This is a story that contains some mature content, please read at your own discretion. The story itself is written in the eyes of a crusader in the year 1058 or so. This is obviously not a true story and the content itself is not great. I mainly wrote this short to see if there was anyone here that enjoys stories and if so should I bother posting them here. I also wanted to test out making an immersive version of the same story using photo editing software. I hope you enjoy and please tell me what you liked about it or disliked about it. Don't just say "nice" or "I didn't like it" put some effort into the comment please! Also request what you want me to write about next if you do like the style of writing I use.
Scroll down for the immersive version! *May not look right on smaller monitors/phones if not please tell me so I can try to fix it!*
The year is one thousand fifty-eight, the world is growing darker by the second. At the time of writing this I reside in a cold and damp abandon hut. The soaked dry rotted oak floors no longer creek but squish with each footstep. The stuffy smell of mold fills every crevice of my lungs with each breath I take. Windows are no longer transparent, but stained dandelion yellow from the ages of neglect. Ruins of furniture, if you could even call it that, where scattered and fallen across the room. Remnants of candles cover the mite infested table that barely stands in the middle of the room. Wax covers the ground and walls in spots like a freshly fallen snow, not disturbed being beautiful in a way and terrifying in another. It’s been three years...three long years of this crusade. I cannot find the words to describe the atrocity that I feel from fighting this fight.
We were told this would be a glorious fight against the devil himself. That we would pit steel against the fiery depths of hell itself to protect the fair and just people of our civilization. We were told we would protect the children, as innocent as the white clouds above. That we would fight for our King and nation, the very pillars that hold our world as we know it up. But how can I agree with such statements as I’m burring my sword deep into a man chest and listening to his last gasp for air. His crimson blood flooding my gloves and painting my hands with the very sin we swore to abolish. This is not a holy war, there has to be some point to this fighting....and I have found it albeit too late.
The blood, I realize too late, is not all my enemy’s. The gapping abyss that my eyes spot as I look down to my gut confirms my fear. There will be no proof of the King’s and Church’s wrong doings. There will be no one to uncover the veil that they hide behind. The true nature of this war is greed, like the waves of the ocean the realization came crashing upon me. You cannot fight sin with sin; to kill your fellow man is the largest sin of them all is it not? When our brothers fall in battle is it not their holy right to be buried and remembered as all others do, not to be left under the boot of another man and forgotten like a whore’s son. Which leads me to my next point, why does the church employ criminals with promise to absolve their wrong doings? They teach god is the only judge, and then like a jester they change their mood to suit the situation and gain as much popularity as they can.
I know I am not perfect, and have no right to make the statements I do now. It was against the church for us to get married and have a family, and yet we still did. As sure as the sun rises I missed your smiling face the most, but for every sun there is a moon and I fear my night has come. The King and the Church are only interested in spreading influence and taking land. Like the Black Death, their power spreads all throughout the land. If you could only see some of the things my “brethern” have done to these places.....these people. These men, nay; these monsters and taken the very light of these people's worlds and have replaced it with the very hellfire they swore to eliminate. Trying to stop them peacefully has proven worthless. They claim these families are no better than the mud under their boots. The strike them like a smith strikes his anvil, there is no mercy and to them it is an art. Watching it in horror, I finally snapped and slaughtered them all. The sound when steel meets steel is indescribable, it’s like the thunder ringing from the heavens but right in your face. When I struck the last man down I held him in my arms as he died. It was hit to the chest, much like my own, and he simply asked why? As the river of blood rushed from his middle, I leaned in and whispered the last sentence the poor bastard ever heard...”Because brother, God told me to as he did you. You were just too deaf to hear him.”
It’s over now, I can see the night getting darker except it isn’t the night anymore it’s me. The reaper has come to take my soul to be judged, though it is not necessary for I know where I belong. It is hard for me to think about, knowing my last moments won’t be looking into your innocent eyes. I am though, I can see into them now. They are fresh like the summers grass, a pure like the son I’ll never meet. It cannot be expressed how ashamed I am to leave you in the barren oblivion alone, but all I can ask is that you do not let our son follow in my wake. Marry I love you.