The Ropeman

Reads: 47  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 0

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
In a tropical jungle a woman fights for freedom, dignity and love against the most decrepit of evils.

Submitted: October 17, 2012

A A A | A A A

Submitted: October 17, 2012



There she stood, bare breasted and resilient, she seethed with hatred which intensity was primordial. She bared her teeth and snarled with absolute conviction, her poise aggressive, her eyes ablaze with self righteous rage. She stood tall for a woman, near six foot, and her crouched stance did not demean her slender figure, she was toned to near perfection, muscles held tight beneath the hairless tanned skin encasing them. Her eyes were the deepest shade of black, empty voids, without softness, nor weakness, no mercy nor any other wet emotion. Her blond locks through untamed only added to her savage appeal. Her small hands hardened and ready, clutching a crude spear, ready to take life without question. They surrounded her, six of them, large unshapely men who lacked her muscular definition and royal stance. they were clothed in graying cloth that only added to there brutish appearance. They leveled their muskets at her chest. There hairy brows glistening from the chase which had just concluded in this ambush. They were unsure of themselves, they lost two on the way to this impasse, their blood still clung to the woman spear. They knew that their muskets to bring a close to this situation in seconds, but that was not their task, there task was apprehend, not kill, a dead beauty was worthless. This one would bring her weight in gold. She edged forward, spear raised, deathly intent explicitly implied, ready to stab and smite. The hair on the back of their necks rose, their frumpy attire warming them to near maddening heat. The blood still persistently dripping from is sharped point. Their eyes all swiveled to their captain. John Vanda, he was an age old pro, he knew the tricks and tools needed to tackle the trade, but he had never seen a huntress of such caliber. He had Already lost Edrich and Simion, the former was a fresh faced youth, more suited for picking potatoes on his family farm. But Simion, he had near ten years hunting experience. This mistress of the moon was beyond any of them individually, she definitely descended from the monarchy. This knowledge both seduced and deterred, for though her value was enormous, the risk of pursuing this prey was high. If she but waited till darkness she would have their skin. If they killed her his men's lives were taken in vain. He grunted thrice, the sign for the rope man to deploy. A thin, sinewy man with abnormally long arms and legs. Ever inch of his skin either marked by or surrounded by long horizontal scars descending like a ladder from crown to heal in perfectly concentric circles exactly one inch apart. His body was bald, he wore a rope around his waist and a leather loin cloth encasing his penis and scrotum but nothing else. Eyes void of color or shading, a milky white ,pupiless ,all seeing mass. He was from the river, natures genetic answer for the huntress. He is soulless, without empathy or desire, all he was born to do was this, to hunt the huntress, to wield weird ropes constructed thin from bark of elder trees. He lifted his rope, and swung it in a circular motion above his head,both arms rotating to create maximum momentum, staring ever into the huntress's black eyes. He let loose, the rope tearing through the humid air, straight and direct towards her spear. She leaped left, avoiding the strike and in one fluid motion slashing a dozen inches off the rope. The first real emotion blossomed on his face, a cynical grin to match the epicness of this confrontation. Her face remained defiant, no joy, no humor, she knew her fate should she be taken. Death is far less arduous, and she would open her stomach long before she was tied by those ropes. Yet the rope man presence demanded violent and aggressive resilience, she knew it was her duty to dispatch this vile and insidious interloper, for her people had suffered immeasurable hardship through those endless twangy ropes. She knew that the risk was to be domesticated by whip and rod in a Capital's charm schools, to servitude as a concubine of some fat merchant or corrupt politician, to be discarded into Bone Bay once her nubile youth had faded, to be forever lost to her family. She took three long breaths, drawing in the sweet, jungle air. Though she did look, she drew in her surroundings, the dense forest, the thick soft canopy allowing only the gentlest smatterings of light, the collage of colors smeared across everything in flamboyant designs which could only be conjured by heavenly fingers. The bird and beasts of