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There was a dream. A dream of a better tomorrow, a dream of a better world. A world without the problems of humanity, without the politics of home. The new great pilgrimage, from the corrupted world of yesteryear to the new, untamed wilds that rested in wait. It took decades of scientific discovery, decades of technological progress, and decades of preparation to complete that dream. The dedication was finally paid off in the form of a gateway, a passage through space itself to another world. It was then the new world was discovered; a lush planet of greens and blues, a world untouched by human hands. It truly was a paradise, with fruit that could give a man the energy to run a marathon with a single bite and animals who's blood could cure any disease. The sky itself shielded its inhabitants from everything that the void could bring against it, allowing the earth to revile in its security. Even the animals seemed sloth like, noble beasts grazing in fields that stretched for hundreds of miles while predators slept in the shade, occasionally waking to chase down sickened prey. Years would pass. Scientists would marvel at the paradise, longer how such a thing could happen. It wasn't long until industry came. A small settlement began, transporting the marvels of paradise to the dull strife of reality. It grew quickly enough, becoming a bustling port of trade, more and more poured through for the promise of riches in paradise. Then the pilgrims came; those distraught with the world, seeking to begin a new life. They hailed from all walks of life, from all nationalities, from all ethnicity. First it was hundreds; then it became thousands. Then millions. The floodgates had been opened, and now thousands came through the gateway every day. Decades more would pass. The city of New Eden grew to become self reliant. Soon paradise was no longer just a dream. As millions continued to pour through, millions more had spread out across the landscape. In ten years it was one city. In twenty, five. In thirty, fifteen. In forty, independence was declared by many of the large cities, having become so prosperous that they could afford to do so. In sixty years paradise and Earth had become matched in population. As time went on paradise was no longer known by that name. Soon, going from one side of the gateway to the other had no difference. Paradise had given way to the simple and unrelenting force of progress. The fruit of paradise had eliminated hunger; the blood of paradise had eliminated disease. For all those who had fled, seeking solstice in a land they hoped to start anew in, they found that their hopes had been dashed. The dream of a world untouched by human corruption had, ultimately, failed. {------} Yeah I'm not entirely sure what the **** this is either, but it's not utter trash so I figured it warrants getting put up, if only to get tomatoes thrown at it. Is it speaking against the horrors of industry? The benefits of exploitation? The greater good? The evils of deforestation? I don't know anymore than the audience does, I'll let it figure it out. 471 words, which is really shorter than I'm use to. Looks less like a story and more like a highschool essay. Created by Alex Humva, 2012. Please do not reproduce elsewhere without prior permission.
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NIXIE DRIFTED UP ON THE BLUE, BLUE SHORES OF SOME DISTANT LAND. Her raft was ruined, and her thick, curly hair in her face. She was unconscious and incapable of really noticing that she had come to a stop. It was a while before she woke up. The calm, peaceful sun beat down upon her. She peered out at the world from behind her dark brown eyes, not really feeling anything, other than a deep desire to feel the sun as a gift of comfort and not as a reminder of her dryness and her lack of drink. She got up. Looked around. Shook her head. There was nothing but the green of tropical trees, the light tan of the beaches, and the aquamarine color of the see. It was beautiful, like some sort of paradise. She was alive. Yet for now, all she could do was roll off of the raft and sit there, her bottom in the sand, her hands on her lap as she looked out into the vast infinity of the see. She would need food and water soon, but before that she just needed to ponder what she had lost. No, she hadn't lost anything. Her friends and her younger brother were still out there, just out of reach. She new she would see them someday. it was just a matter of having faith and starting to search. Somewhere across the waters... She got up and grabbed her bag from the top of the raft. Its strap that was supposed to hoist around her shoulder was broken, so she used it as a rope and just dragged it across the sand. It formed a line, and the line disappeared into the trees. She had managed to spot without much difficulty the highest point on the island. It was a large rock outcropping, like a spine coming out of the earth. Along the way, she found strange new fruits and gave them a try, risking her life on the hope that they weren't poison. She tried their bright orange and yellow and green juices and was replenished. Ah, that was so much better. It wasn't enough to lighten up her head quite yet, though, so she decided she would make camp. That wasn't so difficult, since the leaves on this island were huge. In fact, some of them reached eleven feet across, by her guestimate, since they were about twice her length. It would be easy to make a tent out of them. But not here in the forest. No, she picked a few, rolled them up, and set them out on the beach and set up a tent there. There would be no bugs and no creepy things to crawl over her while she slept. The next day, she ate some more and gathered up food, and then she went back to the tall rock she saw. It took a bit of climbing, and her grip was only so strong, but she wanted to give it a try. She saw the jagged face of the rock through the trees and ran up to it, then looked for a foothold. She then, through force of determination, found a way up, and endurance came to her through the form of a continued sense of wonder. Once she was halfway up, she saw the world around her in an outstanding beauty. The bright blue area where the deep see came up to the sandy beach was beautiful. The island wasn't that large, but she couldn't gather its exact size until she got to the top of the rock that afternoon. She stood there, on a narrow pathway, able to look southease and northwest of the aisle, out upon the surrounding isle. It was about five miles across. "Hello?" she cried out. "Is anyone here?" No answer. "HELLOOOOO?" There looked to be no sort of settlement on the island. She figured she would leave, then. It wasn't worth staying if there was nobody here to help her. It was best to just pack up fruits onto the raft. She climbed down the rock to get back to the raft. "Hey, wait," said a voice. She looked around and saw a golden bug on the rock, about the size of the palm of her hand. It had eight legs along a segmented body, and then a front area like a centaur, which had pincers for arms and these two beady eyes on the ends of stalks, which swiveled about comically. He looked like a scorpion or a crab of some sort. It was a bit strange, but she had seen a lot of strange and unexplainable things since she had left home. "Hello, who are you?" she asked. "I'm the only person on this island," said the bug person. "But you're a bug," said Nixie. "A bug person," said the bug person. "What's a matter. Haven't you ever seen a dichester before?" "Have you ever seen a human before?" asked Nixie. "Come to think of it, I have no idea what you are," said the bug-person-dichester. "Well I'm leaving this island," she said. "I'm coming with you," said the dichester. "And my name is Jetty." "Nice to meet you, Jetty. My name is Nixie. And yes, you can come with me, but I'm leaving this island." "I know. I figured that you came on a raft, and I've been lonely for a while now." That evening, Nixie sat under the tent with a fire started to keep them warm and cook some fish that she caught, while she recorded her thoughts into her journal, the sole item she carried with her in her bag. She bit into a golden apple, and its juice dripped onto the pages, right on top of her brother's name. Then she stopped and contemplated it all. Where she was right now, the encounter she had with Jetty, and the leap of faith she was taking by setting her raft out onto the open ocean again. She came out of her tent and called out Jetty's name. He came scurrying over, leaving little dots for tracks behind him. They ate what food was left, but it was a quick meal. She wanted to drift into the night time and make as much use of the cool moonlight air as possible. Jetty got onto the recrafted raft while Nixie got out on back and pushed it into the ocean. After paddling along for a while, cutting her knee on a piece of coral, she pulled herself on and let herself dry off, putting herself at a distance from her bag so that she didn't get her journal wet. And so they went off with the stars in the sky, ready to discover another of the many islands out there, hopefully one that had friends and support. And when they looked out, there were many stars, and they were reflected upon the water so that the division between the heavens and the waters was impossible to make, and it was all one swirling cosmos. Nixie had seen this before, but this was during a vision where she was given sight over the entire universe, and she knew everything, and she knew where she was. She still wondered if that wasn't a dream, if it wasn't for how she had mysteriously came to a paradise once it was over. She could only wish that the same force was watching over her still, and she rolled onto her back and slept, with her new companion using her hair as a bed. It was a weird world out there, but it was also beautiful.
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ANDREW FOUND A PICTURE OF HIMSELF HE NEVER RECALLED TAKING. What was more, he couldn't make sense of it. His hair in this picture was just a tad bit longer than he had ever grown it out, which wasn't very far. He never recalled wearing that striped shirt, nor dd he recognize the setting. What was this doing in his father's closet? He heard his father coming. He couldn't afford to be caught rummaging through his drawers. He put the picture in his shirt pocket and hid in the closet. For good measure, he tossed clothes on top of him. It wouldn't make a difference if he covered himself or not, though. If his father opened up the closet, he would be doomed. His father entered the room. There was a groan, the sound of tool being dropped to the ground. The Old Man mumbled and shifted through his stuff. There was a pause. Had he noticed that the drawers were open? Andrew's heart beat. An hour passed, and his father didn't leave the room. Andrew was trapped. He kept on reminding himself to control his breath, and the logical thing to do would be to go off to sleep to keep his nerves down, but if he was caught during a lull of attention he couldn't run out as fast as he could have. He would be vulnerable. Still more time passed. It seemed his father was taking a nap in the afternoon. Why did he always have to do that? Also, there was the question of whether or not he would notice Andrew's supposed absence. There had been no school today due to a teachers' meeting, but Dad didn't know about that, so he assumed Andrew was at school. He should have been home now. He would be making noise. His father was always a creeper who looked inside the room to see how Andrew was doing, whether he made noise or not. Then Andrew heard the sound of floorboard creaking the door opening, and his father walking through the living room. It sounded like he was checking his room. Since Andrew was light on his feet and only a hundred pounds, he cast the clothes off of him and opened the closet door just as he heard his father enter the living room, all the while closing the closet door to cover up his tracks better this time. He had only one chance at this. Father had left the door to his room open, and Andrew managed to make his way out into the living room. His father's back was to him. Andrew slipped through the kitchen and into the breezeway, where he crouched. He listened carefully, but from here he couldn't hear his father's movements. It was safe to assume that if he was careful, his father wouldn't hear him if he slipped through the door, either. Andrew left the house and jumped on his bike, which was hidden in the weeds of the backyard garden. He kicked off with his feet and peddled off, taking the emergency route of the gravel alleyway that ran down the middle of the block, connecting all of the backyards. And then he was far away from home. He took a detour to get to uptown, where his friend Trenton lived in a bright blue house with an actual driveway. He knocked at the door, and Mrs. Van Holland, Trenton's mother, answered the door. "Hello, Andrew!" said Mrs. Van Holland. "Trenton's upstairs playing video games." Andrew thanked her and ran to Trenton's room. It was filled with stuff on the wall and LEGO sets, along with all the coolest action figured. He was sitting on his bed, with his hair wet from a recent shower, and was busy playing a Mario game on his Gameboy Color. "'Sup, man?" said Trenton. "Hey, I have the money to buy that new game, Fallout," said Andrew. He pulled out a couple of Benjamin Franklins from his chest pocket. Trenton set down the Gameboy and leaned forward. "Nice!" It was better than nice. Two hundred dollars could get them several games. The best part was that Andrew's father wouldn't notice a thing, given how disorganized and cluttered his room was. Then Trenton added, "Hey, what's that in your pocket?" Andrew drew up his hand. "It's just a picture of me." "Let me see it," said Trenton. Andrew was hesitant, but he wasn't about to deny his best friend something. It would have been uncool. So he took it out of his pocket and let Trenton look at it. Without hesitation, Trenton said, "You look like a girl!" "I do not!" said Andrew. "Do to!" "Do not!" "Do too!" Andrew checked the picture again and hated to admit that his friend was right. At nine years old, he had a certain androgynous freshness about him and a roundness of face that had yet to mold itself into the features of a grown man. Combined with how this was clearly the longest his hair had ever been before he cut it last spring, he looked like a generic kid, indistinct from a girl or boy. He wished he could be a little cooler and more handsome, like he thought of Trenton, instead of pretty. He put the picture back in his pocket and looked defeated. "Chill, Andrew, I'm only teasing you," said Trenton. "Yeah, well I don't like it," said Andrew. "I'm sorry, man," said Trenton. "I just want to get those video games," said Andrew. "What are we going to do with the extra money?" "I don't know," said Andrew. "I'll save it for later." "Sure thing," said Trenton. "It's your money." They left Trenton's house, went to the local Wal*Mart, bought Fallout, and came back to Trenton's house to try it out. Unfortunately, it was single-player, so they had to take turns playing it and decided that they could spend more time shooting hoops in Trenton's driveway. They went out and lit up the porch light, playing basketball even after the sun went down. After a while, Andrew gathered up a sweat and it was time to stop. Besides, one could only stick to one activity for so long. "Hey Andrew, are you thinking of joining the basketball team when you get to middle school?" asked Trenton. "Sure," said Andrew. "We actually practice. The only question is whether I will be better than you." "No chance," said Trenton. "You'll be following me." "Then I'll be the second best on the team," said Andrew. "And I'll keep you on your heels, because I'm awesome." Andrew got down on his bottom and rested on the grass. He grabbed his sweaty shirt and tugged back and forth at its chest region, using it as a fan. He needed a shower. That really sucked because his father's shower didn't have a water softener and he ended up smelling worse coming out than going in. He was going to have to spend the night at his grandparent's house. Mrs. Van Holland opened the door. "Trenton, you'd better come back in and prepare for bed." "But mom, can I at least have supper?" asked Trenton. The Van Hollands were awesome. Half the time they had pizza for supper. That might have been today, too, except Trenton had gone with Andrew across town to visit Wal*Mart. Andrew really should have waited until the next day so that he could do that in the immediate afternoon instead of during the bad timing that came upon him today, and then he could have had supper with the Van Hollands so long as he lied about having his father's permission. "No, Trenton, now come inside. Andrew! You'd better go home before your father wonders where you're at!" "Alright, mom..."said Trenton, disappointed. "Yes, Mrs. Van Holland," said Andrew, playing the part of the role-model friend. Mrs. Van Holland smiled at him and waved him off on his merry way. He got on his bike, said goodbye to Trenton, and biked off. To the eastern 'burbs, where Grandpa and Grandma Penn lived. They were on his father's side, and they were far nicer than his dad, who was uncool and just plain didn't get him. When he came up to the front porch, he let the bike drop as he ran to the doorbell and rang with one long press of his thumb, letting it go on and on until one of them answered the door. Grandma Penn opened the door. "Andrew, what are you doing out so late?" "I'm sorry Grandma. I just lost track of time." "You're sweating like a bull," she said, and brought him in. Inside, Andrew saw his grandfather, a big, burly man, looking at a newspaper on the living room chair. He thought he was off the hook, but he didn't stand a chance with Grandpa Penn, who said at once the very last thing he wanted to hear. "Does your father know where you are?" Andrew's face flushed. He looked at Grandpa Penn with a dear-in-headlights look that gave away everything. Grandpa set down the newspaper, adjusted his suspenders. Trying to keep his innocence going for him, Andrew made up an excuse, "But I'm going to take a shower here. I don't want to smell in Dad's icky shower. Isn't that a good idea?" "Where have you been?" asked Grandpa. "I was at home with dad," said Andrew. "I was with him the whole time. I just decided to come over here for a shower." "Margaret..." said Grandpa. "Andrew," picked up Grandma. "You do smell. We'll show you the shower, but you can't go running off at night like this. Now for goodness sakes, that shirt smells. Let me remove this." She removed it. Meanwhile, Grandpa leaned over to the phone next to the chair and piked it up to call Andrew's father. Andrew was busted. Then Andrew took his shower, came out smelling nice, and Grandma had a blue shirt out and ironed for him. "And tomorrow's a school day, Andrew. You're going to have to wake up early and catch the bus. Oh, what are we going to do with you?" Grandpa was at the kitchen counter. He was looking down at a crumpled wad of dollars and scattered coins. It was the change left over from the video game. "Where did you get this money?" asked Grandpa. "I earned it," said Andrew. "I mowed Trenton Van Holland's lawn." "And they payed you a hundred dollar bill?" "Their family is rich," said Andrew. "And they really like me." "I'm giving this back to your father," said Grandpa. "And when he comes here, you're going to have to apologize to him for stealing from him." "But I really got that from my friend's house!" said Andrew. "I'm not stupid, you know." "Where is he, by the way?" said Grandma. She was right. Andrew's dad wasn't there yet. "He said to just wait a bit. It would take him a while to get ready. So I'm waiting. And Andrew will have to sit right here next to me." "You're terrible!" said Andrew. "You're just like Dad!" Grandpa took Andrew and put him on his knee. "Your father loves you more than you could know, and you're just too young to see it." "You're just saying that because that's what adults are supposed to say!" Grandpa just held him down while he squirmed, and Grandma went to the front door to wait for his father. He was still taking some time. After he had slowed down and retreated to a mode of skulking, Andrew noticed that his picture was in Grandpa's plaid shirt pocket. It was crinkled up from when it has been in his own while he was playing basketball, but he wanted to reach out and grab it. It felt like it belonged to him. The money maybe wasn't his, but he felt he had a right to the picture. His father didn't have a camera. Nobody ever took any pictures of him. It was special. "Grandpa, can I please have my picture back?" Grandpa reached into his pocket, as if just remembering that it was there. "You might as well." He placed it in Andrew's shirt pocket. Andrew took it out. "That's this, anyway? I don't remember taking this picture. Who was taking pictures, anyway?" he asked. "Nobody takes pictures in this family," said Grandpa. "It wasn't me. But this isn't a picture of you, anyway. This is a picture of your mother." "What? So it really is a picture of a girl?" Andrew now sat on Grandpa's lap in such a way similar to a child listening to a parent reading a story. Grandpa held out the picture so they could both see. "This was Ellen when she was your age. She changed when she got older. You look a lot like her." "That's my mom?" said Andrew. "Yes, you know what she looked like," said Grandpa. "Actually, no, I don't," said Andrew. Grandpa looked confused, and then sad. He sighed and shook his head. "That's right. They never took any pictures together when she was still alive. I believe your grandparents on your mothers side had a few wedding photos before they died, too, but your father wouldn't have any, save for some old stuff from her album. He must have something on hand to cling on to. He doesn't loom so much on the paste, though. He's very internal. I wouldn't expect this to be out much. I'm so sorry. I thought you knew what your own mother looked like." He sighed again. "Well now I just had a revelation." Andrew didn't feel the need to cry. He had never known his mother. The subject wasn't sad for him. However, it did feel odd, once he thought about it. Maybe other people could feel sad for him because they experienced something he had to miss out on. "Do you think I should give this to Dad?" "Maybe," said Grandpa. "Well, in this case, I think it's okay just once for you to take something from your father. Just ask him for it, though. I don't know what the story behind his reason for keeping this is. Maybe it's important that he keeps it. But you should know more about her sometime. I'm sure I have many stories to share with you." Stories. The Penn family tradition. They didn't keep collages of photographs to preserve memories: generations of knowledge passed down by word of mouth. To this day, though, Andrew had always heard of the things on his father's side of the family, and his father never had anything to tell him about his mother. He thought about it and decided he would like to hear them sometime. "The important thing that you know right now, Andrew, was that your father loved your mother, and your mother loved your father very much. She would want you to love him, too." "Do I have to?" "No, kid, but you ought to." From the kitchen window, the lights of Dad's pickup truck came in. He would put Andrew's bike in the trunk. Then his father came in and picked up Andrew off of Grandpa's lap. "Don't touch me..." said Andrew. He hated it when Dad assumed that he couldn't do stuff for himself. "Son," said Grandpa, referring for Andrew's dad, "take care of him. And also, one day you'll have to spend some time with me and your mother, alone. You can send Andrew off to his friend's house. I bet he can mow the lawn to make up for the money he spent, but what I think we really need to have is some of our old father-to-son time so you know how to be a genuine symbol for strength for your son." Andrew left as soon as he could and didn't want to hear the rest of the conversation. It was Grandpa just trying to negotiate a peace treaty. That's all those adults ever did. They didn't care about him, though. He left the house, got into Dad's truck, and cried. Why did everyone always have to side with Dad? Dad didn't care! He looked at the wrinkled picture of his mother at his age. Seeing her for the first time, and seeing such a radiant smile, she looked like the person who would care. He found himself really wishing he had known her mother and had more than just a picture to work with. Who cared about knowing some story when someone could have a whole other important person in his life? Dad got into the truck and drove off. Andrew sat on the far side and made sure he was close to the window. it was silent the whole way home. However, Andrew underestimated the wisdom of his grandparents. They taught his father as a child, and they would continue to teach his father. All he had to do now was to learn the lessons he was given from his late wife, whose story still lived on through him.
