Retouched Story: Memoirs from The Syre

I was originally going to rewrite my original short story Elishmarzar that a clean look into war, and how one hand can completely and utterly overpower another, and rational thought ends up winning (which is totally impossible in our world). It is a story based in an original world of my creation.

But… man… I forgot how long Elishmarzar was! It is like a few chapters slammed into one. So anyway, I had this idea for a novel once, titled The Syre, it is an idea I’d like to toy with in the future but for now I’d rather not focus on it. So, please enjoy this segment from The Syre which I’d be renaming to Memoirs from The Syre since my writings on it seem to be a collection of memories and scenes. I’ll make a quick FAQ later today about some contents in this. Enjoy! 🙂

“Torr,” Zarek paused for a mere second before continuing with his plea, “Please take care of Kaylob. Please, for me.” He was fighting to keep his voice from breaking. He failed. Zarek shifted his head to watch the child for a moment. The kid took a step closer to him at the same time he dropped down to a knee to kneel before the kid. “Hey, kiddo,” Zarek spoke softly with a weak smile. “Do me a favor, eh? Stay with Auntie Torr. I love you son.”

With a sigh of pained disappointment, Torr lifted Zarek’s left arm. She lifted the arm without a thought. The momentual spur continued as Torr tied a leather lace to the wrist. The leather was beaten and aged but it held great sentimental value to both Torr Mir and Zarek Nirr.

Torr placed her right hand firmly on Kaylob’s shoulder to hold him back, for he would not attempt to go with his father. “Goodbye Zarek,” she spoke softly trying her best to hide her wealth of emotions. She made no intention of attempting to hold her friend back.

A soft exhale emerged from Zarek as he stood up. He grasped Torr’s left shoulder with his right hand. He along with his friend allowed his hand to rest on the wrinkled bright orange shirt. With a brush, Zarek pulled the shirt’s collar. He straightened the collar out. Torr slowly moved her right hand across her partial buttoned up orange shirt to reach her left shoulder. She pushed his hand off; with hesitation.

Kaylob ducked to break free of Torr’s grip. The boy ran inside the old inn. The adults exchanged glances, they both wondered if the young Kaylob was mad, angry or sad, which they have expected him to be. His father was leaving. A moment later the boy came back out to the front with his left armed arched to his side, hiding his left hand behind his back. “I’ll miss you dad,” Kaylob spoke softly. He did not want his dad to leave.

“As well here, Kay,” Zarek smiled weakly. He turned away from the inn, and picked up his bag. He was leaving. Torr turned away as well, refusing to see her good friend depart from the old inn. He begun hsi journey, his escape, his walk away from The Syre.

“Dad, catch!” Kaylob shouted. His left hand was not in hiding anymore. Clutched in his small hand was a baseball. He threw the ball toward his father, “You owe me!” Zarek turned back around to watch his son, and saw the ball coming. He dropped his bag and caught the perfectly aimed ball with both hands. He held the baseball firmly in his right hand and picked up his bag with his left. His arms dropped to his side, without a will to do listen to him much longer.

“Men don’t cry,” Zarek muttered to himself as tears begun to tickle down his face. “I love you Torr and Kaylob,” he muttered in a soft voice and disappeared from the sight of The Syre. He was away. He got away, to hope one day The Syre would call him back.


~ by Ashkir on January 19, 2011.

2 Responses to “Retouched Story: Memoirs from The Syre”

  1. Sounds interesting, but I’m a little confused for now… Hope to see more from Syre soon!

  2. […] from The Syre FAQ Hi there! I hope you all enjoyed my favorite part of the work I call Memoirs from The Syre. If you haven’t read it, I suggest you do so before you read this posting. As promised, here […]

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