The Runaway

The tale of a man who attempts to escape his fate, and as so often it happens, fails.

A sharp staccato rang in the night, created by the hooves of a horse. His horse, which was running as fast as his poor, driven legs could carry him. The sound of the hooves filled the night's air, drowning all other sound in its intensity. The cry of a horn was sounded in the distance, like a long thunder through the cold night. It echoed around him, in the emptiness of the road, followed by the shouts of men. And still the hooves sang. He could see the torches now; as bright as any light he's ever seen. Brighter than any light has a right to be on such a night.
The horse ran swiftly, spurred by his rider's heels, shouts and curses, and yet the shouts grew closer. The horn was heard again, followed by a blast. His horse panicked and reared, knocking him off the saddle. As the horse bolted, he got on his feet as fast as he could, and started running.
He could not let them catch him.
Now on foot, he knew he will never outrun them; the great metal Beasts, with their unmatched stamina and speed, which were sent after important runaways. Not that he ever had a chance.
He stopped, turned, and drew his sword. The least he could do is die sword at hand.
For he will die; that was clear.
Now closer, the beasts were visible. Four legged, smoking from behind, with two torches held up front, they were each were driven by two men; one controlling the Beast, and one wielding one of those terrible weapons designed by the empire which could outrange a bow, and pierce any armor.
He saw the armed man closest to him aim his weapon, and shouted at him a request: "May I speak before you kill me?" he asked.
The man thought for a moment, then lowered his weapon, and nodded. "Say your piece"
"I know I shouldn't have run… and I know you're going to kill me here. I won't plead for mercy. I only ask that you make them understand why I did what I did."
"And why is that?" asked the man, curious
"Because it was too much. This worthlessness, this puppet life! Knowing what will help people, and yet have no power to do it! I just couldn't stand it. It ate straight through my soul. Even dying is better than this. So I'm ready. I won't take any more of your time"
The man nodded, and asked if that was all. He was answered with silence. He then aimed his weapon again. A sharp listener would have heard a faint whisper leave his lips as he pulled the trigger, hearing the words "Long live the King". A careful observer would have seen the slight tug of a cynical smile playing on one side of his mouth. A keen watcher would have seen the hollow look at his eyes, as the shot was fired.

The king fell dead on the spot, and his corpse was hoisted unto one of the Beasts, carried to the capital. There, it was waxed and placed in a gibbet at the city square, so that everyone would see it. Near it was hanged a sign, saying "So will be done to the King who shed his crown".
The crown cast unto the corpse's head granted it no dignity.

Author's Note

Anything you notice.

Reviews

[Veggiekat70]

I'd try breaking the first paragraph up a little more to give more definition to when he's worrying about his horse and when he's worrying about who's chasing him. Also, I think I'd add more, to let the reader know who is chasing him and why they'd put his body on display after his death.

Overall, this is a good concept/start for a story.
Couple minor things: plural of hoof is hooves and you might want to break up the clack clack more: clack-clack, clack-clack.