History [A Short Story by The Shadow One]

Hello:

Do you remember the recent writing contest? Well, it concluded before I became a member of this forum. Today, while browsing the forums, I found the pictures by Dimeolas and the writing contest:

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https://forums.totalwar.org/vb/showthread.php?t=35078

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Well, I'm sorry I missed it because as soon as I saw the second picture, I came up with a pretty good idea for a story. In fact, it was such a stong moment of inspiration that I spent this afternoon writing it out. I'm going to post it here for comments.

Two quick thoughts: I know the contest is concluded. Really, I do. Dimeolas' picture inspired me and I went with it. I'm just posting it here.

Second, I know it's a bit too long (by about 200 words). In the end, I didn't see anything else to cut.

Thanks and let me know if you like it - or if you don't.


* * *


HISTORY


"Mooommm!" The word sliced across the park, cutting away silence like a sword. "What it thiiiissss!"

Mom scrambled to the base of the statue. "Mark, get down now. You know better than that."

The boy didn't move. "But, Mom, what is it?"

"The book says -- " She consulted an already ragged pamphlet. "This is some prince or other who defended . . . Mark, please. Get off the statue!"

Mark, all motion and energy, flopped to the ground with a solid thud and dashed off towards the monastery.

"Mark! Wait for me!"

*

The air was cold and clean and pure, as if nothing but nature had touched this morning. The first rays of sunlight, spilling over a distant horizon, shined upon row after row of steel, wood and armor. No bird sang, no insect chirped.

Now a horse approached, its hooves cutting a tatoo into the turf. The rider, a mere boy in helmet and leather called out, "Sire, the enemy is behind us!" Yanking his horse to a halt, the boy bowed low to the only knight with a gold crown on his helm. "They will try to cross the aqueduct."

The King spoke quickly. "Send my son and his men to guard the way."

*

"So, which one is this?" The man in the suit circled the statue.

"I don't know. Do you want me to look it up?" The woman fanned herself with the ragged pamphlet. "Something about a brave stand against the French."

"Hmm, " the man peered up at the statue. "He doesn't look all that brave."

The woman sighed. "It's just what the book says."

"You know what's really brave, old boy? Fighting for the rights of individuals against big companies. Standing alone when they have a dozen good barristers against you – "

"Stop it," the woman said.

"What?"

"You said you wouldn't talk shop. You said this was our second honeymoon and you wouldn't talk – "

"I'm not." The man was indignant. "I was just pointing out . . ."

"Oh, Harold, shut up."

*

They were now less than a dozen armored men and only a few more archers against many. But they stand, the Prince told himself. They still stand.

The Enemy archers lined the far bank, but the distance was too great. Arrows clicked off the stone aqueduct and fell harmlessly over the side. They'll have to rush us, thought the Prince.

Beneath the aqueduct was an thick forest and a deep, swift river. To encircle the King's Army, the Enemy must pass along the aqueduct. So far, such passage had been denied.

It was a strong position. The Prince glanced at the sun. Time also was on their side. It was already well past midday. And still they stand. They must stand.

Bodies lined the aqueduct, turning the water a rusty red, and dotted the sloping hills beneath them. The Enemy was strong. So far, his men had been stronger.

Now, so far in the distance as to be nothing more than an insignificant shape, something approached, first slowly, then faster. The Prince squinted, his eyes straining. Then the shapes became clear: horses, banners, and, of course, spears. Leading the charge was a large black animal which appeared to plunge along on the air above the ancient stones.

Hypnotized by the sight, the Prince only found his voice at the last minute. "Knights!" he cried, as if the men surrounding him couldn't see the approaching riders.

The men steadied themselves. "Archers!" called the Prince. Arrows swept past overhead, seeking targets. A horse tripped, stumbled, and plunged over the edge, carrying a single screaming rider to his doom. But the black animal, ridden by the Devil himself, continued to charge.

With a cry of words incomprehensible, the Knights plunged into the Prince's line.

*

"Now what?"

"Wayne, I can't walk anymore." The young women flopped onto the base of the statue, kicking off a sandal and rubbing her foot.

