Quicklinks:
|
Great Writing - Home > Short S. > Wounds That Can't Be Healed
| READING ROOM | ||||
|---|---|---|---|---|
|
| COMMUNITY | |||
|---|---|---|---|
|
| ABOUT GREAT WRITING | ||
|---|---|---|
|
| WORK AWAITING REVIEW |
|---|
|
| GW IS... |
|---|
|
Great Writing creative writing community is designed to prompt ideas
and provide inspiration and motivation within aspiring and amateur
authors. Whatever your topic; from love poetry to Doctor Who or Harry
Potter fan fiction, Great Writing's online writing group is where you
can make new friends and improve your creative writing. |
| WHO'S ONLINE |
|---|
| We have 1662 guests online and 2 members online |
Shorts
| print friendly version | |
| Wounds That Can't Be Healed | |
| By anna_svit-kona | ||||||||||||||||
| 28 July 2006 | ||||||||||||||||
|
Jeremiah 29:11 “For I know the thoughts that I think towards you, says the Lord, thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope.” Never give up. God has a bright and brilliant future planned ahead for his children. The mists settled once again, a crown on the mountains and a cloak to the low valleys. The night had given way to dawn, sunlight came in slanted beams through the fog that had long called the mountains home. It lit up the pure white stallion's sleek hide, wet with sweat. The horses' pink nostrils flared as he tossed his head to survey the valley below. His blue eyes showed the whites as he peered down. Upon his back was mounted a black leather saddle with silver embroidery, and upon the saddle was mounted a boy. The boy had a slim form. His cloths were of fine quality through a bit weather worn. A tight bit of restraining materials were circled around his once good right wrist. He had a bow strapped onto his steed, though it would be useless now for his wrist was ruined...possibility forever. It was now noticeable that the horse also was wounded. His left front leg was injured severely and his walk was uneven. The boy had once been known as Caleb the Brave, the stallion as Safael the Swift. The latter had once been a top bred horse with great endurance and speed for carrying messengers. He had begun to work with Caleb on messages, a job that would deliver items or letters of great importance for their King in this time of war. The stallion had been one of the fastest in the kingdom, he had loved running. Now all he could do was hobble along, trot at the most, if he dared go any faster than his leg would be likely to break again. Caleb had been one of the best messengers in the kingdom as well as a great archer. He had always been a good natured boy, trying to just do his best and get along in the world. He was a believer in the Ultimate King, and respected the one now ruling the kingdom, and was naturally good all round in things that took physical labor or spiritedness. He'd had many friends for he was a person that was kind and people were drawn to him in numerous occasions. Though he was only a young boy, hardly out his teens, he'd gained a high ranking stature in the messengers. He'd been one of the top. Now he was no longer. He thought of the last message he'd taken. Caleb had just received command to head to the stables and get provision for a trip to the south forest, a place a few days away, and to pick Safael for his new horse partner. He had done this then picked up a small package that was for the high war commander in the forest. He'd done this in record timing and had traveled fairly well for 5 days, only a few miles remained to get to the headquarters. The youth had spurred his horse into a canter along the woodland path, the stallion buck now and then as they went high spirited through the forest. Then Safael had gone rigid, the whites of his eyes showing not because he was looking out of the corners of his eyes, but because he was near panic. All Caleb had noticed was an arrow whistling straight towards his chest. He had gazed at the arrow waiting for death. Safael had reared up his legs kicking at a man that had jumped out with a large wood club. The arrow imbedded itself into the horses' leg, Safael squealed like a banshee. Then just as the thief that had slunk out with the club swung to knock the young boy to the ground, the horse had reared up again, the club missing Caleb's head, but wounding his shooting hand's wrist bone. The horse had bolted, faster that he had ever run. His leg left a trail of blood behind and every time the stallion moved that leg he felt sharp pain. The horse had tripped in a hole, so coming to the state his leg was in now. Caleb hung on bravely, he couldn't even feel his arm's wound; it was just a dull ache. Numb with pain. But slowly the feeling came back and his whole body pulsed with pain, he gritted his teeth, resisting the want to scream. The next few moments passed in a daze, he remembered hearing the bandits let off of pursuit. He remembered seeing a fort. He remembered yells of exclamation. Then he remembered a few faces and comforts...then pain too great to handle. Someone bending his wrist back to the way it should be. He'd fainted...or perhaps he had floated into the realm that lay between sleep and awakedness. To cut things short he'd woke with questions about too many things. He’d been changed that day for better or for worse. He’d not let them shoot his horse. He'd said no to that. The horse seemed too wonderful to take away, and fallen from glory as he now was. He'd paid all of his money to fix himself and the horse up with provision, supplies enough to set out. He'd taken the lame horse and gathered his prosessions. He sent the king a message of the recent happenings. Then he set off, know not where his travels would end and apparently, not sure if he cared. He could not ride Safael. It would likely injure the horse's leg as well as his wrist. Slowly as they traveled the bond became greater between man and horse.They had both endured their wounds togethor. So Caleb had led Safael up the mountain in pre-dawn, wondering what was on the other side. He'd mounted the stallion when he'd reached a ridge very high up in the rocky mountain. Half because he wanted to get a better sight of the land and the other half...well, because it made him almost believe things had never changed. Young messanger on the fastest stallion. The sight he saw was a pure serene scene, a scene that lifted his spirits and gave him hope; the mist that rested on the mountains cloaked a low valley. The slanted sun rays beamed down upon the lame boy and horse. But through all this he saw a bird, most likely a falcon or hawk, rising from the mist that lay over the valley. The sun gleam brilliantly on the mighty creature. Caleb gasped...he had not seen such beauty ever. Or was it in the busy rush of a messenger he'd