JaMiE P
2008-12-26, 14:19
The echo of a galloping stallion thundered through the dark, chilled night as a lone rider sliced through curtains of blackness, furthering on through an ever-twisting road into the haze of fog that enveloped all and left a cold, empty hand onto the shoulders of the innocent.
The rider's cloak was drenched from the icy rain and his eyes grew heavy from a long day's work - but even the foulest demons from the deepest pits of the abyss could stop him. A macabre presence lingered in the stark moonlight; this presence reflecting off his rapier, his pistol butt; an omen of fate shining through the tools of his trade - his implements of death. The young thief carried on into the night until finally, after what must have been hours, he arrived at the cobblestone road, the road to his love; his heart pounded, anxious to hold her, to share his love with the one spectacular, bright, shimmering star in a desperate, gloomy sky. He knew these doors in and out; this was not the first midnight he had battled against to meet with his love.
"Damn, locked.", he whispered as the shutters on the inn door rattled against his desperate hands. He softly spoke her name, again and again, each time ever so slightly louder, so only she could hear his call. A window opened and the rider was consumed by the perfection of beauty which only Bess held.
"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart; I'm after a prize tonight,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light.
Yet if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."
The purity and beauty of his words struck not only Bess' heart, but also the blackened soul of an eavesdropper waiting in the shadows - Tim the Ostler had loved Bess; his birdnest hair and ale-scarred face had turned her away. The jealous fool watched the two lovers share their love, spending each second of their deep passion boiling in fury. He was to be vindicated, and his revenge was now set in stone.
The warm scent of Bess' rose perfume melted the icy night and warmed the rider's soul; the caress of Bess' touch awoke him, and for one moment, he felt human; he felt loved. The rider saw the moonlight dimming; this was his sign to cast off, lest he risk his crimes being revealed for all to see. He kissed her hand once more to bid her farewell, and rode off into the foggy morn.
The morning chime of Bess' alarm awoke her; it was a winter's night, but a nervous sweat of unsurity had wrapped her pure, naked beauty like a suffocating, smothering force of night. Her determined heart pushed her from where she layed to the window, watching to see if her one true love had come for her; but alas, she stared out over an empty forest. The spectacular sunrise meant nothing to her frozen soul; not the greatest of the world's natural wonders could even bring a smile to her face without her beloved sharing such a precious moment with her.
Bess slowly continued on her daily chores - for even without love, the horses need feed, the fields need sowing and the baby needs milk; love's lie, a bastard baby boy whose true fatherhood was only known to Bess and the man who she had been traded to like livestock - after all, Bess' husband, his lordship Cunningham had only shared her bed once; Cunningham was always faced with more pressing issues than laying with a wife, even one who had just blossomed into her womanhood - for with nobility comes responsibility, but he could never admit to such, lest he face humiliation and loss of manhood from his peers. This night would be the night she would be set free, and this would be the night she would reveal a young child to the highwayman. This night, she would introduce father to son.
Noon had struck and all was still silent - no 'tlot tlot' of a horses hooves, no sounds of a one man army battling to elope with his love. She started wondering: would he ever come? Has he been struck down, has he robbed the wrong man? She threw the thoughts from her mind and cast them away - she needed him to come. She needed him to save her; her every breath lived for it. She continued on, living through the cold, empty day, until sunset came. A shudder of fear came over her; it was almost moonlight, and her love had still not come.
The fog of night consumed her, and she felt as if she could scream in terror – he said he would come by moonlight, and the moon's slow rise was nearly complete. A sudden jolt: smashed glass, gunshots, yelling! Had her lover come? Was she to be freed? Thoughts raced through her mind; her door smashed open; but her at the door wasn't her felt-cloaked lover, but three drunken soldiers, King George's men who had come to steal her beauty, and kill her love.
