Return of the ramblings!

[shinyka]

It is as it sounds, ladies and gentlemen.

I'll be posting a few of my writing here when I finally get around to writing/digging them up.

Until then, feel free to hold your breath.

 

[shinyka]

A short story I wrote on my birthday last year.​

He was a praying man. He was a man of God. He was the one who was always the last one to leave the church, still crouched before the cross, his hands folded and his eyes closed, dead in posture, but thriving in spirit. In the mornings, it was him to be the first out of bed, likewise first into the town ready to begin his trade, furs draped over his shoulder giving him the look of a well padded beast. In the evening, it would be him to be the first to set aside his wares, coupled with the meager earnings he brought in that day. Then and only then, would the mile walk across town begin. It was always just a matter of minutes before he was opening the simple wooden door of the church and entering, always taking his seat before the cross, his mind draped with his love for God and prayers silently whispering across his mind, as if thinking them enough could somehow change the life of the physical world.
â??Please, oh Lordâ?.
He would always begin, his mind crying out to the heavens whist his body stayed quiet, and motionless, as if an empty shell.
â??I thank you for what you have given me on this day. I thank you for this world, and all that you have created, in your glory for the sake of humanity. I humbly throw myself at your feetâ?
Despite his dedication, his prayers did not change much from day to day. It was though he had the same message every day for God, and felt content with reciting it over and over until the Heavens finally listened to him, granting him the acceptance he so wished.
â??My lord, I ask you grace me with this humble wish. I am alone in this world. As your grace already knows, I am different from the rest of them. They will not accept me; I remain a stranger to them, no more than a man draped in fur, peddling his meager goods that came from trapping in the mountainsâ?.
Alas, all he said was true. He was a foreigner, a stranger to these parts having ventured far away from the site of his genesis to seek his fortune, and while said fortune may have eluded him, he did find a way to utilize his skill, heading into the forested mountains on occasion and returning with a bundle of furs, most of them poor quality and badly stripped, for few bought them, even fewer actually put them to use.
â??If it is not too much to ask My Lord, I merely ask that I may become a man like the others. I ask in your grace that they may see me as an equal, not an inferior like I so am. I ask that when I go into the market, I am not mocked, but rather greeted with warm welcomes, and conversation. I pray that when I peddle my furs that people look toward me, and greet me with a smile, rather than turning away or spitting at meâ?.
After this, his prayers would become more desperate, as if he expected the world to change instantly, half expecting the people in the front pews to greet him, to praise him, rather than giving him the strange looks they always did when he came into the church, the occasional one thinking he was dead due to his lack of movement.
Yet, his fortune never did change. The people gave him the same looks they always did, ones that made him depressed with the sense of alienation in the air. That is why that when his uncured furs finally did tear, he saw no hesitation in rolling a small bundle of food, preparing two of his better traps, and leaving for the mountains as he always did, early and unmissed.

Three days passed with no finds. His food was beginning to run low, and his traps growing slightly bent from their repeated and unfruitful use. In all, said trip had been nothing more than a failure, a curse from the Heavens he so offered his praise too. One the morning of the fourth day, he was ready to head back into town, his shame increased further due to his lack of bounty.
Setting his packs aside, the man headed for the river. The ground was a slightly bumpy, more so then it had been the previous day. With a sigh, he filled up his water skins; His head bent low over the water. Seeing the dark currents only added to his misery, and he was soon considering throwing himself into the water, forever lost to its dark depths.
It was then, and only then, a brief moment before he entered the water that he saw a light. It was one unlike what he had ever seen before. This light seemed warm, and even though he was standing on the edge of a cold river in the early dawn, he felt warm, warm and happy beyond any comparison to any feeling he could have felt in the past. The dark thoughts vanished from his mind, cleansed almost as fast as they had entered, leaving him with a strange sense of bliss.
A voice called to him from the direction of the light. It fitted none he had heard in the past, and like the light, the voice seemed to give him great comfort as well, easing his mind and soothing his thoughts. In his mind, only one destination lay ahead of him now, and it was the light, the guiding principle that had cleansed him like an act of the very god he prayed to.
He followed the light, crossing the river a little ways down over a makeshift bridge, which was comprised of little more than a pair of logs, crudely chopped and damp from catching water that the river rejected. While the logs were slippery, dangerous to the normal traveler, he walked with no fear, stepping across the churning water with only one thing radiating in his mind.
However, as many things often turn out to be quite different then what they are, this light was also merely an illusion, covering a much greater object, one that was not nearly as enjoyable, and certainly one that bewildered the man when he found the lightâ??s source, all influence gone from him.
At his feet, sprawled atop the cold, hard ground was a woman. Yet, the term woman could be used lightly as this woman was obvious not of full human descent. A pair of large feathery wings protruded from her lightly clothed back, covering her lightly, and leaving a small collection of feathers strewn across the ground where she lay. A mere white robe covered her, light enough to be rippling in the light breeze, but thick enough to cover her body, yet the degree of warmth offered by such was obviously questionable. On the ground near her, a small trickle of blood decorated the ground, streaming out from beneath her silky golden hair, which seemed also to billow in the light breeze.
He was frightened. He had chased what he thought to be guidance, a beacon of hope in his dark existence, and now had found this, some creature of no Earthly origin. A renewed sense of panic began to fill the man, sending him back into his mental turmoil that ravaged his mind. He began to consider the river again, when the light returned. It was different this time. The last time, it seemed to signal a far away destination, showing him a way forward. Now, it was all around him. The warm, comforting feeling he had since heard earlier had changed. Now, it was more of a demanding one, leading him to once again look at the woman on the ground. No, woman was the wrong term. Would it be wrong to think that under these circumstances, what he had found was an Angel?
The man certainly thought so, and he saw this as nothing less than a sign from god, an indicating his prayers had finally been answered. A new sense of dedication gripped him, guiding his path, and once again giving him a sense of purpose. With a strength and will that was not his, he removed his jacket, leaving his bare skin exposed to the cold. Yet, he felt no chill from the cool breeze, but rather comforting warmth, a relief that caused a sigh to echo across his exposed skin.
With skill that was not his, he rolled the poorly stitched jacket under the angel. Now, what he had relinquished seemed to be less of a poorly stitched together bundle of fur, and now seemed to be a burial shawl, as if preparing the angel for her final rest. What occurred was quite the opposite. With a strength that he had not possessed before, he lifted her up and hoisted the bundle over his shoulders, her limp but breathing body pressed against him, and her majestic wings pointing toward the sky.
It was unknown how he crossed the makeshift bridge. It had creaked and slumped under his weight from before, even a few more pounds could easily have caused it to break, dropping its contents into the dark raging currents of below. Yet, despite this, he soon found himself across the river, and back at his campsite. The thought of taking something with his only passed through his mind for a split second, and it was only moments after that the temptation had been a brief memory, as his goal seemed to remain the same, transfixed on only one thing.
A trip that would have taken an average person a day only took him hours, and the man soon found himself on the well traveled dirt road into town. It was midday, and many people were crossing the road, each one of him giving him a strange, but curious look. He smiled at the attention he was getting, before heading through the town, causing people to stop their activities everywhere to get a look at him, wondering just what it was he was carrying, and why he showed no signs of fatigue or strain, and the object draped over his shoulder did look heavy.
After what seemed like seconds later, he was at his small home, a makeshift cottage parked on the edge of the town, where few ever ventured. With a sense of relief, he opened the door with his left hand, his right still clamped around his discovery, one that obviously had no coincidence to it. A groan ensured as he set the angel down on his makeshift bed, which in reality was little more than a collection of furs draped over a wooden block. He sat on the ground, intent on watching her with a passion. Not a passion bred from material desires, but rather a fascination, a marvel at her unnatural beauty.

