TheN3rdyOutcast
September 21st, 2014, 10:01 AM
For a school assignment, we were supposed to write a story including a tragic hero. I gave myself a setting, a couple of characters and some basic cahracteristics of the two and built an entire world around them, which, when put into MLA format turned out to be about 13 pages long. Tell me what you think. Also, what would be a good title for it.
WARNING: GIANT WALL OF TEXT INCOMING
The year is 3215. After a very explosive and destructive war that took place in the mid to late 23rd century, the Earth was left barren and rocky with a particularly large crater where modern–day Europe used to be. Over ninety-nine percent of the human race was wiped out as a result, and small tribes of around 100 continued to exist in areas least affected by the global changes. After 800 years or so, ecological succession took over and the crater became inhabited by many various plant species leaving the area lush and green. This is where our story begins.
Marck Veritas found himself sticking tight to his normal morning routine, like every morning his stumbled to his feet and shuffled into the main room of the house that he and Roscoe shared. “Speaking of Roscoe…” Marck looked over to see his roommate and best friend sticking to his normal routine as well, preparing the various meats that the butcher had delivered to him two days prior. “Morning, Marck”, Roscoe called out as Marck walked out the door of the cabin and into the forest. Just the morning prior, he took the same worn dirt path through the forest that he had been taking for decades and found himself in the same spot. Standing tall at 6’4, he sat on a tree stump of a tree that he had felled earlier and opened his tool box that he had left nestled in the grass. After searching through the tool box for a solid 5 minutes of so, he slipped on his gloves and slipped his trusty pocket knife into one of his belt loops. Marck then placed his toolbox back into the spot in the grass where it was carefully nestled and walked a bit further into the woods where he had left his titanium axe wedged into the earth by its blade. Eager to resume yesterday’s work, he plucked the axe from its position and swung it at a large oak tree with an ear-splitting “thwack!”
“Hey, Marck” Roscoe greeted as the tired giant walked into the cabin once again, “…long day?” Still out of breath from swinging an eight and a half pound axe all day, Marck simply nodded and sat down in a wooden chair over by the unlit fireplace. “You know…” Roscoe began to mention, “You’ve been saying that you’ve been meaning to tell me something for about a year now…some kind of story, or something like that…maybe it’s time you tell me?” Marck shrugged, slumped back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap…
On a cold, winter night, a young Mark Veritas is looking out over the royal garden from the balcony of his castle. He knew what he wanted to do, and what he needed to do if he ever wanted to be happy in life, but he also knew that once he made the decision, there was no going back. He had calculated the angle of trajectory from his balcony to the garden pond dozens of times, before, but now it was time to take action. He backed away from the railing to take one final look at the life of luxury that he was leaving behind. The only things he possessed were a red handkerchief around his arm, a pocket knife, and a paper bag with a few days’ worth of bread and cheese. Finally, he dashed towards the railing, leapt over it and landed with a loud splash in the pond below. The water was freezing…and he could feel tiny fish nibbling at his skin, but, Marck was determined, he swam ashore and ran from the castle gates, only to collapse from exhaustion a few hundred yards away, under a large tree. “Where do I go now?” the 12 year old Marck though, freezing cold and panicked. He remembered of hearing from some of the commoners, of a wise old lumberjack who lived deep in the forest, and lived the simple life that he so desperately wanted to lead himself. With that, Marck picked himself up off the ground and dashed in to the woods never to return to the castle again…
Marck awoke, to a strange yet familiar smell filling the air, he felt dizzy, and failed to get up the first two or three attempts, until, he heard Roscoe, yelling at the top of his lungs: “MARCK!!!” he felt the immense wave of heat coming from the back of the house, and then he came to a horrific realization. The house, the one that he had lived in for 20 years, was now burning. He rushed to gather a few of his personal items, the red handkerchief, a jar of coins that he kept on his nightstand, and a flask, and rushed out of the house to see that, not just the beloved little log cabin was burning down. Someone had torched the whole forest. Determined to get to his keepsakes, before they were lost forever, Marck dashed past his startled housemate and called to him. “Go to the town! I’ll meet you there!” Roscoe, knowing that Marck was never one to speak a word too much immediately turned and headed for the town.
As Marck ran deeper and deeper into the burning wood, he began to regret even coming to retrieve his toolbox and axe. Behind him, in the distance, he could see the smoke from his burning cabin. Low and behold, there in the grass where he left it was his toolbox. He hastefully picked it up, and plucked his axe from the ground a few yards away. But, before he had a chance to scramble out of the way, the tree that he had been working on felling earlier came crashing down, kicking up a whirlwind of fire, ashes, and soot, into the air. Marck could slowly feel himself blacking out of the situation, and acting solely on his survival skills.
Marck ventured towards the large fire, this was where the commoners told him the lumberjack had lived, and even if he was ill informed, he could smell, something he hadn’t had in weeks: meat. Perhaps, whoever was roasting the meat would be generous enough to trade for the cheese and bread rations he had brought. After trudging through the woods for another few thousand yards, Marck finally came across a clearing. “This must be the wise old woodcutter” Marck thought “he fits the description perfectly”. Just like the commoners had described, the man was fairly tall, and sported a fair amount of grey hair. Not really caring what happened to him anymore, Marck approached the man, as he poked at the roasting meat. “Hello, sir.” Marck greeted “I hate to bother you, but I perhaps you would trade some of your meat for this bag of bread and cheese”. The woodcutter looked down at him sympathetically, and took the bag. The bread had gone stale and hard and the cheese had donned a sickening amount of white and grey mold. Disgusted, yet concerned he closed the bag and set it on the ground. “Nonsense” the woodcutter replied, “I have far more meat than I know what to do with, and I don’t mind sharing none”. The woodcutter took a generous slice of the roasting carcass for himself, then gave a slightly more generous portion to Marck, who eyed it hungrily. The woodcutter seemed to have a million questions for Marck, “What’s your name?” “Where are your parents?” “What is a young, scrawny little guy like you doing in the woods all by himself?” all of which Marck answered politely. Finally, the woodcutter offered, “I would feel awful if I let a young person like you go off into these woods at night by himself, perhaps you could stay with me for the night, I have an extra blanket…” Marck immediately took the woodcutter up on his offer, and true to his word, stayed with him all night.
