Writing excercise 01

Taking a hint from a website I visited, I wrote this piece with my monitor off. (spelling errors have been fixed, though). Comments are appreciated.


I sheathed my sword, strapped it around my waist and went off in search of Phobos.
The rain came down in sheets; it ws the middle of autumn, and the trees whispered slightly as the rain struck the leaves. Phobos was in that forest, I knew it. I would find Phobos. I clenched the pendant tightly- it was a tuft of orange fur, attached to a ring; tied to a thin golden chain that I wore around my neck. There was blood on the fur... I hope it didn't belong to Phobos. This was Phobos, to me- the tuft of orange fur on a chain. That was him, and I pondered that as I went into the forest in search of him. Lightning struck, thunder. I plunged in, ignoring the wet and the mud and the branches.

Three days into it. I think i'd begun to look a bit emaciated; but even if there were any clear ponds to check that they would've distorted my image. It wasn't important, anyway; I caught a rabbit, skinned it and ate it. There was no fur left on my arm where i'd scraped it on a branch; on a rock where i'd scraped by knee. But my sword was still sharp; and still I looked for Phobos.
No sight and no mind- somewhere in here was phobos. I followed the scent of blood, although I was unsure whether it was my own. It mattered not, anyway. The rain wouldn't stop- I waded through mud knee-deep, sucking at my feet.

Leaves opened to receive the rain - like the pages of a book. Opening up, illuminated by the flashes of lightning, but I couldn't read them. I didn't know the language.

There was sun for a day. It shined down on me, tearing across my exposed body and chilling me even deeper. I was soaked; I shook myself and carried on. The birds chirped in the sun, emerged from their flooded nest-holes. There was a dark cloud on the horizon- but I looked beneath every tree for phobos.
The rains came- another blur of days. Trees after mud-soaked trees. My complexion had turned a rather depressing shade of brown from eons in the wet. Oftentimes I stumbled, and I clutched the pendant for support. It was a pretty thing, that trinket - I'd taken it from a dying man. 'Phobos' he'd said. Rain and branches and mud, and on the fifth day I met the monster.

First it slinked at me from the shadows, unheard beneath the patter of rain drizzling on the leaves. There was a pair of glowing eyes from the bushes, and a black blur that bore me to the ground bleeding from long gashes. My sword came loose, rusty a little (from the days in the wet). I parried left and right, dashing the creature to the ground once. It came again, howling - I tasted blood. I caught a glimpse of feline ears as I blocked several more gashes. A panther, then? But it seemed improbable; it moved too quickly and too surely. I pulled the pendant off my neck, snapping the little chain. I clutched it tightly in my right hand. MY sword came down again, once and twice, slicing off branches and leaves, tearing holes in the carpeted ground. Not a speck of blood on it though... only on the pendant. Another lunge broke my frail parries; I slipped to the side as I felt the bones of my right arm come loose, shredding like moistened paper. The pendant fell to the floor. This seemed to draw some attention off myself (well enough as I was nursing my broken arm). But as it moved to peeer at it, glowing eyes sibilant, I engendered a final blast of strength, lifted my sword, and cut the thing hard with my blade. It flew veritably five feet, landed in the bushes with a tumble of black fur, blood and fleeing squirrels.

There was an explosion. I opened my eyes, expecting a section of charred wasteland- but walking over to the bush, I only saw a figure cut deeply in his side, clad in orange fur.


- adam