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Allison It is the morning that is most special to me. Not that I am a morning person - oh no. I am up at odd hours and dread the ringing clock that calls me to wake up and face the sun that burns my eyes and warms my skin beyond what I would prefer. No, I am not a morning person, but the morning (once my eyes no longer are hurting) is the most special time of day for me. It is pure, new, without the struggles of the coming day. She made the morning special, mainly because she wasn’t part of my morning. She was the signal that the time has come to put the (eye burning) peace of the sunrise aside and begin the long fight toward the death of nightfall. The morning makes the fight all the more important, all the more desperate, for if I must leave the peace of the innocent sunrise behind I must make sure I can see it again. I had to make sure that she can see it again. Where did it all begin? The afternoon of my life? It all began with her, the day she walked into the band hall, and I knew that I had to step out of the morning to hold hands with the night. Literally all eyes were on her, Mr. Hryorchuk was introducing her to us after all, but not all eyes were on her face, which was turned down to stare into the air near the ground. No. The eyes that could see were on the long, virgin white bandage that wrapped neatly around the forearm clamped tightly against her side. Few noticed the French Horn that dangled in her left hand. The French Horns noticed, and as their section leader I rejoiced that we now had a third member, but even my eyes were drawn immediately to the three, even, broad, bright red lines that stained the inside of the bandage, revealed only briefly when Mr. Hryorchuk slapped her back as he asked the band to welcome her to the class. I don’t even remember what went through my head while the band murmured a half-hearted welcome to this stranger named Allison who quickly, efficiently, and quietly took her place as my third-chair. We played our songs, Allison catching on quickly and the bell coming (too soon, looking back) to snap the tension of a classroom into the freedom of lunch. “French Horns always eat together,” my second chair, Gabie, beamed at our newbie. Gabie was the embodiment of morning to me. When I was to leave, she would step up more than I ever would have hoped when it came to being a leader in the band. Allison gave the smallest of smiles, and followed us as quietly as a predator moving through the night. The moment I knew would come as soon as I saw the lines – the moment I had hoped there would be sense enough, decency enough, to avoid – came. A boy, a trumpet (wouldn’t you know it?), whose name isn’t worth mentioning brushed past us three with a single word. “Cutter.” I could have punched the runt. Arrogant sophomore, he had no clue what kind of whirlwind he might have gotten if she hadn’t spoken first. “If you really think so, maybe you should let me demonstrate.” For the first words any of us had heard from her, these were not the ones that could have left the best first impression. The fact that they had come out in a low hiss with a long smile most of us had only seen in the movies did not help. The trumpet blanched and moved off, and we French Horns made our way (silently now) to the lunch room to take our place with the saxophones. As soon as we sat down with food, we broke the awkward silence to talk shop. How long had she played? What chair was she at her last school? Did she play anything else? Where was she from? Scores last year at Solo & Ensemble? All the gossip usual to band geeks. She even smiled at the end, until one of the saxes, one of my classmates, leapt onto the elephant we were so contentedly walking around. “What happened?” He asked, pointing at her arm, unconsciously relaxed on the table such that the lines, somewhat more ragged now than they had been. Allison immediately snapped her arm back to her chest, wincing. Her eyes went to the apple in her hand and she smoothly, almost mechanically answered, “Nothing a knife couldn’t cure.” My mind wanted a coin to flip. Fifty-fifty shot at whether she was ashamed or not. I honestly couldn’t tell at that point that the only shame she had was what was having to be “cured” and not how the “cure” was obtained. In any case, her words had the effect of silencing the table as she took one last bite at the apple in her hand and rose to leave. Gabie, my little morning child, sprang to assist and guide her around the school. I had a few words with the saxes, hoping to give Allison a chance before she exiled herself. I didn’t see Allison at all until school rang out for the day, out in the parking lot beneath that merciless sun. Her bandage had been changed, it was pure white now as she slipped on a jacket against the chill wind. I was making my way to my car and offered a ride. The ride to her family’s apartment was silent, for the most part. There was a mild discussion about fingerings between MLK Street and Anderson Street, but it wasn’t until we arrived that she said anything real. I wished her a good day, and a hope that she wouldn’t have to seek a cure tonight. I received back more than I had bargained for. She went slack, hunched over in my passenger seat, and began to speak. She asked me to imagine having to be the 11th grader who was in her third high school, knowing that your step-father’s inability to work would send you to another at the end of the year. She asked me to imagine waking each morning to a kitchen of beers and cold pizza a week old, to come home to a silent mother cleaning up the night in preparation for the evening. She asked me to imagine sleeping to dream the dreams of memories best forgotten, that you wished were forgotten, only to wake to find the memories of creeping hands and heavy breath resurfacing with renewed intensity from a childhood marked by nothing else. She asked me to think of only being able to say you truly owned one thing, and could only control one thing in your life. And so she left, and when I got home I sat in my car and stared into the distance, imagining. I never could think clearly, and now the tears that my control disallowed to be free clouded my mind like mocking voices to condemn me. How dare I wish what I wished her? And so I was handicapped all afternoon, until the sunset came: orange in the sky but red upon my arm. The night passed in clarity and confusion, in desperation and prayer. Silence and speech between age and youth. The morning is special to me. It brings a time to think with the previous day gone, dead. It brings a time to see forward on the day with nothing yet written on the slate. So I, with a virgin white bandage on my arm marred by a jagged line of red, bowed to my mother and left to school with a mind on the day ahead, catching Allison only just before she entered the junior wing. I touched her shoulder, my own bandage hidden by my jacket, and smiled before heading to my own classes. Band was fourth period. There would be time to speak, time to imagine, with morning now over. The new girl was known already among all the students I knew. On every tongue, for what seemed would be ages but was truly only a small while, was the bandage, fresh with the red life of its wearer. I could only speak of her being a French Horn. I never could speak well; translate my hesitant thoughts with my stupid mouth. Band came and went, lunch arrived and passed. Allison, she confessed too late, knew of the words spoken and held her head high during the next week. Then her name slipped out of the common gossip. She was a fixture of the school now, the girl who was proud until she spoke, quickly looking to the floor to keep the anger or sorrow from being read in her eyes. Though she wore her bandage openly, defiantly to those who could not know, my own bandage was never seen by any other than myself and my parents, nor did I need it ever again. I could now imagine, and because I could imagine my days became the fight to regain the morning, the special time when I did not have to imagine. I still gave Allison rides home, and eventually she gave me more to imagine, not knowing why she did. I didn’t know why she did, but I imagined, and I dreamed until I woke up in the morning where the sun could burn from my eyes the images of my imagining. Soon I began picking her up from school, and I no longer had to imagine some things, and my mornings ended too soon as she slowly transformed herself from night to day. Limps smoothed out on the short walk to my car, stray hairs combed into place before my car door was opened, wrinkled sleeves ironed away by unerring hands to cover the perpetual red lines. Ever polite, ever proud, ever effacing herself behind the mask of Allison, who had no bags beneath her eyes or purpled marks at the base of her throat. And so from the first step of hers towards me in the time before the afternoon I imagined and thought my clumsy thoughts. My father is a doctor in our city, and he leads the EMS, and I told him about the things I imagined and thought when the morning was over. He was silent as he departed my room that night so long ago when the sunset was twice red, and every day told me, “Just wait a little while more.” And so I waited a little while more, until the day Allison did not come out to my car, the day I did not touch her shoulder and did not eat with her at lunch. Not until the end of the day did I see her walk proudly into the school with her silent mother to get the work she had missed. It was several weeks before she would give me another thing to imagine, speaking strictly of band and choir and music theory during lunch and while riding home. Winter break was to come soon, and before school let out our band always held chair competitions so that those eager for it could be leaders. Allison was gunning for my chair, obviously, but I was not worried about that. Two weeks before school let out, I offered her the guest room at our house, offered the pure, soft mornings where no imagining had to take place. She declined, and again walked home from school. I saw her rarely during the break, dressed still in our school uniform, now with an ever present jacket to cover her arms I never again saw bare, whether her sleeves were long or short. On New Year’s Eve I heard a call go out over the EMS channel for an ambulance at Allison’s address. That night my father informed me an arrest had been made, and took me to give a deposition to the police at the hospital, standing at the foot of the wide bed where Allison lay like a broken bird, her mother gently sobbing into her hands. It made the headlines, but the inky lines did not contain what I had been told to imagine, to dream, to wonder, and to fight through until morning came. I have not seen Allison since, and I do not know where she is. There was no news, only rumors when she and her mother just left in the night. For ages her name was again on the tongues of the school, but eventually her story became a fixture of the school. The girl who came and went and left nothing behind: nothing but a note in locker 574 by the band hall telling Gabie goodbye and a stained, white bandage wrapped around a small, dull knife in locker 567 that I have kept ever since.
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IT WAS THE DAY AFTER HIS THIRTIETH BIRTHDAY, AND JOHN HAD TO LEAVE FOR THE WEST COAST. He had lived in New York for twelve years now. That was twelve years worth of friendships he had to say goodbye to. It was only the afternoon, but the sun was already down. He put on nice clothes and ran all the way to Diana's house. All my bags are packed I'm ready to goI'm standin' here outside your doorI hate to wake you up to say goodbyeBut the dawn is breakin' it's early mornThe taxi's waitin' he's blowin' his hornAlready I'm so lonesome I could die He knocked on the door to her apartment. The sound of feet coming down the stairs. She opened the door and he leaned against the railing on the front steps. Her short, golden hair framed her face perfectly. “Does it hurt to say goodbye one last time?” he asked. The coldness of the air turned his breathe into light clouds. “I was worried you wouldn’t say goodbye enough. It’s hard not having you around as a friend anymore,” she said. “It happens,” said John. “It’s an inevitable thing in life you have to get over.” “I’ve never actually…” she said. “Never?” inquired John. “Never ever?” “No,” said Diana. “I guess I’d consider myself lucky. But you get over it, I imagine.” “Maybe,” said John. “It depends on the person. I had friends for my first two years of college who then went their separate ways. I still wish we could keep in contact, although there’s nothing we can do for each other when we’re on separate coasts. I still really miss them. I can live still, but that doesn’t mean I’ll ever forget them and be nostalgic from time to time.” “You look cold out,” said Diana. “Come in!” Inside they prepared hot chocolate and sipped at it under the warm orange lights of the kitchen. It was an exceedingly nice apartment. It only lacked a fireplace. He wondered of Diana was expecting him. She was wearing sleek pinstripe pants and a beautiful violet blouse. Even though she was just his best friend, he felt oddly attracted to her. It brought back memories of when he so insecurely wondered if she was the one. He had to mentally slap himself, then and now. It wasn't right to think that. So kiss me and smile for me Tell me that you’ll wait for me Hold me like you’ll never let me go ‘Cause I’m leavin’ on a jet plane Don’t know when I’ll be back again Oh baby, I hate to go “Nothing heals the soul like a good cup of hot chocolate,” said Diana. She smiled and leaned her elbows against the table, closer to him. She really seemed to be waiting for him and didn’t have much to say. John sipped at the hot chocolate, and winced at how hot it was. He winked and smiled with one corner of his mouth while lifting the cup up to his face again. No, it couldn't be done. He had to put it down. Maybe it would get colder after a long while of conversation. “I really wish I could see you again,” he said. “I do, too,” said Diana. “What if I do come back?” “I’d still be here,” said Diana. “As nice as this place is, it’s still just an apartment. Sooner or later, with your upward mobility, even you will move on. This isn’t the house of someone who’s settled down.” “I’ll send you a letter if that has happened,” said Diana. “That’s very thoughtful…” said John. He tapped his foot. As inevitably happens in all such conversations, there was an awkward silence. “I think I’ll get working on that hot chocolate, then,” he said, and he continued to sip at it one bit at a time. “In case you’re labeling this as an awkward silence, John, don’t worry. I choose to think of it as savoring the moment.” John put down the cup. She leaned in and kissed him. John was conflicted, but he kissed back. “I just wanted to do that once before having to say goodbye,” said Diana. John felt ashamed. He kissed her back and he hadn’t even the slightest reason to. He was moving away, never to see her again. It was a shallow jab at pleasure. Yet it felt so good. It felt so sincere. It felt right. He looked into her eyes. “Maybe we’ll see each other again,” he said. “Would this be motivation for you to come back?” she said. Then the bombshell: “I think I’m in love with you.” John thought about how far away he would be. He would be on the West coast, thousands of miles away. He couldn’t come back regularly. He would have to prioritize her over so many other things in life. Yet, he could afford it. “Yes, I think I will,” he replied. He scooted his chair next to hers and embraced her. “I’ll never let you go.” “Tell me that you love me,” she said. “I love you, Diana.” There's so many times I've let you downSo many times I've played aroundI tell you now, they don't mean a thingEvery place I go, I'll think of youEvery song I sing, I'll sing for youWhen I come back, I'll bring your wedding ring The cups rested empty on the table now. In the next room, they they were both on the couch with John’s arm around Diana’s shoulder, both looking through old pictures that they and their friends had taken together. “Hey look, here’s that one time we met that girl named Aristotle,” said Diana. “I don’t mind that name,” said John. “I actually like it.” “So if we had a girl, you would consider it?” “Would you?” “I guess I would.” John could feel himself sinking ever more deeply into the couch as he grew more relaxed. Somehow, the ideas that were coming to his mind weren’t intimidating him anymore. They were so easy to articulate, so easy to share. “Diana, when I come back, will you marry me?” “I’ll have to remember that this is how you proposed,” she said. “Do I get a ring?” “No, it was just a spur of the moment idea,” he confessed. “But I’ve thought about it. We’re both established. We’re both ready to settle down. We’re best friends. We’re stable people. And we love each other. In our adult capacity to know what love is, it’s making sense to me.” Diana leaned her head into his shoulder. “Yes, John. I will marry you.” John rested his head on hers. So kiss me and smile for me Tell me that you’ll wait for me Hold me like you’ll never let me go ‘Cause I’m leavin’ on a jet plane Don’t know when I’ll be back again Oh babe, I hate to go The next day John was at the airport. He had called all of his guy friends to let than know and Diana had called all of her gal friends to do the same. It was now officially confirmed. Everyone knew. The held each other’s hands as they walked through the airport, an engaged couple. They both wore their business clothes. He had on his black tie and trimmed suit and she was wearing a woman’s business suit. While it was true that they both had work that day, they also wanted to make these last few moments count for each other. This was dressier than their usual business attire. He turned to Diana before he got on. “I don’t know what to say without being overly romantic.” Diana hugged him. “I’m fine with ‘I love you.’” “I will love you. Always.” They pulled apart. John looked at his watch. The plane left at five in the morning, and four o'clock right now. Passengers were expected to get on the plan a half hour before it took off. He picked up his roller. They were right next to the flight terminal. With half an hour left, he didn't have to hurry, so he wasn't picking it up to get going. He pulled out from one pocket a cube-shaped, fuzzy case. “I bought this at the last moment,” he said. “It’s beautiful,” said Diana, before she even opened it up. Then she did open it up, and it was, of course, an engagement ring. The only thing that could perhaps be an unexpected touch was that it was aquamarine instead of diamond. Diana had been born one month too early for diamond. “Can you say it again, now that you’ve actually seen it?” “It’s beautiful,” she said. She kissed him in the cheek. “When will we see each other again?” “I’ll be back on the holidays,” said John. “I’ll send you letters every weekend. Whatever you do, though, don’t send me letters back starting with ‘Dear John…’’ He looked into her eyes. They matched the aquamarine gem around her finger. He rested his forehead against hers. For just a moment, he could sleep before getting on the flight, let his mind escape to those far off places that it desperately wanted to go, and just rejoice in the comfort she gave him. Now the time has come to leave you One more time, let me kiss you Close your eyes and I’ll be on my way Dream about the days to come When I won’t have to leave alone About the times I won’t have to say… John was leaving on a jet plan. He didn’t know when he would be back again. Looking at his schedule, he just knew he would miss the first few holidays. As the ground grew smaller, he rolled his head to face the window, and just let the ever-changing scenery to lull him asleep. Then he dreamed of Diana. After all this craziness, he could finally settle down. So kiss me and smile for me Tell me that you’ll wait for me Hold me like you’ll never let me go ‘Cause I’m leavin’ on a jet plane Don’t know when I’ll be back again Oh babe, I hate to go ‘Cause I’m leavin’ on a jet plane Don’t know when I’ll be back again Oh baby, I hate to go
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Tutelary Spirit "Gone." This was the first word she uttered as I walked through her door. "Gone. No--no--it's--He can't be dead!"She gaped at her mother in horror. I could feel the emotions developing within her; fear gave way to astonishment and incredulity, while her heart slowly crumbled beneath the weight of growing grief. And there was something else. Something that pained me to see her bear, as much as it pained her to bear it: guilt.Her mother murmured, "He never opened his eyes after the ambulance took him. He was dead before they got to the hospital.""That's impossible! He can't--no, he can't be!" She was fighting to keep her voice level, but it was fluctuating dangerously."I don't know what I can say, Gwen. But it's true. He's gone."The tears began to flow freely now. For a moment she could only reiterate the word, "No. No, no, no . . ." Then her face fell into her hands and the first sob shook her.Her mother sat by her side and put her arms around her small shoulders. I seated myself on her other side and did the same, but neither paid me any heed."It's wrong," she gasped. "It's impossible. He--if he hadn't--If he hadn't pushed me out of the way--the car would have hit me. I--I should have been the one--I should have been lying there--looking up at him--but because of m-me--"She broke down completely. "I loved him!" she wailed. "He can't be gone!" Her voice shattered. Her body convulsed as weeping overtook her.I leaned closer, wrapping my arms more tightly around her. "I loved you too," I whispered. "You know I did. And I still do."Her head turned sharply, searching the room for the source of the voice. It brought a twisting strain to my chest. Could she really not see me beside her?I felt my throat choking with sorrow, but I forced out the words: "I'm sorry I had to leave you, Gwen. But you can't blame yourself. I don't regret what I did. It was my choice, and I'd do it again, for you.""It--it can't be," she said, half to herself. "He's dead!"Her mother misinterpreted. "Yes, he is. But he's not exactly gone. You know that, don't you? He's somewhere still, and if I know him half as well as you, I'm sure he's waiting for you."Gwen nodded. "I'm sure he is. And if he can do that--I--I can wait for him."I rose sharply, unsteadily, to my feet. Somehow, that hurt more than anything. I couldn't allow her to throw away her life for me; even if I had, mine for hers. I was dead. I couldn't let her live as if she were, too.I drifted through the wall into the next room and to the telephone. I didn't bother picking it up; I didn't think I could anyway. I just walked straight into it.It was effortless. I felt my mind flying to where I willed it. The phone only rang twice before a young man answered it."Hello?"I pushed down the old acrimonies rising within me. This was the only option. No more were we rivals in love, but two men with one in common; and only one of us had the beating heart to give it.I said, "Hi, Lance. Did you hear about Gwen?""N-no. What about her?""Well, not her exactly. Her friend, Arthur."His voice became cold. "No, I haven't heard anything about him.""He's dead." I paused, letting the astonishing words sink in with a cruel satisfaction. "He got hit by a car. He saved her life.""My--God! Is--is she okay?"I said, "She's not hurt. Well, not physically. But her heart's taken a bruising."His tone wavered. "Yeah, I--yeah, I know how she felt about him.""But what she needs right now is a friend, Lance. Maybe--something more than that?""I don't know if--""Go to her, Lance."There was silence. Finally he said, "Okay. I will.""She needs you.""I'll go right now. Goodb--Hold on. Who is this, anyway?"I merely answered, "That doesn't matter. Just go to her."I withdrew. If words can describe what I did, I evanesced, remolding in her room. She was in her mother's arms, crying vehemently, exactly as I had left her.I called to my mind the moment. Perhaps I really did go back to it, as physically, at least, as I stood beside her now. I saw the car coming, as clearly as I had that night. I saw her standing there, frozen like a deer. I heard the screeching of wheels, I felt my legs move as they had never moved before and never would again, I felt her in my arms as I lifted her and flung her to the side. And then I felt the pain all over again, exploding throughout my body.The next thing I knew she was by my side. I heard her speak as if from far away, almost as I can only hear her now. "No--Arthur, no! Are you all right?"It was an irrational question, and we both knew it. I gave an answer we both knew to be false. "Yeah--yeah, I'll be fine." The weak groan belied my words."You have to be," she pleaded. "You can't--Don't--Please, you have to be all right!""Don't worry," I said. I fixed my gaze on her face, absorbing for one more time every portion of her aspect. "I'll always be here for you. I promise." And then I had closed my eyes for the last time. The last feeling I remember was of her lips against mine, of her tears rolling down my face, and of her arms around me.I had always known I couldn't live without her. I wouldn't have to, now; but no matter what I felt, I couldn't let her live without someone.What really surprised me, though, was how easily tears could flow from eyes that would never open. A heart that no longer beats can still be broken.For a moment longer my eyes lingered on her gracile form. Even wacked as it was with woe, even with her face hidden, her beauty was peerless. It shattered me.My voice quaked as I said, "I'll always be here for you." I turned away. "For both of you."And then I evanesced into the night, leaving nothing left of myself in the world but a tear dropped on a young woman's floor. Nothing but that . . . and a promise. Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith
