random short story

rough draft of something random..lol i will tweek it later, or just scrap it, who knows.

Blood enriched sweat dripped from the end of his nose, and fell in what seemed slow motion to the crimson soaked earth, adding but a faction more lifeblood to the vile mixed sludge around him.

At that very fractured instant he almost forgot where he was, what was around him, what his priorities should be focused on. An endorphin induced calm flooded through him and all that seemed to matter before no longer did. All that matter was this heartbeat, not the next, for anything beyond this one was unexpected.

His muscles tensed harder causing his muscles to cry out in protest as they began to spasm agonizingly. But he would not relent, his fingers dug in deeper, his grip unremitting. A loud crunching sound emanated from beneath his hands and the desperate struggling of the beast slowed and then ceased.

His eyes met with the dog’s for that last fading moment before death took the animal. The beast held no contempt or bitterness towards him, no burning hatred, merely… a moot understanding of things.

That brief moment was all he had, he knew a pair of the beasts were being released this very instant and were closing the distances on him. He blinked the stinging sweat from his eyes and took a deep breath to steady himself. The sound of paws sloshing through mud neared dangerously. His fingers searched through the gore mixed mud and closed round a rock. His eyes burst open and he spun around. The beast lunged, his arm snapped out. A sickening crack echoed out, and he could feel the dogs skull sink in. The limp body landed with a wet slapping sound in the mud close to the other dead beast.

A hungry growl from behind reminded him there was one more. He turned to square up with the mangy beast, but the animal wasted no time in its advantaged, not wanting to end up like it companions. Jaws clamped down on the arm holding the bloodied rock. Fangs tore into flesh and sinew, the rock fell away and sunk into the mud. The dog pulled down its head shaking, ripping deeper into his arm, the taste of blood enraging the beast further.

He punched at the dogs mangled head, if the animal felt it, it didn’t show. He knew he had to get his arm free soon before he was pulled to the earth. He grabbed the dogs head and forced his thumb into the beast eye, as deep as it would go. The beast yelped madly, its jaws released as the mangy dog backed away, growling and shaking its head, trying to shake the pain away from its destroyed eye. Advantage gained and he wasted little time, he dived forward and grabbed the dogs snout, one hand tightly on the top, the other pushing down on the bottom. The beast tried to pull away, growling and snorting in anger. But he pushed down hard, a revolting snap echoed in his ears then the stomach turning tearing of flesh. His hands slipped from their holds on the beast maw, as blood now flowed freely.

The beast back stepped franticly, trying to get away from the man, no fight left in him. The man stood up, watching the ruined dog whimper and thrash about, a humane paroxysm of guilt washed over him as he watched the dying beast. It shouldn’t have to suffer. He reached down and retrieved his crimson stained rock, and marched forward a saint for this moment. The chain around his ankle snapped taut. He looked back wondering if there was a way to extend its reach, but he knew there wasn’t. The dying mutt was several feet out of his captivity. He thought about throwing the rock, but quickly dismissed the concept, it was his only weapon and he doubt in his weakened state that he could hit the beast with enough force to end its miserable suffering, if hit it at all.

Soon the throbbing in his mangled arm drew his attention, he looked down and knew he would bleed out if it wasn’t tended too. He dropped his rock, and tore a ragged sleeve off his shirt and tied it around his arm, slowing the bleeding.

The sound of a metal clearing a scabbard, was barely audible over the pounding of his heart is his ear. He turned and there stood a tattered man, much like himself. Desperation glistened in his eyes and a dagger was gripped in a bruised, shaking hand.

An unspoken conversation happened within a heartbeat of their eyes meeting. Neither wanted this, but neither had a choice, both knew, both understood and accepted. The opponent charged with a bellow of forged forced courage.

His gaze flickered down to his rock, but he knew he would never reach it in time. The sound of bare feet slapping down on mud replaced the sound of his heart thumping in his ears.

His opponent let out a fierce snarl as he lifted his dagger high. But the mud was slick and his footing unsure, mere paces away from his target he slipped. Trying to catch his balance, he opened up his guard.

Seeing his opponent’s guard open up before him, he wasted no time in exploiting it. He stepped in, pulling taut his remaining leash and kicked out with his free leg, smashing hard into his foes exposed knee, causing his leg to buckle from beneath him. With a fluent motion he lifted his knee with all the force he could muster. Pain burst through his leg as his knee connected hard with the man’s falling face. He felt teeth shatter and jaw bone shift unnaturally and then the sound of flesh collapsing in mud.

