short story

OK I haven't really been doing all that much, so I haven't posted anything, but I have to post SOMETHING so I decided to post my short story from english that I got an A+ on, it's called "return of the Phoenix" hope you like it.
Mark sat alone in the corner of a bar.  He wore a tattered brown cloak over his face and kept his head down; so far he had achieved his goal of attracting no attention.  He had reached out one muscular hand for his water glass, when a large fist caught and held his arm. He looked up into the face of another cloaked man, and using his free hand, Mark raised the corner of the stranger’s hood enough to reveal the right side of the stranger’s face. What he saw was a slight smile, an eye patch, and the narrow face of an old friend. “Abram?” he said with a tone of surprise.              The man responded, “Only if this is Lord Oren of Uxor.”
“I no longer go by that name. Oren has passed on and I am but the few pieces left that have yet to fall into hell. Call me Mark.” During a silent break in their conversation, Mark removed his hood.Abram gazed at Mark’s face, examining the new scars and his long, dirty, dried blond hair. He looked at his neck and the dried blood on his cheek.  “You could use a formal bath and a haircut,” said Abram. “And you a shave my friend,” said Mark, gesturing to Abram’s newfound beard.  They both laughed for a moment and then looked outside, Mark with sad ocean blue eyes used to watching death, and Abram with one curious eye. Outside they saw the crumpled remains of their kingdom. “Where were you the last two years,” Abram asked, “and why have you come back now?”  Mark did not respond for he was deep in thought. Abram looked down at the wood table and Mark looked outside. Outside he saw the remanants of the city.            He looked at the buildings and saw the chunks of stone that used to make up his city. It was all gone now, his whole kingdom. His realm had fallen two years ago. And now he had recovered his senses, come out of his cave and wandered back to his city. He came back and he found his land dead, taken over by the Malus and their leader, Kozak.
Mark’s thoughts were interrupted by the scream of a young child. He stood up and pushed his chair backwards abruptly, making a screeching noise on the floor. Everyone in the bar turned, stopped talking and looked at him.He knew half of these men. At one time they were his soldiers, his knights. At this point, he hoped they were too drunk to recognize him.  If they did, would they kill him, greet him, or worst of all, show him what pain he had caused them all.  He had already seen enough and wished to suffer no more.He quickly flipped up his hood and ran outside, following the scream. He knew the streets better than anyone. He had walked them many times and knew all of the old back roads.  He followed the sound at a sprint, looking for any remains of original buildings to tell him he hadn’t completely failed by losing the war. He saw none; he then took a corner on to an open street and saw the scene.A fat man stood holding a young boy, no more than eight, in his hands shaking him back and forth by the neck, so hard that the fat man’s corpulent cheeks shook as he did so. The child screamed and the man shook harder, shouting, “You dirty pickpocket!” repeatedly.  The man was shouting and spiting in the bony ragged child’s face, “That’s the last time you steal my money pouch!” Mark lunged forward towards the pair and caught the man in his arm. He then pushed the man away from the child and caught the young one before he dropped to the ground with dizziness. Then the full effects of the pain came on as the boy bent over and dry heaved onto the dirt.Mark bent over and picked up the money pouch.  He dumped most of the silver and gold coins at the feet of the boy, then walked over to the man who had not tried to get up at all, tossed the money pouch on his large haystack shaped stomach and spit on his face. The man laid there stunned at what had just happened, with his mouth open like a fool. Mark just walked away.That night Abram led mark to a place where the poor villagers eat and sleep “The safe house is right up ahead,” said Abram gesturing towards a small, apparently abandoned, house in the forest. If one looked hard, a stone with the royal crest carved onto it was clearly visible. Mark followed him for about a quarter of a mile of uneventful forest trail. His thoughts were on Kozak. Kozak had fought against him in the war and was the leader of the Malus. Mark’s last hours in the war were fought against Kozak. Mark fought with skill for the first few minutes but soon after that he became tired and his strikes became easier and easier to block. For about fifteen minutes, Kozak blocked off all his attacks without ever striking back; he wanted to prolong the war and the killing. Kozak was the kind of person who liked killing; he liked torturing and pain because he wanted to see how the person reacted to all of it. Kozak would prolong a battle as long as he could, so he could watch the energy drain from the person. Then he would kill the person, never two the same way. He liked to see how long it would take the person to die. He would slice them once in a weak spot and then watch as the doomed victim desperately tried to stop his own death. Kozak did not believe he was evil, he thought of himself as a scholar of sorts, testing theories, and judging reactions.