Marck came dashing out of the woods faster than he had ever run before. Even with all of the possessions that he had picked up, he managed to get to town long before the fire did, and only received a few small burns and scratches. When he finally shook off the previous incident, he noticed something peculiar: all of the various townspeople were gone. Marck hadn’t been to town in a year or so, but even he knew that on any regular day, one could see many people walking to the marketplace, the artisans’ plaza or even just conversing in the streets, while horse and mule drawn carts made their way up and down the dirt paths, now, the whole town, as far as he could see, was silent and desolate. Except for the marketplace. Marck made a beeline for the marketplace, and, as he got closer, he could hear the familiar buzz of chatter from the commoners. Once he reached the crowd, a booming voice, managed to make himself heard over everyone. “SILENCE PEASANTS!!!” the voice yelled. Fearful for their lives, the crowd obeyed. “It has come to my attention,” the disembodied voice began to declare “that many of the citizens of our fair kingdom have been committing acts of treason. These…IMMORAL individuals have been trading, buying goods, from and with our neighboring rival kingdoms. How are we, as a kingdom, supposed to survive, if we are simply giving away of money and goods, to our rivals.” Marck could hear a disgusted uproar coming from the crowd, and suddenly, he got an awful feeling in his stomach that made him want to vomit on the spot. “From now on” the voice continued… “In order to prevent such traitorous acts, all citizens of my kingdom are to stay out of the woods at all times. Furthermore…” Marck finally managed to climb up on top of a hut to get a good view of who was giving the decree. What he saw shocked him. Standing up on a pedestal was a man who looked very similar to himself, same stony grey eyes, same light brown hair with going grey at the tips, same curly facial hair and straight head hair. It was almost as if… “…brother…” Mark thought to himself, in pure shock. He hadn’t seen any of his blood relatives in over 20 years, and here was his brother, king. “…these are the traitorous scum that have been helping our rivals to defeat us” the king announced, gesturing over to two knights who had 5 commoners wearing ratty clothing bounds by their hands and chained together by their feet. Marck, glanced at the prisoners, he had no idea who for of them were, but the fifth, looked extremely familiar. “Roscoe?!”
Marck had hung around the wise old woodcutter for some time now, and had been unofficially adopted as his noble apprentice, which meant learning how to wield an axe, make firewood, and many other things that Marck had only dreamed of doing back when he was locked in the castle shielded from the outside world. Now, for the first time in a month, he returned to the town with the woodcutter. Suddenly, the old man, who he had learned to be Travis stopped dead in his tracks. “…for the acts of kidnapping the prince and attempted murder of the royal family, we put to death this lowdown scum.” Marck recognized the man talking to be his father, the king. “Aren’t I the prince?” he questioned himself. “I haven’t been kidnapped.” Before he could manage to settle all of the questions racing through his mind. Marck looked up again, and saw, bound at the hands and forcefully escorted by guards, a woman in raggedy clothing with a very apologetic look. “What are they going to do to her?” Marck asked innocently as he watched the guards walk the woman up to a wooden stool and slip a thick loop of rope around her neck. Travis the woodcutter was silent, he looked down at Marck sympathetically and hurried him out of the town square just as the guards kicked the wooden stool out from under the woman’s feet, leaving here gasping and struggling for breath.
Later that evening, despite Travis’ instructions not to return to the town square for a few days, Marck trotted into the plaza to see what had become of the woman that he had seen earlier that day. There before him, to his horror, she hung, dead. Her skin a clammy and pale blue, she had become stiff. Her eyes had bugged out and her body swayed in the gentle breeze. Traumatized, Marck turned and ran into the woods.
Marck huddled into a dark corner, up against a small cottage near the edge of town. His cabin, his best friend, his simple life, all dashed upon the rocks. His cabin that he had lived in for 20 years was now surely nothing more than a pile of ashes upon the ground, his life as a woodcutter had literally gone up in flames, as the forest had been torched, to become nothing more than a heap of charcoal, and soon his loyal companion would hang before the town square for all to see, just like the woman he had seen so many years ago. Marck took his pocket knife from his tool box and made a few quick stabbing motions at the ground. “I can’t believe this…”he thought. As he lay silent in the corner for a while he began to think. “None of this is my fault…” he stood, and looked at his dirty reflection in a puddle of wastewater. “I did nothing to cause this” he swung his axe in pure anger, and lopped in half a nearby fence post by accident. In a fit of rage, Marck spotted a rat scurrying along the corridor, took his pocket knife, and killed it with a single stab. “I’ll show them…” he pouted.
Marck sat on a tree stump, waiting for Travis to come back from the market place, but to his ultimate surprise preceding his woodcutting teacher, was a dog. Not just any dog, but a hound. It was a large hound. “Do you like him?” Travis asked. “He’ll really help us with hunting…” Marck took delight in the fact that the large dog walked up to him and let out a loud woof, as if to say “Hello, friend!”
