《Short stories》


 The boy who wanted to read for eternity

    Once, there was a boy. He lived in a village which was capable of producing miracles. There came a prophecy saying after he was born, he would accomplish great things. Without hesitation, his parents and the whole village had high hopes for him. Sadly, with the hopes came unbearable burden.


    Everyday, he would attend school like everyone would, though most of his schoolmates respect him a lot, though not with respect which was born out of admiration, but respect which was born from fear. Everyone would look at him with undeniably fake smiles. Seeing through the facade for the first time made him question himself whether he was really a figure worthy of respect, since fear was what is hidden in the deepest, darkest pit of their eyes. By the age of 6, no one dared to stick with him, let alone sit with him during class. He became the loneliest boy to be found in the village.


    Although his parents cared nearly every single of his needs, still he saw them not fit to be called ¡°parents¡±. They looked at him with hopeful eyes, yet there was a meaning behind that face saying,¡±we expect great things from you, maggot¡±. It seemed like his parents thought highly of him, instead of a son, they took him for a so-called ¡°hero¡±. And so, by the age of 10, he isolated himself completely from others.


    Yet one day, while he was exploring the woods behind his house, alone, he found a book. A leather-bound book with strange words carved into it. It stank of mushrooms, yet he still brought it home with him. When his father saw him with such a book, he immediately yelled at him for bringing the unpleasantly smelled book into their home. His mother, too, responded with a scream, and as if that wasn¡¯t enough, threw the book out into the dump pile. He was slapped several times as punishment. Although he felt shameful and somewhat disappointed in himself, he still snuck out from his room and retrieved it, recovering it from the dump pile while hiding its smell from his parents using some sweet smelling herbs.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    While holding the book, he felt somewhat secure and peaceful. With the depths of his mind overflowing with curiosity, he opened and started reading it. At first, it didn¡¯t make any sense, but as he stared at the opened pages of the book, he felt like he could understand the language used in it. And so, he stared at each page of the book at least 5 minutes for the entire night while his parents were sleeping.


    At the last page was a writing, stated in a language foreign of his village, it wrote,¡±Tracto cum diligentia¡±, though he soon forgot the warning as he indulged himself with the knowledge in the book.


    For the first few months after reading the book, there were reports about residents going mad and outing out their own eyeballs. After several more weeks, crazies were found committing suicide. As the village chief goes around seeking the source of such madness, he got infected with the madness without anyone knowing, even he himself did not know.


    Houses were burned as the crazy old chief went around ordering guards to burn them and massacre all the inhabitants of the town in the name of purifying the town. Although the guards did their best to rationalize with the chief, he went fully mad and killed all of them after they set the fire to the entire village.


    In the end, only charred remains were found lying around as the boy came back from his trip to the mountains for strength and independence training. Laughing all the while, he walked back into his charred house to find his parents lying there, chains rooting them in place as the fire burned and the smoke choked them. He found it oddly satisfying when he sat down and started reading the book he very well hid in the floorboards. The book was undamaged, much to his expectations.


    And so, he continued living there, with his book in hand, and had a happily ever after life.

 Dark world I

    The night was cold and breezy, but he did not feel any of it. In fact, it was considerably stuffy for him as he walked along the path towards the next town with his garments on. The only tool he brought along with him was the cane he found in the last village. It allowed him to examine a patient without coming into direct contact.


    As a strong gust of wind blows and the moonlight shines upon him, it revealed a mask and a light, waxed, black overcoat. The mask held two distinct features, which were a protruding beak and two eye openings that were sealed with two individual pieces of glass while the black overcoat had nothing worthy of notice. Although the mask made it hard to breathe in the air around, it was a price worth paying to keep the plague away.


    He walked on, with two gloved hands by his side. His left held the only cane he had, and the right held a sack full of herbs to later renew the used herbs stuffed in his mask''s beak. The sack wasn''t overly large to the point where it would hinder his movements, but it could be held within the palm of one''s hand. The herbs filtered any unwanted air and dirt, leaving behind clean but fresh smelling air.


