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Hostage

Silly short story I made

In the bar where the adventurers and vultures came to hang around once entered a man with his hair and eyes the same shade of red.

He asked the crow at the bar for a shot of rum while he leaned in to listen the stories the others where telling. At that moment, a member of the royal guard was sharing his recent mission, in which he had beheaded a traitor.

‘And you, redhead?’ A tall lady sat next to him. ‘Why have you joined us tonight?’

The redhead finished his rum, his mouth still like stone, staring at his newfound audience. If I am to tell the truth, i must admit, he didn’t have a clue what to say. He didn’t indulge in the idea of a crowd.

‘What’s up with your eyes, stranger?’

‘I don’t sleep well, what can i say?’ He responded.

‘Tell us your name!’

The man took his coat off, under which he wore a pretty tunic, the type rich snobs would buy.

‘Lonnie.’

The whole establishment roared, begging Lonnie to tell them a tale. They figured from his appearance that he of all of them had stories to tell.

They were barbarians, sure, but, above all, they were lovers of legends.

And, while he drank a glass of water, he finally found his voice.

‘You see’, he started, ‘I was wanted even as a child. It’s pretty funny if you think about it.

I was finally home since escaping the state of a hostage, this was after the revolution, but the authorities kept bothering me. The one who had captured me was, somehow, alive and they desperately wanted to know where he was.

I knew he would find me and the police always on my tail wasn’t helping me.

He took a while to show up. Even I was starting to think that he had either died, or he had forgotten about me.

Of course, we met eventually, outside the park fence while i was going home from school. Imagine being a kid and meeting your own aggressor again, in the dead of the evening, alone?

The bar had gone silent.

‘And, what did you do?’ The lady asked, her eyes glinting with sympathy. ‘Did you give up?’

Lonnie shook his head.

‘No. I took my pistol and I shot him in the legs because his shield was the size of a plate, and he was a fucking idiot.’

All the people and the vultures of the bar laughed in unison while Lonnie downed his water. He also chuckled, if only a little bit, because, when something hurt, he could only bring himself to spit and laugh in it’s face. With blood shot eyes, you don’t ever have enough energy to tackle it head first.

(Picture from the beginning is from Gris the game)