Status: Progressing
The Melancholy Tales of the Pearl-Tears
Brunt of the Pain
The little boy with the dark brown hair and light green eyes the color of sea glass, whimpered. He cowered in his corner, his hand rapidly turning into black-colored talons; his fingers disappearing, his faint child-scars from the past turning into black-colored scratch marks. His pale skin whitened, it made him look unnatural. His beautiful sea glass eyes were being tainted with oil; they quickly turned black, overpowered by the curse. His dark brown locks shaped themselves into rough-edged feathers the color of the soil at its most fertile. His tears streaked gray pathways on his face, he was a monster.
His mother cried, begging to be with him, but his father pulled her back. His lips twitched, he picked up his crossbow and arrow – the very same one he taught his son how to use just months ago. But that was then, now this thing before him was not his son, it never would be again.
There was a sound like the earth splitting open, a reverberating voice boomed in the small cottage; ancient and malicious. The strange voice spoke, disembodied and filled with dripping cynicism.
“Archer,” it paused, a thoughtful silence ensued on its part “the curse holds deep and true. Your selfish wishes and prayers have been answered. You have cheated the pattern, but it has returned with aching vengeance. Your flesh will now be the bearer of tragic omens, destined to live life in solitude. My time has passed, and so will yours in the future, but his,” it paused yet again, waiting for an outburst, a cry, anything, but there were no interruptions so it continued, “his will be painfully endured till the end of time.” It ended, the sound of earth quaking returned then departed.
The man dropped his bow and arrow. The woman was crying in the background. The feathered-hair boy picked himself up, no longer cowering, no longer whimpering. The feathered-hair boy wasn’t the same anymore. He looked at his parents with a teasing smirk, one only a malicious little boy could muster.
“Father.” The boy snarled.
His mother gasped, he had inherited her green sea glass eyes. He shot her a look, but he softened towards her – she wasn’t the one who made him like this.
“Beau, please forgive me.” The man said half heartedly. Beau noticed he had inherited his brown-colored hair. He hated that man. The boy stepped forward, the man stayed where he was.
“Beau, please forgive me. It was a mistake, I beg of you.”
The curse was supposed to have transpired within the man on this day, the day of the new moon. But the man had prayed and wished ceaselessly beforehand. This curse struck his family tree for many generations. There was a strange pattern to it, as if by birth you knew you were going to be handed down this parting gift from the last unlucky keeper. For years now the man had known, he had known he was the next in line. So he began to incessantly pray or wish or call out to anyone who would listen to him. His selfish pleas were answered – but at a price. This aftereffect is what would haunt him until the day he died.
The man hadn’t noticed that the boy had picked up his bow and arrow. His tiny talon-hands expertly positioned the bow, aiming right at the man. “Never, father,” he looked at him steadily, “Never.”
His mother’s shrieks filled the air.
His mother cried, begging to be with him, but his father pulled her back. His lips twitched, he picked up his crossbow and arrow – the very same one he taught his son how to use just months ago. But that was then, now this thing before him was not his son, it never would be again.
There was a sound like the earth splitting open, a reverberating voice boomed in the small cottage; ancient and malicious. The strange voice spoke, disembodied and filled with dripping cynicism.
“Archer,” it paused, a thoughtful silence ensued on its part “the curse holds deep and true. Your selfish wishes and prayers have been answered. You have cheated the pattern, but it has returned with aching vengeance. Your flesh will now be the bearer of tragic omens, destined to live life in solitude. My time has passed, and so will yours in the future, but his,” it paused yet again, waiting for an outburst, a cry, anything, but there were no interruptions so it continued, “his will be painfully endured till the end of time.” It ended, the sound of earth quaking returned then departed.
The man dropped his bow and arrow. The woman was crying in the background. The feathered-hair boy picked himself up, no longer cowering, no longer whimpering. The feathered-hair boy wasn’t the same anymore. He looked at his parents with a teasing smirk, one only a malicious little boy could muster.
“Father.” The boy snarled.
His mother gasped, he had inherited her green sea glass eyes. He shot her a look, but he softened towards her – she wasn’t the one who made him like this.
“Beau, please forgive me.” The man said half heartedly. Beau noticed he had inherited his brown-colored hair. He hated that man. The boy stepped forward, the man stayed where he was.
“Beau, please forgive me. It was a mistake, I beg of you.”
The curse was supposed to have transpired within the man on this day, the day of the new moon. But the man had prayed and wished ceaselessly beforehand. This curse struck his family tree for many generations. There was a strange pattern to it, as if by birth you knew you were going to be handed down this parting gift from the last unlucky keeper. For years now the man had known, he had known he was the next in line. So he began to incessantly pray or wish or call out to anyone who would listen to him. His selfish pleas were answered – but at a price. This aftereffect is what would haunt him until the day he died.
The man hadn’t noticed that the boy had picked up his bow and arrow. His tiny talon-hands expertly positioned the bow, aiming right at the man. “Never, father,” he looked at him steadily, “Never.”
His mother’s shrieks filled the air.
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Oh my God, what am I doing? I really like this, I don't know, sue me. This was another excruciatingly painful chapter to write, by the way.A whole week, wow.