Day 217 – Green Zoned – Short Story

“What is, what is,” she says proudly, standing over the bloody and beaten man, who kneels before her.

“P-Please, Aurora, can’t you see what you’ve become? There’s st-still time, we, we can still sa-save them,” he says weakly.

“Don’t be a fool brother, it’s over. I’ve chosen my alliance, and, we have been victorious. Why not stand by my side and rule this world, we could overthrow Falgan, together.”

“No, not like this, not bitter, not twisted. You’ve become someone I don’t even know, we fought for peace, for, for something better than this, something, beautiful.”

“Grow up,  for years, centuries, you two have been going at it, waging a war, a war where hundreds have died, millions even, while you two continued to be children. Under my reign, no more will die, no more will suffer, I will rule, and everyone will obey.”

“It’s wrong,” he says softly.

“No brother, it’s not wrong, you are, and, if you’ll not join me, then, I’m afraid, you must die,” she says, drawing a sword from it’s scabbard, she stares at it, as it shimmers in the light, then, looks back to him. “How fitting, that you fall beneath you’re mighty blade, which has, for countless eons protected you, given you your strength, made you, a force, a hero, who’s tales have been whispered from one to the next, who’s feats of bravery have been turned into songs, fitting, that one day, so will this.”

“P-Please, don’t do this, don’t make me…”

“Make you what? I wish to make you do nothing else, but die!” She yells, as she draws back the sword.

“T-Then, I-I, I am sorry,” he says, as he looks up from the ground, his eyes burn into her, she fells them, like hot pokers, as a tear runs down his cheek. “He who wields, commands you, strike down the imposter, take back what is mine!” He yells, suddenly she screams in pain, in agony, as the sword melts in her hand, running down her arm, and quickly encases her in a metal like casing, then, with one last muffled cry from her, it reforms to it’s shape once more, crashing to the ground before him. “I’m sorry dear sister, but, no one wields Destiny, but me,” he says, as he reaches out and grips the swords handle, the room implodes in a ball of light, and he gets powerfully to his feet, whole once more.



Published by

Matthew Tonks

People are surprised when reading Matthew’s stories that he’s a sane forty something year old, happily married, father of one, employed full time and dream of dark disturbing things that any sane person would never even contemplate thinking of. But it's true, he’s toyed with writing for most of his adult life, but has always found the peg a writer must fit into is not the shape he wished to be. His writing can be described as lamenting, long, concussive (yes it smashes you in the head), compulsive, and stuffed with rhythmic communication and violence, let’s not forget the violence. His own opinion on his writing is this, “You see, I don't just want the words to seep into your mind, but into your soul, showing you images of blood and beauty through, volatile language, violence, sex, love and sin. My muse takes different shapes, and every now and then you can see her shining her wicked smile in some of my stories, tempting you with her promises, but ripping your heart out instead.” So have a look, and take a seat in my wayward ride, as you join me while I purge through, this twisted road of madness.

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