A Foreign Savior: War On Two Fronts

My life, hell, that's it, not a life, a personal hell. My friends abandon me, like an unwanted dog, in the cold and wet, as I'm more intelligent, is that my fault? Is it? I only have one person that is nice enough to be even called a friend. Now, before you can learn my predicament, you need to know who I am. My name is Francis Sharpe, and my life is almost a poltergeist of torment. I go to my high school, Southeast Senior High, everyday with a mostly upbeat attitude and a determined mindset, but because of all the abuse I’m forced to endure, from students and teachers alike, I come home, a bullied and tormented shell of my former self. But I said almost a living hell, remember?

Luckily, I’m not without a light at the end of this seemingly endless tunnel. The only friend, Joseph Connor, in my little hellish world poses as my flickering light, that will hopefully guide me through demons and hate with jokes and attempted laughter. As luck falls upon me, these attempted smiles and giggles never perpetrate the cold steel of sadness and neglect. Joseph's laughter is like a wood plank to the sword of my sorrow. The armor of sadness, which is clamped to my soul and latched to my skin, never weakens and, sometimes, grows stronger. It doesn't break nor does it loosen. It is a choke point of my happiness.

My only outlet of the containment of anger is warfare. Games and books. the Total War series of games, for example, is one of the only things I have left to cling onto in this unforgiving and hopeless world, with slippery fingers and aching arms. So here we are in the present day,agony and misery still hangs in the putrid air I breath, I’m walking home right now, after an average day of torment. I get in the door, lock it behind me, put my books down, and proceed to go up to my room. I walk up to my room and shut the door behind me, even though the putrid stench of misery still follows me, I walk to my desk and sit down, beginning to play Shogun 2: Total War. I search for someone to do battle with and, as usual, it takes what seems like forever. ‘’Just freakin’ typical’’ I mutter, finally, some guy with the username ‘totalmaster109’ gets on the other end, and we start the battle without much waiting nor hesitation.                                                                                                                                                      I start the battle with 6 units of Matchlock Ashigaru, which I rely heavily upon, 4 units of Matchlock Samurai, since the peasant Ashigaru tend to route, and 7 units of Yari Samurai. Since I'm defending, i put my men into lines, the Ashigaru in the first, 2 units of Matchlock Samurai on either side to support them, and The Yari behind them to act as a wall, incredibly effective in defence and nearly immortal against cavalry. I put them into a group and have them advance in formation, eventually running into totalmaster in a forest ambush, but luckily I manage to turn my formation in time, and soon his best bows and cavalry are mowed down by my Matchlock gunners and started running like heathens from a preacher from my advance as I massacre the rest of his army. master congratulates me on my win and he leaves soon after.

I soon went to bed, as it was 10:30, and quickly succumbed to sleep. As I slept, I dreamt of only darkness, but not of torment nor hatred but a plea. A cry for help. The voice in the dim of the dream spoke 'send us a savior that does not fear death, life, sin, evil , powers, things present, neither for them to fear things to come. But has heart to save and protect the innocent' then it cut off, destroyed, like radio static. It shuddered me, the amour of sorrow loosened due to the confusion of the dreamt voice and it’s origin. Even at school, while being taunted by threats and insults, the words of the plea echoed through my mind. Who was it? Who was this savior? Why did I dream about it? The prayer's echoes have stopped, the insults being sprouted into my earshot. I cannot take it much longer

. But long is too much. I span on my heels, and extended my arm. My fist connected. Pain shot through my arm and down my torso. But I think he felt a bit more. Wait...Oh dear god. There, lying on the floor, was one of my former friends, Travis Hawking , his hair scattered across the cement. Blood was on my fist. No, it can't be! The sounds around me halted to a stand still, but a plague of whispers and hidden voices swept the crowd that had formed. No, this isn’t me. I don’t do this! I must run! I must hide!  So, I ran. It was the only thing, I could do. Move fast and hope, not hope ,pray, they don't follow along. Buildings sped past, the floor made a constant whacking sound under my feet. The world became a blur. A flurry of twists and turns.

