《Death is Pleasant》 Blood is Life Blood, blood everywhere. A presence swiftly slipped away while I was staring at the pool I was in. I was perplexed at how so much delectable wine could seep from such a small cut. I quickly licked the unsullied liquid dripping down my arm, seeming like a child trying to lick spilled homey that slowly crawled down their arms. In a shorter time than I would like, my arms were detestably clean but I was still parched. Parched enough to lap the most beautiful spot in the world that I happened to be sitting in. My spot of heaven started to get darker and darker. My wonderful drink is losing its taste. I feel cold. My thoughts are slowing down. I want to sleep. I try to stand to leave the back ally that I ducked into. The reason for which escapes me. I falter and fall to my knees so I start crawling, my pace is slow, slower than I would like. The street light flickers and seems to be getting darker and darker. Again I falter and fall only to find myself in the same spot of heaven. Knowing that I have not made any progress to get out of the pool. My body does not react to what I tell it to do, so I do what my body wants. Which is to sleep. So I closed my eyes. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I feel uncomfortable, incredibly so. My sight is black, my body bent, my world rocking. I hear a familiar rhythmic beat. It¡¯s peaceful. The time I spent in this place was enormously long, and incomparably fast. When I decided to leave the place it took hours, it was painful, and confusing. I went from the place and into the awaiting hands of some person that was sitting there. The person was shouting in a different language. The small room seemed to be in mayhem. That was until some person slapped me. Which was painful enough to make me bawl. When I did so it caused the person holding me to smile from ear to ear and to wrap me in a rough blanket. I, wrapped in my only possession in the world, was given to the women whom just birthed me. I thought that she had to have been the blandest woman in the world. Her face was slightly heart shaped and had auburn hair with gray green eyes. Her skin was pale and lips a slight pink, no blemish was on her face. If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. When she held me I heard the all too familiar beat in her chest, which calmed and quieted me. She gazed at me with so much adoration and love I was startled. Her eyes sparkling as the starry sky. She brought me closer to her lips so she could whisper a word into my ears,¡± Astaroth.¡± With her duty done, she closed her eyes exhausted from her labor. I was taken from my mother and brought outside from the small dimly lit room to be given to a man with tears streaming down his face. The light blue eyes letting down a steady stream tears flowing over his light scruff that followed his strong chin and jawline, his lightly tanned skin with ruffled brown hair took on a relived look as I squirmed in his arms. Taken from my mother, was I was whisked away to a different hovel. The walls of the shack were made out of ill-fitting wood with clay filling in the cracks, the roof a collaboration of hay and thrush. The door a flimsy concoction of sticks and rope. The area around the house was a field that was dilapidated. Which was putting it in the best of light. In the house was a stone fire place an hearth with a cauldron hanging from a hook above the pile of ash that use to be a fire. My supposed father took the blanket from around me, and in what he believed to be gently, wiped my mother¡¯s fluids away from me. When the mess was washed from my body he placed me in what seemed a manger only padded with hay and green weeds. On which I swiftly fell asleep, wondering about that my new life will entail. The Word of Pain Pain awoke me. Pain that creeps up on you, pain that once it is there, is the most pain that many have the displeasure of feeling. It is the type of pain that many experience on a daily basis, and can go away in a moment, but the relief is always fleeting. The type of pain that to those who experience it, is an old friend, a friend that they wish they could forget, but most always it returns with a smile. My pain was deafening. So bad was my pain I needed to give voice to it. So I cried. I shrieked. I howled. I allowed the world to hear my pain. I needed sustenance. My father woke with a start complaining under his breath about my inability to allow him to get a good night sleep. At least that¡¯s what I assume. He stumbled over to my crib to sniff, and feel all around my body. After a few minutes he walked out of the shack for a destination that I could only dream contained food. After what seemed like hours to me he returned, but with an older woman following behind him. She walked to me her, white speckled black hair loose around her head falling to the small of her portly back. She unbuttoned the top of her dress to allow an old and slightly wrinkled food bag come out. My father stared lechuorley at her. To which she only gave a fed-up sigh. She cradled me against her breast and allowed me to suckle at her. My internal adversary which I was in a loosing battle with not ten seconds ago was in the midst of a full retreat. Unfortunately when I was not yet totally satisfied, the walking blood bag pulled me away and gently replaced me back in my trough. I protested to the woman to let me continue my battle against my long forgotten foe from my past life, but it was to no avail. My father gave the woman something, and she left. My father trundled over to my side, and gave me his finger to suckle and sang a lullaby. His voice was deep and soothing, the song had long drawn out words and had a feel of deep caring and pain. I did not get to hear the end of the song as I was taken back into the slumber that I had only previously been taken out of by my devastating enemy. Morning came, to which I was awoken by the light coming through the thatch roofing. My father was not anywhere to be seen. Feeling as if I was