Brotherhood of Thorns: Guild of shadows~Chapter 1

1.

New lands are only strange to those who are strangers in them

A mass of people brushed past the still confused, Adam, who stood awe struck by the tall fortress like buildings, and busy-body people in Abrisa. The ocean of bystanders began to wash away his courage, what little he had with him upon starting his journey. He was lost, no familiar mountains or animals, all foreign, strange, tall people, but he knew in this place with no help or kinship, he was the stranger. Large birds flew over head and perched themselves over top a venders market. Maybe he could ask for directions, anywhere was better than lost. The shiny grovel laid ground was new to him, having come from the exiles, the only place a human could go, cold air and mountain ranges were all he knew. This new nation he had made his pilgrimage to was warm, the air, unlike the cold smog of his homeland, was scented with autumn trees and the sites to go with it, anything was better than frost cutting at the tip of his nose.

          Adam weaved his way through the crowd of tall, pale-skinned, Abrisian, who were either very busy or just impolite, because in his own mind he felt invisible. He dropped his bag at his feet and leaned over the wooden counter of a fruit vender’s window. Before he could get his question out the vender began advertising his products. “Fruit here, fruit, he exclaimed, “A fine assortment of gulup, turntrop, and tutel-berry, all at low prices. The vender continued to shout over Adam as if he was a mile away.                                                          
       “Sir, hello,” he shouted, hands waving. The vender’s window was large enough for Adam’s torso to barely make it over. He wasn’t that short, but with the tall windows in the market place, he felt shorter than usual.                           
      “Do you have any durins?” the vender asked, focusing his gaze on Adam. “If not, get lost boy.” Durins were the form of money the people of Abrisa used for trade, every piece had the nations overlord engraved on the back, and the dark lord, who reigned over all, engraved on the front. Adam thought about the question and it reminded him of the exile lands. Currency was everything there, if you had none, your already miserable life would never change for the better. His mother would say it’s all about the dream and not the riches. Never the less, he found himself missing whatever activities were happening in his small village, poverty and position being the reason.

          The vender slammed his hands to the product table, “Boy, you’re holding up my business. I’ve got paying people to serve…people with durins.” Adam snapped back to his senses realizing he had no durins for the crazy vender.          

        “I…I have no durins…Sir,” he said slowly, hands clasped behind his back. “I’m a—,”                                                                                                                

         “A waste of my time,” the vender finished, shooing him off like a common fly. Some place this was, Adam thought. He picked up his bag and slung it back over his scrawny shoulders, continuing on back into the current of people.                        

Adam had hoped to find a life of adventure, some life that reaped its rewards and fulfilled his calling to purpose. For what it’s worth, that life began to flourish when he left from his village back in exile—the cold lifeless terrain, and the day-to-day routine. He had aspired to go off and venture the world, the only setback with that, the world was under oppression. The dark lord, little did Adam know, ruled, leaving little for the people of the world, much less the humans. Back at home, he was invisible, maybe now with a little luck, he could turn out to have a life worth reading about. This dream was a long shot, he knew, but a long shot attempted by his father before him. Of course, that was the hope, to follow in his father’s ghostlike footsteps. All he knew was that his father had left for the land of opportunity, to make his name, the land Adam now stood on.

          Now that he took time to think about it, he never knew too much about his father but the leaving part, oddly enough. At home, in the mountains, without a father to overshadow you, teach you, give you a name, nothing could be said of you. He never blamed his father for leaving, mainly because he always had a faint felling in the back of his head that his father would return with eminence or prestige. It never seemed to happen. The village leaders seemed to worry more about the problem than he had. Perhaps it was the risk his father took by leaving. Adam remembered his mother and father walking into the cold dead forest on that miserable day, only having his mother returning with a look of dismay on her face. She never said where he went or why, Adam had thought it because his father yearned for more, as did he. you’re father was special she would often say, maybe to remind herself that she wasn’t, assuming that was why he left. That was just it, it seemed like his father was the reason his mother lived, like she was the puppet and he the puppeteer.                                        

Her somehow smooth olive skin, after his departure, became pale, dark, and cold; her eyes were sunken from lack of sleep, and her silky black hair, now frizzy, lay drooped over her face. The eyes were the only thing in common between her and Adam, those deep gray eyes with touches of black slit into the iris. Her eyes gazed into what seemed to be an abyss, if she saw anything, however grim, it was surely not of this world. The shack he stayed in was a solace of silence, but strangely enough, still restless. The type of silence one couldn’t sit in, the silence that gnawed at his mind endlessly.