just never had time to notice it? What wonders he had been missing! He watched the falcon glide about, dancing and swirling it the breeze. Dipping in and out. He though of how freely he'd used to let he arrows fly, how they'd danced through the sky. Though they had sang a song of death. The bird sang a song of joy and life as he maneuvured his way through the endless realms of sky. Safael watched sadly admiring the freedom of the bird, and wished he still had such power to move himself around as that. He thought of the times he'd run and run, taking important messages here and there. He'd been so prideful them, and such a high strung stallion. Now the time and his leg changed him. He'd not taken delight in anything for such a long time...but he felt hope too as the bird rose up. Caleb had watched for another few minutes, then leapt off of the white horse and took slow, easy series of the downward journey. He didn't want to go much further for any slope was hard on Safael. He pitied the horse who'd not many weeks ago had leapt up slopes and through streams and briskly around trees with such gumption, such vigor. But he didn't ponder on these thoughts long, almost all he could think of was, "I'll doubt i'll ever be able to shoot an arrow again...never...never ever..." He let tears slide down finally as he took a break. He wanted to sob but controlled himself to that extent. He was being childish. Through the days he’d traveled in solitude with his horse something had changed with him. He no longer felt any feelings towards other's problems…he began to not care at all. His wound had changed him. He was no longer a normal boy of his age. Caleb was no longer a respecting person. His good turned more to bad. He went on. After a hazy descent from the mountain he rested for awhile then went to a tree arched above the rest of the valley. He remembered a few rumors of a man of wisdom that lived in a hidden place in a valley. Some rumors of this said he was a keeper of books, or a healer. Caleb didn't care much by that time. He just wanted a few comforts rocks and rills couldn't provide. Almost all the rumors said somebody lived there and he could have swore he saw a small house next to the tree as he got nearer. A day of travel passed...then he came upon the tree. Indeed a cabin sat next to it. "Stay here Safael. I want to see if someone is home." He'd gone to the front door and knocked. To his surprise as he raised his hand to knock he noticed a sign that hung over head, 'House of Healer Dulee'. He felt a sensation of odd hope rise up, what if he can heal me?!? Is there still hope for my arm? An old man had opened the door, on his shoulder sat a falcon. The man had looked at Caleb skeptically then ushered him in, “Greetings my child, I am Healer Dulee. What has happened to you?” For he felt the boy had a story that needed to be told. The young boy looked around slightly uncomfortable and unnerved by the man and his place. But then he felt a need to tell, to share what had happened. Someone else needed to know. Someone that didn't just care for business or gossip. This man was that someone. So Caleb unraveled. He told him of his once joyous life and how he’d become a messenger, and then even yet a greater messenger. He said of how he’d been an orphan and they had hired him out of pity as much as anything. Words poured out, for some reason he wanted this man to know how much he’d been through. The man stared deep into the young boys eyes; he rested his hands on his wrist lightly. "I feel that this wound might heal my boy.” He took some items off a self and a few containers and let him relax in a comfortable bed as he applied them to the wrist. Caleb fell into a deep, dream troubled sleep. Most of his dreams including bandits or pain…most of all the pain. He thrashed around often. Waking up to a loud noise and pain in his wrist. The Healer had rushed back inside and now had his hands on a young man, around Caleb’s age, that was sickly and sorrowful looking or…well something was missing from the man the young boy noticed. Through a brief struggle Dulee pulled the man outside and Caleb heard angry voices back and forth. Then he returned. The boy wanted to ask questions but needed water, his throat was dry. The old man brought water to him thoughtfully, even before Caleb could ask. After gulping some down he questioned, “What was wrong with that man? Something looked…” He paused uncertain on how to describe it. “Hallow inside him? Dead?” Questioned the Healer. Caleb nodded. “A while ago I came across him, he was a man that went into the war when he was only a young boy of ten. He’d had a disturbing life, he’d seen his parents get…killed, his sister as well. It brought so much distraught upon the rest of his life and he grew up living only for revenge. After he got his revenge he didn’t know what to do. He had wounds inside him, not like the one’s on the outside. They were complicated wounds brought on from outside hurts. Hurts and pains that afected his personality and the way he reacted and looked at things. He never will be the same. He has a wound that can’t be healed, but because he doesn’t want it too. He doesn't know how to let go. It struck him a long time ago and it has been festering and slowly poisoning his whole body ever since...There are wounds that just can’t be healed my boy...” He gazed straight at the boy’s face, “I hope you don’t let this wound take the worst of you. I feel with my heart that you are a good, respectable boy deep inside still. There is always a reason to live, and that reason is God. He says in His word He has good plans, not evil for are lives. He is always there for us even if we can’t see Him. You should make your life as an offering unto the Almighty, my child. It is not earthly men that heal you at all, but the will of God. Some wounds are deeper than others. Some wounds can’t be healed, but if you decide you want to get better, with God all things are possible. 6 years later; A young man, sat mounted on a great, pure white stallion, saying goodbye to the valley that lay below. It was time to start out again with a new life, a new life with more of God in it and more appreciation for what he did have. His eyes turned watery as he gazed one last time at the mists that blanketed the place he had called home for a long time now. A falcon soared gracefully through the sky. He thought of the young boy and horse that not so long ago had peared down on the valley. Then he turned his horse around quickly, letting the white stallion take his lead, bounding through the stony mountainsides, vanishing in the mist.
Only registered users can rate and write comments. Powered by AkoComment 2.0! |
||||||||||||||||
 Previous item
|
Next item
|
|---|