Well, here is something I wrote a month or two ago. It's the third draft.
I did it again. I had to do it again.
I walked down the dirt road, my legs tingling and my fingers twitching. The jerking had stopped once I had achieved my prize—an old man’s wallet, soft and sweet smelling.
Halfway to my destination, I began to leaf through the pocketbook; there didn’t seem to be any valuable items in it. The object itself, however, appeared to be quite expensive. It looked and smelled like real leather, not just the cheap knock-offs that most merchants sold.
I was just about to empty my prize of its useless contents when a pungent scent filled the air. It resembled the smell of blood, sweat and metal mixed together. I soon realized that, while I was musing over the amount of money I might achieve, I failed to notice the shadow of a large man standing in front of me. I looked up at the obstruction cautiously, and my heart nearly stopped at the large stature of a man with his beefy hand on the hilt of his sword.
I had been caught. Boy had I been caught.
I dropped the pocketbook and raised my arms slowly, daring myself to take a peek at how many guards were coming up behind me, weapons at the ready, a wicked smile hidden behind their helmet. I imagined the possible hundreds of men coming up behind me rejoicing inside, thinking that they’re about to catch the town’s number one Most Wanted.
“I wouldn’t move if I were you,” the burly man in front of me said, his voice made deep and muffled by his helmet, “or you will be slaughtered in a shower of arrows.”
He stood his ground, staring intently at me through the slits of his sallet, waiting for my well-known audacious behavior to get the better of me.
“You know you can’t spell slaughter without laughter, right?” I commented, unable to keep myself in check.
I heard the man chuckle and witnessed him unsheathe his sword; he began stroking it from hilt to tip, tauntingly. Callused skin rubbing against smooth steel emits an ugly scraping sound, I thought, wrinkling my nose.
He thrust his sword into the air and I felt the guards behind me tense. Oh, he’s the leader then, or at least the commanding officer, I noted.
“Attack!” the leader bellowed, completing the desired command.
My ears perked at the sound of heavy footsteps pounding into the ground behind me, accompanied by the rattling of armor.
That’s when I felt my foot twitch and the muscles in my leg tense up again. I prayed to whatever god there was that it didn’t happen here, not in front of all the Dictator’s men who could report to him the truth about my condition.
“You know,” I began, trying to ignore the increasing tingling sensation in my legs. “Since you have the upper-hand, I would just like to attempt to run away before your men kill me.”
Nothing happened; the heavy footsteps kept approaching at a faster rate than before, bringing along the life-threatening danger.
My hand jerked forward at the echoing sound of swords unsheathing and arrows being pulled from their quivers to be notched expertly.
This involuntary, uncontrollable condition of mine was going to be the death of me.
And I was the one who wanted it in the first place.
