The Berserker

Winter winds erupt from the Earth. It gasps cold air to freeze what could not kill, its veins pulsing with the blood of men who endure and clash, so they are never forgotten. The Nords burn their mothers’ fur to keep themselves warm. Among them a young boy whose father was taken by a berserker, his bones brittle and crippled by the cold war. The boy wanders the fjord, looking for reprieve. His nose stiff and red, his eyes dry like a desert, his steps rapid and inconsiderate, his mouth cracked and frothing like a rabid dog. Climbing up the barren mountain, his throat became sore, telling him he was close to his destination, the final frontier. All the little life once found has been snuffed out by the altitude and the black fire of the West. Climbing closer, he began to see the faint outline of the end sear the mountain. The orange skies splitting the deep black clouds, and the ashes that drip like sap from the sky. He had reached the end of the world, where heaven and hell split. As the snow burned away, so did all life. Upon seeing this the boy's eyes sparked. His nose returned to normal, and he began charging on all fours. The burning ground contrasting the cold like nails on a fire. Soon he stood upon the horizon, staring at all that showed ahead of him. An endless sea of gorgeous lights contrasting brilliantly with the roads like how rivers contrasted the fjords. The boys’ eyes ignited, seemingly being healed by the view he bore witness too. He ran and ran and ran until there was nothing left to run for.

Upon reaching the bottom his eyes changed. He saw the tears of the lies his forefathers told him. Innocent wildlife and intelligent creatures chained like cattle, their bones being used as the foundation for the thrones of bastards and politicians, their blood being used as wine for the elite, the entire city merely a graveyard for the land the boy so desperately sought to get away from, and now the boy was next. In a hurry he ran, so fast you could see the blur of his body, but it was no match for the city. The men grabbed him like an animal, injected him with their own blood, and he fainted.

The boy woke deliriously to the smell of mildew and blood. He was chained like a mutt with the only light shining from the barred windows, glowing red from the fire. When the boy looked through the windows he bore witness to the sight of slaves and animals wheeling a monstrous being across the death-ridden city. Its hulking body scarred and bloody, its fur long gone with only bloody patches remaining, its teeth hastily removed for fear of retaliation, its eyes filled with rage and melancholy.

The slaves of the city wheeled this being in front of an obsidian cathedral contrasted by the skyline of inferno. The citizens, jaunty and fat, with pores and pus visible from a distance chanted in unison:

“Kill the berserker, ravager of all. Devil of the fjords. Reason be thy enemy, kill the berserker.”

The boy chanted along from his prison. His eyes burning like charcoal.

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Authors Note

This is a flash fiction piece I wrote a long time ago that one day I will turn into a novella. I already have excerpts and pieces from said novella already written, and I will release them as rough drafts whenever I don’t have anything to offer for the week. I sidelined this piece to create and fully immerse myself in AN ACTORS ILLNESS. The novella will be quite different from this piece and will contain a much longer journey, but be ready because when AN ACTORS ILLNESS is finished, you know there will be something new AND different to look forward to.

LET THIS SENTENCE TELL YOU A STORY: FIMBULWINTER 2000 YEARS IN THE FUTURE.

YOU ARE INVITED TO THE. GAS STATION CARNIVAL. COME GET YOUR TICKETS

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