GuardianLurker
Adventurer
I'm not as fast as my opponent, but I'm done now too. I'm going to give it one more night so I can do a final proof tomorrow.
Ceramic DM -- Fall '06 ** yangnome wins! **
- Thread starter Rodrigo Istalindir
- Start date
1:30am come and gone. Off to bed for me, will come back to clicking refresh tomorrow 
Looking forward to a new round of stories, and I'm going to try to get my own critiques written for all the stories.
Aaron
edit - ok, I'm bluffing. Past 2am and still here. And its the weekend. And I'm up to Dogma in the un-holy-double-trilogy. So, guess I'll be up a couple more hours.
Looking forward to a new round of stories, and I'm going to try to get my own critiques written for all the stories.
Aaron
edit - ok, I'm bluffing. Past 2am and still here. And its the weekend. And I'm up to Dogma in the un-holy-double-trilogy. So, guess I'll be up a couple more hours.
Last edited:
GuardianLurker
Adventurer
The Case of the Missing Beacon
The Case of the Missing Beacon
The shores of Celestia are home to thousands of lighthouses. Set among scenes of natural beauty that could bring joy to one of the shades of Hades, surrounded by carefully groomed grounds that even a modron could admire, each lighthouse contains a beacon shining with the divine light of the Good to guide the worthy to its shores. They shine day and night, beckoning and comforting to all who see them.
Except this one. And that's why I'm here. Sometimes, usually due to outside influences, things go wrong, even here. That's when they call me, or one of my kind. Some of us get the easy jobs - repelling demon hordes. Other of us get the hard jobs - a leaf that isn't as green as it should be. Me, I get the weird things - like missing beacons. My name is Pade Shammer, and I'm an investigator for the Good. I'm not an Angel or an Archon, just someone who needs to contribute, and this is what I do.
Much like the tower guard who was approaching me. Obviously on edge, he had his bow readied as he flew down from the top of the tower, and his yellow hawk eyes glared at me over his beak. And I don't mean that in any figurative sense, either. He was an actual hawkman from one of the nearby mountain-hills. Not the Great Mountains of the center, just some echoes along the shore. "You Shammer?"
Well, that was a surprise - my hawkman was a hawkwoman. If I had been familiar with her species' colorations I would have known that. Even though I'm not a hawkman myself, I suspect she was a beauty of their kind. In Celestia, everything is. "Yes. Pade Shammer, Investigator. It's good to meet you. What are you called?"
"I am called Willa Arroweye." Even if you've never read one of these reports before, you know the procedure - it's a fairly obvious one after all. Aside from her name, I established that this was her first time guarding any of the lighthouses her Nest was responsible for, that she considered it a great honor, and that she was really worried. According to Willa, early in her shift she had heard the sound of a surging crowd coming from the shoreline. Generally, souls needing guidance don't arrive in surging crowds so she left the lighthouse to determine what it was. When she arrived at the beach a few minutes later, there was nothing to be seen. She searched the beach for any signs of intrusion, and only found a single set of footprints in the sand on the tide line. Willa claimed that the prints had been filled with a black sticky substance. She also told me that as soon as she had discovered the prints, the beacon light went out. She raced back to the tower, but the beacon light itself was gone, and the only other trace were some more of the tarry tracks around the beacon housing.
I asked her to show me the tracks, and she gestured with her wings to indicate yes. I was both too big, and too heavy for her to carry the hundred feet to the top, so I opened the door and walked up the long flight of stairs. One of the benefits of Celestia is that your neighbors are trustworthy; closeable doors are for privacy and cleanliness, the latter in this case.
At the top of the stairs, I entered the beacon room. Spartan, functional, and elegant, the mess of tarry footprints stood out. Indeed, it seemed like the polished granite floor was trying to push the prints away from its otherwise pristine surface. I knelt and examined the prints. Each print was a little longer in length than my hand and about as narrow. They were also made by bare human-style feet that ended in small claws or talons. I double-checked at that point - Willa's feet were more bird-like and ended in large talons, which is what I expected, trustworthy neighbors after all, but it never hurts to make sure. I also recognized the smell - the tarry substance was actually a mixture of thick black mud, bile, blood, and filth. It also registered as alien and wrong to all of my senses, indicating that it was probably from one of the abyssal plains.
My examination wasn't done, though. I examined the beacon housing, expecting to see the corrosion a fiend's touch would leave on the shining celestial steel, but all I found were the oily residue of fingerprints, and a few scratch marks. None of the scratch marks indicated the beacon had been dragged out of its housing, however. It seemed to have been lifted straight up and out without ever scraping against the housing's side. This implied that the thief had been both extremely strong (a beacon weighs in excess of a quarter ton) and careful. The identity of the thief was puzzling; the clues weren't adding up as I was expecting. Not quite as puzzling as the case where I dealt with a sentient pile of murderous used bubblegum, but not the usual open and shut case either.