Later that evening, Marck, walked into the woods with his axe that had been given to him as a present from the woodcutter to chop down a tree on his own. Travis has showed him how, multiple times on his own, and he finally felt he was ready. Just before he could make the first swing, the dog let out a loud woof, and, startled, Marck dropped the axe on his foot, blade down. As his blood spilled out of the newly opened gash in his foot, his blood began to boil, “Get out of here you STUPID DOG!!!” Marck screamed. The loud noise only seemed to make the dog more curious, and as a result he sniffed Marck’s open gash, causing an immense amount of pain. In a fit of rage, Marck raised his axe above his head, and brought it down between the dog’s shoulder blades, killing it in a single blow. Once he had a chance to calm down, he wrapped his foot in the red handkerchief that he had brought from the castle, and looked down at the stiff, bloody corpse of the now dead dog. “Stupid dog…” he thought to himself as he walked back to tell Travis that the dog had run away.
“Hey, buddy…” a feminine voice said. Marck awoke groggily to see a woman standing over him, looking down empathetically. “I heard you last night, you seemed upset. Care to share why?” Marck gave the strange woman a confused look, but he thought to himself, “Maybe she means to help…” Marck began to give a simple synopsis of everything that had happened since the previous day, but soon, he found himself giving an entire oral autobiography. Surprisingly, even selfishly wasting hours of the woman’s time the woman stuck around and listened attentively, until the part about his best friend, Roscoe. “...he’s my best friend, and closest companion, and he’s about to be hanged, I couldn’t bear to see that happen…” Marck droned on. He knew he was tearing up a little, but he didn’t care. That was, until the woman snickered and put her arm around Marck’s broad shoulders. “I think you have a crush on your friend”. At that, Marck stopped dead in his tracks, his face turning as red as a radish. He had lived with Roscoe for more than a decade, and Marck had only ever thought of Roscoe as his friend and roommate, never as a romantic interest, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized it was true. “Nothing to be ashamed about” the woman said, but we need to do something about this. “So I can save my beloved from the gallows” Marck offered. The woman shook her head. “Not just that…” With that, the woman began to explain everything that had happened while Marck was living his simple, carefree life in the woods.
Travis looked down at his apprentice. Marck had grown a significant amount since he had wandered up to the wise old woodcutter a year ago. With the rugged job of lumberjacking, he was growing up tall and strong. This was the hardest thing Travis would ever have to tell his young friend, but it was for his own good. “Marck,” Travis said reluctantly. “This may be hard for you to hear, but I forbid you to go into town. Marck looked up at his master, puzzled. “Why?” Travis sighed, and glanced over towards the town. “It’s just not very safe right now.” Marck looked over towards the town as well, and, through the trees, he could see the glow of roaring fires throughout the town. “I promise, I won’t go back to the town” he said.
Marck walked along the dirt paths with the woman, who had introduced herself as Sasha. The day was half gone, and he had learned that over the time that he hadn’t been coming to town. The kingdom had quickly plunged into chaos. The king had gone mad with power, and began imprisoning and executing innocent citizens left and right for the most minor offenses. “You can stop this…” Sasha encouraged. “Are you not the king’s brother?” Marck realized what he was getting himself into, but he had to do it, for Roscoe, for his simple life as a woodcutter, and most importantly for the kingdom.
The next morning, Marck took his belongings and stored them in a safe spot in the edge of the woods, and spent what little money he had on a clean-ish set of clothes. Freshly clothed, and semi-confident, he strolled up to the castle steps. Even though he was a blood relative of royalty, Marck knew that he wouldn’t be let in willingly. He waited for the guards to go out on patrol of the castle, and crept in through the back door, without a trace. It had been almost 30 years since he had been in the castle last, and the hallways and corridors he passed through all seemed to taunt him. “You shouldn’t be here, you scum…” Before long, he recognized the voice that he had heard in the marketplace two days prior. He seemed to be…talking to himself. Marck managed to follow the voice, until he came across a room with an enormously tall set of double doors. “This must be the place…”he thought. Crouching by the door, he managed to muster up all of his courage, and with a single fluid motion, he kicked in the door and entered. The king whirled around to face Marck. “How dare a simple commoner bust into my chamber in such a barbaric manner?” the king boomed. Marck felt his face heat up, being called a barbaric commoner. “I’m not a commoner” he argued. “I’m your brother.” The king went into a laughing fit as he looked at Mark. “A big ugly brute like you couldn’t possibly be related to me in any way” Mark took a few steps closer and balled his fists. The man in front of him, only stood a meek 5’3, which paled in comparison to Marck’s towering stature. “Back off peasant,” he warned “before I have the guards escort you away.” Marck tried his absolute best to remain calm. “I just wanted to talk to you about a certain innocent prisoner that you are about to execute.” He explained. “Red hair, 4 inches shorter than me, works with meat”. The king laughed again. “Oh you mean That Roscoe person? We hung him down in the dungeon so his body would be eaten by the RATS!!!” Marck could feel his blood boiling as the king cackled in front of him. He had executed his best friend without a care! “YOU HEARTLESS BASTARD!!!” Marck roared at the top of his lungs. Acting on pure rage, he pulled a wine bottle from its spot on an elegantly designed table. “DIE YOU SON OF A DOG!” Marck brought the bottle down over the cackling royal’s head, making him fall unconscious and spraying small shards of glass and red wine everywhere. Marck then pulled his pocket knife from the belt loop in his pants and right below the king’s jaw, plunged his knife into the fleshy tube of his throat and pulled it down, slitting open his chest. “Marck?! What the hell are you doing?” Marck heard a very familiar voice say. He whipped around, to see Roscoe, still in the raggedy clothes from earlier. Marck greeted his friend with a bear hug, nearly squeezing the life out of him by accident. “I thought they had hanged you.” Marck said tearing up again. It wasn’t long before he realized what he had done. The king, his brother, ;ay dead on the floor, fresh blood still oozing from the 2 foot long wound Marck had created through his throat and chest. “I went too far…” he whispered. His eyes had gone completely blank, and all he could think about was how much he regretted his decision. Before he could even make a move the guards walked into the room, and bund the two with their arms behind their backs. Marck was speechless.
