Highwayman Poem の小説・ストーリー

Hey, it's not by blade, not by bone can break the magic that the devil made. And it's not by fire, not by flame, but the loins of a lady can drown a man's pain. The sorrows are nigh, the wearied arms would lay by the side. This old man he died fair soon, Under the light of a fighter's moon, 'Twas not by bone, nor yet by 'shade, 'Twasn't by the pain of the adversary's blade. Beware my lips, my brazen tips, and the song of the devil and the fighter's bane.'

I slowly park my Forty-Eight Harley Davidson on the side of the nearly empty street. A broken streetlight flickers above my head, while the rest are completely off. The street is quiet, except for the snoring of a homeless man sleeping in the alley a few feet away. At least, I think it’s a man.

The night had a way of exaggerating everything. Streetlights flickered like faulty beacons, casting long, uneven shadows that stretched and twisted across the wet asphalt. The highway felt endless, a black ribbon pulled taut between nowhere and somewhere, and we were suspended on it like unsteady ghosts. Travis drove with one hand on the wheel, the other tapping idly against the gearshift. Occasionally, he hummed, but not a melody I recognized—more like a private rhythm that only he could hear.

I tell him. “No,” Colton shakes his head. We sit on the bed together. “Do you remember that poem, ‘The Highwayman’?” “Yeah,” I smile. “It’s one of my favorites. Sad but the refrain is amazing.” “Watch for me by moonlight, Look for me by moonlight, I will come to thee by moonlight, though Hell shall bar the way,” Colton recites. I can’t help but smile. “That’s it!” “That is how I feel about you. There is everything pulling us apart, away from each other, but I will always come to you. I will always find away back. I’m the highwayman. Imperfect, criminally so, but you are my home my Bess.”

"Only Hunter can explain it to me." My mind told myself. I must focus and connect with him through the mental links. But before I could close my eyes, the man moved. He yawned and stretched his arms. He suddenly rose from sitting and glanced from the direction where he came from, then immediately run. He must have realized what happened earlier. He brushed the twigs of the bushes that obstructed his way. His moves are faster now, maybe because his strength was renewed after that long nap. Where is he going? Doesn't he even have a car in the warehouse where they imprisoned me? It seems that the path he's leading is unlikely to be a road. I kind of understand him. He might have lost his mind w

Ethan cleared his throat, and then began to recite the poem: - "Ah, if we have already lost track of time If together we have already thrown everything away Tell me now how I will leave If, when I met you, I started to dream, I made so many mistakes I broke with the world, I burned my ships Tell me where I can still go If we, in the mischief of eternal nights We have already confused our legs so much..." The man paused briefly, taking the time to take a deep breath and study the blue gaze that stared into his face, that infiltrated his soul and fixed the heat on his skin. He knew then that he had chosen the right poem.

I didn't mean to end his life, I know it wasn't right I can't even sleep at night, can't get it off my mind I need to get out of sight 'fore I end up behind bars What started out as a simple altercation Turned into a real sticky situation Me just thinking on the time that I'm facing Makes me wanna cry 'Cause I didn't mean to hurt him Coulda been somebody's son And I took his heart when I pulled out that gun Rum-pum-pum-pum, rum-pum-pum-pum, rum-pum-pum-pum Man down Rum-pum-pum-pum, rum-pum-pum-pum, rum-pum-pum-pum Man down Oh, mama, mama, mama I just shot a man down In Central Station In front of a big old crowd

“If you walk out there like this… you won’t come back unchanged.” I met his gaze. “I already didn’t.” --- THE HIGHWAY The night air smelt like fuel and rain. We found them near mile marker 47—a Serpent extraction team circling a bleeding man tied to a guardrail. He was young. Terrified. Innocent. The thing inside me roared. Not him. I staggered, gripping my head. Saint swore. “It’s testing you.” A Serpent noticed us and reached for his gun. I didn’t think.

Another twig was twirling in his hands, and he seemed to be in high spirits. A shanty rolled off his lips and added to the jolly in his jaunt. He skipped this way and that, and ran for stretches of the road, then twirled and hiccupped once or twice and continued his song. It was an obscene shanty about a woman who was called catfish. He had replaced the lyrics and was singing his improvisation, but that did not mean it was better. It was worse. So much worse. His walk was slow and playful, and he giggled and swayed all the way to the manor, then he collapsed at the steps with a fart. The sentries in the watchtowers with their rifles above looked down on him and shook their heads.