Conversation with his shell of a mother was always brief. She spoke in, what seemed like, riddles, never just speaking directly to him, always addressing some invisible crowd far off behind him. “Only you,” she would go on chanting, as if he knew what she meant. She always looked as if she was at a loss for words, mouth slightly open, back against the wall, staring out into familiar nothingness. Why had it not hit him like it obviously hit her?

***

          Abrisa, the nation that withstood throughout the ages, providing refuge to the many species of Abrisians during the Great War. Abrisians, during the Great War sought to remove the human threat, on account of human reproduction; the Abrisians bread through death of the father, the new child would spawn from his ashes, somewhat like a phoenix. The nation was known for its might—having the planets strongest army of talented warriors, trained, powerful, and ruthless. Seven countries made up the nation: Silex, Apio, Kuat, Batu, Kivi, and Atrum, the people of the shining skin. What made them more fearsome than the Obitians or the Proletians, were the different species, having abilities that were prized in war time. Extreme conditioning and supernatural strength were expected, but to run into an Abrisian with skin impervious to fire, worse, diamond skin, assured death.

          When Adam took the time to examine the creatures, he noticed their eyes where black, not everyone, but the occasional Silex cave Abrisians he would run into when perusing the inner-citys of Atrum, would normally have perpetually black eyes. Frightening, Adam would always think, if he wasn’t covered head-to-toe in robes and tunics he would stick out like a sore thumb.  Not every Abrisian appeared beastly, most looked like humans, with the exception of wide angled eyes and light blue skin.

As for the Atrum city capital, it was bustling with people, and the pathways were laid with shining gravel. Aside from the vending markets framing the square, temples crested the far hills along the many pathways, light beaming off their dome tops; these temples were Constant tributes to the shinning skin Abrisians, those impolite royal creeps that paid Adam no mind. As for the normal Abrisian, their homes where lodge in enormous cedar trees, looking almost like bird houses only much bigger. It was obvious the Abrisian were in great, even, superhuman condition. Were he not so short the city probably wouldn’t overwhelm him so much, but it did. Getting lost was easy not just because of the stampede of people and large cedar homes that connected levels of the city, more so, the maze like cityscape that perplexed him.

Feeling exhausted, Adam plopped down on a nearby bench, setting his over sized traveling bag in his lap. The pond before him glittered in the sunlight, he sat, relaxed, and took it all in. despite his confusion, he managed to find some peace staring out at the landscape. The tranquil breeze tickled past his cheeks, and a sigh of relief loosened his tense muscles. Warmth was new, and good.

Adam had planned to find a willing mentor of some famous trade—hunting, teaching,guarding, even farming would do—then off to adventure. But regardless of how hard he tried to overlook the thought, it persisted in tormenting him. What if there was no place here for a human. A familiar fear clenched his stomach, there had to be something out there for him, but what could he do? After all, he was just a human. The people of this land, however, were like stone, strength like beasts of the field, and speed like that of the wind, some would joke and say they were gods. Abrisa, happened to be the home to the notorious guild of shadows: crusaders, rich in combative skill, trained never to retreat, bounties and adventure there calling, they were glorious anarchist seeking power and honor. How great an opportunity to join those crusaders, Adam thought.

During his rest, Adam set his bag on the grovel ground beside him. not too long following, a hooded figure—what he thought had to be a man just by his hunched toddle toward him—sat beside him. Strange, he thought to himself, on account of a similar bench being right across from them. Wearing a white cloak that stopped mid shoulder, and a fine pair of brown trousers with a white strip down the sides, the man smelled like burnt candles, all this made him a very strange character in Adam’s eyes. He wasn’t the social type, so to have a strange man in a strange place sitting next to him, as if they were close kin, kept him on edge. 

Adam looked out of the corner of his eyes at the man and shifted his weight on the bench until he was facing him. Right as he began to speak, the man stood up and strode on like he had never sat there at all. Talk about being invisible, he thought. He ran his fingers through his flaky black hair and took in some fresh autumn air. It wasn’t long before he realized his bag was gone. Adam’s shoulders tightened and his heart began beating his chest. Suddenly it hit him. “That thief!” he shouted aloud, jumping to his feet. No one, from the look of things, paid any attention, to busy they probably all were.

Starting a light jog, Adam plowed through the mob of people that never appeared to die down; he bobbed through the crowed looking for that familiar white hood. That’s it, he thought, I lost him. Suddenly, grunts and splashes of metal lingered in the air. Adam followed the clashing sounds to the back allies of the vending markets, he saw a group of soldier surrounding a hooded man. That’s him, he thought. Reluctantly, Adam inched his way over to the mesmerizing altercation, taking one baby-step at a time.

