A few things influenced my decision to enter the coffeehouse. For one thing, in a lapse of judgment I brought only a thin hoodie as protection against the biting wind and cold that only the middle of the winter can provide. This place also happened to be one of my haunts and I’d not stopped by in a little while. I knew Janis was working today; she always works Saturday mornings. It wasn’t normal for me to get this gut instinct about anything, but today I knew I was going to do something important.
I stopped right outside the door, looking in through a window at the Bean. The crowd was mostly college students, stopping by to escape the cold or visit friends. The warmth of the place, both the atmosphere and the temperature, reached me from the cracks around the door. I knew immediately where I planned to sit.
The snow, which had accumulating on me while I’d been standing still, melted as soon as I opened the door. A little bell jingled to announce my arrival to anyone bothering to listen. Janis was the only one who looked up. She seemed more tired than when I’d seen her last.
“How long has it been?” I asked her. “A month?”
“Something like that, Aaron,” she said. “What can I get you? Maybe something on the board would interest you today?”
Everything there, except for the surprisingly scary drawing of a velociraptor, looked too fancy.
“Just my regular, please.”
“On the house,” she said before I could get out my wallet. “I think the best thing about you is that whenever you come in here, you haven’t changed a bit.” She turned her head toward me while she mechanically poured the regular coffee into a medium cup. “You’re always so serious but relaxed. I don’t know how you do it.”
“Practice.” I patted her on the shoulder. “So you’re wanting me to give a speech?”
“Not just for a class this time, either,” she said. “I want to hear you talk to people. I want to see them listen, too.”
“I’ll try my best. No promises.”
“Wasn’t expecting any. Go get ‘em, champ.”
I took my coffee about ten steps away, to a table next to the window where a girl about my age wearing a gray fleece jacket was typing away at her laptop.
“May I sit here?” I asked, placing a smile on my face in the event she bothered to look up.
“Go ahead,” she said without even looking. Maybe she’d seen me when I entered, but I doubted it.
I sat silently for a few moments, brooding with the coffee while I thought about how to proceed. Ad-libbing didn’t sound too bad. All the controversial topics only made people angry. I wanted them to think and maybe even change. It might just take some inspiration. I took a slow sip before beginning.
“In a normal speech,” I said to nobody in particular, “I might be careful to take notice of each and every one of you listening, but that’s not possible because right now it’s just me. Right now, only I am even bothering to listen to the sound of my voice. Rather, I’m the only one who can hear it.”
I put one leg over the other, turned so that I wasn’t facing the window anymore, and proceeded.
“If I were almost anyone else, I wouldn’t blame any of you for being too busy to hear this. Unfortunately, I’m me and it’s your own faults that prevent you from hearing. You force yourselves into being busy all the time, studying or working or just ignoring the pleas of the world around you to stop and listen. You say you’ve got a lot on your plate, and surely you do. But instead of eating it bite by bite and steadily making space, you push your food around like a little kid with their vegetables.
“It’s not about making the time, though, because any of you could do that if you really wanted. It’s that you don’t want to do it. You all have desires, I’m sure of that. You all have things you want to have, and you say that your lives would be better if only they were yours. But you don’t pursue these things, since you know the greatest happiness comes when you’re trying to get what you want. You don’t know what you’ll want after that, so you don’t plan on taking the risk and having to spend more of your ‘invaluable’ time getting something new.
“You’re right, for once, but it’s entirely misguided how you got there. The truth is that those things you think you want aren’t worth it. They’re never worth it. I’ve seen people waste their lives away for things they never really wanted in the first place, trying to find that happiness. What they don’t realize is that they can open their eyes and ears and find it everywhere.
“This happiness that eludes you sits across from you at a table, or across your dorm’s hall, or maybe in a forest just outside of town. Wherever it may be, it’s not hiding from you. No, no. You’re the one hiding. You’re the one too afraid that you’ll have no clue how to proceed with that happiness once it’s in your grasp. For all I know, you could be right.
“But really, what’s the biggest risk? You can go outside, look around, and spend some time just being fine with being alive, having what you do have, and seeing everything. This world of ours is all we have, and it’s all we might ever have. But it’s also got everything that will ever matter to us. And it’s just sitting there, waiting to be appreciated by the people who’ve populated it and made it their own.
“Now, if you’ve decided to listen, and you want to do something, I can show you how to see these beauties that sit in front of you each and every day. You need to turn off anything connecting you remotely to anyone else: it ruins the effect and magnitude to have someone else trying to get your attention. Once you’ve got that done, just go outside, or somewhere you just feel at ease. Stand there for a little while—only you know how long (but stay longer than you think is enough, because you’re probably wrong about that)—and then shut your eyes, trying to picture it all in your head.
“Then you open your eyes again, see what’s different, and try again. Remember this place or this person, hear its sounds, smell its smells, and maybe even speak to it a little bit. It’s listening. It hears you even if you don’t think it does. And it’s that much better for knowing someone like you got up and did something different, something good. You’ve suddenly found the most efficient layout for the objects on your plate, so that this is an essential part of the plate itself, and now you can start eating that food. Now you can start making the changes to let yourself be happy, be free. And if I’m right, then maybe tell this to someone else. Earth can’t possibly be overappreciated.”
