Other Writing exerpts. Feel free to add to this or comment on it.

[Silverwings]

Erok was one of few people in his tribe who bore the mark of the lost love. That was, a handprint on the chest that was purposely slashed through to show the death of a lover. He was married once, but now he walked his path alone. In the most recent war between another tribe and his own, his lover had been killed. He was also one of few that was entered into a warrior marriage. Both him and his lover were warriors in their tribe. Together they were fierce fighters. Alone, either one would be feared as they would do whatever it took to return to their love.

He stood atop the mountain path, calloused feet on shattered shale. He was watching out for the smoke of the rival tribe's hunters that had set out into their territory the night before. The man who was responsible for Catunuk's death was in that hunting group. Erok could feel it. His ancestors guiding him.

Once the smoke began to billow in the distance, Erok set off with hatchets in hand. With feet pounding into the earth as he leapt over fallen logs and twisting roots, he speed through the forest to where the fire had been made. Once he was close enough to smell the smoke, Enok stopped. He climbed a tree and silently bound through the branches until he was over the group of men.

The rival tribe's language was similar to his own, but not familiar. He could catch a few words thst were shared, like 'family' and 'hunt' and 'winter' but thw rest was lost to him. There were four men. Two were younger, they hadn't been a part of the last war. They were only children. You could see it in their faces and in their figures. The way they held themselves.

The eldest one was the man Erok was hunting. Sinikua. He knew the name. It was the last thing he heard as the man had been called away when Catunuk died. He remembered holding his lover as the light faded from them. He remembered the vow of vengeance he took in that moment.

With gritted teeth, Erok leapt from the tree, and in a few short moments, that seemed to stretch for hours to him, he killed off the hunting group. Erok stood over Sinikua with hatred flooding his mind, "Vinik ta uka."

You killed mine.

That was all he could muster. Sinikua seemed to understand, holding his wounds. He showed remorse for the man who towered over him, "Ka tani."

I'm sorry.

With the words, anger fled Erok and he took a breath. He got his vengeance. He wouldn't sleep peacefully without his Catunuk by his side, but he could rest a little easier, knowing now that the man who took his love away was paying for the loss.

 

[Silverwings]

Marion was a hard working man. He would go daily to the the textile factory for work and return home to his wife and two young boys. Most men were known to be harsh to their families in the 1800s but Marion wasn't like that. He genuinely loved his family. Where some men might see their wife as a "prison" Marion would look forward to seeing his beautiful wife when he came home.

Of course, he eventually began to dread going home. Not because he disliked his family, but because the man he worked with had a child with scarlet fever, and Marion feared more than anything that he would bring it to his family. He didnt want to lose his precious children. Marion had heard how it affected the children. That they slowly got worse and worse with a sore throat and cough until they succumbed to it. He didnt want to see that happen to his little two year old, Robert, or his one year old, Thomas.

Once morning, shortly after hearing about his coworkers little girl dying to the illness, Marion woke to a sore throat and a minor cough. He thought nothing of it, but insisted he be left alone.

"Elizabeth, darling, please. Dont let the boys in here, and don't you come in either," Marion requested with a raspy voice. Elizabeth shook her head, "Marion, its not scarlet fever. Adults can't get scarlet fever."

That wasn't true. But there was no way for them to know that then. Adults were unlikely to have it but could very well contract it. Marion gave her a small smile, "Well, either way. I dont want to get you three sick. Just a few days of rest and I'll be right as rain."

"Oh, alright. Ill let you rest then," She said, getting up and leaving the room. Days passed and Marion would only get worse. His coughing could be heard through the walls of their tiny home, and his throat would burn. He would barely stay awake unless to toss and turn in his bed until he eventually became too weak for even that. A week passed before she would call for the doctor to take him away. That is what they had to do to prevent the spread of the disease.

"Your husband?" The doctor asked as he stepped inside. Elizabeth, with sorrowful eyes, silently took the doctor to her husband's room. The room she once slept in by his side was now condemned. As long as his body remained in the room, she couldn't enter or risk her babies becoming ill. Silent sobs came from her as the doctor went into Marion's room.

"Mr. Finch?" The doctor said silently. All Marion could do was weakly look at the man, "I can make you better. I can take all this away. You can have your family again."

Marion's eyes showed a silent plea. He wanted nothing more than to hold his wife and kids again. To tell them he loved them.

"You mustn't ever tell a sole about me," The doctor said quietly before biting into the sickly man's arm. Marion could feel two burning pricks on his skin and choked out a quiet groan. It burned so bad. The doctor left and for a few days his whole body burned as the venom ran through his veins, slowly curing him of his illness.

When Marion finally woke with no pain, he excitedly called his family in to see him. Unknowingly, the illness still lay on his blanket and on almost every surface in the room, effectively dooming his family to endure the same fate he narrowly avoided.

His celebration was short lived when a few days later, his eldest boy, Robert became ill. Two days later, it was his one year old. The day after his oldest passed away from the devasting illness. Even more devasting was the effect on the younger boy, as he died two days after. Marion wept as his babies were taken from him. He would have given anything to save them. To take the pain again and suffer for them. For them to live. His heart was broken, and no time would pass for him to recover before his Elizabeth fell ill as well.

He watched in pain as his wife suffered for almost two weeks with the illness before taking her final breath. He was devasted. He felt numb. Keeping his boys' favorite toys and his wife's ring. He found himself jobless and selling the rest of their belongings to get by. He needed no food. Instead, thanks to the doctor, he could live of the blood of another. Marion knew now what had been done to him, but he refused to drink from a human. Refused for years, decades even. He wouldn't be the monster he was made into.

Marion held this ideal up until the 1920s. Eventually, he decided that sulking and living in his own past wouldn't get him far. He drank. He drank a lot until the killing spree of 1938. He has massacred so many that year before coming to his senses and laying low, drinking as infrequently as he could tolerate.