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Moon
- Joined
- Nov 26, 2010
ghost of acre
It's so so so bright. I can feel the wind for the first time in twenty years. I blink my grey eyes three times and stare up at the sun. My patron winks at me and reminds me of my past. Yes, I was a great general once in my nameless land. Led many great victories against the army in grey. Killed many men with my own two hands. Crawled for miles, days, not eating, just crawling, just to kill a single person. My men followed me without hesitation. I was almost as powerful as a king.
I killed the wrong person. A senator, a woman. It was an honest mistake, honest. But my country's laws are absolute. Forty years in prison for the death of a political figure, ten added on for the death of a woman. I was disgraced. So hated that I had to be locked away, alone, shivering, for my own good. In an underground cell, at that. Metal upon metal under ten feet of earth. It was all I could do to keep warm enough to fend off the cold sickness. It was all I could do to sing psalms to keep my head in the right spot- or maybe I really did wander off to far to the gutter.
Another bang. I heard bang bang bang bang booms all night long. The world around me slept now, slept after its grey night of colicy screeching and sobbing. Where was once a capital now only stood a graveyard for all. The old, the new, the dying and the still living twenty-somethings that had everything figured out. The sky was still grey, however. Off to the west, on the nearest bluff, overlooking the city, 'guardian's chair' as it was once called. The gray army used our natural defense as the Hot Gates were once used. All it took was a few well placed artillery weapons, set up as the city slept, to end the war.
Their bang bang booms, however, opened a crypt. Let loose the Ghost of Acre. It is a fitting title. I am dead to my old country after leaving them. The grey army had to be stopped, and I was the only one who knew how. I can't help but wonder, where was our military? Too busy fighting Acre in their own land? No matter, I suppose. No matter anymore. The grey army did not know I was here, else they would have searched high and low for my body. It is time for me to work now. Time for me to stretch this old grey skin into a useful shape.
Yards of wire, left over ammunition, explosives from grenades to plastic. It was so easy to find the right material on a battle field. My final master piece, it took nine hours to finish. Standing in what used to be the city square. There were the most bodies here. Women, children, men that tried to protect their fleeing families. Their hand guns and light rifles littered the ground. I grabbed a pistol and shot it into the air. Thrice, then pause. Once. Pause. Again, once. Pause. Then twice. An old code that I devised for communicating in dangerous situations. The nimbus crashed down upon me in a matter of moments. I stood blood soaked in my prison jumpsuit.
"Ex-General Faldien," a gasped whisper struck my ears. They all stayed back in a circle, watching me, not daring to get close. I didn't move. I hummed. Hummed what my mother once hummed when my father was angry. Oh, he would get so angry. So so so angry. The sky darkened. Thunder cried off in the distance, but its cousin refused to dance in the heavens. I think I would have liked this weather twenty years ago.
"I'd like to know what you're doing here, but I don't think I care enough to ask," a familiar voice quipped. My eldest follower, all grown up. He used to cling to every word I said, treated me as a god. I didn't mind it, even if it was a little too endearing. I continued to hum.
"You do know we will kill you, right? You won't get any sort of trial. We all know what you've done. You're a turncoat. A liar," the voice droned on. It eventually mixed with the sound of the thunder. Not imposing, not threatening, but trying quite hard to be. I asked him if he thought he could take us on. All of us.
"All of us?" he parroted blankley.
All of us, I parroted back. You know you can't take us all on, I warned. Especially not me, no no. You couldn't kill me if you tried to do it yourself. My cornsilk hair shook as I spoke, my rugous skin folding over itself.
I could see the forked blue vein dancing upon the ridge of his brow. He stalked up to me and pulled his side arm to my head. I smiled. You couldn't shoot me if you wanted to. You couldn't kill me. You couldn't. Look at me; I am beyond you. I am beyond you, and your army, and I will kill you all.
Boom boom bang.
