The Blacksmith and the Farmer

I have always been a fan of writing, especially writing fiction. Most times I do not share my work for various reasons. For once, I have decided that I quite enjoy what I've written.

This was a spur of the moment thing, written at 11:30 one night. I had meant to go to sleep, but this thought keep nudging along the edge of my mind, asking to be dug out. Rather than letting it go to waste, I decided "Hey! It'll be great. I can get something to save. To give out as a show of what I can do, when I need."

With that, I set out to writing. I can't recall how long it took, but this is the final product:

The Blacksmith and The Farmer, a short tale. In a small village, many years ago, there lived two men. Each were petty workers in the village, one a blacksmith and one a farmer. Both were caught by the same woman.

The mayor of the village had a daughter, and the daughter was said to be the best of everything. Of course it was she who would catch their eye. Each day both men would work fiercely, thinking of ways to impress her.

The blacksmith created beautiful works of art from metal; the farmer raised the best of his livestock for her, and her alone. Neither could find the courage to approach her with their gifts, though.

That didn’t stop them from noticing each other. The blacksmith would notice the farmer prancing through the village each day, a different animal on display. He saw the way the farmer would pace the front of the mayor’s grounds, just waiting for the daughter.

And the farmer saw the works of art displayed in the blacksmiths shop, not for sale, but waiting. With each passing day, the artwork grew more skillful, more beautiful.

Their movements brought them from the darkness of the village, into light. Each was noticed for their outstanding works. Neither man noticed. All they knew was the desire to out-stage the other and take the hand of the mayor’s daughter.

It all came to a head on a beautiful, sunny summer day. By chance, the blacksmith met the farmer in a clearing outside of the village. In a fit of rage, he drew his blade against the farmer.

By no means a fighter, the farmer backed to the edge of the clearing, protesting for his life. This didn’t stop the blacksmith, as he cut him down in cold blood.

Realizing what he did, the blacksmith looked at his own hands in anguish, before turning the blade to himself, unable to withstand the weight of the guilt that now stood on his shoulders.

Little would either know, the mayors daughter would pass near that very clearing on the same day. She walked, arm in arm, with her husband. In their personal competition against each other, neither stopped to realize that she was already in love with another.