Show Me the way
Prologue
Sin. Deadly sin. Confined forever. Some type of burning Hell grabbing hold of my soul and taking life on a turn for the worst. Nothing has ever worked out. Not as a toddler. Not as a teenager. Not as an adult. Never. Trapped in a world of hatred and never ending war, progress is at a standstill. Roaming alone, with nobody to care for. Enough of this life! It is changing now. No more regret and failure filling the past. Everything goes up from here. If not, then it looks like death.
This was all a mistake. None of this should have ever happened. More pain, more suffering with the birth of a child. With the birth of me. My mother died after giving birth to me. While my father left with no sign of ever retuning. No brother or sister to care about me. No relatives of any sort to take this newborn into their lives. Nobody would take me. From birth I have been fending for myself. I was put in the forest inside the knot of a tree with nothing but the blanket I was born into. How did I survive?
Miracles.
On day one I was silent. No crying, nothing. I had no sense of smell sight or anything as of yet that would be helpful. All I could do was stay in the knot of the tree. Wildlife came and went but never bothered with me. I drank the rain, and suckled on the harmless vine on the tree. Nothing could save me from death in this situation. I did mention miracles earlier. Somehow, without leaving that tree, I thrived.
I lived. I grew. I learned. I raised myself from nothing. Nobody ever knew I existed besides that doctor. They never did, and they never will. I won’t let them.
The first four years of my life were dull. Nothing much happened. Just wandering about. Here and then there. And I finally figured out what was next. I had to find my father. On the June 5th of that year I set out. I just turned five. I held my head high and dragged my scrawny self along. I picked up small amounts of vocabulary. Here and there I would be close to the trail and hear travelers conversing. I taught myself to speak and learned from the, hopefully, literate.
Wandering from town to town had near to no success; although I did begin to speak more fluently. My sentences became longer and I seemed to convey my message quicker and easier to others. When I asked about my father, I was ashamed to not be able to give a description. All I could really hope for is that he looked something like me, because that’s what I was telling people. Nobody really seemed to care enough to take me in. I did however have a couple people teach me to speak better to help me along on my journey.
Some gave me small amounts of silver and sometimes even gold to buy some food. I would attempt to tell them that I could hunt my own food. They called me foolish and forced the money upon me. One thing about me is I absolutely hate borrowing from people. Especially money, unless I earned it in some way. I still remained nameless.
This is beginning to get tedious. I’m about to give up. There’s no hope. I don’t have a name to go by. No picture to identify. No face to search for. And no lead as to where to go. Small talk in small towns spoke of a war that was bound to happen. I paid no attention to this garbage. Nothing good happens to me. I have no home. No future. No promise.
Talk of the war steadily increased. And after some time I was actually beginning to believe that it was actually true. That there really was some evil force out there that felt strong enough to go against everyone else. I still didn’t know very much at this age now. When I nearly gave up the first time I was seven years old.
No shelter. No hygiene. No guidance. No map. Nothing. So close to what? Nothing. I’m not going anywhere with this. That’s it. I’m done.
Somewhere inside I found the motivation that maybe I could change everything. Prove to myself that I wasn’t a mistake. And that I was here for a reason. Someone out there is waiting for me to prove myself.
I have nothing to prove. I’m worthless. There’s nothing to prove. I’m always going to be a mistake. I was never meant to happen. Only an accident.
My own personal morale was getting lower, around this time I was twelve years old. Nearly everyone talked of the war now. People began carrying concealed daggers with them wherever they went. I had fashioned several out of wood. Some others I used the teeth and bones of my food to have a sturdy, heavy-type weapon. I was afraid of turning each corner.
This is it. This is the end. Nowhere else to go. I have gone over this half of the continent numerous times now. My father is dead. I’m dead.
What I had learned was that there was now two halves of the continent. One half was to all of the fair kingdoms. None had any quarrel with one another. Not anymore. Those had all been settled in the past. Somehow though, a new kingdom sprouted up and slowly took over half of the continent. It went unnoticed for the longest time because that land had mostly been forests. All the forests had been cut down and replaced with towns, villages, and eventually there was a castle.
A kingdom to be. And it was still growing. There was no stopping it. The army was growing. No way out. Trapped.
At the age of fifteen, I had become strong. I could read and write and no longer needed to live in the forest. I could afford to buy weapons instead of fashioning them out of wood and animal remains. I always kept one of my handmade daggers though. It wasn’t exactly a good luck charm or anything. It was just powerful and lightweight. I also bought a bow, quiver, and arrows. For long range takeouts.
Venturing into the second half of the continent was unspeakable. Many had tried and very few returned. The few who returned were either nearly dead or recruiting. They were calling it the “New Era”. I hated the sound of it. I had a gut feeling that something much worse was going to come out of this than one ruler of everyone. I couldn’t take it anymore.
One wrong step. One false move. One misplaced stab. One missed arrow. One sound missed. If I mess up out here, I’m dead.