It was a warm summer night when a 17 year old Marck sat in the front room, finishing up a whittling project with his pocket knife and a chunk of wood from the last tree he had chopped down. At first, he had no idea what it was, he had been absent mindedly working on the trinket for multiple hours. It looked surprisingly like a whistle. Marck blew into the wooden chunk to find that his suspicions were correct. The trinket produced a delicate tone that Marck seemed to love. Out of nowhere, the guards from the castle burst into the cabin, kicking the door down. They carelessly pushed Marck from his chair and ran by him, to the room where Travis, the wise old woodcutter was napping. “No!” Marck yelled, but to avoid evoking the anger of the guards, he behind the door and watched as the guards, bound Travis’ hands behind his back and marched him out of the cabin and towards the town. “…But I didn’t do ANYTHING?!” were the last chilling words that he heard from his master, and friend. Marck never saw Travis again.
Marck sat against the back wall of the dungeon and began carving into his own arm with his pocket knife. “This is all my fault” he thought miserably “Now we’ll certainly both be hanged”. Marck looked back at Roscoe, who shot him back a hopeful, yet slightly angry look. The cell was silent, and Marck could feel his throat closing up with pressure. “I want you to know that this is all my fault” Marck admitted. “All of it”. The room for silent for another minute. “I can live with that” Roscoe shot back. “No you can’t,” Marck whispered under his breath, “They’ll have us strung up dead by next week.” Roscoe sighed, he couldn’t stay mad at his friend, especially with how little time they had. “What made you snap?” Marck began to blush, but took comfort that the room was dark enough that Roscoe couldn’t see him if he tried. “He said he had hanged you in your cell and fed you to the rats, I wouldn’t wish a fate like that upon my worst enemy…” Roscoe searched for his friend in the darkness, hoping for a hint of where he was. “So it was all to avenge me?” Marck blushed even harder. “Yes…” The cell was completely silent again. And, feeling his way through the darkness, Roscoe managed to find one of Marck’s legs and worked his way up. “You know” Marck admitted “I always saw you as a little more than a friend” Roscoe finally found Marck’s torso, and gave his worried friend a pat on the back. “I knew all along” he said, staring Marck in the face. They could barely see each other in the dim light. “…and I feel the same way.”
The fateful morning finally came and after days alone in the dungeon the two looked horribly unkempt. By sunrise, the guards marched the two hopeful prisoners into the town square, and waited for the commoners to arrive. “This is it” Marck whispered to Roscoe. “Any final words?” Roscoe somehow managed to smile. “Marck Veritas, it has been a pleasure accompanying you in life, and will be an honor accompanying you in death. Mark looked down at his friend as they were both placed up on their wooden stools, and the nooses slipped around their necks. “That was the most beautiful thing I ever heard” Marck thought. As the guards announced their transgressions, Marck thought to himself. “Please. Don’t let me die like this. Universe I beg of you…” Before the thought was finished, the stools were kicked out from under them, and they both began struggling wildly for breath. “Goodbye cruel world, goodbye Roscoe, goodbye Earth, goodbye-”. To Marck’s ultimate surprise, his struggling was too much for the rope. It snapped right in two, leaving him with a rope collar that fell to his feet within seconds. Acting quickly, he snatched the swords of one of the guards and sliced Roscoe’s noose as well, setting him free. “Run!” Marck yelled. Faster than he had ever run before, even when escaping the burning woods, Marck ran for his life down the dirt path, with Roscoe trailing behind only by a few seconds. It wasn’t long before the duo spotted a horse drawn cart. With 10 guards at least in hot pursuit, Marck and Roscoe climbed into the cart and drove into the ashes of what was now the forest. “Their gaining on us!” Marck yelled to Roscoe who was the driver. Suddenly, the cart came to an abrupt stop, leaving the two both flying forward. In front of the cart was the blaze of the still burning forest. Even from 200 yards away, both men could feel the intense heat. Marck looked behind the cart to see that the guards were quickly gaining on them, shouting and cursing as they got increasingly closer. “Is this our fate?” Roscoe questioned. Both of them knew the answer. Marck looked down at his friend, and willing to let himself enjoy the last few moments with his beloved, he put his and on top of Roscoe’s squeezing it. “Aw…what the hell” he thought. Marck held his friend’s face and kissed him, right there in front of the blazing forest fire. “It’s been a pleasure” Roscoe whispered to Marck, and with nothing more, Roscoe drove the cart, horses and all, straight into the blaze. Never to be seen again.
The guards arrived moments later, to see that their executionees had escaped them. They could hear the yells of agonizing pain, and the smell of death in the air. “They are no more” one of the guards toward the front of the pack stated solemnly. The whole troop turned and headed for the town to spread the news.
With the fall of the tyrannical king, the people began to rile themselves up to revolution. And soon, a democratic government replaced the monarchy that they were forced to live under. Over the next year, many citizens came to pay their respects to the two brave revolutionaries who overthrew the king, and rescued the people for monarchy. The fire blazed on. Everyone recognized the two as heroes, nobles, revolutionaries, freethinkers. But the truth was they were just two ordinary guys.
