Somebody posted a reply. Wow. Well, I guess that means you guys win, and I'll post the first chapter (only the first chapter 'cause it's turned out worse than I thought). So there it is! Have fun mocking my atrocious writing and story telling ability! :)
Just Another Story
Have you ever walked down a street and wondered about the lives of everybody you pass. How each person has a story to tell, as unique and interesting as your own life. From that time when you were four when your brother lost your favourite spade on the beach to the time your eighty and have a picnic, everybody has a story to tell, just like your own experiences. And I’m no different.
Well, maybe a little.
Chapter 1
An Ordinary Beginning
This story begins like any other. My name is Christopher Walker; I’m 17 years old. I live in England. I go to school, and have fun with my mates when I’m free. Not the most thrilling set up, I think you’ll agree. At this point, it was the summer. I had just got my exam results. I was half way through my courses at school, and had just learnt I had failed chemistry. I hated chemistry anyway. My teachers said I could retake it if I wanted, but I couldn’t stand one more lesson.
Taking that subject was a mistake anyway, I was rubbish at it and hated it. Not that it matters. This story isn’t about exam results, and it certainly isn’t a story about a miserable teen. You see, I once said everybody had a story to tell, and I was right. Only mine was a little different, but to understand it, we need to start at the beginning. I promise the good stuff comes later.
I was walking home from school; I had just picked up my results. They sat in my pocket, a presence I was always aware of. I cut through the woods to get home, but in my current state I took the longest route through them as possible. I was soon standing on a path overlooking the valley in which I lived; I could see the woods, I could see houses, I could see the city. I could see my world. I had lived here all my life and never had cause to leave. Looking out over the city I felt something deep in my heart, a long yearning. I had friends, good friends, but never a girlfriend. It seemed nobody out there was right for me. Or I wasn’t right for them. When looking out over the city, I found myself wondering, was there somebody out there for me? Where was she? Or was I destined to walk my life alone?
Looking back on it, it was stereotypical teenage angst. But at the time it almost consumed me. Before we continue, there’s a question I need to ask you. Do you believe in love? True love? One destiny and one partner for everybody on this Earth. Had you asked me at that age, at that moment, I’d of said no. Time’s change however. And I learnt the truth.
Thankfully that’s all you need to know of my life before things got interesting. Really interesting. While looking out over that city, desperate for a partner, my heart began to stir in a strange way. I began to think it was a heart attack. Stress coming to claim me as its victim. But slowly it changed, I felt like a cold ice was covering me. Reaching up for my eyes. I was paralysed, I couldn’t move, but didn’t really want to anyway. The strangest sensation, one I can’t even begin to put into words. It crept up on my eyes, consumed them, and I was lost to whiteness.
Right now you’re probably thinking I’m crazy, or was just suffering some kind of strange illness. It was neither. Remember when I said my story was slightly different? I can’t vouch for those strangers on the street, but to me, this was different. I stood in a white void, being pulled forwards. Pulled by my heart. It was drawing me to something. Before I knew it, I stumbled out into a field. It was dark. It appeared to be night.
Getting to this point, I realise I should have introduced myself better. As I said, I’m Christopher Walker, but the name’s not important. What comes into play here is one of my hobbies. I’m a fencer. Not a very good one, but I do fence. And that fact was about to save my life.
As I stumbled onto the grass I saw utter devastation. There was an old style horse and carriage, missing a wheel and mostly on fire. The horses were dead. I was stood over the body of a man, about thirty, wearing a light brown piece of armour with a silver emblem on the arm and chest. I saw another like him, also dead across from me. I counted four tall men, all dressed in black armour, large horns rising from their head and eyes, angry, peering out from the darkness. They all held huge broadswords. There was a loud slap. I saw a young girl, no older than me, fly to the ground. She wore a long elegant white dress and had long flowing black hair. She, doubled over in pain, sprawled on the field.
This situation was strange, and I don’t know why I did what I did next. I simply knew I had to.
I grabbed a sword from the corpse at my feet. It was a fairly weighty long sword, designed for one-handed combat however. I could use it as I’d use a fencing foil without much difficult. I let out a cry, one I really should have thought about first.
“Leave her alone!” I had no idea where I was, or who these people were, but for some reason I wanted to do something. These men were clearly evil; they’d need a neon sign to make it any more obvious. But even then, charging into combat against four heavily armed and armoured men wasn’t the sort of thing I did often. However, I found myself crying out again. “I said leave her alone!” My adrenaline induced courage turned to fear as one of the guards grunted to another:
“Deal with our wannabe hero, I’ll handle the girl,” and one of the guards began walking towards me. He towered over me, and I could just make out his black eyes staring down on me out of his eyeholes. He pulled back his broadsword to attack and I stood in the fencing en guard stance, shaking like a leaf.
I squeezed my eyes tight and lunged, stabbing him before he could swing. I managed to force my eyes open again and look up, at the huge mountain of a man, with my sword though his chest.
One thing I had learnt fencing was that speed and control were important, a fast fencer could beat a large strength based attack to the punch, and it seemed this man had not been ready for my attack. He had expected a duel of the broadsword standard. It was lucky I hadn’t given it to him; I’m a fencer, not a knight. The armoured man dropped down dead. Strangely, I felt no remorse. Only determination. I held my sword out in the direction of the remaining three men. They all turned to face me.
Try to imagine facing death, in a world you don’t even know. I had no idea how I was going to escape, and to all intents and purposes this could be my end. I had no idea what was going to happen to me. I saw the tip of my sword shaking as I tried to hold it steady. I saw the huge guards advancing on me. I stood, staying as strong as I could, waiting for the attack.
With my sword out the dark knights had no choice but to swing at it to knock it aside before killing me, and so I waited for the attack. The first one came in and I let my sword dip under his and lunged, stabbing him through the arm. He fell back screaming and I pulled my sword out in time to have it knocked from my hand. It clattered to the ground and I saw the giant broadsword coming in to finish me off. I leapt back, but it cut me across the stomach. I dropped to my knees, the pain enough to disable me. I stared up wearingly as the evil knight swung his sword down to finish me off. I dropped as he swung at my neck and he missed. I kicked him to the shin, hard enough to distract him. I scrambled to my feet grabbing my sword. He swung again, knocking my sword to the ground and almost causing me to collapse again from the sheer strength of the blow. Before the finishing attack could come however, somebody jumped at the knight.
It was the girl in the white dress; she clung to his back distracting him long enough for me to get the lunge in. Three down, one to go. The final one helped his friend with the injured arm to his feet and ran off. I turned to the mysterious girl.
“And I thought they only took turns to attack in movies,” I sighed, badly hurt but still trying to be witty. (For those of you unaware, I was trying to refer to Kung Fu movies where the bad guys take turns to attack instead of bundling at once).
“What’s a movie?” came the response. Her voice was soft and sweet, yet I’m sure I detected the same kind of tone as I had made in my comment.
I fell to my knees and she rushed in, grabbing me to stop me from collapsing.
“Thank you,” she said to me, and I smiled. And collapsed.
