saitaina | The Wicker Man

Originally published at Memoirs of a Nobody. You can comment here or there.

Behind the cut below is the begining of the original short story, “The Wicker Man”, which will appear in my novel of poetry and shorts “Memoirs of Nobody”. If you read, tell me what you think.

The Wicker Man was a sacrificed. An effigy, burned to appease the gods. It was an offering, to spare the lives of others.

He was out Wicker Man. No one cast him in the role. No one asked it of him, yet we all knew what part he would play. He was our salvation.

He was only eighteen when the last battle fell. Only a child in the eyes of time. But war had changed us all, made us grow-up, far faster then we should have. War made us forget the childish things we used to know. It made us hard.

The pleasures in life were no longer simple things. Everything was done with an all consuming and burning passion. Love, hate, lust, anger. All consumed us; all burned us, all toyed with us. And we loved every second of it.

We were young and in love. We lived each day, as if it could be our last…his last. Never letting go of each other, for fear that the sun would set on our love and never rise. The sun was red on the day he died.