The hooded man was encompassed by four savage Abrisian guards; he didn’t give an inch. He stood straight now no hunch in his back and his muscles shone through his tunic. Halberd in hand, he batted down the guards left and right, sparks dancing from his weapon. His moves were gracefully vicious, splitting wind, and blasting metal collided with the guard’s massive armor. Gusts of dust kicked up when the man swung his halberd. the conflict startled Adam, whose eyes were wide and heart pounding to the sound of shattering metal. He had never seen a fight, much less been so close to one as to be a part of it. He loved it; a primal sense of satisfaction came from it; he began to lose himself in it.

Seized by the moment, Adam fell prey to an ambush from an enormous guard. Pain split through his back as the cold steel penetrated his flesh. Blood seeped from his back and he sank to his knees. The guard stood over him, blade to Adam’s throat, pulling back his head. Adam looked on before him to the powerful battle as his vision faded; He swallowed hard only tasting blood. The guard prepared for the killing stroke.                                                                                                                  

*BANG*.                                                                                                               

Before the final blow was struck, a blinding flair, followed by a red tornado of dust, drowned the guards in hellish flame. Adam’s vision melted, the world began to tilt around him; colors began to swirl into a mesh of flames, nausea kicked up in his stomach, shocks of pain surged through his back. He went limp. Before his vision faded into blackness, an unfocused figure began to drag him away.

***

Adam awoke to a whining sound in his ears; his eyelids felt like weighted studs, pain once again flowed through his spin relentlessly. Past the whining sound, Adam could barely make out two voices arguing. He began to listen tentatively, still only hearing whispers.                                                         

“And you dare bring him before me,” a tired raspy voice said. Adam heard hacking and coughing. “And you’re sure he’s—”                                           

“human—yes, I think so—I mean, yes—his blood isn’t—Abrisian, great one.” A second voice said panicky. “His bag—I went through it…nothing of any value but Humus coins, and a letter written to him, great one.” The letter, it had been Adam’s guide.                                                                                    

 “I see, he’s human then,” the tired voice said, sounding annoyed. “What might he have been doing in Abrisa. Humans know of their banishment.” Adam’s eyelids slowly rose, his vision panned out, he could now make out a large room lit by six lamp stands emitting blue flames, and stairs that led to a large corridor, also lit with the same blue flames. Adam could see two figures slightly; one sat on, what looked to be a throne with two sentries on either side, and the other happened to be the hooded man he had chased down from earlier.                                                                                                                   

“Great one, if he’s human,” the hooded man leaned in close, “might he be of some assistance—to the guild I mean?” the man said, as if asking a trick question                                                                                                         

“Treachery…Raul, I despise treachery more than the dark lord himself.” The older voice was grim, and cold. “ the traitor allowing you to join in our campaign was risky enough…two-humans-to-many…my wisdom warns me otherwise.” Adam slowly swiveled his eyes for a better look. The old man sitting on the throne wore a hood like the other, this one purple, and his robe sleeveless, ending at his ankles, and slitting in the middle for walking; his silver streaked hair fell out from under his hood.                                                                                                                                                           

“Great one, show him mercy…why would a human travel this far inland without reason, let us but seek out that reason.” there was slight courage to his voice now, as if standing up for Adam. “Great one, I will keep watch of him…if he has potential, I will then train him, with your approval, he could serve the guild with his death.” A twinge of terror shot through Adam, as a burst of magma-fire flashed to life in the Great one's eyes.                         

 “You think me a fool?!!” the great one growled. “Let this human draw blade to my back as the last did, and his torment will be yours.” The old man’s eyes cooled into the dark shadow of his hood, Raul put a fist to his chest and bowed his head.                                                                                                      

 “Yes Great one, let me find serpent to his nature…I will slay him before he has the chance to show it.” Teetering on the verge of blackness, Adam could make out several more words.                                                                                              “He looks…from before…eye on him.”

          Adam fell into blackness, then entered into a dream of terror…..

Calvin Rutherford ~

Future Updates

Admin Author Vince here, I like giving myself titles.... in any case, the rest 3 journal entries will be released upon the completion of half of the ground breaking first book in the War of the Gods series, The Dark Crusade, 2-3 book sub series that outlines the world of Amalysia and that introduces one of the main protagonists Drak Paleostien, crowned Prince of the Paleostien dynesty, and the war against the Elves, much outlining is still being done, but I will post sections I like from the chapters, and may post a few in full when they are near completion. In the mean time, Warrior Journals may be uploaded, depicting the war during the Forgotten Age in vague - but horrifying - details. Stay tuned for more Authors to emerge into the ranks of The Writers Block, top contributors will recieve admin status and the ability to invite people into our ranks as well as make new Authors to the page, a few have been decided but I base everything soley on the work contributed, or the feedback contribued. Future Updates will be a weekly thing - as well as a requirement for an Admin of this page - since I will be planning out get togethers to discuss our work, plans and idea, outlines made and such, the Page section will hold a list of Admin requirements, and remember any future admin, we are a pretty exclusive club, trust worthy people are what we need the most, my biggest fear is that someone will steal entire pages of work we put our heart and soul into to be viewed for a public audience and feedback given to us as young writers, I'd rather, and not even myself but everyone else, find out that the work has been stolen.

