• A Quiet Laughter



    A hawk flew over a frozen English wilderness. It screeched loudly, and then looked down at the vast forest beneath it. Below there were tall firs not covered in snow like usual trees in a snowy area; winds had stripped off the snow, and caused them to look as if they were leaning, but in reality they stood erect. The ground beow the trees was covered with white, powdery snow and little sticks broke the surface, here and there. All was silent in the wilderness as the hawk swooped down from its throne in the sky, and perched down upon a tree branch-- watching quietly for a mouse, a rabbit, or any kind of prey-- he didn't move, he barely blinked-- his concentration was total.
    Suddenly, the bird heard a sad, lonely laugh. He cocked his head up, searching for the source of the sound. And as he sat there scanning the forest, an arrow came out from somewhere in the woods and pierced his left wing. His sharp talons clawed at the branch he was perched upon, trying to hold on, but to no avail; his body began falling to the ground. He flapped his wings wildly, insanely, trying to fly, but moments later he was on the ground, tainting the white snow with his fresh blood.
    The shooter came out from behind a fir thirty feet from the tree that the hawk had been perched upon. He was a short, broad shouldered man with a bald head, rust colored beard, and an ugly face. He wore expensive clothing and a thick bear skin coat that had an emblem of a man stabbing a bear on it. This symbol was widely known. It symbolized that he was special-- part of an elite class, brave-- but most of all, it showed that he was wealthy.

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    Jason Barocroft looked around. He walked over to the broken bird that was now lying on the ground, motionless. Its beady eyes looked up at Jason with fear. Jason showed no mercy; he quickly knelt down, picked the bird up, and broke its neck. Then he whistled loudly.
    Out from behind two other firs came two other men. One was a tall, handsome, brown haired man; and the other, a short, scrawny old man.
    The tall man appeared to be in his twenty's and was dressed in the same fashion as Jason. The older man, on the other-hand, seemed to be in his late fifty's and was dressed very poorly. He wore crude boots with hole at the soles, and a thin, hole-pocked shirt, along with a pair of pants that looked to be made of an uncomfortable material; the man kept itching his legs. Both of the men walked towards Jason. And as they came closer to Jason, the older man began to grow tired and eventually fell behind.
    “Father, did you kill it?” The tall man said, his voice was smooth and pleasant.
    “Aye Matthew, got him right in the wing, then I broke it's neck,” his father repled, obviously proud. He was quiet for a moment after that as he examined the dead bird, then after a short while he looked up and noticed the older man, who had now stopped to rest.
    “Arthur!” He roared. “ Hurry your lazy a** up, or you'll be treated like a slave rather than a servant,” his tone showed he was disgusted.
    Arthur looked stunned for a moment, then he got up and began walking towards Jason again, and moments later he was with the others.
    Matthew looked up at the sky and noticed the sun was setting.
    “Father, the sun is setting upon us,” he said.

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    Jason looked up and nodded. “You're right,” he was quiet for a moment, then he continued, “We shall camp here for the night.”
    Matthew nodded, “Agreed.”
    Jason looked down at the shivering Arthur and said roughly, “ Get wood.”
    Arthur had sat down on a fallen tree and was rubbing his legs, trying to force blood back into his freezing limbs, and so he did not hear Jason's command. Suddenly, Jason brought down his fist hard against Arthur's right cheek, which caused Arthur to yelp, then fall to the ground.
    “I said... GET WOOD!” Jason yelled.
    Arthur quickly stood up, rubbing his already swelling cheek, then hastily began picking up sticks from the snow covered ground. From the corner of his eye, Matthew looked down at the pitiful Arthur with sorrowful eyes.
    .When Jason and Matthew had finished setting up camp and had begun to get out their blankets Matthew said to his father hesitantly, “ You should not be so harsh to him father...”
    Jason stopped what he was doing and looked at Matthew with cold, penetrating eyes. Suddenly, he slapped Matthew across the face, knocking him to the ground. Matthew held his hand over his reddened cheek and looked up at his father surprised.
    “Don't…Ever!.. Command me again!” Jason yelled, his face a burning red.
    Matthew said nothing. Jason’s face regained composure as he stood there, watching if his son would reply, knowing he wouldn’t.
    “Good,” he said, then continued unpacking his things.

