Tag Archives: Outdoors

I am Wild Boy – Part 1


Forest (Photo credit: Moyan_Brenn DeLight (back again))

I am Wild Boy – Part 1

My mother’s face was a blurry smudge within my memory; luckily I don’t remember her; Dad spoke in his sleep and what he did to that poor woman… He didn’t leave her with much of one when we fled from her murder scene. I do remember the car trip though; I sat in the back seat swaying side to side while he drank bourbon driving away into a permanent foggy madness. I sat clutching a half eaten cookie in my toddler Parker jacket next to a duffel bag of Pistols, Rifles and enough ammo to put shame on any small war faction.

We were on the run from our old life to build a new-one off the grid, way to the backend of vast frozen nothingness which was our destination and where we were to begin our survival training. He told me he built this cabin for me and mom to come to when the world had gotten too much for us. It was tacky and crooked but it kept the rain and snow at bay and held warmth when the cold-rolled in. Dad evolved into a bedraggled ragamuffin, me, I transformed into a wild boy. Our own filth and stench was covered by rotten animal carcasses.

There was only so much I could do as a child but he took me hand in hand on hunts, sometimes he even allowed me to deliver the killer-blow to our prey. As the years shredded the photo memories of me and my dad, I grew into a routine machine; he called me his ‘special weapon’. Up before dawn crept upon the valley of forestry shadows, the aim was to kill, train, hydrate, train, eat and rest. I know nothing else.

We agreed to put off the childish treatment, so when hand to hand combat was the training for our afternoon, he laid into face until I bled and swelled. But he was getting on in life so when my muscle formed harder, I made sure I put him on his ass. Knife throwing, dismantling and assembling Guns and Rifles, martial arts, body and mind endurance, hunting, tracking; I became a black-belt in it all. In all honesty, I forgot about the world which scurried along beyond our tree line, when I hit my mid-teens I did think and wonder if there was anything else within my world as I sat on the edge of a mountainside or stood at the top of the trees gazing at the sunset.

One winter my father fell down with a bout with what he called pneumonia, he stopped his training, sleeping and eating; his breathing became erratic and body shifted to weakness. He couldn’t do much, so I trained by myself, hunted by myself, ate by myself, he died and then I started talking to myself.

I left his body within his room, I never stepped foot beyond the nail jagged door frame. I was now the King of this vast plant and animal life; the routine was I had and knew, so I pushed on further into the year of kill or be killed by the unknown.

Several Years Later

If I knew what depression was I would find it happily. Before ever daybreak I would sit in a couch position at the edge of my father’s bedroom door, perhaps he will wake up today. I wait until the sun’s ritual breath edged over the window ledge before I would do my daily bidding until the eyes of the dark skies blinked at me. Fearless to the predators and elements, they must sense something dark within me. The morning was skin nipping from the cold but the idea of victorious kill kept my blood steamy. I head towards the feet of the humongous wet-white hill, the deer huddle and graze within this area. A family a nestled nicely next to small stream which lines through my land. I would never think of harming something scrawny or motherly, I have my sights set on the papa-deer. I clutch my hunter’s blade in my hand; my eyes do not stray, before I move a muscle I think of the kill in every way, good or bad. Small rocks which collect at my feet, I pick one up and I subtly throw it away from the deer, so their attention would be towards the possible predator.

At the last few seconds before I sliced into my prey, a thunderous roar echoes throughout my valley. There are no storm clouds wandering above the trees. The deer scamper far into the tree line. A gargantuan wheeled hog type creature hurtles into my view at the other side of the trickling stream. Is this a new animal I have never seen?

Four men heavily armed with shotguns exit the hog. They are each dressed like greenery, perhaps to blend in. I scurry on my belly closer to get a better look. Dad always said people may be after him, could this be them? Could they be here for me? Are have they come to disrupt my kingdom and steal my food? One thing is certain, if they have, no four shotguns will stop be defending what I know.

I will recon for now and make a decision when the time is right. Keep your knife to your side Nick, it’s all you have.

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Part 2 of ‘I am Wild Boy’ Coming soon to www.youngadultfictionblog.com

Young Adult Fiction Blog.com

Keep your pens busy,

Regards Alex.

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I Live in Hell – Story By Alexander Kennedy


I Live in Hell

I have no name, no more reflection, hellbound for millennia, judged by a life I cannot remember except this feeling of once loved, completely alone in the shrouds and crowds of darkness. No time, no air, no hunger, no pain and no her, condemned by condemning the people who took her from my heart, a small price to pay for the loss of mine to the equivalent loss for them.