    Soon, he saw the place he was heading to. It was an unnamed village, just like all the others. It didn''t look any different too, with a church standing in the middle as rows of houses surrounded it. There was a bazaar, which was once busy with merchants and customers, located beside one side of the church, while the other was a cemetery. Normally, a cemetery wouldn''t be a place where crowds formed, but in these times, people crowding in cemeteries were common sight, since none can leave their deceased loved ones without any unpaid remorse.


    Piles of corpses stacked up in the middle of the deathly place. There was a sudden icy coldness upon his back as he entered the cemetery, more from the surrounding glares than the atmosphere of the place itself. Most of the children have already left at the sight of his deathly aura which could rival even the cemetery''s atmosphere, and the ones who were left were mostly the elderly who had not much time left and the large, brawny men who were determined to stand their ground against the incarnation of death itself.


    "Wha''re ye doin'' er''?" One of the muscular man moved in to block the doctor''s way. Others followed, causing the path leading to the sick uncrossable.


    "No one needs yer''."


    "Leav'' us, death."


    This was a common occurence. He had already accepted it. Before he started his journey, before he left his village, before everyone in his village became sick, whenever he saw a plague doctor arrive, his stomach would churn. Not due to the disgusting stains dried up on his or her overcoat, but the mere presence of the doctors themselves made him feel a certain kind of fear. The fear of the unknown, the fear of being vulnerable, the fear of death itself.


    Thus, it was understandable why the villagers despise plague doctors. Whenever one came, it signified the death of a loved one; whenever one arrived, it signified the presence of death itself. Those who do not understand cower, but those who do always end up failing to get proper medical education and being a lowly scum, scamming the innocent for their money with their fake cures and surgeries.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    Sometimes, the doctor himself liked to think that scumlike humans should get infected and die quickly, but with his teachings and virtues deeply drilled into him, he would always, sooner or later, find himself turning back to his work and wishing the opposite of what he liked to think about. Because. what use is a plague doctor if not to cure the plague itself?


    As he stood still, he looked up for the first time after entering the village, staring back into the muscle man''s gaze. Like the villagers of the man''s village, the man was afraid as well, but he was putting up a brave front in order to inspire morale among his men, to not lose hope. This reminded him of the time when his mother got sick. Even though after a few days she found out the plague has touched her, she never losed the determined, cheerful look she had. Day by day, the doctor''s mother grew weaker and weaker, until the mother could no longer eat with her own hands and could not walk anymore. Still, she held the cheerful and determined smile whenever he visited her at the hospital.


    Just like that time the doctor was with his mother, the muscle man''s gaze held a sort of determination not dissimilar to the doctor''s mother. It would inspire, give hope and raise the morale of his village, despite all the death occuring and surrounding them. Even though fear was ever present, the muscle man was clearly ready to get into a one-on-one showdown with the plague. With these evidences, the doctor was able to confirm the man was actually the leader of the village, a chief, although still too young.


    "Kai, let ''im through," a sickly, old voice sounded out from behind the barricade of men. The men, who were originally blocking the path, one by one gave way to the sound''s source, revealing an old man in a straw hat. The old man walked towards the doctor and before his son could do anything else, pushed his son aside. The doctor gave a respecting nod to the former chief, who led him towards an area cleared just to house the excess amount of patients.


    Groans, coughs and moans resounded throughout the area. Not one bit of space was spared from the cries of terror and wailing of fear at the sight of the doctor''s mask. The only reason they did not immediately flee the scene was due to their deteriorating physiology. Swellings of various parts of their body made it impossible for the patients to move without pain erupting from every part of their body. This symptom was one of the main factors as to why the plague was known as the ''bubonic plague''.


    "Can you help them?" the sickly old man coughed at the end of his question. It seemed like his time was nearly up, as there were various wounds around his upper arms and legs.


    Again, the doctor gave a nod. He went and examined the first patient, before continuing with the second, the third and so forth. After about what seemed like an eternity in hell with the wails and moans, the doctor came back to the path he entered from and sought for the old man. Expectation could be seen in the old man''s eyes, but they weren''t good expectations, only the sorrow and fear for the infected.


    The doctor looked at the old man for a while, as if participating in a staring contest with the former chief. Then, after tens of seconds of staring, he reached into his herb sack and withdrew a dozen kind of herbs. Before long, the doctor spoke in a raspy voice.


