" Bosto, help me get this bottle—it's on a tall shelf " Guso asked from the back of his store.
"Coming," he said, brushing some mud from his pants.
Vars was still seated on the bench outside the little shop and was in deep thought, trying to think of an original story. He had the classics of his time but, he wanted to tell something of his own creation to the people.
"I don't want to tell them something different... I obviously can't go from these simple stories to something much more complex and layered with multiple themes. It should still be a simple story. A story that resonates with the people of 'this' time period. Hmmm." Then he got up and started to walk back and forth while thinking.
The story was slowly forming in his mind or, at least, the first rough image of it.
"Or should I tell them something different?... Won't they get bored if I tell the same stories every time? There are only so many fairy tales or classics you can listen to before you want to take it a step further..."
The story he had been creating started to slip away like sand from the domain of his mind as he was torn between keeping the familiarity of the classics but, also wanting to tell something deeper to the people. A simple story was easier to digest for these people who had never heard them. A complex story may, on the other hand, help them see stories for something else other than just entertainment. They would see it in its true form of 'Art'.
For the time being... Vars didn't know which route to go.
~Yawn, Vars was feeling a little sleepy as he rubbed his eyes. His sleepiness instantly vanished as he was smashed in the side of his left arm by a wooden plank. He fell to his right immediately.
His hand cushioned his fall a bit but didn't help much. His left hand formed into a fist and he planted it into the ground.
He moved, inching off his right arm that was being crushed by his body's weight. He tried to push himself off the ground with his hands, but they were kicked, immediately causing him to face plant into the dirt below.
Vars gawked as saliva flowed down his now wide-open mouth. His eyes spun and moistened and blurred. The surroundings became almost unrecognizable. As he tried to move his arms, another kick smashed into his chest and then another hit him on the back, then again in the chest and on the back. It settled into a horrific back-and-forth rhythm.
Blood ran down his nose and mouth, forming a pool after a bit. The blood mixed with saliva and the dirt present on the ground, turning into a disgusting red-brownish mixture.
Vars found it very difficult to breathe as his chest expanded and contracted vigorously, trying to suck on what little oxygen it could.
His eyelids felt heavy and it was as though a heavy rock was crushing his back. His senses were working overtime because of the adrenaline flowing in his body. Probably because of that, he was able to hear the high-pitched sound of metal scraping wood and the subsequent crash of an object into a person's cranium.
Vars didn't have to guess on who it hit as one of his attackers: a young man maybe about 19-20 years of age, wearing a simple white tunic that had soaked some green color. It was more akin to a lime yellow now and full-fitted brown pants. He kneeled down as he clutched the right side of his bloody head.
"Ahh!" He let out a blood-curdling scream as he tried to stop the blood flowing out and the pain flowing inside his body. Both unsuccessfully.
The beer mug (having an outer metal coating) dropped not much later. Bearing an unmistakable fresh blood stain, it was certainly the thing thrown. The thrower quickly revealed himself.
"Marcus and Markie, if you both don't stop right this fucking instant, I can't promise your father that you'll both come back with your faces being recognizable!" Bosto said, stomping forward, his deep voice raging out like an unstoppable thunderstorm.
"Uh-... Why'd you do that... to Marcus!" Markie asked in a stutter, taking a few steps back.
'Are you fucking stupid? Stop hitting Vars you shit-heads! ', this time the voice was harsher, and—if one noticed keenly—carried some hurt. He bent down and picked the mug up again and threw it at Markie, hitting him in the elbow. Markie clutched the area hit and let out a small wail.
Vars struggled and, with some effort, managed to look upward at his savior. "I think I'm gonna pass out," he said in a hoarse, choked voice.
"I'm not gonna be able to control myself much longer! Get the fuck out!" Bosto said, glaring at them.
"Fine! But thi- this won't end well... for you!" Markie said shit-scared, stuttering as he hurriedly made Marcus get on his knees. He put one hand on his brother's wound, trying to stop the bleeding, and then helped him lean against his side for support.
He flung one of Marcus's arms over his neck and started to slowly crawl away, cursing Bosto under his breath and trying not to put too much thought into his own elbow that was burning with pain at the moment.
Bosto wasted no time and quickly lifted Vars into his arms and laid him onto a nearby table. Guso—who had been present from the moment Bosto threw the mug—quickly got pieces of soft cloth and blocked his bleeding nose.
"Let's carry him to Mr. Bonesworth's place!" Guso said in a hurry.
"You're right... I think he needs more medical attention..."
Bosto quickly lifted him off once again and started to run, keeping in mind to not hurt Vars more, who at this point was still somehow conscious. Guso also followed him, worried about Vars. After a small while, Bosto saw the familiar house of Mr. Bonesworth; it was hard to miss it. It was the house with the most greenery in the whole village.
It had the shape of a normal small wooden house with a sloping triangular roof. The roof was covered in thin vines that were meticulously placed there by hand and, once they started to dry out, were replaced with shocking efficiency.
The area around the house had long trees that acted like a natural barrier of sorts. Only the path to the door was cut out.
The space between the house and the trees housed a variety of leafy green vegetables and fruits that Mr. Bonesworth prided himself immensely on.
Bosto, however, didn't have the luxury of admiring the house as he rushed towards the door. Guso banged the wooden door, trying to convey urgency.
Calci (Bonesworth's wife) opened the door and, seeing the bloodied body in the arms of the sweating Bosto, immediately put herself into work mode.
"Follow me," she said stoically as she rushed ahead.
She led them to a large room with about 4 beds arranged symmetrically to each other, each one having its own separate window to its right. The ragged wooden floor was covered by a neat, soft, yellow cloth. The beds were themselves covered in white cloth and already made.
Bosto wasted no time and settled Vars down on the nearest bed.
"What the hell happened?" Calci asked in a frantic tone.
"It's real complicated... I'll explain when we have time... Where is Mr. Bonesworth?" Bosto said, huffing for some air. "But one thing is certain. I'm gonna get to the end of this mess and deal with it real soon!"