Metallica – poor twisted me.

Where the lake spills out across the beach, a ragged man in white cloth lay still, soaked from head to toe.
His clothes hanging uncomfortably to his skin, a sharp sword at his side, he rested amidst the stream that ran over and around his form.

The used – pretty handsome awkward

His eyes shot open, spitting out the pond water that filled his senses, he sat up, aching from head to toe.
It was dusk, a strange sunset lingered over the woodland that bordered his vision.
He breathed heavy, ragged breaths of air into his lungs. They stung with the freshness, forcing them open after a long time being closed.
He patted the floor for his blade, and found it nearby, hoping nobody saw him apart from it.

Feel- sleeping with sirens

He was confused, but slowly, and with headaches, the images returned to him.
It was the night after his wedding, and what a night it was! He had never felt so alive in his life as when he was with her that night. She made him believe in magic again.
She had kissed him goodbye in the morning as he went off to work the field, only taking a sword as part of his tradition, when he had stopped by the temple, like he did every day, to ask for luck and prosperity from the gods, when  a figure from the dark challenged him.

Claiming to be a “person from his past”, he ignored the strange person and walked away from them, only to be attacked from behind.

Marilyn manson- angel with scabbed wings.

He landed, rolling from the force of the blow, but rose straight back up to his feet, planting them firmly to the ground, sword in front and ready for the fight.
The person dropped down to his level, hood raised and blade drawn.
It matched his in its simplicity which could only mean-
They struck forward, slicing the wind as they approached.
He met the ferocious strikes with fierce resilience, sparks flying as the blades connected.

The two clashed, their skills evenly matched and equally deadly, he began to wonder if they where holding back…

Drown -bring me the horizon

He struck forwards, cutting dangerously close to their head. They closely dodged backwards, his blade catching the hood and slicing through like paper, he caught a glimpse of her face.
Her.
Her purple eyes were something that haunted his memories since he left that life.
They had once been lovers.
No
More then lovers
He told himself, lost in his thoughts as there eyes connected for a second.
A second which felt eternal in the fleeting moment, as he was reminded of everything they had been once upon a life time.

She swung back, the hood fell backwards and she launched forwards with a powerful kick that connected with his midriff, sending him spiralling into the river behind him.

Linkin park – in pieces.

He stood up from the water, his clothes dragging him down but due to his field work, he was used to the weight his clothes gained when they were water logged.

He quickly made his way back to the village, hurrying between trees and up rocks.
There was a path but it was quicker to climb then walk.

The village seemed quiet. Too quiet.
He approached the gates and nobody greeted him.
Perhaps they had gone to help in the fields, it was busy at this time of year…
But no, that wasn’t right.
He came to his neighbours house, finding the door wide open, he stepped inside…

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4 thoughts on “Prompt 1: music

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