This story, I entered in a competition, which I did not win, I lost to some 9-year old girl who wrote about Orang-utans and deforestation.
Anyway... Since I figured I wasn't going to use it for anything, I might as well post it here.
The Horseman
So this is how I met Death.
It was an average day really. Average, except for what was to happen that night. I woke up, went over my daily routine, and went on one of my daily night time runs when it happened.
I was just about half way around, when I felt a strong, rough hand suddenly grip my shoulder.
My heart skipped a beat, my stomach dropped.
I heard a loud click close to my ear, which sounded like the barrel of a gun being cocked.
“Wossa young woman doin’ out here all by yourself then ey?” Said a voice from behind, it was unforgiving, cruel and let out a smell of rancid… something.
I turned around slowly to face my attacker, and came face-to-face with a large handgun, the barrel pointing directly at my face.
The man holding the gun seemed to suit the voice perfectly. His face was extremely dirty and his hair wasn’t any better, it looked as if it hadn’t been washed in a number of months.
“Give ‘s yer money lass, and I’ll let ya go.” He said, in an intimidating tone.
“I- I- I don’t have any!” I managed to stutter out. I was on the verge of tears, but managed to hold them back.
A scowl overcame his face, and he shoved me, pushing the gun to my forehead.
“You liar!” The man shouted, rage in his voice.
A tear managed to force its way out of my eyes, I sobbed silently.
What happened next, I scarcely believed, but it’s all 100% true.
The sound of heavy horse hooves filled the air. The thug looked over to the source of the sound, and was shocked by what he saw.
A pale horse galloped down the pavement in our direction, a man rode it, he wore a black hood and robes that billowed in the wind as his horse sped. In his hand was a huge scythe, the moonlight glinting off of its age-old rusted metal, and dark mist trailed the rider and horse.
It was truly, a sight to behold.
My attacker fired a few shots at the rider.
They had no effect whatsoever, the bullets wisped straight through the rider’s body.
He continued on, gaining speed as if nothing had happened. He drew nearer, twirled his scythe around in his hands and rode by the man, connecting his weapon with the attacker in one clean blow.
But the man did not fall to the ground as one would expect. Instead he just, burst, into a plume of dark smoke, which drifted away with the wind, as if nothing had ever happened.
The rider stopped his horse, and turned to face me.
I was visibly shaking from the whole ordeal, but managed to maintain some composure.
Then, he spoke, his voice unearthly and somehow… ancient.
“Goodbye, Carolyn Clements.”
I felt strangely inclined to answer.
“Wh-Who are you?”
The rider spun his scythe back into place and uttered a single word.
“Death.”
And with that, he rode off into the distance, leaving me in a cloud of dark mist.
