"The Warrior and the Old Man" by Amber Silver

         It was dark in the small log cabin where Thomas had lived for the past seven months, and he was most startled to look up from his dinner one evening to find an old man sitting silently in front of an old, tarnished mirror beside the door. The man was a complete stranger to Thomas; he wore a dirty green sweater, he had long, white matted hair, and his face was unshaven and gouged with age. Yet, when Thomas demanded that the stranger leave, he did not move.
        So Thomas sat, watching this old man who watched back with an unblinking gaze. The stranger would not answer any of Thomas' queries, and this rudeness was endured until the flames began to burn low in the fireplace, and shadows began to creep in from the four corners of the room.
        "Old man," Thomas finally addressed, "Will you not leave my home?  Your rudeness is most disturbing; do you realize who I am?"
        "I know who you are." Quietly replied the old man, with a voice wrinkled with age.  Thomas started, surprised that the ancient creature finally spoke. He had began to fancy the old man a deaf and mute.
        "Then who am I?" He asked, curious for the man's answer.
        "You are Thomas the Great." The old man whispered so quietly that Thomas was forced to lean forward, "You have slain many beasts which threatened the people of your village, and are famous for your fireside tales. You are an unforgettable hero."
        Though he could not be certain, Thomas thought he detected a faint note of sarcasm in the old man's voice. Regardless, he could not resist the swelling pride which blossomed deep within his chest. It was all true, vanity aside. Thomas was the protector and entertainer of his home town. He was skilled in both the quill and the sword, and he was renowned for it. Thomas glanced to the mantel, taking in his sword which hung on two pegs by it's strap; it was polished to brilliance, and shone fiercely in the dim light.
        "Well then, have you come to hear my tales, old man?" Asked Thomas, "Or have you come to me seeking aid?"
        "Neither." Answered the stranger, who sat as Thomas sat, staring back at him without blinking, "I have come to watch you die."
        Thomas froze for a moment before his face slowly spread into a smirk, "Old man, you are a feeble, faceless phantom! How can a ghost like you hope to end the life of a hero such as I?"
        The old man's expression mirrored his own, and he laughed, "It isn't I who shall end your life, poet."
       Thomas stood slowly and the old man stood with him,  "How dare you come in to my home spouting such nonsence?  You are a pitiful old fool!"
        The old man chuckled quietly and smiled, "I know.  I only wish that you could realize how right you are before you died."
        Thomas opened his mouth to demand an explanation when a fierce pain exploded from the left side of his chest.  Clasping a hand to his heart, he gasped feebly for his breath and fell to his knees.  The old man knelt with him.
        "It's just you and I, Thomas." Murmured the old man.  Thomas's vision wavered and he collapsed to the hard floor.  The back of his eyelids burned painfully and he forced his eyes open, only to be greeted with the sight of the old man lying on the floor beside him, returning his gaze.
        "What magic is this?" Thomas whispered as his vision began to fade, "This cannot be the way that my story ends."
        The stranger smiled.
        "Your quill ran dry a long time ago, Thomas. The story that you have written since your ink dried is nothing more then illegible scratches on blank paper that no one shall ever read."
        Thomas tried to force his traitorous tongue to form a curse, but it failed him when he needed it the most.  So Thomas lay there on the floor, staring back into the eyes of the stranger until the rhythm of his heart slowly faded, and his life ended like the closing of a book.

        As Thomas died, the fire which had been struggling to sustain itself died as well. Slowly a shadow spread and enveloped the tiny room; first the rusted, dust covered sword on the mantel was enveloped. Then the tarnished, dirty mirror which stood against the wall next to the door lost its shine and disappeared. Finally, shadow completely swallowed the room, and the form of the old, forgotten man laying dead on the floor vanished into the darkness.