A single light to fend off the darkness. That's what the single street lamp seemed to be that night. One lone figure standing against the unyielding tide. Standing alone, a fact or perception?
The lamp was old fashioned, the elaborately shaped metal grate encasing the yellow bulb, sheltering it from the elements. The light coursed out from its ornate armour, illuminating the train platform on which it rested. The platform itself was fairly long, long enough to stretch out of sight. The worn concrete faded into the darkness. The snow didn't help visibility. Falling in large fluffy flakes it further obscured the surroundings. In the darkness the snow seemed to be a cloud, obscuring everything but constantly moving, ever falling to the ground.
Underneath the lamp rested a lone bench, its old wood white flecked, twisted and worn. But it still stood. Sometimes that was all that counted.
A young man perched on the back of the bench, his wavy black hair glistening from the water of melted snow. Rivulets of the icy liquid slid down his face, trickling down his neck only to be absorbed by the thirsty cloth of his ragged jacket. He stared off into the distance. Only darkness met his eyes, long ago the other lamps lining the platform had gone out. No one had ever been back to replace the weathered bulbs. Another odd fact. Now only one remained, just one to illuminate the old platform.
"The train don't come mate. Not here anyways."
The young man looks up as a figure shuffles out of the falling snow, seemingly drawn in by the single light. As the figure draws nearer his features begin to stand out. A threadbare coat, elbows heavily patched, drawn haphazardly over a thin, worn sweater. A few letters are visible on the sweater, showing through various gaps in the fabric are an "s," "I," "t" and "y." His grey toque was uneven; one side pulled down over an ear the other side a bit higher, revealing grey greasy hair. A patchy beard covered his lower jaw but his upper lip remained bare. His eyes glittered in the dim light. Moving closer he spoke again.
"It ain't come in a long time. So what'cha waiting for?"
The young man looks away from the other. Absentmindedly he chews on a lip, ignoring the ragged figure. Undeterred the older man shuffles forwards, continuing to speak.
"Not much could bother a young one, such as you, so much that he should try to be alone. Not much."
The young man rolls his eyes and shifts his feet. Water cascades to the ground, shaken free of his clothing. The tiny orbs glisten as they fall, holding together until they shatter against the cold unforgiving concrete.
"I can't say exactly what your problem is son, but I can say one thing. No matter how bad it is it’ll get better. You’ll see.”
The young man sighs and swings his legs from the bench. It was late enough. He’d been on this old platform long enough. Long enough for what? He no longer knew.
He stands with a groan as his joints and muscles protest his movement. The old man chuckles as the other rises, somehow he sees something funny. The young man shakes his head as he begins to walk away, just a crazy old man.
“That’s right boy, you go back! You’ll find your way Gabriel!”
Shocked the young man comes to a stop. Gabriel? That was his name. How could the old man know that? The question in mind Gabriel turned back, intending to ask. Gabriel stops and blinks. There was no one there. All he could see amidst the falling snow was an old train platform, lit by a single street lamp. Under the lamp sat a worn wooden bench, slowly turning white as snow covered the surface he had left. Odder still the old man had left no prints in the fresh snow. The only prints there were his own, created as he left.
Gabriel stares for a moment longer and then shakes his head. Without a word he pivots in place and turns his back on the station. He is quickly swallowed by the falling snow.
On the platform an old man smiles as he watches Gabriel disappear into the flying snow. Maybe this would be enough for him to see. See a way out. Help him ease his broken, troubled heart. Or maybe it wouldn’t and Gabriel would find his way back out to the platform. Waiting beneath the lamp for a train that never came. The old man and his smile vanished into the snow, leaving naught a trace.
Simple Tales
"What is your name soldier?" asked a lean man, his fingers slowly caressing the plain steel hilt of the blade at his side as he blocked the other's path. His single eye, framed by long locks of blond hair, was focused on the face of a warrior standing in front of him; his other eye was covered over by a patch of black cloth. Nearby and at his back stood several other men dressed in black and grey, town guards, these men openly waited with their hands on their swords. They didn't like the look of this traveler one bit.
"I have been called many things over the years," Answered the man casually, "Today you can call me Tordek."
At this one of the other guards flinches as though he were stung. After a few more moments of careful scrutiny of Tordek his eyes open wider as recognition sets in. Tordek notes this with a flick of his eyes before he returns his attention to the guard standing in front of him.
"What's your business here Tordek?" asked the guard, his voice radiating a false aura of calm.
"I'm just looking for a place to stay the night before I move on in the morning."
The guard nods slowly, his eye searching Tordek's. The guard who had flinched takes advantage of the first guards silence to move a bit closer.
"You say your name is Tordek?" asks the second guard carefully. The one eyed guard turns to regard the second disapprovingly, the second ignores the look.
"Yes, I'm Tordek."
"I heard a story of a mercenary last week. This mercenary was hired by a young lass to help find a stolen family heirloom, a ring I believe," the guard pauses and looks at Tordek, almost seeming to ask for permission to continue. Tordek watches him silently, his bearded face giving nothing away. The guard hesitates then continues. "This Tordek and the lass, Sara I think her name was, ended up travelling across the continent in pursuit of the ring. That's how he ended up at the battle of Pristhimy. They say that he was after the leader of the enemy force, the assassin. They say he killed the assassin himself but because of the confusion of the battle no one can be sure.
As he spoke other guards began to nod, they'd heard this story.
"Are you the Tordek that fought at Pristhimy? Are you the platinum knight?" At this the one eyed guard looks searchingly at Tordek, his lips purse into a frown as he considers the warrior.
"Impossible!" bursts out another guardsman from the back of the group, "He's too young!"
