Yo bonjourno,
In a lot better mood recently because I have plans now, a new job in the works which I haven’t applied for but I got a guy on the inside so I’m sure to get it, although I’m not 100% sure I actually want it haha. It could be hell or it could be great, either way it’s gonna rob me of about six months of my life and if I decide to go back that’s my own decision, I’m obviously hoping I’ll love it and want to do it for a few years, I don’t see it as a lifelong thing because that would doom me to an eternity without any sort of family whatsoever and that would probably sound perfect to a lot of people but not me.
Specifically because I need this job to raise enough money to see the most important person to me on this earth. I’m hoping I can use the money to eventually buy a place where she lives and see where things go from there, but that’s probably a long way off. But it’s something and it’s more than I had yesterday. It’s gonna be hard work but I hope I can find purpose in it and look past it at my goals when it gets tough. 
I know I need to do this or something anything or I’ll lose my mind, the worse thing I can do is what I’ve already been doing which is nothing. It goes without saying it’s probably an end to blogging and writing for some time but this isn’t exactly going well anyway and leaving no audience behind isn’t that hard and shouldn’t be that hard to find again. 
I want to talk to her and tell her my plans but I’m afraid that I might chicken out and just slip back into despair, I’m afraid most of all of myself and my ability to just bottle it. 
I was thinking about when I was working abroad in france and how I totally checked out of that. But that was totally different to this, that was in the gaming industry which if you’ve worked in that industry you’ll know how full of shit it is. Plus I’ll actually be getting paid and everyone will speak english, probably. I basically had to get another job I had no time or the language skills to do or punch out and I chose to punch out because I couldn’t afford to stay and the job was total garbage for no money. 
It was an internship but I was supposed to have funding for it but it didn’t come through so I was working infinity hours at a job that sucked only to be bleeding money everyday just to survive. This going to be different and really exciting. I hope it works out.
As for content, I have it, sorta, yeah I do, pretty much these next few chapters are one elongated fight scene with mime ninjas, I know right, what other slice of the internet would you get epic battles between clown samurais and mime ninjas? Just what everyone in this age of infinite cape shit get excited for next cape shit needed.
Haven’t really been doing much else except writing and trying to like the shadow, I really really want to like the shadow but I read like a page and I can’t keep my eyes open. Doesn’t help that I read at night and I’ve been lifting really heavy recently so sleep falls on me like a tonne of bricks right now. But I .know when I’m reading something good when I can’t wait to read it and I want to stay up all night reading it.
Which is how I felt with the first conan story before I started reading the rest and got really bored with them. Still I wanna start reading the solomon kane stories next, also Elric because that’s apparently what the witcher is ripped off from and it can’t be much worse than that garbage.
Anyway, got shit to do, so see you…
Within a soundless second knives were hurled wildly in all directions. Ghostly white hands throwing them out and sometimes not. Half the hand movements seemed only to be mischievious imitations, feints. Feigning a knife thrown when in fact nothing but air was moved and no sound was made.
Canard stumbled stumbled backward sweeping his staff deftly. Moving knives out of his way like a cars windscreen wiper moving drops of rain. He paused to look down as he heard a mocking twanging sound as he saw one of the blades stuck into his peg leg. “Great” he sighed.
Pookie rolled without drawing his sword. The small thin blades arcing following his trajectory and flowing over his shoulder and head. They pierced the tent wall leaving pin pricks of orange glowing light probing into the dusty murk of the tent.
Before they could catch their breath and counter there was another distinct set of stealth ripping and lashing sounds. In moments there was a new perfectly rectangular door in the side of the tent. A pause later; knives were entering without warning in the same slap dash pattern.
Canard cursed as he span his polearm trying to deflect the flurry of knives aimed directly at him. A few of them slipped passed taking some skin off his arms as they flew by.
“Fucker!” He cried as his swept polearm around like a javelin and in anger launched it through the new gap in the tent. “How you like that?!”
The other assailant still hidden in the falling dust and murk was focusing all their attention on Pookie. From them came an unrelenting torrent of knives and possibly other kitchen implements. Leaving no room for a counter attack at all, there was no pause in the assault. He couldn’t even draw his sword without a knife aimed directly at his thumb. Pookie ducked down pulling his cot onto it’s side as makeshift cover.
He waited there for a second listening to the steady drum beat of knives embedding into the paper thin mattress.