But in all ways, I knew where I had to go next. I thanked Willa, and transported myself to the Layered Hall on the Astral. If my destination was what I suspected I didn't want to leave from Celestia anyway. Once there, as always, I was greeted by the Recordkeeper, and as always, he handed me a book without asking. Or letting me into the hall for that matter. It was Roldigold's Survey of the Abyss. I had never heard of it, but as always it proved to be exactly what I needed. Well, except for that one time with the bubblegum, but that was an aberration on many levels and issues. This time, the Recordkeeper's gift did not fail me. I had been thinking of the Abyssal Layer of Filth and its Lord. I've encountered his/hers/its minions before; it regards the celestial cleanliness as both a challenge and affront. A minor nuisance usually. But this time, the Filth Lord appeared to be uninvolved. The determining factor was the crowd noise. Together with the mud mixture, it directed me to the domain of Legion.
I was not happy about this. Though originally a minor fiend, Legion has survived for aeons. And that means it has grown in power too. Legion was not a fiend I wanted to confront. But I must do as my duty compels me. So I transported myself to the color pool that lead to Legion's realm, formed a Sphere of Celestial Invulnerability around myself, and stepped through.
And learned how Legion had survived. As a master of subtle and mundane tricks that are hard to compensate for. In this case, the pool opened a small distance above Legion's body. The Sphere, and I, fell. Far enough that when Legion's waiting arms caught the Sphere, I was knocked off my feet, giving it time to carry me towards its core.
Legion was angry, and its core assaulted me with questions in a choral voice. Most particular, Legion desired to know why my agents had stolen its precious Torch of Black Fire. When it said that, everything fell in place, and I knew what had happened. Without replying I immediately transported back to the Astral Plane, and then to Celestia, and Willa's lighthouse.
She was a little surprised to see me, but greeted my appearance cheerfully. I smiled at her, and ran up the stairs to the beacon's room. Once there, I carefully examined all the prints, and found the final telling clue. A small scale, as if from some draconian creature. A scale from the thief itself.
With this, the case was almost over. I told Willa I'd return with the beacon, and travelled to the nearest divining pool. With the aid of the scale, I scryed the thief. Everything was as I suspected.
But I think the half-dragon wizard was more than a little surprised when I interrupted his ritual attempt to replicate Daoud's Wondrous Lanthorn and reclaimed the beacon. At any rate, he was surprised enough that I escaped with the beacon before he could even act.
The beacon's back in place now. Willa was demoted , and is currently serving on the border patrols. A much more wary guard has replaced her, and all of the lighthouse guards have been alerted. For my part, I have new case. A gorgeous angel just walked into my office and told me she wants my help in finding her husband.
The Case of the Missing Beacon
The shores of Celestia are home to thousands of lighthouses. Set among scenes of natural beauty that could bring joy to one of the shades of Hades, surrounded by carefully groomed grounds that even a modron could admire, each lighthouse contains a beacon shining with the divine light of the Good to guide the worthy to its shores. They shine day and night, beckoning and comforting to all who see them.
Except this one. And that's why I'm here. Sometimes, usually due to outside influences, things go wrong, even here. That's when they call me, or one of my kind. Some of us get the easy jobs - repelling demon hordes. Other of us get the hard jobs - a leaf that isn't as green as it should be. Me, I get the weird things - like missing beacons. My name is Pade Shammer, and I'm an investigator for the Good. I'm not an Angel or an Archon, just someone who needs to contribute, and this is what I do.
Much like the tower guard who was approaching me. Obviously on edge, he had his bow readied as he flew down from the top of the tower, and his yellow hawk eyes glared at me over his beak. And I don't mean that in any figurative sense, either. He was an actual hawkman from one of the nearby mountain-hills. Not the Great Mountains of the center, just some echoes along the shore. "You Shammer?"
Well, that was a surprise - my hawkman was a hawkwoman. If I had been familiar with her species' colorations I would have known that. Even though I'm not a hawkman myself, I suspect she was a beauty of their kind. In Celestia, everything is. "Yes. Pade Shammer, Investigator. It's good to meet you. What are you called?"
