The Third

The Third

The third country, or more directly the continent of the third was cut off from any other land mass.
Three separate seas cut it from the closest two countries; like the letter ‘Y’, with the third in the arch, and the two other countries southeast and southwest.
The other two were always warring between each other. Another factor perhaps, in Solum’s solitude and desolation.
The country was neutral in these greater wars, and continued trading with each of them respectively. It was a widely accepted mindset in the country that their own importance was small, if present at all.
This separation, and feeling of unimportance and indifference was what made the events that occurred throughout the towns in the third possible.
Something stalked the citizens of the third country all the time, urged by their subdued position in the wider view of the world. It was fed by indifference and a festering hate of its own existence.
None spoke of it aloud; its presence was felt and its effects were monstrous and forgotten.
It prepared a replacement.


It was a cold winters day. The wind that whistled through the trees was unforgiving and dry, bringing no comfort to the man who stood at the edge of the sleeping forest. He himself was, while chilled by the sudden slap of cold air, unaware of anything except the blood-red sun rising in the east, over the wheat fields that stretched out before him.
‘Time to go,’ he thought to himself and no one. He set out (fled) at a quick pace, taking long strides into the first light, away from the (dead) wood at his back.
Time was a concept of which he was barely aware; at this moment in time he was only concentrating on the task at hand. Time was but a factor against him in this morning’s journey (funeral).
He stumbled in the frigid morning air, (didn’t try) failed to right himself and landed hard on his face. He felt warm blood squirt out of his nose, and his teeth sliced his tongue; more blood. He felt like this was deserved. He bit down harder
Jack slowly turned his head to the side, his ear to the ground. Then, with a yell that would wake the dead, he jumped to his feet and took shot away; sprinting through the tall grass, pack bouncing on his shoulder.
Time to go.

It awoke. Almost instantly it was aware of the loss, and was after its new prey. How fun this game was (how usual), how the thing loved (repeated) this game.
There would be replacement, maybe replacement.
Yes, replacement sounded good, but not yet. It sped up.
Killing speed.

Jack leapt over a fence between the fields, he took turns at random; all the while hope was floundering in his beating heart.
He turned to see (hearsmellfeel) the overwhelming force, the monster closing in and closing in and getting closer (panic). He took his pack of his shoulder and groped inside, five frantic second later and he found his sword by cutting his hand with it. Blood, more blood, all the blood to stop this (his) beast.
It came with no salutation, and he fell.
Cold blood.



Sam was asleep, dreaming something he didn’t care much about, but now the dream had changed.
‘Smoke, smoke, I smell smoke’, he thought dreamily in his head, waiting for the thought to register.
It finally registered when his pillow caught fire. His reaction was animal-like; he was out of his bed in one moment and out of the burning house in another.
Luckily he lived alone; his parents and younger sister lived separate from him in another house. But to his wretched surprise the fire had spread.
He streaked down the road running between the houses (fires) and came to their house. The roof was caved in.
He didn’t get closer, and it was then he first saw the man beast (prey).
It ran (swooped) between the houses, and for a moment all the fires dimmed and he only had eyes for him. Time slowed, and it was outlined against the red glow throughout the village (graveyard).
Sam profoundly did not like what he saw, so he pushed the image out of his mind as the man beast bolted away. Now he heard laughing back, near his house (ruin).
He ran back and saw the man-beast lighting another house with a torch, laughing (crying) maniacally while doing so.
He tackled him, tears flying from his own eyes while doing so. The torch flew from the murderer’s hand, but the laughter (tears) stayed in his eyes. He simply let himself fall, rolling over with Sam on the ground with both coming to a stop in the dust and soot.
With inhuman strength, the man beast came to life and kicked his adversary squarely on the chest, and Sam flew back into the ruins of his flaming house.
‘Monster monster more monstrously strong’ were the only thoughts Sam could think before he hit his flaming house, skidded, crashed through the weakening wood of his front door, and knocking his head on the back wall of his house (tomb).
The murderer looked around satisfied (terrified), walked back to the woods to gather his pack, and abruptly ran through the trees for his (their) life.
It was going to be a cold morning.


