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The Fading Light

I remember that game we used to play. After winter snows we'd sail across that sea of white to the tumulus in the meadow: our castle. Of course, you were Queen, yet I was never made King, I had to siege it every time! I'd stand twenty paces back and we'd throw snowballs. Every time you were hit, I moved once pace closer; and one back when I myself was struck. I always won; snowball fights weren't your forte; you never dodged them. Do you remember my reward? A kiss. A kiss would always make me smile; I'd go all warm and fuzzy. You wanted me to win; I knew that. But there was something macabre about it all. Our castle wasn't a castle; it was a tomb. The image plagued me at night; The Bronze Age bodies below had long decayed, yet tormented ancient hands surfaced. No grasp came to claim our bodies and souls, just skeletal palms, together in prayer, begging for redemption. They may not have seen or heard us, but they must have felt our footsteps echo through thousands of years, disturbing the darkest corners of history. I always braved their lamentation; it was worth a kiss, from you.

Story by:

Nick Marshall

submitted at 7:47pm

24 April 2011

Nick Marshall's web:

http://twitter.com/nickmarshall90