Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 140462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 702(@200wpm)___ 562(@250wpm)___ 468(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 140462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 702(@200wpm)___ 562(@250wpm)___ 468(@300wpm)
I emerge into the setting sun, blinded by the blood-red sky. The first inhale of fresh, wood-scented air makes my head spin, and when I look around, taking in the brilliant green of the leaves, freedom seems within reach.
I thought I would never again smell the earthy, damp aroma of the forest, but trees are everywhere within sight. Figures. This is Maine.
The transportation truck fell off a small cliff, and shouldn’t be visible from the road, so there’s a chance its failure to arrive at its destination might not be discovered for another few hours.
I’m in the north, I know how to stay off-grid. What’s stopping me from crossing into Canada? Worst-case scenario, I get caught. What can they do then? I’ve already got a life sentence wrapped around my neck like a noose. And since I’m not taking the gun with me, nobody can even claim I’m armed and dangerous. I’m so tall every bed I ever owned was too short, and I’m strong enough to knock a man out with a single punch. Don’t need a firearm to make grown men piss their pants.
I climb a cliff covered in enough bushes to give me leverage and then…. I start walking. It’s a marathon, not a sprint, so I keep a steady pace as the sun sets behind me. And when a vehicle approaches? I hide in the bushes. Easy. Simple.
Walking wherever I want and the absence of a schedule I’m obliged to follow are like a rush of the purest cocaine. Elated, I can barely feel any fatigue by the time I encounter a road sign informing me of a town two miles ahead. Problem is, I’m still wearing bloodstained overalls, and unless I come up with a way to make myself look like a regular citizen, my freedom might be very brief.
I must be the luckiest bastard out there, because there’s a clothesline on the property ahead. I snatch some clothes, which all smell fresher than the air after a storm, and they don’t fit half bad, even though their owner must be shorter than me, judging by the length of the sweatpants. The poor bastard’s neighbor even left a pair of muddy work boots outside waiting for me.
I dispose of my bloodied shoes and clothes in a pond and keep walking. Going by the guard’s watch, it’s getting close to ten p.m., but I haven’t gotten far enough to consider rest.
I need energy, I need calories, I need food to fuel me through the night.
And the universe really is on my side tonight because, I spot a green neon sign that makes me salivate.
Best Burgers Bonanza.
“Yesss, baby…” I whisper to myself and walk faster, lowering the stolen baseball cap over my eyes. After years of enduring prison grub, this is my Holy Grail. I’ll be eating two—no, three fucking juicy burgers and more fresh, crispy fries than a high school football team after practice.
And who knows, maybe luck will strike me a third time today, and I’ll even get laid.
I do have two condoms.
Chapter 2
Sylvan
Ihate the human realm.
I hate daylight for giving me sunburn. I hate seeming incompetent at every step, just because this world is new to me. I hate having to tuck my pointy ears under a cap. I hate the scratchy fabric of my uniform at Best Burgers Bonanza. I hate that the silver collar around my neck blocks my access to shadowcraft (as meager as my skill is). I hate that I am an elven prince, Sylvan fucking Goldweed, and instead of getting the respect I deserve as a royal, I’m stuck flipping burgers for a pittance.
Am I really supposed to live like this for fifty years? Two months into my banishment and I’m already on the verge of killing someone when asked for extra ketchup.
I don’t know what’s worse: that after a few years in the human realm my body will begin to deteriorate, ‘grow old’ as if I were some soulless beast or animal, not an elf. Or that, while I am stuck here, being of no use or significance to anyone, life at the Nocturne Court carries on. Soon enough, my connection with it will wither, and even my own mother will forget me. All the progress I have made in alchemy will be in vain after fifty years of new developments in the craft.
I will never prove myself.
I will amount to nothing.
I will forever be the most useless Goldweed prince who ever lived.
“Hey, man! Is the ice cream coming or what?” yells a teenager with the complexion of scorched earth.
If I stay here long enough, will my smooth skin also erupt with spots?
“Apologies, the machine is broken,” I lie, because I will not be cleaning it again. It’s almost ten at night, and from then, the restaurant will only be open for drive-thru customers. I can’t wait for the bunch of rowdy adolescents occupying the booth at the back of BBB to disappear from my sight.