Prolouge

I did this after I wrote the rest of my story... So its kinda sketchy =/

Prologue

 

There was a story about the dualistic Eighteenth god that my Father always used to tell me; before he was chosen that is. I remember it word for word, as he would tell me it to me every night before my sleeping. It was a tale about two brothers apparently. He would always joke that it was my brother and I the story told about as we would always fight. I would just look back up at him and slug him in the arm and smile.

            But that was so many years ago, and now he never tells me before I go to sleep or for fun. He only tells if I ask, and when I ask, he tells. I always envied when he would recite others this. I always thought of it as a Father-Son type thing. A sort of bond we shared. One day I even asked him why he told everyone, but neglected my Brother. He answered with, “your Brother is different…” And that was that.

            I remembered it so vividly too that day when he was chosen. I stood right there. The mages, the lightening bolt, the water…those were part of the ritual to choose who would walk the Path that year. He was incased inside the water. He was that year chosen. They allowed him three days before he was Knighted again to set upon the path that countless chosen before him had trodden. On the last day, he recited the story again to me…one last time,

 

 

“Can this man really be my equal?

With thoughts of me as lower,

He loves to pick me apart.

He will choose his choice.

The leader,

The superior,

The enemy.

 

I can recall this day:

Out of all days I do not know,

Why this is the one I remember most.

Breezy and mid-day,

One of those nice summer days,

Where God thought it would be cool to give us all a break.

A cool seventy degrees.

Could this day become anymore perfect?

Psh, how bout you add the girl of my dreams into it.

Long hair cascades as the breeze takes it back.

O yea, add a little hand holdings in there somewhere.

Overhead in the lane, bird flocked in numbers,

And sung of love.

Not a seasonal love-

But a yearly love.

We both could feel it.

Something’s take no words,

And to us, this was no exception

 

Now Man appeared,

From off the streets somewhere.

This is where perfect day number one

Starts to go downhill

He was the leader.

He was the superior.

He was the enemy.

 

He commanded me to release the soul

I was connected with by the hand.

For his own liking? I knew not.

I did as he told.

My distant look told him

Something was wrong.

Tables have turned, he seemed to say.

Wink, wink-

As he smiled,

And mocked that she was no longer in my possession.

Tear? For love,

Or for my rage building?

Perfect day…

And he broke it.

I looked at him,

Then her.

Oh so beautiful.

Veil unfolds a little…

 

He would not let go that easily.

With constant thoughts of his total control,

“Superiority” radiated off.

Mockingly he joked.

And he knew not of my hate.

But I knew of his jealously

Of mine.

 

The sun turned icy overhead.

I don’t know how, I blocked it out.

But that’s how it was.

Cold and unpromising.

But I needed to taste, and not hide from its accusations.

For it could be the last I feel of it.

I bent down

And picked the first material object I could find.

Happened along a piece of tree.

Closing my eyes, I stood up,

I wordlessly left the world behind.

The object I held to my center.

Everything emotional carried to it,

And I broke my stance

With the sudden outward slashing of the piece.

I was immediately swirled in an inferno of

Pink and reds

The warrior of love stood where I once did.

 

Man looking at me with coldness.

He felt it happening, watching me unfold.

Trance of his own thoughts,

He began to feel the frigid sun at last.

Breaking his bind of thinking,

He felt the sun revealing mistakes and shedding light,

Wanting to hide, he must face it head on.

 

Pupils of hearts, and armor of emotions

He must fight.

The object that was picked

Was now the sword that hate battled.

Opening my eyes at last,

Seeing in love,

I was awoken to the stage before me.

The man disappeared

And replaced with a dark figure.

A cold, steel conclave of hate.

No emotions-

Just black hate.

Unsheathing my sword with blind cunning,

I slashed the air and it sizzled with love.

Just wait you’ll see.

The black figure did just the same,

Rivaling my own energy.

The air fought its own silent battle.

 

Fierce battle entailed.

For hours, for days, for months, for years?

Evenly matched,

As we fought even through deep night.

We bore the stage still.

Air crackling with dualities.

The warrior of love could take no more onslaught,

And the steel back hate has seen better days.

Was it pride that kept them fighting?

No, they each fought for what they both believed in.

As the stage dissipated along with our energies,

I was shown the place where this battle began time ago.

Finally, the stage disappeared complete,

And the warriors have both fallen.

Armor consumed to the air, we fell to the ground simultaneously.

Passerby’s came to see the two bodies.

A woman shrieked in the night, “The bodies are of the same person!””

 

            That was the last thing he ever said to me, but not the last I had seen of him since I saw his leave. I had seen him kiss my mother, now since dead. I had seen him walk to the horizon only to disappear along the Path. He was one of the greatest City warriors, second strongest in the land. People had hope that this time…this time the Artifact of Life would be recovered, and the City would become a full light haven, free of all demonic presence.

            My Father did not return and it was already time for the next to be chosen in the new year. My Brother was next chosen to tread the Path in search for the Artifact. In his three days that he got before being Knighted, he retreated to his work, his passion. My Brother was the number one warrior in City now; the most valuable asset to the armies and defense of City. He made armor and weaponry for his men and in his three days he devised a new weapon; a beautiful blade that he even named. He put an inscription on the blade. Not once did he stop from his work to say goodbye to his friends or his remaining family; me.

            On the day he left he turned to me saying, “Brother, take this. Make the story real.” He smiled coldly at me and walked away weaponless into the horizon; just as I remember Father doing. 

Reviews

[Richy]

I love prologues that have complex things to wrap your mind around
catches my intension better then anything else

[Stonewall]

As a prologue, this is very intriguing but I feel that in large parts it is too complex and difficult to come to grips with to be a successful introduction to a story.

this sentence at the start I think needs a little attention - "he would tell me it to me every night"

The length of the poem/story that is being told within is also testing and a little vague and there were a sentence or two in there that through me out of the era or period that I assumed this work to be set in. If that is the intention it might need a little more emphasis.

Intriguing nonetheless, and I shall read further so I can see how these pieces fit.