by Galdors

Created on: October 24, 2008

Prologue

Lightning flashed and the rain came down, but still they worked on. All through the night if need be. He hated this life; he hated being punished for crimes so petty any normal person would never have bothered following it up. Once again the lightning flashed, lighting up his white, mud stained shirt and pants stamped with the unmistakable black arrow, showing him for what he truly was. A commoner condemned to a life of work. A convict.

Yet again he lifted a heavy, awkward sandstone block and yet again he placed it down so that it fit perfectly next to the one before it. He, along with about a hundred other convicts had the muscle-straining task of building a bridge over what seemed like such a pointlessly small dip in between two sides of a mountain. They were supposed to have it finished within the month, however at the rate they were going it seemed like it was going to be a matter of years, not months before they were finished.

A whip cracked in the distance, signaling that some poor man had fallen behind the speed that a certain guard desired. Once again it cracked and he heard a man cry out in pain. He could hear other men murmuring angrily. The whip cracked once more and he could hear the old man pleading the guard to stop it. A different man shouted at the guard to leave the poor man alone and many more angry shouts followed.

He couldn't just stand there any longer. He threw down a sandstone block and ran over to where an old man was lying on his back with a line a blood trickling down his forehead. The man was cowering in front of a guard who held a whip high, ready to strike again.

He threw a punch that made the guard double over, however the guard quickly recovered and shoved him backwards. The guard was angry at having been humiliated in front of the convicts. He saw no sense anymore. He raised the whip his knuckles white with the force and struck down on the old man. Once, twice, three times. The guard stood there, gasping and looking down at the old, broken man that lay before his feet. Silence hung in the air until the man that threw the punch charged, yelling, at the guard. His hands met the guard's chest. He pushed, strengthened by his anger. The guard was taken by surprise. He was pushed back, his foot slipping on the wet surface. His arms flailed in the air as he hit the edge of the bridge and kept on falling. Down, down into the darkness of the night.

Lightning flashed, lighting up the grave faces of the surrounding convicts, the broken old man and a scene to which no one there ever wished to return.

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