every conceivable shape, size and shades. She thought of her home, the trees to which her castle clung, of her mother, the Matriarch of their clan. The thing she most thought of was Persius, the man to whom she had ventured to see, she thought of the night they spent together, the strength in his shoulders, the love they made, her first time. They were soon to be promised, his piercing blue eyes would only look on her. The love in her heart burned with such intensity she could not bear to think of it less she loose her composure. She would die today, or she would battle through, but she would not be taken by another man, for she was his,and only his. Death shall be her sole infidelity. The ropeman opened his mouth, toothlessly his jaw gaped open and a long slender blue tongue escaped his lips. He drew the rope back in sightless speed, only at the apex of its momentous backward pull could she see it and predict its likely course and target of its lighting forward sling. As it whipped forward she timed her counter against the sharp crack it emitted as it broke the sound barrier. It shot towards her left ankle, curving and swaying like an animal on its savage descent. She pivoted herself backwards on her heels, thrust her spear downward and split the rope seemlissly into two thin strips party passed either side of her person. In return she took two long leaps forward, halving the distance between them, close enough for her spear to pierce. She deflected two strikes, aimed at waist and neck respectively, during her charge. She thrust her spear forward, letting its rod fling through her grasp in a striking pose, clutching only with the tips of her fingers to allow maximum reach. The spear flew towards his stomach. with amazing alacrity and limberness he bent his torso backward until it was adjacent to his legs. He kept his footing and upon reaching the bottom of his maneuver let fly a furious whip which flew towards her left ankle. She flung her left leg backward in a elegant arabesque avoiding the strike. Yet only too late did she place the intent in his action as drastically the rope altered course and wrapped half a dozen times around her right ankle. The wrap was tight, yet not so tight as to bruise or draw blood. The rope when wrung could only be unwrung by a rope man. In one fluid action he both raised to his feet and in a rythemful tug tripped her. Before she had hit the floor he was upon her, tying her in semi circles resembling his own vulgar scars. Before she could react he had disarmed her and secured both her legs and had already entangled her up to her stomach. She knew now her fate was sealed, even if her sisters were to descend on this raiding party they would be unable to remove the elder tree rope. She would remain thus until a rope man freed her. Short of being sold in the capital no amount of coercion, extortion or violence would could persuade a rope man to remove her from this bondage. The Captain approached to salute the rope man, yet he stumbled on the down caste spear, the sudden confusion behind him distracted the ropeman for the tiniest fraction of a second. His head leaned to the slightest degree towards the source of commotion. These minuscule openings were observable to the most diligently trained, the ability to act upon them only open to the most talented of the most diligent, and the ability to react while half the body was completely neutralized was available only to the greatest of huntress's. She lunged forward with barbarous force, and with her straight white teeth tore into the ropemans throat, severing all arteries in his neck. As the blood drained enthusiastically from his brain the boatman acted out in his own resilience. With a savage tug he drew on the thin rope which immediately minced her entire lower body. Slicing in those concentric circles, crimson lines. Blood erupted in unnatural chaos. She was gutted and torn and doomed to horrific death. All this happened in less than a second and as the captain rose from his stumble he was horrified at the tragic carnage before him. He ran forth and turned to the rope man, he was warm but dead. He kneeled and saw the Amazon still lived, with her dying breath she laughed, then decadently exhaled her soul into the lustful tropic. As blackness swallowed her mind a hysterical thought bounced across her sub conscious, \"my family is here\". Form above and around the thousands upon thousands of Amazons had descended on mass to see their princess die, they had come for vengeance, they had come for war.

© Copyright 2017 Kevinho. All rights reserved.

Booksie 2017-2018 Short Story Contest

Booksie Popular Content

Other Content by Kevinho

summer shade

Poem / Other

The Ropeman

Short Story / Other

Crimson Tides

Short Story / Flash Fiction

Popular Tags