"I am called Willa Arroweye." Even if you've never read one of these reports before, you know the procedure - it's a fairly obvious one after all. Aside from her name, I established that this was her first time guarding any of the lighthouses her Nest was responsible for, that she considered it a great honor, and that she was really worried. According to Willa, early in her shift she had heard the sound of a surging crowd coming from the shoreline. Generally, souls needing guidance don't arrive in surging crowds so she left the lighthouse to determine what it was. When she arrived at the beach a few minutes later, there was nothing to be seen. She searched the beach for any signs of intrusion, and only found a single set of footprints in the sand on the tide line. Willa claimed that the prints had been filled with a black sticky substance. She also told me that as soon as she had discovered the prints, the beacon light went out. She raced back to the tower, but the beacon light itself was gone, and the only other trace were some more of the tarry tracks around the beacon housing.
I asked her to show me the tracks, and she gestured with her wings to indicate yes. I was both too big, and too heavy for her to carry the hundred feet to the top, so I opened the door and walked up the long flight of stairs. One of the benefits of Celestia is that your neighbors are trustworthy; closeable doors are for privacy and cleanliness, the latter in this case.
At the top of the stairs, I entered the beacon room. Spartan, functional, and elegant, the mess of tarry footprints stood out. Indeed, it seemed like the polished granite floor was trying to push the prints away from its otherwise pristine surface. I knelt and examined the prints. Each print was a little longer in length than my hand and about as narrow. They were also made by bare human-style feet that ended in small claws or talons. I double-checked at that point - Willa's feet were more bird-like and ended in large talons, which is what I expected, trustworthy neighbors after all, but it never hurts to make sure. I also recognized the smell - the tarry substance was actually a mixture of thick black mud, bile, blood, and filth. It also registered as alien and wrong to all of my senses, indicating that it was probably from one of the abyssal plains.
My examination wasn't done, though. I examined the beacon housing, expecting to see the corrosion a fiend's touch would leave on the shining celestial steel, but all I found were the oily residue of fingerprints, and a few scratch marks. None of the scratch marks indicated the beacon had been dragged out of its housing, however. It seemed to have been lifted straight up and out without ever scraping against the housing's side. This implied that the thief had been both extremely strong (a beacon weighs in excess of a quarter ton) and careful. The identity of the thief was puzzling; the clues weren't adding up as I was expecting. Not quite as puzzling as the case where I dealt with a sentient pile of murderous used bubblegum, but not the usual open and shut case either.
But in all ways, I knew where I had to go next. I thanked Willa, and transported myself to the Layered Hall on the Astral. If my destination was what I suspected I didn't want to leave from Celestia anyway. Once there, as always, I was greeted by the Recordkeeper, and as always, he handed me a book without asking. Or letting me into the hall for that matter. It was Roldigold's Survey of the Abyss. I had never heard of it, but as always it proved to be exactly what I needed. Well, except for that one time with the bubblegum, but that was an aberration on many levels and issues. This time, the Recordkeeper's gift did not fail me. I had been thinking of the Abyssal Layer of Filth and its Lord. I've encountered his/hers/its minions before; it regards the celestial cleanliness as both a challenge and affront. A minor nuisance usually. But this time, the Filth Lord appeared to be uninvolved. The determining factor was the crowd noise. Together with the mud mixture, it directed me to the domain of Legion.
I was not happy about this. Though originally a minor fiend, Legion has survived for aeons. And that means it has grown in power too. Legion was not a fiend I wanted to confront. But I must do as my duty compels me. So I transported myself to the color pool that lead to Legion's realm, formed a Sphere of Celestial Invulnerability around myself, and stepped through.
And learned how Legion had survived. As a master of subtle and mundane tricks that are hard to compensate for. In this case, the pool opened a small distance above Legion's body. The Sphere, and I, fell. Far enough that when Legion's waiting arms caught the Sphere, I was knocked off my feet, giving it time to carry me towards its core.
Legion was angry, and its core assaulted me with questions in a choral voice. Most particular, Legion desired to know why my agents had stolen its precious Torch of Black Fire. When it said that, everything fell in place, and I knew what had happened. Without replying I immediately transported back to the Astral Plane, and then to Celestia, and Willa's lighthouse.
She was a little surprised to see me, but greeted my appearance cheerfully. I smiled at her, and ran up the stairs to the beacon's room. Once there, I carefully examined all the prints, and found the final telling clue. A small scale, as if from some draconian creature. A scale from the thief itself.
With this, the case was almost over. I told Willa I'd return with the beacon, and travelled to the nearest divining pool. With the aid of the scale, I scryed the thief. Everything was as I suspected.
But I think the half-dragon wizard was more than a little surprised when I interrupted his ritual attempt to replicate Daoud's Wondrous Lanthorn and reclaimed the beacon. At any rate, he was surprised enough that I escaped with the beacon before he could even act.
The beacon's back in place now. Willa was demoted , and is currently serving on the border patrols. A much more wary guard has replaced her, and all of the lighthouse guards have been alerted. For my part, I have new case. A gorgeous angel just walked into my office and told me she wants my help in finding her husband.