"Maybe we should hike up to the monastery? They might have something to drink." A nervous young man, his fingers adjusted and readjusted his glasses.

"I have an idea." The girl favored her friend with a smirk. "Why don't you hike up to the monastery and see if they have anything to drink?"

"You don't want to come with me?"

"Do I look like I want to come with you?"

Another adjustment of glasses. "It says in the book the monastery was built a hundred and fifty years ago by King, eh, what's his name?"

"Groovy," said the woman absently.

"No, I don't think was King Groovy."

She ignored the joke. Instead, she looked over her shoulder at the stone figure looming above her, then tried to glance behind the shield, just see if the statue was, well, anatomically correct.

The boy adjusted his glasses for a final time. "Well, I'll go see what I can find."

"You do that. King Groovy and I will wait for you."

*

The sun was settling on a different horizon when the boy rider returned. The King stood trembling in his armor, tired and weak, what was left of his army sleeping on the ground or huddled in small groups around glowing fires. Too many were lost today, he thought. More than he could think about now. More than he could ever think about.

But there was victory. The Enemy was beaten.

The horse approached slowly. The King turned and, in the glow of dusk, recognized the rider. "What? Tell me now!"

"Sire, the enemy was stopped at the aqueduct."

"Of course," the King cried, in a voice that started men around him. "Of course. I expected nothing less of my son. Bring him to me so he can receive my royal honor."

But the horse and rider did not move.

"Bring him to me!" The King yelled. "You fool, I'll have you – "

"Sire," the young man's voice sounded faint, even feminine in its grief, "the Prince is dead."

*

"Hold the sign a little higher." The man in the tan beret adjusted a digital camera. A much younger man held a blue and white sign across the middle of the statue.

"What are you doing?" a voice asked the camera man.

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw an elderly man in a worn tweed jacket standing behind him. "What's it to you?"

"I'm the caretaker of this park."

"Oh." The camera man shrugged and turned back towards the picture. "We're from AMPCO."

"Ampco?"

"AMPCO." Then, as if talking to an child, he said, "A-M-P-C-O. You've heard of us?"

"No," the old man said, "I'm afraid I haven't and this, well, it isn't appropriate."

"Oh, don't worry." The camera man turned back towards the boy holding the sign. "Dammit, Jimmy, hold the sign straight." Now back to the caretaker. "AMPCO Insurance Company? ‘Your Knight In Shining Armor?' Get it?"

"You shouldn't be doing this?" A great tiredness lined the old man's voice.

"Just one more. Straight, Jimmy! Hold the sign straight!"

*

The Prince's body lay upon a bier of dry wood, awaiting his ancestors. His father had fought too many battles and seen too many men die, to show any outburst of emotion at the mere sight of son's dead body. When he spoke his voice was strong and only those who knew him well noticed the thread of emotion running through it.

"Tonight we send my son to his ancestors." Here the King paused and, after a moment, nodded to a man who dropped a torch on the bier. As the flames grew toward the sky, he continued. "But this ground is sacred ground. Five seasons from this date, a monument will be erected so the entire world will remember my son. So that they will -- " he paused for a moment, his voice cracking, "– so that they will never forget.

"Never."

Welcome to the Mead Hall, The Shadow One.

A very good story. I really like the way you keep switching between two different times and two different moods. It is a bit on the short side though, I think it would have been better if you totally ignored the word-limit.

BTW if you want a link, you should the 'insert hyperlink', not the HTML-tag. 'Insert hyperlink' is the icon with the small globe.

A day in the life of a statue; it's a nice idea.

Lady Frog and Ludens: Thanks for your comments. It is on the short side (my desperate attempt to fit within the word limitations -- just to see if it could be done), althought I liked the bare feel of it. Leaves more to the reader. Bierce once called the novel a "short story with padding." What I cut out, in the end, was mostly a lot of padding -- the sequence and scenes really didn't change all that much.

A good exercise, though, in learning what you can do without. It started out at about 1600 words, so I lost 25% of it.

Thanks again.

The Shadow One

:duel:

Life is the ultimate intellectual challenge. Chess is just a game.