Lunarangel777 - Bits Of Fiction

You are the first ever completely ethical vampire: you post the terms and conditions of trespassing, make it clear in the memo that said people are subject to be fed on… You can safely say that humanity’s stupidity has kept you alive for thousands of years.

Every 21st century piece of writing advice: Make us CARE about the character from page 1! Make us empathize with them! Make them interesting and different but still relatable and likable!

Every piece of classic literature: Hi. It's me. The bland everyman whose only purpose is to tell you this story. I have no actual personality. Here's the story of the time I encountered the worst people I ever met in my life. But first, ten pages of description about the place in which I met them.

"What's that shiny and long blade of grass you use called?"

He looked down as he hesitated.

When he looked up, he answered as if he was trying to melt the frost with his touch, "It can be called a 'blade' but for me, it's a broadsword."

"You can hurt people with that, right?" I asked him. It didn't look that dangerous to me if it could.

He lurched back like I hurt him.

"If it came to it, yes," he answered, all the same.

I didn't like that I was going to hurt something but I picked a blade of grass.

"Do you want to know what I can do with this?" I twirled the blade between my fingers.

He just looked at me odd.

I held the blade the way the nymphs taught me and blew some air. The shrill sound caught him off guard. Laughter overcame me like the abrupt rain the area we're in is known for.

"Will you teach me how to do that?" he asked when I calmed down enough to talk.

It was at that moment that I realized that I would do what I could for him like I would for any of my plants back at home.

"It would be my genuine pleasure," I replied with a smile.

"How did you find me?" I slurred, the cold freezing me from the inside out.

"I followed the trail you left," he answered before he gestured somewhere behind him. "Come here," he groaned as he picked me up.

I clung to him like burs on bark animals and other people wear. He wasn't much warmer than the elements we were stranded in but he was an improvement.

"Did you know that you are bleeding?" my stranger asked me, taking me somewhere.

My mind was too fuzzy to completely understand what he was talking about.

"But you're not bleeding," I blended my words together, after I have him a quick once over as best as I could. Why would he ask if I knew he was bleeding?

"Well, hypothetically if I was a mage like you, I thought you would know how to slow the blood loss down?"

My upper canopy hurt. Why was he asking such difficult questions?

"You would need something to slow it down," I mumbled as I tried to clear my thoughts. "Before that, clean the wound."

He settled me down on a fallen log and then started rummaging through his bag. When he faced me again, he had some white strips and a dirt colored bottle.

"Try not to scream, okay?" He looked back up at me with his cyan colored eyes. His scar on the lower part of his face were sharply contrasting from the fire's light.

Wait. Why was there a fire? Where was the fire?

The sharp jolt that assaulted my left limb was enough to make me cry out in surprise. He didn't let up, if anything, he pressed harder. The cloth he was using was starting to turn green, the color of my sap, at the edges.

I stayed quiet like he asked but when he was done, he pulled a mat made out of pine branches, covered it with some furs, placed me on the mat, and then covered me with the remaining furs.

"Don't worry, I'll keep watch. You rest," he answered when he saw me looking at him.

The last thing I felt was my stranger running his branches through my hair before I fell asleep.

Author's Note- I have never experienced either but I am trying to write a character who is suffering from at least enough hypothermia for the mental fog but not bad enough for a doctor and blood loss. But then again it might be mild hypothermia and the added blood loss might create the mental fog.

Happy Easter, everyone!

The quiet lake town has always been a favorite places to visit. It wasn't as densely populated as the capital was and it was just all around relaxing.

I haven't been to the marshes, bogs, fens, or anything like that west of the little town. There are rumors of monsters living there.

I like knowing that little town is okay.

The unicorn pawed the ground, aggrivated. I didn't know much about animals but I was taking this as a warning.

"It's okay," my stranger soothed, walking forward slow enough to not spook the oakwood unicorn.

It grunted and looked like it was about to charge and skewer him to a tree.

"Hey!" he snapped at the sentinel. He had guts to even think about doing that to a sentinel.

The unicorn reared its head in a way as if to ask, "What are you going to do?"

The highwayman walked forward with the same commanding presence that he just used. My best guess is that he needed the unicorn to know that he was in no mood for funny business.

"Hey, there," he murmured when he could pet the unicorn's mossy head. "Do you want a snack? Snack?" He pulled an apple out and presented it to the sentinel.

The oakwood unicorn, much calmer now, ate the apple.

"Come on, let's sit down," the highwayman suggested while he guided the unicorn down.

It nickered as it lied down beside him. Just as he put his hand in its hair, it laid it head down on his lap.

"And here I thought that only pure maidens could do that to a unicorn," I commented.

The highwayman just smiled up at me, "I have a horse like this one back at home." He looked down at the unicorn. "Mine has beautiful black fur and a sweet temperament."

The unicorn grumbled.

"Hey, I'm a little biased since she is my horse. You are a very handsome boy for a unicorn but you can't let my horse know that I said that, okay?" he told the resting unicorn.

The unicorn rolled so its head rested on the highwayman's abdomen. As the unicorn was moving, my highwayman made it so he was on his back.

"I'm very uncomfortable," he told me. I think he was on a decent sized, dull rock.

The unicorn nickered.

"Oh? Are you comfortable?" the highwayman asked the unicorn in possible sarcasm.

It had the audacity to nicker again.

His head hit the ground as he mumbled, "Of course you are." His troubled gaze found me again. "You better get comfortable, too. We might be here for awhile."

I couldn't help but giggle a little.

“How many people have died to achieve this world domination of yours?” “769.” “…What?” “769 people died to achieve my plans. I counted them, and had each of their names etched on my throne so I never forget what my victory cost the world. Now tell me, how many have you killed to see me dead?”

The gentle king was surrounded by many children, as if he himself was one.

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't hold in my tears.

Why was it that I couldn't have that? Why did I have to be feared?

I closed my eyes and shook my head. I was getting emotional over a picture used to tell tales to children.

Through foggy eyes, I looked back at the kind; fabled king. Why couldn't he be real?

The cracking rumble of thunder mixed with the soft, warm kisses of the rain is a better combination than you might think. I don’t like chasing storms but I appreciate the ones that come through where I live.

I love the majesty of them all, especially thunderstorms. I used to be afraid of them but now, if I let them, they’ll easily put me to sleep.

The only time I am truly afraid of storms is when the clouds touch the ground. I’m protected by hills and mountains so those storms don’t happen too often.

I have wondered if being in the presence of a thunderstorm is like being in the presence of the king? Where some might find him intimidating while for others he’s soothing.

If I got the pleasure of meeting him, I think I would really like him. I’m not saying that only because I’m one of his subjects but also because I think I would be one of the ones that finds comfort in him.

I wonder.