Any writers? Share your work... Songs, Poem, Shorts - anything.
I'll start off... (Keep in mind I am only 14
)
Blue on Grey
Was my birthplace my home? Was it my passion with an axe, my zeal? Those questions entered my mind. Was it right? Would it be loyal to human life - to kill?
The boat rocked slowly, timber oars dipping into the dank cool water. Fog set on the wet, and sails curled with the wind. I sat down on the wooden stool, beating the wretched ocean with my oar. When Captain’s faithful eye was gone, I stopped paddling. I swiftly reached for the sack underneath my stool and picked out my axe. I wanted to feel its evil, steely fear.
The axe was covered in blood, the paint of all evil. Duke William’s ship was now parallel to us; the would-be king sat firmly on a perversely decorated throne, standing high. William was a ravenous man, O, how I feared the sureness of his mission!So many times, when I entered the court of Normandy, I’d find William off hunting deer. William’s ship and the rest soon frizzled into the drizzly fog.
“That man over there, I am watching!” said the Captain. Yet again I picked my oars, ready to paddle the twenty-one freezing miles over the Channel. What did it mean to be a Frank? Why was I fighting with the neighbour, Normandy? That question remained unanswered, but it was the reason I was disowned from my village, Bac.
They expelled me. Claudé De Mande was now a traitor, seasoned and cursed in treason. My family kicked me out of my home. My lover discarded me and walked away; oh how I pined for that Alda, my one real love that I’ll ever have. All my problems started from one faithful deal - to help a woman to find her own true love. Matilda, William’s wife, lingered for another man and another life.
Matilda had hired me prior to the affair, cloaked in a deceptive veil of unworthy love. She pleaded for a new life, as she looked up to my solemn and understanding face. Her short stature was heavy and weary, her expressions vague and quite often pained.
I had to help her. I saw much of my own Alda in her beautiful nature. Yet, when she told me who she was, I felt a stain of guilty pleasure in my heart.
Of course, it was only right to fall in love with Matilda, and she bore me a child, much to Williams’ laconic but occasionally intense angst. After much love and adoration towards Matilda, I soon found myself in a rather vile case.
When I returned to my humble home months later, I was attacked by immoral rumors and rich accusations. Alda was gone; she was now well betrothed to the town’s drunk. I was the Queen’s culpable lover, and sitting beside me on this dingy boat was the love child.
Before my child’s birth, I met with Matilda and arranged an agreement. Under the moonlight credence, I watched as she comforted her large belly. Duke William was to be told the baby was his own. And, finally on that faithful spring night, some thirteen years ago, Alain De Mande was born. I was to take the child, and William was to believe it was his own son.
To ensure my safety and that of my son and of my own life, I became a Norman soldier. I took the given name Richard Demande, my son, Alain. With fear and hope, I built a humble dwelling deep in the darkest shades of a forest green.
And, so after many faithful years of modest hermitage, I received the very news which would situate me and my adolescent son on this ship.
The wind blew lightly on the decorated sail; the sewn image of a deer pranced lifelike in the wind. We had been on this wretched ship for at least ten agonizing days. It was in these past days in which I had seen numerous friends and colleagues rot to insanity.
As I rowed tirelessly, a felt an innocent tap on my shoulder,
“Father, when will we arrive in England?” asked Alain.
“When the crow calls, my son, our journey will end but a war will start” I told him.
The boat moved on in the cold, wicked silence. When the crow would call, we would land and fight. But then I pondered, could the crow that I had envisioned be shot at with a poison arrow? Could the boat have rowed the wrong way?
I had an eerie feeling of sombre fear, the night sky was rolling into inevitable and unwelcome light. Hours of rowing and waiting were nothing now, due to the fact that Captain Hugo had been drunk ever since we first set foot on this boat. I recognized the fear in other men, and that of Alain. The prospect of mutiny was rising, as captain Hugo walked about the boat, in his hand a flask of warm, brutal wine. Immediately I stopped rowing, the Captain’s eyes fixated right on mine.
“Richard De Mande! What is the meaning of this!” slurred Captain Hugo.
“It is the fact that under your spell, we are forced to row into the salvations of a nightmare!” I said, looking right into his eyes.
The crew knew there was a fight brewing.
“How do you expect to get to England without me?” said Captain Hugo.
“By stopping you, you sad, moronic dog!” The cheers of the crew went wild, but whilst I was soaking up the cheers from my victorious sermon, Captain Hugo unsheathed his prized sword. I looked upon Alain’s starving face, deprived of nurture and sick from need. The look of weak innocence was not just present on the young Alain’s face, but the rest of the miserable crew.
“Put down your sword Hugo!” I bravely said.
The whole crew faced Hugo, each member donning their own sword, swords which would never touch true battle.
“Hugo, we will rid this ship of evil and pray to God we end up safe” I stammered. “We will never make it home anyway, whether we find England or not”.
The crew cheered with my gravely true address. Hugo gave up; he had lost the only battle we soldiers would ever, thankfully, come across. My words were a symbol of hope, a hope for land. The crew watched as Hugo settled into the back of the ship, silent like the night sky. That night all the crew slept in prosperity and question, hoping that someday they would set foot on land.
In the early hours of the morning, when the stars were reverting back from the fringes of darkness, Alain sighted land. A mass of green stood neutral on the horizon. Our prayers had been answered; the deed of ridding the ship of evil had been fulfilled. We had come across a new land, unbeknownst to Normans or English alike.
And as I looked at the forthcoming land, I did not see a crow, but a white dove, calling for us. Then it made me think, was my birthplace my home? Was it my passion with an axe, my zeal?
No.
The end