    "Grind these leaves and boil it in clean water, this will relieve the pain and sufferings of the victims. Don''t let anyone close to the infected without wearing masks, and if you do near one, do not come into direct contact," the doctor finished with a fitful cough.


    He then turned and started to walk away when the chief spoke to him in a low voice. "Has god''s wrath touched your soul as well, death?" The doctor stopped dead in his tracks, thinking for a moment before replying,


    "Cleanse the city of rats and fleas, or god''s wrath will kill us all," after answering cryptically, the plague doctor left the village, heading towards the next unfortunate village.

 Fates compass (1)

    When the wind blew, dust flew. It was a common sight in the barren wastelands. Ever since the world was forced into a nuclear conflict, no country had survived. Only the lucky ones remained, though they had to struggle against the hostile climate of the rapidly degrading world.


    The hostility of their own world wasn''t the only challenge. Due to the large amounts of radioactive waste from the nukes, strange phenomenons began appearing, mainly dimensional rifts. For the smaller ones, the rifts merely added to the volatility of the natural world. However, for the larger ones, magical creatures with strange anatomy would sometimes pass through. These creatures were bloodthirsty, though they are always tethered to the rifts they came through from. And once the rift closes, it would be a matter of days before the creatures starved of their magical essence, but not before wrecking carnage through whatever settlement the stragglers created.


    Walking through the wastelands under the intense sunlight was a figure in a ragtag robe. As he walked, the boots he had painstakingly mended many times over tore again, quickly filling with sand, before leaking out when he lifted it. He wore a gas mask, though the filters had long since been replaced with whatever fabric he could find. There was no need to waste precious filters when all he needed to avoid was sand getting into his lungs.


    As he marched onward through the sandy plains. the sun rose higher as midday slowly approached. He held tighter onto his robe, afraid of any skin being exposed to the unweakened sun rays. The radiation from the nuclear war had destroyed whatever was left of the ozone. Just a peek at the sky through an unfiltered lens could blind a person.


    The torrents of wind passing through grew stronger, blowing more sand into the air, yet he paid it no mind. His legs still marched on.


    As time went by, the air thickened with sandy particles as the winds grew stronger. The increasing viscosity made moving harder. Reaching into his back pocket, he took out a golden compass and flipped it open. Contrary to what was expected, the compass did not have any of the four directions. Instead, the compass was bisected horizontally with white on top and black below while four icons ¡ªsun, moon, cloud, lightning¡ª held the diagonals. The sun and moon on the top left and right, the clouds and lightning on the bottom left and right. The compass had two needles, one sweeping around the white area ¡ªaveraging more on the edge of the color¡ª while the other seemed fixed to the moon icon.


    He cursed internally, his gaze lifted from the compass. By now, the air thickened at a much faster pace, enough to feel like standing in water, and the wind was threatening to uproot him. Before he left, his luck had been on the better side of things and the tide had no hint of changing. Yet here he was, his luck suddenly taking a dip, making his trip deadly.


    He knew the city of stragglers was a couple thousand more paces away. So close, he thought as he forcefully dragged his feet forward through the viscous air, the gears in his mind spinning. When he found it impossible to move his feet without getting blown away, he dug his legs deeper into the sands, before forcing himself into a prone position, lying as low as possible while rooting himself to the ground.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    The wind grew ferocious, the sand wearing down the back of his robe. He knew if the sand did breakthrough, he would be facing the end of his days. He couldn''t help but curse internally for deciding to go on this long journey to one of the surviving cities.


    As the sand storm raged, he carefully extracted his right arm and took the compass to check his luck. As the compass would have it, one of the needles hovered on the line between black and white while the other remained stuck to the moon icon. Praying to whatever god there was, he promised he''d spare a tad bit of kindness to the next stranger he met, as long as the needle would go back to sweeping around the white area. As if that promise angered the gods, the winds raged even more violently, and his eyes widened as the needle that was previously on the moon icon began to waver and try for the storm icon.


    That had only ever happened to him once during the last several years he possessed the compass. That time, a magical creature had attempted to enter their world, but thanks to his luck, he managed to escape while others were less fortunate. This time, however, the creature was stronger, as indicated by the intense sandstorm, and he was alone. No doubt, he would perish if he did nothing.


