Something Different

So you Think You Can Write - Week 3

Here is my short story for the third week .

Theme - Coming back from war

Sub-Theme - Mystery/Thriller

Last Date - 05/04/2013

Date Of Writing - 05/04/2013

Number of Pages - 3

Title - Facing The Past

Pitter-patter. Patter. Pitter-patter. Patter.

I walked through the narrow lane edging along the contours of the neighborhood. The sky was dark, as dark as owl which hooted from a corner. My footsteps echoed loudly and disturbed the quite nightly atmosphere. It was the day of the new moon, the day when darkness takes its places in the earth. Every nook and corner was dark.

I slipped up, my foot falling on a large puddle. The muddy water snaked around the thick boots covering my skin, dripping down drop by drop. I shook my legs trying to remove all the mud before it got struck to the thick black layer. Though it was a bit hard because of the heavy leaded weight, I managed to shake of most bits of dirt.

Setting the travelling bag heavily on my shoulders, I started back to my destination.

When I reached the edge of my village, I saw a few oil lamps lit in the entrances of the house. Though they provided a mild glow, they could not fight against the impending shadows. The night drove away the small flickers of the lamp.

I squinted trying to find out the various features which I had familiarized myself with in my childhood. The houses still were roofed with clay and mud, an occasional tin or tarpaulin sheet was found like a golden egg among thousands of normal ones. No. Nothing had changed in the past few years.

I recollecting my step forwards wile my mind went back to the events which had resulted in my going to the war against the Southern Invaders.

I had been born and brought up in Ireland. Snow and ice were my childhood friends. The land rose to my call, not literally but rather in the manner that I was able to grow good crops for my whole family. My dad was the head chieftain of the village, sort of life the commander in the army. He was the one who settled disputes and cleared any land related problems occurring in our small village.

The population of my village was just around a few thousands. Not many people lived in here, but the resources and vegetation was more than enough for the residents. Every summer under the warmth of the bright solar rays, the peasants and farmers would sing loudly, planting the crops which was going to last them throughout the forgoing winter. Life was pleasant and everything was going fine.

I lived with my elder brother and five sisters. Since my dad was the chieftain, our house was a bit larger than those of the commoners. A cellars filled with the sweetest of wines, opened only when recognized guests prevailed, the attic, individual bedroom for the me and my brother, gardens in the front and a large river flowing just outside the footsteps of our backward. The river would be frozen by winter, but during summer it was the very essence of life and happiness of my village.

Me and my friend, a thick and sturdy boy called Traven spent are days together in here. Fishing, pushing each other and swimming were our favorite activities. When I came of age, about 15 years, father decided that I was old enough to fight.

I learned the art of fighting, which is eerily similar to dancing in many ways. Each movement is a step which should be taken with care. One wrong move and you fall. Careful coordination was needed between the brain, the hand and the feet.