WARNING: GIANT WALL OF TEXT INCOMING
The year is 3215. After a very explosive and destructive war that took place in the mid to late 23rd century, the Earth was left barren and rocky with a particularly large crater where modern–day Europe used to be. Over ninety-nine percent of the human race was wiped out as a result, and small tribes of around 100 continued to exist in areas least affected by the global changes. After 800 years or so, ecological succession took over and the crater became inhabited by many various plant species leaving the area lush and green. This is where our story begins.
Marck Veritas found himself sticking tight to his normal morning routine, like every morning his stumbled to his feet and shuffled into the main room of the house that he and Roscoe shared. “Speaking of Roscoe…” Marck looked over to see his roommate and best friend sticking to his normal routine as well, preparing the various meats that the butcher had delivered to him two days prior. “Morning, Marck”, Roscoe called out as Marck walked out the door of the cabin and into the forest. Just the morning prior, he took the same worn dirt path through the forest that he had been taking for decades and found himself in the same spot. Standing tall at 6’4, he sat on a tree stump of a tree that he had felled earlier and opened his tool box that he had left nestled in the grass. After searching through the tool box for a solid 5 minutes of so, he slipped on his gloves and slipped his trusty pocket knife into one of his belt loops. Marck then placed his toolbox back into the spot in the grass where it was carefully nestled and walked a bit further into the woods where he had left his titanium axe wedged into the earth by its blade. Eager to resume yesterday’s work, he plucked the axe from its position and swung it at a large oak tree with an ear-splitting “thwack!”
“Hey, Marck” Roscoe greeted as the tired giant walked into the cabin once again, “…long day?” Still out of breath from swinging an eight and a half pound axe all day, Marck simply nodded and sat down in a wooden chair over by the unlit fireplace. “You know…” Roscoe began to mention, “You’ve been saying that you’ve been meaning to tell me something for about a year now…some kind of story, or something like that…maybe it’s time you tell me?” Marck shrugged, slumped back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap…
On a cold, winter night, a young Mark Veritas is looking out over the royal garden from the balcony of his castle. He knew what he wanted to do, and what he needed to do if he ever wanted to be happy in life, but he also knew that once he made the decision, there was no going back. He had calculated the angle of trajectory from his balcony to the garden pond dozens of times, before, but now it was time to take action. He backed away from the railing to take one final look at the life of luxury that he was leaving behind. The only things he possessed were a red handkerchief around his arm, a pocket knife, and a paper bag with a few days’ worth of bread and cheese. Finally, he dashed towards the railing, leapt over it and landed with a loud splash in the pond below. The water was freezing…and he could feel tiny fish nibbling at his skin, but, Marck was determined, he swam ashore and ran from the castle gates, only to collapse from exhaustion a few hundred yards away, under a large tree. “Where do I go now?” the 12 year old Marck though, freezing cold and panicked. He remembered of hearing from some of the commoners, of a wise old lumberjack who lived deep in the forest, and lived the simple life that he so desperately wanted to lead himself. With that, Marck picked himself up off the ground and dashed in to the woods never to return to the castle again…
Marck awoke, to a strange yet familiar smell filling the air, he felt dizzy, and failed to get up the first two or three attempts, until, he heard Roscoe, yelling at the top of his lungs: “MARCK!!!” he felt the immense wave of heat coming from the back of the house, and then he came to a horrific realization. The house, the one that he had lived in for 20 years, was now burning. He rushed to gather a few of his personal items, the red handkerchief, a jar of coins that he kept on his nightstand, and a flask, and rushed out of the house to see that, not just the beloved little log cabin was burning down. Someone had torched the whole forest. Determined to get to his keepsakes, before they were lost forever, Marck dashed past his startled housemate and called to him. “Go to the town! I’ll meet you there!” Roscoe, knowing that Marck was never one to speak a word too much immediately turned and headed for the town.
As Marck ran deeper and deeper into the burning wood, he began to regret even coming to retrieve his toolbox and axe. Behind him, in the distance, he could see the smoke from his burning cabin. Low and behold, there in the grass where he left it was his toolbox. He hastefully picked it up, and plucked his axe from the ground a few yards away. But, before he had a chance to scramble out of the way, the tree that he had been working on felling earlier came crashing down, kicking up a whirlwind of fire, ashes, and soot, into the air. Marck could slowly feel himself blacking out of the situation, and acting solely on his survival skills.
Marck ventured towards the large fire, this was where the commoners told him the lumberjack had lived, and even if he was ill informed, he could smell, something he hadn’t had in weeks: meat. Perhaps, whoever was roasting the meat would be generous enough to trade for the cheese and bread rations he had brought. After trudging through the woods for another few thousand yards, Marck finally came across a clearing. “This must be the wise old woodcutter” Marck thought “he fits the description perfectly”. Just like the commoners had described, the man was fairly tall, and sported a fair amount of grey hair. Not really caring what happened to him anymore, Marck approached the man, as he poked at the roasting meat. “Hello, sir.” Marck greeted “I hate to bother you, but I perhaps you would trade some of your meat for this bag of bread and cheese”. The woodcutter looked down at him sympathetically, and took the bag. The bread had gone stale and hard and the cheese had donned a sickening amount of white and grey mold. Disgusted, yet concerned he closed the bag and set it on the ground. “Nonsense” the woodcutter replied, “I have far more meat than I know what to do with, and I don’t mind sharing none”. The woodcutter took a generous slice of the roasting carcass for himself, then gave a slightly more generous portion to Marck, who eyed it hungrily. The woodcutter seemed to have a million questions for Marck, “What’s your name?” “Where are your parents?” “What is a young, scrawny little guy like you doing in the woods all by himself?” all of which Marck answered politely. Finally, the woodcutter offered, “I would feel awful if I let a young person like you go off into these woods at night by himself, perhaps you could stay with me for the night, I have an extra blanket…” Marck immediately took the woodcutter up on his offer, and true to his word, stayed with him all night.
