Water Flower

[Brittn]

OMG! I have seen this story for too long. I have been working on it for the past week or so. My hand hurts soooo very much right now. But I promised I would get it up, so here it is. I spent many hours revising and editing, so please let my pain be your enjoyment.....please. But yes, although I have seen it too much and far too long I still love it. ^-^ I hope you do it...or at lest like it?? o.O

 

 

BUT do please leave a comment....I was playing around with a different style so I would love you forever and ever if you did. ^-^ xoxo's Britty

 

 

 

 

The man was restless that night, tossing and turning to his dreams. He gave up after a few hours had passed. Now. Just like every other time he had awoken, the moon was high in the sky and the heavens were laden with its stars. He wondered over to his huts entrance and leaned in the frame, soaking in all the fresh air and the cool breeze. Moonlight framed his body casting a shadow behind him. A shadow he was unworthy of. Well only to him that was. To the village he was the hero, he was their general in their army, he was their chief's right hand man. He got done what was needed to be done, no matter if it was easy or hard. The women threw themselves at him and the men respected him, and envied him. He once had the most beautiful woman in the village, he once was to be a father of two beautiful daughters. This changed however. Now he was only a man with a broken heart and only one daughter. His water flower he called her. She was his world now, and he was going to have to leave her by the noon hour. There was an uprising in the west and he and his men were going out to put it down. Looking back into his hut to make sure everything was okay and all was orderly, without a word he walked into the night.

 

The moon was casting an eerie glow to every hut, to everything. Small animals that had come out of their hiding from the heat of the sun,watched the man as he walked the streets. A old dog that wondered the streets followed with him in step, looking up at him every now and then to see if there was a patting for him. No one would take him in for these days food was scarce and all of it had to be proportioned out wisely, so for the lost and unwanted there was nothing left. Still this dog seemed to stick out longer than his brothers and sisters, and still held onto the hope that he would find someone. The man reached a small pond that was in the center of his village. Here green grass grew for a little while before turning into the sand that filled the land, and it was by this little pond that there was a tree. The only tree of its kind in the entire land that anyone knew of. It was shorter than the rest of the trees, but not too small. It was thicker that the others and was also a muddy brown, as the rest were a sandy color. This tree had arms that stretched low to the ground and could hold many men, it also had small dark green leaves. This was so unlike the rest of the trees as their arms were their leaves, big and fan like. This tree but the mans village apart from the rest, making it the most valuable, and the most desired.

 

The man sat by the tree and looked down into the pond, staring at himself. Staring into hard blue eyes that were set in a long face. A harsh jaw jutted from his neck and held small thin lips. This nose was long and rounded at the tip and held small nostrils that would flare twice the size when he was enraged. His skin was smooth and he would cut any hair that he saw, all but the golden blonde hair that clung to the top of his head. He traced his hard jaw with the tips of his fingers remembering how his beloved wife used to. How she would caress his face and trail her fingers along his jaw, and how here wide green eyes would stare into his eyes speaking a language only they knew. A tear drop fell into the pond sending ripples across the pond, shattering the mans face like his heart. The man buried his face in his hands praying to the gods that he could see her but once more. He sat there all night under the tree and under the heaves crying about all the times he shared with his beloved, and all the times that would be forgotten.

 

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It was early that morning when the birds sang in the tree. They sang while the sun just started to peek up over the sand dunes in the land. The little animals that were out in the night ran back to their homes waiting for the sun to go once more. The larger animals however woke from their night of rest and were ready to go about their day. The horses in the barns stamped the ground ready to be fed and to be ridden in a parade. A parade that the village held every time the army was to be sent out to battle. The young girl chose this time to run out of her hut. Smiling to herself the girl ran to her horse in the stables and rode out of the cities walls. Out to a place where she would find a gift to give to her father before he went to battle. Something he could remember her by.

