Forest of Swords.

Chapter 1

Chapter 1.

Hills filled the countryside, and farms patch-worked the land. Everything was so green, and there were so many different shades of it. A deep, rich blue filled the sky, tainted by a dark gray of a storm blowing in from the west.

Harold smiled, this was Oregon, there was always a storm.

He walked around his little farmhouse, watering the various, indoor plants, and tidying the little stacks of books or papers here and there. It was well into morning, but since he wasn't expecting anybody, he simply dressed in a pair of overalls without bothering to put on a shirt. As always though, he had grabbed his Swiss Army knife from his dresser and slipped it into his pocket, a knife was always a useful tool in the country. Harold began brewing tea, letting the water heat as he attended to the only house pet he had ever owned. The bright green parakeet fluttered in its white cage as he approached, he opened the little door and let Tinkerbell hop up onto his fingers, then roosted the bird on his shoulder. He cooed softly to his little friend as he poured out some seed and took it over to the kitchen window sill. She perched by the dish and began eating while he went over to his radio and tuned it to a classical music station. He smiled as the bird, nicknamed Tinker, chirped once or twice to the music. He often left the radio on all day, just to fill some of the empty space in the house with the music.

He had lived alone most of his life. His extended family lived in Montana, and his parents were usually traveling. He liked the solitude, but part of him always felt like someone was watching him.

His mind worked practically, gauging how long the storm would take to get to his farm, versus how many things he had to get done, and which of those things were more important. He looked out the window and just as he did, lightening flashed. Harold counted to 19, then thunder rumbled in the distance, he quickly divided the 19 by seven and estimated that the storm was at least two and a half miles away. There was some washing on the line that he had left out last night, he decided to bring that in before the rain hit. When he went out, and looked up, the storm was closer than he had fist thought, it looked only a mile or so away. He hurried, and in just one minute had everything inside, and just in time. Lightening hit, and thunder rolled. Wind began to shove the little house this way and that, buffeting the trees and scattering leaves. Tinker chirped and fluttered on the window sill, the radio crackled with static, and the piano music faded out. Harold had his back to the screen door, setting the wash down on his table, he murmured comforting things to Tinker. The lights flickered, and there was a sudden blast of white light from behind him. That was when everything suddenly went black, and Harold fell to the floor, unconscious.