Welcome to my story. This is a university project which is based on the saying that the enemy of the good is the perfect. I normally write stories that languish on my lap top because I think they need more work. My challenge for the project is to draw an image and write a chapter a week and post it no matter what. I have written for work for years but I am trying to move into fiction. I always loved drawing but never did it because I thought I wasn’t good enough, but now I want to do it no matter what. As they say, if you love something and can’t do it well, then love doing it badly! And the beauty of digital is you can go back and edit. All comments and feedback welcome and I hope you enjoy my story. Thanks for reading.
The Wind That Slices
In the mountainous regions of the North, so the legend goes, parents warn their children to beware of the sickle weasels. These mystical creatures ride the swirling freezing whirlwinds of this frozen region with claws as strong as steel and as sharp as razors, fur as spiny as a hedgehog, and a bark like a dog. They move so quickly that they are invisible to the naked eye, and they come and go on the wind.
The tales say that they travel and attack in threes – striking out at people from thin air. The first slices at the victim’s legs, knocking him to the ground. The second one uses its fore and hind legs to slice the victim with thousands of wicked cuts. And the third? He applies a magical salve which seals the wounds instantly so that none prove fatal. It is said that they strike with such precision that the victims can lose chunks of flesh without even a drop of blood spilled. The attack and the healing happen so fast that the victim doesn’t even perceive them; he merely trips and gets up with a bit of pain and a few scratches here and there. Or so they think. But over time, the victim slowly fades away. The wound may have been sealed but it never heals.
But this is just a fable, a story, a myth, to scare naughty children and foolish people. Although my children, the wind that slices does indeed exist. But it is not a weasel, it is not the wind, it is a who. And someone is seeking this wind and wishes to summon them. And once they are summoned, there is no escaping them, for who among us can turn the wind?