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LETTING THE READER KNOW THAT THE SETTING OF A STORY IS THE END OF THE WORLD IS ALWAYS A CATCHY, IF NOT CLICHÉ OPENING LINE, but in this case it seems more interesting to note that this story revolved around the philosophical implications of pizza. You could never have enough pizza. Well, you could, presuming that your stomach was at risk of exploding, but imagining that someone could eat on end and never have to worry about getting full, why would anyone want to stop to do anything but enjoy the sensation of having pizza in their mouths? Pizza was the reason mad wizards sought immortality in the first place, because dying meant you could no longer eat pizza. What a scary thought.……….As it happened, the end of the world was brought about by a mad wizard, although he claimed to like more sophisticated food. In fact, the food he liked was positively nasty. Well, perhaps that was why he was a mad wizard, because otherwise, if he sought immortality to eat pizza he would actually be a very sane wizard.……….But that’s irrelevant.……….Now, there was Buzzy and Monosmith, who resisted the end of the world and fought in many battles while crying out many sacred ideals. God, democracy, liberty, God, freedom, integrity, altruism, and God. It seems that they had their ideals down nice and neat.……….Well, they lost, the end of the world came, and the evil wizard ruled the universe for fifty-three million years. Buzzy and Monosmith each survived by virtue of time distortion and arrived at the end of those fifty-three million years to join the resistance that was at its peak then. They met each other in what felt like ages, even though it had really been more like three years for them.. It was on the outskirts of a really huge battle with laser fights and all the works. On a hill where Buzzy parked his space ship. They just stood there, panting.……….“You know what I need?” said Buzzy. “Pizza!”……….“I don’t think they have that this far into the future,” said Monosmith.……….“I have one in my space ship,” said Buzzy.……….Buzzy’s ship was big enough that he and several friends and allies lived comfortably within for two years in time distortion, and it most certainly had freezer cambers. These held pizza and other goods that helped Buzzy survive while flying near the speed of light throughout outer space.……….So they took a pizza from the ridge. In fact, several pizzas, because they were a lot hungrier than usual. Fighting battles and saving the world did that to you.……….“I want Red Baron,” said Buzzy.……….“Hey wait, it looks like you have Tombstone,” said Monosmith.……….“I like Red Baron more.”……….“The Tombstone is even stuffed crust. My mother used to buy those all the time.”……….“My mother – “……….“Don’t even. Your mother was an alien from the planet Alantra. You didn’t even taste pizza until you came to Earth as a teenager.”……….“The first I had was Red Baron. I have a lot of nostalgia, too, you know.”……….“Alright, how you cook Red Baron and I cook Tombstone? Isn’t that the obvious solution?”……….“Hey, wait, you’re right. Why are we even arguing about this?”……….They shrugged. It was just them being exhausted. So they cooked their pizza and sat in Buzzy’s lounge, looking out the window at the battle beyond where laserfire scorched the landscapes. Then the pizza was done, and they ate it with their feet kicked up on the table.……….“You know, I could probably end this whole battle on my own,” said Monosmith.……….“You’re being so emo lately. Lighten up. Because Pizza.”……….“Yeah, you’re right. It’s pretty strange. I’m kind of sure that this time we might be heading toward the end of the universe for real. As in, everything gets destroyed, not just a way of living. Everybody’s talking about the pursuit of happiness and has no idea what it is, and yet, here we are eating pizza. All we need are Ashley and a few other good old friends and I’d call this pretty good.”..........“I just had an idea,” said Buzzy, pointing out to the battlefield with the point of his current slice. “Why was it called the end of the universe in the first place? I think it was all because the evil overlord took control and hated pizza. I mean, then people stopped enjoying the simple things in life. People looked for power and pushed forth these strange agendas. Why can’t they just accept the simple pleasures in life? Like pizza. Pizza’s the purpose of life.”……….Monosmith shook his head. “Well, I believe the purpose to life is love, but then, what is love?”……….“Baby don’t hurt me.”……….“Stop it.”……….“Hey, you like classical music and I like pop, and that’s a good song. Imagine if that song would be playing over the battlefield. It would be pretty epic.”……….“Maybe after we win a few battles, we can spread the joy of pizza again.”……….Buzzy finished his last slice and thought it over as he chewed. “The question is, would it be Red Baron or Tombstone?”……….“I think we’ll find out,” said Monosmith.……….And thus was what might have been the single most important conversation in all of history. Buzzy and Monosmith made a bet on whether the masses would like Red Baron or Tombstone better. They fought a few more battles, as they said, reveled in the Technicolor of the laser weapons . Then, as it looked like the good guys were winning the war, they celebrated prematurely and started recreating old pizza recipes and campaigning with food.……….It turned out they were both right, Buzzy in the area of what music fit a laserfight and Monosmith in the area of pizza, which by far was more important. Then, when the good guys won, they resigned to their simple pleasures. Music, reading, play, friendship. And Tombstone was the best pizza. 24601
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THEO WAS LYING, AS ALWAYS, and he would never tell the truth. Neo couldn’t understand it, and he was sick of it. He made up his mind and decided that he would have nothing to do with him anymore. There was nothing – nothing – that could redeem this crooked old man.……….“Now wait just one minute. Where do you think you’re going?” said Theo. He put down his pen as Neo walked past his desk.……….“Out forever,” said Neo. “And there’s nothing you can do about it.”……….“Do you mean to say what I think you mean?” asked Theo. He got up and put on his jacket. “Well, then, I’m coming with you.”……….“No, that’s against the point!” snapped Neo. “I’m leaving you and I’m never coming back! I’m never going to have anything to do with you. Do you realize how many people’s lives you mess with?”……….Theo was by Neo’s side now. He gave Neo a stern look. The crags that had accumulated over a long time over his forehead increased. It was the face of a man who always got his way and would not take “no” for an answer. “And where do you think you will go?”……….“That logic won’t work with me. That’s called making a deal with the devil, and he always comes to collect. I’m not going to do that. I’m not so short sighted or so low on faith. I’ll make ends meet.”……….“Boy, you have no idea what it’s like to make a deal with the devil,” said Theo. He put his hands in his pocket and lowered his head as they walked out of the business building. They passed Theo’s secretary, and Theo snapped his fingers. “Grab me a gun. I’m going out.” The waiter opened his drawer and threw a gun into Theo’s hands, which he took in stride and tucked underneath his jacket.……….They reached outside. There were many poor people on the street. Many of them had guns as well.……….“I’ve denied to other people, Neo, the consequences of my actions. I know this world is a hellhole right now, and the guilt for this situation lies in large part on my shoulders, but I have never hid this from you. When I compromised with evil in the hubris of my youth several generations ago, I put up a lie in my shame and in my sureness and conviction of my strength. Yet, that lie is pointless now. Your development has been much stronger now that you have seen the sins of the father. You can learn from my failures, and I have not yet finished grooming heroes to help me atone for my failures.”……….“I’m not going to be the one who helps you,” said Neo. “You don’t deserve it. I’ going to fix this world up, but it won’t be with the person who destroyed it.”……….“If you go right now I will shoot you,” said Theo.……….“Sir! You’re my grandfather!”……….“Great-great-grandfather, to be exact,” said Theo. “And I will only shoot you in the knee.”……….“I can’t believe you would do this. No, never mind. I can.”……….“I am your great-great-grandfather,” said Theo. “And you’re still pretty young. With your father dead and all those other generations gone, I’m the only father-figure you have, and as such, it is my right – no, it is my duty, to impart on you all the wisdom a father can bestow. Trust me, after several generations, I have improved. Do you know who you are? Of course not. That is why you need me, because I know who you are.”……….“What about Silver Bird? He was a mentor to my father, and his father.”……….“And your grandfather had even more angst than you when he was your age. However, as it happens, I know where Silver Bird is.”……….“You do?”……….“Yes, I do,” said Theo. “I’ve really been prepping you for guidance under him for quite some time. Since you’re officially taking things this far, I might as well take you to him. However, I must warn you, what you hear from him you will have to swallow. Come with me, then. I will take him to you, and in the meantime, there is something I want to show you.”……….So they walked around the building with the escort of Theo’s private security and found their way to a launching pad, with a small luxury ship. They got in, as they had many times before, drank their fine wine, and headed out into the stars.……….The location of Silver Bird was always a secret, of course. Theo and Neo kept their whereabouts hidden as well. It was the post-apocalyptic world they lived in, and the people trying to solve it were the ones most persecuted.……….Then, less than a day later, they encountered a meteor field. Neo opened up a hologram window to see what was outside. The ship stopped, and there was a wheel in outer space before him with transparent walls. When the ship docked, he stepped into its artificial gravity and looked at the stars under his feet.………. They walked up next to him. “See this field? This is what it left of Atlas, the home of our great race. You think you have no home? I have none, either. All that is left is the great, insensible tomb of Zero. I saw its destruction with my own eyes. I have no more sense of self to live for.”……….There were footsteps. “Theo,” said a man. Silver Bird. He walked up to them and, upon stopping, summed up Neo in once nod. “Why now? He’s not ready yet.”……….“What? But you’re wise.”……….“I’m not wise because I’m immortal but because I made mistakes. Theo’s made many. He just has less time to make up for them. Go home now.”……….And that was that. Theo put his arm around Neo and brought him back home. “I like this better than last time,” said father to son. - So that last line was referencing another flash-fiction write-off with Theo in it. That one was horrible. Also, I will reveal that at least one of these characters will be involved in an upcoming supersized epic that I will be releasing next year on my blog called The Adventures of Mary. You will read it because it will be awesome and fun. 24601
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Moonlight cascades down towering buildings, shadows soaking up everything else its soft blue hands couldn't touch. The glittering stars are chased away by bright, colourful city lights. The purr of traffic can be heard from any dark corner in the city as well as the chatter and occasional laughter of people. Pretty people, with their pretty faces and pretty lives; all shattered in a moment.A twisted grin spreads across my face, my pearly white teeth glowing in the dark. I slide my fingers along a shiny, long blade."You get to make a friend tonight," I whisper to my knife.I always preferred a blade. The way it slid into the body. The way you got so close to your victim, see the fear and pain in their eyes before they crumbled to the cold urban floor, dead.I also found enjoyment in hearing their pathetic pleads. Sometimes I would even lead them on--making them think all I wanted from them were trivial things like money--before slitting their delicate necks. =[]= A bang had sounded from the gun, making my ears throb. Tears sprung to my eyes as my mother crumpled to the ground."Mom!" I screamed, throwing myself at her twitching body. In a matter of seconds her movement stilled completely. I glared at the figure above me, unable to speak as hot tears streamed down my face. =[]= I sit in the dirty darkness, shining my blade and waiting for the perfect victim to come along. I was no careless murderer, butchering whoever crossed my path next--no, picking out my prey took just as much execution and thought as killing them did.I perk up as I see her walk by. That's the one. A sweet little thing, not much older than twenty. Though people crowd the streets, she looks afraid to be walking by herself. I can't blame her."We should accompany the poor thing, don't you think?" My voice as evil as the fiery abyss I came from. =[]= I saw a vague smile creep onto his face before he turned around and began walking away.I screamed at him to stop."Aren't you going to kill me, too?" I asked, my voice hoarse. He didn't even slow his tread as he replied. "What makes you so special?" =[]= I slither back into the roar of the city as easily as I left it, blending in immediately and keeping a secure eye on my little auburn target.I follow her at a moderate distance, waiting for her to make a turn onto a quieter section of town--a turn that will end her existence.Now honey, you should know that dark things happen in dark places like that, I say to myself as she finally veers off.I quicken my pace, reflexively sliding past people to catch up with her.When I'm certain no one else is around, I approach her, silently and expertly. She doesn't even have time to react before she's in my possession with a knife to her throat. =[]= His words stopped me in my tracks, leaving me speechless.Right before he was out of earshot, I replied with a shaky voice. "You think killing people is doing them a favour?"He actually turned around that time, and I saw a sickly grin spread across his face. "That's exactly what I think." =[]= Her hand shakes intensely as she lets her purse slip from her grasp."Take it. Just, please, don't--""Don't kill you?"She nods restrainedly."Don't spoil my fun, baby. That's exactly what I wanted to do," I purr into her ear.I can feel her whole body shake more violently. A whimper escapes her lips."Now, now, let's have fun with this, shall we?""Fun?" Her voice squeaks. "You monster."I laugh. A bit too madly, perhaps."What could possibly drive you to do this?" I can hear tears in her voice."I've had a bitter past. Someone took something very dear to me, and one day I woke up and thought to myself, 'why should I have to suffer this alone?' So, thank you, dear, for carrying part of my burden; you certainly aren't the first, nor will you be the last."She gasped for air before speaking again. "Do you have nothing good from your past to cling to? Is your motive only driven by hate?"I had to wrack my brain to answer her question. I suppose she was right. My life wasn't always this twisted. The memory right before my mother was killed, that was my last truly blissful moment... =[]= Her eyes twinkled in the warm, glowing light as she lit the blue-striped candle upon my cupcake."Happy birthday, sweetheart," my mom said, placing a kiss on my head.I gave her a slightly annoyed look.She laughed. "A boy--even if he just turned thirteen--is never too old for a kiss from mom," she said, squeezing me in a hug.I couldn't help but smile.The glow and the laughter of the evening rushed by too quickly, and before we knew it, we were on our way home, laughing and talking, unaware of what was lurking behind the next shadow, ready to steal something very valuable from us. =[]= "You're right. Maybe I could do something good for myself," I say slowly.She nods enthusiastically before I drive my knife into her gut. I give the blade a good, firm twist before letting her corpse tumble to the welcoming ground."To think that I would actually let you go." I stoop, crouching down beside her body and stroked her pretty russet hair. I move so my mouth is next to her dead ear, whispering with a cold breath. "What makes you so special?"I muse to myself as I walk away from my gory art, my footsteps echoing off the desolate street."Though a cupcake does sound nice."
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Entry for fortnightly flash fiction contest since Andrew asked and oh no I don't have any homework at all and wasn't planning on writing one of my other stories for the Ambage at all but who's complaining am I right. Theme: Pathfinding. Wordcount: 964I feel lost. That's not even an awful metaphor either. I literally am not aware of my physical surroundings in their relation to where I want to be. Absolutely lost.The walls are white, painted cement like I remember them being for years. The ceilings are lit by rows of bright fluorescent lights, stretching endlessly down the halls. The floor is black and smells of rubber or crude oil. Petroleum based, anyways. Not like I care. The smell is awful, that's the important thing. When I recall my past in here, it seems --as though a vague mental image-- that it was almost a year ago. The floors have been getting darker and my lungs seem to grate with every breath.I hear footsteps padding down the hall, somewhere around the next corner. I slow down as I approach the next intersection and press myself against the wall. Within seconds the muted echoes approach and I plant a solid fist in the runner's stomach, sending him sprawling across the floor. I look down at his face with an immense amount of guilt as he gasps for breath. There are no mirrors in this place, true, but an external sense tells me that the face of this man is my own. Whether a clone, an apparition, or simply a psychological trick, I no longer care. I put my foot against his throat and do what I've done this entire time, to survive. I know that I am the only one in this maze, quite literally. Every version of myself that I've cut off through decisions in the past have been merged to a single universe, where I've been forced to confront every version of myself and destroy them. I suppose whoever engineered this think of it as am amusing metaphor, that I literally have to kill off every bad decision I've made and come to terms with who I've become in that time, but all I see is a twisted reality where I've become a killer.As his body dissipates into the ground, the stench of rubber seems to grow ever so slightly.I continue down the halls, feeling more cheated with every kill. I feel sick that I'm becoming desensitized to this, that the moral problems and emotional impact is dulled as my methods become more brutal, merciless, and stunningly effective.I make a right at the next intersection, followed by two lefts, a flight of stairs, and another right. There's no method to my choices any more. I used to agonize over the psychology of the maze, how every corner could be a setup to drive me into doing exactly what they want-- whoever they are. But now I just blindly decide on a whim, snapping back and forth, stopping occasionally to listen for the footsteps of myself.Oh, speak of the devil. Another apparition runs past a crossroad ahead, screaming. I lunge forward and give chase. My breaths come heavy now. The death toll of the day is starting to wear. I'll probably take a nap after this one. He's wearing a straitjacket. I quicky match his speed as he turns a corner. I twist my leg around his and plant my foot on the ground, effectively collapsing his gait. I grab his neck and arm as I pull my leg back, slamming him face-first into the ground with a splintering crack. His body slowly disintegrates into a swirling black mass, like a swarm of flies that crawl into the black floor. My stomach is upset and I slump against the wall, directly across from a doorway.Wait. There are no doors in this maze. I haul myself to my feet, wavering, and nearly puke with the excitement of this find. I take one step forward, then two, then I brace myself against the opposite wall with one hand and stop to take a deep breath and calm my stomach. I tentatively slide my fingers around the brass knob. It's cold, shiny and perfectly smooth. It's probably never been touched by my hand. I crack it open, and before I have time to regret my decision, I close my eyes and swing the door wide open.I sit up with a start, my fingers still clenched in midair. The hum of medical equipment fills the silence my ears had been accustomed to in the maze. The walls are still white, but there's something different. My body goes cold as I move my legs, realizing that it feels so different than what I had been doing in there. A doctor stands to my side, frowning."The training was supposed to go on for six weeks more," he remarked. Was he angry, disappointed, or was that just an observation? The feeling of being cheated fills my mind."May I refresh your mind? It's possible that the months in there have erased some of your memories. You are in a military training facility. Here we give you the most difficult of all tasks so that you may be ready for anything in the battlefield. You must know how to kill, and you must see the look in your own eyes as you do so. What have you learned?"None of this sounds familiar. This doesn't sound like something I would voluntarily ask for, and I feel no sense of duty or accomplishment at his words. It all just seems pointless. I stand up and waver for a moment as I regain my balance. Suddenly a new sensation fills my mind and I can't seem to push it back to my subconscious. The feel of solid ground beneath my feet. I'm no longer lost.I grab the doctor by the collar with only a tingling sense of regret in my mind."Let me show you."
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~ ENIM SAPIENTIA ~ ~~~ Down an unknown road To embrace my fate Though that road may wander It will lead me to you ( - From "Go the Distance" by David Zippel ) ~ * ~ The path ambled along through the rolling hills, stretching away farther than the eye could see. We made our progress slowly, she and I; there was nothing in the world to hurry us and everything to encourage delay."Beautiful weather," I observed."It's a beautiful view."I smiled at the silken screen of hair that cascaded down the back of her head. "It certainly is."She let out a happy sigh. "Sometimes--sometimes I just wish I could walk forever.""Free of worry, free of care. Under the golden sunlight by day and the starlight by night.""And when it rains I would dance in it. I would laugh at the thunder. And when the sun came back its grin would dry me.""It sounds wonderful.""It does. Just to walk. . . .""And who would be walking with you?"She tensed. I looked away and quickly introduced a different topic. "It's amazing the way the hills are all so alike and yet somehow different. Sort of like people.""People aren't all alike.""Oh, but they are. At the bottom of every heart there are the same thoughts, the same dreams. Every heart has the--the same love. Some people just forget that. Some never find it. Some ignore it.""Jacob--" But she broke off."Rachel, I care about you. You know that, don't you?"She hesitated. Then she said, "Some have to wait for love.""Wait to find it?""Yes, some. But others who've already found it have to wait for the right time."She bit her lip. We walked on.All too soon there came a fork in the path. A side road branched off the main. We paused and turned to face one another. "Which way are you going?" I asked. I knew the answer, but I dreaded it. Somehow I hoped feigning ignorance would buy me a few more moments.She did not respond. She couldn't say it. She only murmured in a tone thick and strained, "Goodbye, Jacob.""Rachel, please . . ." But I didn't know what I was asking. I examined my shoelaces with a shrug of my shoulders. "'Bye, I guess."She turned away, hugging her shoulders. Her gracile figure sidled away along her path as I began along mine. But before she escaped earshot I turned with sudden fervor and called out to her."Remember what I told you! I care about you. That won't change. Even when paths branch apart, they come back together. They intersect again."She looked at me. Her eyes were moist and her cheeks glistened in the sunlight. Yet for all that she beamed at me. "I know it." ~ * ~ The next evening I was traveling my lonely path when another came up alongside it, running parallel. Somehow I sensed, before I even looked across the verge, that Rachel was there.She looked happy. Was there an almost haunted quality to her eye, or did I imagine it? I couldn't be sure. I only caught the corner of its deep beauty before she turned her head in the other direction without even glancing at me. I turned, too.Neither of us spoke. It would have been too painful. So close and yet so very far.But beneath the ache in my chest there was something else. Buried far beneath my skin, constrained by the twisting of my heart, it was there: joy. Just a faint glimmer of delicious joy. And somehow through the pain that little joy made me feel as light as air.Did she feel it?Ahead the paths diverged. As soon as I caught sight of it I halted. After a few paces, she did the same. My heart pounded as I stood there, gazing at the back of her head, hoping.She turned. She smiled. My heart soared.I stepped to her side, keeping on my path but not taking my eyes off her for a moment. I ravenously devoured each passing second spent staring at her. She flushed under my gaze; but the rosy tint to her medium-dark cheeks only made her the more beautiful."I miss you."She met my gaze with eyes that glowed brighter than the first stars appearing overhead. "I miss you, too."In tacit concordance we turned and walked on until our paths separated once more.And I kept walking. ~ * ~ That's the hard part. To keep walking. To go on and never falter. To know the only way back is forth.The world passes by me with each step. But I keep going because it's empty. I fill it with what good I can when I can; but there's nothing left in it, not for me.I wonder where she is and I wonder where my path is taking me. I wonder about many things. My mind brims with the swelling ranks of unanswered questions.But what can I do but go onward? With patience and perseverence I have to fight my way forward. Along the way I strive to make myself into a man worthy of her. She is like a distant star guiding me along. It is day and I cannot see her, but I know she is there, and I follow her.Someday our paths will reconnect. Until then I'll continue wandering; but my heart will never stray. For my Rachel I'll go that extra mile. Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith
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The warm golden fingers of the crepuscule were withdrawing. The gilt was melting off the trees' leaves, leaving the auburns and ochers of autumn to their own polychrome. A chill wind whistled through the branches, with a nuance of humidity that foreboded rain. Below, gloom was gathering among the tree trunks. Leaves crunched beneath the feet of two peripatetics as they sought their way through the forest. It was a relaxing stroll gone awry.One was a short boy with unkempt yellow hair. His ears were small and his mouth antithetical in size. Dressed too sparingly for the collecting cool he shivered, his arms folded.His companion was nearly twice his height, with unusually short legs and long torso. Beneath an orange and black coat he was contentedly toasty.Asked the former, "Haven't we passed that same stump seven times?""What makes you say that?""The moss growing on it looks like a three-headed space alien with tentacles."The other scratched his chin. "You know, I do remember that. I think you're right." He frowned. "But that's the first time today." He rolled his eyes and walked on."Hey, I wasn't leading when we got lost, remember? You wanted to lead, and I was benevolent enough to let you.""Benevolent!" the lanky scoffed. "You've lived here your whole life! You must have been in these woods hundreds of times! Don't you know where we are?""You've been here as many times as I have, fuzz-brain.""Always with you leading. You never let me before. How should I know my way?""What happened to that instinct you always brag about? You should be able to find your way out ""I'd be able to smell my way out of here if someone hadn't avoided his bath last night.""Then why'd you help me hide?""I didn't think our lives would depend on my nose!""If that ever happens we'll be doomed. You couldn't smell your way out of a paper bag.""I'd like to see you try it!""I'll find my way and without my nose.""Then why don't you?""It would be easier if you would keep quiet," the yellow-haired boy retorted. "And if my foot wasn't throbbing with every step!""I told you not to cross that log. It was too high.""You could have told me a little louder.""Is that rain?" The taller companion raised his face to the sky. A large, fat drop landed on his nose with a plop. He squirmed with distaste. "Great, now we'll be lost and wet.""Didn't I tell you the forecast said it would rain today?""Just because they're lucky every now and then when their psychics are right doesn't mean there's any reason to believe them.""I'm surprised you couldn't sense the rain with your 'instinct.'"As the rain fell harder their dissentient discussion rapidly developed into an altercation, an event not at all out of the ordinary."Look, pal, if you don't keep quiet I'm gonna leave you out here in the cold alone!""If you do you'll only die of starvation while I find my way home. Lemme go!"With a fist to his captor's stomach the yellow-haired boy freed himself. He received a kick to each shin in retaliation. Best of friends and best of foes, they broke into fisticuffs in earnest."Why don't you take a long walk on a skyscraper?" snapped the taller."Dr. Frankenstein called today, he wants his monster's brain back!""Your lips are moving but I only hear a buzzing sound coming out!""That must be your brain sizzling!""Slob!""Noodle-head!"A new voice broke into the racket. "Calvin! Calvin!"The contenders broke apart. Quoth the shorter, "Mom?""Calvin? Calvin, where are you?""Over here, Mom! Over here!"Crashing through the brush she appeared beside them. She held a flashlight in one hand that illuminated her face. It was a contorted mixture of choler and relief."Where--have--you--been?""We got lost, Mom! It's Hobbes's fault! He was leading the way, but he had no clue where he was going.""Don't tell lies!""But it's the truth! Hobbes has no sense of direction!""He couldn't have got you lost and you know that. He's just a--Oh!" Without warning she fell to her knees and wrapped her son in her arms. "I'm just glad you're all right! Let's get you home and into a warm bath."An hour later, snug and cozy in his bedroom, Calvin gazed from his window. The moonlight glazed the treetops with silver, setting each raindrop scintillating like the stars above. From here the woods, so frightening and frustrating not long before, became picturesque, even halcyon."You know, Hobbes," he sighed, "getting lost wasn't so bad, after all. Not when you look back on it.""It could have been worse. We might never have found our way home. It was still a bit scary, though.""Not as much as it would have been alone. Together, it wasn't so bad. Finding your way is a lot easier when you have a friend to help you find it.""It's even easier on a full stomach," the tiger countered. "Let's go back tomorrow--but after dinner, okay?" Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith
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On The Planet's Roof LOIS SCURRIED DOWN FROM THE ROOF. Some heads turned. Everyone seemed to notice her excitement, save for Clark, who was too busy working on his economics article to take note. She sat down in her desk directly across from him and typed on her computer with a satisfied smile. The rapid sound of keys filled the otherwise silent room for a full minute...........Clark finally looked up. "Lois, do you want me to proofread your work?".........."What? No," said Lois. Of course not. This was too good for anyone to see until she was done...........Clark leaned over the desk space between them. Lois stopped smiling and glared at him. "I've never seen you so enthusiastic to work. Wasn't your normal typing rate forty words per minute last I checked?"..........Lois let her hands rest. "Clark, you'll find out later. Let's just say I scored gold on something.".........."On the rooftop?"..........Lois eyed him. Clark was the most mild-mannered reporter she knew, and yet there was no one else on Earth more frustrating. Although she could tell that the curiosities of other reporters had been piqued the moment she entered the office, only Clark seemed to have the guts to press any questions...........She held her tongue for a beat, or rather, her lower lip, which she tucked under her upper teeth as she eyed Clark. "Yes, on the roof." No point in denying that much..........."You must have seen something pretty incredible," said Clark..........."Yep. Sure did," said Lois. She returned to her typing, yet she maintained eye contact with Clark in some sort of staring contest..........."Whatever it was, given your spelling problems, which are already terrible, you're probably going to misspell half your words at this rate," said Clark...........Lois briefly broke the staring context to look down at her screen. Sure enough, half the words were underlined in red squiggles. Bullocks. "I have spell-check on my side," she said..........."You might still want some peer revision," said Clark..........."Nope. I have Chief to do that for me," said Lois, almost bursting at this point as she switched from the defense to her normal prideful state. Clark only responded with the facial equivalent of a shrug...........From the other end of the office, editor-in chief Perry White rang out "Don't call me 'Chief!'"..........Lois and Clark looked around and froze for a moment. As animation returned to their bodies, they turned back to each other and for a moment, neither saying nor expressing anything. Then, in unison, they laughed...........When Clark regained his composure, he sighed and returned to his work. "I admire you ability to multitask, by the way."..........Lois smiled to herself as she continued to write her article at top speeds. For whatever reason - she didn't understand why - it wasn't a smirk, but a real smile, the same she had felt come to her eyes when she was on the rooftop. "Thanks," she said...........When she glanced up, Clark was back at his work, adjusting his glasses and reading over his economics report. When he noticed her looking at him, he smiled, or at least tried. Suddenly she was struck at how sad he looked. "It's just something I wish I could do better."..........Clark returned to focus, but Lois was almost certain she saw him give something of himself away. She knew it was none of her business, but she was a reporter. She took note on everything. Clark was more complex than people gave him credit for. Most people were, as a general principle. Lois stopped typing as new curiosities popped into her mind. Her article could wait...........She averted her eyes away from Clark now and opened up a new document, the one where she kept a list of all her unanswered questions. She typed a new bullet point: "What makes Clark sad?" She saved and exited. The document that was mostly red squiggles returned to the front of the screen...........The sound of clicking keys that filled the silence now belonged to Clark..........."Hey, Clark, do you have any friends?" asked Lois...........Clark stopped typing. "I have my mother, and when I was in high school I had a friend named Pete Ross.".........."No, I mean friends right now.".........."Well I have you, Lois." He said it with a straight face..........."You have got to be kidding me!" said Lois. "I'm terrible to you. I'm a brat. I treat you like nothing.".........."You're a greater hero for me than you give yourself credit for," said Clark. "You're all those things, but you put up with me all the same. Whenever you have a rant, you come to me first. And let's not forget, we make an awesome team. Remember when we investigated to see if Lex Luthor was twisting the arm of Senator Jennings?".........."Clark, the only reason I took you with me was because Chie - " she caught herself and cast a glance to Perry White's office, "Because Perry think we're perfect. That, and you tripped and ruined everything for me. Some team, huh?".........."Well, to my understanding you were pushing the boundaries of honest reporting anyway," said Clark. "And you admitted as much."..........Lois lifted a paperwieght and feigned a toss at Clark. He flinched. "Yeah, well I still would have had the ultimate story.".........."Even better than the one you have right now?" asked Clark...........It was now Lois's turn to flinch. "You changed the subject on me.".........."I did?".........."Yes, Clark, you did, and it was totally a reporterly thing to do," said Lois..........."Sorry. I should get back to my own article," said Clark..........."Wait, you can get that thing done in two minutes flat. How fast can you type anyway?".........."Over nine thousand, when you're not looking."..........Lois chuckled, cuaght off guard. She didn't expect Clark to be the type of person to make that kind of reference. "Okay, how about when I am looking?".........."Four hundred words per minute with ninety-eight percent accuracy," said Clark..........."See? So at that rate you could get your boring business article done in a few minutes, plus a few extra just to organize your thoughts, but you're a genius anyway so it shouldn't take too long. I can't imagine you'd be a busy person," said Lois...........Clark looked like he was struggling for a response. In the end, he said nothing, just returned to his report..........."No, don't you do that to me," said Lois. "Clark? Clark! C'mon, let's just talk. What do you say to visiting Mickey's Diner?" When he looked up at her she realized what she had said. "No, not as a date. Don't let that enter your mind. As a friend. As a coworker, because that's what coworkers do.".........."Lois, no need to be defensive. I asked you there the first day I met you, remember? I understand," said Clark...........That was right. Lois remembered sitting across from him and sharing with him her ambitions. He had sat there, eating his food, taking it all in, and every once and a while threw in his little bits of Midwest wisdom. Now that she thought about it, he had been awfully nice to her. Maybe it was time she returned the favor..........."Well, it's a little more than that. I met someone recently, someone with a heart of gold, someone kind, and he's sort of inspired me," said Lois. "I want to be more like him, and this is the sort of thing he would do.".........."'Whatever you do for the least of these you do unto me?'" quoted Clark..........."Uh, yeah, I see your reasoning there," said Lois. "He would totally like you, by the way.".........."I'm going to pretend I have no idea who you're talking about at this point," said Clark with a wry smile...........Lois closed her tight and scrunched up her face. "Stupid...I can't believe I gave myself away there." She let her face relax and took a deep breath. "Yes, I guess I might as well share that with you, anyway. We're friends, after all, like you said. And Clark?".........."Yes?".........."You can proofread my paper when we get there."..........Clark smiled with his eyes, but then his eyes went completely out of focus. "Sorry, Lois, something just came up. I have to go! Sorry!" He turned off his computer and jolted out of the office, leaving his roller chair spinning and Lois surprised. What was with that Clark Kent?..........Lois rested her cheek on one hand and sat there for a while, staring into the distance. Her thoughts occasionally shifted back to her article, but Clark returned to her mind again and again, so much so that it surprised her. He was an odd character, but maybe it was worth accepting Clark as her friend...........Then something came to her. Her journalistic instincts came back, and she opened up her bullet list again to add her latest question..........."What's with that Clark Kent?" Review 24601
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Our hearts are connected. Whatever distances may separate us, no matter how far we roam, we are never apart. I will fight for your honor; or maybe I already have it. I will give you my heart; but has it not always been yours? The stars are not so unreachable as they say: They are just worlds waiting to be touched. We'll reach them together. It's amusing how the strangest things will come back to you at the strangest times. Take, for instance, these words:"All imbalances must be destroyed."My mentor's last words to me before Lydia and I set out for the light realm, where we belonged. This was the memory that came to my mind as pain pervaded my body, radiating from the blade imbedded in my back. It was twisted in its place and ripped free, and all I could do was recall that statement as I groaned and gasped and crumpled.A high, feminine voice tinged with malice whispered, "Die for me, my sweet, as you always swore you would do."She stepped out from behind me, brandishing her keyblade. Silken hair of ebon cascaded around her shoulders, crowning her graceful figure. She was my shadow, but she looked nothing like me. She resembled more closley the girl standing nearby, looking on in horror. Her own shadow--my own semblance--stepped into the light. A smile played across his features."Foolish Mike," he chided. "You should have been watching behind you."Lydia regained her wits. Her face contorted in fury. "I'll destroy you both for this!"Idalyx rolled her eyes. "Do you really want to fight me again? I certainly don't want to fight you. We're too wearyingly equal. It gets tedious."Lydia took a ferocious step forward, hissing, "Then I'll make it more interesting for you."But Kexim stepped between them. He lifted his dark echo of my keyblade into Lydia's face. "Want to see how equal we are?" he menaced.Lydia raised her blade to Kexim's. "Gladly."He hunched his shoulders and said grinningly, "This is a match I've been waiting for.""No!"The cry was mine. Before either could strike, I gathered every last ounce of energy in my body and hurled myself at Kexim. At my command a portal appeared to the dark realm and, our limbs interlocked, he and I fell through it.The light realm vanished and we plummeted into darkness. I knew Lydia could handle Idalyx. Even as I felt my heart fading, my strength ebbing away into my Nobody, I knew Lydia's tenacity was insuperable. I just hoped that I was right. . . .I turned to her Nobody, falling beside me--and not a moment too soon. I raised my keyblade and caught the blow from his just as it was about to land."You think I'll be trapped here?" he snarled. "You've only delayed me. And when I get back, I'll steal her heart, just like Idalyx is already getting yours. And what are you going to do about that?"I did the only thing I could do. I closed my eyes. . . . ~ * ~ It was to my shock that my eyelids opened again and light poured into my retinae. When I sat up, the pain was gone. The wound in my body had healed, somehow. My mind brimmed with questions. Where was I? Where was Kexim? How was it I was not dead? When my eyes adjusted, I looked around myself in bewilderment; a survey that answered this last query and raised two more.Idalyx lay on the floor nearby, fading. Her life force was draining into me. This was Lydia's doing--but how? And where was Lydia?I peered into the darkness. And then I saw her. In an instant I got up and ran to her side. She was writhing about and moaning, clutching at her sides. I shook her gently and tried to help her up. She continued to cringe and quiver in my arms."Lydia! Lydia, what's wrong? What's happened?"She choked, "K-kexim!"Immediately I understood. All imbalances must be destroyed . . . suddenly the words had a much graver meaning.But balance wasn't my concern. "Lydia! Fight him! Don't give in.""I--I can't!" she gasped. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks. She looked up at me. "Mike, I--" But a screech split her words as another spasm shook her body.I rocked her in my arms, trying to think. Kexim would kill her if I didn't do something about it. But what could I do? How could I stop him? How could I save her?Only the same way she had saved me. And there was only one was I could do that, I realized.Swallowing hard, I put her down and rose to my feet. I didn't bother to ask myself the difficult questions: Would it work? Could I do it? Was I brave enough? For Lydia's sake, I had to be. It was the least I could do; my heart had always belonged to her, anyway.I stepped over to where my keyblade lay and picked it up. For a moment, only a moment, I almost didn't want to do it. But I remembered the words: all imbalances . . . And when I looked down at Lydia . . .There was no choice to be made. I inverted the blade and plunged it into my chest.But it was a different kind of pain. It didn't feel like dying, this time. This time it felt like a heartache; a bittersweet feeling of mingled pain and relief, fear and comfort, joy and sorrow. I felt myself falling; only I didn't feel the floor beneath me. I just kept falling. And I could have sworn that, before the world went black, I saw my heart floating away from my body, drifting off to attach itself to the nearest source of life. . . . ~ * ~ This time I expected to open my eyes, and I did. An endless void of darkness stretched all round me--except straight ahead. There I saw light, untempered and pure, in its most potent state: the heart.But the heart before me was throbbing in great agitation. The light was obtunded. Purple veins were creeping their way through it like a spider making a web, diverging from the blade plunged into its center."Get away from her heart." The order was calm and quiet, though it was like a thunderclap in the silence of the void.Kexim started in surprise. When he turned around, he instinctively drew his keyblade from the heart to direct it at me. "H-how did y-you get here?" He quickly steadied himself with a breath and smirked to cover his discomfiture. "You've come to stop me, have you? Come on. We've been through all this before.""That's true. We're an even match. It's always been a battle, between the two of us, that can have no victor." Now I smiled. "But this time, I won't let you win.""Oh, you won't let me. Well, that changes everything," he fleered. "Am I to understand you were holding back before?""Lydia can only have one shadow, Kexim. And she deserves a better one than you.""And where do you expect to find one of those?""I'll just have to be that shadow myself."Kexim scoffed. "Are you really as foolish as that? You exist. You can't be a shadow. You have your own heart.""I know. That's why I gave it up."Kexim's eyes widened. "Did you really? Well! . . . then you're even more foolish than I thought.""You would never understand, Kexim," I replied. "How could you? You've never had a heart. You've never felt love."The wide eyes narrowed to slits. "That's not true!" he hissed. "It only shows how little you understand!"His weapon arm was shaking. I could have sworn I saw something glinting at the corners of his eyes. Tears? Was that possible? Perhaps it was. . . ."Idalyx," I murmured."She destroyed her!" Kexim bellowed. "Your Lydia--destroyed my Idalyx! And I--I loved her!" His grip tightened on his keyblade. His knuckles became white. "She'll die for what she did to her!"I took a step forward, reaching a hand toward him. "Kexim," I pleaded, "Listen to me. You thought you loved Idalyx--but you couldn't have. Don't you see that? You can't feel anything. You're just deceiving yourself. All you ever felt was a shadow . . . a shadow of how Lydia felt for me; how I felt for her. You don't know what real love is. But I still remember it.""You're lying!"I moved closer. "I can still taste it, Kexim. I can still remember--I can remember what it was like. . . . Please, don't destroy that. If you ever thought you cared for Idalyx--think of how I care for Lydia." I took another step. "Please. Stop this."Kexim lowered his blade, brow knitted in confusion, a deep frown on his lips. He took a hesitant step--then another. He came nearer and nearer. He was only a few feet from me when he halted. Precipitately he threw his head back and cachinnated. Like a man gone insane he laughed himself hoarse, doubling up, nearly falling over in his mirth. When at last he could straighten body and face, he cast me a derisive grin.When he spoke, his voice was thin and strained from the laughter. "You fool! You idiotic fool! You want me to sympathize with you? You expect me to relent? Why should I? Out of the kindness of my heart?" He spat out the last word with particular vehemence and scowled, as if it left a bitter taste in his mouth. "Or had you forgotten? I don't have one. But how could you forget? You don't have one either!" He raised his keyblade. "So come on, then. If you're so anxious to fight, let's have it out right here, a fight to the finish! I never existed, and now you don't exist, either. I've always wondered if nothings actually die, or if they only sort of vanish." Another laugh shook him. "Let's find out!"He lunged at me, riving the air with his keyblade. The weapon I lifted to defend myself was not my own; it was the mirror image of Lydia's. It was the keyblade that had belonged to Idalyx. Now I was truly a shadow.As our sabers met, Kexim stared. I saw something stir behind those eyes; but it was distant and almost unreachable. It flickered, then died, and a fire sprang up in its place.Kexim raised his keyblade and brought it down toward my head. I raised my own to parry and swung it round at his head. He blocked and swept it around his head for a diagonal slash. I deflected the blow and riposted. He diverted it to the side and thrust his blade at my head. My nose quivered in the rush of air that accompanied my narrow counter.I kneed Kexim in the ribs and he staggered. I raised my blade over my head. Before I could strike, he lunged. I had to twist my body to catch the attack in time. He pulled back and swung again, and again, and again. He had me stumbling backward, barely able to maintain defensive maneuvers, much less offensive.Then I tripped and fell on my back. His blade plunged toward me. I raised my own in time to knock it aside. I kicked out at his knee and he reeled.Back on my feet, I cast a barrage of icicles at him. He dodged to the side and hurled a fireball. I deflected and summoned a bolt of lightning, which struck his uplifted keyblade. It absorbed the surge for him to redirect it at me. I dodged to the side. Then I hurtled toward him.The conflict continued. We matched one another blow for blow, parry for parry. We both knew what the other was about to do before the other did it. At one particularly heated point I barely raised my keyblade in time to block a wild swing, deflect it with its own momentum, and make a counterattack. He flicked the thrust off to the side and made a riposte. I brought my blade across my body to push his off to the side, where our blades locked in a tense struggle as we lowered into each other's faces. Then we fell apart, chests heaving."Is that--all--you've got?" Kexim taunted. "You're--slipping! Without--your heart--you are nothing!"I didn't respond. I knew this was getting us nowhere. He was right; my advantage in the past had always been my light. Now I was only a shadow. Only . . . a shadow. . . ."Then maybe," I cried, half to myself, "maybe I need to borrow someone else's!"I dropped my blade and turned. And there it was; the light I needed, though it was rapidly darkening. I ran headlong toward it. I heard Kexim following behind me.I arrived first and threw myself into Lydia's heart. For a moment I hung there, as if stuck halfway through a gelatinous wall. Then I sank into it; it absorbed me. It began to glow brighter. I heard nearby a deep scream and, more distant, an alleviated gasp. I felt a gentle warmth where the empty cold had been in my chest. I smiled as everything became lighter. . . . ~ * ~ Lydia was climbing to her feet. I offered her my hand and helped her up. She looked dully up at me, dazed. With a start everything rushed back to her."Mike! What happened? Where's Kexim? Why did he stop?"I staunched the questions with the flat of my hand. "You first. How did you defeat Idalyx?"She looked at me in puzzlement. Presently her face cleared. "Oh--oh, yes. Well--I knew I couldn't win. We were too evenly matched. Everything she did, I knew she was going to do; and everything I did, she knew I was going to do. She thought like me--so instead of thinking like myself, I thought like you.""In one of my more clever moments, maybe.""But what did you do? What happened to Kexim?"My shoulders rose and fell. "I only did what you did for me.""So--you--you--""No, actually. You did. Kemix is gone.""But how? I felt him--it was like my heart was being stabbed from the inside. And then it stopped. What did you do?""I went to him and stopped him. But it was actually your heart that did it."She put a hand over her chest. "You went--to my heart?"I nodded. "In the end your light was too powerful for him. He underestimated you.""But how did you get--inside?""I lost my shadow. You needed a new one. So I became it.""But how did you do it?" she pressed."I gave up my heart."She put a hand over her rounded mouth. In her shock she did not speak; then, "You gave it up--for me?""I had to. It was always yours to keep." I turned away. In dull, insipid tones I whispered, "I loved you.""'Loved'?" she repeated. Sadness choked her voice. "You--you can't feel anything any more. You can't . . . can you?"I shook my head. "I can only remember. It seems like an old dream, or a distant memory. It doesn't feel real anymore. But all I can tell you is how deeply that heart cared for you, Lydia."I felt her hand brush my arm, then tighten, and pull me around. I looked down into her tear-stained face, with its shimmering eyes and glowing smile. How I yearned for that same feeling to be ignited . . . but I could feel nothing."You gave me your heart. . . ."Her hands pressed against my chest for balance. She stood on tiptoe, tilted her head back, and whispered, "The least I can do to thank you is to share mine."And she pressed her lips firmly against mine. I wrapped my arms around her and let her kiss me. And somehow, somewhere deep within my body, I felt a little glimmer--just a faint little glimmer--of light. . . . ~ * ~ Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith
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To Soar She walked into the abandoned factory. Her companion, a thirteen year old boy named Eli, grabbed her shoulder gently, his eyes directed towards the middle of the room.Two swing sets.“How did you find this?” She asked, then suspicious, continued, “’Why’ did you find this?”“I have a lot of time on my hands,” he replied easily.She could only sigh. So, instead of actually doing something important with his time, finding a new job for example, he was off looking inside broken down factories.“Look, I want to take a break. I found this place and was happy to show you.”She rolled her eyes and moved closer to the two swings. Immediately she wondered who would set up such a thing. Why would anyone want to make a swing set in a factory? A quick glance at Eli revealed he was just as puzzled by their appearance. Of course, she knew he wouldn’t question why. He’d simply accept it.They composed of two plastic seats, with two long chains, reaching up towards the metal scaffolding connecting from one end to the other across the room.“What’s so great about them?” Catherine asked.“I remember swinging when I was younger,” he explained walking towards the swing. He held on to one of the chains, giving it a sudden sharp pull. He smiled and sat down, lifting his feet from the ground and swung his body in a smooth motion. “It helps you relax, gives you perspective.”It was ridiculous. Who cared about swinging on a swing set, out in the middle of nowhere, when there were simply more important things to do? Glancing around the factory, she noted the windows aligned across the upper floor. Some only held minor cracks in them. Some were completely shattered. The floors were dusty, both dead and alive bugs littered the floor. She was blessed for wearing shoes as the room was covered in small pieces of glass.Dirty, gray, run down, abandoned. No smart person could enjoy this place.But of course Eli, who was having the time of his life swinging, in a nostalgic state. He soared a little higher…She stuffed her hands into the coat she wore to keep warm. Glancing upward, she caught sight of what was left of the roof, a huge glass plane that had long since collapsed, raining down most of its shards a few yards away from the swing. In that pile only a minor leap away from the suspended seats, were pipes, pieces of glass and steel frames of metal. It was an accident waiting to happen.“My dad would always take me to this park when I was younger, and there was always a swing. Sometimes, that would be the only thing I would play on all day. I miss swinging.”She looked away at his comment. His father was one of the soldiers now. He had left only a month before. Eli and his mother weren’t taking it very well.He would never show it of course, not in front of Catherine. She was annoyed by his barrier and grateful for it. If he didn’t express sorrow over his father, she wouldn’t think about her sister…And they didn’t have much money. Their bills were higher now, and the cost of even simple medicine…“Let’s get out of here. I don’t like it,” she exclaimed, letting her thoughts get to her. She wasn’t afraid, but still, it was a dead factory. And she had seen too much death lately. Why think about it?“Aw lighten up,” he replied. His body began to move faster, and he began to gain more altitude.“W-wait!” she shouted, exasperated. “Stop it Eli!”Immediately he grounded to a halt, the propulsion skidding him slightly as the swing moved erratically without its master.“What’s wrong?”“You’re facing the wrong way. If you fell off, you’d land in that…” Her eyes shifted towards the mountain of trash. The tallest piece of metal jutted out only a foot. If he were to fall on top of that …She didn’t finish the idea and shook her head.Walking around, facing the other way, he sat once more and began to swing. After a few moments, he stopped once more.“Aren’t you coming?”She hesitated, frowned and shook her head.“We should be leaving. We’re supposed to see if there is some work for us to do around town.”“One day won’t matter,” he answered, looking serious. “We’ve been looking for some time now, and there just aren’t many around. We need to relax a little anyway.”She nodded slowly, but was unsure. His statement was true. Ever since the war had taken place, spreading across the country like wild fire, people’s troubles and worry had increased. Taxes became almost impossible to pay, jobs gave less, food was becoming scarce and everyone constantly lived in fear of being attacked.Her stomach growled as she thought of the bread and soup her family had feasted on the night before. There seemed to be more and more dinners like that lately.How could two swings help any of that?“We’ll play for a little while,” she decided, for Eli’s sake if anything. Speaking slowly, she finished, “But then let’s leave.”“All right. Good deal.” He waited a few moments, just staring at her.She became indignant.“What?” It was a blunt statement.“You haven’t moved.” He gave her a look that seemed so innocent, yet … suspiciously crafty, “Aren’t you going to soar? You’d be good at it.”Her mouth twitched for a moment, and almost cracked a smile. She couldn’t be sure if the remark had been a charming or an annoying one.“I … don’t have a need to.”The boy continued to study her face.“Come on. Are you scared?” he teased.She didn’t reply.“You are?” he asked, his eyes showing surprise. “Hey, it’s safe. I promise.”“No, it isn’t that.”“Well?”She rolled her eyes once more. It wasn’t … important. And she didn’t feel the need to just explain it.“I’m afraid of heights,” she replied instead. It was a half truth after all.He leaped off the swing and walked up to her, his boots crackling as he broke the fragments of glass around him. With a grin, he spoke her secret allowed.“You’ve never swung on a swing set before have you?”***“Look, I promise, it’ll be easy.”“No way.”“I’ve already got you on the swing,” he answered obviously, then shook his head.“I said I would sit! I didn’t say swing.”He frowned, “Not swing. Fly.”The snow poured in from the weather outside. She was wearing a strong winter coat, but still, she shivered as the soft ice found its way through the broken window. Sitting wasn’t the best way to keep warm.“You’re crazy.”“Look, I’ll take it one step at a time with you.”Then he began to instruct her on what do, how to move her legs outward when falling forward and pull on the chain in a hard motion.It was a stupid lesson, since she wasn’t going to swing anyway-Catherine caught her breath, sharp and cold, as she was pushed forward. At the small peak of her soaring, she felt herself remain in the air for just the simplest of moments, before swinging backward. It was a surprise that shouldn’t have been one.Eli caught her as she yelped.She dug her shoes into the ground, determined to never leave it again, and turned at her friend with look of fury.“Fun huh?” His eyes held the look of a challenge. He dared for her to try it again.She could have hit him. But it was a little fun, and she couldn’t deny it.***“Sometimes, when I’m on this swing, I feel like …” he paused, thinking. “I don’t know.”“Hmm?” she mumbled with a mouth full of cheese sandwich.Catherine and Eli had been neighbors for as long as she could remember. When they were younger their parents would invite each other over for dinner and the two of them would play. Catherine had always been the mature one. And Eli … they were just really different. Why did she spend so much time with him? Well, they had known each other a long time.Always, whenever she was given a problem there were only two choices. She could solve it, or she couldn’t.Eli acted like solving it wasn’t the point. He was only half a year younger, but youngish all the same. He made many friends, goofed off, explored outside his neighborhood –finding old factories, and always seemed to drag her along wherever he went. She didn’t mind, but sometimes the places they found, weren’t interesting or safe. Why would he just walk inside these kinds of places so easily? What attracted him to them?But now, a rare moment for the boy, he was being serious.“I love the air and I’ve always wanted to fly.” His hands tightened around the swing as he looked upward at the chains. They were both just sitting today. It had been two weeks since they had found this place.“I think these swings are a good substitute. I like them a lot.”Catherine raised an eyebrow. She couldn’t help but chuckle.She didn’t like heights. But she was able to swing a little and it was … fun. Kind of. But it wasn’t that great.“I’m serious!” he exclaimed. “When I swing, and go really high, there is a moment where you just stay there … and time stops.” He was finding it difficult to explain, she could tell … “You aren’t moving. Nothing is holding you.”It’s a good feeling to let go sometimes.”When she glanced at him again, she could see his eyes closed.Suddenly, he began to swing again, rising higher and higher until without warning, he leaped off in mid swing.She flinched as he landed near the wall, sticking the landing.“Why did you do that?” she asked somewhat surprised. Catherine had seen swings before. It’s just her parents never really bothered taking her to parks when she was little. It was naïve to think jumping off wasn’t possible … still she was a little unnerved.He shrugged, his mouth slightly frowning in disappointment. “I would be able to go further if the wall wasn’t here.” He took a glance in the other direction where that dangerous pile lay. Catherine was right, it was stupid to try and leap that thing.But that yearning to soar, she secretly knew, hadn’t gone away from the boy.***“Why don’t you ever swing higher?”“I don’t like heights.”How many times am I going to respond to that question? In the factory, she had to sigh. He knew why. They were here yet again.But things had brightened for her. The war’s impact seemed to lessen over of the course of the year. The town’s people seemed to be healthier as well, even happy. Everyone was in an optimistic mood.Eli glanced over at her. “Hey, job hunting is over for the both of us. Money is coming back in, that means all delivering errands are done and we can focus on school.”Eli studied her as they swung. She was fifteen now, her hair rained down her back, sometimes a few bangs covered her eyes. Her posture was as always, almost perfect, like an adult ready to face the world. Her eyes, they still glinted in that same way he knew so … Lush green, like a summer tree.He shook his head.It was becoming more difficult lately. They were a little older now and certain aspects of their friendship, he found uncomfortable. She didn’t seem to show any concerns though. Not all the time, but at moments Eli felt that way.“I do feel like swinging today though,” She pushed herself a little higher than usual.She moved swiftly, with her head up.“Hey …” Eli rarely wanted to discuss these things, but since he had heard good news about it.He felt the air current she created as he swooshed by her, twice before continuing.“How’s your sister doing?” He paused, continuing only when Eli could see her face brighten, “I hear she’s feeling well.”Catherine met his eyes as they moved and smiled. They gleamed once more.“She got out of bed and actually sat down at our table this morning. It’s been weeks since she’s eaten with us like that. Her headache is almost gone too.”“Meds are kicking in huh?” They would have always worked, had her family had the money to buy them. Now, it was possible.She nodded, “It’s nice, man I’ll tell you, it is.”She couldn’t help being in a good mood Eli, noticed. Her sister, her five year old, was feeling well. She looked like a person who wanted to shout it out aloud. Scream the news with joy. Then, swinging in the air discussing her sister with a friend was probably just as good.Wrapping her fingers around the chains of her swing, she dared to soar a little higher…***Catherine entered the sliding door of the factory. It screeched open as metal scraped against metal. The rust on the door was becoming worse.How long has it been now? Six months? Why would you think to come here of all places? Eli wouldn’t surely have…But she somehow, deep in her gut, knew he was here.When Catherine hadn’t seen Eli at school and later had heard Eli had left his home, having been gone for hours, she had begun to worry about him. Of all places he would go to, this was the only one she could think of.After all this time, it still amazed her, the conditions of the factory seemed to become worse each passing season, yet it remained uninhabited and untouched by the people of the world. What was this place before they had found it?Shaking her head to dismiss the thought, Catherine paused in sudden surprise. Eli sat on one of the swings. His head was down. In his right hand, he held the letter.She closed her eyes for a moment, daring herself to take that first step towards him. He would do it for her, wouldn’t he?Eli must have heard her as the glass crackled beneath his feet. He didn’t move.She sat down beside him, comfortable in her own swing.It had been a long while since the two of them had sat here. Rushing off to who knows where, didn’t settle to well with her parents, especially at their current age. Catherine was almost seventeen now, Eli was sixteen.When she came home this afternoon, and received word from her father as to what had happened to Eli’s family … It was her duty to follow him. She had to know he would be okay.Catherine missed their time spent here. She wouldn’t admit to enjoying the swing sets too much, but those few moments where they could talk about the small things and forget the big ones, were precious to her.She sat in silence. Words couldn’t be enough for this … What could she possibly say?“He doesn’t talk to me,” Eli whispered.I know, She mentally replied. The girl couldn’t speak that yet.“I can’t hear him Catherine.”She didn’t know what it was like to lose a parent. If she had lost her sister … would the world stop spinning?Only difference was her sister was fine. She had made it through, when every single person had said she wouldn’t.Everyone had said Eli’s father would survive the war.Catherine didn’t want to be here suddenly. She truly had nothing to say, only aid with a listening ear.“You know, when I was younger, my father had always took me to the swing sets.” He had told her that before, years ago… “I could be free those days. He always had a way of making me look at things differently, appreciate what was around me. And I loved space and the sky.”He paused, and finally looked up. His eyes were red.“Maybe, if I swing long enough …” He slowly lifted his feet from the ground, staring at the long end of the factory. It was blocked halfway, by that pile of debris.What are you thinking ... She frowned in wonder.“Can I fly if I tried hard enough Catherine?” he turned to stare at her.She stuttered, and couldn’t come up with a sufficient answer.“Oh ...” She looked at him, trying to find some sign of the kid she had known for so long. “Eli. You have to stop.”“Maybe I could. I can make it over that obstacle.”“No,” she said in a matter of fact voice. “You can’t.”“I’ll try it.”Now she was afraid. She immediately stood up, not willing for him to continue. What he was saying … it was, suicidal. And in the deepest part of his mind, she somehow knew that’s what he wanted. She turned towards him, blocking the view he had held. She grasped the chains and met his face.“Eli. You won’t make it across that. It won’t solve anything.” He wasn’t responding well and even seemed to ignore her. Could he hear her? She spoke a bit louder, her voice echoing throughout the factory. “Eli! Listen to me.”He finally glanced up.She sighed and continued. Her voice was slightly shaky, but also firm.“If you try to jump it, you’ll die. You won’t fly Eli. You won’t soar. It won’t bring anyone back. You’ll be impaled, and your blood will spill across the floor. Your eyes will close, and you’ll never see anything again.”He stared at her with dead eyes. And he only replied with one question, a question that shakes faith.“Are you sure?”She hesitated. How could she be sure? She took a few steps away from him and watched along the walls of this factory. Outside, that was life. That was reality. Somehow these walls had over the years protected them from the outside. But now, it was going to serve another purpose.If they allowed it.“Yes,” she replied, the doubt in her voice cleansed. “I’m sure. You don’t want this.”He nodded. But it wasn’t one full of hope. It wasn’t a nod that showed he had made up his mind. It was a nod to satisfy her. Only for her sake.***Catherine gazed up towards the swings. The chains moved silently, aroused by the weak wind flowing through the factory. It had been one week since she spoke with Eli. He wasn’t any better.She held on to one of the chains. She could almost feel the imprint he had left behind as a boy. The metal felt almost warm to her.There was no doubt in her mind. Eli was going to soar. He was going to fly over that construction. If he missed that, it would kill him.You aren’t the only one living Eli. Have you considered what it would be like for us? For me? If you left us … how could you die with that?She reminded herself bitterly that if he died, he would no longer care anyway.Catherine sat down. She began to swing slowly. She gained a little height. Determination was her movement.There is that one second. I understand what he means when he talks about it. I know that moment when you swing and come to a stop in midair before the earth takes hold of you once more. Weightless. Thoughtless. When time ceases to exist and you have a moment that lasts indefinitely. To dwell on things and ask who you are. Her movement increased. Her sight was beyond the factory. She wouldn’t look at the fallen metal. It was something she had to conquer.To soar. It’s something we can’t fully do. And yet we dream about it. Create machines to aid us and give us the effects of it. We hunger to go beyond what we are capable of. And even though we can, we always seem to fall in the end. No matter what we do, it is impossible to fly forever.With one final push, she leapt off of the swing’s propulsion. Her body flew into the air, soaring higher then she could think was possible. She wanted to make it through this. She had faith in herself and closed her eyes. Her body fell closer to the cold collection of metal and glass…But, we have to fall. It’s the only way we can truly live. We can’t remain and dream of something that no longer exists or wish for something that won’t be granted to us. If we did, then we’d be lost.And then how would we find ourselves? How can we return?For everything that flies must land.I want to land now.And the young woman did.***Eli lifted her head gently from the stone floor. Her hair was messy. Her arms were etched with small pieces of glass. But it wasn’t anything serious; just a few bruises and a little blood. She lay only two feet from the fate that would have killed her.Her eyes opened. She could barely remember what had happened. And once she recognized where she was, life returned to her.“You …” his anger was apparent, but it wasn’t towards her fully. Half of him just seemed glad that she was alive. “You never do that again. You hear me!” he shouted and his teeth clenched together.“I’m sorry,” she whispered honestly, regaining her breath. But she produced a grin as she stared back at him. Her face softened so much.“You are an cool dude! You realize that right? Why … why – Never again ok?” he said, pleadingly and confused, a light glimmer under his eyes. “I … you really scared me. I just found you here and – ”He shook his head to clear the thought. “Are you alright Catherine?”“I’ll be fine,” she paused, as she slowly sat up. “Eli. Let’s get out of here. I think we’ve had enough practice in flying...”He moved back, watching her, sitting up, before turning. He stared at the swings for a long moment. They reminded him of his father. He missed him very much.And the swings were there. It’s just, his family wasn’t.He nodded to her, and then nodded again with more reassurance. He understood why she had done what she did. If he had tried to jump alone and if he had failed; he realized now what he would have lost.Eli wouldn’t want his family to through with that. No amount of flying was worth it.The two of them stood up, he still held her arm though she didn’t need it. Just in case she fell.Taking a few steps, feeling better, Catherine joked, “You know, there are other ways to fly Eli that don’t involve swinging.”“Yeah…” He paused, he produced a smile, “Maybe someday, we’ll fly on an airplane; if you can handle those heights.”She glanced at, him and could see that young face of his, that thirteen year old face. It was only a second, but still there. It made her want to laugh and smile, warmly. But she didn’t. She just grinned, like how they used to when they were kids.“I can. I’ll pilot it. Then I’ll teach you how to.”They opened the factory door and began to return home as the sun’s rays broke through the musty clouds, illuminating the blue, afternoon sky.____I hadn't thought to revive this, but I realized since all my other CoT stories are back on the new forum in some way, might as well. First off, this isn't new, and I wrote this more than a year and half ago (maybe two years ago). I don't consider it my best work, so if some of it came off as a bit cheesy, go easy on me. lol Anyway, hope you were able to get through it all, and enjoy it!I also had a lot of inspiration for this story, a little from the movie Inception, a little from the horrifying game of Limbo, and then a little from my own love and I mean LOVE of swings. :3
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Long Day It was raining, and he was wet, tired, and lost. He had tried to hitchhike a few miles back, but no one stopped. No one. After all, why would anyone in their right mind stop for a ragged-looking man on the side of the road in the middle of a storm? He was an axe-murderer for sure. For sure.He had made it back to civilization regardless. His feet hurt, and he was wet through, but he had made it. Houses rose up out of the downpour before him, lit by streetlamps that caught the rain in halos of flickering orange. Sheets of water ran off the sidewalk and leaked through his shoes as he went on. The patter of raindrops had been constant for the past four hours. Four hours? Maybe more. Regardless, it was a bad night to be wandering the streets.But what streets were these? He had no idea. There were no signs on the road, not a convenience store to be found, only dark rows of houses twisting away into the torrent. A suburb. He had to get directions from somewhere. There was nothing for it—he didn’t think he could go on much longer.The doors of the houses all looked pretty much alike. No porch-lights that he could see. A short sidewalk leading off each drive and up to the entrance. Most of the houses were two-story affairs. It was a two-story house that he found himself in front of now. He’d have to go up and try the bell. Just do it. There’s no shame. Well, that wasn’t true. Of course he was embarrassed. They probably wouldn’t answer anyways. Not in the middle of the night.He strode up the drive regardless, stood in front of the door. No doorbell, so finally he knocked. Four loud knocks on the wooden door. Nothing happened. The rain went on, running down his face and neck. Could his clothes be any more wet? Probably not. He tapped his foot, shifted his weight from side to side. Nothing. Nothing at all. No one home, or they were just sleeping too peacefully. He was wasting his time.He turned back toward the sidewalk, glancing at the upper story of the house. Why had he picked this house again? He couldn’t say. Maybe it was because it reminded him of another house. The house he had lived in as a kid, back in the days of no-worries. Back in the days when it didn’t rain. Those days were gone. He ground his teeth. This was definitely a low point for him. Very low.But he didn’t go back to the sidewalk. No, he turned around once more and went back to the door, raising his hand to knock one more time. He would do six knocks this time. Hard, loud knocks. Come on, folks. Up. At least acknowledge my existence. It would make no difference anyways. No one would answer. He knew what the outcome would be. He knocked anyways.And that was when the door clicked open, unlocked.He stood for a moment, staring dumbly into the dark beyond. The rain pounded down on his head. What...what now? Maybe no one was home? He shouldn’t be here. He was trespassing for sure. He ought to grab that door-handle and slam the thing shut and be off. Try some other door maybe, if he could get the nerve again.But then again, he could just step inside. Just for a bit. There was no car in the drive. No lights in the windows. He could dry off a little...get out of the rain, rest his eyes. Then he’d lock the door and continue on his way, right? Just for a bit...No, no, he shouldn’t. Shouldn’t! But it looked so dry inside, and he was soaked all the way to his bones...It smelled nice inside the house. He left the front-door slightly ajar, in case he needed to make a quick exit. He could hardly hear the rain now. It was blessedly quiet.He shrugged out of his sopping wet coat and his shoes, leaving them by the landing. There were no lights, no movement inside. Not a sound. The house was sparsely furnished, but nice. The blinds were all drawn downstairs. It was cold too, but that was just because his clothes were evaporating now. He shivered, hugging himself tight as he stepped into the kitchen. He blinked water from his eyes. There—a sink. He took off his woolen sweater and wrung it out as quietly as he could. Still no movement, no sound. He was definitely alone. Even so, the hair on his neck stood up. There was tension in the air.He should have stayed downstairs. Should’ve stayed right by the door, but he couldn’t resist. A stairwell led up to the second story off the landing. He’d just take a look. It wasn’t his house, and he knew he shouldn’t be so glib, but it was kind of exciting, you know? There was a hallway upstairs. A few bedrooms, empty. A bathroom...and one closed door at the very end. He put his ear against it and listened. Silence...or was it silence? A fan, maybe? Maybe he was just imagining. He was so tired. It had been a long day and a long night too.Then something shifted behind the door, and he almost jumped. Almost, but then he doubted again. It was nothing. Just air circulating. Sure. He put his hand on the doorknob, turned it, pushed. The door didn’t budge. He pushed a little harder. It creaked a little, but still resisted. Then he put his full weight against it, careful now, stay quiet. Careful!The door sprang open, and he stumbled forward, forward into the bedroom beyond. Dresser to the left, against the wall, closet to the right. A window on the far wall slanting dim bars of moonlight across the bed and the two prone figures lying there— --- Thunder cracked, and he sat up, suddenly very awake. His eyes were heavy from sleep, but his heart was pounding. He shook his head, disoriented. The room was still, the only sound was his breathing, breathing fast. Whew, what a start.“Hm,” his wife turned over beside him, rubbing her eyes, “What is it?”“Um,” he looked around the room, “Nothing. Just dreaming. Sorry.”He hated that kind of dream. Shocks you right out of bed, and then it’s gone. He sighed and settled back on one arm.Ribbons of water ran down the window-pane behind the blinds, glinting in the faint moonlight and the flicker of lightning. Everything was as it should be, except...except the bedroom door was ajar.That was okay though. It had been a long day. Must have...must have left it open. Yawn. Yeah. Go back to sleep.He laid his head back down and closed his eyes.------------Written for the Ambage Challenge #3 (Theme: Write A Dream) during one of the weekly Ambage Write-Offs.JRRT
