Chapter three has a lot more of the thought italics, showing that the average person thinks to themselves a lot more than the average person who's had their memories wiped.
I won't use it alot, because it gives off a lot of the detail of action, and story telling, and since the main character is actually pretty much barren of thought, the italic thougthts will not appear while his is the subject of the chapter. They will however slowly become more frequent as he learns, and questions his past, but will slow as the questions get answered, and thrown in with narrative explanation.
Hope you like this chapter! :)
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Life’s getting harder by the day…
I think to myself as I’m walking down the market place. The street once filled with fruit, and bread stalls now lies barren. A series of disappearances have left many women, and children without support. Some were able to pick up from where their husbands left off, but others resorted to prostitution, and thievery for survival.
What am I gonna do now?
Half starved, I have a seat between two building where a small waterway drains just under the main road, being careful not to get my bag wet. It rains so frequently that waterways are a necessity in order to keep the surface from flooding. I sometimes wish I could disappear into the darkness, just as the water does.
I've gotta get outta here..
Several guards rush through the street in the direction opposite the market. I stick my head out at floor level in order to see where they were headed. A woman on her knees sobbing, only pointing the inside her home.
Her family is gone...
That's how things happened here in Braus.
You come home one day, not different in any way but one. Opening the door, you expect to be greeted by whatever family you have, but on this particular day, you aren't.
At first, nothings seems out of the ordinary, but when you notice, it all dawns on you. Usually, the first things to be noticed are the holes in the ground. Broken wood, unshifted stepping stones, but it really hits you when you see the struggle. Nail marks in the wood leading directly into the hole, or more common; fingernails that have been ripped off in protest to the dragging when step stone floors are involved.
It's been a month since my parents were taken. I had taken a trip to the next city over to help Dad with his blacksmith business, trading the weapon he put his blood and sweat into for a better chance of opening his own smithy.
I was one of the firsts to lose my family. Here, a month later, I'm homeless, and survival gets harder every day. Taking one last look into the small waterway, yearning to join my parents into the darkness, I spring myself up from the crevice between the two buildings, and begin making my way toward the bakery. I reach the door, and push it gently open.
Bakeries always have the best oiled doors.
And take a look inside to make sure the owner isn't at the front counter. I raise a hand cupping the bell to stop it from giving away my position, and use an oddly shaped rock to prop the door open. Then I make my way to the bread counter. I lift a large dome of glass encasing the meat pies. Not only Braus' signature pastry, but the only thing in a bakery that would keep me well nourished. Quickly, I start loading all the pastries into my bag with hands trembling from hunger, and excitement. A man enters the bakery from the door I propped open, wallet in hand. I bolt towards him, knocking over the glass dome. With a loud crash behind, I ram into the man, knocking him over as well, just skimming his wallet that asked to be stolen. As I tumble onto the street, I catch footing and begin running for the gate.
"Stop her!!" cries the man whose wallet I failed to grab.
Three guards now assembling to block the entry gate I was hoping would be my exit. Picking up speed, I begin calculating my movements.
Three guards, two closer together than the other.
I swing my bag counter clockwise above my head, and drop its elevation, release, and send it sliding in between the two guards spaced further apart, and the other two guards begin lowering their spears to impale me, should I move any closer. As I reach the spears, I crouch just before their deadly points, grab the base just under the spear head. Springing up, I pin the rod of their spears against their shoulders with only my weight, and use the new found stability to summersault over their shoulders, landing directly beside my bag. I snatch up the bag up, and sprint out of the city with a feeling of accomplishment.
It's time to travel the world. See new things. Start over...
I keep up steady pace until I reach the outer perimeter of the city to make sure I haven’t been followed. Looking up, the sky is a bright blue.
A good omen…
I begin my journey east. Rumor of a great blacksmith a few towns over spread around Braus this past month.
If I can apprentice under him, I can become just as well known. It would be a good fresh start…
I start picking up the pace out of excitement, and a hope of fulfilling what my father never got to.
You’d be proud Dad.
I walk until the sun sets behind me, and then decide to stop to rest for the night. I open my bag and begin removing the pilfered meat pies, and stacking them neatly on a fresh patch of grass, careful not to let them touch the ground.
I remove a carefully folded sheet woven specially, for durability. Place it over another patch of grass bulky enough to use as a pillow, and then begin removing the blanket I held onto while losing everything a month prior.
From the corner of my eye, a green light flickers in the distance.
What could that have been? Too far away to be fireflies..
Carefully taking the meat pies, and placing them under the blanket, I creep on closer to the still flickering light, being careful not to make any noise. Then in the same way it appeared, it vanishes.
I wonder what it was. It doesn’t matter. If it was a traveler, he’s most likely resting for the night, and travelers have food.
I inch my way closer to where the light had first appeared.
Seeing the outline of a horse, and a figure crouched down with his back against a tree, I grin because my assumption was correct.
What kind of traveler stops for the night without building a fire? At least that’ll make it easier for me to steal whatever food he might have.
Reaching the left side of the horse, I lift a small portion of the pouch’s flap, and draw my nose near.
Nothing to eat here... Maybe I can still find something worth selling at the next town.
I unbuckle the latch holding it closed, and insert my hand to feel around the pouch. I pull out a flint and some tinder.
A flint stone, tinder, and still no fire? He must have some valuable things, and wants to go unnoticed by other travelers.
Better for me!
I pull out a large cloth thicker, and more durable from the feel than my own, and in much better quality.
Jack pot!
I set down the flint stone, and tinder in order to remove the cloth with minimal noise.
YOU ARE READING
What Follows
FantasíaBrought to this world through dark means, he is now forced to do the bidding of an evil force seeking only destruction. No one's said he's never been here before.
