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Title: A stranger's monologue

by Lucy from Essex | in writing, fiction

I remember waiting. Just waiting. For a change of environment, or even a passing bird, not even any particular kind, but if anything changed, I knew id have company. If there was a crackle of oak leaves (orange in the autumn sun), or a slight splash in the river beside me, were I perch, I would know that something that was alive, or quite possibly dying, would comfort me. Even if that something was dying, I would not pity them, as they would have the chance to get away from this desolate wasteland.
Life. I knew nothing of it. I raised myself in this land; with no entertainment, no tools for foraging, no parents or friends that could tell me news of themselves, or comfort me when I was alone, or perhaps even help me, in times that I needed help.
It was just me, unaccompanied on these emerald hills. All I know of life is of these sapphire streams and the mousy brown trees. Alone.
Until that day, O that dire day, when I fixed my gaze to the hills beyond when I saw the dark, bleak figure of a man. Strange things happen to a man when they have been alone, who had never so much as seen a bird, for all his life. So I stared in awe as he approached me. He hid himself with a vale, so I could not see his face. By his side a wolf obediently followed him, the wolf's fur silver and occasionally tufts missing, probably from battles. Also on the man's shoulder, perched an oddly coloured raven, its colour a slight lavender. But as the man became around a yard away, I widened my eyes as a black smoke arose from his cloak, and an eerie red light shone through his vale. I shivered and edged slightly away. The further I edged, the closer the thing came to me. Eventually, I got up and sprinted, as I smelt the fog. It smelt of death. As I started to run, I heard a deep growl from its wolf, and a high screech from the violet raven.
Then the wolf, O that wolf, gave a menacing howl and began to chase me. It caught me within seconds, and as the beads of sweat gently dripped off my forehead, I knew something of destiny was about to happen to me.
Time. Time stopped as the figure touched me. I heard its words. It spoke them in a ghastly, yet direct voice. I shiver at the thought of his right to be heard. He used both of his claw like hands and put them to my ears, and made all other sounds stop, It was just that voice of that iniquity of a man. He said in that uncanny tone: 'It is up to you to save the kingdom of the forsaken, SO I NAME YOU TYRAZA!'
Names. It was the first id heard of one.

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I like ready fantasy, and I know that every story must have a begining.

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