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The eyes bored through the impenetrable fortress, even if he was unsure that his hands could find a way through. Sweat began to percolate on his brow as our Hero took a step back, and cracked his knuckles slowly. Methodically. Bright light surrounded him, shining harshly, causing beads of perspiration to glisten as they slid down through his sideburns and eventually, onto his soaked vest. A lesser man may have balked under the pressure and bowed down? but our Hero was not a man to simply admit defeat. Not when he had come this far.
His eyes burned, like the stinging bites from insects in the desert, or ice at the peak of a mountain?his eyes burned, because he knew how close he was to achieving this, the greatest of achievements. The fortress was his unconquerable task that would grant him a place in history. Our Hero wiped his palms on his chest, leaving stains to match the ones that were growing underneath his armpits. His took a further step back, and surveyed his fingers ? the tips slowly curved into a smooth, even arc around the finely cut nails. The hairs were lank with the greasy sweat that swarmed all over his skin, slicked back to create an almost flat surface. The eyes of fire gazed across these, his tools, and gazed straight across them to focus on the fortress.
The stare hardened, in an attempt to resemble the impossible density of the walls he would try and break through. The eyebrows arched inwards ever so slightly, and the teeth began to ease their way onto the lower lip. The palms met, and our Hero slowly caressed the hands into each other before breaking in an extravagant display of energy that signalled his intent to the fortress. He took yet another step back, before thudding forwards. His eyes never broke, never shifted or so much as twitched away from the prize.
Every sinew and muscle in his arms exploded as furious anger washed over our Hero. Teeth gnashed and gums were bared, but not a single sound was allowed escape from our Hero?s lungs ? all their efforts were focused on throwing every last drop of oxygen to the cause, giving that little extra shove or twist to bring down the walls. The eyes contorted, the lids caught in two minds, not knowing whether to bind themselves shut as forcibly as the fortress? entrance, or fling themselves open and expose the cones and rods of the battered retina to the undying luminescence?but during this wild display, somehow our Hero managed to keep his focus. Despite the flailing of his limbs, the crushing of his teeth and the various struggles going on in his eyes, the pupils were still trained straight ahead.
It took an age for the struggle to end, but end it did. Our Hero made his way back to where he had come from, but his mind was still not entirely contented. Questions remained unanswered. Could he truly call himself victorious? The scars on his knuckles and the soreness in his biceps suggested that he could have done nothing more, and that he should pride himself on his actions?but our Hero did not listen to his knuckles, or his biceps. Nor would he listen to the voices of his friends and family when they discovered the nature of his quest ? our Hero was a law unto himself, and so every night after that one, our Hero would be kept up at night by his own voice. His eyes would refuse to close, just as they had on this very night, for our Hero would always ask himself the question that could never be answered. He could ask the world?s greatest philosophers, scientists, mathematicians and politicians; he could ask their children, when they grew up and took on equally important professions. But it would all be in vain.
Our Hero would never know if he could have gotten that last bit of toothpaste out of the bloody tube.
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Best thing about the edit feature is that I don't have to proofread my work! Feedback appreciated.
His eyes burned, like the stinging bites from insects in the desert, or ice at the peak of a mountain?his eyes burned, because he knew how close he was to achieving this, the greatest of achievements. The fortress was his unconquerable task that would grant him a place in history. Our Hero wiped his palms on his chest, leaving stains to match the ones that were growing underneath his armpits. His took a further step back, and surveyed his fingers ? the tips slowly curved into a smooth, even arc around the finely cut nails. The hairs were lank with the greasy sweat that swarmed all over his skin, slicked back to create an almost flat surface. The eyes of fire gazed across these, his tools, and gazed straight across them to focus on the fortress.
The stare hardened, in an attempt to resemble the impossible density of the walls he would try and break through. The eyebrows arched inwards ever so slightly, and the teeth began to ease their way onto the lower lip. The palms met, and our Hero slowly caressed the hands into each other before breaking in an extravagant display of energy that signalled his intent to the fortress. He took yet another step back, before thudding forwards. His eyes never broke, never shifted or so much as twitched away from the prize.