unceremoniously abandoned, I could not hind my feelings and, again was reminded of my previous self whom was never able to find a good friend or a person to allow me to love. Again I let loose the flood gates of my heart, as there was nobody to hear my plea. While I was wallowing away in my abandonment, a person picked me up. It was the same almost gentle way that father does. This let me have hope that he was there and when I opened my eyes I was greeted by an inquisitions face of the person whom I just wrongly accused of leaving me. I quickly whimpered out and stopped my crying, and reaching to feel and tug his scruff My little chubby hand reaching to his face, with my little gurgles and giggles only caused him to smile and hold me closer. He proudly carried me outside where he set me down on the ground away from any ant piles or tallish grass. He set me down by a stacked pile of wood so that he could continue his backbreaking work of clearing the field of unwanted weeds and rocks with me still in his eyesight. Seeing at how my father was working extremely hard for the sake of the future I tried to remember everything I could about farming from my past life. Which wasn¡¯t much because I was more mechanically inclined. As I saw father pulling up weeds and hoeing the ground, I was inspired to try to create a plough for my hard working father. Unfortunately my mortal enemy was rearing its ugly head one again. I unknowing what my father needs to go through to get a women to feed me will abstain until he has finished his work for the day. It was one of the most grueling and hard few hours that I have ever gone through. The first hour or so was the best out of the lot, mainly because after that I unfortunately defecated in my only blanket and possession. So I sat in my own filth until father walked away from the small part of the field that I could see was roughly cleared of the debris. I saw him walk toward me with exhaustion in his eyes. I called out to him in my infant voice with a loud shriek and clapped my hands as I laughed. Hoping that it will cause him to be slightly happier which seemed to work when he smiled back at me. But when he reached me and smelled my shame, he unwrapped my blanket so that he could wash the greenish smattering of waste in it. He sighed and walked inside the house with my unclothed self in one arm and the blanket loosely held by in the tips of his fingers in the other. He set me back down in the crib and quickly washed the cloth in the cauldron. I truly hope that he knows to wash the cauldron before he uses it again. But after a quick wash the rag is placed on a string outside the match box to dry. In a few moments he returned to my side and started to talk to me. It was all gibberish of course, but the foreign language has a lot of hard R sounds and consonance but the words to flow together. I giggled at him every now and then, causing him to smile and try to place his finger back in my mouth so I can chew on it. I rebuff his kindness, because he just used that hand to clean my crap off of my old blanket and hasn¡¯t washed it yet. A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. With my rebuff to his gift he started to look sad so, reached up to tug on his brown scruff. He lowered his head allowing me to feel his rough scruff with his ice-blue eyes smiling. Wanting to make him feel better I tried to say my name to him, ¡°Ash-too-rosh!¡± Which made him go slack jawed. Seeing his one day old son trying to communicate with him. He stares directly at me and points at me and says,¡± Astaroth?¡± I nod my head and giggle like the child that I am. When I finished my laughing fit I touch my hand to my chest and repeated my name and then reached out to him and waited for him to say something. When I saw that he was too dumbfounded to do anything but create a pool of drool on the ground and stare at me in shock, I repeat my action only hoping that he will get over it soon so I can finally figure out what to call him. He points at me and says, ¡°Astaroth.¡± Then points to himself and says, ¡°Papa.¡± With a certain glee in his I grabbed his scruff and screaming as loud and as childishly as I possibly could, ¡°PAPA!¡± This takes his breath away, he is absolutely flabbergasted. Now all I need to do is learn how to speak his language and I will be able to direct him to make a plough for himself so we can have a bountiful harvest, so that we could get money, so that we could get a bigger house, so that we can get more money, so that we can create our own village, so that we could get more money, so that we could get a barony, so that we could get more money, so that we could get an army, so that we could get more money, so that we could create our own kingdom, so that I can savor only the best of that sweet, sweet, red liquid that gives everybody life. I can¡¯t wait for the time when I will be able to bathe in that most succulent of beverages. It was such a tempting thought that my hunger that I have been repressing since morning came and bit me with a mind numbing return. I gave a quick screech, regaining Papa¡¯s attention. I give my belie a quick slap and point at my mouth. Understanding quickly dawns on him which he rushes out of the house completely caught up in his new task forgetting me, ironically. I start to feel like I¡¯m unwanted in the wider world with only my father and mother to care for me. Although I have not seen my mother at all she must still be resting from her labor yesterday. While I was contemplating about how to build the invention that will lead to my ultimate dream, Papa and a woman that I have never seen before came into the room. She kneeled down next to me and unbuttoned her shirt and gave me her breast to drink from. Until now I have only seen five people and most of them women. Which made me think that the village or town that I have been born into is involved in some sort of war or famine or some other circumstance. This time I was allotted a full belly as well as a gentle pat on the back till I burped. This service was unbearably better than that blood sack that came in the dead of night. Who did not allow me to finish. Satisfied I wanted to get her name so that I could request her from Papa but my baby instincts took over and I was once again put into a deep and restful slumber. When I once again regained myself I noticed that I was once again alone in my little crib with nobody in the shack with me. So I gave a squeal that would put a pig to shame, father ran back into the shack. I one again repeated my introduction ceremony, and pointed at the cauldron wanting to learn its name. Fortunately my father realized what I was wanted, and told me the words to each of the objects I pointed out. ¡±Cauldron.