Reach me on Facebook or my Email, V_Bruno1992@yahoo.com, or even in the comment section below to suggest things, give future ideas to turn our little blog into a full fledged writing group, and of course people you trust who want to contribute, read or give feedback to work submitted to this page, upcoming rules section will be added along side Admin requirements (I'm not going to pull your arm off, but updates are always a nice thing to have than to rather guess at what is going on.), for most of us right now this is our passion, I cannot speak for all but I do say if I cannot write I cannot live, I will die with a pen in my hand.

Lost Legends part 2

Lost Legends – Gods Tongue

I have been thinking, since the dawn of time we have called these beings “Titans”, however what we have looked over was the very definition of it, a Titan isn’t born from a deity, and in this case, the Titans are born from the planet itself (The Fire Goddess is the prime example.).

You see, to anyone who may find this lone page, Tel’Reah is a Celestial Being of immense power, Tiel’ra the same, along with the other sister in the Forgotten Plain. The main question is though, what is their language, and why does it hold so much power when infused with the right incantations and patterns?

I studied under one of the Celestial beings, however I learned very little on how this language works and how it has power over, well, anything… During my time spent in my homeland of Tek’um – before the war – I happened across many strange books, holding a few strange symbols in them, that were later translated into, Ol, Ti, Fa, Gu, when put together as Guti Olfa, it translated into “My Fallen Son”. This vexed me to no end; however I found there were many of these strange books, many people held onto these things, but most of them gave them away freely as to how I learned more about the Gods Tongue.

S’ielas Fulenthul Fa’Lorthan

The words look like gibberish, but extensive research into the language itself reveals it is a fragment of Yol’Strath. Any evidence of the being that bore the three children has been erased, or at least a good attempt to, as I found out the books I found were tampered with, magic was used to erase the words, all but the Gods Tongue, which by further experimentation with my own Clear incantations, each failed time and time again, Gods Tongue is a language with unknown power to it, I am going on a limb here and saying it is because of the Celestial Being that the power held behind the words infuses it with energies not entirely of this realm.

I also looked into the matter of the Dragons extinction, and found a few texts regarding that, however all of these texts are cryptic, and the spelling is never the same for anyone word but the translation pans out the same, this language seems to shift, and as I’ll later explain the importance of that shift.

Fea’Ruth Gu’Lantul Aile Olum Hailen Yol’Strath

What I translated this into from my own research was, Children of the Sky opposed us, the true God of this world, Yol’Strath

I have guessed that Tel’Reah was around for this time, since I suspect much of his hands into the alteration of the texts. The time before words, before language, Gods Tongue existed, it alluded to when the Celestial Beings came to, the Children of the Sky, a clear reference to the Dragons, opposed them, but more importantly opposed Him, Yol’Strath, a self-proclaimed God. What I have yet to decipher is the last part, Yol’Strath Tel’Reah Hul’anthul Ilan Yol’Ra. The only clear statement made through out any of this are the names Yol’Strath and Tel’Reah, I believe each to represent a name of a Celestial Being, but I have no evidence to back it up, either that or the Dragons themselves.

I try not to move on so fast, but I must hurry with this as I hear the drums of war sounding, the Titan of Malice is marching onwards, I must flee but leave behind this piece protected by the Gods Tongue itself.

The words, the language, constantly shifts depending on how much power is put into the incantation or the pattern, complex patterns will have alternative spellings to them, such as Yol’Strath will sometimes be referred to as Straoly as a lesser form of the true word, however each word retains most of the letters used. I also believe the ancient language has been imbued with the magical properties of this world, not using the refined magic we know, or the Rift magic where we tap into the rift, the language is a beacon to the Power, Gods Tongue, in all essence, are one of the biggest sources of Magic this world has even known.

Tel’Reahs forces are coming, I must leave, and Tiel’ra may know what to make of this, even though the only Being who is fluent in the Gods Tongue is the one who is ravaging the landside. I must go.

Lost Legends part 1, there are 5 in all each are fragmented because of how it jumps around

Lost Legends – Tel’Reah the Titan of Life

Recorded before the cataclysm, to record one scholar’s research in order to benefit the future.

