Curse of the Jackalmen

the first strike

i'm gonna rewrite the hell out of this soon.  I am so so sorry for the quality seventh grade me wrote at

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The only thing worse than the oppressive Sun beating down on us is the sand. Here, in dry times, the sand blows constantly. The fine grains get into everything; food, bedding, clothes, mouths, noses,eyes. When they hit your skin, each is a miniature blade, stinging your skin.

After a particularly long, harsh gust, in which my mouth was filled with the foul stuff, I found it necessary to complain.

"Arggh! I hate sand! In Greece, the dirt stays on the ground like it's supposed to!" I'm still spitting out grit.

Syn laughs at me and replies, "I think the gods of the red lands (deserts) are mad at you. Hurry up, we're almost at the market, at least the wind won't come there."

We stand for a moment at the entrance to the market, it's a semi circle of booths, in front of these, poorer merchants spread their wares on blankets. The flat end of the shape is the port. It's bustling with activity, people shouting what they're selling, animals making their noises, children laughing and playing.

My eyes rove around, taking in the scene;every time one comes here, it changes. Today, the fruit seller I normally shop from is gone, in his place is a man wearing a large, face shadowing hat selling trinkets. Then, my gaze wanders to the slavemarket. The same sleazy man worked there that had sold me. I can see him, talking to a man, a young boy in chains next to him. I wonder what he's saying, what the boy's fate shall be, I... Syn's hand touches my forearm, "Hemi......" He is the only person who won't get a punch in the face for calling me that. It's his pet name for me, I call him Syn, he calls me Hem, or Hemi or Mite.

"What?" He gives me the stop-staring-let's-buy-what-we're-supposed-to-not-get-lost-in-the-past look.

Syn moves to the side, near an alleyway, and pulls his purse out to count coins. Soon, his palm is full of golden spheres, but his fingers slip and they roll into the alley. I go after the farthest ones in, Syn only goes halfway in.

Suddenly, I feel I'm being watched. My hands rest on the hilts of my knives. As a bodyguard, I'm allowed to carry two ten inch knives with me when out of the house with Syn. Scouring the shadowed alley, my eyes meet two glowing pricks.  

"Syn!!!" My panicked voice rises in pitch and volume while saying the word.

From beneath the pricks comes a growl, then a black blur races at me, I raise my left arm as a pitiful shield, but it just bowls me over, clawing deep along the back of my arm, from my elbow to the hand. Then It turns, leaving me gasping in agony on the ground. Then, the thing turned and moved toward a standing Syn, leaping on him, it knocked him to the ground, in the process, raking its claws diagonally from his left ear, across his chest in deep cuts. Screaming in pain, Syn writhed beneath its claws.  

I got my first good look at it.

It had the tail of a jackal, the body of a man, and a hybrid head, with the ears and pointed snout of a jackel, but the rest was more human. Around its neck, ankles, wrists, and tail were gold rings. The entire body was covered in black fur.  

Then, it turned, jaws gaping, over Syn's throat. It locked eyes with me, as if to taunt me. Then, heaving myself onto my knees, I threw one knife, I was not at the right angle to kill it, so the knife just buried itself in its shoulder. This was enough to distract it, it stalked towards me, I readyed myself. It lunged, and I tackles it, shoving my remaining blade deep into its chest. It froze, the burst into black smoke that I fell through, onto the sand.