Unknown

This is part of a chapter, an input so to speak. I took this from a roleplay character I used to have, though I quit now to focus on this book.

 

As he sits on the old concrete steps outside the large store he questions what he sees, and what does he see? Everything, he says. So therefore he questions everything. Correct, he answered with a simple tilt of the head inspiring a nod before he looked back ahead of him and continued chewing on the vine of hemp that hung loosely from his lips, darting in which way that way directions as his teeth clamped down and rolled the fibres between his blunt teeth, splitting them from their original foundation. His eyes, much like the vine of hemp, darted up, down, left and right, to the corners and into the back of his head.. He sat in this same spot everyday, as though he had nothing better to do.. but he was only, what, twenty? How could that even be.. He should be out in fast cars, with fast women.. not sat on a porch step chewing hemp vines and talking the days away with strangers, or that’s what most around him thought, most except he himself.

 

Though he was in fact a young looking male, there was many a secret behind his complexion, and although people suspected him to be the many great grandson of the great white chief warrior Ayastigi, he was in fact the great himself.. Over 13 centuries, not a grey bristle thickly lined his head. Why? No one asked him, for no one thought him to be the real Ayastigi but a relative by blood or kin. But the truth was, well.. The truth was realised, not foretold.. and it took the great chief many a century to in fact understand, though as he did. He did not take foul of the knowledge and swear his days to burden, in stead he looked to the fresh High Moon and bowed his head. “And my soul thus belongs to the ground, for my mind is cursen.” He muttered to the pointed stars that dotted the black sky. And true as his words became, he was in fact cursed and his soul, was the earths. No one spoke of this or questioned it until many moons later, and that was the moon that marked the first of red clan blood he spilled from anger.

 

The times were changing all around him as he sat on the porch steps day after day, until one day he refrained from going there and instead walked the mile into the city. In his first days, that mile would have stretched to twenty, and he would have walked with bear hide and boar skin to trade.. This day however, he walked with rubber feet being the soles of his shoes, and fresh linen to cover his skin. A time he was accustomed, yet not appreciative for dwelling. It took a short time to walk into the city, and as he did so, he almost wished to turn back, if it was not for the sight of the girl that captured his weary eyes and made him think of Charlotte. Now kiss me. It was one of those moments that stole the breath from his very chest, though some days he had not a breath to even steal..

 

After turning away from the brunette goddess he glanced around for a place to dwell, an area to rest his limbs though he felt not a strain to them. It was his mind, these days that became tired and cranked, not his body.. Walking himself to a bench near by, he sat himself down upon it and retrieved the small brown hog skin notebook and the ball point pen he was given. Of course he preferred quills with ink, but a pen was easier when outside of his abode. Scribbling a few circular patterns onto a back page of the notebook, which already contained many of the same squiggles, he then turned back to the front of the book, flicking past a few occupied pages before settling the side of his palm upon the blank paper canvas. What to write today, he thought as his eyes wandered in search. Many a topic filled his mind, but none seemed everlasting and worthy of dictation, until he thought of the girl again and slowly dragged the pen tip along the paper. Inking out a memory in writing, of the girl he may never know, but whom brought such wonderful old memories to flicker in this long day.

Author's Note

All reviews welcome.