As I fell, the trip wire wrapped around my ankle snapped. The piled bodies around me which hid the explosives burst hither-to. What was left of the tall buildings collapsed upon the scrambling grey army ants. None escaped, however. My ears rang from the pain, from the noise, from the screaming. Colic only lasts a little while, however, and not long after even I slept. I could still hear whispers about the Ghost of Acre, years after my death
It's so so so bright. I can feel the wind for the first time in twenty years. I blink my grey eyes three times and stare up at the sun. My patron winks at me and reminds me of my past. Yes, I was a great general once in my nameless land. Led many great victories against the army in grey. Killed many men with my own two hands. Crawled for miles, days, not eating, just crawling, just to kill a single person. My men followed me without hesitation. I was almost as powerful as a king.
I killed the wrong person. A senator, a woman. It was an honest mistake, honest. But my country's laws are absolute. Forty years in prison for the death of a political figure, ten added on for the death of a woman. I was disgraced. So hated that I had to be locked away, alone, shivering, for my own good. In an underground cell, at that. Metal upon metal under ten feet of earth. It was all I could do to keep warm enough to fend off the cold sickness. It was all I could do to sing psalms to keep my head in the right spot- or maybe I really did wander off to far to the gutter.
Another bang. I heard bang bang bang bang booms all night long. The world around me slept now, slept after its grey night of colicy screeching and sobbing. Where was once a capital now only stood a graveyard for all. The old, the new, the dying and the still living twenty-somethings that had everything figured out. The sky was still grey, however. Off to the west, on the nearest bluff, overlooking the city, 'guardian's chair' as it was once called. The gray army used our natural defense as the Hot Gates were once used. All it took was a few well placed artillery weapons, set up as the city slept, to end the war.
Their bang bang booms, however, opened a crypt. Let loose the Ghost of Acre. It is a fitting title. I am dead to my old country after leaving them. The grey army had to be stopped, and I was the only one who knew how. I can't help but wonder, where was our military? Too busy fighting Acre in their own land? No matter, I suppose. No matter anymore. The grey army did not know I was here, else they would have searched high and low for my body. It is time for me to work now. Time for me to stretch this old grey skin into a useful shape.
Yards of wire, left over ammunition, explosives from grenades to plastic. It was so easy to find the right material on a battle field. My final master piece, it took nine hours to finish. Standing in what used to be the city square. There were the most bodies here. Women, children, men that tried to protect their fleeing families. Their hand guns and light rifles littered the ground. I grabbed a pistol and shot it into the air. Thrice, then pause. Once. Pause. Again, once. Pause. Then twice. An old code that I devised for communicating in dangerous situations. The nimbus crashed down upon me in a matter of moments. I stood blood soaked in my prison jumpsuit.
"Ex-General Faldien," a gasped whisper struck my ears. They all stayed back in a circle, watching me, not daring to get close. I didn't move. I hummed. Hummed what my mother once hummed when my father was angry. Oh, he would get so angry. So so so angry. The sky darkened. Thunder cried off in the distance, but its cousin refused to dance in the heavens. I think I would have liked this weather twenty years ago.
"I'd like to know what you're doing here, but I don't think I care enough to ask," a familiar voice quipped. My eldest follower, all grown up. He used to cling to every word I said, treated me as a god. I didn't mind it, even if it was a little too endearing. I continued to hum.
"You do know we will kill you, right? You won't get any sort of trial. We all know what you've done. You're a turncoat. A liar," the voice droned on. It eventually mixed with the sound of the thunder. Not imposing, not threatening, but trying quite hard to be. I asked him if he thought he could take us on. All of us.
"All of us?" he parroted blankley.
All of us, I parroted back. You know you can't take us all on, I warned. Especially not me, no no. You couldn't kill me if you tried to do it yourself. My cornsilk hair shook as I spoke, my rugous skin folding over itself.
I could see the forked blue vein dancing upon the ridge of his brow. He stalked up to me and pulled his side arm to my head. I smiled. You couldn't shoot me if you wanted to. You couldn't kill me. You couldn't. Look at me; I am beyond you. I am beyond you, and your army, and I will kill you all.
Boom boom bang.
As I fell, the trip wire wrapped around my ankle snapped. The piled bodies around me which hid the explosives burst hither-to. What was left of the tall buildings collapsed upon the scrambling grey army ants. None escaped, however. My ears rang from the pain, from the noise, from the screaming. Colic only lasts a little while, however, and not long after even I slept. I could still hear whispers about the Ghost of Acre, years after my death
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