I am Ralif Seanda, and from my stand point, and from what the future may hold, I write to those who will listen and take heed. During the Forgotten Age, as we now are calling it, the world was one. The glorious lands of Tek’um, ruled by Tel’Reah, Alamasyia was ruled by his younger sister Tiel’ra, as the youngest sister ruled over the Forgotten Plain. I would record the name of the younger sister, if even I knew the name myself.

My point of focus here, if you haven’t already deciphered the title above, is Tel’Reah, one of the three children of the great God that forged this desolate world anew. I use the term “God” loosely, life was already blooming on this world, humans and elves alike, however when these three Titans came to our world it was further shaped, protected, we could thrive which is how this thing can be related to a deity. Tel’Reah is the oldest child, through my dealings with Tiel’ra, I learned a lot about this being.

Tel’Reah used to be just, kind, he used to revere life more than anything which was his overall job. There is a sickness in the land though, which may have been transferred into these divine beings as well, the sickness of hatred, the fiery burning hatred, the seething chill of one’s own soul, the river of vengeance, each element was subject to the hate in the land, tribal conflicts happened between the elves and the humans, until the Guardians showed themselves.

Draconic beings, human or Elvin in form, but oh so much more than I can even describe. The Drakeo was the first unnatural being to surface, they unified under one banner and conquered the Forgotten Plain, it was there they oversaw the peace, putting down violent uprisings with nothing more than words, and a show of strength by besting their champion.

Now Tel’Reah saw this all unfold in his sisters domain, when the Council of the Three happened, his sister only said how she oversaw the land and not the people, how it was her job to make it thrive and not get involved, as it would upset the natural order. Tel’Reah was less than pleased with his sister’s response, as Tiel’ra would tell me later the Drakeos always existed, when the Dragons all died out their essence was spread across the Plain, mutating babies born with the unnatural abilities of Dragons, and the ability to call on their draconic blood, mutating parts of their bodies. Most people would have savage black wings that tore out of their tunics, a dragons eye, most emerald eyes that could see over a mile away, hearing was greatly increased when drawing on their blood power, however nothing was more fearsome then the claws. These claws were blood red, like shards of glass sharpen into a spear point, nearly unbreakable by all accounts recorded, they were as sharp as the finest blades and doubled as defensive tools. From all their strengths though, a marksman could take out a Drakeo with a well placed arrow, as it took an immense amount of control over their own power to form the draconic scales, some Drakeos were said to go berserk, revert into a complete dragon form, the madness was contagious to the Drakeos, and so no other of their kind dared to draw upon enough power to protect themselves fully from mortal weapons.

Tel’Reah explained how much this upset the natural order, that her land was being ruled by the indirect offspring’s of Dragons, but that was only the beginning of his disdain, as Tiel’ra was accused of a far greater crime. You see, she explained to me how she taught the Titans magic to them, using the natural magical rifts around them, that surrounded them daily, tapping into the planets power and drawing it into an incantation, said only in the Titans own tongue. Such as, Yel’ra Toolesza, using the ancient Titan tongue - with the right training – would cause a rock to break down into water. I have used this many times during my travels through deserts and mountains, some Oasis’ were made by using that spell, however the humans and elves alike researched and experimented more into this and created their own form of magic, however it paled in comparison to the Titans own.

Tel’Reah screamed at them both, cursed them, and vowed to them he would take their place and restore this world. What no one saw coming was the next part, when the lands of Tek’um were plunged into a massive metamorphosis turning all the people into things of legend, the lucky ones became Corrupted Harbingers, Ethereal Warriors that shifted constantly between two realms, the spectral and mortal realm. The land also responded to Tel’Reahs maddening call, as five Titans were born from his hate, the Titan of Malice was used to lead his armies, quickly growing and never ending, each of them feeding off of the hatred of others, supreme beings Tel’Reah always wanted to form but as faithful as he was with his role he never did.

The Endless March began that day, during 1150, when the Titan of Malice marched into Alamasyia and laid waste to the border lands, killing everyone and leaving it all in flames before they move on. As good a fight the banded Elvin and human warriors made, Tiel’ra saw no other choice then to enter the battle herself. Aided by one of the three supreme beings, they pushed Malice back, until Tel’Reah and his Harbingers appeared on the front lines, slaughtering scouting parties, cutting off reinforcements and supply lines, the Ethereal were as savage as they were resourceful.