Every sinew and muscle in his arms exploded as furious anger washed over our Hero. Teeth gnashed and gums were bared, but not a single sound was allowed escape from our Hero?s lungs ? all their efforts were focused on throwing every last drop of oxygen to the cause, giving that little extra shove or twist to bring down the walls. The eyes contorted, the lids caught in two minds, not knowing whether to bind themselves shut as forcibly as the fortress? entrance, or fling themselves open and expose the cones and rods of the battered retina to the undying luminescence?but during this wild display, somehow our Hero managed to keep his focus. Despite the flailing of his limbs, the crushing of his teeth and the various struggles going on in his eyes, the pupils were still trained straight ahead.
It took an age for the struggle to end, but end it did. Our Hero made his way back to where he had come from, but his mind was still not entirely contented. Questions remained unanswered. Could he truly call himself victorious? The scars on his knuckles and the soreness in his biceps suggested that he could have done nothing more, and that he should pride himself on his actions?but our Hero did not listen to his knuckles, or his biceps. Nor would he listen to the voices of his friends and family when they discovered the nature of his quest ? our Hero was a law unto himself, and so every night after that one, our Hero would be kept up at night by his own voice. His eyes would refuse to close, just as they had on this very night, for our Hero would always ask himself the question that could never be answered. He could ask the world?s greatest philosophers, scientists, mathematicians and politicians; he could ask their children, when they grew up and took on equally important professions. But it would all be in vain.
Our Hero would never know if he could have gotten that last bit of toothpaste out of the bloody tube.
=== === === === ===
Best thing about the edit feature is that I don't have to proofread my work! Feedback appreciated.
Thanks :)
I'm thinking that The Quest wasn't the most enticing of titles to give the damned thing though.
I'm thinking that The Quest wasn't the most enticing of titles to give the damned thing though.
Brilliant twist and nice, descriptive story. I enjoyed it muchly. 8.7 / 10.
The eyes bored through the impenetrable fortress, even if he was unsure that his hands could find a way through. Sweat began to percolate on his brow as our Hero took a step back, and cracked his knuckles slowly. Methodically. Bright light surrounded him, shining harshly, causing beads of perspiration to glisten as they slid down through his sideburns and eventually, onto his soaked vest. A lesser man may have balked under the pressure and bowed down? but our Hero was not a man to simply admit defeat. Not when he had come this far.
His eyes burned, like the stinging bites from insects in the desert, or ice at the peak of a mountain?his eyes burned, because he knew how close he was to achieving this, the greatest of achievements. The fortress was his unconquerable task that would grant him a place in history. Our Hero wiped his palms on his chest, leaving stains to match the ones that were growing underneath his armpits. His took a further step back, and surveyed his fingers ? the tips slowly curved into a smooth, even arc around the finely cut nails. The hairs were lank with the greasy sweat that swarmed all over his skin, slicked back to create an almost flat surface. The eyes of fire gazed across these, his tools, and gazed straight across them to focus on the fortress.
The stare hardened, in an attempt to resemble the impossible density of the walls he would try and break through. The eyebrows arched inwards ever so slightly, and the teeth began to ease their way onto the lower lip. The palms met, and our Hero slowly caressed the hands into each other before breaking in an extravagant display of energy that signalled his intent to the fortress. He took yet another step back, before thudding forwards. His eyes never broke, never shifted or so much as twitched away from the prize.
Every sinew and muscle in his arms exploded as furious anger washed over our Hero. Teeth gnashed and gums were bared, but not a single sound was allowed escape from our Hero?s lungs ? all their efforts were focused on throwing every last drop of oxygen to the cause, giving that little extra shove or twist to bring down the walls. The eyes contorted, the lids caught in two minds, not knowing whether to bind themselves shut as forcibly as the fortress? entrance, or fling themselves open and expose the cones and rods of the battered retina to the undying luminescence?but during this wild display, somehow our Hero managed to keep his focus. Despite the flailing of his limbs, the crushing of his teeth and the various struggles going on in his eyes, the pupils were still trained straight ahead.