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EternityTwo weeks after launch — or fourteen days, or three hundred thirty-six hours — and the Eternity was already in trouble.Never. No, negative, nada, et cetera — any word signifying utter disagreement would do. If only Evelyn Moore could adopt a tone as cold as the dead universe outside the Eternity’s forward viewport. Maybe Fate would bend to her.She furrowed her brow and decided upon a simple query: “What the devil are you saying?”The cockpit was small, cramped, and very sweaty. Outwardly, that didn’t faze her partner, Nielson Crane, whose face as illumined by the flashing lights of the control board was very calm and collected. His forehead was damp, though, and not only were no drinks in their spaceship served in cups that allowed spillage, the AC unit was turned on its lowest livable setting to conserve power. They floated against their seatbelts because they couldn’t afford to activate artificial gravity.“What I’m saying,” he intoned, “is that we still don’t have enough power to do the dimension-hop. Not on schedule.”Silence.“The generator was supposed to have stored enough power to do it by now,” Nielson explained, as if Evelyn needed the explanation.“So we’re stuck with the cargo in the entirely wrong universe.”“Yes” — a reply oddly plain considering their situation.“For how long?”She regretted the words the instant they slipped past her lips. They hung in the air like memories of a bad dream; Nielson was slow to dispel them with his steady tone.“Till we can gather enough power.” He paused uncharacteristically. “If we can.”That wasn’t steady enough, Evelyn wanted to say. But she didn’t: The last thing she needed was Nielson being strained beyond his breaking point.Instead, she stared pointedly at the blank space in the viewport, blank and black as if a blanket had been drawn over all the stars to tuck them in for the night. Except, she knew the stars were all dead. Wisps of hydrogen and helium still floated through the universe, but they were too far apart to be affected by gravity.Even gravity could be rendered obsolete — a sobering thought.* * *Sixty-one Earth days — one thousand four hundred sixty-four hours: That was how long the power of the Eternity was projected to last after its launch from the last living planet in the universe, Iris.About four Earth days — ninety-seven hours: That was how long it took for the Eternity to reach a safe distance from Iris’s star, for the dimension-hop would require both time and power, things not plenteous in the vicinity of a red giant.Almost five Earth days — one hundred nineteen hours: That was how long it took for Iris’s star to blow. Fifteen billion people turned off as if by the flick of a switch. Maybe some of them had gotten off in another rescue ship; Evelyn hadn’t stuck around to find out.She dreamed about it, though. She dreamed about the universe’s last visible star tearing itself to pieces before her gaze and imagined screams renting the void like knives. Thanks to the Eternity’s slow engine, she had plenty of idle time for nightmares. A week passed as the Eternity gathered power, during which Evelyn’s fitful naps were interrupted only by spontaneous awakenings beneath dampened sheets, sporadic bursts of reading, and tepid meals under the dimmed lights of the dining area (food and drinks were cold because the power needed for cooking couldn’t be spared).She had never expected to become tired of slush drinks, but she also had never expected to carry the weight of humanity upon her shoulders.Nielson was generally in the engine room. He and Evelyn didn’t meet much; their sleep schedules were incompatible. In space, internal chronometers were useless. No day, no night. Nothing but emptiness.Doesn’t nature abhor vacuums? The question was moot, but Evelyn asked it of herself anyway. It didn’t make her feel better.* * *Nine days.Nine days since all the spaceship’s extraneous features had been turned off so its generator could gather charge. Nine days of utter abandonment, of suspense, and of biding time.Sometime during those nine twenty-four-hour sequences, Evelyn had taken her first antidepressant. When the spaceship began to sputter and the lights began to flicker, she had to fight an urge to down their entire supply.Nielson was absent when she floated out of her room, just as he had been the previous nine days. Using the rungs helpfully mounted upon the corridor walls, she navigated to the engine cavity and poked her upper body through the opening.He turned from his position by an open panel in the far wall and broke the news bluntly: “Something’s wrong with the generator.”Evelyn only stared. Nielson was bound via thin fabric straps to the wall beside the paneling so he wouldn’t float awry; his hands were just removed from the wires within, and a screen beside the panel showed a flashing red alert: Power Generator operating at 60%. Minimum acceptable proficiency is 95%. Statistics followed. Floating there in the doorway, Evelyn found she had forgotten the mathematical work that went into her degree in Computer Engineering; the numbers looked like squiggles to her.“We knew something was wrong nine days ago,” Evelyn snapped. “So do you know what’s wrong with it?”She willed Nielson to say yes. Indeed, naturally, why wouldn’t I? — anything indicating dismissal of the foreboding that had crept upon Evelyn’s shoulders.But he didn’t say anything. He only shrugged.* * *Evelyn was sick of numbers.Nielson had crunched a lot of them to estimate the generator’s total output before its fuel ran out. The results were also numbers, albeit unpleasant, irksomely low ones. The numbers insisted, in short, that Evelyn and Nielson would not be able to complete their dimension-hop — but they would die: in the cold, out of power, their lungs recycling dead air.Numbers were now the enemy.This, Evelyn supposed, was why the mission directors had been loath to include any strong drugs in the Eternity — they hadn’t wanted its crew members to get any ideas. She had taken another antidepressant before her last beauty sleep, though, and was certain she’d seen Nielson chewing on one of his own while he prepared a meal.The fuel was expected to deplete in approximately thirty-six days and eight hours — T minus eight hundred seventy-two hours, or fifty-two thousand three hundred twenty minutes, or three million one hundred thirty-nine thousand two hundred seconds. Nielson needed all that time to determine how to send the cargo on the dimension-hop by itself.It wasn’t easy. While the cargo had been designed to disengage from the rest of the ship, and it was conveniently located near the engine room, the engine didn’t detach with the cargo, and that rendered their proximity unhelpful.Nielson still slaved away, though. Evelyn helped where she could, but her demons kept her from doing much. Several butterfly cocoons must have been in her stomach since the launch, because she now constantly felt a fluttering in her stomach like a billion tiny wings in a fittingly tiny space.* * *T-minus thirty-four days and eleven hours.“I just need to disconnect the cargo and bring it down to the engine room.”Evelyn’s gaze was probably blanker than she intended. She shrugged it off, though, by fooling with her food packet so she seemed to be paying attention to her victuals. “Yeah. I mean — I’ll help if you need it.”“I do need the assistance.”“Well then.”Silence. This was the extent of their interactions nowadays: terse words, clipped gestures, blank expressions. Rarely did they speak for more than minutes at a time. The darkened lights of the Eternity were an accurate gauge for their emotions. At least for Evelyn’s; Nielson’s stolid demeanor revealed none of his thoughts. Sometimes he seemed more distant than Evelyn felt.If the only way they could deal with emotion was by alienating it, they were asking for trouble.* * *Three hours was the longest Evelyn had worked without pause since... since when, she couldn’t exactly recall. Memory had been discarded of late; memory was useless, after all, if it was scrambled by depression.The cargo was a large, metallic cylinder, approximately two meters in diameter and three and one-half meters tall. A display on its chest showed no seal failures or other damage. Detaching it had taken a preternaturally long amount of time, especially considering unscrewing bolts was much harder in zero-G.The cargo’s inertia proved detrimental at first, but nevertheless Evelyn and Nielson maneuvered it to the doorway without serious trouble.They paused there. The doorway, as Nielson had verbally feared earlier during their labor, was too small.T-minus thirty-three days and twenty-one hours.* * *Lying in bed that rest period, Evelyn dreamed of Iris torn to colorful ribbons, turning and mixing and blossoming like the colors of a kaleidoscope. But this time, there was a twist.Maybe the antidepressant she had taken before retiring to her bed was the reason behind her emotional distance from the event.Whereas before she had felt the screams of the dying planet, she now watched the planet and star in death throes as if through a television screen. Fifteen billion was a statistic; black was another color; engine failure was within the Eternity’s realm of failure; numbers were just numbers. All was right.She woke up sans cold sweat, her heart beating at a leisurely pace. She still didn’t feel better.* * *Only idly did Evelyn check the cockpit’s clock after waking. It was counting, just as it should be; why did she need to read its display?Nielson didn’t question Evelyn’s robotic motions or intonated replies; nor did he question her sudden break in the middle of disassembling the cargo hold’s doorway to calm her spiraling head, or her too-common sips from a water canteen she held. Maybe he understood. Evelyn was too lost in her idyllic reverie to care.* * *“To the right — no, other right—”Unintentionally, Evelyn giggled. Nielson’s hesitation was evident in the abrupt shudder of the cargo as it floated through the deconstructed arch of the doorway.Evelyn was nearly crushed against the far wall by the metal canister, but she turned it at the last moment. It stopped completely this time. Nielson’s worried face pored around the edge of the metal canister. Evelyn couldn’t meet his eyes.He didn’t speak till blood rushed in Evelyn’s ears.“Be careful.”She was vaguely surprised by the amount of care in his voice but passed it off as a small aberration in his normal mannerisms. She was being careful, of course. That was fact.“I’m fine,” she insisted to assuage Nielson’s doubts, and promptly realized she had failed in that task.Still they floated. Still she waited. Nielson would speak when he decided to do so. He was deliberate in his movements; as an engineer and scientist, he couldn’t afford to be less. Evelyn decided Nielson had fallen on his favorite pastime: thinking.His next words, delivered seconds before the cargo began moving again, were cavalier: “Watch it, coming your way.”* * *T-minus twenty-five days and three hours.Moving the cargo into the engine room had been but the start.The engine room was attached to the rest of the ship via a mess of cables and fuel lines. Any ruptures could mean power leakage, which could easily result in the mission rendered completely impossible. The danger was tangible, able to be tasted in the Eternity’s musty, sweaty air.Nielson had reassigned Evelyn to the cockpit after T-minus thirty-two days, stating her condition as grounds for undue risk. She had asked if he thought she was going insane. No! Impossible, not a chance, you’re completely sane — any honest denial would have sufficed.Nielson had shaken his head and returned to work.Evelyn hadn’t seen him since, but whenever she neared the passage to the engine room between rest hours, meals, and “work”, she could hear faint noises that meant he was still working.In contrast to weeks before, the cockpit was dim, only several colored lights flickering on and off in contrast to the twenty-plus previously lit. The proximity counter on the starship’s dashboard displayed a number large enough for scientific notation: 5.98 × 109 kilometers and counting. The Eternity was alone, and by extension, Evelyn and Nielson were, too.A bad time for Evelyn to remember she hadn’t taken an antidepressant for the past forty-some hours.Combating jittery nerves, she bound herself to her chair and leaned the headrest back. She couldn’t watch space fly by if she couldn’t see it. That left nothing to do but wait till a warning klaxon sounded, and she had gotten good at waiting.She stole glances at the clock several times as she descended into lethargy. The timer read T-minus twenty-five days, two hours, twenty-eight minutes, fifty-five seconds before the last time she closed her eyes that hour.* * *Spinning kaleidoscopes of fire burned behind Evelyn’s eyelids when Nielson entered the cockpit. A rap on the doorway brought Evelyn from her stupor. Unclenching her clammy hands, she checked the clock: T-minus four days, ten hours.The pilot’s seat felt suddenly cold. Inhaling deeply, Evelyn pushed a dark lock of hair out of her right eye and turned to the impassive figure floating in the doorway. “Yeah, Nielson?”“I’m done.”Evelyn paused, blinked. “What?”“I said I’m done.” He took Evelyn’s surprised pause as a query for elaboration. “After we moved the cargo to the engine room, I shut down the engine temporarily, moved the power to the Eternity’s backup storage cells, then moved the generator and main power stores to the engine room and plugged them in again before relocating most of the energy. Hard work, but I think I did it right.”Nielson looked vaguely pleased. Evelyn could sense the anticlimax. “So... that’s that? We’re ready to, uh, launch the cargo?”“Yeah. I mean yes. That is, right before the generator reaches its maximum output. We could do it before, but then we wouldn’t be certain the cargo has enough power to drive it wherever in the next universe over.”What was Evelyn supposed to say? “Oh, how wonderful, what good fortune,” wouldn’t fit; neither would, “Wow, Nielson, you just saved the mission and you’re still acting gloomy,” or even, “You know, you aren’t helping my gut any — the butterflies still want out.”She shrugged. Nielson hesitated as if on the verge of speaking further, but then he seemed to realize Evelyn’s trouble and retreated from the cockpit with an amiable nod.Now Evelyn had the sweaty air of the cockpit to herself and nothing to do but wait and twiddle her thumbs: a potentially volatile combination, especially since it left so much room for thought — and what could she think about but the end?She had never been particularly religious; she nonetheless murmured a quick prayer to the darkness outside the forward viewport.* * *T-minus thirty-two minutes, or one thousand nine hundred twenty seconds, or eight-fifteenths of an hour.The end was a frightening concept. Evelyn couldn’t remember what had happened before her birth, only after. Memory had begun with life; would it conclude in the same fashion?After the cargo launched, Nielson had earlier explained to Evelyn, there would only be enough power to sustain the Eternity for a few minutes. Then, he had sounded strong. Now Nielson’s fingers gripped a control hard enough that his knuckles turned white. He had been reduced to Evelyn’s level.Evelyn hadn’t bothered taking an antidepressant today. Why should she? — soon, she wouldn’t be able to feel depressed.She paused. Would she still feel emotion? She’d never subscribed to a particular theology; death, and by extension the afterlife, was a mystery to her, hidden behind the same black veils that covered this universe’s stars.The minutes tolled like a church bell: ponderously, significantly. Now thirty; now twenty-nine, then twenty-eight, then twenty-seven, and Evelyn tore her eyes from the monitor before the waiting drove her crazy.“The engines have bare minimum power,” said Nielson at length. A faint vibrato affected his typical sonorous tone. “T-minus... twelve minutes, fifteen seconds.”A pause. The minutes tolled, tolled...“What if it doesn’t work?”Perhaps Evelyn attained death-induced nirvana at that moment: Her doubt about the success of the mission had not triggered the tiniest prick of fear. Maybe adrenaline had choked her bloodstream so she wouldn’t feel a thing; her body, after all, wasn’t clueless about the situation. Maybe her engineering training was kicking in thanks to exhilaration. Probability was a statistic. Nothing more, nothing less. That was the only way Evelyn could keep from freaking out.Nielson shook his head like he was ridding himself of a fly. “Don’t think that. We did all we could. Now we have to trust luck.”“If the luck doesn’t come through, then...?”“Then... we’ve failed.”Nielson bowed his head and choked back tears, and Evelyn suddenly remembered Nielson wasn’t as unaffected as he had seemed during the past month. To his credit, he neither sobbed nor lost his composure; his body just hadn’t been able to hold all the emotion brewing in his chest without some form of catharsis.T-minus six minutes, and Evelyn had already lost her ability to communicate effectively.“This is the end,” Nielson continued. “I — I’m sorry I’m breaking down like this, but I did what I could. It’s out of our control now. We just have to trust our work isn’t in vain. That was why we were sent out here to do this: Whether or not we die is irrelevant — as long as we aren’t expunged completely and our spirit lives on...”He inhaled. “Sorry,” he breathed.“No,” Evelyn responded. She reached to hold Nielson’s hand where it lay over its control switch; she barely noticed the cold pit that settled in her stomach as she ceased pouring energy into her façade of apathy. “Everyone, well, feels stuff, don’t they? You’re only human.”“Take out ‘only’ and you have my opinion.”Evelyn nodded in understanding and didn’t add that she had held numerous mental debates with herself about whether or not Nielson was a robot. “T-minus four minutes, forty-eight seconds,” she instead stated, flicking a few release switches to prime the engines and placing her hand on the release and ignition key. Her breaths were short; her lungs were trying to cram a lifetime’s worth of oxygen intake into four and a half minutes. “Engines primed. Ready for release and ignition. Your orders, Nielson.”“Hold.”Four minutes left and both Evelyn and Nielson wore masks of professionalism. Three minutes left and Evelyn was regularly checking her pulse to ensure her heart didn’t stop early. Two minutes left and the energy meter was crawling upward at a snail’s pace; no more charge.“Release.”Evelyn pressed the switch.The Eternity shuddered as the engine room and engines broke away, and Evelyn triggered a rearview screen on the forward viewport. The release triggered rotational propulsion that rotated the detached starship section away from the Eternity proper and aimed it into empty space. An automated trigger activated the engines. They gained momentum, and then the inter-dimensional technology, coupled with the engines in the Eternity’s construction, activated.A burst of acceleration. A flash. The engines were gone.“Ready?”Evelyn glanced to Nielson. She was still afraid, but a faint smile nevertheless graced her lips. She had done what she could; now fate was in control.“Ready.”Nielson flicked another switch and the lights were extinguished. The Eternity was dead in space, but orange and red still flickered in Evelyn’s gaze.* * *A flash.The engine room carried no navigational systems save for sensors that had been embedded across the entirety of the Eternity; they possessed automated proximity systems that would activate propulsion whenever an object came too near. No A.I. was aboard. No humans could control its movements, either, so the task fell to chance.Carried by the tremulous hands of dumb luck, the engine room-turned-detritus floated into a billion-kilometer-wide gyre of hydrogen, helium, and slightly heavier elements. Dumb luck brought it into the gravity well of the forming star and let it adrift. Dumb luck saw to it that, years after its arrival in the arm of a galaxy later to be known as the Milky Way, what remained of the Eternity entered a collision course with a planet in its final stages of formation.It struck the atmosphere and gleamed like a shooting star. Its heat shields lasted long enough to protect the cargo during the initial entry; then the ship fractured and broke, and the cargo container was shot forth.Only seconds after its expulsion from the burning wreckage of the Eternity’s engine room, it too exploded.Except, this time, the explosion was voluntary.The automated release system’s job done, it shut down. The sections of the metal cylinder spiraling through the air now broke apart, releasing frozen chunks of liquid that transformed first into rain, then into steam in the air of the planet someday to be termed Earth. The metal fragments were lowered to the ground by wind, no more than another sporadic shower of space debris.Amino acids now floated on the wind, mingling with chemical fumes rising from the hot earth below. The cargo was delivered, the seeds sown. Humanity was not dead, after all.
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The discovery of this ancient document has led certain renowned scientists to further sound the depths of its history. Countless experts have put their wits together in efforts to translate the text to find meaning. Conspiracy theorists insist that it's a cipher of some kind, and that hidden beneath the surface lay clues, a hidden map, maybe. But in trying to look up through the surface they forget they are above it to begin with. If they only looked down, they would see the truth.They entirely ignore the true context of the document. I can but hope that my humble efforts to preserve this meaning have succeeded.Love is a strange thing. It reduces the sanest of men to blundering fools. Somehow when that inexplicable feeling comes over us we lose hold of our senses. What else, indeed, but madness could induce a man to behead a weed, strangle it with twine, and give it to a woman as a show of affection? Where can we find the rationality in comparing a woman to the blinding light and sweating heat of the sun, or to the wild, mindless beasts that live among us?And where, I have asked but to receive no answer, is the sense in giving a woman a mass of land and comparing her to it? How in any way can this "sentiment" even be called by such a name?It all began when she started thinking about legends. It's dangerous enough when a woman starts to think at all, but to be thinking of legends! Legends are strange in their own right. If love make a man do delusive things, legend make him see delusive things. And to fall in love with a legend is to set a course for illimitable trouble. Yet that's what she did.They say the island exists somewhere in the seas to the west. They call it a Paradise. Those who go searching for it either find it and stay there, or die in the endeavor, which leaves me to wonder who brings the stories back, but she didn't care about that. She had already fallen in love, and there was no stopping her now.Love makes a woman take actions as strange as a man. And if you had heard her repeat the tales of this legendary island where there was peace and prosperity, where there was no death and no danger, where the seasons were easy and the soil fertile, where predator and prey lived in harmony; where the sun always shone but never too hot, the wind always blew but never too cold, the waves wept the shore but never too loud, the rain fell when necessary but never too hard; where the days were long and the nights even longer, and strife and sorrow were inexistent; if you had heard with your ears, as had I with mine, the wistful, passionate way she had spoken of these things; and if you too had been captivated by her engaging loveliness, by the ebon ribbons of velvety hair, by the violet sheen of her soft lips, by the scintillation in her eyes, as any man living well would have been; then you would not scorn me for what I did.And I promised her things. Mad things, absurd things. I promised I would find that island for her, and take her there to it, and build a city there, and that we would live out our lives in this Paradise. I promised I would name it all after her. I promised that I would love her until the end of my days.And she kissed me then. I kissed her very warmly in return, for the first and last time. But I have since found myself meditating upon a thought I prefer not to entertain, as difficult as ignoring its urgent exhortation be. I wonder if it was truly me she kissed then . . . or my promise. And then I scold myself for even allowing the doubt to enter my mind.And whether I intended to keep my vows or not I do not know. But I did. And so it was that before very much time had passed we commissioned our vessel and set sail.I am a man given to misgivings. And the longer we sailed and the longer we searched, the greater a new misgiving became. What if we did find the island? What if it did exist? A Paradise such as this would not last for ever. If we found it, others would as well. Others with swords and spears and arrows and slings. The powers of the world would snatch at this new territory until it had been torn to shreds in the skirmish.When I voiced my doubts to her, she answered simply, "Then we'll hide it." And when I asked How, she said, "We'll find a way." This was her answer to everything. How would we locate the island? "We would find a way." I think she laid too much stock in my abilities to achieve the impossible.An example of this came later, when we had been searching for years to no avail. She became ill, and I insisted we make port until she recovered, but she refused to allow it. She would hear of nothing but our continued, uninterrupted questing. I asked her how she proposed to convalesce on the sea. Her answer, "I'll find a way."And when she didn't, when her prevalent solution proved fallacious; and she lay on her deathbed, and I kneeled at her side; and I asked her how I would go on without her; can you guess what she said to me then?"You'll find a way."My love, rest peacefully. I swear, if this fabled island exists, I will find it, as I promised you. I will build there the city which I promised you. And I will hide it away from the cruel world that, should its callous hands seize the land, would so certainly defile it. I will find our Paradise. Though I failed to protect you, I will always protect our new home. On your memory I swear it, my sweet Atlantis. . . .The authorities on such matters say that this could be a historical find. They say that centuries of legend and mystery may soon be cleared up.But I say they are entirely missing the point. This was never meant to be a treasure map. It was never meant to clear up some mystery of a mystical land. It was merely meant to explore something even more mysterious and mystical as it existed within the author's heart. It was meant only to be what it is, for what else can it be? It is nothing more now than it ever was: a love letter. Sincerely, Nuile: Lunatic Wordsmith
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Life: Birth of a Hybrid The egg was ready to hatch. The baby raptor pecked at the inside of the shell, squeaking quietly. A shadow passed in front of his egg—he was only being born, and he already knew that it was his mother. A crack appeared in the shell, sunlight blinding him for a moment. His mother cooed gently, urging the hatchling to break free. He pushed once, twice, a third time, and his head broke through the eggshell. The baby paused to catch his breath. The world around him was fuzzy, and he squeaked in surprise as he felt his mother’s tongue licking albumen off of his tiny, frail body. He surrendered to the larger raptor, feeling loved. There was a shriek of alarm from nearby. A male raptor, presumably his mother’s mate, looked like he was going to rip the baby to shreds… and then his mother. His mother was not so easily swayed, though. She bared her teeth and claws, making her intentions clear: she would fight and die for this one hatchling. What the newborn didn’t know was that he was the only living member of his brood; his brothers and sisters had either died in the egg, or died shortly after being born. To his mother, he was one in a million—to the rest of the world, he was a freak of nature. His mother’s mate begrudgingly slinked away, leaving mother and son alone. She cleaned him up, and examined him from the tip of his snout, to the end of his tail. For the most part, he was a yellow that was almost gold, with black stripes. A single blue stripe ran horizontally along each side of his body, close to his spine. His eyes were a clear, intense blue, with catlike pupils. His underbelly was black—an oddity for both subspecies of Velociraptor on the island. He had a pair of well defined crests above his eyes, the same color as the stripes on his body. To top it off, it looked like he would develop a blue quill crest. This hatchling—this accident—was special, and precious to his mother. She examined his dead brothers and sisters, the unfertilized eggs, and she came up with a name for her beautiful baby boy: Ignika—Life. She cooed to her baby. She knew he would be looked down on, ridiculed, and possibly killed, just because he wasn’t supposed to exist. But whatever didn’t kill him would make him much stronger, and he would be an able warrior and hunter. He would outshine his peers. He combined the best of both raptor subspecies; he would survive to a ripe old age. But for now, mother and son slept, Ignika curled up in between his mother’s chest and arms. In order to grab Ignika, an attempted killer would have to wake her up… and she would rip their throat out. For her beautiful baby boy.