¡± ¡± Bed.¡± ¡°Ground¡± ¡°Wall¡± ¡°Fire place¡± And on and on it went until the entire room¡¯s objects were identified. Even after he left to continue his work on the field I continually repeated the names for the items in the house to remember them and increase my working knowledge of the language of the place I have been reborn to. When I almost had all of the names fully internalized, he returned covered in sweat and dirt from working in the field with extreme ferocity. He kneeled by my side and started to talk to me. This time he talked slowly and answered all of my one worded questions with a game of charades and other words which I didn¡¯t know any way. Needless to say it was a slow conversation, which at the end of it I once again complained that I was hungry. Father left and brought back the woman from earlier that day whom treated me just gently. She rewrapped me in my blanket. After I was fed, clothed and returned to my manger, I fell asleep almost instantly, once again not asking or learning the name of my favorite wet nurse so far. I only hoped that tomorrow I will be able to learn more of the place that I was brought back into. Blood is thicker than milk sorry for the very late chapter. Star wars knights of the old republic got me again slowing my writing and proofreading of my story. need less to say this is a lot shorter than i wanted, but i hope those of you who enjoy this enjoy it. again sorry about my lateness and inability. --------------------------- The soft warm light of the sun filtered down from poorly made roof, and fell gently on my eye¡¯s, waking me up. I looked around for Papa, unable to find him, I start to panic. I know he¡¯s more than likely working outside, but that does not stop the fear from bubbling up into my head of my sole provider and friend left me and will never comeback. My tears and a powerful burst of emotion erupted from my body. My crying startling the critters that infest out occasionally dry abode. My father rushes into the home startled, as if he fears that some monster has scared his most precious gift. Kneeling next to my cradle, he cradles my tiny body close to his sweaty hairy chest, letting me hear his quick rhythmic heartbeat. The action of care and affection turned my cry of loneliness into a cry of acceptance. Even after our emotions finally settled, we stayed in that position for a time. My head resting against his chest listening to the rhythmic beat, knowing what calms me the most is made from my ultimate excitement. The moment ended when father took me outside, and placed me into the same spot as yesterday. This time sticks are stuck in the ground and lashed together with bits of old twine making a crude chair back. My back against the chair I talk with my father trying to learn how to speak the language better. The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. As the day plods along, father stops to tell me he¡¯s going to fetch a wet-nurse for my bi-daily feeding. I couldn¡¯t tell him it¡¯s not enough, but I don¡¯t want to cause Papa more trouble. Unfortunately the same blood bag that fed me the first night walked onto the property. When she picked me up and pulled out the saggy unappealing bag of food, I partake only because if I don¡¯t then father may have wasted our precious money. I sucked at her as hard and as rudely as I could possibly could, only waiting and planning for the day when I could get my revenge and drink the only good part of her. When I was finished which was extremely quickly, for I didn¡¯t want to stay attached to her. In total spite, strained and dirtied my blanket once more. I loudly cried and shirked in her face. The bag had revulsion flash across her face as she realized that she is holding a baby with more dirt and air wrapped around it than blanket to hold the discussing substance that the child is releasing onto her good dress. She almost threw me to father but abstained. She put on a bored expression, as if this was a normal thing for her, and wiped me down quickly with the unsoiled parts of my rag and washed it in the cauldron and hung it up to dry. Throughout all of this I realized that I need to get more rags so that I¡¯m not always cold for a few hours after I carp myself. With my petty revenge through and sitting down in my spot hopping that squirrels or ants don¡¯t find my anatomy appealing to bring back to their nests. I watch father give the old bag some coins after which he returns to the field. I wonder just how long it will take for me to enact my plan for getting us money. Blood, Sweat, and Tears of Others 3 weeks after birth In order to start my plan on dominating the food market in the local area. I started with some basic slid and seasonings to gain capital. What I needed was the infrastructure to properly breed my seeds to be the best plants that they can be. To do that I had father buy a good carving knife. When he did I could see tears in his eyes as he gave away the precious money that was the only things sustaining him. I had him in his free time, which there was very little of, create cups with tops and wooden jars. This was so I could store seeds and differentiate between generations and different aspects. I had him create jars that could hold about a liter. With our jars made I showed father my blueprints on how to make the plough and told him what all the machine could do. His eyes were as hungry as when he saw the leaves appear on out first crop. But when he went to town to get a wet-nurse, he rejected my plan for the plough with no substantial reason! Of course he might go hungry for a slight bit of time, but in the long term he will be well fed forever. 