The Spirit of Revenge
A Korean-inspired Silla Dynasty Flash Fiction
A cool, light breeze of false spring swirled around, invading the senses, sending chills down Yushin’s spine. Small patches of warm light broke through the forest canopy, illuminating the snow with greens and pinks. The forest was anything but still, yet it gave both Yushin and his horse the same dread of a silent forest. His horse moved from side to side, glancing about. Rustling in the trees tightened Yushin’s grip on his horse’s reins. He narrowed his eyes, focusing on what might lie past the leaves. His horse shook its head and neighed nervously, the perfume of the cherry blossoms filling its nostrils.
“It’s just the wind, Cheonma. Calm yourself,” he said, bending over and patting the horse on the neck in reassurance. Back straightening up, Yushin cleared his throat, shaking off his own unease. Faint in the distance, his eye caught on a puff of air exhaled by a warm body.
“There you are,” Yushin said with recognition. He turned Cheonma towards the direction from which the puff came. “You shall not escape.” With one snap of the reins, he raced off, moments later reaching the spot. Jumping to the ground, Yushin drew his sword, cautiously inspecting the area. “I know you are here. Show yourself, and I will grant you an honorable, merciful death.” The sound of a bow drawing an arrow creaked, slightly deafened by the surrounding snow.
“Reveal yourself, Insara!” he shouted, running from tree to tree. “I know you are here.”
The arrow released, grazing his cheek as he moved, embedding itself into the tree next to him. He followed the path of the arrow, running at top speed towards his target. Insara stepped out from behind a tree several meters away. “There you are, coward.” Yushin stopped just shy of a sword's length, pointing it at him.
“You are following the orders of a man who can no longer give them,” Insara boasted as he put down his bow and arrows, reaching for his sword.
“The dying words of my King are more honorable than you could ever think of being,” he said, circling about sword still drawn, pointed at Insara’s chest, “the King’s word is as law.”
“Not if he is dead,” mocked Insara. Yushin rushed at him, screaming curses. Blade met blade as each blow was met with another.
“Your failed insurrection ends here, Insara!” Yushin yelled, looking for an opening.
Insara smiled. “I made peace with my demons, have you?”
“The only demon here is you!” Yushin swiped at him, unable to connect blade to flesh.
Insara ran, tripping over a rock hidden by snow a few meters away. The cherry blossoms began to fall to the ground, surrounding him as he slowly turned to face his executioner. Yushin walked up, plunging his sword deep into Insara’s chest, pushing the sword farther in before pulling it out and walking away. The ground pooled with blood, staining the earth red as the setting sun.
“Join your supporters in Hell.”
About the Creator
Kitty Fermengs
I write mainly romance stories. You will see bits of everything, as I love to romance every aspect of life.
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The Wind and The Boy
In a land full of freshly cut grass and not a care, lived a young boy. He heard all around him, the trees, the babbling brooks, the birds and the other animals, but the only one the boy ever even half way listened to was the wind. The way the wind spoke to him made the boy close his eyes to fully take in the sound. The older the boy got, the more he listened to the wind. He knew of it’s anger in a raging storm. He knew of it’s love with a gentle breeze on a summer’s day. He knew of all it’s moods, from the confusion of a twisted story turned to rage, to the sweetest of kisses by the sea. Wherever the wind traveled, so did the boy. Sometimes the wind aided the boy while he voyaged, whispering sweet nothings as he sailed across the sea. Others, the boy and the wind argued, leaving him alone in an unknown land. Always, the wind would return, apologizing with a sweet kiss and enveloping the boy in it’s self. The boy continued to age and slowed, despite his efforts to catch the wind. Everyday he asked the wind to stop so they could talk together as he did with the owl or the fox. Whenever he asked, the wind vanished, it’s voice unheard in the stillness. The wind slowed one day, as if catching its breath, as the boy sat on a rock resting his weary soul. So much time had passed, that the boy was now an old man. So old, in fact, that his hair matched the color of clouds on a sunny day and his face wrinkled as he smiled in the presence of the wind. The wind circled and swayed around the boy, but his age would not allow him to dance as he spoke with the wind. His breaths slowed and became shallow, and the wind became still, only moving when the boy’s breath met the air. With a smile, the boy let out one last breath to be carried out on the wind. The wind tried to rouse the boy, desperate to put the breath back into him, even sharing some of it’s own. It was no use. The boy’s essence had moved on to the next place it would dwell, leaving his empty shell to return to the earth. The wind stood still for a long while as the empty vessel slowly disappeared into the earth. Once everything was as it was, in the land of freshly cut grass and not a care, the wind began to move once more. It spoke of a boy that chased it around the world and back home. Somewhere in that land, a little boy’s eyes were closed, listening to an the epic tale.
By Kitty Fermengs4 years ago in Fiction
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