees. Crouching in the brush he watched as men circled his house and shot holes in his windows and even through walls. He shut his eyes and put his head on his knees.

"Light it on fire! I want no remains of this heap!" one of the officers yelled above the shotguns and rifles.

Tristan's head shot up to see his home go up in flames. He turned and ran and didn't stop running until he was deep in a forest.