written by David Anglin

Daily Creative Writing Practice - Dragged Spear

Daily Creative Writing Practice - Dragged Spear

My practice of bringing depth to simple sentences...

He Dragged The Spear

His eyes were focused, absent from fear. His gaze held high with pride. Steady as he locked eyes with that which wished, to take away all.
He felt the wind pass by, giving a slight chill to the majestic sunset as the grass swayed in harmony, as if in equilibrium to the movement of the gentle wind.
The field was vast, like the sky it too was hued in different colours of the spectrum. The parts were the setting sun were at its highest, had the green of the field alight with a golden glow. While the darker parts of the sky blossomed in violets, pinks and blues. Hiding the streaks of red that splattered the grass.

His senses were heightened. Sharp to the upcoming battle. While his mind was keen, calculated in its approach. His body though felt little twinges of pain, little jolts defying in nature, trying to set seeds of doubt, in a body which in times of his life had gone toe to toe with beasts. Literal beasts who tried to force there will on to him. But his mindset was to never allow another man to force there ambition on to him. He would always be victorious, battering his will into the crumbling remains of there thick skulls. Skulls that were thick as they never heeded his warnings. That he'd defeat them. That he'd defeat all those who stood in the way of his ambition. Because was he not king. Was he not the provider of the nation. The feeder of the sick. The shield against mankind's streak of evil intent. Battle after battle. Time after time. He was victorious. He had scars across his face, chest and back to give proof of his victories, but each victory came with a great price.
The loss of his loved first son, the kidnap and torture of his dearest mother. Yes the price had been high but he did it and continued to do it for the nation, for he was king!

His thoughts darkened how dare this young pretender challenge him, did he not know what he stood for. That he stood for hope for the meek that he stood for justice for the timid. For that was why he was king, to be a beacon of hope a living example that good men still existed within this world of evil doers.

He felt a surge through his body. As if mother nature herself had heard his pleas for strength. Pleas to defeat an opponent who was mighty in stature. His younger self would of fell this young pretender in one swoop of his mighty spear. But time had worn down his battle hardened body. Father time himself had no sympathy for even the greatest of kings, the mightiest of warriors. But he cared not, he'd spit in the eye of father time, just like how he'd spat in the eye of Willie black eye. Before ripping the eyes from his forehead proving to everyone that Willie Black Eye was a mere mortal like everyone else. A mortal who bled and could be killed just like all things on mother earth.

He felt another rush of strength course through his veins in electric like propulsion's. Goose pimples peppered his skin as he readied his self for the last swing that would end the long bloody battle, for better or for worse.
He heard the terrible song of the crow as it darted by and felt the last beams of the sun as it set for the day leaving in its absence a darkness that would grip the kingdom.
But he smiled. He smiled because for the first time he appreciated the beauty in all things. The beauty of quiet moments, the beauty of simplicity, devoid of over thinking devoid of over doing.

He looked again at the monstrosity of this young pretender and decided there and then that he'd rid the world of all evils. That he'd vanquish doubt from the seedlings of new leaders, that he'd bring courage to the hearts of men who's job it was to talk with truth even when scared to do so. As at its core he now knew the world to be beautiful, but sometimes a reminder was needed. 

He gripped the handle of his long spear. Dragging it across the grass as he ran at full pelt towards his destiny. Running full pelt towards his ultimate calling. With a mighty rush he raised his arm aiming to separate head from shoulders. To separate body from mind, than mind from soul.

He let out a smile. What a beautiful world. He was. king.


When We Was Kings...



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Words and Art. Art and words. My stories will make you laugh, will make you cry. Provoke anger, cause distress. But most importantly my tales will get you thinking in hopes of bringing around real change...?

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