pistol-writes

[pistol-writes]

A Short Story (900-ish words)

My name is Cedric the Sentient Sword and all I want is to make my wielder proud, but I am not as sharp as I once was. 

Slashing down at a leaping tiger once, my edge was repelled by a thick coat of fur and my wielder was left to be mauled. I laid there with my owner, disappointed in my own failure, until days later, I was picked up from the jungle floor by a boy fleeing a giant, but we were soon caught. 

Now thrown into a giant cage, the boy tried using me as a lockpick for the lock, but in that I was also useless. The boy was grabbed by the troll between index and thumb and thrusted into a toaster. Swinging myself through the bars of the cage, I leapt into the appliance, but caused an electrical surge, killing the boy. The giant watched in dismay as his meal and toaster were destroyed. I shuttered in shame as the toaster squealed with intensity and exploded, sending me flying out the window.

Opening my eyes once more, yes swords have eyes, I found myself cradled among twigs and debris with black baby birds sitting around me tilting their heads curiously. The moment of quiet ruined by a monstrous bird screeching, I was suddenly lifted by a great big crow as its talons rubbed against my blunt edges. 

Flying through the sky, far above the jungle and giant's house, awaiting a sudden release into a new troubling situation, I nervously squirmed in the bird's clutches. But then realised my edge was being sharpened by the claws! Aboard the bird's flight, I continued to wriggle about, but then my heart dropped as I saw my pilot’s trajectory was toward the ocean. 

I think back on my first wielder. Her pillow of black hair would flow with me as I was plunged, slashed and even thrown when the time arose. I learnt that her edge was sharper than mine and my true purpose was to let that quality flourish in her. As the years went by, her edge was deteriorating. Her plunges with me were halted as she ached in pain. Slashing took too much of her breath away. And throwing me was now out of the question. I was placed in an old tavern to be on display. For decades, I would look for my wielder, but I never saw her face again. I was eventually picked up to be used again by a man. He swung me at a piece of fruit for testing, but the fruit was mashed instead of sliced. I, less a blade and more a hammer, was thrown onto the ground. And so this story has repeated until now.

The crow continued easterly towards the ocean and against its breeze. I would be thrown into the wet abyss never to be grasped again. Never to make anyone proud. Continuing to rattle about, sharpening my blade, the bird cawwed in annoyance. It swept down, making its way closer to sea level. It was too late. I had failed. Taking one last breath before my demise, I looked up to find a dark pillowy cloud. I closed my eyes.

Descending rapidly, I lost all feeling. The adrenaline of death took over and the pressure of gravity pushed me down. Down. Done.

Gravity changed course. It was trying to pull me down, but I arose. I heard a hard clank and then the sound of cutting against hard skin. Gurgling emitted from below as I ascended. Opening my eyes, I saw the beach and an army of crabs. Dozens of them, a blanket of red shell, surrounded a small black dot of a thing on the yellow sand. But in the middle was the largest crab I had ever seen. Looking up now, the crow still had me in its clutches. Searching deeper into the crowd of crabs, one single crab was toppled over with a large gash on its belly. Was it me? It was me !

Amidst my celebration, the crow released me up into the air as I spun about. A rollercoaster of emotions took me, was I to die now?! What is-

SHII-IING

My edge cut through the air. I felt the tiniest of invisible particles being split in half at my point, as the black bird grabbed me now by the hilt. We bombarded our way back down into the crab army as I was slashed into 5 crabs, cutting and defeating each of them in one sweeping arc. Over and over we flew up to fling ourselves down into the enemy. The beach was now littered with defeated crabs and that was when I noticed that the black dot I saw earlier was actually a small baby crow. King Crab scurried in front of the baby bird, bubbles furiously bursting from its mouth, its small crown atop its head sliding about.

This was it. We ascended higher than any of our previous attempts, before plunging hard and fast like lightning. The crow threw me at the last second with all its might as I made contact with the shell.

“Gurble, gurble, gurb-”

SPLIIII-IIIT

I remember the heavy collapse of the monster crustacean falling to the ground, the little scurrying legs of the remaining crabs escaping and the chirping of a baby bird and its worried mother, united. All of this I heard, while buried deep in the sand beneath the defeated crab.

It's a year later now. They tell stories of The Claw & Edge at taverns. Stories about how we saved a village from bandits, how we found the farmers' children in the enchanted forest and how we slayed the King Crab, allowing people to spend days out on the beach again! I had found my edge in the unlikeliest of places. And I had finally made my wielder proud.

[pistol-writes]

A Short Story (600-ish words)

Just some quick questions I would be keen to hear for any readers there ! 1. Is the tent scene genuinely engaging and was the sense of danger captured well? 2. Without spoilers, is it clear who the woman is? trying to show not tell aha 3. The end, with the fathers mixed feelings, is this too much whiplash character progression or nah?

My son stood above the captured beast, but would not kill the animal. His hand shook with the knife I gave him, but despite my shouting and the laughter of the other men, he would not budge.

He’s always had a soft heart. His mother did that to him. Took the man right out from him. She died just the year before and now I needed to fix him. 

I grabbed him by the arm and dragged him. Far. I pulled his weak body over the hard dirt. His soft skin bled from the rocks and low branches I hauled him through. I was done with this childishness. I was bringing him to the Witch-Doctor.

Pulling the now unconscious body through the tent flaps, I approached the old man. He was bald and wore a sleeveless shirt. Tattoos sprawled on his arms. Before I had the chance to announce myself, the doctor simply said, “He is possessed”.

The news surprised me, but this did not change things. “Please then. Fix him. His mind and body are weak. No man, let alone his father, should have to bear this.” My eyes gazed at the purple book on his hip and he noticed my eyes wandering.

“Bring him up here”. He gestured to the wooden table. And I did so. I did not catch what he said afterwards, a quick prayer maybe, but his wrinkled, leathery hands brushed against my son’s bare stomach. Loops within loops he created, moving his hand slowly, but then a little faster with each completion. The book began to glow ever brighter until it ignited with a flame. The surface of my son’s stomach began to ripple like rain drops into a pond. Quickly, the hut we occupied twisted in a red haze and a high pitched note assaulted the ears. I pulled a nearby blanket towards my ears and blocked out the noise as much as I could. The wooden table bent inwards cradling my son as a ghostly woman appeared and hovered over the boy. Face to face, noses almost touching one another, she belted into a hysterical cry. My son awoke to cry in unison with her. Red crimson flowed from the woman and into the boy. The same crimson that seemed to be now flowing out from the book on the doctor. I hated to admit it, but this spectral woman was gorgeous. Black flowing hair reached out to my son like an octopus wrapping its tentacles on its prey. I could no longer see their faces, but the beautiful glow of the woman began to waver. The doctor's hands were now phasing into the boy's stomach and it seemed he was clutching onto something and pulling. What the hell was I doing? I was sitting under a table with a blanket pressed against my ears like a scared child. I let go of the blanket and slapped myself. Hard. I ran to the doctor. “Grab me and pull !” He shouted. Together, we worked to fish something out from my son. I had no idea what it was, but it held on firmly. The screaming dance between my son and the woman went on for an eternity until I fell hard against my back as I yanked on the man, the doctor tumbling atop of me. I heard a feminine gasp bring the noise to a still. I blacked out.

It's been a few days since the doctor’s work. My son brought home a bundle of rabbits he single handedly hunted this morning. I had succeeded as a father, but something tugged at me. I could see nothing of his mother in him anymore. I don't know how I feel about that. 

[pistol-writes]

Hello, tumblr world !