Introduction

Introduction of "Cloudburst"

Introduction

 

Rain. The one thing that always reminded me of home. However, unlike most others, thinking of home did not conjure happy thoughts of a warm hearth and loving parents. The dark and dank scenery brought about by the rains as they battered the countryside matched my thoughts of home. My home had contained no warmth or love, nor any form of happiness.

Rain. It reminded me of my father, an abusive drunk who had battered, sliced, scarred and bruised not only my body, but also my very being.

I never felt quite right after running away from home. It felt like my father had cut out a piece of me and locked it away so that I could never be whole again. Like being constantly dripping wet and unable to ever dry yourself. Sure you could function, but things never felt quite as they should.

Rain. It was like being stuck out in the rain with no place to go. It was only after I escaped from my monstrosity of a father that I realised I did have no place to go.

I spent the first few months after I left, wandering from place to place. At first I attempted to survive honestly, by trying my hand at small jobs that people had to offer, but they all seemed to either go awry or simply not be worth their while. As only a young boy of no older then fifteen, there was no good place in the world for me. I was soon forced to result to petty thievery. It was often as simple as slipping an apple or a loaf of bread into my pants and walking away. I had never expected to lead a glamorous life after leaving home, but neither had I expected to be living as a street urchin.

It was on the start of the New Year, during the festivities, when that all changed. That was when he found me. At the start of every year, men and women from neighbouring villages would all gather together in the cities, and drink and dance, to celebrate. For me there was not much to celebrate, it was raining in my world. Yet despite the rain, everyone still got together and danced around a big fire in the centre of town, I sat and watched.

They all acted very proper and formal to begin with, but, as the liquor started to flow, the dances became slightly more vulgar, the men became far more courageous, and the women’s morals became less regulated. Two or three fights started between arguing men who were heavily intoxicated. However, and much to my displeasure they were all put down rather efficiently by a large gentleman with a club. I tracked him for a bit, just wandering, why? Why would a man do a job like that? Did he enjoy it? Did he enjoy the power his big wooden club gave him? Or did he just enjoy hitting people... Now there was a job I could do. Not to say that I could actually do it, I was only a kid after all. Plus my time on the streets had made me weak, I was skinny and my wits were never about me because I was always so very hungry.

Which is why after the festivities started breaking up, and the men who did not get lucky started looking for things to hit, I was too slow to get away. It was alright really, a walk in the park compared to what I used to endure back home. But back home there had been people to take care of me, and medical supplies too. Here, I was left in a gutter, on the side of the street, with no one to help me, no one except for him.

I lay there helpless for a long time, expecting the rain to come and wash my filth away. Instead though, he came, he came and with him, he brought the sun. On top of the hill, I saw the figure of a man, leading the sun up and over to shine down upon me. It was an unfamiliar feeling to me, but at that moment, I could have sworn that if only for a moment, I felt whole again.

After that, I remember being in a horse-drawn carriage, and I remember the road through to the old ramshackle barn that would become home, for the next three years of my life. I sat beside him, staring in awe, at the amazing surrounds of his farm. On one side of my barn, I can still remember as if I was there, was rows upon rows of apple trees, the largest of which I had spent many hours in reading. And on the other side was a great open expanse of paddocks; filled mostly with sheep whose fleeces we would sell in town. Wild horses also roamed freely through these paddocks, and were known to protect the other animals from predators. Over the time that I stayed there, I developed the crazy notion, that I would one day tame one of those horses. Yet I was always too scared to try.

Rowan, Rowan was the name that the man who brought the sun went by. Rowan had me work on his farm in return for his hospitality, once I had recovered from the worst of my injuries. My first task was to restore the barn, which had become my home on the farm. Twice a day Rowan would come to visit me, always bringing with him a meal and a piece of useful advice for my work. By the end of the first two months, the good food and hard labour of the farm, gave to me the strength that I had lost on the streets, and more. And, as my strength grew, so did my ability to venture away from the barn and across the plains of Silvermouth. Over time I became acquainted with many of its residence, and a feeling of belonging took root in my heart. This only went to fill a tiny fraction of the hole that my father had created in my soul, but it was a start.

It was during my second year on the farm, when I shared my story with Rowan. I had told him it many times before, in some way but, I had never really told him the truth of it all. That night, I told him everything, half of which I can no longer remember, and is why I will eventually be forced to return to Silvermouth. After that night things between us changed, I have never been certain as to why this happened, but I always had the feeling that it involved my parentage. One of the many things that time has made me forget.

He would still bring me my meals twice a day, however, instead of teaching me farming techniques, Rowan began to have me perform various exercises. The most memorable of Rowan’s exercises, involved holding a large rock over my head, whilst trying to avoid being hit with a large stick. It took me far too long to realise, that what he was actually doing, was teaching me how to handle myself in a fight. I was also forced, much to my displeasure, every second day of the week to travel into town for schooling. The whole idea of this at the time, had been to prepare me for the day when I would leave the farm and go searching for the piece of me that was missing. I continued in this routine set out for me by Rowan, until the end of my third year.