Thoughts flew past as fast as the buildings. Then, the refuge. Home. I unlocked the door and locked it behind me. I looked down at my red fists. ‘’I’d better wash this off’’ I mutter to myself, trying to be confident, but terrified with himself, noticing my shaking hands, spraying the red water across the ground, as I tried desperately to wash the blood off my hands, but trying harder to scrub the scrapes of self hatred and fear of my souls. After I got the the blood off of my hands, well physically, the blood still lay there , wet, in my soul; my soul didn’t wash, the self hate and fear didn’t even move. I opened the door from the bathroom, the handle is sticky from years of swept and cheap soap, I ran down the stairs, the creaky noise squeaked all the way up. My Dad has a collection of antique firearms, so that’s where I went, I kicked down the door and frantically looked around the room, my dad’s collection was huge, but most of them didn’t work, or my mum had broke for the ‘safety’ of the house. Deciding on a concealable gun that could fire non-lethal BB’s as well as real bullets, I decided to take the Colt M1860, a beautiful revolver that dad had hidden away from the destruction of health and safety, and a large blade, almost big enough to gut a pig.As I left the room, I looked back, I had forget the ammo, ‘’Dammit’’ I cursed as I went back and looked for the BB's, well, at least the BB's were easy to find, I needed to search thoroughly to find the actual paper cartridges, once I found them, I went back into the hall and shut the door. The hallway was toxic green colorful, I will be happy if I see it again.

I went across the landing and opened our door, the old thing was rusted from age, as I opened the door, and as it made it’s scheduled creak, I saw one of the biggest mobs in my life I have ever seen, all classmates from my school , mates is a bit of an over extraction, some armed with sticks, others stones, all angry, and all glaring. Their uniforms, they had always stunk, but I was never this afraid to smell their stench, and through his massive crowd of armed school children, who should I see? But Travis, Travis Hawking, his bloodied face still looked a mess, but he wasn’t armed with a few branches or pebbles, no, he was armed with a club, a bat. My eyes froze time as the bat thumped against his hands, bruising them, then time made a run back.I slammed the door, hard as I could and ran through the landing and across the kitchen, I stood on the sink, and was wriggling my way through the back window, as I heard the sound of bashing fists against my door, then silence, I paused, hoping I could slip back into my house and be left alone, but then, a large ,wood against wood thwack rang out, the damn bat. The old girl wouldn’t be able against that.

I quickly barreled through the window, and landed on my feet on the lush grass of my back yard, but as I ran on, I heard a scream of breaking wood erupt from the window. It was time to run; like hell.The pain in my legs was held back by adrenaline of the moment, but moments pass quickly, and my legs were shot, but  I kept running over garden fences, I hopped over the old garden fence at the back, overgrown by ivy and weeds, it creaked under my own weight, I landed in another garden, more patchy than ours, and less lush, overgrown, the house has been abandoned for ages, great route. Crack. My head cracked at the noise, the fence showed a scar, and then another. They knew I was here, I could hear their bones creaking at the swings. I did what I did before; ran like hell.

Through the deserted home, the back door was weak, and split easily but splintered, a large one struck me in the knee; but I pressed one, the old house was cleared of furniture, but it was small, so in no time at all, I burst through the front door. As soon as it splintered, voices rang through the walls. They don’t stop. I ran on, my leg was bleeding a red path, as breadcrumbs, but I pressed on.  I ran through the street, then I heard a scattering of feet and a shouting of voices. I turned, the mob looked more terrifying than early, they seemed more bloodthirsty and crazed, but Travis wasn’t in the middle, he was at the front. His bat wasn’t just a wooden club, a nail was placed through the center, he was planning to stab me. One thing I had: Firearms. I raised the gun, and; boom! I was looking away, but I heard a scream, and shouts. That was all I needed. I started to ran again, to restart the breadcrumbs, and I ran through the streets; and there was Joseph's house, like a shining beacon. I knocked on the door and it swung open, strange. No one left their doors unlocked, unless they forgot. But as it was my only saviour, I walked in. I shut the door behind me. I didn’t bother to look or listen to see what was going on outside. As if I did, I would probably be caught.

