[hider=SHINING KNIGHT SAMPLE] [i]He is walking. He sits on a round table. Around him are dead men. Their petrified limbs knock mugs together and he watches in horror as their skin flakes like autumn leaves. His hand reaches out to one on his left, only to part their shoulder in twain. His scream rots the flesh off their skulls. He lies mum in horror as they continue to eat, unaware of their fading bodies, until they leave one by one. He is walking. He enters a brothel. Around him is temptation. Whispers of power, glory and perfection beyond compare threaten to ensnare his soul like a serpent. He sees the strings carried in the claws of the Crow above, cawing and mocking with its screeching yawp. Past the maze lies a crystal clear lake, glimmering like a diamond and empty of the things that creep, crawl and swim in ponds. He is walking. He stands at an executioner’s block. Around him is shame and below him is the damned. They scream and whisper their last wishes to the furious wind around them. They are like fireflies, darting around aimlessly. His ear catches them and treasures them. A quick prayer is uttered, conversation to distract, before the axe is swung. He is walking. He stands over the star daemon. Around him is fire. The monstrosity lies, beaten and blacked. It’s heart is laid bare for him to strike at, yet, he holds still out of confusion. How can mountains quiver in fear? It’s heart seems to still as he stands on it mum with indecision before sheathing his sword. There is no glory to be had here. He is walking. He lies on a butcher’s block, stripped of his vestments and his mail. Around him is hunger. Peasants and lords alike in shoulders with one another. He closes his head and holds his head high, lifting his arms outward invitingly. They feast on his body until it is nothing but hollow with marrow suckled out from his bones and yet, his jaw is curved in a grin, for his blood has yielded full bellies and his flesh a thousand smiles. Walking. Walking for what? [/i] [hr] “Justin. Oi, Justin! Wake up!” Justin awoke to a hand slapping him on the cheek. He groaned as he kicked himself off the ragged little bunk bed. The other residents of the shelter were busy packing their things for another day spent out on the streets, unless they wanted to get kicked out by the staff. He turned his neck, louds cracks erupting from his joints as his spine ached from the stiff mattress. Just as he was dressing on the sleeves of his moth-eaten sweater, Flannegan arrived, dressed in an unmatted bush of grey hair and a brown trenchcoat that smelt of acrid rat piss. “ It’s our lucky day. ” Flannegan slapped Justin’s back, grinning madly. “ Guards kicked Ben out yesterday for stealing and we get his locker. We finally get extra space between the both of us. “ Justin felt a twinge of guilt in his heart as he stared at the radio. Ben wasn’t the best person but he’d always remembered the man for giving him a pound for lunch last Halloween. “ Least, we have something to listen to in this crappy weather, eh, mate?” “ Yeah…..yeah.” Justin scratched his head, his voice absent-minded as he folded up his one blanket which served as a bindle for his belongings. The room around him buzzed with riotous activity as staff ushered people out like a herd of sheep. “ - You see Justin - “ “ - Where’s your - “ “ - honour and duty - “ “ - Remember - “ “ - Your debts - “ “ - Finish it - “ Justin’s head perked up like a deer in headlights, sweat beading down. Did he just hear that? His heartbeat grew louder in the room and all of the sudden, the thunder flashed in the windowsill, filling his vision with a white explosion that blinded him. Then, the conversation in the room returned to normal volume with a slight ringing in his ears. “ Flannegan - “ Justin said, breathless. “ Did you hear that?” “ Hear what? Meh tummy grumbling? C’mon, let’s see ‘ere, I got ten - no, twenty. That’ll give us enough for …..” As Flannegan continued to ramble on, Justin clenched his fist, sucking his breath in, before putting his toothbrush into the blanket and wrapping everything in a bindle. There was no Camelot. There was no King Arthur. His life was still marooned to the past, and the only way to leave it was to forget it. [/hider]