I hadn’t looked at anyone else, opting to stare into space or at the snow falling outside. Thankfully, it hadn’t ceased. I finished the rest of my coffee and got up.
“Thanks for letting me sit here,” I said to the college girl with the laptop.
“Mm,” she said and nodded her head slightly.
“Good job,” Janis said to me when I walked up to the counter again.
“Did people listen?” I asked.
“I think a few did. I did for sure.”
“Good to know I’m changing someone, at least.”
“Damn right you are. Have a nice day, Aaron. Stop by more!”
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Janis,” I said.
“Oh, it is, isn’t it?” she asked. She frowned. “Do you have anyone to celebrate with?”
“I don’t think I need anyone; celebrating comes easily enough for me. But if you want, we could get dinner somewhere later. Maybe I can show you what I was talking about.”
She blushed.
“That sounds good,” she said. “Yeah, that’d be nice.”
“I’ll pick you up,” I said. “We can walk in the snow to wherever it is we’re going to go.”
“That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day. Be safe.”
“I will. Talk to you later, Janis.”
I tossed the empty cup into the trash can on my way out. Hands in my pockets, I went back the way I came. Maybe I'd stop at my apartment. I didn't know; it didn't matter. One person changed, who knows how many to go.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Duff (Another short story)
I had the idea for this one a while ago and wrote a paragraph of it. I think it can be expanded upon sometime later.
Something strange lingered in the air, an unnatural sense of excitement, or rather, anxiety. Duff pulled his hat a little lower in front to hide his eyes. As it was, he thought he was noticeable, since it wasn't a cool day and he was wearing a beige trench coat. No one really bothered to look at him; Denton, Texas didn't have any non-dangerous creeps walking around this time of year. Most people—the smart ones, at least—avoided even a quick glance. Always better, they probably thought, not to associate yourself with someone like him.
He smirked when he realized they were dead-on with him.
The building in front of him didn’t look that impressive. Its four stories had surprisingly small windows, maybe to save money. He didn’t see how, since the rest looked made of limestone. Ten other buildings of the same design had been built in the past year all over the city; this one stood as a sort of monolith in the center of town, noticeably taller than the buildings surrounding it. Duff had his doubts about its strength, but it was too late to do anything with those.
Duff stared the building up and down a few moments while he was on the sidewalk right in front of it before pulling a simple cell phone out of one of his pockets. He didn’t care much for the bells and whistles that came with the little devices and was amazed he’d been able to find one basic enough to fit his needs. He quickly dialed a number, not having bothered with speed-dial. It would have been too much hassle and provided a better means of tracing his activity, he thought.
“Hello?” said a voice on the other end. An employee, not very high-up, Duff thought to himself. If worst came to worst, the poor man would be collateral. C’est la vie, thought Duff. Such is life.
“I am standing in front of the building,” Duff said quietly.
“Please, enter. We are ready to begin staging the assault,” the man said, no emotion staining his voice.
“You may begin,” Duff said as he pulled the building’s door open and stepped inside. The first thing he noticed was the wave of cool air that pushed into him, and its scent. At first it appeared dry because of the humidity outside, but then the moisture prevailed. The smell reminded Duff of subway stations. The second thing he noticed was the lighting, harsh and artificial. The building itself looked like an office complex.
“Yes, sir,” the man said after a moment. “Please move to the second floor. Time is of the essence. Captures are already being made.”
“What is the count so far?” Duff asked as he made his way up the stairs, two at a time.
“You will see a map when you reach the room, but the numbers are at forty civilians, with most of the police force on the way.”
“So the disruptions have been loud?”
“Very, sir. We’ve already caught two hundred people at the borders and are trying to funnel them into proper evacuation points.”
“Have the police caught on yet?”
“They’ll notice the buildings soon, I’m sure, but right now we’re trying to get as many people into somewhere relatively safe. When would you like to make an announcement?”
“I’ll deal with that when I’m ready. Thank you for the information.”
“Glad to be of service, sir.”
Duff hung up the phone, walked into the room at the end of the hallway, and sat himself down in the single rolling chair. He removed his hat and placed it on the coat rack. He didn’t bother with the trench coat. On the wall in front of him was a touch-screen grid of the entire city, with red marking areas affected by his assault and green the places yet-untouched. The few specks of green were already disappearing.
“I never thought it would go this well,” Duff said to himself. He knew his people were good, but this was of another magnitude entirely. Rolling over to the screen, he experimentally tapped on the central area. He saw video camera footage and markings on the map of hostages and police entering his building. “I was just getting comfortable, too.”
Sighing, Duff rolled back to the desk, returned his hat to its place, and got up. Raising the microphone that was lying on the desk to his mouth, he inhaled and proceeded to speak.