Marck came dashing out of the woods faster than he had ever run before. Even with all of the possessions that he had picked up, he managed to get to town long before the fire did, and only received a few small burns and scratches. When he finally shook off the previous incident, he noticed something peculiar: all of the various townspeople were gone. Marck hadn’t been to town in a year or so, but even he knew that on any regular day, one could see many people walking to the marketplace, the artisans’ plaza or even just conversing in the streets, while horse and mule drawn carts made their way up and down the dirt paths, now, the whole town, as far as he could see, was silent and desolate. Except for the marketplace. Marck made a beeline for the marketplace, and, as he got closer, he could hear the familiar buzz of chatter from the commoners. Once he reached the crowd, a booming voice, managed to make himself heard over everyone. “SILENCE PEASANTS!!!” the voice yelled. Fearful for their lives, the crowd obeyed. “It has come to my attention,” the disembodied voice began to declare “that many of the citizens of our fair kingdom have been committing acts of treason. These…IMMORAL individuals have been trading, buying goods, from and with our neighboring rival kingdoms. How are we, as a kingdom, supposed to survive, if we are simply giving away of money and goods, to our rivals.” Marck could hear a disgusted uproar coming from the crowd, and suddenly, he got an awful feeling in his stomach that made him want to vomit on the spot. “From now on” the voice continued… “In order to prevent such traitorous acts, all citizens of my kingdom are to stay out of the woods at all times. Furthermore…” Marck finally managed to climb up on top of a hut to get a good view of who was giving the decree. What he saw shocked him. Standing up on a pedestal was a man who looked very similar to himself, same stony grey eyes, same light brown hair with going grey at the tips, same curly facial hair and straight head hair. It was almost as if… “…brother…” Mark thought to himself, in pure shock. He hadn’t seen any of his blood relatives in over 20 years, and here was his brother, king. “…these are the traitorous scum that have been helping our rivals to defeat us” the king announced, gesturing over to two knights who had 5 commoners wearing ratty clothing bounds by their hands and chained together by their feet. Marck, glanced at the prisoners, he had no idea who for of them were, but the fifth, looked extremely familiar. “Roscoe?!”
Marck had hung around the wise old woodcutter for some time now, and had been unofficially adopted as his noble apprentice, which meant learning how to wield an axe, make firewood, and many other things that Marck had only dreamed of doing back when he was locked in the castle shielded from the outside world. Now, for the first time in a month, he returned to the town with the woodcutter. Suddenly, the old man, who he had learned to be Travis stopped dead in his tracks. “…for the acts of kidnapping the prince and attempted murder of the royal family, we put to death this lowdown scum.” Marck recognized the man talking to be his father, the king. “Aren’t I the prince?” he questioned himself. “I haven’t been kidnapped.” Before he could manage to settle all of the questions racing through his mind. Marck looked up again, and saw, bound at the hands and forcefully escorted by guards, a woman in raggedy clothing with a very apologetic look. “What are they going to do to her?” Marck asked innocently as he watched the guards walk the woman up to a wooden stool and slip a thick loop of rope around her neck. Travis the woodcutter was silent, he looked down at Marck sympathetically and hurried him out of the town square just as the guards kicked the wooden stool out from under the woman’s feet, leaving here gasping and struggling for breath.
Later that evening, despite Travis’ instructions not to return to the town square for a few days, Marck trotted into the plaza to see what had become of the woman that he had seen earlier that day. There before him, to his horror, she hung, dead. Her skin a clammy and pale blue, she had become stiff. Her eyes had bugged out and her body swayed in the gentle breeze. Traumatized, Marck turned and ran into the woods.
Marck huddled into a dark corner, up against a small cottage near the edge of town. His cabin, his best friend, his simple life, all dashed upon the rocks. His cabin that he had lived in for 20 years was now surely nothing more than a pile of ashes upon the ground, his life as a woodcutter had literally gone up in flames, as the forest had been torched, to become nothing more than a heap of charcoal, and soon his loyal companion would hang before the town square for all to see, just like the woman he had seen so many years ago. Marck took his pocket knife from his tool box and made a few quick stabbing motions at the ground. “I can’t believe this…”he thought. As he lay silent in the corner for a while he began to think. “None of this is my fault…” he stood, and looked at his dirty reflection in a puddle of wastewater. “I did nothing to cause this” he swung his axe in pure anger, and lopped in half a nearby fence post by accident. In a fit of rage, Marck spotted a rat scurrying along the corridor, took his pocket knife, and killed it with a single stab. “I’ll show them…” he pouted.
Marck sat on a tree stump, waiting for Travis to come back from the market place, but to his ultimate surprise preceding his woodcutting teacher, was a dog. Not just any dog, but a hound. It was a large hound. “Do you like him?” Travis asked. “He’ll really help us with hunting…” Marck took delight in the fact that the large dog walked up to him and let out a loud woof, as if to say “Hello, friend!”