 

 

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Jumping to his feet the man half fell back down from his lazy legs that seemed to still be asleep. Men were shouting in the streets and running about, women were grabbing their screaming children trying to console them. A soldier ran past the man but was stopped by his arm, just as he was to ask what was wrong an odd sound rang in his head. It was long and low, it was a horn that had never been used. The man looked at his soldier with fear in his eyes and ran to the watch tower. He looked out over the land and saw the reason for the panic. Saw the reason why there was a horn that bellowed in the village. The uprising was coming at the village at full blast. Impossible! the man thought to himself. He paced back a fourth in the tower and then jumped down when he remembered his daughter. He ran, ran faster than he had ever ran in his life. He had to make sure his child was okay. Had to make sure his Water Flower knew where to go and who to go with. He reached his hut and ran to her room. He went limp when he didn’t see her small body in bed. He repeated her name in the hut running from room to room. He yelled her name in the streets and fell to his knees in the barn. Her horse was gone, she was gone, and danger was outside where she was. It was out there waiting to swallow anything and everything that was in its path. A soldier touched his shoulder and squeezed. The man looked up into his soldiers eyes. He sent a prayer to the gods begging them to watch her and keep her safe.

 

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The young girl had run hard to the oasis near her village. Not too many people knew about it, if any at all. It was hidden behind a dune and the water sat in a way where from the inside it seemed as if one was in a bowl, and nearly invisible to anyone who didn’t know about it. She remembered going to it every now and then when she was younger with her mother. She remembered how her mother told her about how there was something very special there. Something that only grew there and in other places like it, other than the pond in the center of the village. It was a large purple flower that floated in the oasis' water. The young girl smiled as she saw once more the flower that she and her family adored.

 

She was the only daughter that her mother could have, so she became her mothers most prized possession. And was nicked named after the flower that helped bloom her parents love for one another. She giggled at the sudden rush of cool water that surrounded her body as she wadded into the little bit of water. Just as she plucked the flower out of the water a loud horn blew. A horn that she had never heard before, and a sound that sent a sense of dread all over her. The girl climbed out of her oasis and saw a huge cloud of sand approaching her, and fast. Unable to move the girl stood there watching her fate come closer and closer.

 

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The man mounted his stallion who was prancing about itching to run, ready to fight with his master. He lead his men out of their beloved village and rode to meet their fate. Like they had done so many times before and like they had been trained to do, the men lined them selves in a way the protected the village. Archers stood on the villages wall facing the enemy ready to flash arrows at a seconds note. Horse stamped impatiently under soldiers nickering amongst themselves. The man, this general, looked at his men. He paced his stallion along the line, bellowing out a long speech. Rallying his men to fight to the death, to fight with their hearts and to watcher their brothers back. He unsheathed his sward, its steel catching the suns light. His men followed with an uproar, a battle cry that echoed in the mans ears and in the whole land. His steed reared and lunged forward, bolting to the enemy the rest of the army following behind.

 

The enemy had many men and made a loud thunderous sound as horses ran along the sand carrying their men. The men were dirty from their ride and were prepared to fight to the death, they were ready to kill and destroy. They beat their tired horses onward, yelling and shouting. In a blink of an eye the two forces greeted each other with the sounds of steel clanging against each other. Men fell with their horses to their deaths. Roars of pain ran in the group as soldiers on both sides fell. Horses with no riders ran about seeking shelter from the battle, eyes wide with fear, nostrils flaring and ears laid back. The village men fell back near the walls of their home. They stood and turned back to face the enemy. With the generals command arrows flew in the sky. The arrows pierced the opposing force's men in their heartless bodies. Clouds and clouds of arrows flew, until the opposing side thinned out and until there were no more arrows. With one last battle cry the forces meet each other with steel. With only a handful of men left from the village, they were captured. Held down in the ground, chains were linked to each other and were placed on every man left alive. The victor sent in his men to the village to capture any one in there, but to spare the women and children.