Tiel’ra saw no hope, and made her last stand against her maddened brother at the top of Mt. Eruptius, it was there everything changed, as the Goddess of Fire was born, or awakened, into this world. As much research I have put into the Goddess’ appearance, I can only guess as to how long she had been living dormant in the largest Volcano in Alamasyia, as well as if she were the overall reason why it never once erupted, but with that aside Tel’Reah saw this happening, he was lost but pressed on. It was when Tel’Reah went back to Tek’um leaving only his Harbingers did the standoff at Eruptius tip in Tiel’ras favor. Molten Giants were raised from the very land they walked on; the Volcano erupted bringing forth the fiery giants as well as the mythical flame birds, the Phoenix’s. The Goddess ripped through the front lines and hung the Harbingers bodies on molten spikes, she had also incinerated the Titan of Malice and ran the Corrupted out of her lands back into Tek’um, it was then Tiel’ra was afraid of Tek’um having a surprise like her own.

She went into the core of the world, she wrote in the ancient pattern only Tel’Reah or the youngest would know of, and split the three lands into three different worlds, isolating each other in their own little universe with nothing more than her own life force to divide it, creating a wall of immense and terrible power that only negated others from reaching into another world through any means, even the means of a Titan.

Tiel’ra died that day, as the Goddess returned to her resting point of Eruptius; the fires of the land were brought back into peace as the Volcano itself was concealed into its own pocket rift. To this very day of 1278, as I reach my dying days from the strengthened life span from Tiel’ra, I warn to any who believe Tel’Reah will never reach into our realms again, and here’s to hoping this winds up in the Forgotten Plain, that the Titan of Deceit, perhaps the most powerful of all of the Titans manifested from Tel’Reah, crossed over before the pattern took its full effect, and may have found a way through. Tel’Reah is a dangerous foe, I have seen firsthand what he is capable of, and with him draining the worlds power, Tiel’ras power that still remained, he will be tripled in strength, and this Titan will stop at nothing to return the three realms back into one and rule over them all as the Supreme God…

Feruz Tiel’ra Uoo Languil

Forever rest, Tiel’ra, our savior.

Blood Diamond, a Model Telling of Henry Wright.

Day in and day out, the same spiel for Henry Wright. His alarm clock would always go off at 4:25 A.M. so he could get dressed for his job at the factory. As the years went by, he would naturally wake up before his alarm clock and turn it off before his wife was woken up by it.

Henry always seemed to have this sense of dread around his face whenever he would look at his wallet. There never was enough, even though he would compulsivily gamble away half of his 5 dollar earnings. Henry wasn’t always a compulsive gambler; before his second child was born he would have enough to just get by. Now he has four kids, and has borrowed money from every shady character in town, except Dominic, rumor had it he had connections with the mob. Henry also had one other reason to look so dreadful, he had taken a diamond ring he found off of an unconscious woman’s hand and pawned it off in hopes to pay off the outrageous amounts of debts he owed. After he sold it, he made $300, and had $250 in debts, in all he would pocket enough to keep his family going for half a year. What he didn’t count on was who owned that ring, and as talk went around of a “theft” from Dominic, a large diamond engagement ring and a now deceased sister, did Henry begin to panic. Henry worked overtime in his job, in hopes in the night time someone, anyone even some drunk, would walk into him and shoot him on sight to save him from the torture he knew Dominic would give to him.

Henry never did count on what would happen, a possibility he thought 10 years of service would excuse him from. He was fired from the factory job. Henry was devastated, not only did this mean there would be no more income, the secret money would surface, questions would be asked, and more importantly, Dominic would find out. He had to get his family out of the town; they had to leave before word came to him. So on that day, November 23^rd 1934, Henry started the long walk back to his small tenant apartment, to deliver this dreadful news to his wife, and to free them from the shackles of death he had unknowingly bound himself to the moment he sold that accursed blood diamond.

Walking up to the entrance to his tenant was hard enough; Henry always had trouble with the damn door at first. An old thing it was, small wood chips would fly off each time the door was slammed shut, the hinges would squeak as though someone stepped on a small dog, and the handle was rusted. I wonder what will happen after I am gone; Henry was thinking as he turned the rusted door handle and braced himself for the ear splitting noise as he pushed it open. Amilia, I’m sorry my love, but this is the only choice left. No one should pay for my mistake except for me. Henry kept that last thought ringing in his head when he quietly walked up the creaking wooden steps to his floor. When he arrived by the beat up wooden door that led into his walk-in-closet-of-a-house, he decided to wait outside the door until the kids went to bed, it would only be around 2 more hours from now maybe a bit more but what was that time worth to a walking corpse?

