Benjamin Sullivan
Stories (3/0)
The Next - Chapter 1
It wasn’t Hell, but it was most definitely not Heaven either. Tor awoke with a gasp as if emerging from some deep sea. But his mind was still swimming, disorientated somewhere between dream and reality. The ground, cold, hard and dry dug into his palms as he raised himself to his knees. Dirt and gravel clung to potholes in his face while a breeze stirred up what remained on the ground. The surrounding landscape was desolate with nothing, not even a tiny molehill to signify any difference in the terrain. Although under his feet was a drab grayish mix of gravel and dirt, the sky above glowed with a ferocious orange tint. Gazing up, it stirred a profound dread within Tor, who had always seen a sky like that as a threat. His grandfather had an old saying about an orange sky. A warning perhaps, but before Tor could catch the memory, it was gone. The way a dream can sprint away from you in the early stages of waking. Tor pushed against the ground to lift himself to a standing position but a sudden stabbing pain jolted up his leg, nearly putting him back on his ass. He clasped the leg with both hands, putting immediate pressure over the pain, steadying his leg, and feeling the wet, squishy skin underneath. Pain again ripped through to his groin as he gave the tender spot a test squeeze. Blood pulsed its way through his jeans and turned the gravel a foreboding shade of red. Tor swore as he unbuckled his belt and with extreme care not to aggravate the wound, dropped his jeans. A gaping hole, oozing blood right out of his body greeted him. The edges were jagged and messy, but it seemed to be an in and out wound. Whatever had punctured him had gone all the way through, hopefully leaving no foreign objects inside him.
By Benjamin Sullivan2 years ago in Fiction
The Man With Two Daggers
The man with the two daggers made hardly a sound, as if the forest floor bent to his will. The crunch of leaves and twigs could be heard far off to his left. Most likely some critter foraging for food. He prayed silently that the food it craved did not wear peasants' rags and blood-stained shoes. There was enough to watch out for without adding a hungry cougar to the mix. The man, whose parents had named him Amice, followed the barest of trials through countryside and marshland before arriving in the forest. He had hunted all his life and now had to rely on his most obscure tactics to find the beast. For it left no way to follow on the ground. Amice quickly learned he must look at the tracks left higher if he wanted to succeed. A talon mark far above in the trees. One branch out of many, which was the only of its kind to not house any leaves. An area that all other sky creatures avoided. These were the signs the man with two daggers followed. And he had followed them for four moons now, but the marks were fresher here. He was close. Amice held his weapons tight, bracing himself to silence his chattering teeth. Whether from the cold or his waning bravery, it did not matter. If the beast caught on to him, all his effort would be for naught. Dusk had made its way into the forest with him, giving the trees a lifelike quality that Amice could have done without. As their shadows disappeared with the going down of the sun, they seemed to finally be freed. Amice imagined the shadows were merely chains and now they were gone, the forest was free to move how it wished. And in the dark, Amice thought, it seemed like all objects gained an eerie hostility. As if the more you thought of them, the more of a target you became. He pushed these boyhood fears aside as he ventured forth. They were nothing but distractions, and a distraction now could very well cost him his life. Flexing his fingers to keep them nimble, he made his way from tree to tree. There were fewer in this part of the forest, which unfortunately meant less cover. As well as hiding himself, darting between them allowed a chance for his legs to start warming back up. With the coming of the moon, cold had settled on the forest floor as well as within Amice himself. He could feel it dig into his bones and lay stiff deep in his muscles. He allowed himself a moment of gratitude that he was only carrying daggers and no lumbering sword. He had not and would not use one of those as long as he lived. A light gust of wind brought his attention back to the task at hand. In less than fifty paces ahead, he saw the leaves stir and settle, before being whipped in a frenzy again. Some wind was coming down on them. Vertically. As if something was getting ready to land. Amice braced himself. No more waiting. The second the creature landed he would attack. If only his father could be around to see him now. He would know vengeance before the sun rises. The creature had decided to land in a large clearing, allowing moonlight to make its way into the forest and giving Amice a terrifying view of what came down.
By Benjamin Sullivan2 years ago in Fiction
Evidence #C105
I need you to listen. Because I need you to believe me. Everything you’re about to read is true and absolutely vital in understanding what is at stake. My name is [REDACTED] and please, I beg of you do not shun me or disbelieve the following no matter how it may come across. If you think this is some madman’s diary, you are without doubt correct in your verdict. But that should only scare you all the more. Please stay with me. Read until the end. For my sake. For your sake. For everyone’s.
By Benjamin Sullivan2 years ago in Fiction