The cold wind blows through his hair and he shivers; bringing his coat closer to his wea body. He hasn't had anything to eat or drink in days, and knows he's going to die. He struggles to stand and falls instantly, rolling down the hill he was sitting on. His head hits the ground painfully; a deafening crack filling the air. Then all is still.
"What...the heck...is this?" my brother snarled, dropping my story in front of me.
"Wh-what!!" I whined. "Don't you like it!?"
"That's a shitty start! Why start a story off with you killing the main character!?" he snapped.
"Hey; it's better than you!" I shouted; pointing at his book which was tucked neatly under his arm.
"Pfft...you just don't understand genius." my brother said matter-of-factly.
"You write dirty stories!! All about how 'the noble knight thrust his mighty sword into the shivering princess!' That's filth!"
"Hey; you're too young to read my stories!" he cried; face going red.
I scoffed, grabbing my story in my arms. I tried not to show him I was crying and he sighed.
"Erick...I'm sorry-"
"No! No!! Just-shut up, Corey!"
I tore away from him and ran into my room; closing the door and crying heavily. I slid down my door and held my story close to my chest. As the sobs shook through my body, I could feel a hand on my shoulder. I looked up to see the very character I had created kneeling in front of me.
"Why are you crying?" he asked softly.
"Yo-you're...not re-real...!" I choked.
"Does it not look like I'm real?"
His golden hair flowed from his head as his blue eyes stared into mine. He touched my face gently and wiped away my tears.
"How does the rest of the story go? I know I live, so how does it happen?"
I grabbed a pen and blank paper; writing again.
The boy is found by a young woman, who takes him in her arms and cradles him.
"Just a child..." she says softly as she dries the blood from his head. "...barely seen sixteen winters..."
The young boy's eyes flutter open. The place is warm and he sits up with a jolt; confused and scared.
"Where am I!!?" he shouts angrily.
"It's alright, my child...you are safe...tell me; how does a child like yourself become homeless?" the woman asked as she approached him, handing him warm soup.
"I was...told...there was no reason for me to exist...Mom only loved my older brother..." he says in a strange voice, knowning he can trust the woman.
"I see...and is it true?"
"I don't know...I rarely ever saw my mother..." he admits, then took a small sip of the soup.
It was a warm chicken medley, and it filled his heart with joy. As he began to actually indulge in the soup, he was filled with a loving sense of belonging.
"What's your name, child?" she asks, touching the scar on his head.
"My name is Evan. And yours?" he asks politely, still enjoying the soup.
"I am Evaliene. The last child of Morganna."
"Morganna!!? The witch!!?" he screams; the soup clattering to the floor.
He was filled with such a sick feeling that he laid back down.
"Yes...my mother has been accused of witch craft...but we are not witches. We are healers. When I found you, Master Evan; you had cracked your head very badly. That was five days ago. There is naught but a scratch left." she says sweetly.
He decides to believe her and closes his eyes, drifting off to a comfortable slumber.
"I see...saved by a wican..." Evan said as he stared over my shoulder.
"Must you stand behind me!!?" I cried.
"Erick; who are you talking to!" Corey shouted.
"No one; never mind!"
Evan looked at me.
"Why aren't you still writing?" he asked gently.
"Because I'm tired. I'll continue the story tomorrow, okay? I need sleep."
Evan nodded and I laid down on the bed. He tucked me in and kissed my forehead.
"Rest well, Erick. Tomorrow we'll work on the story line."