{Originally written 2022 for a class. I might eventually expand on the story.}
In the past weeks, the Saracen Prince had watched in horror as the Templars had invaded his homeland. Battle was still raging and there was no sign from either side to let it die down.
The Saracen Prince, Farraj, sighed as he headed back toward his bed-chambers.
The sounds of discussing the battles echoed outside his door.
Farraj tried to tune them out. Farraj then found himself slowly drifting off to sleep. He awoke a couple of hours later.
The people outside his quarters were long gone.
Farraj breathed a sigh of relief. But, his relief was short-lived. Hearing a noise in the hallway, Farraj paused and just listened. Was it his father coming to speak with him? Or perhaps his serving-boy coming to pick up a few things for the night?
The sounds of the foot-steps echoed through the hallway.
Whoever it was they were getting closer.
Farraj gulped.
The doorknob began to twist and shake.
Farraj’s eyes grew wide with terror. He held his breath.
Finally, the door opened.
There stood a Templar.
Farraj backed up against the wall as the Templar got closer and closer. “How- how did you get in here?” Farraj stammered. The Saracen Prince could practically feel his heart-beat in his ears.
The Templar then said, speaking in Farraj’s native-tongue, “All the guards were out… at the tavern.”
The Prince was in awe.
This stranger’s ability to speak Arabic so well was astonishing.
Farraj had stood, speechless, for so long before he swallowed. “Who are you? What do you want from me?”
“The name’s Adaleus.” The Templar smiled. “And I’d like to talk to you about achieving peace between our peoples.”
YOU ARE READING
Shiver
Poetryꜱʜɪᴠ·ᴇʀ /ˈꜱʜɪᴠƏʀ/ ᴠᴇʀʙ (ᴏꜰ ᴀ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴ ᴏʀ ᴀɴɪᴍᴀʟ) ꜱʜᴀᴋᴇ ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛʟʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴜɴᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟʟᴀʙʟʏ ᴀꜱ ᴀ ʀᴇꜱᴜʟᴛ ᴏꜰ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴄᴏʟᴅ, ꜰʀɪɢʜᴛᴇɴᴇᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴇxᴄɪᴛᴇᴅ. -- Short stories and poetry that heavily revolve around grief, death, and mental illness.