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Witness Her foot slipped and skid against the concrete as she shifted back against the wall, grinding up dirt and mud against her soles. She sat quietly next to the dumpster, placing her hands over her mouth to stop any instinctive sounds she’d let out. She breathed in through her nose, in and out, over and over again trying to keep calm as she rocked in place.Her eyes were closed shut, tightly, trying to collapse the vision that she had just seen.The rain poured down around her, the clothing she wore was soaked and her pants were dirt ridden. Rain fell on this gray night, the dark clouds illuminated by the city’s lights. Lampposts lit the street beyond her, but the alley covered her in shadow.Slowly dropping her hands to reside limp on the ground, the smell of the garbage beside her was finally recognized by her senses. But she ignored it. It didn’t mean anything to her. She just tried to breathe. She needed air, time, and silence, regardless of how stale and musky the oxygen seemed to be.After the longest minute of her life, she moved her eyes around the corner of the brick building, slowly sliding her sight of the street into view which was hindered by her current position in the alley.With her back pressed to the wall, to make herself as invisible as possible, she took in what was before her.The man was standing above another. The one on the ground was on his back, rain pouring down on his clothes and face, as though he was in tears. His chest was a mixture of blood and mud and water. He was as dead as stone, and his expression was hidden from the girl’s sight.And the well-dressed, fully-alive man, the one drowning his lungs in smoke from his cigarette, held the gun at arm’s length.Her eyes widened, and her breathing shook again. She gasped, but she was sure the rain and thunder covered over whatever small whimper had escaped her mouth. The girl’s hand had reflexively grasped her thigh and she started to squeeze, stopping only when she felt the pain that had reached its way through blue jeans. That pain reminded her that everything was real. The gunshot she had heard wasn’t thunder. The flash that emitted after the trigger was pulled wasn’t lighting.The man retrieved the cigarette from his mouth, pausing to gently exhale all the smoke from his lungs, before he flicked it on to the corpse. In his large trench coat, he turned and his eyes scanned toward the alley way's direction.She immediately pulled back and held her breath.Rain pelted the buildings’ walls and concrete paths, against the dumpster like drums, and she felt like a prisoner. Unable to muster the courage to move, the girl heard every splash, every foot fall as the man drew closer.It seemed like any moment he’d shoot her next. And she would swear she felt the bullet strike her, the trigger sound being clicked. She flinched.But he moved on. He was unaware of her. His silhouette was dark and she could make out nothing about his facial features. With smooth steps he left the street, leaving behind the girl.Unknowingly, he had left behind his witness too.And that witness, would be the first part of a series of clues that would lead to his downfall and arrest for first degree murder. Her life would be forever changed by the event, and though she brought a criminal to chains, to this day she would never choose to relive those moments again. No one could fully know what it meant to stay silent and alone, and leave her place to face reality. To keep watch on that cold body from a distance, stare at that hidden face for the longest time and come to a conclusion: she did have the option to walk away. She didn't really know anything about it, and she didn't have to get involved.The girl hesitated.She couldn’t remember what raced through her mind after that, if anything had. She only knew she was scared. Fear kept her numb.Still… there were other emotions that kept her feeling intensely.It took a little time, but she eventually slumped herself out onto the street to get a second look.____To be honest I'm surprised that the story was this short, but for the Ambage Challenge #2 (my word if it's not obvious, being "Witness") this was the idea I had, and I just didn't feel the need to add anything more. It's not much, but I really enjoyed this story and wanted it as a separate topic instead of just in the SS Collection Topic I have. Hopefully you enjoyed it and thanks for reading! =D
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Crk-crk-crk."Captain!"His stare is one of vengeance, of both fire and frost. The shipmate pauses, hesitates, breathes sharply and forgets to breathe again. The Captain does not recall his name...had he known it to begin with? The face looks familiar, but all these men are faceless. There is the Captain, the Sea, and Them."What's your name, son?" The Captain's voice is hollow. The night shrouds its source, and in the blackness the words are almost tangible--the shipmate's fingers tingle as he feels them dance across his palm."Jer'ya, sir."The Captain smiles. The gesture is somehow haunting beneath his hood, as is every movement of the man. The shipmate stifles a shiver.The air grows ever more frigid."Son, why are we at sea?""Uh...uhm." The words sounded like a test that he was doomed to fail. He would answer obliviously and the Captain would chuckle sarcastically, endowing him with that archaic wisdom he reeked of.The tone, though...the Captain sounded lost, genuinely lost. He honestly didn't know the answer....the shipmate sensed a vulnerability there. The Captain seemed naked, bare, childish. Innocent, even.A tear fell from the shipmate's eye."Because we're looking for something."The Captain laughed, that hollow sense of knowing again. The innocence was a faded dream. "Some greater drive, like love, or fulfillment, perhaps?"The shipmate nodded numbly."Don't be such a dreamer, Jer'ya. We're looking for a thing that killed my brother. There is no fulfillment at sea, boy." The Captain's lips were as dry as his words.The shipmate grimaced in the dark. He'd screwed up again."What'd you come here for?"The shipmate blinked twice. He'd forgotten..."Oh yeah. Another dead...morale's low, sir. The men are barely eating. It's a vicious cycle out here."Thunder cracked. The sound was near.The Captain seemed to move, but the shipmate couldn't tell where in the shadows. And then he wasn't there. The shipmate reeled around. The Captain was pacing vigorously back and forth, back and forth, muttering madly."Ittookanotheritkilledhe'sdeadIwillkillititwilldiemotheryou'llbeproudmotherdon'tworryI'llkillitfatherwillbeproudanddarlingI'llbewithyouandbrotherandohheavensthiswillnotdothisisnotrightthiswillnotdo--""S-sir?"The Captain twitched violently. His eyes were aflame, and he saw the Sea in them...the Sea in its ancient calm, the Sea in its wickedness, the Sea in its unflagging isolation, in its permanence. The Sea in its depth."Let me see the body.""Uhm, sir, we found no body."The Sea in its silence.The Captain said nothing...for a moment he seemed dead but walking. The shipmate waited an eternity for the rain to finally loose upon the world, to shatter this quiet.The Captain said nothing."Captain, the body is missing."Crk-crk-crk.The Captain twitched again, and almost soundlessly his blade was at the ready. The steel flashed as swiftly as a distant light. The Moon? Lightning? No thunder was heard...still this silence reigned supreme."C-Captain? What's wrong...what's...that noise?" Sweat poured in place of the imminent storm. Heat from within and frost upon his lips, he felt dying. The world converged upon the shipmate, but the Captain was at its center.The Captain sprinted lithely--youthfully, even--to the boat's edge, and peered over with an aggression he should've been far too old for. How old was the Captain anyways?Crk-crk-crk.The night's silence tangible in the shadows, shattered only by the moon's ghostly light.That light was...wrong.The roar was supreme. Chaos broke from its chains from within the shipmate, and he felt himself immersed in a pain so ultimate he forgot himself entirely. His skin simply ceased to feel, and the numbness was so deep he slipped into his own mind. He lost himself, and when he found himself he was gazing down at his own corpse.The creature burst forth from the Sea, from the Captain's eyes, in a writhing mass incomprehensible to the mortal. The Captain's shriek of unholy vengeance was silenced by the night, and by the bellow that deafened the world. The Captain wielded his blade madly in a display of the humane foolishness that leads man to both victory and horror, and cast himself into the Sea.Even as the world unfolds, the Rising Moon watches with all-seeing eyes.
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River, Oh River, Flow Gently For Me ₪҉₪ Aderia ₪҉₪ My life is not perfect. My life is not easy. My life is not good. But then again, since when has life been any of those things? If my life was perfect, if it was easy, if it was good, I would not be me. And, despite my flaws, I love being me. I love being myself, because it’s what I am best at. More than that, it is what I must do. I must love being me and I must be me because nobody can love my little sister the way I do. She is only four years old, and she needs love. She needs taken care of. I may only be ten years older than her, but I’m the one who takes care of her. Mother has been gone for almost two years now. Father is working, working, always working. I’ve come to accept that, though. We need the money, for the rent and food and to pay taxes, Father says. I’m not old enough to get a job yet, and even if I were, my little sister still needs me. My little Christina needs me. I doubt Christina even remembers Mother. Her parents, my grandparents, came over from Somalia when Mother was in her late teens. The town they moved in to, Drovensburg, had a large immigrant population, so they fit right in. But Mother never liked where we lived. There were packs of large, dangerous boys that roamed the streets from dusk ‘til dawn. And she was right to fear them, because they ended her one drunken night. “Nali?” Christina’s tiny voice rouses me from my trance. We are sitting on our old couch, watching our small television. “Nali, can we go outside? I don’t want to watch telly anymore.” I glance at the battered clock on the wall as I point the remote at the TV to switch it off. It’s lunch time, but there isn’t food to spare for lunch. We usually save it for a big dinner with Papa. “It’s too hot out, ‘Tina,” I tell her distractedly. Usually, the children’s pastor from the local church came around with food handouts in the summer. A lot of us in the low income neighborhood didn’t have enough food for three meals a day, and the church went to grocery stores and collected their extra foodstuffs and tried to make the world a better place by sharing. “Are you hungry? I can boil some rice for you,” I say, gazing at her thin frame. Too thin. If anyone needs the food, it’s her. Not me, not Papa. “Yes please,” Her adorable face with huge eyes lights up at the mention of lunch. “Thank you, Nali!” I unfold myself from the couch and pad into the kitchen with my bare feet. I hear Christina fiddling with the volume on the TV as I automatically start setting up the stove to make rice. And I catch myself singing softly, and out of habit. My mother never knew much English. But she did have one lullaby that she always sang to us. “Hush now, my baby Be still love, don't cry Sleep like you're rocked by the stream” The white, fuzzy noise of the TV from the other room clicks off. I expect Christina to come and join me in the kitchen soon, like she usually does. “Sleep and remember My lullaby And I’ll be with you when you dream” I turn away from the sink with a pot full of cold water and yelp as I almost slam into Christina. She’d been standing right behind me. “Christina!” I’m about to scold her gently, but I stop when I see her face is wet. “Did I spill water on you?” I ask, reaching for the hand-towel that needs washing.She shook her head, and I peered closer. “What’s wrong, ‘Tina? Why are you crying?” “I…I know that song, Nali,” She whispered. “I sing it to you all the time, you should know it.” I smooth her hair that’s woven into tight corn-rows that end in pig tails as I walk towards the stove. “No, Mommy sang it to us. I remember,” She told me with surety beyond her four years, following me to the stove. Drift on a river That flows through my arms Drift as I'm singing to you Christina was barely two and a half when Mother last sang that for us. “You can remember that? ”She nodded. “She was singing in my dream last night, Nali.” I see you smiling So peaceful and calm And holding you, I'm smiling, too I pour a small helping of rice from the old plastic bag into the water and fiddle with the dials on the stovetop. “Nali, does mommy still love us?” How can I answer something like that? I stand with my back to Christina, watching the rice cloud up the water, which is only just beginning to bubble. My inability to form words, to explain things like this to her, weighs heavily upon me. The silence is even heavier. I don’t know how much she remembers of our mother. I don’t know how much she understands about the forces that turn the world, like life and love and death. Here in my arms Safe from all harm Holding you, I'm smiling, too “Nali?” I can still hear the tears in her voice. I take a deep breath, and turn to face her again, my pent up frustration welling up in my eyes. I want to give my little Christina the world, I have always wanted to. But how can I, if I can’t even explain a thing as universal as love to her? I let out the breath in a ragged exhale, and sink down to the dirt-stained off-white tiled floor with my back against the cool oven door below the stove. I pat the floor next to me, taking another deep breath. My voice is too hoarse to sing the beautiful lullaby justifiably, but I sing anyways. “Hush now, my baby Be still, love, don't cry Sleep like you're rocked by the stream” Christina scoots from the floor next to me and wriggles her way onto my lap. She blinks at me, her eyes still asking the question. Does Mommy still love us? “Christina, you know what a river is?” She nods at me. “Mother loved rivers. She could compare anything to a river. And that’s why she loved the lullaby so much, the River Lullaby.” Sleep and remember this river lullaby And I'll be with you when you dream I'll be with you when you dream “She liked to think of existence as a life-long love song. Like a river, she told me once,” I said. Mother had also told me that she saw death as a waterfall. It’s inevitable, but you just continue on existing afterwards, but on a different plane. But Christina wouldn’t understand that. I fall into silence again, trying to simplify things for her again, then speak, “Christina, can you pretend we’re on a raft? A raft floating on a river that doesn’t end? You have yours, I have mine, can you see it?” “I can see it, Nali. In my head,” She smiled. “We’re right next to each other.” I return her smile, and continue, “Okay, now I want you to picture a trail of rose petals on the river ahead of us.” Rose was Mother’s name. “You can pick them up out of the water, if you want. It’s a calm river.” “What are the flower petals for?” “You see, mother got swept up in a current and was whisked ahead of us. Very far ahead of us on the river. But as she was carried along, she left a trail of promises, the petals. And her trail of petals is her promise to wait for us, wherever she is.” “So she does love us?” “What do you think?” “Yes,” Here in my arms Safe from all harm Holding you, I’m smiling too I gently heave Christina off of my lap and stood to check the rice. “Your lunch is almost ready, ‘Tina. Go sit at the table,” I tell her. The sound of the chair scraping on the floor mingles with the clinking of dishes as I fish one out for her and then grab a spoon as well. “Nali, are you eating?” “No, I’m not hungry,” I tell her, and the lie tastes sour in my mouth and churns my stomach. Sleep and remember This river lullaby And I’ll be with you when you dream I place the shallow dish of rice in front of Christina and sit down next to her at the table. But she doesn’t move to pick up her spoon yet. The expression her face is one of a perplexed four year old. “Do you need your booster seat?” I ask her. Her booster seat is last year’s telephone book, naturally. “Nali, what about for real?” She wants to know. “I’m sorry?” I do not understand what she is asking. “The river is ‘magination,” she explains. “So the petals and promises are too.” “Oh, no! No, no, that’s not how I meant it,” I insist. “The river and petals represent something very real. The river is being alive.” Mother and her endless metaphors in her beautiful and exotic native language had made that clear to me. I’m not sure how much of this Christina understands. But, she wants to know. “What do the promise petals mean for real?” “Well, they’re still promises. But instead of flower petals on a river, they’re dreams, like the one you had last night, where Mother was singing to you.” Sleep and remember this river lullaby I’ll be with you when you dream “She loves us very much, Christina. You need to understand that.” “I know,” she says to me. And then something that wrenches my heart. “I love you too, Mommy.” I’ll be with you when you dream ₪҉₪ A/N-Disclaimer: Lyrics are from the movie 'Prince of Egypt', they are not original. The story was inspired by two little girls I met IRL and had a chance to talk to.