“As you have seen by now, this is no small act of organized crime. You may call me Duff. That’s my name, in case you were wondering. My real incentive for doing this will be revealed later, so as not to create doubt among you. You may rightly guess me a lawbreaker, maybe even an outlaw. I deal in higher stakes than any of you pawns.
“Each of you stands in a building, one of eleven. If you are not in a basement, proceed there now or be killed. More people will be siphoned in. My intention is to make state government, at the very least, see what is happening. By now half the town is under the town, which I would call respectable, if I do say so myself.
“My deepest thanks goes out to my fine employees for doing such an admirable job. While I was the mastermind of this beautiful plan, you all have been essential parts in saving what now looks to be…” Duff paused, looking over at the screen. “Sixty thousand people.
“As I speak, planes are flying across a desert to drop a massive nuclear payload to annihilate this town. Like I said, you all have been pawns. Yet, in this great game of chess, the pawns are the strongest piece, for there are so many. Pawns like you can all reach the figurative other side, and become rooks and knights and queens in your own right.
“But, for the time being, you are stuck in a massive system of tunnels underneath a radioactive city. I have provided two months’ worth of rations, by which point in time paths should have been built to a nearby safe location. There should be enough space underneath the city to alleviate problems of claustrophobia, but in case there are any issues be sure to speak to any of my employees, who are all wearing nothing but red clothing.
“Thank you for your cooperation and I will be down shortly. If possible, I would like the police to either surrender their arms or accept the task of providing enforcement in these tunnels. I have given all of you a new lease on life and would be pleased to hear that you would like to join my cause. Please, have a happy few months exploring and getting accustomed to this sojourn. I’ll take care of the hard parts.”
Something strange lingered in the air, an unnatural sense of excitement, or rather, anxiety. Duff pulled his hat a little lower in front to hide his eyes. As it was, he thought he was noticeable, since it wasn't a cool day and he was wearing a beige trench coat. No one really bothered to look at him; Denton, Texas didn't have any non-dangerous creeps walking around this time of year. Most people—the smart ones, at least—avoided even a quick glance. Always better, they probably thought, not to associate yourself with someone like him.
He smirked when he realized they were dead-on with him.
The building in front of him didn’t look that impressive. Its four stories had surprisingly small windows, maybe to save money. He didn’t see how, since the rest looked made of limestone. Ten other buildings of the same design had been built in the past year all over the city; this one stood as a sort of monolith in the center of town, noticeably taller than the buildings surrounding it. Duff had his doubts about its strength, but it was too late to do anything with those.
Duff stared the building up and down a few moments while he was on the sidewalk right in front of it before pulling a simple cell phone out of one of his pockets. He didn’t care much for the bells and whistles that came with the little devices and was amazed he’d been able to find one basic enough to fit his needs. He quickly dialed a number, not having bothered with speed-dial. It would have been too much hassle and provided a better means of tracing his activity, he thought.
“Hello?” said a voice on the other end. An employee, not very high-up, Duff thought to himself. If worst came to worst, the poor man would be collateral. C’est la vie, thought Duff. Such is life.
“I am standing in front of the building,” Duff said quietly.
“Please, enter. We are ready to begin staging the assault,” the man said, no emotion staining his voice.
“You may begin,” Duff said as he pulled the building’s door open and stepped inside. The first thing he noticed was the wave of cool air that pushed into him, and its scent. At first it appeared dry because of the humidity outside, but then the moisture prevailed. The smell reminded Duff of subway stations. The second thing he noticed was the lighting, harsh and artificial. The building itself looked like an office complex.
“Yes, sir,” the man said after a moment. “Please move to the second floor. Time is of the essence. Captures are already being made.”
“What is the count so far?” Duff asked as he made his way up the stairs, two at a time.
“You will see a map when you reach the room, but the numbers are at forty civilians, with most of the police force on the way.”
“So the disruptions have been loud?”
“Very, sir. We’ve already caught two hundred people at the borders and are trying to funnel them into proper evacuation points.”
“Have the police caught on yet?”
“They’ll notice the buildings soon, I’m sure, but right now we’re trying to get as many people into somewhere relatively safe. When would you like to make an announcement?”
“I’ll deal with that when I’m ready. Thank you for the information.”
“Glad to be of service, sir.”
Duff hung up the phone, walked into the room at the end of the hallway, and sat himself down in the single rolling chair. He removed his hat and placed it on the coat rack. He didn’t bother with the trench coat. On the wall in front of him was a touch-screen grid of the entire city, with red marking areas affected by his assault and green the places yet-untouched. The few specks of green were already disappearing.
“I never thought it would go this well,” Duff said to himself. He knew his people were good, but this was of another magnitude entirely. Rolling over to the screen, he experimentally tapped on the central area. He saw video camera footage and markings on the map of hostages and police entering his building. “I was just getting comfortable, too.”
Sighing, Duff rolled back to the desk, returned his hat to its place, and got up. Raising the microphone that was lying on the desk to his mouth, he inhaled and proceeded to speak.