It took an age for the struggle to end, but end it did. Our Hero made his way back to where he had come from, but his mind was still not entirely contented. Questions remained unanswered. Could he truly call himself victorious? The scars on his knuckles and the soreness in his biceps suggested that he could have done nothing more, and that he should pride himself on his actions?but our Hero did not listen to his knuckles, or his biceps. Nor would he listen to the voices of his friends and family when they discovered the nature of his quest ? our Hero was a law unto himself, and so every night after that one, our Hero would be kept up at night by his own voice. His eyes would refuse to close, just as they had on this very night, for our Hero would always ask himself the question that could never be answered. He could ask the world?s greatest philosophers, scientists, mathematicians and politicians; he could ask their children, when they grew up and took on equally important professions. But it would all be in vain.
Our Hero would never know if he could have gotten that last bit of toothpaste out of the bloody tube.
=== === === === ===
Best thing about the edit feature is that I don't have to proofread my work! Feedback appreciated.
His eyes burned, like the stinging bites from insects in the desert, or ice at the peak of a mountain?his eyes burned, because he knew how close he was to achieving this, the greatest of achievements. The fortress was his unconquerable task that would grant him a place in history. Our Hero wiped his palms on his chest, leaving stains to match the ones that were growing underneath his armpits. His took a further step back, and surveyed his fingers ? the tips slowly curved into a smooth, even arc around the finely cut nails. The hairs were lank with the greasy sweat that swarmed all over his skin, slicked back to create an almost flat surface. The eyes of fire gazed across these, his tools, and gazed straight across them to focus on the fortress.
The stare hardened, in an attempt to resemble the impossible density of the walls he would try and break through. The eyebrows arched inwards ever so slightly, and the teeth began to ease their way onto the lower lip. The palms met, and our Hero slowly caressed the hands into each other before breaking in an extravagant display of energy that signalled his intent to the fortress. He took yet another step back, before thudding forwards. His eyes never broke, never shifted or so much as twitched away from the prize.
Every sinew and muscle in his arms exploded as furious anger washed over our Hero. Teeth gnashed and gums were bared, but not a single sound was allowed escape from our Hero?s lungs ? all their efforts were focused on throwing every last drop of oxygen to the cause, giving that little extra shove or twist to bring down the walls. The eyes contorted, the lids caught in two minds, not knowing whether to bind themselves shut as forcibly as the fortress? entrance, or fling themselves open and expose the cones and rods of the battered retina to the undying luminescence?but during this wild display, somehow our Hero managed to keep his focus. Despite the flailing of his limbs, the crushing of his teeth and the various struggles going on in his eyes, the pupils were still trained straight ahead.
It took an age for the struggle to end, but end it did. Our Hero made his way back to where he had come from, but his mind was still not entirely contented. Questions remained unanswered. Could he truly call himself victorious? The scars on his knuckles and the soreness in his biceps suggested that he could have done nothing more, and that he should pride himself on his actions?but our Hero did not listen to his knuckles, or his biceps. Nor would he listen to the voices of his friends and family when they discovered the nature of his quest ? our Hero was a law unto himself, and so every night after that one, our Hero would be kept up at night by his own voice. His eyes would refuse to close, just as they had on this very night, for our Hero would always ask himself the question that could never be answered. He could ask the world?s greatest philosophers, scientists, mathematicians and politicians; he could ask their children, when they grew up and took on equally important professions. But it would all be in vain.
Our Hero would never know if he could have gotten that last bit of toothpaste out of the bloody tube.
=== === === === ===
Best thing about the edit feature is that I don't have to proofread my work! Feedback appreciated.