Young Writers Society

Once upon a time,

(Please don't say that. How much more cliche can this get?)

(Shut it, I'm the one with the pen.)

Once upon a time

There was a young man,

And his name was Arse--

(I have a sword in my hand.)

(Got it.)

-- And his name was Sila. 

He had no family of blood,

For he had emerged from the ashes of a forest

With hair and eyes as bleak as winter. 

The only living thing he kept close to him

Was a young boy without a name,

Found nearly beaten to death 

After begging for food

On a wrong street 

At the wrong time.

(Sila?)

(I'm not listening to this.)

(Suit yourself.)

Sila looked at the small beaten boy

And must have found a foreign feeling 

Of sadness

So he gathered up the boy in his arms 

And set out onto the road. 

For years they travelled, 

Encountering both hardships and kindness

Learning and forgetting,

Gaining and losing. 

And as they did

Sila found that the boy without a name

Could warm his heart without fire

And soothe his pains without any herbs. 

So when the man and the boy sat in front of a fireplace

And Sila found his face jumping in a strange way,

He asked the boy what it was

And he was told that it was a smile. 

(If you're gonna listen, don't make it so creepy and come back in here.)

(Just keep going and shut up.)

(Which one?)

(You know what I meant.)

Sila might have found happiness, eventually;

For that is generally what comes with learning how to smile.

But one year a harsh winter stuck,

Perhaps the harshest that the world will ever know,

And the small boy could only last so long without a home.

Three days after the boy collapsed with a boiling forehead--

(Four.)

(What was that?)

(Four days. Not three. Fix it.)

(It doesn't matter.)

(Four.)

(You're being ridiculous.)

(Four!)

Four days after the boy collapsed with a boiling forehead,

Sila laid a hand on the boy's neck

And found nothing at all.

Blinded with sadness and confusion,

Sila hugged the rotting boy in his arms

And ran through snow and hail and storm

Until he reached a cave where a demon dwelled.

The demon brought winter and death and storms that killed

So Sila barged into the demon's home

Grabbed at the demon's robes

And begged for him to stop the winter.

Then he felt water slip from his eyes

And he begged that the demon bring the boy back,

Demanded in boiling anger,

Cried until the ground turned wet.

(It was really quite pathetic.)

(While that is a fair observation, do shut your mouth.)

The demon curiously regarded Sila's ashen hair and eyes,

Then pretended to think.

Finally he stopped tapping on his chin and said,

Why don't I make you a deal?

I'll give you an iron heart and impenetrable skin,

With eyes that don't blink.

Food will be as meaningless as oxygen

And you won't burn or freeze.

With all these gifts

You'll just have to do one thing;

Sit right outside my door

And wait there

Not moving even a little bit.

Give me a hundred thousand years of your dull, boring life

And I'll drag the boy out of the void

So you can cry all over him once more.

The demon didn't even have to finish his words,

And Sila was nodding.

The demon smiled and sealed the deal.

(Big mistake on my part.)

(I'm glad that you realized.)

For hundreds of years Sila sat outside the demon's door

And he still blinked and breathed and thought

Although he didn't need to.

Then hundreds of years passed again

And those things slowed down

Into a dull trickle.

One day the demon gave into his curiosity,

Peeked outside the door reluctantly

And found something that resembled a rock

More than anything else. 

But a hundred thousand years was yet to pass

So the demon regarded the stupid man with a little frown --

(Thank you for that little description.)

(Any time.)

-- And closed the door without a sound.

The years passed sluggishly 

And the demon began to make a habit

Of glancing out the door, again and again;

Every time he lingered just a bit longer.

When the hundred thousand years passed,

The demon all but sprinted out the door

And touched his hand to Sila's forehead

So he could awaken whatever life was left in him.

At the same time he reached a hand into the void,

And carefully grabbed the boy's little broken soul

To drag it out into the world of the living.

But as Sila slowly began to awaken

And the boy shimmered into being,

The demon recognized a glint of nonrecognition

Like a shard of glass in the boy's eyes

So without thinking he grabbed the boy

Pushed him back into the void--

(Hold on. You've never told me about this.)

(Well, sorry, but it was the smartest thing to do.)

(You should have told me about it, at least.)

(Look, are you gonna let me finish the story or not?)

(Fine, but I'm not letting this go.)

(Whatever.)

--And when Sila finally blinked again

The demon attempted a smile

Put out a hand and asked,

It would be quite nice if you'd stay here,

Even though your little boy's not back;

I looked into the void, 

And his soul was faded and gone.

But will you stay?

Sila stared at the demon's outstretched hand,

Then nodded slowly

Just as he had

When he gave up a hundred thousand years of his life.

(Alright, that's all I can write. I'm done.)

(Okay. Well?)

(Well what?)

(We're going to talk about what you did with--)

(Not right now.)

(I swear--)

(Look, if you're going to skewer me with a sword, at least do it after dinner.)

(Fine.)

(Wonderful.)

.

.

THE END