“As you have seen by now, this is no small act of organized crime. You may call me Duff. That’s my name, in case you were wondering. My real incentive for doing this will be revealed later, so as not to create doubt among you. You may rightly guess me a lawbreaker, maybe even an outlaw. I deal in higher stakes than any of you pawns.
“Each of you stands in a building, one of eleven. If you are not in a basement, proceed there now or be killed. More people will be siphoned in. My intention is to make state government, at the very least, see what is happening. By now half the town is under the town, which I would call respectable, if I do say so myself.
“My deepest thanks goes out to my fine employees for doing such an admirable job. While I was the mastermind of this beautiful plan, you all have been essential parts in saving what now looks to be…” Duff paused, looking over at the screen. “Sixty thousand people.
“As I speak, planes are flying across a desert to drop a massive nuclear payload to annihilate this town. Like I said, you all have been pawns. Yet, in this great game of chess, the pawns are the strongest piece, for there are so many. Pawns like you can all reach the figurative other side, and become rooks and knights and queens in your own right.
“But, for the time being, you are stuck in a massive system of tunnels underneath a radioactive city. I have provided two months’ worth of rations, by which point in time paths should have been built to a nearby safe location. There should be enough space underneath the city to alleviate problems of claustrophobia, but in case there are any issues be sure to speak to any of my employees, who are all wearing nothing but red clothing.
“Thank you for your cooperation and I will be down shortly. If possible, I would like the police to either surrender their arms or accept the task of providing enforcement in these tunnels. I have given all of you a new lease on life and would be pleased to hear that you would like to join my cause. Please, have a happy few months exploring and getting accustomed to this sojourn. I’ll take care of the hard parts.”
Friday, July 8, 2011
Essence of Rage
It appears I can eliminate my own emotions by merely thinking up a story. Great stuff. This takes place in the same world as that fantasy story, still much in its infancy, and just sorta parallels it in good short story fashion.
The forest in which Robert and Lenora were having a training session may have looked peaceful from the outside, but was certainly not so in the grove where the practice was occurring. Robert didn’t even remember what the lesson had been about, only that it wasn’t clear when he and his mother had started. After a short argument, most birds had fled the immediate area for someplace quieter. Hearing the sound of their own voices, they halted for a moment.
“No, Mother,” Robert said dryly, “it was perfectly obvious from the get-go.”
A glare like he had never seen pierced him. “You have been trying my patience. I’ve endured your little hints and implications for long enough in this conversation. Your disrespect could not be clearer and I will not continue to tolerate it. Do not use that tone of voice with me again. Are we clear?”
“Yes, Mother,” Robert mumbled, staring at the ground. Inside, a seething rage boiled his blood. This woman infuriated him. Didn’t she realize that if she’d asked him, politely, if he had been suggesting something, he would have answered truthfully and this whole thing could have been averted? Too late now.
Excusing himself almost silently, Robert shuffled to a nearby pond, still looking down. The rage was eating him up inside. If he didn’t do something with it, he thought he’d explode. Opening his eyes wide, he tapped into his magic, pulling enough in to almost fill him. He didn’t think he’d need it all; he just wanted the comfort of having it there.
His thoughts gathered all into the rage itself: why it happened, what parts of him thought it was reasonable, and where it had infected. Picking it out, piece by piece, he gathered it in the palm of his hand, pieces twined by bits of magic. Looking at the pond, he thought he could have a little fun with this and try to skip the rage over to the other side. Changing its form into a perfect stone for the job, he chuckled.
The anger he felt was gone, forced into this little rock. Almost lazily he tossed it onto the water.
It sank before skipping even once.
Immediately the water started to bubble and fizz, hissing away madly as it boiled over. Everything with the breath of life in the pond moved itself to the surface immediately. Doing what any reasonable person would do—magic or no magic—Robert ran to a safe distance before seeing a geyser spray into the sky, utterly emptying the pond. After he stopped hearing the pelting of water striking leaves and branches, he walked back to the pond itself. Sitting there, where the bottom of the pond would be if it still existed, was his rock of rage.
Robert was surprised it wasn’t hotter to the touch. As he closed his hand around it, it seeped back into his system, barely noticeable. When it flowed in he swore he heard it say “quenched for now.” His mother eyed him curiously as he walked back over to her.
“What were you doing?” she asked.
“I guess you could call it meditating.”
The sunlight caught his eye through the trees and he sneezed. He didn’t expect a cup’s worth of water to come spraying out his nose.
“And what was that?” his mother asked.
“I…I don’t know,” he said, spitting out some more water.
“Sure,” she said. “Let’s get going; your father and sister are probably waiting for us to get back before they eat dinner.”
The forest in which Robert and Lenora were having a training session may have looked peaceful from the outside, but was certainly not so in the grove where the practice was occurring. Robert didn’t even remember what the lesson had been about, only that it wasn’t clear when he and his mother had started. After a short argument, most birds had fled the immediate area for someplace quieter. Hearing the sound of their own voices, they halted for a moment.
“No, Mother,” Robert said dryly, “it was perfectly obvious from the get-go.”