Later that evening, Marck, walked into the woods with his axe that had been given to him as a present from the woodcutter to chop down a tree on his own. Travis has showed him how, multiple times on his own, and he finally felt he was ready. Just before he could make the first swing, the dog let out a loud woof, and, startled, Marck dropped the axe on his foot, blade down. As his blood spilled out of the newly opened gash in his foot, his blood began to boil, “Get out of here you STUPID DOG!!!” Marck screamed. The loud noise only seemed to make the dog more curious, and as a result he sniffed Marck’s open gash, causing an immense amount of pain. In a fit of rage, Marck raised his axe above his head, and brought it down between the dog’s shoulder blades, killing it in a single blow. Once he had a chance to calm down, he wrapped his foot in the red handkerchief that he had brought from the castle, and looked down at the stiff, bloody corpse of the now dead dog. “Stupid dog…” he thought to himself as he walked back to tell Travis that the dog had run away.
“Hey, buddy…” a feminine voice said. Marck awoke groggily to see a woman standing over him, looking down empathetically. “I heard you last night, you seemed upset. Care to share why?” Marck gave the strange woman a confused look, but he thought to himself, “Maybe she means to help…” Marck began to give a simple synopsis of everything that had happened since the previous day, but soon, he found himself giving an entire oral autobiography. Surprisingly, even selfishly wasting hours of the woman’s time the woman stuck around and listened attentively, until the part about his best friend, Roscoe. “...he’s my best friend, and closest companion, and he’s about to be hanged, I couldn’t bear to see that happen…” Marck droned on. He knew he was tearing up a little, but he didn’t care. That was, until the woman snickered and put her arm around Marck’s broad shoulders. “I think you have a crush on your friend”. At that, Marck stopped dead in his tracks, his face turning as red as a radish. He had lived with Roscoe for more than a decade, and Marck had only ever thought of Roscoe as his friend and roommate, never as a romantic interest, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized it was true. “Nothing to be ashamed about” the woman said, but we need to do something about this. “So I can save my beloved from the gallows” Marck offered. The woman shook her head. “Not just that…” With that, the woman began to explain everything that had happened while Marck was living his simple, carefree life in the woods.
Travis looked down at his apprentice. Marck had grown a significant amount since he had wandered up to the wise old woodcutter a year ago. With the rugged job of lumberjacking, he was growing up tall and strong. This was the hardest thing Travis would ever have to tell his young friend, but it was for his own good. “Marck,” Travis said reluctantly. “This may be hard for you to hear, but I forbid you to go into town. Marck looked up at his master, puzzled. “Why?” Travis sighed, and glanced over towards the town. “It’s just not very safe right now.” Marck looked over towards the town as well, and, through the trees, he could see the glow of roaring fires throughout the town. “I promise, I won’t go back to the town” he said.
Marck walked along the dirt paths with the woman, who had introduced herself as Sasha. The day was half gone, and he had learned that over the time that he hadn’t been coming to town. The kingdom had quickly plunged into chaos. The king had gone mad with power, and began imprisoning and executing innocent citizens left and right for the most minor offenses. “You can stop this…” Sasha encouraged. “Are you not the king’s brother?” Marck realized what he was getting himself into, but he had to do it, for Roscoe, for his simple life as a woodcutter, and most importantly for the kingdom.
The next morning, Marck took his belongings and stored them in a safe spot in the edge of the woods, and spent what little money he had on a clean-ish set of clothes. Freshly clothed, and semi-confident, he strolled up to the castle steps. Even though he was a blood relative of royalty, Marck knew that he wouldn’t be let in willingly. He waited for the guards to go out on patrol of the castle, and crept in through the back door, without a trace. It had been almost 30 years since he had been in the castle last, and the hallways and corridors he passed through all seemed to taunt him. “You shouldn’t be here, you scum…” Before long, he recognized the voice that he had heard in the marketplace two days prior. He seemed to be…talking to himself. Marck managed to follow the voice, until he came across a room with an enormously tall set of double doors. “This must be the place…”he thought. Crouching by the door, he managed to muster up all of his courage, and with a single fluid motion, he kicked in the door and entered. The king whirled around to face Marck. “How dare a simple commoner bust into my chamber in such a barbaric manner?” the king boomed. Marck felt his face heat up, being called a barbaric commoner. “I’m not a commoner” he argued. “I’m your brother.” The king went into a laughing fit as he looked at Mark. “A big ugly brute like you couldn’t possibly be related to me in any way” Mark took a few steps closer and balled his fists. The man in front of him, only stood a meek 5’3, which paled in comparison to Marck’s towering stature. “Back off peasant,” he warned “before I have the guards escort you away.” Marck tried his absolute best to remain calm. “I just wanted to talk to you about a certain innocent prisoner that you are about to execute.” He explained. “Red hair, 4 inches shorter than me, works with meat”. The king laughed again. “Oh you mean That Roscoe person? We hung him down in the dungeon so his body would be eaten by the RATS!!!” Marck could feel his blood boiling as the king cackled in front of him. He had executed his best friend without a care! “YOU HEARTLESS BASTARD!!!” Marck roared at the top of his lungs. Acting on pure rage, he pulled a wine bottle from its spot on an elegantly designed table. “DIE YOU SON OF A DOG!” Marck brought the bottle down over the cackling royal’s head, making him fall unconscious and spraying small shards of glass and red wine everywhere. Marck then pulled his pocket knife from the belt loop in his pants and right below the king’s jaw, plunged his knife into the fleshy tube of his throat and pulled it down, slitting open his chest. “Marck?! What the hell are you doing?” Marck heard a very familiar voice say. He whipped around, to see Roscoe, still in the raggedy clothes from earlier. Marck greeted his friend with a bear hug, nearly squeezing the life out of him by accident. “I thought they had hanged you.” Marck said tearing up again. It wasn’t long before he realized what he had done. The king, his brother, ;ay dead on the floor, fresh blood still oozing from the 2 foot long wound Marck had created through his throat and chest. “I went too far…” he whispered. His eyes had gone completely blank, and all he could think about was how much he regretted his decision. Before he could even make a move the guards walked into the room, and bund the two with their arms behind their backs. Marck was speechless.
