Mira's Diary

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: War and Military  |  House: Booksie Classic
About the text: Mira's Diary is a storyline I have been writing based on some experiences I had with the game Mount and Blade:Warband. It is a story about a young girl, Mira, who loses her family in an assault on her village and gets captured by her former enemies, just to discover that the lord who captures her is her actual father.

I will only include Day 1 out of 400. This is one of the first texts I have been trying to create in English and I will not modify eventual mistakes.

Submitted: February 28, 2014

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Submitted: February 28, 2014



I can see the blood. It's on my hands. It's on my face. It's on the ground. It's everywhere. I can hear the men scream of pain or loss. The sounds fill the place, reach corners, go through walls. I can see the dead. They are there, right next to me. Chests that have stopped moving, hearts that have stopped beating, eyes that are closed forever. They're in my head now. They surround me; closing my eyes doesn't help. Thinking of the peace they have in death does not help. They're there. They wont go. The grass I am standing on is red. The shining steel of the armors and weapons is red. The wonderful white horses are red. You can't hide from it. It burns through closed eyes, through tears, through souls.

A hand on my shoulder. A warm voice speaking to me, taking my hands off the cold corpses they were holding. But I don't want to move my hands. I dont want to release these persons with death. I won't let them go. Not now. Tears running down my cheeks, holding on my lips, dropping down my chin. But I can't feel them. Screams coming out of my mouth, quiet first, then louder. But I can't hear them. Blood streaming out of the wound I got on my forehead, mixing up with the tears. But I can't feel the pain. There's only them. Once living, laughing, warm. Now cold, silent, dead. The smell of their blood reaches me, makes me cough. One time first, then more often.

Hands trying to pull me back, to get me off their corpses. I hit the air around me, I don't want to leave them. There's a chance, I think, there's still a chance. But there isn't. They're dead. And the hands are stronger than my despair. They pull me back, take my hands, pull me with them. They won't let me go. They won't let me. I've seen them the last time. Tears streaming out of my eyes again, I can't controll it, can't stop it. Neither can I stop the screams, or my arms still hitting around, or my feet trying to kick them. I'm forced to enter a half burned-down shed and to sit on the ground, leaning at the black-coloured wall. Again the warm male voice trying to speak to me. I can hear it. I don't understand the words but I can hear it. And something in his voice makes me hold in my doings, makes me calm down a bit, makes me try to actually listen to him. I am looking up to his face, into his green eyes - and they tell me his story. They tell me all about his feelings and also the reasons for it. They tell me his pain.

He kneels down next to me and points his finger at my forehead. I touch the spot he pointed at, feeling a numb pain in my head. He smiles at me now but his eyes tell me how much strength that costs him. I wish I'd have heard all of his words. I shiver as the cold water touches my forehead the first time. Then it starts to feel good though and I begin to calm down.

Suddenly the pain explodes in my head and it turns dark around me.

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