Enjay

177 reads

"You! You all!" The man shouted, his eyes narrowed and dark. "I'm here to train you to become warriors, not wusses! Get off your butts and get working!"

We all slowly rose from our chairs and glanced wearily in the man's direction, ready for orders, but also ready to sit down again.

The man cracked his whip. "You! You there, the skinny boy with the red pants! Come up here!"

I stepped forward, shaking slightly. What would this man do to me? Much, I supposed, but only if he wanted to.

"Well, then." The man circled me, and randomly lashed out with his whip, just to get me to jump or to dodge the blow. Most of the times, I got a beating, but every once in a while I was able to dodge it, and the man let out a grunt of satisfaction.

"You're a lazy brute," the man reported to me after quite some time of trying to whip me. "I expected better of you--of ALL of you!" He turned to the other boys, who were looking tired--bags were under their eyes, and some of them stumbled around mindlessly.

The man cracked his whip again, and a few of the boys looked up blearily, but then had a sudden interest in their shoes.

"You ALL are lazy brutes!" The man snarled. "You, boy, come up here." He pointed his fat finger at the smallest boy, who was dozing off. "I SAID, COME HERE, YOU!" The man boomed.

The boy bolted upright and ran towards the man, running into his pudgy belly.

The man looked down at the boy, sneering. "Well, well, well. Fresh meat."

Now, I have to tell you, when somebody refers to you as fresh meat, you aren't going to feel safe, exactly. And I felt terrified for the small boy, who was only about six, the youngest.

The man raised his whip, and the boy's eyes widened. His feet were confused, and lumbered around in place, and when he bolted, it was too late.

The whip cracked hard on the boy's back, and he let out a cry of pain, tears welling in his eyes. He glanced at us pleadingly. "H-help me," he gasped. Blood soaked through his shirt.

"Nobody's going to help you," the man laughed menacingly. "You're just a helpless little-"

"L-leave him alone!" I exclaimed. "Leave the boy alone."

The room was silent. The man pushed the boy aside and stepped forward, towards me, like a cat stalking a mouse.

"What did you say?" He asked quietly. The man seemed even more terrifying, soft like that, because you could see the anger bubbling in his eyes, and he was just too calm. "What. Did. You. Say?"

"Leave him alone." I spoke without stutters this time. "You're a coward, to pick on small boys like that. You're a coward."

The man cracked his whip, and a smile played on his lips. "Who you do think you are, Mighty Warrior?" He sneered. "Are you as tall as a skyscraper? Huh? Are you?"

"I'm taller than you'll ever be, you worm!" I said. I shouldn't have been feeding the fire. He was the fire starter, and I was just adding on to it. This is what the man wanted. But he was acting like just a jerk, I just couldn't take it anymore.

The man lashed out with his whip, but he was not testing me this time. I dodged it, luckily, and grabbed a spear from the corner of the room. I had never thrown a spear before, so I was sure to lose this fight. But I had to try, for the sake of the boy.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw three other boys grabbing spears, and my heart lightened. Maybe I could win this, after all.

I took a risky move, and I hoped the other boys would realize what they had to do.

I tried to spear the man's foot, but he shot his foot away, throwing himself off-balance. In that time, a boy with about three thousand freckles speared his left calf. The man howled in pain and fell to the floor.

Blood splattered the floor, and the man tried to stagger to his feet, but fell again with a wail. He glared at me with pure hatred in his gaze. "I should have seen that coming," he rasped.

I nodded, and lay my spear down. "That's what you were trying to do, right? Provoke us?"

"Correct, boy." The man glanced at his calf, and winced. "Maybe you aren't a lazy bum after all, but I still have to train you all, and if you are in battle, you may not be that lucky. Understand? Now, go wash off those spears."

I nodded again.

The man was staring at his calf. "And while you're at it, grab me a bandage. If you don't act soon, I'll lose too much blood, and then there will be nobody to whip you. Hurry along, lazy bums!"

I hid a smile as I took the bloody spear and headed towards the bathroom. Maybe battle training wouldn't be so bad after all.

Challenge

Describe Winter in one word

julieangevine

191 reads

Winter

Waiting

Challenge

("Borrowed" from Pinterest) Write a story that involves a countdown. Start the story at 10 and end the story at 0.

StellarBee

292 reads

Ten. I held the gun to my chest, and took in a shuddering breath.

Nine. I remembered by family, my loving family, and regretted that I couldn't say goodbye.

Eight. What would death be like? Would I go to Heaven?

Seven. Maybe I would see my grandma in Heaven. Maybe she would understand that I had to do this.

Six. I thought of my friends. Would they miss me? Would they remember me and regret what they had done to me?

Five. I glanced at the photos of those whom I loved, and a tear trickled down my cheek.

Four. It was too late to go back now. I had to do this. Maybe, if I didn't go to Heaven, I would be reincarnated and be a happy person.

Three. My hand shook as I held the gun. I tightened my grip, but it did not stop the shaking.

Two. Would they forgive me? My parents, my friends, my family? Would they forgive me for what I was about to do?

One. I was about to go on a journey, I told myself. A... Long journey, yes, but still a journey. I readied myself to pull the trigger.

Zero. BOOM!

Challenge

Mother's Day takes place in May for U.S. residents but those in Great Britain will celebrate it this Sunday. Write about your own mother, in any form, or tell us a story inspired motherhood.

Yowwa

127 reads

Mother-Hoodlum

I am perhaps not best suited to this challenge, simply as my relationship with my mother was not as loving as it should have been, I'll give it a go.

It has been a long time since I last set eyes on my Mother, and though most folks will find this hard to take in, I'm rather glad of it.

If you think me unkind then hear my story which I'll briefly touch on here.

I was born to mismatched parents in 1952, in deepest, darkest Liverpool, England. My earliest memory of my Mother was of her beating me when I was about two years old. She was feeding me this awful processed cheese and I couldn't handle the consistency of it and pooped my pants so I took a hammering for that.

It is difficult to remember a time when she wasn't violent and enraged. Whether it was circumstances or just me I could never figure it out, so I just grew up being terrified of her.

I used to have frequent nightmares about her when I was younger.

When I finally grew too big for her to punch me I joined the military and said goodbye, and that's basically it.

Further references to my Mother can be found in my backlog of posts for anyone seeking to know more.

I never hated her, but it was close.