She fell into the snow, whimpering as pain crept up her leg. The hunters surrounded her, no mercy in their eyes. Crossbows ready to end her life.
"Please," she pleaded, searching ones dark eyes for a glimmer of sorrow. It was there, but she was not allowed to see it.
She searched her heart next, and found within a glimmer of hope. No, never hope. A resolve. A resolve that was motivated by despair. As her heart broke for the last time, she whispered, "There will be no more begging."
She brought her head up quickly, as if to strike at them. They all took a step back instinctively. "Kill me," she said.
One archer, the one with the haunting dark eyes, brought his bow up slowly. He caught her gaze for a moment, and he let her see his sorrow. Just for a moment.
He let is dart fly from the crossbow. It thudded into her chest, not quite puncturing the heart. They had taught him to prolong the pain.
She cried in agony and sorrow, though none could hear her scream or see her tears, for there is something that one can only sense. That is the silent torture of irreparable hearts.
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Shards and Feathers
RandomThis is a collection of short stories. Other words for what may be contained in this collection: fragments, segments, excerpts, bits, pieces, shorts, extracts, and shreds. (Redundancy is fun.) This is the place where puzzles and snippets are kept an...
