Experimenting

I love to write, and occasionally, I experiment with what I can do with the written word. This story has been rejected many times and I have had conflicting feedback. Some say that it is too Beowulf; others, that it is a poem and not a short story. I thought I would make this story public and see what you thought! Feel free to let me know in my guestbook.

Don't Be Afraid of the Dark

1,175 words - Speculative Fiction

“It isn’t so, it isn’t so, they’re lies

But I cannot prove them be

Else I would so, yet condemned am I?”

“And shall ever be, dear Esther,

As the moon shines

My witness be

The stars, the heavens, they call out liar.”

“Liar! I cheat you not, say,

You cannot know my days,

Nor my moments past!

You feel not my heart nor soul

As it breathes not love of another,

Should they at all exist!

Yet, you feel unjust by rumours:

But it is I that stand here, before you

As a rumour not, and innocent of blame.”

“Shall foul play not be called against you?

If not so, then I shall whisper

To all your man-friends,

That Esther, the lying heathen,

Shall strip of you what pride is owned,

Known and unknown,

And shall strike your heart dead, dead, dead

In its last mortal beat as your lover!”

“How you bore me so, my lost effulgence;

Your presence now teases me not.

If your trust for me has turned to contempt,

Then a biased jury convicts me so.

I summoned you for affairs that be,

To feel the texture of your soul and lips,

Yet you despise me?”

“I cannot love one whose affairs are that of others;

Of men abound except me.

Old fashioned I may be so,

Still, my count of trust in you is nil

As I now cite your countenance,

You disgust me.”

A tearing slap, fingers with nails

Struck my cheek, the flesh opens

To reveal to the heavens a liquid soul;

Blood running free and warm,

So dark, so dark, it pains me so.

I call out, “Esther. I fear this pain!

No matter our difference, I beg your help,”

But that help never came.

My lantern fell, darkness awoke,

Surrounding my skin as a blanket of gloom,

Crowding my head as a wet leather mask,

Tightening as if the sun did beat,

Spits of anger welling inside,

“Esther! I appeal, please guide my hand!”

Yet it was not so.

The moon disappeared through magic

As her anger frothed and boiled

And the grass beneath my feet pained me

As I cannot regard a solitary blade.

T’was dark as blackness on the forest edge,

As black as ever was, as ever I remembered it be

Since the sun was hidden,

Where light itself existed not

Like goodness swallowed by evil,

This night blackness consumed me:

More than love itself. More than hate.

I call, “Guard!” and call, “Esther,”

Yet none came to my aid,

So reprimand I shall to my full extent

As I cower in the open tightness of the midnight hour

Where our human desires live

In the strong weaknesses of our minds,

Where we fear to think

And I try to think not,

Lest I scare myself to an early grave,

But no,

Not for the lesser sakes of a woman.

My hands outstretched,

I feel my path

Where nothing but closed darkness is felt:

A single tree not crossed my touch,

Nor a leaf does my eye see;

No fragrant aroma of roses indulge me,

As I wonder where my feet stand on this earth.

“I beg your guidance!” I scream, I cry.

Salty tears stinging my wound, noble I am not,

Nor does pride salute my distress:

I fear my subjects may revel in this hysteria;

This cruel dictation being without knowledge.

Maybe as I stand now unforgiven; forsaken,

My Lord bleeds his tears over me;

His own tears, through His pain

That I caused in others sufferings,

Seeking their penance, breathing souls into their fears,

Slaughtering their hopes in the name of gold

And the glory of England and her Queen.

“Where do you stand!” command I Generally,

“I seek not your love, Esther,

But deliverance I ask; for my own comfort,

To equip me with mere safety,

An entitlement I have verily earned!”

And still the night renders me sightless.

How my heart strikes so harshly,

Consider I shall in view of the unholy unknown,

Where I now stand like a lamb.

And I pray for deliverance from eaters of flesh,

Monsters and creatures that prey at night,

Elves and ghosts and goblins

And of all those who crucify sanity under the moon,

I speak not to them but about them,

Still I pray for deliverance.

Maybe so, earned this I have not –

Not in the name of Christ but of England,

And the blood on my hands in Her name pains me so.

Yet blind am I on this most unholy of nights,

And I know not when the moon shall again blink beyond my night-blindness.

Shall the sun arise from its slumber

To rise from the oceans and ride across the sky;

To lead me to my kingdom, be it the truth?

Or shall I perish to-night at the invisible hands of the forest creatures,

Whom I cannot smell nor touch,

Nor see nor hear not taste the air they breathe

What quarry I shall make to those who read my thoughts,

As the slayer of my lineage shall they be.

Both hands outstretched, I walk,

Determined to avoid my neglected destiny,

Cruel as it treats me now,

And my faith subsides in Christ

As I mortify myself with thoughts

As I hear the Beast calling my name,

My soul screams at him so.

I hear then the steps of others,

Might be those of equine,

Trumpets ablaze with fire

As my knights approach in proximity of their prince,

I whisper her name, “Esther?”

For a maid is she, our love forbidden,

Moreso than the public display of my naked face,

Now gouged by talons of my paramour

Whom I shall tomorrow have guillotined,

Ensuring I forever may proclaim my alliance to God

Through my virginity and devotion to my people.

I see not their torches upon their approach.

How can one be so blind in this darkest of nights?

So horrendous my position be

What if unknown enemies prepondered my existence in this now?

I succumb to the ground and lay still and unaware.

Dead I am not; not to-night.

Awake I do through servants close,

Trusted and known by voice.

I see not their face as night still sits, yet I hear:

“Shall he not see again?”

Then, “His eyes have been torn from his face. He shall not see again.”

And I knew why t’was all dark.

T’was my eyes! Those that remained slashed by talons

And under my feet, as if bound to my sole,

Crushed under my foot as I wandered for my destiny,

For that is what I could not see nor feel.

All else held no importance as they beheld my immolation.

And I saw Esther nevermore. I guillotined her not,

As I knew not her face amidst the voices.

Yet despite the fortune of having my life,

I shall now make haste to snuff it as if it were my eyes.

History shall forget me eternally.

Forever in peace,

Caspian,

In the month of October of the year 1483