Home is no longer with the faceless woman, blonde or black hair, is she smiling at my memory? …Home, I dream of such a place, walk through the door and smell a cooked meal, laughs of my children and sunlight to brighten my day. They left when I left. Now home means to hide under a rock that sticks out from a cave wall and covering the hole with another rock, my body sleeps in a coffin but I sleep in a tomb to protect myself from the creatures out there roaming for me.

My photographs are insanely carved by bone into the cave walls, so if anything happens to me, my memories will always tattoo this place, why would I want my past life to be remembered here? The time I spent on that planet was amazing, fun, love, smile hugs, this place is everything that I feared in nightmares and more, it is like introducing a serial killer to my family, you would not do it, take the carvings down, rub them out, I don’t want my happy times to be associated with this place.

The skies are always crimson red with black-hearted-clouds, no sun, the days are never shown as days but I still need sleep. A scream, one that tears through the land reaches my ears, it sound like one thousand women feeling the worst possible pain, it is a Smole, a crab like creature with a dragon neck and head and four separate wings, four legs, two pincers and two arms, the size of a house, that soars the skies, yes, there is no hunger but some animals have the hunt built within themselves so they do it because it come natural to them, if it moves, kill it, welcome to the area I live.

…The devil? There has been rumors from people I have run into, usually they get eaten or just move on, thinking it is not safe. Also there have been rumors on how to get out from this Hell-Hole, literally, there is a place here called, Demi-fete, it is a city of the worst of the worst, if you step on a crack on the ground you will become tangled in tentacles of a Wrapper, like a land octopus with two heads and more tentacles, roughly the size of a bus.

If you ever see a red dust cloud spiraling towards you, you have to take cover; inside the small tornado is a Squaller, you can see through the dust cloud but the creature spins so fast that it becomes invisible to the eye and these are the ones I know that are there, hundreds more desolate that land.

Can you hear that? …More silence, that’s usual, I shuffle and army-crawl to my peep-hole to see outside of my cave, nothing… but just because nothing is seen doesn’t mean anything is there. Still looking out of the spy-hole I reach slowly for my blade, a long rusted sword, it belonged to one of the Knights Templar. He got swallowed by an Air-Trekker.

Loose stones tumble from the top of the caves opening, run. I push on the rock with my legs that has stopped protecting me and become an obstacle, then dragging myself up to a sprint for life. A gigantic roar knocks me flying straight out of the cave to the sandy floor, the cave from the inside begins to open up the mountain until a head pokes out the caves opening, it’s the Smole and it has just set its eyes upon me, I am destined for dinner. Where is my sword, I throw my head from left to right, it is sticking out of the sand, I quickly crawl, spin round and get into the position to fight, if I run I will either be pick up and ate or ran down and ate, better to fight than die. It must have caught my sent and dug its way through the mountain.

The Smole breaks free from the prison of stones and rubble and targets me with both its heads. I bend down slightly like a cat before a prowl, throwing the sword from one hand to the other. The Smole stretches out ever limb and screams to what I once looked up to as heaven. I face my destiny down here with every ounce of my strength so I begin to run towards it with everything I have, I dodge the one of the claws but in my movement away from it I am left open for the other one, captured with the look of defeat.

What this Smole does not know is when I died Hell opened its door to one of its worst creatures to walk its sandy horizons, a human named Me, the most destructive and evilest forces to ever be conceived and squeezed out, more diabolical than any fallen angel, more life-taking than any natural disaster or war because down here everything is personal. I raise my sword above my head and begin stabbing repeatedly into the wrist of the Smole, it let’s go and I fall through the pincers, I raise the sword again over my head in free fall and swipe at one of its legs, its screams out, leaning to the right, trying to keep balance as its purple blood spits out of it newly made holes, but it is not giving up. I run underneath it, dragging my blade across its underbelly until I reach its backend and climb on its shell of a body of flapping wings, I run and plunge my sword straight into the left neck of the beast, retract with a spin and take off the Smoles right head, it crashes to the floor with a giving up groan and begins to retreat from this small little man with its extra legs, pushing its way away.

Down here this is my domain, down here I am Lucifer – down here I make my own rules. Now my home has been reduced to rubble, I might go and find those rumored ways to get out of here, I am now a warrior among men; I could be useful on my planet. I will go and find my reflection and my name, finally.

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