A glare like he had never seen pierced him. “You have been trying my patience. I’ve endured your little hints and implications for long enough in this conversation. Your disrespect could not be clearer and I will not continue to tolerate it. Do not use that tone of voice with me again. Are we clear?”
“Yes, Mother,” Robert mumbled, staring at the ground. Inside, a seething rage boiled his blood. This woman infuriated him. Didn’t she realize that if she’d asked him, politely, if he had been suggesting something, he would have answered truthfully and this whole thing could have been averted? Too late now.
Excusing himself almost silently, Robert shuffled to a nearby pond, still looking down. The rage was eating him up inside. If he didn’t do something with it, he thought he’d explode. Opening his eyes wide, he tapped into his magic, pulling enough in to almost fill him. He didn’t think he’d need it all; he just wanted the comfort of having it there.
His thoughts gathered all into the rage itself: why it happened, what parts of him thought it was reasonable, and where it had infected. Picking it out, piece by piece, he gathered it in the palm of his hand, pieces twined by bits of magic. Looking at the pond, he thought he could have a little fun with this and try to skip the rage over to the other side. Changing its form into a perfect stone for the job, he chuckled.
The anger he felt was gone, forced into this little rock. Almost lazily he tossed it onto the water.
It sank before skipping even once.
Immediately the water started to bubble and fizz, hissing away madly as it boiled over. Everything with the breath of life in the pond moved itself to the surface immediately. Doing what any reasonable person would do—magic or no magic—Robert ran to a safe distance before seeing a geyser spray into the sky, utterly emptying the pond. After he stopped hearing the pelting of water striking leaves and branches, he walked back to the pond itself. Sitting there, where the bottom of the pond would be if it still existed, was his rock of rage.
Robert was surprised it wasn’t hotter to the touch. As he closed his hand around it, it seeped back into his system, barely noticeable. When it flowed in he swore he heard it say “quenched for now.” His mother eyed him curiously as he walked back over to her.
“What were you doing?” she asked.
“I guess you could call it meditating.”
The sunlight caught his eye through the trees and he sneezed. He didn’t expect a cup’s worth of water to come spraying out his nose.
“And what was that?” his mother asked.
“I…I don’t know,” he said, spitting out some more water.
“Sure,” she said. “Let’s get going; your father and sister are probably waiting for us to get back before they eat dinner.”
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Random little thing
I'm not even sure what I'd call this. Back in business!
I asked myself, "Is it worth it?"
And an answer resonates: "No."
Time holds no lasting happiness;
Let others reap the pain they sow.
And now, I say to myself,
"Will I feel love before I go?"
Again an answer resonates:
"Reap now the joy you once did sow."
I asked myself, "Is it worth it?"
And an answer resonates: "No."
Time holds no lasting happiness;
Let others reap the pain they sow.
And now, I say to myself,
"Will I feel love before I go?"
Again an answer resonates:
"Reap now the joy you once did sow."
Friday, May 20, 2011
Pull of the River
One story, one sitting. I'd consider it an accomplishment.
Jeffrey usually predicted storms correctly. If he didn’t it would mean a bad catch and a hungry family. This is why he rightly panicked upon seeing one pop up from a western sky in a matter of minutes. He was easily an hour and a half from shore, two with the kind of waves kicked up by a storm this large. His boat, which was hardly more than a large canoe, was not well-equipped to deal with weather and massive swells.
Instead of resigning to his fate, Jeffrey began rowing himself as fast as he could to the faraway shore. Seeing lightning in the distance and steadily advancing, his resolve strengthened. He had to get this fish, meager a catch as it was, to shore or risk going without supper for a night or two. His arms grew tired and heavy and the shore remained far away. Then the storm hit him.
Bolts of lightning struck the ten-foot crests, everywhere else on the ocean, and then on the boat. A particularly massive wave carried Jeffrey up, only to capsize the boat and pull him under with it. Everything went dark. He tried to breathe but took in only water. Everything was water. Where was up? Light, flashing somewhere, showed the surface. The boat seemed to be on fire. Out of air…everything faded.
Jeffrey came to floating on his back in much calmer waters. A light rested on the horizon, a massive globe of a sun. He didn’t know whether it was peeking above the water, or hesitantly sinking into it. Why did it matter? He was without a boat, without fish, and without any real way of getting to shore. As he was about to give up, Jeffrey saw a man in a rowboat advancing towards him.
“Help! Help!” he shouted at the rowboat.
“I see you!” said the man on the boat, quickly rowing over and helping Jeffrey in. “Some storm you caught yourself in,” he said.
“Yes,” said Jeffrey. “I still have no idea where it came from. Right now I’m just so glad you saved me. Where are you headed?”
“There’s a coast not far from here, which I think is also your destination.”
“So you’re taking me home?” Jeffrey asked.
“Yes,” he said. “So, tell me about yourself. What’s your name? How old are you? What’s your life been like? After all, we’ve got plenty of time to spend.”