    Scanning his surroundings, he could not see beyond several meters. When he couldn''t find the rift the creature would come through from, he crawled in a straight line, continuing his journey to the city. Although the risk of being uprooted was great, he was careful, enough to cause the needle resting on the line between the colors to start shifting to the top white area. Yet he couldn''t be happy yet, as his fate could easily change should he fail to climb out from the storm''s range.


    Bit by bit, he struggled to climb away from where he assumed to be the storm''s center. As the winds raged and howled furiously, it took him exceedingly more strength to even climb half a meter forward. Time crawled to a halt as he suddenly found his biceps unable to contract anymore, and for a moment, he feared he would be uprooted and drawn back deeper into the storm. However, the winds suddenly lost its momentum as he heard a sonic boom behind him. He had no doubt the creature had already made it through, and the boom marked the closing of the rift as reality tried to fix itself.


    For a fraction of a second, he was relieved the force pulling on him was gone, but then a pushing force ¡ªgenerated by the shockwave¡ª sent him flying away from the center of the sandstorm for several meters before crashing into the sandy ground.


    He struggled to pick himself up, knowing he didn''t have time to look back. The creature would be upon him in mere moments should he not start running. Yet his arms were shaking as he pushed himself up, the sand trying to eat his arms instead.


    Finally able to stand up, he started running, not caring that his robe was torn and blood trickled down his back. He would have to worry about that later, but right now, escaping was of utmost importance.


    As soon as he ran a couple of meters, he heard an ear-deafening roar, causing his feet to stumble. Fortunately, he did not fall and continued running from his magical pursuer even though the ringing in his ears did not subside even after a while.


    He would run, he thought, and run, and run, and run. What mattered was his life could not end here. He feared death, enough to outrun an inhuman creature. When he wanted to look back and check if the threat was still behind, he suddenly remembered what the others had said, that merely looking at the magical creature could disorientate them. Some of the rumors had even said those who looked upon the stronger creatures would fall into a coma, and that was something he could not let happen if he wanted to live.


    His pace slowed as the effects of his adrenaline began to fade away. Pulses of pain came from his bleeding back, and the hot sun made his wound fester quicker. Fortunately, as he grabbed his compass and checked, his luck was now close to the peak, and it seemed he was near the city he almost died just to get to.

 Fates compass (2)

    Each step weighed more than the last as he moved forward. As if that wasn''t enough, he had another dune to cross, and this probably wouldn''t be the last one either. A breath of resignation to his luck escaped as he finally gave in to the temptation to check on the compass.


    His hand slipped to the pocket and swiftly retrieved the compass. For a moment, hesitation lingered as he stood in the sand, halfway up the dune. The memory of checking the compass while he was facing a hurricane passed through his mind. He had grown confident after checking the compass, seeing as his luck was peaking. Yet it had dived into the black area a moment later. That had almost cost him his life if it wasn''t for the sudden shaking in his legs causing him to fall onto his left leg, causing a flying shard of wood to impale his right forearm instead of where his heart would''ve been at. It was a lesson engraved into his mind.


    A pulse of searing pain pulled him back to reality as he flicked the compass open. Encouraged by what he saw, he climbed the dune eagerly ¡ªpain pushed aside¡ª only to catch sight of what was once a megapolis, now only a shadow of its former self.


    There were crudely made tents leaning on the side of fallen skyscrapers, shielding traders and stock from the sun. Piles of rubble were gathered to either side of the road, with inorganic trash laid separated from the piles. Buildings had proved far dangerous to inhabit, and those who were willing to take the risk had made an effort to create reinforcements so they don''t die from sudden collapses. Even then, underground homes were a much safer alternative, offering protection from the sunlight and heatwave.


    Ignoring the jets of pain from his exposed back, he pocketed the watch and ran down, his feet occasionally stumbling albeit not enough to cause him to tumble. He could see figures walking around, bartering for daily supplies deeper in the city. Stocks were covered with cloths to prevent sand from contaminating them. Considering how close the stands were to the border of the megapolis, he guessed the city was by far the largest he had seen yet.


