"Three years gone" by William J Kenney

He fell to his knees with an anguished yell, thrusting his sword deeply into the soft earth. He paid no heed to the sharp pain that jolted through him as his shins struck a protruding tree root; his fingers clutched vainly at the years-old scar that the old tree still bore. Painful memories rushed to torture his mind; memories that had once been the happiest times of his life. Now, however, he knew... Knew that those memories of happiness marked the end of his blissful days. Three years to the day, she had died... Tears ran in rivulets down his face, so alike, yet so unlike the crimson tears his love had shed that fateful night. He scraped the dirt under his fingers into a tight fist, trying anything to drive away the pain.
Pain that could never again be eased.

William J Kenney replies: "Very nice. I like it. How did she die though? What do you think? Nice writing style..."

Its pretty clear to me. He obviously lost the love of his life. searching endlessly to find the one placed so high. HE will not give up till she is found and back safely in his arms.

~ Three years of futile searching in the moors of old Ireland have prooved fruitless. The ley lines and standing stones meander for miles, intersecting and crossing each other in a seemingly meaningless pattern. Lack of food, cold and dense fog have all but taken this creatures life.. only the vague half memories of the last days with his wife and child keep him animated.. All afternoon he has been sure that something is hunting him. Whilst staggering at the end of his wits it catches his eye, -a sign.. from her.. a carving. then he sees the cross. And knows. without any doubt that the search is over. Falling to his knees he scours the grass for remnants.. anything... whilst at the same time the silence is torn by a bloodthirsty GROOOOOOWWL!!

William J Kenney replies: "Cool. I like the Old Ireland setting. I am Irish after all. Very cool description. What's making that Grooooowwwling sound? Yipe!....."

~ spun out.. I had no idea you hailed from Ireland.. there just seemed to be a cerain Irishness to the scene.. weird.

~ regarding the monster. words fall short.. only scratchings on paper will do her justice. so if you want I'll draw her and post it so that once the moderators have chewed at her you can <~ click* through and have a look..

It's been three years since I last saw her. I can still see the sparkles in her eyes whenever she smiled. But it pains me to think of her. And yet, I cannot help but visit this site. This hallow ground where she was laid in her final breathes...I cannot forgot...

William J Kenney replies: "Nor can I.... Years of three have slowly past, I find her near the tree at last. The makeshift cross it meets my eye, the blooms upon it never die..."

the war was over, all the battles faught. . . but for what? he hadnt saved his fair maiden and rode off into the sunset or lived happily ever after. a choked sob heaved his body as he grasped the scar on the old oak and fell to his knees. she had been murdered and it was HIS fault, he hadn't reached her in time. . . in time to save her from the furious queen, or the jeleous brother. the least he could do was to find her body and put it in a sacred place for her soul to be at peace. but as he picked himself up, he heard a rustling in the forest. for a moment he thought that she had returned to meet him as promised those years ago, but it was only a rabbit. he was a fool, she would never return to him, and it was his fault. he heard the rabbit again, but didnt even look away from the scorning heart. . ."david?"....

William J Kenney replies: "Great! I love hearing everyones story ideas. Cool."

From the looks of it, he is at the grave site of his lost one. He visits her every year on the day that she was killed, and he has sworn to avenge here. As he is there telling her how his life has been over the past three years he is also keeping an eye out for the enemy who often patrols in the area of the last huge battle.

William J Kenney replies: "nice, nice...."

Placing his hand on the scarred tree, a searing memory flooded his mind: it was a perfect Irish spring, all around him shone green and alive. She was dancing in a meadow, her dark brown hair spun out around her, fey green eyes twinkling with delight. She spun into his arms, and he wrapped then tightly around her little waist. They sat down beneath this tree, and she reached into his boot, where she knew there was always a small dagger. Standing up, she reached down and grabbed his hand, forcing him up, too. Placing his hand around her own, she guided the knife, carving a heart into the tree, both of their hands forming the symbol. When it was done, she turned in his arms to face him, green eyes locked with his own sapphire. The image faltered, then faded, leaving him in the dead of winter, his hand on the long forgotten tree. Three years had passed, three years of searching for her killer. Now he knew he would never be found. He was an assassin, able to disapear without a trace. Why? Would he ever know why she was killed. He had put this cross up for her, a memory of her beautiful spirit. Still to this day, he could feel her in his arms, smell her soft hair, feel her eyes on him. Clenching his hand around a fistfull of dirt, he tried to push back the pain, but he knew it would never fade, it would always be with him, until the day he went to join her in the next world...