At the end of that year, he took me into town, to partake in the New Year’s festivities where he had first found me. Rowan invited me to have a drink with him and some friends of his, but I declined, and instead melded into the masses of people. I had no intention of becoming a part of the rain that was already torrential by that point. I tried to block out the sound of rain by dancing and flirting with girls, although that only went to make it worse. A boy, probably not that much older then me, came to me that night looking for a fight. I simply ignored whatever abusive comment it was that he made towards me, and turned my back to leave. After that, I can remember naught but three things; a shooting pain in the back of my head, looking down upon his bloodied, broken face with raw knuckles and a feeling. A euphoric feeling of twisted delight, at my handiwork. I had been right, those three years a go, when I had watched the man with the club.

Rowan had quickly snuck me away from the large crowd that surrounded the other man. After that, I remember going back to the farm and talking about the truth once again. That was the night before I left. It was not like Rowan did not want me there; we just both knew that it was the right time for me to go. Rowan came down to the barn at the break of dawn the next morning, I was already awake, and waiting, having not slept that night. We spoke only briefly before he gave to me three things that I still have to this day. A simple but effective sword, for my protection as I travelled, a horse, and an old pendant that Rowan had often worn around his neck. After receiving his gifts, we said our goodbyes quickly, and then I headed off.

It rained constantly for a long time after that. I slowly found my way up into the mountains and through to the other side, which is where I eventually found it. Along the way robbers and other bandits visited me upon more than one occasion, it was never anything that Rowan had not taught me how to handle though. After crossing through the mountains, I stayed for a night in a small village with a poor family. They gave me food, and a bed to sleep in, all they asked in exchange, was that I amuse their boy, until he wanted to sleep. In the morning, I departed before they had awoken, and left on their table, a small amount of money, that would have more than covered the costs of their hospitality. The year became a blur of moving from place to place, and all the while never managing to outrun the rain.

Everywhere I went something seemed to remind me of home, and conjure up dark thoughts of my father. I avoided places where men would drink to excess, and where physical cruelty was watched for fun. However, violence seemed to stalk me like a shadow in the night, and I hated it. Finally though, some four years or so after running away from home, I found it, I found the piece of me that was missing. What that piece was, is something that you need not worry yourself about. All that needs to be noted is, that after finding the piece of myself, my travels came to an abrupt halt.

I became apprenticed to a local blacksmith, so that I would have a source of income, after the money that Rowan had given to me ran out. I then took the majority of the large amount that he had given me, and staked out a plot of land, where I could build a house to hold myself together in. It didn’t rain at all after that. This was the first, and one of the only times in my life, that I would be truly happy. It was soon though, that I would come to find, just how short-lived happiness can be.

It was during the night, of another summer’s day, when he came. The first time I had ever met Rowan, he had given to me a glimpse of the sun, and all the beauty contained therein. The next stranger to enter my life unbidden by me, instead, brought back the rain. Why he did what he did, is a question that I’m still searching for the answer to. I awoke at dawn, the morning after, battered, bruised, and coated with blood that was not entirely my own. The world was raining upon both my face, and my heart that day. The part of me that I had spent so long trying to find, was taken from me by him, he had broken me as my father had, and a part of my being had died because of him.

I collected my things and left immediately, trying to follow the breadcrumbs to find this man. My pursuit was somewhat slowed, by the fact that I did not know his name, but nevertheless, I carried on. I slowly pieced together information, most people painted the picture of a strapping man, whose honour was without compare, and whose prowess in battle could only be rivalled by the gods. All I could seem to remember though, was two, grey, soulless eyes, and a laugh that made my bones ache. His whole being reeked of my father, to the point that just thinking about him, made me feel sick. This man, would have to die.

Eventually, I realised that simply trying to follow his trail, and catch him, was an insurmountable task. Thus I was forced to take a different approach, one that I was not looking forward to. This brings us to the present moment, a dark room, only lit by a few candles, surrounding a man, who is bound to a chair.

Reviews

[Alleyway Rover]

Overview:

I really like the character you’ve created here. He’s a dark, twisted soul with somewhat conflicting views, especially when it comes to violence and physical confrontation.

That being said, I don’t think you need this as an introduction to your book. First, it’s almost all backstory. I don’t remember what writer said these words, but I love the idea so I repeat it often. “Backstory is the cayenne pepper of narrative.” The idea being that a pinch here and there can really help add a little spice and complexity to your story, but too much is overpowering.

Second, I think the character you’ve created would function better with a lot more mystery about him. There’s nothing wrong with having a character that keeps the reader guessing, quite to the contrary, it keeps the reader turning the page.

Finally, it’s almost all telling, not showing. There are a lot of powerful moments here (i.e. the first time he get’s beaten at the New Years party, Rowen’s training, his talk with Rowen after the confrontation at the second New Years Party) that you are kinda forced to rush through in order to get it all into one chapter. Thus you’re forced to tell us what happened instead of showing us. Taking these moments and relating them later in the book does a couple of things. It allows you to really show the reader what happened to this man to make him like he is and it allows you to uncover some of the mystery surrounding this man for the reader.

In short, the character is cool. The spot where you eventually take us with him standing in a dark room with a captive bound to a chair is great. It is my opinion, however, that it would be even better if the reader was left with no explanation for why this happened. Start the story there and leave the questions open for the reader to try and guess.

[SpeedyHobbit Armstrong]

Wow. Just wow. This was dark. And amazing. I think my favorite part was how nobody ever expects to be homeless or living as a street urchin. There is definitely truth in literature there