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    By the time they had finished unpacking, Arthur had already raised a blazing fire and was then cooking the hawk over it. When it was prepared, they began eating (Arthur received less of course, and Jason much more). Matthew and Arthur ate quietly as they obediently listened to Jason brag about how his days as a general of the English army, and of the thousands he had supposedly killed. He had told them the same story probably more than fifty times. The fire's reflection danced in his eyes as he told them. When they had finished eating, Jason and Matthew lied on opposite sides of
    the fire, then began getting under their blankets.
    “Keep watch toad!” Jason yelled sleepily to Arthur, then moments later he was snoring loudly in a deep sleep.
    Matthew couldn’t sleep. It was cold and he was thinking about his father hitting him. He had never hit him before and now that he had, Matthew felt afraid of his father. He kept tossing and turning, trying to find a comfortable position, then he suddenly heard Arthur’s weak voice. “Can’t sleep master Matthew?”
    “No,” Matthew replied hesitantly, then a strong howling wind blew by and he shivered.
    “Try sleeping on your stomach,” Arthur said plainly. “It will keep the warmth in.”
    Matthew sat up and looked at Arthur. Arthur was standing next to the horses, silently petting their noses.
    “That sounds like a good idea,” Matthew said in a hushed tone. “Thank you.”
    Arthur nodded, and for a brief moment the moonlight shone on his face and Matthew noticed the red mark on Arthur's face where his father had hit him.

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    “I’m sorry about how my father treats you… It’s wrong.” He said in a quiet voice.
    “It’s him—not you. Don’t be sorry… I saw what he did to you too…”
    Matthew was silent for awhile, then he looked up, past the canopy of dead trees into the star-filled sky, then ignored what Arthur had said and asked, “Are you cold?”
    “We are all cold,” Arthur said simply.
    Matthew stood up and walked until he was next to Arthur. It was this first time he was this close to him and he noticed how short Arthur was compared to him. Matthew then took off his heavy cloak and wrapped it around Arthur. Arthur stopped petting the horses, turned around and looked at Matthew—his eyes wide, his mouth open.
    Matthew just smiled and said, “I hope it will keep you warm,” then turned around and began walking towards his blankets. After a few steps he stopped and turned around. “Thank you…Arthur… I haven’t had a real conversation with anyone for a while…Thank you,” he said quietly. Arthur said nothing. He just looked at him with weird expression. Matthew then laid down and pulled his blankets over him and, soon after, he fell into a comfortable sleep.
    * * * * *
    It was morning and sunlight burned through the canopy of trees and then reflected off the snowy ground causing the snow to shine and look extremely white. A strong wind blew through the trees and made them sway from side to side, which caused them to creek and grown as if they were alive. The wind then passed over Matthew’s sleeping body, which caused him to shiver and wake up. He sat up, still under his blankets, looked around, and noticed that his father and Arthur were not around. He creased his brow for a moment then shrugged and stood up. He yawned loudly, then stretched out his arms.

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    Suddenly, he heard his father’s voice in the distance. “This will be the last time this happens,” then he heard Arthur groan loudly. Matthew’s eyes widened and then he began turning his way this way and that way, trying to find where his father’s voice came from.
    After a few seconds he realized it came from behind him and he turned around and began running towards the source of his father's voice.
    It was cold and he kept trampling over small sticks, occasionally stumbling over the larger ones. Within a minute he was standing behind his father who was standing over Arthur’s beaten body. And clenched in his father's fist was a wood stick. Jason had heard him so he turned around to regard him, and then said, “Go back to camp. I will back shortly,” then he turned back around.
    Matthew didn’t move. He just continued to stare at his father, then he watched as his father harshly kicked Arthur in the stomach. Arthur rolled over, groaning and clutching his stomach in pain.
    “Father! Stop!” Matthew screamed childishly.
    Jason turned around red-faced, teeth clenched, and said, “ I said…Go back to camp…” Then he turned back and kicked Arthur in the ribs, which made a loud cracking sound.
    “Father!… He’s done nothing to do deserve this…” Matthew pleaded.
    Jason then crouched down and ripped off the cloak Matthew had given Arthur last night and threw it before Matthew’s feet, “Look at that! He has stolen your cloak—betrayed you in your sleep… He deserves this.”
    “But father… I gave him the cloak last night to keep him warm.”

