The fourth Installment from the Novel The Diary Of An Immortal. Enjoy! Like, Comment and Subscribe.
The Diary Of An Immortal
After the tragic death of my last wife, I took on the roll of a vigilante liberator. Invasion wars polluted like wildfire so the criminals and outlaws crawled from the shadows as monsters in stories and pillaged and ransacked villages and towns against very vast few constables, their rationale was profiteering and reigning with fear and murder. The years were gunpowder plots and Shakespeare. Cavaliers had taken upon the social scale and I wasn’t branded as middle class in the midst of it all, I had a small patch of land that was owned to a wealthy Earl whom inherited it from the Monarchy. The land that I lived on was soundless to the country’s capital, surrounded by openness of the greenery that had flourished almost as a stilled oil painting that has captured true beauty of the woodland and field and mountain landscapes on its canvas, to forever be seen but never forgotten. I worked as a field hand a few miles up the road on The Daniels farm and with that payment I received I paid the Earl and ate for four nights a week, the rest I robbed from the unlawful that took from others. One night I was camped out on a wooden chair in front of the fireplace, there was an axed table by the side of me that I had used for firewood, from the floor to the ceiling was jacketed in black mould and when the wind blew the wooden roofing chattered like cold teeth. An endless droning knock comes from my wooden door, along with muffled whispers that were undertone by the down pouring rain. I hastily rise and walk to the door, I hear people shushing each other outside.
“Who is it?” I ask.
“It is… (a laugh) a priest, we have come to tell you about God.” A man’s drunken voice travels through the door.
“I am not entertaining guest tonight, could you please come back at a later date, I would be more than happy to let you enter.”
The door flings open to a boot and three swaying men enter, they are cloaked in hats with large animal feathers and capes.
“We have come to collect your payment, taxes have risen and money must be pocketed.”
“I do not have any money.” I fearfully say.
They begin to look at each other to let their premeditated plan come into action. One man charges at me and puts my head in a lock, harbouring my breath as he constricts like a devilish snake, another begins turning my home upside down looking for currency or items to be sold to the back streets. The main culprit chases out his blade, staring at the glaze and his stretched reflection, looking at the weapons real meaning and potential, he points the swords peak under my chin.
“Well if you do not have money, we will have to ensure that when we come back we will leave with something but now we will leave tonight with a blooded tip.”
He thrusts the tip into my shoulder with a smirk, twisting and turning the handle and slowly dragging out the blade along with my life-force little by little, the man imprisoning me lets me go.
“Does it hurt?” He asks throttling my shirt. He looks at his creation on me; the wound begins to merge with the skin around itself within a couple of seconds it is restored back to health. He lets me go and is taken aback.
“D..D..Demon…!” He stammers.
He let’s go of his steel and about turns and sprints out into the rogue weather in panic.
The man looking through my personal possessions reveals his rapier and lunges with a roar from the left of me; I grab the swords head causing it to come to a halt when it has reached bone, he stands in disbelief with and opened jaw, I snatch his help from his hands and jam it in the side of neck, he falls with a hard crash, I jump at the last man and hang him as a painting on the wall with the nestled feeling of his friends sword jabbed in his belly, he tries to inhale but the pain is too ruthless and except from a last breath, exits a few drops of blood.
The sheer audacity of these sent hooligans inflames me to the point of no return, I stare up to the ceiling and take flight with a fist clenched and bared teeth, crashing through my roofing until I am above the trees, each impact of the rain drops were a warning and the wind was a friend trying to talk me out of my next step, pushing me back.
I’m seething, I scope in a rotation and in the distance heading for the nearest residence is the bastard who thinks he can enter my home and threaten me for more money. The more I thought of him the more angry I remained; it built and built within me like a diabolical idea. I began to finally warm up, my eyes lit up the dark and it was almost as though it was daytime aside from the sky still being used as battlefield for the weather, lightning strikes chard under the blanket of thick cloud like maddened shooting stars.
The usual profanities of the tongue become theatre shadow-puppets of the mind.
“How dare this malicious cretin believe he can march into my serenity covered life and try to take it away for his drunken amusement, does he have any idea of whom I am? …Does he? …Show him who you are, kill him, kill him now!” I scream.
Fury has consumed me inwards, worse than the feeling felt when hunger swallows me, but it has become my coat of armor that I must wear to deflect lives poisonous arrows. Too long I have been a forever walker living in the chased away shade of the light, I have been death gripped to protect. This night onwards shall be mine. I bear my true meaning to the world when an unusual feeling road’s over me, something; something I have never ridden upon before.
The wind and rain warns away from me as a taste to medicine. The brute is scattering his run over grass and small lumps of ground which stumbles him to the Earth, dragging himself across through the green with his fingers, always with his eyes coming back to the scene of his crime.
This was more than thirst for food, the retribution alone will fill me. I charge with the roar of war, the swine turns to locate where the beasts howl came from, he is caught in the stillness of that second of everlastingly. I hurtle and hurtle, closer and closer. I collide with the bully and he falls on his back.
“Forgive my ways, forgive my ways.” He tries to bargain in stutter.
“Never… For your wretched ways, I cannot allow that, I will eat the death from your skin so your talk could never be heard again.”
He lays there as a shivering chiseled stone; his eyes try to reach out to all the possibilities of what I am and what my next move may be. His forgiveness and admission of guilt have run out. He tilts his head back to gain help with a look, I grab his face and lunge my teeth into the side of the cheek, he screams in terror, most of which was shock induced, I tear away from him a hellish chunk and a gulp. The line in the sand that I had drawn, I have stepped a city over it. Am I in the wrong? Have my waters crashed against the world’s rock and made them bleed?
I lose grip of him, have I myself? I wipe the blood away with the forgiveness that this man had felt, spitting him out in my saliva. His heart rate almost blows through his chest to show me the white flag of afraid. I sit to my feast and stare at my hands with blotches of a crimson character.
The man rolls over to his front; his back blackened and blood coated teeth were on full bloom to the world, he puts his hand over the gaping hole that motions him in the direction of the pain, losing foot now and again.
If I let him live, I will be burned as a wizard or devil when his tongue tells all. If I kill him, my secret is safe from all the pointed fingers and eye stares that will never be seen. So it began.
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