“Well,” Jeffrey began, “My name is Jeffrey Carver. I’ve lived by the sea my entire life, forty years. I’ve never known the feeling of money overflowing my pockets, but I’m fine with what I have: a family, a boat which I apparently just lost, and a life mostly over open waters. What about you? What’s your—” He cut off as a sharp movement from the strong-looking man told him inquiring the latter’s name was the wrong question to ask. Just looking at the man, Jeffrey saw something almost familiar about him.
He was certainly oddly dressed, wearing a black robe and brown loafers. Continuing suddenly, Jeffrey said, “What’s your profession? You look sort of like a monk.”
“I’m not a monk. I am more of a spiritual guide. I help people solve their problems, usually by having them look inside themselves,” the man said.
“What do you think about me?” Jeffrey asked.
“I think you have regrets,” he said.
“Well, I regret never buying a bigger boat, or trying to hire out more people. I would’ve liked a little more money for a better home or for better food for my wife and children. I wish I could’ve sent my son to school, or even my daughter. I regret not being able to give them more opportunities.”
“I see,” the man said. “Is there anything else?”
“Yes,” Jeffrey said after a pause. “I wish I had given some more thought to faith, but I said I never had time. I could always have left and tried to find out the answers to the hard questions I didn’t ask myself often enough, but I stayed for my family, for their sakes. I don’t know how my life would be different right now.”
“I’m not sure if I can answer the question you hid in that,” the man said. As they had been drifting along, the man’s robes faded, beginning to turn gray. The sun was, in fact, setting, as wispy clouds gathered around it and caught color, showing off oranges and pinks in the sky. In contrast, the man seemed to grow weaker and frailer, his robe tattering and becoming one with the shadows at the sleeves.
“I know I’ll never get an answer from you unless I ask you now. Who are you, how is it you came at just the right time, and where is it we’re headed? I don’t know this place. These mountains around us…what are they?”
“Very well,” the man said. “I’ve known you for your entire life, from the day you were conceived to this day—the day you died. You are right now crossing the border, to a land beyond. For you, there may be nothing, for the dead cannot find faith like the living can.”
“Does this mean you are…?” Jeffrey asked.
The man nodded. He pulled his hood off his head, exposing a sickly, rotting face, covered in brown spots and small patches of thin hair. His eyes, glowing light green, were engulfed in flame. He lacked a nose; he smiled and his lips peeled back, exposing a few yellow teeth. Death, now fully exposed, pulled his oar from the water and placed it on the deck. It shifted into a scythe: beautiful, gleaming, malevolent silver and steel, curved just so.
Bowing his head, Jeffrey’s eyes brimmed over. Tears began spilling down his face. “What about my family? Will they have to suffer the same fate?”
“You don’t even know your fate,” said Death.
“Of course I do. Nothingness, a pure lack while others get everything. I never got what I really wanted. I always did things for the sake of others, and it lands me here. Why didn’t I win?”
“None can fight the pull of the river. None can withstand the sweetness of my call. Your time came, and if you did not use it correctly, then there can be nothing but regrets for you. Faithless, you found yourself as lost as you are right now, a compass without magnetism, and no way to tell others your story. This is your end, Jeffrey.”
“What kind of monster are you?”
“I’m only the guide. You’ve now seen what’s inside yourself. Are you content with your fate and ready to resign to it?”
Standing up, Jeffrey got off the rowboat, thanked Death for the ride, and walked up the beach, path obvious to him. “None can fight the pull of the river,” he whispered.
Jeffrey usually predicted storms correctly. If he didn’t it would mean a bad catch and a hungry family. This is why he rightly panicked upon seeing one pop up from a western sky in a matter of minutes. He was easily an hour and a half from shore, two with the kind of waves kicked up by a storm this large. His boat, which was hardly more than a large canoe, was not well-equipped to deal with weather and massive swells.
Instead of resigning to his fate, Jeffrey began rowing himself as fast as he could to the faraway shore. Seeing lightning in the distance and steadily advancing, his resolve strengthened. He had to get this fish, meager a catch as it was, to shore or risk going without supper for a night or two. His arms grew tired and heavy and the shore remained far away. Then the storm hit him.
Bolts of lightning struck the ten-foot crests, everywhere else on the ocean, and then on the boat. A particularly massive wave carried Jeffrey up, only to capsize the boat and pull him under with it. Everything went dark. He tried to breathe but took in only water. Everything was water. Where was up? Light, flashing somewhere, showed the surface. The boat seemed to be on fire. Out of air…everything faded.
Jeffrey came to floating on his back in much calmer waters. A light rested on the horizon, a massive globe of a sun. He didn’t know whether it was peeking above the water, or hesitantly sinking into it. Why did it matter? He was without a boat, without fish, and without any real way of getting to shore. As he was about to give up, Jeffrey saw a man in a rowboat advancing towards him.
“Help! Help!” he shouted at the rowboat.
“I see you!” said the man on the boat, quickly rowing over and helping Jeffrey in. “Some storm you caught yourself in,” he said.
