The Highwayman

This is an entry to the Writers Fest contest.

Not many of you know of the story of the highwayman. His riches have him seeming like a wealthy man, but it is only his heart that needs enriching.

Based during when King George took reign over Great Britain.

Also based on the poem, the Highwayman by Alfred Noyes. I request you do not read it if you haven't already, until after this is finished. I have also changed some details to preserve realistic qualities.

Chapter 2


The moon was a ghostly ship tossed upon cloudy seas as the highwayman approached the inn.

He had been attempting to throw a shield over the welds Bonnie had created. His head had been spinning, and Maximilian had to guide him to a safer place. What would a man be without his horse?

As the highwayman approached the window, his eyes fell to a wooden board above the window. Bonnie Meadow Inn.

Simply perfect.

The highwayman groaned in displeasure.

"There is an issue, sir?" The innkeeper stuck his head out of the window.

"None at all," the highwayman said. He tipped his hat towards the innkeeper and passed along a handful of money.

"A week then, sir?"

The highwayman had not been intended to spend seven days in a small inn like this; He had needed time to recover the wounds from his soul. Bonnie had seen to that.

The innkeeper passed over a ticket. Growing drowsy, the highwayman accepted the item, had a bit of a small talk and tied Max in the yard. Tim, the ostler, nodded to him and offered Max an apple.

As the highwayman stepped into the inn, the smell of roasting pork and oak awoke him from his trance.

A group of children were singing soft tunes around the fireplace. Only one person was managing, a young girl of only ten. The highwayman approached the counter. "Ticket, sir?"

He passed over the silver ticket and she told him directions to his room.

Suddenly he jumped. A horse had winnied loudly. Another person was chatting with the innkeeper.

Returning to his stride, he walked to the second room on the left. Upon entering, it felt cozy.

A white bed was in the corner, a lambskin rug on the floor, and other inn necessities fit in the small room nicely. The highwayman stepped to the window and pulled back the curtains.

It was a beautiful night. The full moon was illuminating the courtyard with such an innocent glow. Stars speckled the sky and flickered every few seconds. He sighed, gazing at the purely wonderful night. How is it that thoughts of this mysterious Bonnie kept protesting against the calmness of his conscious?

The highwayman changed into sleeping wear and crawled under the warmth of the bed sheets. Her innocent face came into his mind again. The way her lips pursed perfectly, and her eyes of pure gold. Her wild obsidian hair.

He couldn't let those words come into his mind. It was too insane. She was too young. He was too old. He smothered himself with the stuffed pillow. He was going to attempt to retrieve what was rightfully his.

Sleep, of course.

For a moment he felt hot metal press against his chest. It was Bonnie's necklace. It hung right over his heart.

The highwayman liked that.

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