Tordek shrugs, ignoring the guard's outburst. "I was there. But that was a long time ago."
The younger guards all gape at him, the older ones only nod.
"You're a hero," gasps a guard still to young to shave, "A legend!"
"In the past," Tordek says waving off the praise, then he addresses the one eyed guardsman, "May I pass?"
"Just for the night?"
"Just for the night."
Without another word the guardsman stands aside and waves him through. Tordek flashes him a quick smile of thanks before he walks past into the town.
"So much for living a quiet life, unknown by the masses," Tordek mutters sourly, "I guess word travels faster than I had thought."
After a moments contemplation he brightens, “Work should be easy to find if I’m known out here.”
With a smile on his face he continues into the town.
Never Surrender
The pounding of the soldier's heart echoed in his ears. Blood dripped from the gaping wound in his side, pouring the essence of his life into the ground. He was dying. He knew this and had accepted his own mortality but still he staggered forwards. Struggling, striving, to continue his journey. He staggered and fell with a curse, tripping over an unclaimed body still remaining on the field.
There had been a battle here not too long ago. The battle had raged for several hours, neither side showing any mercy, neither side giving in.
Never surrender.
Slowly he rose from the damp ground.
The words had been whispered countless times by the soldiers of either side. Words to fight for. Words to die for.
This soldier whispered that short phrase to himself as he advanced. Never surrender. Continue on.
One foot in front of the other.
The rough bandage he had wrapped his wound with had torn when he fell; blood now seeped out from under the ragged cloth, running down his flesh, staining his already grimy clothing. The soldier groans and presses a hand to his side. Trying vainly to stanch the flow.
The soldier's pace slows and he comes to a stop as his legs wobble and he loses his balance. With a curse he topples onto his side. The impact causes another grunt of pain. He stays still on the ground for a moment, his chest heaving from exhaustion.
But he had to carry on. He had to reach his comrades.
The soldier struggles to push himself to his feet once more but his strength gives out as he rises. With a sigh he slumps to the ground once more. This was as far as he could go. His limbs start to grow numb as the ground surrounding him is stained red.
The beginning of the end, thinks the soldier, my time has come.
Struggling to raise his head from the soft ground the soldier spots another body resting a short distance away. The corpse's arm is outstretched. It was reaching in the same direction that the soldier had been travelling. The soldier squints, trying to see across the distance. The corpse's armour and clothing matched the armour and clothing that he himself was wearing. The clothing over the armour was marked with reds and black and in the center of the chest there would have been a silver bear outlined with silver thread. The corpse had been a soldier from his own company who had tried to do the same thing that he had. Return to the company.
The soldiers of the company had always said that there was a second level to the maxim "never surrender". They had said that it meant one could never surrender themselves to the enemy, never stop fighting, but they said this was only half the meaning. The other half was that they could never surrender their comrades to the enemy. No matter the cost they had to return to their comrades. Return to protect and support their fellow soldiers.
After this the soldier’s thoughts idly drift as he awaits death. After a short time, a few minutes or a few hours he could no longer tell, his thoughts turn to the maxim of the armies. The saying never surrender could be tied hand in hand with the adage of his company, first in and last out. They were the ones who had the longest fight; they had to stay strong for the longest. And they never gave in. The soldier grimaced as he thought of this and his own situation. Even when he knew he was dying he had struggled to rejoin his remaining comrades. They had become more than a saying. They had become the words by which he had unconsciously lived. The soldier’s eye lids are growing heavy as he considers the sayings. What if...
His eyes close one last time.
You're Not Alone
You're alone at the bus stop late in the evening. Strangely enough you're not waiting for a bus. You're just waiting. Waiting and thinking. One thought leads to another so you push them away. Those thoughts are irrelevant right now. You take a deep breath and start again.
You feel the chilly air rush into your lungs as you inhale, you sigh as you exhale and watch as the mist of your breath dissipates in the cold winter air. As the mist fades your vision clears. If only it were that simple.
Around you everything is covered with a thick blanket of pure white snow. The snow that still falls is lighter than what fell before but still it adds to the crystalline carpet. The light flakes swirl in the half light, glittering and gleaming as they fall to earth. A breath of air snatches the snowflakes from their downward spiral and sends them dancing momentarily upwards through the air before allowing them to resume their slow journey to the ground. You glance briefly at the display before you return to your thoughts. You purse your lips and stare into the distance, thinking of days past, of days yet to come. Thinking about people you know.
You're worried. But why are you worried?
Every now and then you meet people, people who grow to be important to you. Over time they come to be a part of your life. They are special, unique, and irreplaceable.
The bench is cold but all you do is shift position. You can't leave, not yet. First you need an answer. Instead you readjust your hood to help shield you from the icy wind. At another time you might head back if only to get out of the cold. But not today. There is only room for one concern in your mind, and that doesn't have to do with warmth. You're worried. This year has been hard on your friends and family. You understand that. But still you wish that they could put their troubles aside and just breathe easily for a while. But they can't. Can't or won't, not that there was much distinction between the two. But that's their choice to make so of course you do nothing. Nothing but worry. If you were to voice your concerns they could just ignore your words. Or they could tell you to mind your own business. It's their life.
The far off cry of a car horn draws you from your thoughts, causes you to look around, but upon seeing nothing you relax again. Relax and return to your musings.
You wish you were better at reading people, wish that you could say that one thing that they needed to hear. You want to say that everything was going to be alright, but you can’t say it with certainty because you don’t know. All you can do is hope that things will turn out well. There is so much that you wish you could say, but so little that you can. Quite often all you can do is tell them that they're not alone. You're there for them.