This is my first attempt be gentle, Chapter 1 the Truth
"I am a great believer in luck. I find the harder I work the more I have of it.” – Stephen Leacock
I used to be an ordinary kid. Life was simple I went to school, hung out with friends, dreamed of girls, never did homework. It was easy that way, but not very exciting, but defiantly manage able. I always dreamed of more, a world of my own where anything was possible. I wanted my dreams to become reality, and they kind of did. Too bad I lost everything I care about in the process.
i] I stood amongst the mists of a battle field, well more of a ruin now. The fires that I know or even more once felt had finally subdued. What was left was nothing but ash and blood. Dead bodies clung to everything, it was a slaughter house, and I stood in the middle of it all. I couldn’t see their faces, but it feels as though I once new them; kind of like some faint memory you’re trying to regain. Time seems oily and tense; everything moves in a fluid motion, flames flicker in and out constantly. I glance to myself; I’m wearing a strange black hooded cloak that connects to the base of my neck with a pair of silver wings strung together by a chain of the same make. I hold a sleek black Katana in my right hand, out of the pommel is black chain with a silvery blue knife strung into its last strip. It feels as if this sword was once great and powerful, know all that’s left is a shell of its former self. As I begin to walk forward I feel darkness close around me with every step. It’s as if my fear is slowly, but steadily growing. I reach the end of a destroyed hall, and turn. In the center of a once vast and beautiful garden now lays a pile of ash, and rock. In the middle sits a throne of black bone, there sits a deformed king sitting in his unrightful place. His face is mangled, and split; half of it is human, the rest is just bone. A translucent black robe covers the rest of him to his feet, in his hand rest a long tilted scythe. He gives off the image of death itself, perhaps now he is. Fear grips me, a whisper from the wind calls out my name “Dante”. A shiver creeps down my spine and to my legs. They jolt forward slowly carrying me to this sinister monster. He smiles as I draw close enough to reach out and touch. He takes the scythe in his hands and slowly starts to raise it. My hands tremble so hard I can’t grip my sword, so it falls to the ground hardly making a sound. I look deep into his face his smile reams with some kind of sinister satisfaction. His eyes are full of malice and hatred. As His scythe reaches the brim of his reach all emotion drains from his face, he is left with nothing because that is exactly what he is. With one final act I begin to call out, but my voice is lost in the swing of the scythe.[/i][/i][/color]
I burst from my bed, sweat pours down my face, and my breath is completely lost from my screams. Was it really a nightmare? I still couldn't tell.
