Post by Arceia Kinsley on Feb 18, 2010 20:05:58 GMT -5
Do I post in here too much?
You'll understand the title at the end.
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"Brielle!"
A shout from the distance. My name called out from the voice of my friend Sethra, as the merest echo I have ever heard. My time stood still, hearing people gather around me.
"Is she alright?" A male voice this time. It was Kyle, my graduated friend. He asked the most obvious rhetorical question I had ever heard. No, I was not all right. I was going to be taken away to the infirmary, with a dreadful knee injury. There, I would be put in a splint for the next week.
Let me bring you back to the beginning. The day was a cold February afternoon, and the sun has fallen to a half-circle as it was setting. This day was the day of my tournament, casually set up for friends. There was fencing, heavy weaponry, and dual wielding as accepted classes. I chose my greatsword. All weaponry may have been foam, but I had a certain ferocity to me that day.
The day before, my lover of almost a year had spilled such a horrid remark, my heart was unable to bear it. I collapsed that night in tears, eventually drying up and leaving me with streams of red flowing from my right eye socket. She told me she hated me. I don't think I've gotten over it to this day, either.
Ordinarily, I could lift no more than thirty or so pounds. This day though, I had awakened to find myself punching branches clean off of their tree host body. Nothing would stop me from winning, and nothing would quell my anger, or my sorrow. I gripped the hilt tightly, holding my blade of choice on my back as if I were ready for a shoulder-draw.
My opponent did not strike first, so it was I that had to. Pushing the bottom of the hilt down vigorously, the weapon came up and off my shoulder, slamming down and landing its designated blow to the enemy leg. From that point, I gripped the hilt nearest the hand guard and the blade, giving me much more control, and pulled straight upward. I spun backward, slicing up and directly at his chest.
He parried the second blow, and lunged a stab in, landing me on my arm. This was when I flipped the sword blade-down, and held it as if I were in no state of defense. The blade was upside-down and behind me. With all my strength, I hurled it forward and stomped my target's foot to hold him in place. He fell, and I turned to walk away, victorious.
My next opponent, and my last, was my good friend Liam. His choice was a simple rapier, and mine was a large staff. When the battle began, we clashed for a moment. I easily pushed his minute blade down and achieved a stab in the chest. When I attempted a second spin, the horrible truth that I had a curse to be born with weak knees hit me. I fell.
And that is where we were now. With all my adrenaline built up, I did not want to stop. Their calls and concerns sting as though I was a charity case, and I attempted to stand on my own at first. To no avail, and to not look like a fool, I passed it off as rolling to my other side so I wouldn't be laying on the injury. I was helped inside by Kyle and Liam, after Sethra offered me her hand and was simply not strong enough to pull me up.
There on that couch in the living room, I remained a good two hours. My peers checking up on my, and some showing more concern than others. Sethra was seated right next to me the entire time, and when it came time to go to the infirmary, she again tried to help me up, and again could not. There, I heard about what I had done.
My knee on the left leg had been dislocated, sprained, and then re-located. An awful mix which I was disturbed to find had happened once before, in my distant memories. I now sit, splint around my leg and grin on my face, remembering how much fun that clash was, and how worth it this leg injury is. The emotional trauma of the day before though.
That has never, and maybe will never depart from my worst nightmares.
Forsaken love is more painful than a thousand leg injuries.
You'll understand the title at the end.
~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~!~
"Brielle!"
A shout from the distance. My name called out from the voice of my friend Sethra, as the merest echo I have ever heard. My time stood still, hearing people gather around me.
"Is she alright?" A male voice this time. It was Kyle, my graduated friend. He asked the most obvious rhetorical question I had ever heard. No, I was not all right. I was going to be taken away to the infirmary, with a dreadful knee injury. There, I would be put in a splint for the next week.
Let me bring you back to the beginning. The day was a cold February afternoon, and the sun has fallen to a half-circle as it was setting. This day was the day of my tournament, casually set up for friends. There was fencing, heavy weaponry, and dual wielding as accepted classes. I chose my greatsword. All weaponry may have been foam, but I had a certain ferocity to me that day.
The day before, my lover of almost a year had spilled such a horrid remark, my heart was unable to bear it. I collapsed that night in tears, eventually drying up and leaving me with streams of red flowing from my right eye socket. She told me she hated me. I don't think I've gotten over it to this day, either.
Ordinarily, I could lift no more than thirty or so pounds. This day though, I had awakened to find myself punching branches clean off of their tree host body. Nothing would stop me from winning, and nothing would quell my anger, or my sorrow. I gripped the hilt tightly, holding my blade of choice on my back as if I were ready for a shoulder-draw.
My opponent did not strike first, so it was I that had to. Pushing the bottom of the hilt down vigorously, the weapon came up and off my shoulder, slamming down and landing its designated blow to the enemy leg. From that point, I gripped the hilt nearest the hand guard and the blade, giving me much more control, and pulled straight upward. I spun backward, slicing up and directly at his chest.
He parried the second blow, and lunged a stab in, landing me on my arm. This was when I flipped the sword blade-down, and held it as if I were in no state of defense. The blade was upside-down and behind me. With all my strength, I hurled it forward and stomped my target's foot to hold him in place. He fell, and I turned to walk away, victorious.
My next opponent, and my last, was my good friend Liam. His choice was a simple rapier, and mine was a large staff. When the battle began, we clashed for a moment. I easily pushed his minute blade down and achieved a stab in the chest. When I attempted a second spin, the horrible truth that I had a curse to be born with weak knees hit me. I fell.
And that is where we were now. With all my adrenaline built up, I did not want to stop. Their calls and concerns sting as though I was a charity case, and I attempted to stand on my own at first. To no avail, and to not look like a fool, I passed it off as rolling to my other side so I wouldn't be laying on the injury. I was helped inside by Kyle and Liam, after Sethra offered me her hand and was simply not strong enough to pull me up.
There on that couch in the living room, I remained a good two hours. My peers checking up on my, and some showing more concern than others. Sethra was seated right next to me the entire time, and when it came time to go to the infirmary, she again tried to help me up, and again could not. There, I heard about what I had done.
My knee on the left leg had been dislocated, sprained, and then re-located. An awful mix which I was disturbed to find had happened once before, in my distant memories. I now sit, splint around my leg and grin on my face, remembering how much fun that clash was, and how worth it this leg injury is. The emotional trauma of the day before though.
That has never, and maybe will never depart from my worst nightmares.
Forsaken love is more painful than a thousand leg injuries.