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[Original Fic] In The Eye Of The Beholder

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[Original Fic] In The Eye Of The Beholder
Post By x_Invalid_x. 15/12/08, 01:49 pm

“Good Lord; Is this all I’m ever to be?”

The words declared themselves in a wilful manner; a dry drawl to the tone which exposed the fact that this was to be a long-winded speech in which had taken place many a times before. There was the slight of breath, almost in a practiced manner where it had most likely proceeded various periods in the precedent. The smallest sound, almost like the rustling of leaves, as the wind stroked most vigilantly through the outstretched branches of a tall oak tree, caressing it’s structure in a cyclical conduct. Alluringly; the smell of freshly cropped grass held it’s scent amongst the area, as each blade of grass danced with poise in the grasp of that ever present wind. Another sharp intake of breath caught the attention of nearby birds, stirring them from their perching and sending them into the velvety sky; wings fluttering in their momentary revelation, dancing across the crystalline blue.

“What a life-As if this could be called such a thing,” The voice declared, seeming blissfully unaware of anything around, or simply ignorant of any presence. After all, such an egotistic creature as he could care very little for whether the birds, or insects cared to hear this truly repetitive tale of his. Infact, it was as if he considered it their privilege to hear anything such as a word from his justly majestic self. From the manner in which he breathed, to the simple gestures of which every inch of his body moved, he seemed to believe himself gracing everything which was within range to see or hear something as remarkable as himself.

“For someone such as myself, this is nothing short of extreme torture-For I should be out amongst the people, not reduced to this vulgar form!”

There was a sneer on his lips, and a complete disregard and disgust mingling underneath his breath as he exhaled deeply, the area resounding with the soft and smooth sounds he made. However the field bore no audience, and the area bore no living thing; at least, none large enough to be seen by anything remotely human. Even aside from that, he himself was no human. Far from it, infact. From the top of the filthy, dirt ridden straw hat, to the wooden pipe which lingered most consistently amongst his lips, to the tip of the wooden post which hoisted him into view for all to see. This man was no man at all, infact, one could only describe what he was in a singular word.

A scarecrow.

And aside from his royal tone of voice, there was nothing majestic, or remotely attractive about that piece of craft. Straw stuck out from beneath his oddly shaped torso, small tares apparent in the potato sack in which he’d been so crudely covered in. His clothing was only a plain straw hat, and a shirt the Farmer’s son had outgrown many a year ago, the various rainstorms he’d withstood revealed themselves in the slight damp patches amongst the stretched attire. His features were a brown button, the other having fallen off long ago, and a mouth which had been drawn onto the potato sack with a green felt-pen which had been closest at the time. Not that a scarecrow actually needed a mouth, but the youngest daughter of the Farmer had insisted he have one.

“You foul creatures-Remove yourselves at once!” He affirmed, his brows knitting into a frown-That is to say figuratively, it was completely impossible for him to perform such an action in reality. And infact, the words which escaped him, couldn’t be heard at all. At least not to the naked ear-For instead, each prolonged and resounded syllable echoed within the minds of those near enough to perceive. The birds, almost started at the sound which reached their mentality could barely move fast enough, scrambling over each other to escape the voice of the scarecrow, though they did not leave without permitting a parting gift.

Groaning internally as his eyes, or more rather, eye; graced the small ‘crests’ in which he’d been endowed, the scarecrow stifled a pitiful sob, his tenor a melodramatic one, and would have been accompanied, if possible, by a hand across the forehead, and probably the most theatrical gesture of which the man could beckon. The wind blew callously through his frail straw body, almost seeming to cause it to shudder, though that could truly only be the work of ones imagination.

The man was infact that; a man. Or had been once upon a time, though it went without saying he was no longer one, an inanimate object, enchanted by his morbid mistakes, which caused the scarecrow to take upon a life of it’s own. He had once been beautiful; No, perhaps that was simply too soft a term to explain the man. Stunning, breath-taking even, a sight for which man would travel an amazing way to behold.