He reached down and retrieved the dagger, a slight upgrade from his rock. He went to walk back closer to his post, when a hand grabbed his ankle and pulled hard, uprooting him. He splashed hard into the scarlet mixed mud, losing his grip on his newly won weapon. Before he could react his foe was upon him battering him with tightly balled bruised fists. It took him a moment to act, for he was rapt by the twisted, bloody head in which hung above him. Each laboured breath caused a bubbled disruption in the free flowing blood that drained from his opponents flattened nose and crushed eye sockets.

Hands wrapped tightly around his throat, he scrambled to push off his attacker, but adrenalin born of simple desperation gave his opponent staggering strength.

His hands tried to pull his attackers hands from his throat, but he couldn’t find grip with all the mud and gore that soaked them both. He tried to draw breath once more and was bitterly rewarded for his efforts with a mouth full of his enemy’s blood. His vision began to blur as the lack of air and blood began to show their taken for granted worth. The strength in his arms began to fade quickly and his arms slumped beside him.

Acceptance flooded through him, what more was there now anyways? He had done all he could, he had fought on as long as he was able. He shouldn’t feel ashamed, like he was letting them down. His promise was kept, he hadn’t given up, simply was defeated. But if that were the case, then why did shame begin to creep its way into his every fibre.

Something cold touched his finger tips, and his fingers curled around it in automatic recognition to the object. Pure instinctual survival took over his arm and found strength that shouldn’t have survived. His arm shot up straight, the dagger pierced through the man’s side grazing rib bones and finding a lung.

The grip on his throat weakened instantly, and he gasped in air so violently he almost blacked out from its natural assault. His eyes gained focus again to see his hand twisting the dagger deeper between the man’s ribs into his lung. With a hard push the

man fell to the side, the last essence of life bubbled from his bloodied crushed jaw.

He turned to his side, gulping air rapidly. Why couldn’t he have just died? Have it all be over with. He pulled himself to his feet, the bloodied dagger tight in his grasp. He limped over to the thick pole that was keeping him tethered and rested his back against it.

Exhaustion began seeping through every fibre of his body. His damaged arm was still oozing blood and he knew if this kept up he would bleed to death. Not that it mattered, death was all that waited for him anyways.

He looked straight ahead of him to the enemy encampment not much more than a stone throw away. Fucking cunts, just going about their duties as if nothing was happening, only a handful paying any heed at all to what had already taken place. Supremacy and arrogance choked the air worse than all the smoke from their cooking fires and the burnt ruins of his village.

He was almost sure they had lost interest in him, and might allow him the courtesy to just simply die, here chained to this post. But he soon realized that wasn’t going to be the case.

A well armoured man with the stink of authority stepped out from the throng of activity in the enemy camp. He glared across the muddy pit, his brow creased with irritation, as if the very fact that the prisoner was still alive, had somehow hindered him. He retrieved a long bow and quiver from one of the weapon piles that littered the camp.

He watched the armoured man as he notched an arrow. So this was it, this was how it would finally end. Shot dead from a distance by a man to much a coward to meet him face to face. He pulled himself up right as tall as he could force himself to stand. His eyes coldly staring straight ahead into the other mans eyes. He saw no shame in his eyes, no guilt, no remorse, just easy conquest.

He heard the twang of the bow and saw the bow vibrate slightly in the man hand. The arrow punched hard into his gut, throwing him back against the post. He looked down at the white and red feathered fletching protruding only inches out of his mid-section. He tried to stand again but found he couldn’t move, and concluded the arrow had pinned him to the post. He looked down again at the white and red feathered arrow and at first thought his eyes were blurring. For now there was two arrows protruding from him. Blooded dripped from his lips and painted the white feathers of the fletching. He could feel the warmth of his body leaving him with breath he took.

He looked up to see the armoured man walking towards him, bow no longer in hand, and a smug indifferent grin spread across his face.

His body was numb and he barely felt the hand that gripped his jaw line and pulled his face up to stare at the man. His breath smelt of cheap wine. His body spasmed as it began to realize that death wasn’t far away. He heard the familiar sound of a blade sliding free of its sheath and knew his time was up. He balled up his fists to fight the urge to whimper in defeat. Something hard was still in his right grasp. A weak grin touched his face, his gripped tightened on the hilt of his dagger. A coughing fit erupted through him shuttering his whole body violently and splattering blood on his enemies face. The armoured man pushed his head back against the post and held it there, cold steel pressed up against his neck. His grin held as he thrust his right hand up under the armoured man’s rib cage. His enemies eyes looked confused for a moment, then a stinging pain burned across his throat and he could feel warmth pouring down his chest.

He looked to where his right hand was, and saw it was empty, the dagger laid on the ground by his feet. He blinked slowly everything going hazy around him. The footsteps of his killer fading back to the camp. He stared at the blood stained earth around his feet and watched the puddle grow around them. So much blood a body could hold…