“Yes,” said Jeffrey. “I still have no idea where it came from. Right now I’m just so glad you saved me. Where are you headed?”
“There’s a coast not far from here, which I think is also your destination.”
“So you’re taking me home?” Jeffrey asked.
“Yes,” he said. “So, tell me about yourself. What’s your name? How old are you? What’s your life been like? After all, we’ve got plenty of time to spend.”
“Well,” Jeffrey began, “My name is Jeffrey Carver. I’ve lived by the sea my entire life, forty years. I’ve never known the feeling of money overflowing my pockets, but I’m fine with what I have: a family, a boat which I apparently just lost, and a life mostly over open waters. What about you? What’s your—” He cut off as a sharp movement from the strong-looking man told him inquiring the latter’s name was the wrong question to ask. Just looking at the man, Jeffrey saw something almost familiar about him.
He was certainly oddly dressed, wearing a black robe and brown loafers. Continuing suddenly, Jeffrey said, “What’s your profession? You look sort of like a monk.”
“I’m not a monk. I am more of a spiritual guide. I help people solve their problems, usually by having them look inside themselves,” the man said.
“What do you think about me?” Jeffrey asked.
“I think you have regrets,” he said.
“Well, I regret never buying a bigger boat, or trying to hire out more people. I would’ve liked a little more money for a better home or for better food for my wife and children. I wish I could’ve sent my son to school, or even my daughter. I regret not being able to give them more opportunities.”
“I see,” the man said. “Is there anything else?”
“Yes,” Jeffrey said after a pause. “I wish I had given some more thought to faith, but I said I never had time. I could always have left and tried to find out the answers to the hard questions I didn’t ask myself often enough, but I stayed for my family, for their sakes. I don’t know how my life would be different right now.”
“I’m not sure if I can answer the question you hid in that,” the man said. As they had been drifting along, the man’s robes faded, beginning to turn gray. The sun was, in fact, setting, as wispy clouds gathered around it and caught color, showing off oranges and pinks in the sky. In contrast, the man seemed to grow weaker and frailer, his robe tattering and becoming one with the shadows at the sleeves.
“I know I’ll never get an answer from you unless I ask you now. Who are you, how is it you came at just the right time, and where is it we’re headed? I don’t know this place. These mountains around us…what are they?”
“Very well,” the man said. “I’ve known you for your entire life, from the day you were conceived to this day—the day you died. You are right now crossing the border, to a land beyond. For you, there may be nothing, for the dead cannot find faith like the living can.”
“Does this mean you are…?” Jeffrey asked.
The man nodded. He pulled his hood off his head, exposing a sickly, rotting face, covered in brown spots and small patches of thin hair. His eyes, glowing light green, were engulfed in flame. He lacked a nose; he smiled and his lips peeled back, exposing a few yellow teeth. Death, now fully exposed, pulled his oar from the water and placed it on the deck. It shifted into a scythe: beautiful, gleaming, malevolent silver and steel, curved just so.
Bowing his head, Jeffrey’s eyes brimmed over. Tears began spilling down his face. “What about my family? Will they have to suffer the same fate?”
“You don’t even know your fate,” said Death.
“Of course I do. Nothingness, a pure lack while others get everything. I never got what I really wanted. I always did things for the sake of others, and it lands me here. Why didn’t I win?”
“None can fight the pull of the river. None can withstand the sweetness of my call. Your time came, and if you did not use it correctly, then there can be nothing but regrets for you. Faithless, you found yourself as lost as you are right now, a compass without magnetism, and no way to tell others your story. This is your end, Jeffrey.”
“What kind of monster are you?”
“I’m only the guide. You’ve now seen what’s inside yourself. Are you content with your fate and ready to resign to it?”
Standing up, Jeffrey got off the rowboat, thanked Death for the ride, and walked up the beach, path obvious to him. “None can fight the pull of the river,” he whispered.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Fantasy story part 2
I'm loving this.
As soon as they were a good half-mile away, horns sounded. “Get out of your houses!” people were yelling. “Take everything you value and can carry with you!”
“I see you’ve gotten your first taste of the world,” said a grizzled voice from behind the boy. A man had appeared from their hut, one who was far younger than the scars he bore made him appear. In the seven years of the war he had endured, his face had aged maybe twenty.
“Yes, father,” he said.
“Robert, it’s about time you learned that those stories I told you—“
“All true,” Robert whispered. He turned to look at his father. “Is there going to be a call to arms like there was when you were young?”
“It has already happened. While you and half the village were staring at the beasts, the Council had a meeting. Their hut was the first to catch.”
“Who’s fighting this time?”
“Every single person who is able. Men, women, even the children strong enough to lift weapons and do any good with them.”
“Me?”
“I think you’re ready.” Turning his gaze from Robert to the distant sunset, he continued. “I fought in the first war and barely escaped with my life. This time…I don’t expect to return.”
“Father, your scars!” Robert exclaimed.