Skin as pale and as striking as porcelain, though it was soft to the touch, and held a glow to it which could barely be explained by words themselves. His eyes, irises radiating with the most vivid and captivating shade of jade one could ever bare to witness. Curls, soft and well kept, hanging in gentle brunette waves, brushing alluringly over the pale skin of his shoulders and throat. Infact, if one were to attempt to explain his beauty, it would be a task even those of the most intellectual minds would struggle with; even Shakespeare himself would have to throw in the figurative towel and admit his defeat, such was this man’s splendour.

So it was without a doubt, he himself thought he was God’s gift upon this earth which was only fortunate enough to contain his majesty. As the years past, he noticed the small, but most subtle hints of his increasing age, and the thought of parting with his grandeur was one that almost drove him into a spiral of despair, and instead of accepting this with the grace and civility of one in his position, he instead sought out a means of which to prevent himself from aging, and after years of searching, he happened upon a talented witch.

He was desperate, and so taken by his beauty, the witch Amelia agreed without hesitation, creating only one term for her services, and one alone. Should she keep his aging captive in a small locket, he should in return confess his love to her, and spend his lifetime at her side as her partner. The bargain was a wretched one, for the witch Amelia was not beautiful at all. Instead, her features were scarred, her hair swept back from her features in a unsophisticated tie, the mess of black hair almost wiry to the touch, while her skin was rough, and hair grew amongst her most readily, making her arms appear to bare a fur coat.

As Amelia summoned the forces, she sucked the life from his body, leaving his features as beautiful, if not more so, than they’d been, and absorbing this life into a small silver locket, which she hung from his neck, her callous fingers brushing his skin readily. However, she had not made much insurance, and seeing that what he wished was done, he sneered and recoiled from her touch, his eyes regarding her as one would regard a creature much more low than ones self, almost as if Amelia were a bug which he was almost too disgusted with to tread on.

“You have granted my wish, Witch-But now I see no reason for me to accompany one such as you for a lifetime. I cast you from my sight, Witch, and if you are to ever approach me, I will see to it that you are disposed of,” He declared, his tone far more unkind than he had ever mustered. “But you promised, Dear Prince, that you would be mine,” Amelia reasoned, her eyes calm, and her features still as she watched him reflect upon this matter before drawing back. “Why should I throw away my life to a Hag, when I can leave at any moment I wish,” Seeing the man’s ignorance and disregard for her, the Witch Amelia reached out and seized the locket, taring it from his throat and hurtling it with all her strength threw the open window opposite her.

“Cruel, unkind Prince. For your betrayal of my faith, I condemn you-You will remain beautiful, yes-But in your eyes you will see the truth of your appearance. The corruption and disgust of which you hide deep down inside. Only when you overcome this selfishness of yours will you be as beautiful as you once believed yourself to be,” Amelia whispered, “For now, I see the true you as well-And I do not desire you any longer,” With that last word, the man fled the Witch’s cabin and returned home, grateful for the praises and compliments all those around him awarded him with, and the Witch’s declaration slowly faded from his mind.

As he slowly faded from the crowd, the male took himself into his quarters and there he beheld a most gruesome of sights. His beautiful hair, his face, everything-The sight was almost enough to cause the bile to rise in this throat. His skin hung in vast amounts, rotting and thick, almost the sight alone caused his imagination to run wild, almost able to taste the putrid stench in the air, while his hair hung in thick drabs, clumps missing and revealing the bone beneath the flesh. His fingers graced each inch of his body, and while they felt smooth and soft to the touch, the image of his reflection burnt itself deep into his mind, and day by day, the insanity drew him in until he couldn’t bare it any longer.

In a mad attempt to rid the image from his mind, he threw himself from his bedroom window and his body hit the ground with a thud, and his eyes closed for the last time as his gaze left the sight of his mangled and deformed arm before him. Days past, months, and slowly years consumed the time. His body was buried beneath the earth, mourned by the many but time kept along, and it wasn’t long before he was forgotten. Decades, and slowly the tide brought centuries. Not one but two. And eventually his grave was completely forgotten, all signs erased, and an elderly couple moved into a rundown shack upon the verge of his land, growing plentiful crops which grew at an accelerated speed, as if some unforseen force guided them.

