What child is this?

The liquid dark was not viscous this time; not like the tar I was pulled up from by Nervous. It was more like ink, this darkness. It was dark, a thin darkness though that seemed to move with my body rather than pull against it. My feet were solid beneath me; the ground also, like cured cement. I could walk in this vast black expanse. My shoes echoed on the ground almost as if I were in an airport parking garage.

Then in the midst of my third step, the black was pulled away, like the cover of a bird cage. Bright blazing red stood before me; a lit torch. Hundreds of them, standing and casting their firey glow and warmth past the horizons. I couldn't find their ends in either direction.

Past the horizons.

My stomach gave a nervous lurch as I turned and discovered a tent, giving a brilliant red glow just like the torch; and before the tent was a wide eyed warioress, done up in battle armor, staring at me as if I were a ghost summoned to haunt her.

Her weapon flicked out a moment later, rushing towards me. My hand, undaunted by the wickedly sharp edge, raised in a smooth movement, and caught the blade, edge and all.  She stared, dumb-struck, at her foiled weapon, and paled.

"But...", I didn't give her a chance to finish.

In a viscious movement, I wrenched the hilt out of her hands, tensed the steel, and broke the blade over my knee, dropping the two halves on the ground. She reeled backwards, falling over on her back. For every step I took, she scooted back untill she was backed against one of the tents, and one of her arms came up. "Mercy!" She cried, "Please have mercy!"

"Are you a heart?" My question startled her for a moment before she nodded.

"Logic told me about your kind," I said distastefully.

The End

4 comments about this story Feed