Walking

They were kids once, too. Playing in the park, drawing in the dirt with sticks, shrieking with laughter as the swing brought them one step closer to heaven.

Klyte lifted his head and looked up at the pouring sky. The dark clouds rumbled overhead; it was probably time to go inside. He took a breath and walked forward, away from the house he had lived in for sixteen years. Every step leant him the courage to walk further, and eventually there was nothing but a trail of muddy footprints leading from the silent house.

His feet led him in a straight line, just walking. His tousled hair stuck to his scalp, his muddy shirt was drenched. He kept walking, until the remnants of civilisation gradually started to appear. He kept walking, dark eyes cold and silent, acknowledging and accepting the curious stares that came his way. He nodded towards a child who ran for his mother. He tossed a coin to the homeless man lying in the street. And always, he kept walking.

He walked to the castle gate and gazed at the towers he had once lived in. It was still raining. There were dozens of soldiers on the battlements, and every single arrow was trained on him. Klyte allowed them to take his interest for a few seconds, then stepped forward once more. The bridge of the moat came down silently.

He walked through the courtyard, through corridors of gold and silver. The incredulous soldiers moved out of the way as he slowly but surely walked into the throne room.

He looked up at the newly coronated king.

"Hello, Klyte."

Klyte nodded, as a vague greeting.

"I said hello, Klyte," the king said forcefully.

The boy's eyes showed no sign of interest.

"Not going to greet your king?"

He opened his mouth, hesitated, then spoke. "I already have."

"That nod was not a greeting."

"It was greeting enough."

"I am the king!" thundered the man on the throne. "I will have the respect I deserve. I know you are here on a mission to assassinate me, Klyte. I want to know why you simply walked into the castle, in plain sight."

"You let me."

"I made your job easier because I did not want to humiliate you."

Klyte reached into his bag and pulled out a dagger. "This is what I'm supposed to assassinate you with."

The king chuckled. "Well, aren't you going to do it?"

His cold eyes glinted with new-found interest. "Of course."

Writing experiment [Original fiction]

Title: N/A (this was a writing experiment)
A/N: I wanted to experiment with writing things that didn't make sense, which is what happened here. I have no idea what was happening, I literally wrote the first thing that popped into my head. I also wanted to include description in such a way that nobody would really notice and go 'oh, chunk of description.' because that's what usually happens to me *sigh*
P.S. If this means anything to you at all, please tell me.


He was running through the forest, under the eaves of darkness. The trees were invisible, blending neatly into the darkness of the night sky. The leaves rustled so evenly that it became a part of the background: droning on and unheeded by the human senses. There were no stars in the sky--it was a cloudy night--but even if there was, the man couldn't see them. They were blocked by the thick canopy above.

There didn't seem to be anyone--or anything--behind him, but the man kept running. He had to get out, he had to get somewhere else, somewhere that wasn't so...

He shook his head, then suddenly burst into a clearing, and he could just see the dawn of a new day as the sun shed its light onto the clouds. There was a river, there were children laughing, unaware of the hidden danger that lurked. There were women sitting outside their houses on a hot summer's day, exchanging stories. There were men newly returned from the hunt, dragging carcasses behind them.

The man watching hesitated for the slightest second, and turned almost as if to go back into the forest. But there was no longer a forest. It was a dirt road, neatly made, stretching on for miles on end and leading towards the sun. He couldn't raise his eyes and stare at the ball of fire. Instead, he kept his eyes on his feet, and began to walk.

Then, slowly, the village behind him faded from sight. There was no one else. Only him.