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    Jason’s face was blank for awhile, then he grinned and said, “Oh, so Arthur here got this beating because a you?” Then he began to laugh.
    Matthew just stood there, his mouth slightly open, listening to his father laugh at him. His father’s laughing enraged him, but, yet, he still did nothing.
    Jason stopped laughing, then said, “Alright well then I guess Arthur will have to pay for your actions,” and turned back and looked down at Arthur, then suddenly kicked him across the face, which made a loud popping sound; Arthur’s jaw had been dislocated. Blood began to quickly trickle out of Arthur’s mouth, and his cheek had already began to swell and become purple. Arthur tried to scream, but he could only groan; his jaw was hanging limply from his mouth.
    Matthew still didn’t move. He just watched wide-eyed as his father beat Arthur. He then saw his father kick Arthur in the stomach and heard Arthur groan in pain.
    “Father! Stop!” Matthew screamed once more.
    This time Jason turned around and struck Matthew across the face. Matthew fell to the ground and put his hand over his swelling cheek and looked up his father who now stood before him.
    “You…don’t give—me—orders!” Jason said sharply then turned around and looked down at Arthur.
    Matthew sat there holding his cheek, tears streaming down his reddened his face. Then he saw his father begin to beat Arthur savagely with the woodem stick and his eyes flashed with rage. Then his father broke the top of the stick off, causing it to become sharp at the tip. He then stabbed it into Arthur’s chest and Arthur screamed in agonizing pain, as the color drained from his face.

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    In the spur of the moment, Matthew stood up and threw himself forward at his father, knocking him to the ground. Jason’s eyes fluttered rapidly, then suddenly closed. Matthew stood above him and then unclenched his fists. Then he remembered Arthur and quickly turned around and knelt beside him.
    Arthur was breathing heavily and his face was completely unrecognizable; it was swollen and covered in bruises. Matthew’s face regained composure as he looked at Arthur and he said to him slowly, “Arthur?”
    Arthur didn’t move his body but he blinked, which told Matthew he was alive, and then said between desperate gasps, “I… Will be fine … Matthew… Take care of…your father…”
    “But…why? Look what he’s done to you…” Matthew said as he looked at the stick that protruded from Arthur’s chest.
    “He is your father… Matthew… Do not worry about me… Tend to your father…”
    Matthew looked at Arthur's face and knew he would not win this argument. “Okay,” he said, defeated, then stood up and walked over to his father.
    His heart missed a beat. He saw that a pool of blood had formed under his father’s head and his eyes were open, but frozen, unmoving, cold. He used his foot to flip over his father's dead body and then found the reason his father has died; he had knocked his father down upon a pretty large rock, which had cracked his head open. He was dead. Matthew’s mouth dropped open and his lower lip quivered as he backed away from his father’s dead body. Then suddenly he fell backwards, tripping over something soft. He closed his eyes as he crashed upon the snow, then when he opened his eyes he saw that he had tripped over Arthur’s body.

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    His eyes widened as he saw that Arthur’s chest was not moving up and down with each breath.
    “Oh my God…” he thought to himself, then he closed his eyes for a while, shook his head, then realized that this was really happening.
    His legs trembled, causing him to stay glued to the ground, so he slowly began crawling away backwards, away from the sight of the two dead bodies. The snow was freezing, and instantly began to numb his already cold legs, but he kept crawling backwards-- his heart beating faster every second, beater louder, louder-- his mind racing, feeling as if it were going to explode, then suddenly he stopped. He looked around, realized there was no towns or people that he knew of around for miles, and a chill of fear coursed through his body.
    It was silent he noticed-- deathly silent. He looked around at the dead firs, cold snow, and all the lifelessness around him-- he didn't blink-- his face was frozen with fear. Then all of a sudden, he heard a quiet laughter.


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