            “We’re here,” said Abram gesturing to a large wooden hut with about twelve other ragged people inside of it. This was where they would sleep tonight. On the floor of a hut with twelve other people. “It’s better than a cave,” thought Mark.Mark woke up to the sound of a cough. It sounded scratchy and hoarse. Another cough of the same nature immediately followed it. As Mark opened his eyes and rose up off his mat on the dirt floor, he looked towards the corner of the room and saw a thin old man. He could see where his bones were poking through his baggy flesh, his eyeballs seemed sucked into his pale face and his mouth hung ajar with rapid gasping breaths emanating from it that made his long beard shake.By this time, three other people had awoken from their rest to look at the effects of this man’s consumption. Two had gone to help him, and one looked annoyed that he had been woken up twice in the same night for the same useless old man.  The man was at the doorstep of death; Mark could do nothing but sit and watch.That day after the others had all left the safe house to go and work, Mark helped the poor old man out of his corner and carried him into Town Square. The man weighed almost nothing. Mark put him down and bought him an apple; he did not know how long it had been since the man had last had food, it took almost all of the sick man’s strength to take a bite.A well-dressed Malus man opened a door near to where the sick man was sitting. It collided with the poor ragged man’s ankle and because the door stopped, the rich Malus man stumbled.“How dare you trip one of the royal guard,” said the rich man before he sent a muscular backhand towards the sick one’s face. It collided at maximum speed with his jaw and created a loud snapping sound that Mark could only assume was the breaking of bone. The sick man fell to the ground moaning and coughing in the dirt, only to have the rich man kick him in his ribs. The crack was defining; the man took a long breath in and then gasped towards the sky, writhing in agonizing pain.
            Mark looked over at the rich guard and said in a soft tone, “Even one of the royal guard should not punish an old sick man twice for the same offence, you son of a canis.” The rich guard puffed out his chest and opened his mouth to respond but was punched hard in his gut before he could say anything.             “You’re going to regret what you just did, you filthy street rat,” said the rich man reaching onto the back of his belt and pulling out a small sharp glittering dagger.
Mark replied, “Your wealth has made you a fool. Prepare to meet your better.”            The man screamed and lunged in with his dagger. Mark dodged and brought his hands on either side of the man’s arm, then he slammed both of his hands as hard as he could against the man’s right knife arm. The force of this shattered his bones and caused him to drop his jeweled weapon to the ground. Mark then threw two punches to the guard’s face, breaking his jaw and stunning him. Mark grabbed the stunned man and kneed him multiple times in the ribs, face and neck. The man had had enough; Mark dropped him to the ground and looked over at the dead body of the old man. He then picked the old man up and brought him to the forest to be buried.            That night Mark found Abram and said, “My friend, I can take no more of this torture, these people need their kingdom back. It is time to rebel.”  Word of citizens standing up for themselves and others spread through rumors, inspiring hope of rebellion amongst the people.  Because of Abram’s connections with the people, the attendance at the field to listen to Abram speak was tremendous.Abram walked up to the top of a small hill and took a deep breath. He said “Fellow countrymen, I salute you all for coming here on this morning. Over the past two years, our country has been ransacked, our homes burned and our children slaughtered, but no longer! When the Malus men invaded, they were strong, but now after two years of living off our pain, they’ve grown fat and idle.” Abram was interrupted by a tall man with dark brown hair and a scar covering his nose and down into his lip.“If we rush into battle, then we will all die!” exclaimed the man with a scared tone in his voice.
“Yes, some of you may, but are they not killing you now, only slower?” said Abram. “If we do not fight now, we will all be dead within three years, and those three years would be full of pain, starvation, and loss. If we strike now, we will have surprise, courage and God on our side. The longer we wait the weaker we will become. Battle now and you may die, but it would be with glory. Don’t wait until three years from now when you are lying on your deathbed wishing you had had the courage to do what must be done today. Don’t let those who come and die fighting, die in vain. Make the Malus pay ten fold for every drop of blood.  Let us be victorious, and we may let our flag fly in the air with the pride of being free people. So are you with me?”“Aye!” shouted the whole crowd.  “Kozak, my lord, the citizens have started a rebellion!” yelled an overweight man before clumsily falling down and bowing at his feet.
“Why do you bring me such horrible news messenger?” Kozak said reaching toward the back of his belt. “Every messenger says the same thing; is there no other news?” he said while simultaneously pulling out a knife and splitting the fat man’s throat.  Before he was even aware of the pain he was in, the man was dead. “Come clean the floors you scullery maid, they already have enough stains on them.”    Mark watched as the army of the Malus walked out onto the field. They seemed organized with fancy armor and jeweled swords and shields decorated with long red snakes coiled in the attack position. They looked organized compared to Mark’s army of rag-tag warriors and knights wearing mismatched armor and holding chipped wooden tower shields. The armies stood still for a moment, looking at each other for what could be the last time. Mark looked to Abram and Abram looked back at him with sadness in his one good eye. He then straightened up and shouted “For our King Oren!” and charged. He was followed by hundreds of people shouting and sprinting towards what would likely be their doom. Then the two armies collided and the battle began.
