Random Prompts

You and Me: Part I

Hey guys, I've missed writing on here so I've decided to put this up. This first 2 part story will be pretty short and simple. The first will be in one person's point of view, and the second will be in another person's point of view. I'll update these little stories as much as I can, and as I said in the description, don't hesitate to give your own ideas(:

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Dying

When the dust settled, he barely even noticed.

Sure, he could definitely tell that there was an absence of the constant danger, of the flashes of light as steel crashed against steel, of the whistle of an arrow whizzing through the air too close for comfort. Because when he stopped, finally stopped, no one came at him and tried to drive a sword into his chest. And that, well...that was nice for a change.

It'd felt like he'd been fighting for ages. His limbs were heavy, so heavy that if there were the slightest breeze, he was sure it would get the better of him he'd lose his balance. But there wasn't a breeze here, not under ground. There wasn't anything. That is, there wasn't anything besides the blood coating his hands and making it difficult for him to keep hold of his sword, besides the pained cries and the hollow ones, the ones that you only heard after a battle like this, where you had to watch the light leave far too many people's eyes one after the other.

But then, there was something else. Something that he'd almost forgotten existed, which was odd, considering the blood now pouring out of his chest and clogging his throat.

The pain. That's what came in the absence of the adrenaline. He looked down at the wound, and the red seeping out of his body, and he was surprised that he wasn't even afraid, or shocked. Just curious at the amount of blood that could belong in a human body, and how it was now coating his legs and pooling around his feet.

He didn't mean to fall to his knees, but as the blood seemed to form a larger circle around him he found that he just couldn't stand anymore. He didn't really want to anyway. He was tired, really, really tired. Resting sounded nice, he thought, and he felt himself begin to pitch to the side.

But then there were arms around him, shaking him, and he didn't remember closing his eyes. He furrowed his eyebrows in annoyance, because he just wanted to rest. Why wouldn't they let him? Why wouldn't anyone let him?

"No no no no no, please, come on, please open your eyes, stay with me, please-"

Frantic words reached his ears, belonging to a voice that he thought he knew. Were those words directed to him? They must've been, if he could hear them so clearly, if he could feel the person's breath against his hair.

"Please, you can't leave me. You-" the person's voice hitched, hitched in the way a one's did when their throat was clogged with horror, when sobs were not-so-successfully held back. "You promised."

You promised.

He'd promised? What had he promised?

His curiosity got the better of him then. He wanted to know. Who wanted him to stay so badly? Who shook him and cried in his ear when it was so obvious how tired he was?

He opened his eyes. It took a moment for his vision to clear, for the figure leaning over him to come into focus. He felt hair dangling in his face, felt soft fingers brushing his own bloodied locks out of his eyes. He blinked again, and then the figure above him was clear.