Hopefully you enjoyed the first installment of this story. If you haven't read it, check it out here: Part 1! I'm hoping to make these short stories into a collection. If you like my blog posts, be sure to comment, +1, and reshare! Without further ado, here's Part 2! That rhymes.
It was midday when he saw it. That familiar glint. It was impossible to miss. As he came nearer, he heard something squelch under his shoe. He looked down to see a puddle of blood rising up around his ankles. He froze. Then, his heart pounding, he gingerly stepped out of the pool of blood and began walking, quiet as a mouse, following the bloody trail. He turned the corner. And there before him was the body of a young girl, impaled with his dagger. He couldn't believe his eyes. He hadn't even thought anyone had survived the deluge. But to find them dead, killed by his dagger? Unthinkable. With tears blurring his vision, he knelt down next to her. He touched her pale hand. It was cold as ice. A shiver ran up his spine. Gently, he touched her forehead with the back of his hand. To his surprise, it was pleasantly warm. His gaze traveled down to her heart. Something strange was going on, he could feel it. He looked closer. Taking a deep breath, he placed his hand on the hilt of the dagger and wrapped his fingers around it. His knuckles turned white as he grasped the dagger. Then he pulled. Suddenly his hand slipped. He looked down in surprise. The girl's heart was beating. It was beating! But the dagger was being pulled deeper into the wound with the beating of the heart. He grabbed the hilt and began pulling, hard. His breathing labored, he struggled to prevent his hand itself being dragged into the girl's body. It was a gruesome sight, but it gave him a glimmer of hope. Finally he pulled the dagger out and collapsed on the cold, bloodied ground, panting. He closed his eyes. He no longer heard the rythmic thumping of the heart. When he had regulated his breathing once more, he opened his eyes and stood up. He returned to the side of the young girl. The dagger was in his hand, and strangely, it didn't have a trace of blood on it. The girl's wound was nearly invisible, just a thin line down her chest, silvery in color. He gazed in awe around him. There was no blood to be seen. The ground was just wet, gray stone. Suddenly, he saw the girl's eyelids flutter. A whisper of breath escaped her lips. He stared at her pretty face in disbelief. She appeared to be in some kind of entranced sleep. He held the dagger in his shaking hands. "Z.W." he breathed. Zenith Whytheblanc. He had named himself "Zenith", since he felt it gave him power. Somehow, it did. But how... He snapped out of his daydream. With a deep breath, Zenith slid his hand under the girl and placed it against the small of her back. She was surprisingly light. He placed his other hand under her knees. Slowly but steadily, he lifted her up, off the ground. Zenith walked down the alley and into the streets. He felt the girl's long brown tresses on his arm as the wind blew them to and fro. He looked down at her face. It was beautiful. Her face was small and her skin was smooth. Her nose was petite, with an aristocratic point. Her lips were perfectly rounded and parted slightly as she breathed. Zenith kept walking. After an interminable time, he felt a shadow fall over him. He looked up. The ruins of an old shed loomed up a little ways ahead of him. Zenith broke into a run. As he neared the structure, he slowed. He gently lay the girl on the ground. Zenith rose to his feet and placed his hand on the door.
TO BE CONTINUED...
It was midday when he saw it. That familiar glint. It was impossible to miss. As he came nearer, he heard something squelch under his shoe. He looked down to see a puddle of blood rising up around his ankles. He froze. Then, his heart pounding, he gingerly stepped out of the pool of blood and began walking, quiet as a mouse, following the bloody trail. He turned the corner. And there before him was the body of a young girl, impaled with his dagger. He couldn't believe his eyes. He hadn't even thought anyone had survived the deluge. But to find them dead, killed by his dagger? Unthinkable. With tears blurring his vision, he knelt down next to her. He touched her pale hand. It was cold as ice. A shiver ran up his spine. Gently, he touched her forehead with the back of his hand. To his surprise, it was pleasantly warm. His gaze traveled down to her heart. Something strange was going on, he could feel it. He looked closer. Taking a deep breath, he placed his hand on the hilt of the dagger and wrapped his fingers around it. His knuckles turned white as he grasped the dagger. Then he pulled. Suddenly his hand slipped. He looked down in surprise. The girl's heart was beating. It was beating! But the dagger was being pulled deeper into the wound with the beating of the heart. He grabbed the hilt and began pulling, hard. His breathing labored, he struggled to prevent his hand itself being dragged into the girl's body. It was a gruesome sight, but it gave him a glimmer of hope. Finally he pulled the dagger out and collapsed on the cold, bloodied ground, panting. He closed his eyes. He no longer heard the rythmic thumping of the heart. When he had regulated his breathing once more, he opened his eyes and stood up. He returned to the side of the young girl. The dagger was in his hand, and strangely, it didn't have a trace of blood on it. The girl's wound was nearly invisible, just a thin line down her chest, silvery in color. He gazed in awe around him. There was no blood to be seen. The ground was just wet, gray stone. Suddenly, he saw the girl's eyelids flutter. A whisper of breath escaped her lips. He stared at her pretty face in disbelief. She appeared to be in some kind of entranced sleep. He held the dagger in his shaking hands. "Z.W." he breathed. Zenith Whytheblanc. He had named himself "Zenith", since he felt it gave him power. Somehow, it did. But how... He snapped out of his daydream. With a deep breath, Zenith slid his hand under the girl and placed it against the small of her back. She was surprisingly light. He placed his other hand under her knees. Slowly but steadily, he lifted her up, off the ground. Zenith walked down the alley and into the streets. He felt the girl's long brown tresses on his arm as the wind blew them to and fro. He looked down at her face. It was beautiful. Her face was small and her skin was smooth. Her nose was petite, with an aristocratic point. Her lips were perfectly rounded and parted slightly as she breathed. Zenith kept walking. After an interminable time, he felt a shadow fall over him. He looked up. The ruins of an old shed loomed up a little ways ahead of him. Zenith broke into a run. As he neared the structure, he slowed. He gently lay the girl on the ground. Zenith rose to his feet and placed his hand on the door.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Picture credit: http://lilliemcferrin.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/09/dark-darkness-girl-light-lost-Favim.com-118417.jpg
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