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Honor, Bravery, Innocence A calm, serene beach, waves lapping against it‘s yellow-sanded shores. With a mighty roar of anger, the serenity was destroyed by a rising pillar of writhing darkness, it’s form and matter inconsistent. A hand, human, but dark blue in color, with showing purple veins, reached out of it, grasping at the air as if it was an invisible throat. With another roar of anger and madness, the rest of the creature, human in appearance, burst through the darkness, landing with one knee in the sand. At the creature’s touch, the sand exploded, landing yards away. The pillar vanished, and the beach was calm once more. Stretching, the creature growled, displaying a disturbing voice, sounding like multiple beings were speaking (or, in this case, growling) at once. It flexed its hand, it curled and then uncurled it’s fingers experimentally, and then closed them into a fist with astounding speed. Cracking it’s neck, the abomination stared into the forest ahead of it, it’s lips parting into a smile, revealing sharp, long, yellowed fangs. With the silence of a feline, it pounced into the forested area, it’s humanoid form moving in completely unhumanoid ways.***Among the villagers of Centarous, a small town on the large peninsula of Thethint, one of the three great Nations, there was a small pair of children. Many had correctly guessed them to be orphans, though no one correctly guessed how they met, or exactly why they stayed together. The small boy, barely more than a toddler, Hinath, and the girl, around seven or eight, Krisim, were orphans thanks to the Great Shadow War, in which the villagers were sent to battle the dark forces of Yonothia, the Nation of Exiled Ones, beings who, through the most despicable acts of sorcery, bonded themselves with The Other, the terrible sentient force which lays deep in The Outer Planes, seeking death and destruction to gorge itself upon. The war was terrible and costly, and many lost their lives. Hinath’s mother tragically took her own life when his father didn’t return from the war, and he was thrown upon the streets. Krisim’s parents had both been killed in one of the attacks upon a hospital ,where her wounded father, and visiting mother were. As Hinath was cast upon the streets, Krisim took him in hand, promising the child, barely a toddler, that everything was fine. Even though she herself was only a few years older then him, she acted as a mother figure. She was always the one who bought food with money they collected, always the one to decide where they were going, and how they were getting there. Today, however, neither of them felt as if they had any power over their current situation. They had been herded into a building with dozens of other villagers, all of them confused and afraid. As Hinath stared wide-eyed at all going on around him, Krisim stared at the corner of the building, not even so much as whispering a word.***The Village of Centarous had a small group of protectors, the Guardians, who defended the town, and it’s residents from whatever threats occurred. The Guardians believed that they were only as strong as their weakest link.That link happened to be Sagitar, the youngest son of the village’s most prominent merchant. Sagitar’s father had his two older sons to fawn other, with their big muscules, and cruel and crude manners. Sagitar had always been on the quieter side, speaking rarely, spending most of his time with books and the ancient scrolls of his ancestors. When he was eighteen, Sagitar was a bony, awkward lad, with arms barely thicker than his wrists. Even so, he was of age to join the Guardians, and did so with much glee and happiness. However, much to his disappointment, he quickly became the object of all the other Guardians’ scorn. He was hated, subjugated, and abused. Still, he lost none of his zealot spirit for his country, and stayed diligent in the defense of Centarous. However, today was much different than most for Sagitar. A pillar of shadow, much like the ones used by the Exiled Ones to travel wide distances, had been spotted on the west beach, only a few miles from Centarous. The others forgot his very presence as they rushed to and forth, grabbing weapons, and donning armor. Frowning at all the others’ choices of melee weapons, Sagitar grabbed a hunting bow, small, but with decent range and power, and a quiver of arrows. He also donned armor, but it looked outlandish and huge on him, with his helm falling over his eyes, and everything else almost falling off his bony frame. Taking a deep breath, he followed after the others, trying to remember all that he had read about the Exiled Ones.***Ayana was one of the few women in Centarous who were above the age of eighteen and not married, or taking part in some fashion of relationship. She, at the risk of sounding cliché, followed her dreams. That dream happened to be opening a smith.A woman blacksmith was a bit of an oddity, especially a comely one. Ayana, perhaps one of the most beautiful women in the village, detested the idea of marrying, infuriating her would-be suitors. She spent her day in front of a fire, and her night curled up with a book and her pet cat, Mamoa. Currently, she was sweating in the blistering heat of the forge, her rather short hair pulled back into a tight pigtail, keeping it away from the fire as best as she could. In one hand, she had a smithing hammer, the other, a pair of tongs, holding the metal in the flames. Drawing it out, she beat it into a recognizable shape on the anvil, and then when satisfied, cooled it in the barrel of water. She was working on a rather complex request, a pendant. It had taken her awhile, but she had convinced the man who ordered it that her interesting and workable design was better than his idea, which would have taken weeks of day-filling work. Sighing, she placed the finished piece of metal in a wooden box, wiping the sweat off her brow with her other hand. Taking a break, she walked to the back of the smith, sitting down on a large wooden chair which she had designed, and then convinced the carpenter to make for her (The carpenter didn‘t allow himself to be convinced on anything when it came to price, however). It was throne like, with a tall, pointed back, and long, regally shaped arm-rests. Before the minute was up, the door to the shop slammed open. Standing up with another sigh, Ayana spoke. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be right there.”The response startled her. “Ma’am, this is an emergency. You’ll have to come with me.” A male, deep voice said. Undoing her smithing apron, Ayana walked faster. The speaker was a tall, stocky youth, who looked about nervously. As Ayana opened her mouth to ask what was going on, he spoke quickly. “They’ll explain at the hall, ma’am. We need to get moving.” That said, he already walking towards the door, glancing back a few times to see if she following. Ayana blinked once. The hall was the largest building in Centarous, a homage to their ancestors, filled with artifacts. It must be serious if they were to all go there. Noticing the youth was already at the door, she blinked once more, and then ran to catch up with him, still wondering what had happened, or what was happening.***The silence that followed the Guardian’s speaking was uninterrupted. Breathing silently, sweat dripped down his brow as he stared at the silent Duke of Centarous.The Duke was a tall, unkempt man, with disheveled, unctuous hair reaching past his shoulders, and only the barest hint of facial hair anywhere except for his chin, which was hidden by a monstrous goatee, equally disgusting. He was clothed in robes of black and brown fur, and silver crown sat crooked on his head. His light blue eyes were bloodshot, a result of the goblet of wine he always had in his hand. Those terrible, half-sober, unsatisfied and infuriated eyes, watched the Guardian with dissatisfaction.“Do you enjoy keeping happiness away from me?” He asked, stretching out the word ‘enjoy’ to maximum length, as if the word was not satisfactory when used on anyone except himself. “N-no, sir.” The Guardian stammered, his eyes growing wider, and the sweat drops becoming more frequent. He had heard the stories of the Duke sending unsatisfactory news-bearers to the whipping post.“Then why do you barrage me with these terrible pieces of hearsay? I am allowed no euphoria, only agony, brought on by my verbally abusing subjects.” He drawled, taking a another sip of wine in between sentences. As he finished speaking, fermented juice, resembling blood, dripped down his chin, becoming one with his goatee. “All you say is true, sire…” A new voice said, drawling much like the Duke. The voice belonged to the Duke’s soothsayer, a small, hunched man with a voice that acted in contrast to his appearance, soothing and calming. “But I think you, an intelligent and wise man, will agree that something must be done to whatever dares to invade your lands. Your beautiful, far-reaching lands, with their lush grounds, and fertile soils…” The soothsayer’s words had their desired effects. The Duke stroked his chin as he listened, wetting his fingers on his goatee. “Very well,” He said with a sigh, turning back to the Guardian before him. “You have full permission, granted by me, the Duke, to tear through whatever is in your way to kill this invader.” With a hurried bow, the Guardian gave his thanks, and then literally ran out of the Duke‘s presence, relieved beyond measure to leave the hall of his ruler. ***Sagitar stared at the thing before him. It was like nothing he had ever seen, heard of, or read about. It was humanoid, but completely made of swirling shadows, which only solidified into something tangible when it attacked.Sagitar’s group of guard was down to three now, thanks to the creature’s ferocious attacks. Suddenly, a scream pierced the air, then was abruptly silenced with a sickening crunch. Correction, two. Sagitar thought, sweat dripping down his face, stinging his eyes. Drawing an arrow, he pulled it back as quietly as possible, aiming it into the shadows ahead of him. Pausing, he reached into his pouch. He drew out a flint stone, hoping and praying that his idea would work. Drawing a his tiny knife, he laid the arrow on the ground, and scrapped the flint stone until a spark met the arrow’s wooden shaft, setting it afire. With no oil, the shaft would soon turn into ash. Drawing the arrow back, he hastily fired it in the direction from where he heard footsteps. What he saw was enough to drive a man to madness. The flickering flames briefly illuminated a hideous scene, for the creature, a unformed writhing mass of shadows, tentacled, limbed, vertebrate and invertebrate at the same time. That is, if it was made out of matter. It seemed intangible, but from the way it was ripping apart the man he had once called a comrade, it was obvious that was not the case.However, luckily for Sagitar, the creature shrieked an inhuman shriek, sounding like thousands of things, ranging from a woman crying to sea serpent roaring, at the fire, and recoiled, making more terrible noises.Sagitar took the opportunity that life had presented him, and ran. In fact, he ran like had never before, sprinting through the woods heedlessly, hearing no sounds of pursuit, but running all the same.In a few minutes, he crashed through the door to The Hall, hoping that the Guardians’ leader was there. He was not, but someone else, someone infinitely more useful (Though Sagitar didn’t know it at the time), was there. Ayana, eyes wide with curiosity, ran through the crowd.“What did you see?” She asked, intensely staring at him. “The creature’s advancing. I don’t what it is, but it’s vulnerable to fire.” He said quickly, looking past her into the crowd, hoping to see another Guardian.“Fire?” Ayana asked, pausing for a minute. “We have to get to my forge.” She finished, already pushing past him to get to the open door. “B-but, we can’t just-” Sagitar began to say, but Ayana ignored him as she pushed past. Eyes wide with terror, Sagitar followed. “What are we going to do?” He fiercely whispered as they ran to her forge.“Fight it.” Ayana said, and then paused. “Go get all the oil for fire arrows the Guardians have. Bring it to my smithy.” And with that said, she took off again. Sagitar opened his mouth to protest, but the words died in his throat. Still wondering how he could have possibly hurt that abomination with mere fire, he ran to the Guardians headquarters.***Hinath watched Ayana and Sagitar leave, amazed that someone was going to fight what ever it was that people were terrified off. Poking Krisim, he spoke. “Hey, someone’s goin’ to go fight the monster.” He said, mispronouncing words in the way only a four year old could.“What?” Krisim asked, turning her head, interest in her eyes. “Someone’s goin’ to-” Hinath began again, frustration growing evident on his face.“Yes, you said that.” Krisim said as she stood up. “But who?”“The smith-lady. And a Guardia… Guardiu…” Hinath said, trying to say Guardian without much success.“Smith-lady? Hmmm…” Krisim murmured, already making her way to the door, dragging Hinath behind her.***Sagitar watched with interest as Ayana started arranging the barrels of oil he had brought. Pausing, she looked at him. He smiled a lopsided grin.“Go get as many arrows as you can possible carry.” She said, her voice serious, and then turned back to the barrels of oil.Sagitar nodded and then took off again, heading back to the Guardian’s headquarters for what must have been the sixth time. *** Sitting on top of Ayana‘s shop, which was the tallest building in the town, thanks to the fact that Ayana built rooms above the smithy, Sagitar gazed towards the woods, a large pile of arrows at his left, a small fire (in a brazier, or course) at his right, with a large pot of oil in front of him. An arrow was already stringed, ready to be fired.Below, Ayana was ready as well, a long-sword in one hand, a unlit-torch in the other. An entire barrel of oil was next to her, and she stood confident, occasionally glancing at her brazier, which was much larger, with a larger flame flickering in it. Squinting, Sagitar noticed some trees swaying, as if a lumbering beast was moving through them. Both fortunately and unfortunately, Ayana’s smithy was the closest building to the forest. The only thing that stood between the forest and the town was a gate, used only for looks. A child with a good-sized pebble could probably inflict damage to it, if not outright destroy it. Glancing down at Ayana, he yelled a warning, receiving only a nod in response.Dipping his arrow in oil, Sagitar waited till the swaying reached the gates. A moment of silence, and then the gates crashed inwards, the wooden doors blown from their hinges. The lumbering shadows surged through, and Sagitar made no move, shocked by the monstrosity. Numerable views did not decrease the maddening pain. The only thing that could have possible jolted Sagitar into reality was the war-cry of Ayana as she charged forward, he sword and torch aflame. Sagitar set fire to his arrow, and fired it into the creature, already reaching for another before the arrow met it’s mark.When it did meet it’s mark, he stopped mid-grab. The creature, it’s maddening, eldritch form, lurching and swaying calmly, erupted in writhing convulsions, the flaming arrow stuck in it’s fathomless, shadowy, and now apparently tangible form.As Ayana approached the horror, she thrust her torch forward, infuriating the creature, causing it to writhe in fresh pain as it raked the ground around it with limbs and appendages which sprouted randomly from it’s unstable body. Ducking beneath a spiked tentacle, Ayana slashed in a crescent above her, severing the appendage. With another roar, the creature began to change shape, warping and collapsing into itself. As both Ayana and Sagitar watched in horror, the creature changed into a new form, writhing and convulsing as it did so, forced into the process by the burning flames.With a final cry of pain, the creature stood upright. As it did so, a wave of pure force flew from it, flattening everything, and everyone to the ground. Tree bent and houses strained at the release of the power. Turning it’s head, the entity, now in the form it had taken at the beach, smiled a ferocious smile at the stunned Ayana.“It’s an Exiled One…” Sagitar said, whispering out of pure shock. As he stared at the creature, he realized that it wasn’t a fully human Exiled One. It was the The Other, fully bonded with a human host, instead of just giving it extra power.Before either Ayana or Sagitar could do anything, The Other shot forward, slamming into the still stunned Ayana, smashing her into the ground, causing her weapons to go flying out of her hands. Ayana gasped in surprise. It’s touch was cold, and she could almost feel the darkness like something tangible. Fire, bright and blazing, was a direct opposite of the cold and dark creature. Raising its hand back to strike, The Other created a ball of shadow that covered its hand, energy ready to be fired for fatal damage.However, just before it brought the energy crashing down on Ayana, a rock slammed into the side of it’s head. It made a sound like slamming a stone against another, and the creature whipped around, momentarily forgetting Ayana, who crawled towards her sword. Krisim and Hinath, terrified and shaking as they tossed handfuls of stones at the creature, stood in front of the smithy, eyes wide as the abomination stared at them. Raising its hand, it began to launch the energy, and then was interrupted.Interrupted by a flaming arrow through the head, courtesy of Sagitar, who was already loading another. With a hideous, eldritch roar, the creature pointed it’s hand at the smith roof, and released the energy, causing the entire roof to explode. Sagitar was sent soaring backwards, landing on the hard stone.With a cry of anger, rage, and a good bit of pride, Ayana swung her flaming sword, beheading the creature in a single stroke. Soundlessly, the now lifeless body slumped to the ground, The Other escaping back to The Outer Planes.Dropping her sword, Ayana ran to where Sagitar had been sent flying, a shocked Krisim in tow. Hinath poked the dead body once, and then followed.Sagitar laid coughing on the stone, his shirt red with blood. The red, life giving liquid flowed from the side of his mouth as well. Seeing Ayana, he reached up with both hands, trying to grab her. “I-it…” He whispered, barely audible. “Was… an honor… to serve…” With that, he slowly collapsed, eyes glazing over, ignoring the pleas of life screamed by Ayana.***Ayana stood before the Duke, still dressed in her smithing clothes, soot and bruises covering her. A scar, still bleeding, ran down her cheek. And she still managed to look more refined than the Duke.“The creature, what it was, has been defeated.” She said solemnly, giving the Duke a report of the events. “The orphans Krisim and Hinath played a large part in our success, but Sagitar was undoubtedly the only reason we survived. He has died for his country, my lord.”After she finished speaking, she lowered her head in silence, waiting an answer. “I’ve lost another Guardian?” Asked the Duke, disbelief in his voice. “This is infuriating! We have almost no more young men in the village! Unbelievable!” He continued to rant, showing no care over the victory. “Now, Duke, you seem to be missing the point.” A third voice said, emanating from the doorway behind Ayana. As Ayana whipped around, and the Duke looked up, both of their mouths opened in shock. However, only the Duke’s chin was covered with the wine he had yet to swallow. In the doorway, dressed in simple, humble clothes, stood the Lord of Thethint, a man responsible for all important decision of the Nation. “Rest assured, miss,” He said, patting Ayana’s shoulder as he walked past her. “Sagitar will be remembered as a hero, as will you three.” Nodding, Ayana silently walked out of the room, leaving the Duke and the Lord to argue in private. Outside, happily playing with some trinket vendor’s wares that Ayana had purchased for them before she went inside, sat Hinath and Krisim. When Ayana sat down as well, Krisim looked up in surprise. “How did it go?”“Sagitar will be remembered for what he has done.” Ayana said, faking a smile. Leaning back, she looked up into the skies, where the clouds rolled and the sun shined. Even though death was commonplace in the land of Thethint, the land was a beautiful one, and there would always be men and women like Sagitar and Ayana to defend it, and what it stands for, Honor, Bravery, and Innocence.
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The Final Chronicle By KH A blur of motion before you. A wall of sound crashing incomprehensibly on your ears. A movie flying in front of you, running too fast to catch a single syllable. Then suddenly, it crashes and all turns black.A photo album, filled almost to bursting with family photographs, revelry and joy. You flick through page after page as they fill before you. Then suddenly, you find an incomplete page, an empty story. A teardrop falls, dappling the page.Welcome to my family.Mom and Dad had differences. I always knew that. Everyone did, it seemed. I found that out, over and over. Taunts in playground. Jibes in the cafeteria. All a lifetime away. I knew that Mom and Dad had differences....What I didn’t know was that they had so many differences that they couldn’t stand living together.It was always something small. An argument over whose duty it was to handle housework, every morning when they went to work; an argument over who had to fetch me, starting when I was three (imagine how you’d feel if it seems like your parents would rather leave you behind). I never understood why they had to fight so much. Heck, I don’t fight so much and I’m still just a kid. It seemed like I could take better care of myself than they did of me, what with their continuous fights.I just never knew it could go so far.I’m a smart kid. Everyone says that, whether as praise, taunt or flattery. Everyone in school says it, everyone in the neighbourhood says it. Everyone but my parents. All the smartness in the world couldn’t help me tape my parent’s relationship back together.Like so many colossal chasms, it started out small. A squabble over whether or not to go out for dinner. How it flared into an argument about how my father feels stifled by my mother’s tendency to stay at home, I have no idea. A half-hour that repeats itself in my mind and memory and yet still makes no sense to me.“You don’t care what I want. You never have,” she said in a shaking voice.“I’d say the boot’s on the wrong foot,” he fired back in a vitriolic tone.“Says the one who-”“Stop it! Stop it both of you! I can’t stand this!” (Exit the wounded child who then runs, runs as far away from the house as possible.)And the lights of memory fade to black.I walk down the street now, thinking over a hundred things. As I approach the schoolyard, I see so many friends and none of them mine. No, I’ve had no friends in a while. Only people who pretend to like me then backstab me. That’s what you get for being different and smart at the same time. That’s what children, the vicious creatures they are, do to someone who has problems. I’ve been the prime object of taunts ever since the news of my parents’ breakup went global. Oh, thank you, latest “friend” of mine.I think maybe the best thing for me, would be to disappear. Vanish into the night. Somehow, suicide has never appealed to me, even in the worst of times. Out into the night, with only a rucksack. India’s full of interesting places. I could go on a road trip. See if my parents miss me. Maybe they’ll miss me enough to try once again for my sake. Yeah, good luck with that.Five months laterIt had been three days since we left the base camp. As I trudged forward, my shoes sank into the soft snow. As I stepped forward, I wondered, perhaps for the twentieth time, why I had chosen to come here. What insight had I hoped to gain when I first made the decision, unable to breathe, tense, stifled as I felt I was in the sheltered suburb where I had lived all my life?I reflected on the experiences I had accumulated on this trip along with the weariness in my bones and snow dusted on my shoulders. I shuddered to think of the latest of these: being trapped in a pit fall all night.I had been walking along a mountain range when I was seized with the desire to climb higher than I had ever before. As I stepped forward, eyes on the stars, I suddenly plummeted downward, falling five feet in an instant. A flash of sound caught my ear as I slipped.“Hello?” I called. “Is anyone there? I need help.”A man appeared at the rim of my vision. “Very strange animal this, talking animal.”I stared in stark disbelief. “I’m not an animal, I’m human. I fell in.”“That’s what they all say.”“What?” The word tore itself from my mouth as I felt weak. What lunatic had I encountered, a man who imagined talking animals? (Kindly ignore the months I spent doing that as a child.)“They all say they’re human. Just a ploy.”“Friend, I AM human. How can I prove it?”“Give me some money. Animals don’t carry money.”That would be alright, I thought. Or it would be if I had more than I needed.“I don’t have any money,” I called back.“There! You see, you’re an animal.”I groaned. This was going to be a long night.It took three hours and a hundred rupees to convince that insane man that I was human.For half a dozen years, I’ve been keen on extreme sports. Living on the edge seemed to relieve the inner pain I was forced to conceal: the omnipresent pain of growing up in a broken family. I suppose in a way, that I am trying to feel that I am worth something, that there’s more to life than lost innocence. Perhaps a glimpse of the world from a new perspective is what I need, to revive some zest.Companionable loneliness surrounded me as I scrabbled up another ledge, in what seems like an endless series, just burden to carry. “Why do I even bother?” I muttered, half-expecting the wall face to reply.Its mute acceptance was sufficient, yet from somewhere an answer came, almost physically audible. I scanned the landscape again, trying to perceive more. Then I saw it, a small glimmer of light among clouds, enough to reveal a sparkling panorama, filling everything with beauty and joy. The landscape seemed to gleam, embracing my question and responding with zeal and wonder. A glistening river trickled downstream. A hawk flew north, majestically beating its strong and fierce wings as its call resounded across the land. A flash of light illuminated the new day, the herald of new hope: a sign of eternal optimism for all around. For us lonely wanderers of the night. For me.“So this is what life is!” I whispered. “Would you believe such wonder?”The rock face had no opinion but the sunlight seemed to twinkle at me.-----One day, I was idly thinking about MNOG II. I've always loved the title "The Final Chronicle" and was wondering about what it really meant. Suddenly, the idea behind this story struck me and I began penning down the first paragraph. I later combined it with a short story I had written about a young adult hiking in the mountains, in search of a raison d'etre.Note: Rupee is the currency of India. Rs. 100 is a little under 2 USD, but is enough to buy a meal here.Hope you like it.
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The Final Chronicle By KH A blur of motion before you. A wall of sound crashing incomprehensibly on your ears. A movie flying in front of you, soaring too fast to catch a single syllable. Then suddenly, it crashes and all turns black.A photo album, filled almost to bursting with family photographs, revelry and joy. You flick through page after page as they fill before you. Then suddenly, you find an incomplete page, an empty story. A teardrop falls, dappling the page.Welcome to my family.Mom and Dad had differences. I always knew that. Everyone did, it seemed. I found that out, over and over. Taunts in playground. Jibes in the cafeteria. All a lifetime away. I knew that Mom and Dad had differences....What I didn’t know was that they had so many differences that they couldn’t stand living together.It was always something small. An argument over whose duty it was to handle housework, every morning when they went to work; an argument over who had to fetch me, starting when I was three (imagine how you’d feel if it seems like your parents would rather leave you behind). I never understood why they had to fight so much. ######, I don’t fight so much and I’m still just a kid. It seemed like I could take better care of myself than they did of me, what with their continuous fights.I just never knew it could go so far.I’m a smart kid. Everyone says that, whether as praise, taunt or flattery. Everyone in school says it, everyone in the neighbourhood says it. Everyone but my parents. All the smartness in the world couldn’t help me tape my parent’s relationship back together.Like so many colossal chasms, it started out small. A squabble over whether or not to go out for dinner. How it flared into an argument about how my father feels stifled by my mother’s tendency to stay at home, I have no idea. A half-hour that repeats itself in my mind and memory and yet still makes no sense to me.“You don’t care what I want. You never have,” she said in a shaking voice.“I’d say the boot’s on the wrong foot,” he fired back in a vitriolic tone. “Says the one who-”“Stop it! Stop it both of you! I can’t stand this!” (Exit the wounded child who then runs, runs as far away from the house as possible.)And the lights of memory fade to black.I walk down the street now, thinking over a hundred things. As I approach the schoolyard, I see so many friends and none of them mine. No, I’ve had no friends in a while. Only people who pretend to like me then backstab me. That’s what you get for being different and smart at the same time. That’s what children, the vicious creatures they are, do to someone who has problems. I’ve been the prime object of taunts ever since the news of my parents’ breakup went global. Oh, thank you, latest “friend” of mine.I think maybe the best thing for me, would be to disappear. Vanish into the night. Somehow, suicide has never appealed to me, even in the worst of times. Out into the night, with only a rucksack. India’s full of interesting places. I could go on a road trip. See if my parents miss me. Maybe they’ll miss me enough to try once again for my sake. Yeah, good luck with that.Five months laterIt had been three days since we left the base camp. As I trudged forward, my shoes sank into the soft snow. As I stepped forward, I wondered, perhaps for the twentieth time, why I had chosen to come here. What insight had I hoped to gain when I first made the decision, unable to breathe, tense, stifled as I felt I was in the sheltered suburb where I had lived all my life?I reflected on the experiences I had accumulated on this trip along with the weariness in my bones and snow dusted on my shoulders. I shuddered to think of the latest of these: being trapped in a pit fall all night.I had been walking along a mountain range when I was seized with the desire to climb higher than I had ever before. As I stepped forward, eyes on the stars, I suddenly plummeted downward, falling five feet in an instant. A flash of sound caught my ear as I slipped.“Hello?” I called. “Is anyone there? I need help.”A man appeared at the rim of my vision. “Very strange animal this, talking animal.”I stared in stark disbelief. “I’m not an animal, I’m human. I fell in.”“That’s what they all say.”“What?” The word tore itself from my mouth as I felt weak. What lunatic had I encountered, a man who imagined talking animals? (Kindly ignore the months I spent doing that as a child.)“They all say they’re human. Just a ploy.”“Friend, I AM human. How can I prove it?”“Give me some money. Animals don’t carry money.”That would be alright, I thought. Or it would be if I had more than I needed.“I don’t have any money,” I called back.“There! You see, you’re an animal.”I groaned. This was going to be a long night.It took three hours and a hundred rupees to convince that insane man that I was human.For half a dozen years, I’ve been keen on extreme sports. Living on the edge seemed to relieve the inner pain I was forced to conceal: the omnipresent pain of growing up in a broken family. I suppose in a way, that I am trying to feel that I am worth something, that there’s more to life than lost innocence. Perhaps a glimpse of the world from a new perspective is what I need, to revive some zest.Companionable loneliness surrounded me as I scrabbled up another ledge, in what seems like an endless series, just burden to carry. “Why do I even bother?” I muttered, half-expecting the wall face to reply.Its mute acceptance was sufficient, yet from somewhere an answer came, almost physically audible. I scanned the landscape again, trying to perceive more. Then I saw it, a small glimmer of light among clouds, enough to reveal a sparkling panorama, filling everything with beauty and joy. The landscape seemed to gleam, embracing my question and responding with zeal and wonder. A glistening river trickled downstream. A hawk flew north, majestically beating its strong and fierce wings as its call resounded across the land. A flash of light illuminated the new day, the herald of new hope: a sign of eternal optimism for all around. For us lonely wanderers of the night. For me.“So this is what life is!” I whispered. “Would you believe such wonder?”The rock face had no opinion but the sunlight seemed to twinkle at me.-----One day, I was idly thinking about MNOG II. I've always loved the title "The Final Chronicle" and was wondering about what it really meant. Suddenly, the idea behind this story struck me and I began penning down the first paragraph. I later combined it with a short story I had written about a young adult hiking in the mountains, in search of a raison d'etre.Hope you like it.