    As he switched from running to jogging to limping into the city, many seized what they were doing and prepared to evacuate, not before he shook his hands to tell them he wasn''t a bringer of bad news, to which relief flooded them all. Everyone resumed what they were doing, the traders who were preparing to gather up their stock hunkering down again.


    Now that he was closer, he could see metal wagons here and there, filled to the brim with soil, with hints of crops growing in it. The hostility of the open environment has made farming a difficult mission as even plants find it hard to weather hurricanes and blizzards without shelter, yet the food was crucial and is prized highly. The ingenuity of the human mind had created a solution, that is to create mobile platforms that could be moved to a nearby shelter before the environment had a chance to kill the crops, resulting in what everyone called a farm-wagon, or "fag" for short.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    As he approached one of the traders resting on a piece of rubble under a crude tent, leaning against the wall while watching his approach, the trader took off his mask ¡ªsimilar to his in every way¡ª and revealed a girl around his age instead, with a piece of cloth shielding her airways from sand infiltrating.


    "What can I do for you?" She spun back and lifted the cloth covering her supplies. "Canned food, clean water, portable gas canisters. Name what you seek, and I shall deliver. At a price of course."


    His mind was blank from the lack of human conversation through the entire journey, but the trader mistook his lack of reply for something else instead. Wary in her voice, she spoke. "If you''re thinking of robbing me, best be on your way now. The city doesn''t tolerate bandits." She eyed him, one of her hands already reaching for something in her back pocket.


    As sudden as a sand storm could turn into a blizzard, he fell to his knees as the fiery pain from his back that was previously held back by adrenaline began to take effect on his weary mind. The trader looked worried for a second as if she was looking at a sick patient ¡ªa Covid patient perhaps¡ª though she quickly realized he was wounded instead. Her previous wariness was gone as she went and inspected him.


    "Jesus Christ, what happened to you?" The girl swore when she caught sight of his sand mutilated back, black skin hanging off on the edges of the wound as the smell of decay reached her. She turned to her supplies and grabbed a bottle of fresh water and some bandages, intent on at least patch up the wound.


    He shook his head as he realized his throat was parched from traveling without a sufficient water source. Quickly, he grabbed the bottle, eliciting a "Hey!" from the girl, took off his mask, and drank a mouthful. He couldn''t afford to drink too much, since he needed some to wash his wounds.


    "This is..." The girl grabbed the half-empty bottle as she let out a sigh and grabbed another bottle of water, along with some salt. She went behind him, washing his wounds, sterilizing the wound with salt ¡ªhe grunted from the sting¡ª before bandaging him.


    "We''re gonna have to visit the pharmacy for some antibiotics," She said as he put his mask back on. Though his back burned and stung, the pain meant the injury did not reach bone. He looked to the ground, still kneeling, and saw drops of pus and black blood staining it. The girl helped him up, taking care not to let him fall, yet he was too weak, his butt falling onto the solid ground.


    "Your injuries are too deep to leave untreated with medication," She said as she realized he was to heavy to carry. Hesitation showed on her face, her eyes looking between him and her wares, not before his back fell onto the sands did she put her mask on and ran deeper into the city.


    As his injuries weighed him down, he felt ill and weak, the strength he relied on to power through the storm long gone along with his adrenaline. He was tired, yet the pain from his back kept him awake. For once, dying didn''t sound so bad.


    "With the world''s gone to hell, you''re gonna have to carry our genes son." His father''s dying words rang suddenly in his mind.


    He sighed and took out his compass to check his luck. To his horror, the needle was sweeping within the black area while the other needle pointed at the cloud.


    Should he want to survive, he would have to walk it off. Then, he would have to warn the others.

 Lamenting sorrows from a dream

    "Run! They mustn''t catch you!" I yelled as we passed through the dense forest into a wide expanse.


    The rising sun blinded us, but only for a moment. In front of us laid a wide grassland with bumps occurring every so often, blocking the area that laid behind where we might be guided safely.


    If only we could make it...! My thoughts turned back to the horse I rode as I feel the strength of the stallion weaken from the escape through the forest.


    "Gah!" The sweet, familiar voice yelled out from behind as I heard the rustle of a bush. "I would''ve appreciated it if we phased dimensionally away from our pursuers!" The familiar silhouette of her red hood came into view as she forced her horse to catch up.


