royal blood | Larry Stylinson (boyxboy)

Prologue

Today at work inspiration hit me in the face. And I scribbled this on a piece of paper. I kinda like it and I'd love to give it a shot. Please tell me what you think :) no feedback, no continuing ;)

He ran. He ran as fast as his legs were able to carry him. His lungs were burning, his legs were numb. He's been running for ages and he was exhausted. More often then less he stumbled through the thick undergrowth of the forest, twisting his head around from time to time to check if the ones chasing him have caught up to him. His heart was beating fast, pulse raising. He wasn't able to hear anything than his own heartbeat. The dark green of the leaves and musty brown of the trees blending into a swirl of colours, making him dizzy. His foot got stuck under some roots and he fell forward, arms swinging forward to safe his neck from breaking, sword clinging as it hit a rock. He hissed as is trousers tore open and blood started tickling warm from his thigh down his leg. With a scrunched up expression he pressed his fingers against the deep gash, blood oozing out and staining his fingers scarlet red.

 Nonetheless he gritted his teeth and ran on, the sound of his chasers footsteps and shouts coming closer with every erratic heartbeat. The burning in his lungs seems to consummate him, black dots bouncing in front of his eyes, his limbs getting heavier every second. His hair stuck to his hot and sweaty forehead, his former royal blue shirt was darker as the ocean form sweat now. The only thing he was able to hear now, was his own short breathing and his sped up heartbeat. He felt like he's been on the run for hours now, not able to see the sun through the thick leave roof above him. Stumbling forward, shoving low hanging branches out of his face, the claws of the forest tearing on his clothes, his face, hands and arm.

The forest he once used to love had turned against him. A dark monster, doing its best to pul him in and swallow him completely. He wasn't even able to wrap his head around how fast it all had changed. He, once one of the ones doing the hunting, became the prey. He never would have guessed that he'd be hunted down like a wild animal, arrows flying left and right. Their shouts were edging closer, the black dots in front of his eyes got bigger, darker, more prominent. He turned around one last time, a defeated feeling down in his guts, seeing as his pursuers broke through the undergrowth, swords out and ready to catch him. They suddenly stopped, wide grins spreading over their faces, theirs laughs traveling to him, as he kept on running, hoping he'd escape them this time for good. He turned his head back around, to run out of their sight, back home. 

But as soon as his eyes darted forward, he realised why they had stopped at all. The moment his brain clicked into place, that he had reached the cliffs, he fell. For not even the split of a second it felt like flying with the most amazing view right in front of him. The horizon close enough to touch. He extended his arms, ready to grab for the sun, but then he dropped down like a wet bag, pulled down, towards the dark angry water and the sharp pointy rocks beneath. When he hit the water, the cold surrounding hi, his sword pulling him down, he was already unconscious, little air bubbles floating from his mouth towards the surface, his light brown hair like a halo around his ghosty white face.