“I can feel them opening. Those who put them there have returned, seemingly from the dead. It appears my second chance for glory has come.” His eyes widened and his face twisted in anger, which made the scars split even faster. Green blood started to drip out. “I won’t let them take our land like they did last time! They destroyed our houses, our hopes! Now look at us, ruined and broken as a byproduct of their constant thirst for more!”
“Who, Father? Who?”
“They call themselves the Ascended, for they were once human, too. That’s all I know for sure of them, except that their blood…is…”
“Green. It’s running down your face!”
“Yes. These scars are gone, the Ascended have been rewritten by history. It’s their curse, yet, for it means there will be ten times the number of soldiers on the battlefields against them.” In his eyes the firelight shone, turning them from their normal blue to a deep purple. The blood from the scars had reached his lips, so he licked some, tasted, and swallowed with a grin. “I remember feeling this way five years before you were born. I believe most people call it ‘bloodlust’. It’s in our bloodline, and you will be unstoppable in battle. Which weapon do you like the most?”
“Uhh…”
“I remember now. Your mother knew you had the flicker when she was pregnant with you. I remember it well enough, now that I’m thinking about it. The blood runs stronger in your mother’s side. Ask her, for it appears I’ll be training your sister in the Way of the Tiger.”
“What’s a tiger?”
“Imagine a cat. Now imagine it about fifty times bigger and that many times more ferocious and graceful. Orange, striped, and unstoppable on the battlefield. That is a tiger.”
“And what will Mother be teaching me?”
“Ask her. I don’t rightly understand it myself. You’ll catch on quickly, and then everything in your path will meet an explosive end. Let’s get out of here. Take some swords, though I know you won’t use them. Your mother will have all the things you need.”
Stepping quickly into the hut, they collected all they needed: the family weapons, and some supplies. All four left as one unit. Robert, carrying two swords, looked tranquil and resolute. His sister, three swords on her back, and an axe in each hand, looked eager and had the same shine in her now-purple eyes as their father. Their mother, wearing a robe she hadn’t touched in almost twenty years, had a half-insane smile on her face.
As soon as they were a good half-mile away, horns sounded. “Get out of your houses!” people were yelling. “Take everything you value and can carry with you!”
“I see you’ve gotten your first taste of the world,” said a grizzled voice from behind the boy. A man had appeared from their hut, one who was far younger than the scars he bore made him appear. In the seven years of the war he had endured, his face had aged maybe twenty.
“Yes, father,” he said.
“Robert, it’s about time you learned that those stories I told you—“
“All true,” Robert whispered. He turned to look at his father. “Is there going to be a call to arms like there was when you were young?”
“It has already happened. While you and half the village were staring at the beasts, the Council had a meeting. Their hut was the first to catch.”
“Who’s fighting this time?”
“Every single person who is able. Men, women, even the children strong enough to lift weapons and do any good with them.”
“Me?”
“I think you’re ready.” Turning his gaze from Robert to the distant sunset, he continued. “I fought in the first war and barely escaped with my life. This time…I don’t expect to return.”
“Father, your scars!” Robert exclaimed.
“I can feel them opening. Those who put them there have returned, seemingly from the dead. It appears my second chance for glory has come.” His eyes widened and his face twisted in anger, which made the scars split even faster. Green blood started to drip out. “I won’t let them take our land like they did last time! They destroyed our houses, our hopes! Now look at us, ruined and broken as a byproduct of their constant thirst for more!”
“Who, Father? Who?”
“They call themselves the Ascended, for they were once human, too. That’s all I know for sure of them, except that their blood…is…”
“Green. It’s running down your face!”
“Yes. These scars are gone, the Ascended have been rewritten by history. It’s their curse, yet, for it means there will be ten times the number of soldiers on the battlefields against them.” In his eyes the firelight shone, turning them from their normal blue to a deep purple. The blood from the scars had reached his lips, so he licked some, tasted, and swallowed with a grin. “I remember feeling this way five years before you were born. I believe most people call it ‘bloodlust’. It’s in our bloodline, and you will be unstoppable in battle. Which weapon do you like the most?”
“Uhh…”
“I remember now. Your mother knew you had the flicker when she was pregnant with you. I remember it well enough, now that I’m thinking about it. The blood runs stronger in your mother’s side. Ask her, for it appears I’ll be training your sister in the Way of the Tiger.”
“What’s a tiger?”
“Imagine a cat. Now imagine it about fifty times bigger and that many times more ferocious and graceful. Orange, striped, and unstoppable on the battlefield. That is a tiger.”
“And what will Mother be teaching me?”
“Ask her. I don’t rightly understand it myself. You’ll catch on quickly, and then everything in your path will meet an explosive end. Let’s get out of here. Take some swords, though I know you won’t use them. Your mother will have all the things you need.”
Stepping quickly into the hut, they collected all they needed: the family weapons, and some supplies. All four left as one unit. Robert, carrying two swords, looked tranquil and resolute. His sister, three swords on her back, and an axe in each hand, looked eager and had the same shine in her now-purple eyes as their father. Their mother, wearing a robe she hadn’t touched in almost twenty years, had a half-insane smile on her face.
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