From the straw left behind, grown upon the patch of soil which clothed his body, the scarecrow was made, and his situation became evident. He had no life to end. All life which he held, was contained within the small locket, and from the rotted flesh which grew the grass, his being as a scarecrow was born. Years of a pointless existence was birthed, and day by day crept on in which he was to exist, without any choice in the matter, his only solace lingered in the fact he could no longer see the morbid image he’d seen all that time ago.

“Don’t you dare,” He warned as the sight of a small black bird greeted him, creeping it’s way ever so slowly toward him before deciding against it and fluttering aside to perch in a nearby tree, eyeing him with a slight suspicion, before picking away at the bark on the tree without another care in the world. How he envied them, to be so free. He could only be so lucky, that locket was his only chance to escape such a miserable existence. Only with that locket would he regain that which he had lost; his life, and of course, the beauty which he threw it all away for. Somehow, as desperate as his situation was, the vain man couldn’t bare to part with that beauty in the end, and of the choice to live and grow old, or die young and glorious, there was no doubt as to which he would choose.

Exhaling softly, his breath floating away on the breeze, he barely stirred as the sound of tyres on the gravel road nearby reached his ears. There was no doubt as to what it was. A school bus, one which arrived every day at precisely four in the afternoon, dropping off the children from the small town before escaping, not to appear for three months as the break had finally arrived, and relief was thick in the air as the children bid their farewells toward one another and trudged themselves home, some with a weary expression, in their hand clasped a bright yellow report card.

With those children came a male, young in comparison toward the scarecrow, even without the centuries stacked upon his immortal existence, though he bore a maturity that was probably more than the lifeless man could ever bare to hold within himself. The ivory haired male brushed through the tall field, the leaves of the corn surrounding brushing along his flushed skin as he stumbled almost twice, saving himself just in time. The scarecrow could have scoffed had he not been concerned with what would be done with him if the family suspected him haunted or possessed. The boy was as clumsy as they came, lithe and small, he seemed no match for the small pebbles and stones which beaded the ground, attempting to disturb his footing. What else was a rock to do for entertainment?

There was something indeed distracting about the boy though, at least today there was. Unlike the other students, his own report card as tucked safely in his backpack, though his hands were not empty. Infact, they were clutched around something small in a safe manner, cradling the object with care as though it were something so fragile as to break within a moments lack of attention. As he passed the scarecrow, uncaringly bumping into it and coaxing a scowl from the man, the scarecrow glimpsed something within his hand which caused his figurative heart to jump then begin racing quicker than a human heart should, or could.

There was no way-He couldn’t be so fortunate, could he? But his eyes had not deceived him, and his reactions were justified. With all of his longing he had wished for it, and finally it was there, within arms reach, and he did reach; further and further until his mind gathered itself and he realised, his reaching had been nothing more than intensive staring. That is to say, as intensive as a scarecrow could possibly stare, which isn’t quite that much at all. Fate had decided to throw him a chance for life again, though to seize that chance, he was to put his life on the line, to reveal what he was, and to hope that somewhere there was a God on his side who had decided to bless the younger boy with an open mind.

“Please stop,” He spoke in a hopeful manner, watching as the boy tensed visibly and turned on his heel, his eyes searching the area for the sight of a human before they rested tentively upon the scarecrow. “Are you-No…It couldn’t possibly be-” “Well it is, now-My name is Raphael Von Gareth, and I need that locket-” Apparently it hadn’t been wise for him to dump such an experience upon an unwilling participant, and the scream which escaped the boy proved it as he stumbled back, his legs finally giving way as the younger male fell onto his backside, his eyes not leaving the scarecrow in fear it would stand up and attack him, ‘If only,’ Raphael paused to think, startled as a stone was tossed at him, bouncing off his straw torso before landing on the ground as the male stumbled to his feet, “DEMON SCARECROW!” He shrieked, running toward the house before another word could be spoken, Raphael exhaling in disbelief.

“Oh, Good Lord-…Help?”


Hate it?
Like it?
Is it worth continuing?
Or should I just delete it?
Any response would be nice x.x
Le grande

Number of posts : 168
Age : 33
Location : Fangtasia
Transforms into : At Merlottes, drinkin' me an ABneg
Gender : Female
Registration date : 2008-12-11

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