Canard’s staff came walking through the doorway sticking out of the chest of a tall thin man wearing all black with a hood. His face painted ghostly white spattered red with the blood running from his lips. A knife clutched in his hand as he staggered forward his mouth agape with no sounds escaping his petrified face.
He stumbled into the room, his eyes wide and full of a muted hatred. He lurched forward throwing his last knife at Canards head before sagging his shoulders forward.
Canard awkwardly rolled forward on his one leg, his peg clattering on the earthen floor. Springing on his forward hand he swept the leg of the killer forcing him forward onto his staff.
The staff point poking out of his back like the tip of a lollipop someone bit off. The wooden staff bracing him against the ground like a kickstand as he flailed for more knives to throw.
Canard rolled to his feet and kicked his stack flipping the mime onto his back. He gripped the end of his staff ratcheting it as he tried to free it from the half dead mime writhing on the ground. The mime’s eyes still had a dim light in them and finding another sharp shank to poke with he stabbed at Canard’s good leg.
The acrobat shifted his weight quickly onto his peg and pirouetted away from the attack “Would you die already!?” He screamed as he turned about stamping his good foot on the mime’s knife hand. The mime grimacing in a silent scream revealing a stump where his tongue used to be between his blackened teeth.
Pookie sat behind his low cover waiting for the little thuds to stop rattling the cot, gap in the attack so he could act. They had to run out of things to throw eventually, but there was no way of knowing how many knives they actually had.
There, a brief pause in the angry rhythmic thuddings, Pookie waited for another gap, trying to see if there was a pattern. Two knives, then a pause, then three knives, they must be trying to preserve their ammo, which means they’re running low. Then one knife followed by a pause then two more.
Then it stopped ominously.
Pookie had his blade sheathed sitting next to him as he listened to silence. There wasn’t a sound, not even a breath.
Pookie looked over at the stupid grinning face on the butt of his sword and hatched a stupid idea. He didn’t really have enough room to draw his sword cramped up against the wall of the tent and the mattress. Which is fine because if he could he might’ve been tempted to just hop over the cover and charge headlong into the unknown. Which seemed to be working for him up until now. But without knowing the position of his attacker he could be royally fucked with a spork between his shoulder blades.
Holding onto the scabbard he poked the handle with the silly face over the top of the mattress. Predictably followed by a light thunk. He quickly pulled it back and plucked a literal sharpened spork out of the handle of his sword.
“Gotcha now” He smirked to himself.
He positioned himself low and listened “Fuck it.” He cursed under his breath as he gripped the lacquered sheath of his sword in one hand and the ring pull mechanism in the other. Holding it in front of him like he was holding onto the pin of a grenade.
“Gotta do this fast” He said to himself.
In one fluid motion he lifted his sword above his head and over the cover pointing that ridiculous smiling face in the direction the knife came from. He yanked the cord hard like he thought a parachute or a cannonball might shoot out or a thousand lawnmowers might start up with a jolt.
The sword flew through the air like a missile carried on the wings of the tinny laughter coming from the smiling devil face mocking life and death.
Using his staff still poking out of the mime’s chest as leverage Canard thrust his peg leg through the mime’s eye socket. A guttural squelching crunching sound as the leg widened out crushing and piercing the soft eye, cracking the skull. The dull emotionless face of the mime still staring up at him without uttering a sound.
Pookie listened and he heard a hard thud and a clash and clatter like someone tripped and pulled out a whole cutlery draw. Cautiously he poked his head over the mattress and saw the soles of shoes staring back at him. As the dust started to settle a toppled figure lying on the ground like a puddle of spilt milk appeared.
Pookie circled around the mattress and dragged his naked sword off the earthen floor. He looked down at the figure dressed in black, a mat of long hair covering their face.
“Die die die!” Canard cried as he stomped his peg leg repeatedly into the frozen ghostlike face of the mime. Blood and brains and shards of bone bursting up at him with each stomp until little remained except the hood and a few clumps of sodden hair and teeth.
“Would you stop fucking around?” Pookie said.
“What’s up?” Canard replied.
I think we fucked up.”
“You don’t say.” Canard said as he limped over shaking a piece of scalp off his peg leg, some visible teeth embedded into the gnawed and splintered wood.
Pookie stood as he slid the sheath of his sword back into his pants. He pointed his sword at the face of the mime who tried to kill him. Using the pointy end of the sword he turned their face over.
“Well fuck me” Canard said.
“Jersey” Pookie said as he sheathed his sword.
Read the rest of this shit over on inkitt.