 

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The young girl fell to her knees unable to find her father in the in group of men. She cried at what she had seen, she cried at the loss of so many men that she saw die. She cried for she knew everything would change for her. She knew if she went home she would surly die, and if she ran then she would die and be lost in the sands of time forever. With tears in her eyes and streaming down her face, she held onto the water flower, praying her father had not fallen in too much pain.

 

 

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The village men walked slowly with each other into their home. Their heads hung low their spirits beaten and broken. Women cried and screamed when they didn't see their husbands walk in, they reached out to each other and clung to one another, some even held their children close to their bosom rocking the only thing they had left of their beloveds. The man knew this pain. Knew the pain of losing a love so strong. He knew the pain of losing a child, not a son, but a daughter. His Water Flower. A small flutter of pride did strike him in his heart. He looked at his men around him. He looked at their blood streaked faces. How willing they were to die for what they loved most, how willing they were to look death in the face and how eagerly they jumped down its throat. He nudged a soldier next to him and gave him a nod. One by one the soldiers looked to their general who gave them a nod of respect.

One by one he saw their faces turn to their captors and see them bow their chests and have a fierce fire in their eyes. The man couldn’t have asked the gods for a better group of men, he too looked at hi captors in the eyes, daring them to try and break him. Obviously the victors didn’t want to kill them while they were proud still, so they thought of ways to break them. SO one by one women and children were killed for the men to see. And not one man flinched and not one woman went with a fight. Somehow they too had found respect to see the men look death in the face still. They took their death with pride, and with the joy of knowing they would be with their beloveds. Enraged the victors killed the soldiers brutally, well beyond death. Not one man laid a hand on the general, they thought that it would be best to let him rot from the inside, after all he was alone. He was the only one left in the whole village. Or so they thought, or so the man thought too. Hoof beats rang everyone’s ears.

 

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The young girl found her father on his knees in the sand. His chest was bowed and so was his men's. He had pride and he had dignity. She saw how everyone died and she knew her fate, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t going to let her father die alone, not while she was alive anyway. Her mare snorted as the young girl climbed onto her back. With one quick kick the mare lunged into full speed to the village. Sand flew out from the two, wind bit at the girls face. An over powering feeling of joy swelled in the girls chest. She fell into her father just as he looked up to see her. He was covered in blood but she didn’t care. It would be their last time together alive and she cherished every moment.

 

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The man could believe his eyes! His Water Flower! She was alive! She was heading right for him, right into the mouth of death, and she had a smile on her face. She fell in his lap and he cried. She clung to him and all he could do was kiss her face and cry. She pulled back and looked at him. Pride was swelling in her green eyes, the very same of her mothers. But all to quickly they faded. He saw a pain flash across her face her green eyes turning cold and dull.

 

They left him there. Just as he was, but with no chains. The victors left with the man, the general, the father alone in his village. Under a tree by a pond. He held his beloved daughter all night, crying in her hair. When he found he couldn’t take it any longer he reach for a sword. When he sat back down ready to take his own life, he saw it. He saw a large purple flower sitting in the hand of his daughter. With a smile on his face he took his life, wanting to no longer wait to see his beloveds.

Edited March 19, 2012 by Brittn

[Deleted54170User]

Heart breaker, life taker, made me want to cry occasionally, and chills me til I nearly feel the cold of fingers of death creeping all over my body.

 

 

Have you been studying writing? It looks like you have been studying some.

 

I felt as though you had some experience with life that isn't fiction. I sensed "the fact of the matter" in your word's. Either that? Or the wording the way you wrote has a believable tone highlighting them.

 

I think your writing is raw material, much better than my raw stuff ever was.

 

I mean, "Diamond's in the rough kind of raw material." I'd recommend you study some famous author whose written a book on writing fiction, mystery, love story, and such. If you have the desire to do even better, usually that can be mistaken as feeling we aren't doing good enough. We all could do better once we realize we are new at writing and we need to polish our skill's just like we did in OBLIVION improving our skill's one level at a time.

 

Write on! :- )