Daily Paragraph

And so, the month ends.

I’ve learned some valuable things about myself during these past weeks. It is a shame, that the visible output of the project is so minor, but I am not an over-sharer. And during the weeks I’ve discovered a lot about myself and wrote even more. Been a journey. Now it’s done. Next year I plan to do the proper 1 sentence per day. Will try to keep those in the much less self-discovery area. And hey, maybe it will bear a short unpublishable (cause it would kinda be stealing someone else’s already published series of books) piece.

Welp, seeya in the next project!

Actual paragraph today. It’s personal, but to a degree where I think I can still share it here.

I’ve scrapped my thesis. For the fifth time. It felt like it wasn’t me. It was too synthetic; too formulaic; too shallow. There was no truth in it, it felt like with what I wrote I was saying, that I had nothing to show after years of only reading and writing. It’s 3am, I’m still awake, writing. I’m still writing because I’m not only under external pressure, but I also have finally decided on what I would be satisfied with if I put it down on a page. I’m not afraid. I’m putting my soul on the paper, finally.

Wrote a short story during this week, so I decided to try and translate it.

(doesn’t have a name, was mostly intended to test out action scene writing)

From a beautiful castle, only a lonely main tower remained. All surrounded by the darkness of enemy knights. When I saw all the terror below, I tossed away my crossbow and picked up a halberd. The walls were not safe anymore. I ran through a small courtyard, by a well. At the doors, I saw the enemy. Dressed in black armor, covered in oil. Hook of my halberd tore off his shield and with the spearhead I found the gap between his breastplate and his helmet. Before I managed to close the door behind me, a blood smeared black plated leg appeared. I tried to hook under it with the halberd, but a mace appeared from behind the door and snapped my weapon in half. The metallic smell of blood and rust suddenly shook up and flooded my mind. I tossed myself onto the slippery staircase. While crawling up the stair I heard a laughter from below. A familiar sound… Like a distant memory. I did not dare turn around, instead I clutched the walls with my right hand while my left leg flopped around on the stairs just like a carp on the land. I heard the menacing rattle of steel from behind. It made me sick. The world kept spinning around me. At the end of the staircase, I found myself in the throne room.

The king sat on his throne with his head tilted downwards. The crown lied on the ground, rest of the royal jewels in his lap. The staircase echoed a shout, rattle, and fall. I remembered the king’s words, “if I fall, defend the royal jewels. Lay down your lives for them, lay down the lives of your brothers, your mothers, your fathers, daughters, or sons. Our kingdom, our land… It all would not be without them.” Those were his last words to us, his royal guard.

I have torn off the blood-and-oil-soaked clothes from my body and picked up a clean gambeson from a nearby cabinet. Meanwhile on the top of the staircase, a silhouette appeared. Clutching a mace in his hand, but the grip weakened when he saw my face in the early morning sunlight. He did not say a word, only unlatched his face cowl. I stayed quiet. We both knew this would come. He, a mercenary. Me, the royal guard. When he was leaving our childhood home, he tried to convince me, that as mercenaries we would be free… That we could just join the winning side instead of dying as loyal men to a losing king. It was too late for words now. We both had the same flames in our eyes. The flames, which burn away the remorse. The flames which burn away the sorrow of never seeing our families again. The flames of war, which have incinerated our souls.

The mace fell to the ground and he unsheathed his sword. Without a second of hesitation, he leaped towards me, looking to end this before other mercenaries arrive and try to take the jewels for themselves. I stepped back and ducked behind the queen’s empty throne. We both spent a few seconds thinking of an approach. I tried to latch onto his leg from below, but he managed to sidestep. While from above, a blade slid onto me. My whole right side pulsated with a painful sensation. I grasped the throne for support, but it fell with me. The knight did not wait and stabbed right through the throne. Steel only missed my face by an inch. Instinctively, I threw the throne aside, sword still in it. I kicked the surprised leg and the whole mass of black armor thudded on the floor. Like a bag of apples. I rolled on top of him, tore the dagger from his grasp and I pressed all my weight onto the dagger’s tip to enter his skull through the opening in his helm. The body twitched randomly around and one of the gloves took a few of my teeth in the last move of desperation.

It was difficult to pull myself off the ground, perhaps the stream of ink-black liquid pouring from my side was the cause. Liver maybe. I snatched the crown, apple, scepter and made my way down the stairs. All around, there was a smell of sulphur, smoke, and fire… This castle will be nothing but a skeleton by tomorrow. I stumbled slowly onto the courtyard. Mercenaries. Twenty or thirty. All waiting, preparing to jump me. But all cautious of others. Paralyzed by their greed to take my treasure for themselves. A few steps forward. I leaned onto the well. That is that then. I will steep the water in gold.

The end of Week 2 update

At last, I come forth with an update. The last two weeks have been sort of a transformative experience for myself. To explain why, I’ll start with the basis of it. The reason why I am not afraid of showing my fiction to others, but why even thinking of sharing any of the paragraphs from the last two weeks shakes me to my core.

Writing is a mirror into ones soul. And my fiction (or most of it) is a small mirror. It’s the kinda mirror you look into when putting on make-up or when tearing out your unibrow with tweezers. You only see a small part of your face in the reflection. maybe if you get far away enough, all of your body fits, but it becomes so small and distorted, that it no longer is you. But these last two weeks were like a room of mirrors… All the walls, ceiling, the floor. You can see all of yourself, every inch from every angle, in perfect clarity. No blemish is hidden, nothing goes unnoticed.

And that is why I’ve been hesitant. Hesitant to share the naked nature of me to strangers. It’s one thing to let a stranger see your face or a silhouette of yourself from far away. It’s another thing to stand naked in-front of one, letting them examine every nook and cranny whenever they desire.

I will try to write some flashfics during the coming weeks so you get at least the glimpse of my unibrow. Not for the sake of me or you, but for the sake of the project.