It was a warm summer night when a 17 year old Marck sat in the front room, finishing up a whittling project with his pocket knife and a chunk of wood from the last tree he had chopped down. At first, he had no idea what it was, he had been absent mindedly working on the trinket for multiple hours. It looked surprisingly like a whistle. Marck blew into the wooden chunk to find that his suspicions were correct. The trinket produced a delicate tone that Marck seemed to love. Out of nowhere, the guards from the castle burst into the cabin, kicking the door down. They carelessly pushed Marck from his chair and ran by him, to the room where Travis, the wise old woodcutter was napping. “No!” Marck yelled, but to avoid evoking the anger of the guards, he behind the door and watched as the guards, bound Travis’ hands behind his back and marched him out of the cabin and towards the town. “…But I didn’t do ANYTHING?!” were the last chilling words that he heard from his master, and friend. Marck never saw Travis again.
Marck sat against the back wall of the dungeon and began carving into his own arm with his pocket knife. “This is all my fault” he thought miserably “Now we’ll certainly both be hanged”. Marck looked back at Roscoe, who shot him back a hopeful, yet slightly angry look. The cell was silent, and Marck could feel his throat closing up with pressure. “I want you to know that this is all my fault” Marck admitted. “All of it”. The room for silent for another minute. “I can live with that” Roscoe shot back. “No you can’t,” Marck whispered under his breath, “They’ll have us strung up dead by next week.” Roscoe sighed, he couldn’t stay mad at his friend, especially with how little time they had. “What made you snap?” Marck began to blush, but took comfort that the room was dark enough that Roscoe couldn’t see him if he tried. “He said he had hanged you in your cell and fed you to the rats, I wouldn’t wish a fate like that upon my worst enemy…” Roscoe searched for his friend in the darkness, hoping for a hint of where he was. “So it was all to avenge me?” Marck blushed even harder. “Yes…” The cell was completely silent again. And, feeling his way through the darkness, Roscoe managed to find one of Marck’s legs and worked his way up. “You know” Marck admitted “I always saw you as a little more than a friend” Roscoe finally found Marck’s torso, and gave his worried friend a pat on the back. “I knew all along” he said, staring Marck in the face. They could barely see each other in the dim light. “…and I feel the same way.”
The fateful morning finally came and after days alone in the dungeon the two looked horribly unkempt. By sunrise, the guards marched the two hopeful prisoners into the town square, and waited for the commoners to arrive. “This is it” Marck whispered to Roscoe. “Any final words?” Roscoe somehow managed to smile. “Marck Veritas, it has been a pleasure accompanying you in life, and will be an honor accompanying you in death. Mark looked down at his friend as they were both placed up on their wooden stools, and the nooses slipped around their necks. “That was the most beautiful thing I ever heard” Marck thought. As the guards announced their transgressions, Marck thought to himself. “Please. Don’t let me die like this. Universe I beg of you…” Before the thought was finished, the stools were kicked out from under them, and they both began struggling wildly for breath. “Goodbye cruel world, goodbye Roscoe, goodbye Earth, goodbye-”. To Marck’s ultimate surprise, his struggling was too much for the rope. It snapped right in two, leaving him with a rope collar that fell to his feet within seconds. Acting quickly, he snatched the swords of one of the guards and sliced Roscoe’s noose as well, setting him free. “Run!” Marck yelled. Faster than he had ever run before, even when escaping the burning woods, Marck ran for his life down the dirt path, with Roscoe trailing behind only by a few seconds. It wasn’t long before the duo spotted a horse drawn cart. With 10 guards at least in hot pursuit, Marck and Roscoe climbed into the cart and drove into the ashes of what was now the forest. “Their gaining on us!” Marck yelled to Roscoe who was the driver. Suddenly, the cart came to an abrupt stop, leaving the two both flying forward. In front of the cart was the blaze of the still burning forest. Even from 200 yards away, both men could feel the intense heat. Marck looked behind the cart to see that the guards were quickly gaining on them, shouting and cursing as they got increasingly closer. “Is this our fate?” Roscoe questioned. Both of them knew the answer. Marck looked down at his friend, and willing to let himself enjoy the last few moments with his beloved, he put his and on top of Roscoe’s squeezing it. “Aw…what the hell” he thought. Marck held his friend’s face and kissed him, right there in front of the blazing forest fire. “It’s been a pleasure” Roscoe whispered to Marck, and with nothing more, Roscoe drove the cart, horses and all, straight into the blaze. Never to be seen again.
The guards arrived moments later, to see that their executionees had escaped them. They could hear the yells of agonizing pain, and the smell of death in the air. “They are no more” one of the guards toward the front of the pack stated solemnly. The whole troop turned and headed for the town to spread the news.
With the fall of the tyrannical king, the people began to rile themselves up to revolution. And soon, a democratic government replaced the monarchy that they were forced to live under. Over the next year, many citizens came to pay their respects to the two brave revolutionaries who overthrew the king, and rescued the people for monarchy. The fire blazed on. Everyone recognized the two as heroes, nobles, revolutionaries, freethinkers. But the truth was they were just two ordinary guys.