Henry broke into a light jog, the small sand granules compressing underneath him with each step. Looking over his shoulder habitually for the guards as he began to speed up and crack into a sprint to the soft tinkling sound of swords and chain-mail in the distance. Like a small steam train, his warm puffs polluted the brisk cold air of Ol' Seacliff as he ran further and further down the beach towards a small path that led up onto the jagged cliff and past the graveyard. The guards were gaining on him as small specks in the distance slowly morphed into a brutal amalgamation of man and armour. Henry was not a young man; restricted by age, lack of exercise and the silver spoon. His legs began to jelly to a point of unbearable pain and inability to continue up the colossal staircase before him up to Ol' Seacliff. Like a deer loosing it's will to run, like a turtle loosing it's will to live, Henry sank to his knees as his kingdom menacingly towered over him.
The guards caught up, breathing heavily, but with a drive to serve. They dragged Henry to his feet and like a helpless rag doll, towed him up the staircase to Ol' Seacliff. With his bowed and feet in a crumbled mess dragging along behind him, Henry was greeted at the graveyard. The grave was already open, the dirt precariously piled to one side with a shovel almost mockingly pointing out the top. The two guards threw him to the ground with a clatter of chain mail followed by a deathly silence. A silence, uninterrupted by no one, by nothing. It was over.
Monday, 5 November 2012
Sunday, 4 November 2012
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)