Mark Maker Blog #2

Posted: December 27, 2012 in Viking novel
Tags: ,

My face is frozen into the snow. Death is coming for me, rancid as a whaler’s hold. I can feel the black rushing towards me like the powerful upward blow of a club.I can see my wife’s smiling face from the crowd at the beach the first time she stepped onto our island. I can hear my dog whimpering from the sword wound inflicted on her as she jumped at my enemy. I can see a dim light from a distant fire. I can hear my brother screaming my name..Asmundr, as if its meaning- divine power- could save him , for I am in no shape to help him…

Waves of nausea hit me in the soft part of my belly resting on the snow. I vomit and the greasy fish smell makes me vomit again. No matter how hard it is to move, I can’t rest my face in my own muck. I push my hands out and press so hard against the snow that I roll over onto my back…

I wake looking at stars sliding around the sky. I cannot tell if my eyes are shut and I see stars in my mind or if I am actually looking at stars. A moaning sound comes from the direction of my brother but black is welcoming me again. I know I won’t come back from the blackness, from the abyss, if I give up this time. I roll over again and attempt to lug one leg up under me to crawl. It doesn’t happen because my mind can only take so much pain. I try again hoping the pain might be something I can used to. I know my leg is broken and probably my jaw. The distant light beckons me with warmth. Somehow I crawl towards it. The moon has curved a month over the sky before I reach it- or so my minds feels…so slow…so slow.


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