    "We need to bait them over, or else Gareth and the men won''t be able to trap them," I explained again as we approach a bend that would mark our journey through the hills. Shadows loomed over the passage as the sky turned into a gradient of light blue to navy.


    I looked back and spotted the enemies stampeding through the bushes the princess had passed. They were only 10 men strong with a few tracking hounds, but what made them terrifying were the bloodlust they exuded. With red eyes almost glowing like a cat''s, the air seemed to warp in their presence, as if the world was overweighted by their being. I couldn''t help fearing what they would do to us if we failed our task.


    "They''re coming aren''t they?" Her hood fell, and I could see the traces of her sandy blonde hair, once golden, shining as bright as the stars in the night sky as darkness shielded otherworldly eyes from the world of Areth until fear overshadowed the brightness her heart bore.


    Rounding the bend, we could sense the pursuers closing in even without a glance. The sky was dark, the shadow of the world overbearing, and suddenly everything seemed impossible. "We can do this! We can!" A rush of adrenaline snapped my perspective away from the depression I fell to.


    She has to survive! Our child has to!


    We rushed through the twists and turns, impatience incarnated as the sound of reins snapping. We''re almost there!


    A gleam of silver, bright as the hope it gave as it marked the point of ambush several hundreds of meters away. "We could make it--" A sob cut off her words as tears flowed down her cheeks. I dared not look, instead getting a glimpse of those who were to be trapped.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Thud! Thud! Thud! The thunderous hooves of the tracking hounds reverberated through the hill sides. They were so close to us now. Thoughts flashed past my mind as my heart skipped a beat at the look of the pursuer''s face, lips welded together by an amalgam of what seemed like machinery and breathing mask fused.


    Before my eyes could lurk to their eyes, I turned back to face the front. "Hya!"


    "We''re--- almost--- Hic!" Her hands loosened, the reins slipping from her fingers as she fell backwards from the horse galloping forward. For a moment, I locked eyes with her crystalline blue eyes that shone like jewels. Time passed, but it felt like a lifetime passed when I realise I was off my mount as well, hands ready to catch her as she fell to the ground. I thought I could hear our pursuers snicker as we landed on the cold, hard dirt road.


    "Ahh!" We tumbled, her in my hands as she tried but failed to protect me from the fall. I could hear her whimpering as the thunderous hooves landed right beside my head, encircling us just as death loomed over our heads.


    The hideous owners of the hounds stepped down from their mounts, walking with a solemnness to deliver a painful death to me and a lifetime of suffering to my soon-to-be wife, but no pain could be greater than seeing the once flushed cheeks of the one in my arms turn into a pained whining from what was to happen.


    "Hush, it''ll be alright," I cooed into her ears, stroking her shoulder as I had done so for the millionth time. Her skin was soft and smooth to touch, yet it was too cold to say she was healthy. "Don''t be afraid, everything will be just fine." I whispered as I stroke her hair while looking around for a last ditch attempt to turn the tables.


    Yet, a force as sudden as a hammer hitting a nail struck my chin, followed by another sharp jab into my solar plexus which threw me into the air. I gasped, but couldn''t breathe. That was when I realised the left side of my body was weak and my right hand was hammering the centre of my chest. A quick but painful death...


    As my vision began to narrow while my breathing was shallow, the surroundings were bright enough to see again, yet in my hand was the silver coin used as the mark for the trap to activate. My head swerved back to see our pursuers now choking the life out of my sobbing fianc¨¦''s body as it quivered to a still.


    Pressure built in my chest as I could feel the heat beginning to leave my body. Without a heart beating, my body would die from suffocation. Despite that, I felt my cheeks wet for the first time in years as my body fell to the ground. I couldn''t feel the solidness of the coin anymore, as my bodily sensations numbed and my fingers no longer felt like mine.


    Strangely enough, I could feel dust blow onto my arms as my narrowed vision was now as wide as a single horizontal slit. I could not hear, the ringing in my ears deafening now, blocking every sound from being processed; I could not feel, my nerves burning out like flickering bulbs, but mostly, a crushing abyss has settled onto my chest, gradually increasing in weight as all thoughts couldn''t even be completed.


    Yet, one thought persisted.


    I will be dead.