Henry spied through the peep hole and saw the normal daily events unfold before him, his three sons fighting over. . . cloth? Whatever, it’s not like he could afford suitable toys for them anyway. His three boys would play with a dead mouse whenever one would show up, something to keep their young minds entertained in the cramped and limited space they lived in. What really caught his eye though is what was unfolding inside of the kitchen, his wife Amilia, was busy making dinner with his 5 year old daughter nearby. Amilia was a plain woman, or she couldn’t help but be plain with how she was living. Her figure was one most people lusted after in the brothels, however age was starting to take its toll on her. Her forehead was covered in wrinkles from constantly straining her eyes, partly due to Henrys fault for not having enough money to get her suitable glasses, she had stains and rips on her dress, flowers were sowed into them, but whatever flower they were it’s not like Henry would know. He couldn’t help but pick up the scent of beef stew, and something else, something boiling in the pot near the stew. Whatever it was, it smelled like someone was burning a car tire.

Henry observed Amilia as she finally noticed the smell and went over to investigate the pot (which Henry figured out was his daughters), and saw as she took some tongs out and picked out a leather shoe. Henry knew they weren’t that desperate for food, but it would seem their daughter wanted to try out culinary arts for the homeless and boiled her leather bound shoes. Amilia called their daughter over and said calmly, and trying to hold back her own amusement from what their daughter did, “Daddy pays a lot of money for these shoes, we do not boil them O.K.?” Henrys daughter starred into her mother’s eyes, and kept her gaze for a few seconds and said in a high pitched voice with a hint of guilt behind it, “O.K. momma!”

Henry watched his daughter scurry off and play with the boys, he figured one of the older ones was trying to lecture her in his place. That was the only thing note worthy to observe Henry would later realize. The hours passed by, Henry lost count but saw the sun went down outside. It’s time.

Henry walked through his door and saw his wife sowing a doll back together with the cloth he saw earlier. She looked up and greeted him with a smile and set down the doll she was working on. “Welcome home, the dinner is i-“ she stopped herself and studied Henry’s face a little longer. “Did something happen today?” A look of concern was on his wife’s face, but he saw just for a small moment, the look of pure fear. “Yeah, I got fired.” Henry said slowly, ever so slowly as if trying to make himself believe his own words as well.

His wife only starred at him, terrified at what is now happening, silent questions running through her head, some of the same ones Henry asked himself. “I won’t be able to do anything until I find another job. I’m sorry, I’m a failure. Not only did I fail myself, but I failed my family, the only thing I have left in this world.” Amilia stood up and embraced her husband, hot tears running down her face as she did so, trying to comfort them both it would seem. “You have family back down south, I’m going to spend the rest of the money I have on a train ticket for you, I know the conductor and he owes me a favor so he’ll get the kids in. I can’t support any of you, not even myself but I need time to try. I’ll send word if something happens.” His wife only starred at him, shaking from the news she was just given, and nodded. Like him, she saw no other way around this, staying would put them all in danger and distract Henry even more from finding a source of income. Whatever words she wanted to use to protest she obviously wasn’t voicing them. After spending long minutes looking into her husband’s eyes, and not even knowing it would be the last time she could, or maybe somewhere inside of her she knew the outcome, Henry wouldn’t know, he only just assumed.

“I’ll wake up the kids and get them ready.” Amilia then walked away slowly, her life was now going to change drastically, and she wasn’t prepared for this.

Henry woke up hours later, the sun just rising, he observed around the cramped room how little space was left when all the kids were packed up. He held all of his kids for what felt like an eternity, saying words like “It won’t be long!”, or even “I’ll have things finished in no time!” It hurt him to lie to his kids, it hurt him even more when he was holding his daughter while she was loudly sobbing and protesting her leaving. Henry could barely take it anymore, and Amilia saw it on his face he was about to break into dozens of little pieces, and lifted her away and said soothing comforting words to calm her frantic crying. They left early that afternoon, after Henry cleared things with the conductor, he assured him that he would do the ticket checks himself and count five every time. Now with his family gone there was only one thing left, Dominic. Henry went out to his usual gambling spot, only to find his friend Joey standing by the door. “You’re marked.” Was all he said to Henry, “Word went out, Dom found the pawn shop, he traced your work, now with your family out of danger it’s down to only you two.” Joey walked over to Henry and handed him a loaded pistol, 9mm most likely, concealable but not invisible. “I’m sorry I can’t let you in, Tommy is going nuts over this thing and doesn’t even want you this close.” Joey turned to leave, but before he did he said one thing to his friend, perhaps his last thing he would ever say. “Give him one hell of a fight.”

Henry walked back into his broken down tenant, everything was coming together now, and he looked in his tenant complex never understanding why he felt so peaceful here alone. All men die alone, that saying goes for every person, and Henry knew he was no exception Dominic would be after him and all he had was the loaded pistol given to him by his friend Joey. Henry decided then and there, this is his last stand, as he loudly proclaimed onto the heavens themselves, “In my last breath, all I can feel is the devastating lose my family will feel, never being able to see my children grow and move on with their lives while I watch from afar, proud of them every step of the way. If this is your idea of a sick joke, God, maker of this world and subsequently destroyer, I vow unto my very life my wife and children will be looked after.”

