okay bear with me rewrote "Santuro" again....
PostPosted: Fri Oct 24, 2003 7:56 pm
Hi...I know bear with me folks I'm trying to make this better...unfortunately i'm not very good...but this will be alot better...
promise
Chapter 1
[INDENT]The rain glistened and shone like diamonds upon the wet grass.
New puddles covered the road creating a sea of mud. Bugs chirped and birds quietly got to rest. Nothing could be heard except the peaceful music of the forest. All was at rest. However, that was before a young samurai started running down this road, bloodied with tears cascading down his face.
Santuro ran frantically. He did not know where he was or where he planned to go to escape the Voices, he just knew that he had to run.
"Must get away..." Santuro panted, "Have to get away."
The Voices wouldn't leave. The cries came, "no!" "God bless them", "Please", they penetrated him, into the very depths of his soul.
"No! Leave me alone," Santuro attacked an invisible enemy. "Leave me alone," he moaned, desperate to escape the Voices and his guilt.
His shoes padded against the road, oblivious to time and danger. Finally, noticing a abandoned barn, he sighed, relieved.
Running into the barn, he shut the door as quick as his shaking fingers would allow. He looked around wildly, half crazed, as if expecting an invisble enemy to attack. The barn smelled of stale straw and it's previous occupants.
Moonlight illuminated the barn, casting an eerie, lurid glow. Santuro looked up,"Looks like this place needs a repair job." He almost laughed to himself noticing the many holes in the thatched roof.
He noticed a trough full of rainwater. Timidly, he walked over and stared at his reflection. His bun was disheveled and matted with blood due to his late night activity. He pulled away some strands of hair from his face, and noticed blood running down his face. His clothes were splattered with blood, a tint of crimson red to his traditional way of dress. His katana was no longer silver, but dark red with dried blood.
He tasted bile in his mouth and vomited. He felt as if it was cleaning him of his impurities. Feeling better, he washed off his face, hair and katana, nothing could be done of the clothes condition.
He sat on the straw. The groung moist from the rain. The Voices seemed to stop at the moment. He relished the silence. His memory went back to when it started raining. "It rained blood this night," he said bitterly, "the gods through paint into the sky."
Who are you? a voice echoed in his head and seemed to question him. "I am a samurai of the Kosho ryu sen. I have done my duty as a patriot and a warrior." Santuro consoled himself.
By killing innocent blood? "They weren't innocent," santuro talked to himself, "They were spreaders of a evil western religion." He waved his arms as if arguing a political debate. "Those Christians," he spat,"deserved death for there lies." In this way he consoled himself, ignoriing the voice that asked questions that troubled his sould deeply though he would never admit it.
I'm 15, he thought, men at my age have already killed more then 10 men and here i am cowering like a fool. What would they think of me now? He determined that he wouldn't listen to this voice.
HE fell into a restless sleep, where the Voice and the screams haunted his dreams.
promise
Chapter 1
[INDENT]The rain glistened and shone like diamonds upon the wet grass.
New puddles covered the road creating a sea of mud. Bugs chirped and birds quietly got to rest. Nothing could be heard except the peaceful music of the forest. All was at rest. However, that was before a young samurai started running down this road, bloodied with tears cascading down his face.
Santuro ran frantically. He did not know where he was or where he planned to go to escape the Voices, he just knew that he had to run.
"Must get away..." Santuro panted, "Have to get away."
The Voices wouldn't leave. The cries came, "no!" "God bless them", "Please", they penetrated him, into the very depths of his soul.
"No! Leave me alone," Santuro attacked an invisible enemy. "Leave me alone," he moaned, desperate to escape the Voices and his guilt.
His shoes padded against the road, oblivious to time and danger. Finally, noticing a abandoned barn, he sighed, relieved.
Running into the barn, he shut the door as quick as his shaking fingers would allow. He looked around wildly, half crazed, as if expecting an invisble enemy to attack. The barn smelled of stale straw and it's previous occupants.
Moonlight illuminated the barn, casting an eerie, lurid glow. Santuro looked up,"Looks like this place needs a repair job." He almost laughed to himself noticing the many holes in the thatched roof.
He noticed a trough full of rainwater. Timidly, he walked over and stared at his reflection. His bun was disheveled and matted with blood due to his late night activity. He pulled away some strands of hair from his face, and noticed blood running down his face. His clothes were splattered with blood, a tint of crimson red to his traditional way of dress. His katana was no longer silver, but dark red with dried blood.
He tasted bile in his mouth and vomited. He felt as if it was cleaning him of his impurities. Feeling better, he washed off his face, hair and katana, nothing could be done of the clothes condition.
He sat on the straw. The groung moist from the rain. The Voices seemed to stop at the moment. He relished the silence. His memory went back to when it started raining. "It rained blood this night," he said bitterly, "the gods through paint into the sky."
Who are you? a voice echoed in his head and seemed to question him. "I am a samurai of the Kosho ryu sen. I have done my duty as a patriot and a warrior." Santuro consoled himself.
By killing innocent blood? "They weren't innocent," santuro talked to himself, "They were spreaders of a evil western religion." He waved his arms as if arguing a political debate. "Those Christians," he spat,"deserved death for there lies." In this way he consoled himself, ignoriing the voice that asked questions that troubled his sould deeply though he would never admit it.
I'm 15, he thought, men at my age have already killed more then 10 men and here i am cowering like a fool. What would they think of me now? He determined that he wouldn't listen to this voice.
HE fell into a restless sleep, where the Voice and the screams haunted his dreams.
I hope I'm helping. 
I mean that sincerely, that it's the best, if not one of the best, stories on this section. If I was an agent I'd scoop it up. 