It is unknown when the first torch was lit, when the first yelling began. Perhaps it was started by a single villager, one who understood what the man had, but feared it. Maybe it was a group, who after short discussion would have come to the conclusion that whoever was with him was unnatural, a witch. It would also not be outrageous to speculate it was simply out of hatred for him, a wish to finally unravel him once and for all.
It was only a few minutes before she awoke, a small sigh filling the air, and piquing his attention rather quickly. She turned around in the bed, gracing him with a small, happy smile, her eyes still closed. He was in awe, as a warm unnatural feeling swept through him, filling him with a joy he had not felt before in his lifetime. He found himself smiling back, a slightly goofy look crossing his face. For a moment, things seemed different, changed, in a way he was incapable of understanding.

It was unknown when the yelling outside his lowly hut first sounded in the air. Nodding, the man hopped to his feet, curious to as what the sound was. With a slightly concerned look on his face, he opened the door, shocked at the sight that stood before him. What he was filled with was not dread, but rather a chilling sense of uncertainty, curious and cautious at the same time.
Before him stood a fair amount of villagers, each one yelling, an angry atmosphere radiating through the air. Each was armed, be it with a simple torch, or a tool, obviously intended for a weapon. Cries of â??Burn the witchâ? and â??Kill the sinnersâ? emptied through the heated air, finally giving the man a taste of the fear which he had not experienced since his fateful encounter. Rough hands grabbed him, however the feeling was not a painful one, and after a few seconds, it appeared they had no wish to harm him. He felt himself being pulled back, and turned, in such a way he was once again facing his hut, yet standing much farther away from it. It soon became clear to him that there was nobody standing before him, all the crowd was behind him.
With a slight grunt, he felt something being thrust into his hand, the rough texture of the object brushing against his skin. When he did finally look down, he found it to be one of the makeshift torches the villagers had made end alight with cackling flames. Whispers filled his ears, whispers of â??burn the witchâ? and haunting sounds of â??Do as God commandsâ?. With a shiver, he felt a new feeling take hold of him, one that seemed an inverse of the warm guiding he had received only earlier in the day. However, despite said pressure, he felt no fear, no anger like the rest, only a sense of acceptance and joy, a perverted shadow of his previous feeling. Yet, he wanted to believe that this was what he wanted, to be accepted into the peopleâ??s arms no matter what the cost. It did not take him long to succumb to the yelling, and he found himself throwing the makeshift torch toward his hut, much to the joy of the people around him.
It was only seconds before the wood was ablaze. The red flames flickered in the warm afternoon sunlight as a cheer erupted through the crowd, yells of praise and joy filling the air. As the large smoke killed the air, and a scream erupted from the cottage that was once his, a warm hand patted his back, not in anger, but more in respect. A sense of acceptance filled him, an alien feeling gracing him. For once, the people he was around were cheering for him praising him and finally making contact with him. His goal, his fixation had finally been achieved; he was finally a human in their eyes. With a smile, he turned to face the burning cottage, and as the smoke billowed, the warm feeling he had felt just earlier left him, as if pulled away with force. Yet his mind didnâ??t comprehend such things, as the only thought on his mind was rather he would still need to spend as much time at the Church after work.