Sam awoke to light and silence, a more subdued silence than he had ever before experienced. His first thought after waking was fear (revenge) for himself and his family. His quick movements to rise were hampered, however, by the large purplish bruises on his chest.
He stumbled at the pain (chestlegsarmeyespain), meaningless (angry) tears dripping from his reddened eyes, but then straightened and limped on.
A black haze hung low over the houses (memories), like the souls of the dead tarried above to glimpse one more time upon the life they knew. Sam found it difficult to distinguish landmarks when everything he knew was gone, so he wandered aimlessly, warding off the truth that was dying to strike him.
It finally got that chance when he saw the body of his father lying across the threshold to their house, his sister’s charred body not far behind.
Sam didn’t fall to his knees, faint, or show any emotion (life). When the truth stuck, it struck hard, and always took something with it. The massive, churning, and all-consuming gap, like a black hole, was sucking up any and all traits that had defined Sam; it was destroying (recreating) him from the inside. But Sam just stood, very much like he had stood for his entire life (past), staring.
Now in a tragedy like this a very interesting thing happens. Unbeknownst to Sam, his body had to plug this black hole with something, some emotion, like grief or anger. This was vital, because if it was not done the hole would destroy you; you would one day fully fall into it and cease to exist. Sam chose a very exquisite of these emotions: revenge.
So revenge it was. The hole stopped sucking, and instead of seeing his father’s burned hand reaching to the door as if it could pull the rest of him out, he saw a figure with a torch, a man beast that could reverse this if only he could be found. He limped into the house (not seeing the bodies), and took his father’s scorched sword from the ruins. He started limping into the woods.




Good.
It had come to this, to choosing a second (thousands and thousands). It would it deeper.
It would drive it deeper.

Sam took what tracking skills he had and moved through the woods as quickly as he could. It wasn’t hard to find path he sought, through the broken twigs, the boot-prints and bent grass.
He found himself out of the forest, and looking out on the village’s wheat fields, with stalks 6 feet high throughout. It all became clear. The man beast would head toward the nearest town, where it could kill more people (sistersparents) and then it would do it again, and again. He saw the sun ahead, and headed slightly to the right of it. Southeast. Southeast is where he would get his revenge; southeast is where it could end (begincontinue).
As he limped his way through the fields, keeping his head down against the glare of the sun, Sam didn’t swerve; he kept a straight track. Faced with his mission, he would not be distracted. His clothes were ripped and dirty, his hair was thick with soot, all natural color gone, but his face was what gave his mission (curse) away. On the eyes, which were still red, no pupils could be discerned. The soot took away all distinguishing features; he was behind a mask of pain, fire, and revenge. The only person close to him was in no (living) condition to see him. Jack lay twenty feet from him as he forced his way through the tall wheat. He was cut so badly that he could no longer be called human, and found his resting place pinned to the ground to a sword. The ground around him was soaked in cold blood. But Sam didn’t see him; he only had eyes for the beast.


Broderick was bored. Keeping the sheep on top of the hill overlooking his small village after midday was not invigorating, and it was cold. He might have enjoyed it more if he knew he would be dead within five minutes.
He heard a rattling breath. Immediately upon turning, he wished he hadn’t. He caught a glimpse of what it was, and turned his head down, though keeping the rest of his body stock-still. He hoped this man (thing) wouldn’t hurt the sheep.
“Has anyone entered your village?” he rasped through his barely distinguishable mouth.
“Pardon?” Broderick said, bringing his head back up. He was taught to address elders as ‘sir’, but it didn’t seem appropriate here.
“The village behind you. This morning. Has anyone gone in who should not have?” He lurched to the side with a grunt of pain, pulling out his (father’s) sword and sinking it deep into the ground to steady himself.
“No, we have had no visitors. We would have noticed too, seeing as how we all know pretty much all that happens in the village…listen, are you okay? You look burned-”
“That’s impossible.”
“No, it’s not. We-“
“Impossible”
“would know if-“
“Impossible”
There was a silence, a tense one this time that struck the hillside. A freezing wind blew down in between the two people, the two people that represented the line of innocence, and what it cost to cross.
Impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible he’s lying impossible


Sam approached the last hill before the village. He limped up it, breathing heavily. He had walked for 6 hours, but it could have been minutes to him. He was almost done; he could stop (die) after this. He saw a boy.
A Shepard, it looked like. The child sensed his presence, and turned. He did not look him straight in the eye.
“Has anyone entered your village?” Sam hadn’t spoken for hours, his voice sounded strange even to him.
“Pardon?” was the response he got. Insolence. He didn’t have time for this.
“The village behind you. This morning. Has anyone gone in who should not have?” Suddenly some of Sam’s wounds caught up with him. Something was bleeding inside, inside, it wouldn’t stop and it was inside. Sam fell, but he couldn’t fall when he was so close to revenge (murder). He used his sword to steady himself.
A strange buzzing filled his ears. He did not catch the next words said, except ‘no’. There could be no ‘no’. The buzzing gained definition.
Impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible impossible he’s lying impossible
Lying? A matter as important (desperate) as revenge had no room for that. He must be hiding the man beast.
The sword left the ground as swiftly as it had left it, and traveled as swiftly through the air. The sheep were free, and Sam was limping on, having broken the line and started his (final) journey.