“Joseph! You there?” My voice rang about the house, bouncing off of deaf walls. No response, he must have fallen asleep, he was always lazy, he could sleep through a party. I walked up his stairs, the walls were decorated with achievements and certificates. No photos. How much stuff can one person do?

“Joseph! Come on” I walked onto the landing, it smelt like it always did, wet dog and gas stations, but, for once, the smell was welcoming. I walked through his room, and the thing I saw struck horror into my heart...

A blue ring filled the floor, it was twirling around like a tornado, but it remanded still. It was like a vacuum, pulling things in,  a baseball bat was thrown like a javelin through the water of this thing. I pulled my head away as a splinter of wood was thrown back and cut through the layer of wall like paper, the only thing visible about the wood was a little tip at the end. I tried to pull it out, but it was stuck fast, nothing could pull that thing out. It was dragging everything into it, his comics, his laptop, then, out of the blue, I heard a click and a clank on the wall behind me, I turned around to see bolts launching of his ancient radiator, then a ear piercing screech of metal stabbed into my ears, I held my hands over my eyes, as, if I moved them, I would go deaf. But the screech of metal stopped, and I pulled my hands away from my ears, they were ringing like alarm clocks. Then, the radiator span off the wall, smashed me in the shins, then the face, and pulled me in with it; as I clutched, helplessly on the lone pipe; scorching my hand. I was thrown in with it, into an abyss.

The ring felt like space, time slowed, and you were almost floating. The radiator had been torn away, but I got one chance to give it the finger for burning my hand; that was exactly what I did; gave a lump of metal the finger. I was alone, no one else was in this weird place as I was. I was stuck, in a blue ring for what was probably the rest of my days. But then a place flashed up in the blue darkness, it was a palace, a river ran around it, clear gushing water; it was clean enough it be a liquid mirror. A waterfall to the other side, water bouncing off the rocks and splashing onto the green grasses around it. The palace itself was massive, gold and purple, with large towers. A forest lay, dense, right in front. Any king or queen of the dark ages would fight over it for centuries, until themselves and their armies were dust; it was truly a magnificent palace. The image began to fade away, as soon as it had came. I swiped at it, but it was like shooting a ghost, It just shrugged it off and continued to fade. Then I was alone again in this place, blue as the bottom of the ocean; then, darkness began to seep through; until the place was a basement; cold and dark.

I landed with a thud, and a shock in my nose. My face is fine, but my goddamn nose?!  I thought to myself as I stood up. I was in a wood, dark green vines and twine was everywhere, dark brown trees. It was night, full moon. Where am I? It was day when I went to Joseph. Where in the hell am I? I heard music, it wasn’t your average music that you would hear on the radio, this was cultural; it had an strange theme to it, like a ancient feel. As my only beacon of civilization, I followed it. I walked through the trees, in hope I was going the right way. As hope would help me, I was. The music got louder and louder. It wasn’t electronic, it was being played; on drums? Not your rock drums, your skin drums. It quickened my pace, as I remember it was night, and in a wood, no matter where in the world you are, you don’t what you be in a wood after dark. I quickened my pace even further, then again, then again; until I was sprinting. I ran, duck and jumped over branches, stones and rocks. Green vines becoming blurs, and trees becoming mere obstacles. I stopped, I had found the source of the drums; a hut? Well, beggars can’t be choosers. I walked around the hut, the door was crooked and small. It was like a porthole, but the crookedness was attempted to be covered by a shade of green paint, it had dried wrong, it must have been raining. But, anyway, I knocked.

“Hello, anyone in there?” as I spoke, fear had a slight clutch at my voice

“Yes, somepony is ‘there’, please don’t stare” She spoke with a stereotypical African accent, Why was she rhyming? Did she say ‘pony’?

“Can, I come in or what?” Fear had let go, only for a breather, but had let anxiousness grappled me instead.

“You can come in, but do not sin” She didn’t seem that worried that a complete stranger is about it work into her house, for no exact reason. Maybe, I’m in a good part of town.