Short Stories and Oneshots

Sleeper in the Valley

no real context, just an idea i had based on the song at top.

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The field opens up in front of you, green and welcoming. The wind rustles your hair, warm and sweet-smelling, and it would be lovely if you didn't know what was here.

You start forward, carefully at first. Part of you wants to run through, find what you're looking for as soon as possible, but the more sensible part of you knows there's a large chance you'll miss them if you go too fast.

So you trek slowly, wading through the grass nearly as high as your knees. The field is bursting with vibrant flowers in an array of colours, but you're not here to admire the view. There's not much time- maybe already none.

You're forced to jump over the small creek that winds through the meadow, and you see what may be a footprint sunk into a muddy patch a few feet away. Someone else was here recently, someone who didn't have as easy a time jumping over the stream as you did.

Again, you lift your head and desperately scan the field, but there's no other humans in sight. At least, none standing. The wind ruffles your hair again, and you're seized by a sudden feeling of panic that you can't seem to be rid of completely. You turn in a full circle as you look around, battling with the urge to call out, to scream their name in prayer for an answer.

Forcing yourself to take a deep breath and calm down, you continue on, your steps a little more rushed than before. Already, you're nearing the center of the field, and you're unsure how long you can keep beating back that panic. Your foot suddenly collides with something hard, and you immediately look down.

A terrible smell hits your nose as you do, and you take several steps back, clapping a hand over your mouth to stifle the shriek that wants to escape. You've just stepped on the hand of a skeleton- or half of one, anyways.

The head and the top half of the torso are gone completely, save for charred-looking bones being clung to by the barest scraps of flesh. The fireball incinerated most of the body's organs, but the effects lessen the further down you look. It's nightmarish, really- the head's barely anything besides a burnt skull, but the legs are almost entirely untouched.

You drag in short breaths, continuing on as soon as you put the pieces together. You don't recognize that corpse, but you know who has the power to do that to someone. Not that they ordinarily would.

There's no other such horrors for several yards and another jump over the winding creek. The bright flowers and saccharine breeze seem to be mocking you now, taking in your pounding heartbeat and roving eyes and throwing back at you all the sickening pleasantness they can. Part of you wants to turn and leave this place now before you find the thing that you know will cut you the deepest, but you don't. You can't.

Again, you have to force yourself not to cry out their name. You know you're not likely to get a response, and that thought being a reality would be too much for you. Right now, you can subsist on little scraps of hope...but you know those likely won't last much longer, the longer you look and the further you go.

Your foot lands in a damp patch, liquid gently spattering your shoe. This time, you brace yourself before you look down, and it's almost as terrible as you feared.

A person lies on the ground, blood pooling darkly around her from a terrible wound across her stomach. Her hair covers her blank eyes, and her trusty bow is still gripped in her pale hand.

You know this woman. She is- was -a friend of yours. You saw her only yesterday, heard her rightfully bragging about her aim. A soft whimper of despair slips from your mouth, though you don't have the capacity to cry for her yet. It doesn't seem real, seeing her lying on the ground, still bleeding from a wound too fatal to even imagine. You're half expecting her to sit up right now, and complain about how some people's fighting styles just have no respect for those who prefer long-range weapons. She always had such a grudge against sword-users that you never fully understood.

Turning away before you can get swept off by grief, you spot another body nearby. You can't tell how they died- there's not a mark on them save for a few surface wounds from the initial fight. A giant brutal-looking sword lies beside them, as though it was knocked from their hand as they fell to the ground. The blood coating the blade indicates it's likely the weapon that slew your friend.

You have to look away from this as well before you become sick, but it seems you're in the thick of where the battle took place now. You see several unfamiliar men with arrows in their throats, and another acquaintance with magic damage all over his body. The ground is permeated with blood everywhere you look, and you feel the panic rising in your chest like a tidal wave of despair. Choking you, blinding you, filling every facet of your senses with fear and the heavy feeling of dread that comes with already knowing how bad the ending is.

A trio of bodies lays almost on top of each other, like they were killed all at once and thrown back. They're thoroughly burnt- still smoking slightly, even -with damage that can only be done in close range. So you know you're about to find what you came for, can already clearly imagine it in your mind's eye, even before you look past them to the sight beyond.

And there they lay.

There's no blood surrounding them, just a few slightly crushed starch-white flowers. Your breath catches for a moment at this, and you dare to whisper their name as you hurry to kneel beside them. Maybe...maybe...

But...there. On their chest, right above their still heart, is a small charcoal-black mark. A curse of instant death.

You gently lift their body, sliding them carefully onto your lap. Their head lolls back slightly, causing their hair to shift out of the way of their blank eyes, staring regretfully up at the empty sky. Your own eyes fill with tears, and you gently stroke their cheek as you softly begin to cry, whispering for them to wake up.

You knew what you were going to find when you came here, but finding them for real is far worse than you imagined. It doesn't seem like that long ago when they kissed you firmly and said they'd be back by evening, but in just that time everything's fallen apart. It doesn't seem right. It doesn't seem real.

But there's nothing more real than the slight chill of their paled skin, or the unbelievable stillness of death that's taken over their once-lively body. There's nothing that could bring you to reality faster than their beautiful eyes, staring glazed and unfocused at nothing.

Reaching over, you find an untarnished white flower that somehow escaped being damaged in the fight, and tuck it gently into your partner's hair. You smile slightly, feverishly, as you recall the crowns of blossoms they made for you both last spring, but it turns just as quickly into a quiet sob. You don't want to think of happy memories right now any more than you want to dwell on the fact that you'll never have a happy memory with them again. So what is there to do, if you can't look to the past and don't want to accept the present yet?

You sigh slowly, pushing the thought back and gently closing your love's eyes. You don't want to stay here- not just because of the heavy sadness, but also because you don't know who or what else may come for the bodies.

Their staff lies just a few feet away, as though knocked from their hands by the impact of the curse. You reach over for it, then steel your heart and stand up, lifting your partner's body into your arms. In life, they were as light and nimble as a bird, ready to fly away at any moment. In death, though, that's all gone, and they feel as heavy as the weight of grief itself.

You move back through the bloodstained meadow, looking sorrowfully at the bodies of the friends you have to leave behind. But you know others will be here to collect them- you just couldn't let anyone get to this one before you. You don't even want to think about their slim body being piled onto a cart with all the others, brought back to you in even worse shape than this. Or worse, never brought back to you at all, dumped in an unmarked grave as they would have been if the other side had ended up there first.

The trek back through the field is slow, your stride made slow by the tall grass and the tears that blur your vision. Later on, you'll likely be feeling many more emotions- anger, guilt, fear -but for now all you have is sorrow. As you finally make it back to the treeline, returning to the path that brought you here, a teardrop slips from your face and lands on their cheek as you lower your head and whisper to them, what you had tried so hard to tell them while they were still alive.

"This wasn't even your war to fight."