It happened the first time as swiftly as it did the many times to come. To Sam, everyone was the beast. If they weren’t, they were sacrifices that had to be made for (the beast) revenge. The beast was the man thatching his house, the woman getting water, the children playing, the old man struggling to run away, the mayor running out of his house in response to the screams, the girl cowering under her bed, the last few huddled in a house that surely hid his prey. Fire would end it. Fire would cleanse, call him out, make him pay. Night was falling, and the red streak that followed Sam’s path called (cleansed, killed) the man beast out to his fate.
Men tried to stop him, but they had no (revenge) strength, no way to fight back. They fell like wheat to his sword, and with each strike was a chant in Sam’s mind, one word repeating his goal.
Beast beast beast beast beast beast beast beast beastbeastbeastbeastbeastiamthebeast


Sam stood still for the first time in hours. His smoke mask was more in place than ever, and it was hard to say if he had eyes or simply two windows to reflect the burning of the village around him. For the second time in his life he would run from the truth, because the truth hit hard.
He let the torch he was still holding drop from his hand and hit the cold dirt. Standing still, he looked at the (his) burned village.
It is difficult to say if the truth ever broke in, or did any damage, for there was no damage left to be done. Sam simply ran (fled), terrified of nothing and everything. With all the last (revenge) strength he had, he ran to (from) the man beast, his goal, his desire. He wasn’t in this town that’s all, he’ll be in the next one. Necessary sacrifices, necessary sacrifices, necessary sacrifices
Cold blood cold blood cold blood COLD BLOOD
The last image Sam saw was his future, his time, his opportunities. Then the revenge caught up, and it was all nothing.


Eric awoke to twilight, leaning against the back wall of his house. He tasted the dry blood in his mouth, that guy hit hard. He turned his head and spit it out. It was then he saw his sister, under the bed, still under the bed, mutilated beyond recognition, except for the bracelet she had (he gave her).
When the truth hits, it hits hard, and has to be mended with something. What would Eric choose?
End


Two Kings sat in a room. The first, wearing blue robes, was talking to the other, who was wearing green robes.
“It is vital we stop this.”
“Most vital.”
“Far to many have been lost.”
“Too true. And the expenses.”
“Terrible expenses.”
“It is decided then?”
“It is.”
They both stood up, facing each other, and bowed. Almost as an afterthought, the green spoke again to the blue.
“And what of the third?”
“The third is vital.”
“Most vital. Must be considered for the future.”
“Agreed. I sent for him the day before yesterday.”
“He should be arriving soon then.”
“Most soon. We will wait then.”
They both sat again. A messenger entered the room, bowed, and reported the truth.
“Your Majesties, there is a difficulty in the acquisition of the third. He was assassinated the day before yesterday.”
Both Kings stood, outraged.
“Outrageous!”
“Yes, outrageous! Who is the culprit?”
The messenger, undaunted, continued.
“I was told it was a demented villager. Seemed to think that the third was harboring an enemy of him. He killed himself soon after.”
“Pity.”
“Yes, pity. Should we split the country then?”
“Yes, yes. Think of the extra expenses!”
The messenger, now obviously daunted, reported the truth further.
“There may be a problem there Your Majesty. The country…now have very little to contribute. It seems many of its towns have been destroyed-“
“Destroyed you say?”
“Yes, and it’s people slaughtered-“
“Slaughtered are they?”
“Yes King. It seems that many of its citizens were killed and towns burned when our men got there to announce the cease-fire. It is now in a state of turmoil.”
The blue straightened himself, adjusted his robes, and spoke.
“It is obvious what has happened.”
“Most obvious.”
“I should have expected no less.”
“No less.”
The blue pointed an accusing finger at the green.
“It is your doing! You have called the cease-fire simply to wipe the third country out, along with the resources they provided our war-effort!”
“Outrageous! This is your plan to disrupt our war supplies by killing all members of the third country! I tell you this, I will have vengeance for this atrocious act!”
“Your false vengeance shall become my glorious revenge, and the truth shall ring!”
Both turned and left, robes both blue and green flowing behind them. The messenger looked confused.