Write a story using the three words. Oak Tree, Scar, Lighting.
Lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating the old oak tree at the crest of the hill. Rain lashed against the tree, piercing leaves and ripping them from the branches. Already half the leaves were gone, the few that remained were tattered remnants of their emerald glory. At the base of the tree, hidden between the roots was a ragged scar, gaping wide like the mouth of a beast. Derrek huddled in the base of the tree, his back pressed as far as he could go. Even still, rivulets of water streamed down the bark, drenching his clothes. He shivered, from fear or the cold he didn’t know which, they had equal hold on his thin frame.
Derrek had never been called large, not even as a baby. Lanky, rail thin, and twig like were how people usually described him. At that moment he was grateful for his size, it allowed him to hide that much better. He knew that if he was seen, his life would be over. So he waited, and shivered, jumping at every flash of lighting.
During an especially long flash of lighting, down near the base of the hill, Derrek saw a figure emerge from the woods. He pulled his legs tighter to his chest, willing himself to be invisible. But the figured turned towards the oak tree. Did the stranger know he was here, or was he just being thorough in his search, Derrek thought to himself. Each flash of lighting revealed the figure making his way up the hill. He seemed unperturbed by the wind and rain swirling around him. His cloak flipped around him, revealing two swords strapped to his waist. Derrek had seen first hand what those blades could do. He would not be able to forget the scene burned into his memory. He clutched the hilt of his fathers short sword, it could barely be called a sword, it was more of a glorified dagger. His father had shoved it into his hands before pushing him out the door into the driving rain.
Derrek hadn’t gone though. Before he had made it a dozen paces he turned back to his farmhouse and crept up to the back window. Just as he reached the window, the front door was blown open with enough force to pull it off the wall. Splinters flew across the room, spraying his father with bits of wood. A large chunk smashed into the window Derrek was looking through causing him to duck and cover his head. The noise dissipated and Derrek once again peeked into the room. Four men stood with swords drawn pointing their blades at his father. Derrek couldn’t hear what they said over the rain pounding against the side of the house, but he knew things weren’t going to end well for his father.
Without warning, Derrek’s father swept towards the swordsman, kitchen knives appearing in both hands. Derrek had never seen his father move so fast. One moment he was by the back door, the next he was amid the soldiers. His blade flashed in the light from the fireplace and one of the swordsman fell, hands leaping to his throat feebly attempting to stop the blood flowing from the wound. The remaining swordsman reacted more quickly than their comrade. His father twisted to the side as a blade stabbed through his shirt. He kicked out, catching one of the men in the knee. The man cried out as his leg gave out beneath him. His cry cut short as one of the knives was buried in his chest.
The remaining two men spread out, keeping Derrek’s father in between them. With some signal Derrek couldn’t see, the men advanced on his father. Derrek wanted nothing more than to rush to his father’s side, but he knew that the moment he stepped through the door, he would be hewn down. Until this evening, he had never held a sword. His father whirled and danced between the blades of his attackers, always a step ahead of the cold steel. He slashed and stabbed with his knife but the swordsman were able to keep him at bay. One of the men kicked a chair at his father, causing him to stumble. The other man didn’t hesitate to plunge his blade into Derrek’s father.
“NO!” Derrek screamed, the word ripped from his chest. All eyes turned towards the window where he stood. The man who kicked the chair rushed to the back door. His fathers flicked the blade towards the man. His aim was true and the man slammed full speed into the door, dead before he hit the ground.
“Run Derrek!” He watched as his father slumped to the floor into a pool of his own blood. Derrek ran as fast as he could. His vision blurred, his hot tears mixed with the cold rain. He rain blindly in the dark till he found himself at the base of the old oak tree where he now hid. He knew that if he waited, the man would soon find him. From down the hill, the scar where he his was nearly invisible. In the dark and rain, the man might not discover him right away, but he had no doubt that he would be found.
As the man drew nearer, hot anger chased away the cold fear that clenched his chest. He felt the heat burn in his chest, it races through his arms and legs till his whole body tingled with energy. His shivering body calmed, all the aches and cramping dissipated. Suddenly everything became clear to him. He adjusted his grip on the sword, no longer did it feel awkward in his hand. It felt familiar somehow.
When the man was a few strides away, Derrek lunged from his hiding place, sword held high. The man stumbled back in surprise, only just raising his sword in time to catch the falling blade. Derrek attacked relentlessly, slashing and chopping at the shadowy figure. With each strike his anger flared to life, lending each blow strength far beyond what he was capable of. Lightning flashed overhead, lighting up with the strangers face. Fear filled his eyes. That look only fueled his anger. Derrek swung down towards the man with all his strength. His blade sheared through the swordsman blade and into his neck. The swordsman fell backward, carrying Derrek’s sword with him to the ground.
At once, the anger left him, taking with it the last of his strength. Derrek collapsed to the ground as the world turned dark.