1month 2 weeks after birth Father came back today with the necessary parts for the plough and a supplementary invention to plant the seeds I plan on calling it the seedumper, as well as a extremely confused wet-nurse. The next few days were me of explaining how to build the contraptions and then how to use them. Father was a very slow study, but eventually he managed to figure-out the working end from the ground. When people come to the farm what they now see is a bone skinny man with a scraggly beard yoked to a mysterious machine tearing up the ground with an infant walking behind steering the machine with a machine poking holes into the newly turned earth as well as putting seeds into the dirt. 4 months after birth Weeks passed the field producing various crops of fast growing leafy greens, arugula, peas, and alfalfa. Each generation of plants just ever so slightly different than the last. Some weeks the plant were a tad bit taller, sometimes there were just that many more seeds, other times there was just more leaves to gather, but always the plants were different than 2 generations before than their predecessors. What father didn¡¯t eat I had him sell to the various taverns and inns in the town of Arrowfell. Which covered 10 square kilometers of densely packed buildings. I practically gave the first few harvests away, trying to get goodwill with the various marks, I mean buyers, I spotted while riding through the town on father¡¯s shoulders. Up there I didn¡¯t step in any leftovers, or beggars, after all I don¡¯t want to wash my feet of such dirty things. So with various places giving me a profitable income, the first few things I had Papa buy were rags I could use as diapers and large clothing for myself so that I could grow into it. With my body in actual clothing which had more holes than cloth, I sent Papa out to gather two boys that he deemed trustworthy and able. Which he found, quickly. One was a small boy that proud to say he was ten years old, his flame red hair covering his eyes in greasy locks, his body more scar and bruise than skin, more dirt and grease than a dirt road behind a KFC but he has striking deep blue speckled eyes. He boasted quite proudly of being able to count up to ten as well as being able to take as many hits from a man named Fornmal. A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. The second was also a boastful little brat looking everywhere as well as nowhere all at once. He was obviously trying to figure out why a successful farmer like my father would still live in the trash hut like ours. His deep brown eyes hold a spark that I¡¯ve rarely seen in either of my lives, which frightens me. That same spark was in the eyes of the men whom always used me left me in strange places. But aside from the eyes that bring back extremely bad memories, his hair was a limp gold and again more dirt on him than most politicians pretend they don¡¯t have. What I had them do was wash off with some water we got from the town well. The farm got a good layer of topsoil in the process. With their much cleaner self if had them work on the farm, mainly operating the plough and seedumper. In the afternoons near lunchtime I sent them into town wearing boxes containing scores of bowls and salads to sell to the travelers, adventurers, poor, and other people too busy and hungry to stop into a tavern to get something to eat. The bowls were mad by them at night. This brought even more money, actually allowing us to build a room on my shack to house the now 5 boys that help out in my operation as well as a granary to store my unused seeds, which were all identified by a beautiful hand drawn picture, which was to my surprise father¡¯s hidden talent. My farm also gained 5 more acers which I milk and use extensively. I did this by staggering the date when I plant the seeds by a week for every 7 rows which was enough to sell for a week. After every 3 rotations of leafy greens I plant a quick crop of alfalfa to sell to the stables in my medium sized town. And with now father is consistently gaining 5 silver every time he goes to sell, and the 5 brats usually comeback with three silver collectively. When Papa got the first silver coin from selling my crops, he wore a stupidly large smile even when he couldn¡¯t stop crying for the entire day. That night he cried and held me for hour¡¯s saying rubbish about how he will follow me to rdihme and back. 10 months after birth I trundled around the field, with papa and others following my instructions. I was in charge of maneuvering the plough and pulling the seeding machine, as well as overseeing the other workers that Papa managed to find. The seedumper as I called it, was wooden machine with large cogs for wheels, squatting over a furrow using a stick to poking a predetermined depth into the ground then dropping a few seeds into every newly made hole, then has two planks in the shape of a valve go and cover the hole. The crop that we specialize in are some fast growing salad parts, like arugula, lettuce, spinach, and to revitalize the ground peas, alfalfa. Father¡¯s diet more often than not was a good helping of vegies. I remember when father saw the first green sprouts show themselves above the ground, his eyes were a wolf¡¯s whom just spotted a plump lamb astray. I could see him desperately wanting the plants to grow faster. With my wealth on the rise, my plan beautifully falling into action. I know that its about time to figure out why mother hasn¡¯t seen me or Papa. Also to crush my competition. Before all of that I need to state my thirst. My love is calling out to me, beckoning me to find her and soak in her, show my reverence to her. So I will. Soon.