Like a gentle dream I floated down the river. Fish leapt around the wooden hull of my vessel, and water gently rocked the boat side to side like a gentle breeze pushing a cradle. I was laying on my back, staring up at the baby-blue sky and white, whipped-cream clouds.
The vessel I was in was on fire, tongues of angry orange flames consuming the crisp wood of its frame. I had been murdered days before. In other words, I was dead, and my family had decided to send me out onto the water in a floating funeral pyre. The flames tore hungrily at my flesh, charring it black. The boat was suffering simularly.
I had not asked for my family to burn me or do any of this. I had wanted to be buried among the trees of the elven city, but they would not grant me that.
My anger and dissapointment would never reach my cold, dead lips.
YOU ARE READING
old kingdom tales
FantasyShort stories with no plot. all based in a fantasy land called the old kingdom, or the land near to it.