A numbing fist had knocked her face, yet she felt nothing; she could feel nothing, without her one bright star in the dull night sky. The three men swore curses at her, threw her to her bed, gagged her with a dirty cloth, and bound her to her place. She cried out, screaming for her love as the stinking redcoats befouled her beauty; they beat her, they stole loveless, rough, agonizing acts of carnality from her, and soon had finished their punishment which they wished onto her, with her baby seeing the whole disgusting scene and screaming louder than she had ever heard before, but their night of terrible evil had just begun. They pushed a musket onto her bosom, a dark, rusted, cold, steel instrument of pure hate; one grabbed her and gave her one last foul-tasting, ale-stained kiss – but no matter how hard they tried, Bess never gave in; she never let herself be truly overpowered; while her arms were weak, her love for the rider was stronger than ever. They sat, and waited; for they knew the highwayman would come soon.
When Bess realized that her love was as good as dead, she cried more violently than when the soldiers were pressed against her scratched, bruised and broken body. The sounds of hooves sent a cold sweat through her; She loved him; and she would do anything to save him. As the sound of the rider came closer, she grew more and more desperate. There was only one option. Her hands scratched and pulled at the knots. With each moment, the sound of the rider's determined journey to his love grew louder; her fingers bled to the bone as she scurried to free herself; finally, one finger reached it – at least the trigger was hers. She stood up – blood rushing through her veins as the wind rushes through the trees in a storm; cracks of lightning illuminating her shadow onto a dark, cold room; the musk of cruel, violent domination still stank through the air. She could not wait any longer, her lover would not turn back – her finger moved in the moonlight, her musket shattered the moonlight, shattered her breast in the moonlight, and warned him with her death.
A gunshot rang out through the dark forest. The rider peered through a clearing, and saw that there was death at one dark window; hell at one dark window – there was Bess at one dark window, limp and drenched in blood. Rage filled his eyes, his rapier brandished high. He sprinted his horse to that fateful inn door; slicing away at any poor bastard who was in his path; his love was gone, and all he could feel was hate against the evil souls who forced this fate upon her. As he rode towards the inn door, that old, fated, bleak inn door, just as he reached that old inn door, they shot him dead on that highway, dead like a dog on the highway, bleeding his rage on that highway; two young lovers met again on that highway, their love shared eternally with their deaths.
---
Please reply with any comments/constructive criticism you may have.
Peace :)
The rider's cloak was drenched from the icy rain and his eyes grew heavy from a long day's work - but even the foulest demons from the deepest pits of the abyss could stop him. A macabre presence lingered in the stark moonlight; this presence reflecting off his rapier, his pistol butt; an omen of fate shining through the tools of his trade - his implements of death. The young thief carried on into the night until finally, after what must have been hours, he arrived at the cobblestone road, the road to his love; his heart pounded, anxious to hold her, to share his love with the one spectacular, bright, shimmering star in a desperate, gloomy sky. He knew these doors in and out; this was not the first midnight he had battled against to meet with his love.
"Damn, locked.", he whispered as the shutters on the inn door rattled against his desperate hands. He softly spoke her name, again and again, each time ever so slightly louder, so only she could hear his call. A window opened and the rider was consumed by the perfection of beauty which only Bess held.
"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart; I'm after a prize tonight,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light.
Yet if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."
The purity and beauty of his words struck not only Bess' heart, but also the blackened soul of an eavesdropper waiting in the shadows - Tim the Ostler had loved Bess; his birdnest hair and ale-scarred face had turned her away. The jealous fool watched the two lovers share their love, spending each second of their deep passion boiling in fury. He was to be vindicated, and his revenge was now set in stone.
The warm scent of Bess' rose perfume melted the icy night and warmed the rider's soul; the caress of Bess' touch awoke him, and for one moment, he felt human; he felt loved. The rider saw the moonlight dimming; this was his sign to cast off, lest he risk his crimes being revealed for all to see. He kissed her hand once more to bid her farewell, and rode off into the foggy morn.
The morning chime of Bess' alarm awoke her; it was a winter's night, but a nervous sweat of unsurity had wrapped her pure, naked beauty like a suffocating, smothering force of night. Her determined heart pushed her from where she layed to the window, watching to see if her one true love had come for her; but alas, she stared out over an empty forest. The spectacular sunrise meant nothing to her frozen soul; not the greatest of the world's natural wonders could even bring a smile to her face without her beloved sharing such a precious moment with her.