            The sounds of people shouting, clanging of armor, clashing of swords, screams of victory and yells of pain, all went in slow motion for Mark. He blocked a sword coming for his head and sliced a Malus man across his large stomach. He ducked a swinging mace and cut a man across an exposed spot in his armor over both of his ankles causing him to fall to the ground and be trampled to death. Mark blocked an arrow with his shield and then tossed his shield to Abram, who had dropped his on the ground. He then picked up a leather handled, long shining blade off the ground and swung both of his swords at a Malus man’s neck.            Mark fought like he had never fought before; he fought with determination to win and without fear of death.  He was strong and brave; he would win this battle for his county, his kingdom. For he was their king and he would restore his honor and end what he had started.            Mark then spotted the source of his prior demises and lunged for Kozak with one of his swords. Kozak easily flicked it off, sending Mark off balance and causing him to fall forward onto Kozak’s sword. Mark hit Kozak’s sword just enough to knock it away and avoid being impaled. Kozak was in momentary shock, and seizing the opportunity Mark threw an extremely fast backhand, hitting Kozak’s armored face with the hilt of his sword. Kozak bent forward, surprised by the blow, and Mark raised up both of his swords to strike, but was kicked in the back by a short hefty man with large scared eyes with tears coming out of them. Kozak was scared of this man he had been fighting. He had never been hit like this before; this man fought very well. Kozak did not want to be hit again so he ran. Mark raised his sword slowly, and the fat man who had kicked him started to whimper and go down on his knees whispering “Mercy, mercy, mercy, mercy.” Mark looked over at the cowardly man. He had closed his eyes in anticipation of the death that would follow. Mark looked at him for a second and then kicked him in his face, knocking him out and leaving him there on the field. He could walk back to his own kingdom once this war was over.            Mark fought his way back over to Kozak, kicking, slicing, and blocking until he had cleared a path to his enemy.  He looked over and saw Kozak kill three of his knights, his former friends. Mark had caused them this pain and they had followed him into battle for the last time. Mark sprinted towards Kozak and lunged.            Kozak dived to get out of the way, and he hit the ground hard. He rolled away in the nick of time, barely avoiding a hard strike from Mark. Kozak could not rise to his feet; he crawled away from each of Mark’s fast strikes. He was powerless. He didn’t stand a chance.            Mark had all of his attention on Kozak, he focused on nothing but him. Kozak had made a point of staying in a continuous pattern but Mark had not noticed, Kozak then stopped crawling and pushed backwards tripping Mark. Kozak then jumped up and broke out in a fast sprint; he ran towards a hill, and he let nobody get in his way. His killed every one in his path either friend or foe. Behind him laid a trail of corpses and a river a blood as he ran and killed everyone. This man was insane and he had to die. Mark had to win.            Kozak reached a cliff and stopped abruptly, causing rocks to fall over the edge. He stood still for a few moments and then turned around with enough time to watch Mark catch up with him. Kozak laughed as he looked at the trail of bodies he left to bleed on the grass. He saw Mark and thought it would be nice to have his body hang off the ceiling in his throne room. He chuckled to himself and threw a slice towards Mark’s hand.
             Mark blocked the strike with both of his swords and threw a strong backhand towards Kozak’s neck.  Kozak lifted his shield and pushed with all of his momentum towards the sword. The shield and sword collided, and Mark’s blade shattered like glass. Kozak laughed and then threw his shield over the cliff and said; “Now we fight like men, fair, sword to sword.” Mark thought Kozak was crazy; he just gave up his one edge at winning.  Kozak suddenly lunged at him and Mark was unable to block the blow quickly enough.            The sword collided with an exposed spot near his chest. Mark was hit, and he was bleeding badly. He dropped his sword and fell down on one knee holding both his hands over his wound. Kozak slowly pulled his blade out of Mark’s side and laugh hysterically. “I must give you credit stranger, you fight like a king,” said Kozak.
            Mark slowly and shakily reached down for his blade and stood up. “Not too far off with that,” said Mark taking off his helmet and flipping back his hair. “I am Lord Oren of Uxor and this time when I die, you’re coming with me.”            “You,” whispered Kozak; his mouth open. “How?” Mark sliced down through Kozak’s neck to the center of his chest. Kozak gasped, and then fell to the ground, the stunned expression forever on his face. Mark watched Kozak fall and then lost strength in his knees, fell, and died looking into Kozak’s lifeless face.

            After Kozak’s death, the Malus were easily defeated and sent back to their own kingdom.  The title of King was given to Abram, as he was the past king’s closest friend, and since Mark had no children. Abram took on the task of rebuilding the kingdom and built a statue of Oren in the town center.  He lived a long and peaceful life.  He even married and had one son, Forton, who became king after Abram died of old age. Stories about the return of Oren were told, yet scarcely believed. But if one was to look close at the base of his statue he could read “surrexit de praeterito cinerem rediit honeste mori” translated it means “He rose from the ashes of his past and returned to die with honor.” well thats it.Connor