Three days into my venture and there was no going back. I was so far into the other half of the continent I would have no clue where to go to get back. The only way to go was forward. Right now, all I can say is.
Thank goodness I kept that dagger.
This was all a mistake. None of this should have ever happened. More pain, more suffering with the birth of a child. With the birth of me. My mother died after giving birth to me. While my father left with no sign of ever retuning. No brother or sister to care about me. No relatives of any sort to take this newborn into their lives. Nobody would take me. From birth I have been fending for myself. I was put in the forest inside the knot of a tree with nothing but the blanket I was born into. How did I survive?
Miracles.
On day one I was silent. No crying, nothing. I had no sense of smell sight or anything as of yet that would be helpful. All I could do was stay in the knot of the tree. Wildlife came and went but never bothered with me. I drank the rain, and suckled on the harmless vine on the tree. Nothing could save me from death in this situation. I did mention miracles earlier. Somehow, without leaving that tree, I thrived.
I lived. I grew. I learned. I raised myself from nothing. Nobody ever knew I existed besides that doctor. They never did, and they never will. I won’t let them.
The first four years of my life were dull. Nothing much happened. Just wandering about. Here and then there. And I finally figured out what was next. I had to find my father. On the June 5th of that year I set out. I just turned five. I held my head high and dragged my scrawny self along. I picked up small amounts of vocabulary. Here and there I would be close to the trail and hear travelers conversing. I taught myself to speak and learned from the, hopefully, literate.
Wandering from town to town had near to no success; although I did begin to speak more fluently. My sentences became longer and I seemed to convey my message quicker and easier to others. When I asked about my father, I was ashamed to not be able to give a description. All I could really hope for is that he looked something like me, because that’s what I was telling people. Nobody really seemed to care enough to take me in. I did however have a couple people teach me to speak better to help me along on my journey.
Some gave me small amounts of silver and sometimes even gold to buy some food. I would attempt to tell them that I could hunt my own food. They called me foolish and forced the money upon me. One thing about me is I absolutely hate borrowing from people. Especially money, unless I earned it in some way. I still remained nameless.
This is beginning to get tedious. I’m about to give up. There’s no hope. I don’t have a name to go by. No picture to identify. No face to search for. And no lead as to where to go. Small talk in small towns spoke of a war that was bound to happen. I paid no attention to this garbage. Nothing good happens to me. I have no home. No future. No promise.
Talk of the war steadily increased. And after some time I was actually beginning to believe that it was actually true. That there really was some evil force out there that felt strong enough to go against everyone else. I still didn’t know very much at this age now. When I nearly gave up the first time I was seven years old.
No shelter. No hygiene. No guidance. No map. Nothing. So close to what? Nothing. I’m not going anywhere with this. That’s it. I’m done.
Somewhere inside I found the motivation that maybe I could change everything. Prove to myself that I wasn’t a mistake. And that I was here for a reason. Someone out there is waiting for me to prove myself.
I have nothing to prove. I’m worthless. There’s nothing to prove. I’m always going to be a mistake. I was never meant to happen. Only an accident.
My own personal morale was getting lower, around this time I was twelve years old. Nearly everyone talked of the war now. People began carrying concealed daggers with them wherever they went. I had fashioned several out of wood. Some others I used the teeth and bones of my food to have a sturdy, heavy-type weapon. I was afraid of turning each corner.
This is it. This is the end. Nowhere else to go. I have gone over this half of the continent numerous times now. My father is dead. I’m dead.
What I had learned was that there was now two halves of the continent. One half was to all of the fair kingdoms. None had any quarrel with one another. Not anymore. Those had all been settled in the past. Somehow though, a new kingdom sprouted up and slowly took over half of the continent. It went unnoticed for the longest time because that land had mostly been forests. All the forests had been cut down and replaced with towns, villages, and eventually there was a castle.
A kingdom to be. And it was still growing. There was no stopping it. The army was growing. No way out. Trapped.
At the age of fifteen, I had become strong. I could read and write and no longer needed to live in the forest. I could afford to buy weapons instead of fashioning them out of wood and animal remains. I always kept one of my handmade daggers though. It wasn’t exactly a good luck charm or anything. It was just powerful and lightweight. I also bought a bow, quiver, and arrows. For long range takeouts.
Venturing into the second half of the continent was unspeakable. Many had tried and very few returned. The few who returned were either nearly dead or recruiting. They were calling it the “New Era”. I hated the sound of it. I had a gut feeling that something much worse was going to come out of this than one ruler of everyone. I couldn’t take it anymore.
One wrong step. One false move. One misplaced stab. One missed arrow. One sound missed. If I mess up out here, I’m dead.
Three days into my venture and there was no going back. I was so far into the other half of the continent I would have no clue where to go to get back. The only way to go was forward. Right now, all I can say is.
Thank goodness I kept that dagger.