Bess slowly continued on her daily chores - for even without love, the horses need feed, the fields need sowing and the baby needs milk; love's lie, a bastard baby boy whose true fatherhood was only known to Bess and the man who she had been traded to like livestock - after all, Bess' husband, his lordship Cunningham had only shared her bed once; Cunningham was always faced with more pressing issues than laying with a wife, even one who had just blossomed into her womanhood - for with nobility comes responsibility, but he could never admit to such, lest he face humiliation and loss of manhood from his peers. This night would be the night she would be set free, and this would be the night she would reveal a young child to the highwayman. This night, she would introduce father to son.
Noon had struck and all was still silent - no 'tlot tlot' of a horses hooves, no sounds of a one man army battling to elope with his love. She started wondering: would he ever come? Has he been struck down, has he robbed the wrong man? She threw the thoughts from her mind and cast them away - she needed him to come. She needed him to save her; her every breath lived for it. She continued on, living through the cold, empty day, until sunset came. A shudder of fear came over her; it was almost moonlight, and her love had still not come.
The fog of night consumed her, and she felt as if she could scream in terror – he said he would come by moonlight, and the moon's slow rise was nearly complete. A sudden jolt: smashed glass, gunshots, yelling! Had her lover come? Was she to be freed? Thoughts raced through her mind; her door smashed open; but her at the door wasn't her felt-cloaked lover, but three drunken soldiers, King George's men who had come to steal her beauty, and kill her love.
A numbing fist had knocked her face, yet she felt nothing; she could feel nothing, without her one bright star in the dull night sky. The three men swore curses at her, threw her to her bed, gagged her with a dirty cloth, and bound her to her place. She cried out, screaming for her love as the stinking redcoats befouled her beauty; they beat her, they stole loveless, rough, agonizing acts of carnality from her, and soon had finished their punishment which they wished onto her, with her baby seeing the whole disgusting scene and screaming louder than she had ever heard before, but their night of terrible evil had just begun. They pushed a musket onto her bosom, a dark, rusted, cold, steel instrument of pure hate; one grabbed her and gave her one last foul-tasting, ale-stained kiss – but no matter how hard they tried, Bess never gave in; she never let herself be truly overpowered; while her arms were weak, her love for the rider was stronger than ever. They sat, and waited; for they knew the highwayman would come soon.
When Bess realized that her love was as good as dead, she cried more violently than when the soldiers were pressed against her scratched, bruised and broken body. The sounds of hooves sent a cold sweat through her; She loved him; and she would do anything to save him. As the sound of the rider came closer, she grew more and more desperate. There was only one option. Her hands scratched and pulled at the knots. With each moment, the sound of the rider's determined journey to his love grew louder; her fingers bled to the bone as she scurried to free herself; finally, one finger reached it – at least the trigger was hers. She stood up – blood rushing through her veins as the wind rushes through the trees in a storm; cracks of lightning illuminating her shadow onto a dark, cold room; the musk of cruel, violent domination still stank through the air. She could not wait any longer, her lover would not turn back – her finger moved in the moonlight, her musket shattered the moonlight, shattered her breast in the moonlight, and warned him with her death.
A gunshot rang out through the dark forest. The rider peered through a clearing, and saw that there was death at one dark window; hell at one dark window – there was Bess at one dark window, limp and drenched in blood. Rage filled his eyes, his rapier brandished high. He sprinted his horse to that fateful inn door; slicing away at any poor bastard who was in his path; his love was gone, and all he could feel was hate against the evil souls who forced this fate upon her. As he rode towards the inn door, that old, fated, bleak inn door, just as he reached that old inn door, they shot him dead on that highway, dead like a dog on the highway, bleeding his rage on that highway; two young lovers met again on that highway, their love shared eternally with their deaths.
---
Please reply with any comments/constructive criticism you may have.
Peace :)