A man and a child walk down a long and dusty road. The man is not old, and the child is not young. They walk hand in hand. The man is dark and intimidating. The child is bright and energetic. How is it that these two are found here together?
The child has a small bag of sweets in his right hand. In his left is the rough and blood stained hand of the man. Despite their contact the child remains whole, pure and clean. He looks about with curiosity. He freely offers sweets to those that happen upon his path. He is innocent. His clothes are purest white, regardless of the dirt on the wind or the grime of his companion.
The man has the small, clean hand of the child in his right. His left is held in a fist, covered by a weather beaten leather glove. Riding on his back is his sword, a weapon requiring great skill and precision. Swords do not kill randomly or by accident. He does not kill randomly or by accident. His eyes scan those close by. His ears listen for any sounds out of place. On occasion his left hand moves towards the handle of the sword. He is silent while the child laughs. His clothes are dirty, as though every second of every day is spent rolling in muck.
The child eagerly offers his sweets to the people nearby. The man only offers a glare to freeze the very fires of hell. There is an understanding amongst those travelers who find themselves in their company.
If you make any movement against this child, you will die here and now.
The child wants to play. The man wants to protect. Nothing will harm the child while the man is present, but the child will never truly be happy. Their existence is compromise. They share the same soul.
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A little storytelling for ya.
I write whatever comes to mind. Mostly fiction of varying types. A little sci-fi, a little fantasy, a little noir.
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