Henry, after giving his final speech and immortalizing his words as he carved them onto the worn splintered wooden wall with a rusty knife, took the money out from behind the bookcase and ran to the telephone. He dialed in a few numbers getting the operator who seemed to be very thrilled to have a late night call.

“To what line am I transferring this call to?” the ever so friendly operator said with voiced contempt in her words, each with the same amount of venom with every word spoken. “Joey Palensti please, this is urgent.” The operator couldn’t care less and just wanted her shift to be done with so she could leave this forsaken building, after switching some cords around the line went dead for a few seconds then picked back up with the ringing. It felt like an eternity, each ring synchronized with Henrys frantic heart beat. Finally, what felt like an eternity, which was actually three minutes Henry would later learn when he looked at the clock.

“Hello?” a tired raspy voice lifted up out of the phone, a man’s voice by the sound of it. “Joey, its Henry, look I don’t have much time to talk so just ear me out on my one final request.” Henry said frantically as he relayed the details to his plan. “Unmarked postal letters sent to my in-laws address, each with a small sum of money, I need these delivered discretely, please, can you do one final request for an old friend?”

Henry knew Joey worked – and had connections – in the postal service, as Joey was a mailman and a very capable one too. Henry knew Joey had no family to feed, no wife to take care of; he was always a lone wolf from the time they met in a steel factory. Joey was very confused at this request, all he did was breath into the phone softly thinking about the response to give his friend, and all he came up with in the long moments before answering were the words, yes. “I’ll take care of this, I’ll be seeing you in the here-after, friend.” Joey then hung up the phone and Henry finally allowed himself a moment of silence before packing up his worn knapsack and exiting his apartment with his pistol concealed underneath his buttoned up flannel.

Henry walked the quiet streets, darkness overcoming him from every alley he crossed to get to Joeys place. He passed by sleeping hobos, wondering if this plan goes through if he would end up sleeping in a deserted alley way being bit by rats thinking you are a dead body, he then shook his head and went on when he reached a gate to a tenant building. He opened up the rusted gate and heard another ear splitting screech as he entered in the tenant’s property, he then searched the mailboxes and found Joeys, and he placed his letters into them and a personal note for his wife’s eyes only. He left the tenant building and the squeaky gates smiling, his last order of business done with it was time to go down to Little Italy and settle his score with Dominic.

He walked along the road into Little Italy, as it was next to his tenant building, in fact Henry noticed that he passed through Dominic’s territory every time he walked to the factory. It was all irrelevant now, Henry thought as he approached the casino and strolled past the two armed guards, not that they were openly armed but given Dominic’s nature they sure as hell were armed tooth and nail. After he entered in the vast casino, the breath taking fountain staged the center piece of the establishment, making it seem like a palace rather than a place people go to throw away their money for no good reason other than the illusion to get lucky or to get rich.

Henry approached a red door, the guards normally stationed there walked away for whatever reason, and Henry opened up the door into this vast office with velvet carpet, a big desk cluttered with papers and other miscellaneous items a business owner would keep, however the office chair turned around revealing Dominic himself. Dominic is a big Italian, very muscular, and even as hairy, his face could force a mime into pleading for mercy as his presence would make a blind man run for cover. He only turned around and saw Henry, immediately recognizing him as he pulled out a gun from his suit as the door was shut and locked with two armed men from the entrance guarding it, leaving Henry no point of escape.

Henry pulled out his own concealed weapon and shouted at Dominic, “This is for all of the lives you have ruined and ended monster!” He shoot the weapon, it was the most horrid crack he had heard in his entire life, he has never held a fire arm much less have been so close to one firing, however it only grazed Dominic’s ear leaving behind a thin trail of blood.

“Nicea try, Wright, but you havea fucked with the wrong man.” Dominic walked over and put his gun into Henrys mouth, all Henry could see is the sadistic pleasure of the kill in Dominic’s eyes, money, power, that is all Dominic wanted, he didn’t give a damn about the diamond he just wanted to stain it’s memory with blood to send a message out to the other people not to cross him. Henry couldn’t speak, he was shaking uncontrollably but accepted what was to come next as the last he heard was the condescending voice of Dominic mocking him, “Youa brave man, too bad this is the only option left for the both of us.” Henry heard the crack again, he felt the pain, and then he felt nothing. He saw his body for one last time, laying there with the head caved in, a whole in his head with leaking brain matter, but this is it, Henry succeeded where he had failed before, his family can live on through this without needing to worry about money for two or three years with a new place to stay, it’s over and done, Henry did his job.