The Ugly Inbetween (darkapotheosis) wrote in storyvault,
The Ugly Inbetween
darkapotheosis
storyvault

Battlefield...(ooh first thing in)

The first thing he noticed as he began to stir was the smell, if not for that smell, he could have believed he was already dead. If he was honest, he was scared to move, to open his eyes, to see what he already knew. Slowly he flexed his fingers to begin the arduous process of moving. With his hands covering them, he slid one eye gingerly open. After a brief period of discomfort, he adjusted to the brightness of the sun and saw that it was a beautiful warm day. A reason for the rapidly sickening smell he saw as he rose to sitting, bodies, the bodies of mercenaries and soldiers intermixed in a slumber that would last them an eternity. All the reasons for fighting all the differences in ideology forgotten with the ring of steel on steel the power of the battle had taken them to a place from which they could never return. Realising that he was probably wounded he searched his body until his probing hands came across a sensitive pang in his ribs, a twinge that fuelled his memory to a vision of yesterday amongst these men some of whom fought for glory others for fealty and some like him for something so crass as money. He had stood clad in chain with a sword clutched in each hand so caught up in his ecstasy at the thrill of battle moving and swinging like a dancer with the other men on the field in a beautiful mesmerising dance that left many of its dancers dreaming of their next life. So caught up had he become he never even saw the horse ploughing towards him, not until it was too late and the Morning star had carried him to the ditch and with the sickening crunch of head on stone had he landed in the shallow murky waters. For no reason other than random chance he figured his still breathing, body must have been overlooked and he had survived. The only answer must have been that not enough of either army had survived for this to be a victory for any man that day. He sat for a moment contemplating his position as the only survivor on the field when something occurred to him he wasnt the only one breathing.
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Cool, very poetic in places. A few things though. When you describe the injury in the ribs the words 'sensitive pang in his ribs, a twinge' aren't really powerful enough, They don't really speak of a wound to me, more a stitch. And at the end where he is sitting up, you don't describe him sitting, it would be a major effort after a head wound, probably causing sickness. You have narrated these details in the beginning but the depth of narration is being lost near the end. Is this to speed the tempo of the story?

I like it though, its the sort of thing I really enjoy writing.
I was trying to go for a gradual lessening of detail as his focus and attention is slowly shifted from internal to external foci but I wasn't sure how it translated and yeah I was struggling a little with the rather wimpy nature of his rib wounds and it does look a little weak in retrospect ;) i may add to it but feel free to add to it yourself if ya like ;)