Roger
First Post
[SIZE=+2]Be Not Afraid[/SIZE]
[SIZE=+1]by Roger Carbol[/SIZE]
Jack Zarko was sitting alone in his apartment when the phone rang. Jack looked over to it from his position on the couch, a bead of sweat running down the back of his neck. He let it ring. Finally the answering machine kicked in. A disembodied voice leaving a message was broadcast through the empty apartment.
"Hello. This is a message for Jack Zarko. Jack, if this is still your number, this is Alexander Blackwood. Hope you're doing well. Hey, I'm in town for the next couple days, getting some locations shot for this movie I'm working on. Anyway, give me a ring if you want to get together and reminisce about the old days. Take care, Jack."
Jack rolled over. The good old days. Back before Alex had become a director; back when he was just the stunt coordinator. Back when he was Jack's boss. He was there when the accident happened. Five years ago. It seemed like yesterday.
It'd be good to see Alex again, Jack thought, but he knew he was fooling himself. He wouldn't go out to see Alex. He wouldn't go back out into the great wide world with its crushing mobs of humanity and death lurking around every corner. The very thought of it set Jack's hands shaking; it took him ten minutes just to calm down enough to pick up the phone.
He dialed a long international number. It was late evening in France, but not too late to call Sara. He had a brief conversation, and then returned to the couch to prepare himself.
He hadn't left his apartment in five years, but he'd been abroad by other means.
* * *
Jack opened his eyes. He was in a place of swirling pastel colors and soft ethereal music. It was Sara's astral home plane. She was there, standing nearby. Her astral body was that of a young teenage girl, with a precocious pigtail of blonde hair. A silvery cord of energy ribboned off behind her.
"Hello, Jack. It is so good to see you again." She hugged him; the touch of her body was warm and yielding. She looked into his eyes. "Is there something wrong, my friend?" she asked.
"It's good to see you too, Sara. I just got a call from an old coworker. He was there when... when the accident happened," he said. He involuntarily glanced down. His astral body was that of a young boy, but his body ended at the waist. Below was a wheelchair, ornately constructed of leather and brass.
"You should stay in touch with your friends in the physical world, Jack. I worry about you. It has been a long time. Perhaps it is time to move on," Sara said.
"I can't, Sara. I just can't. I don't know what happened. One moment I was the best stunt double in the business. Fearless. Now I can't even open my front door without being paralyzed by dread. I want to, Sara; Lord knows I want to. But I can't." He'd had this conversation with her before. It always ended the same.
Sara looked thoughtful. "There's an old friend of the family I'd like you to meet. Very old. My grandmother knew him when she was young. He's very wise."
Jack's hands tightened around the wheel grips of his chair. He was safe here. With a thought he could be back in his apartment. Slowly, he nodded.
Sara grinned. "I think you will like him, Jack. Kokabiel, are you there? Come in, please," announced Sara. A moment passed, and then she looked over Jack's shoulder.
He turned. Kokabiel appeared to be a young boy of perhaps eight, but with perfectly-white hair. The newcomer bowed to Jack slightly. "Jacob Zarko, it is a pleasure to meet you. Sarina Constatin has told me much about you." His voice was deep and resonant.
Sara stepped beside them. "Jack, this is Kokabiel. I've known him a very long time. He knows many things."
"You know many things, do you, Kokabiel? That's just great. Do you know why I'm here? Do you know why I've only got half a body? Do you know why I've been cowering in my room for the last five years? Do you?" he asked, with increasing anger. "I don't need this aggravation. Not today," said Jack, and he shut his eyes. He willed himself to return to the physical world. When he opened his eyes, he still saw Sara and Kokabiel, regarding him.
Sara began to speak, but Kokabiel silenced her with a look. "I know many things, but I no longer interfere in the affairs of mortals. Yet, in this place, all causes and all effects are revealed," he replied. "You wish to return to your body, yet you cannot. This is caused by your fear. Your desire to leave can no longer overcome it. Although time has little meaning in this place, eventually your physical body will wither away, and you will die here."
"You have asked me many questions, Jacob Zarko. The answers already lie within your grasp. Permit me to ask you a question: how did you come to obtain that object in which you are seated?" Kokabiel asked, gesturing towards Jack's wheelchair.
"What? This thing? I've no idea. It was here when I woke up -- when I woke up the first time," said Jack, looking to Sara. She said, "Yes, that is true; when I found Jack drifting out there, alone, he was in it then."
"Every thing here has a cause, Sarina Constantin; I thought you had learned at least that much from me. Can you not, even now, see its cause?" he asked. Sara peered at the wheelchair intently, but finally shook her head.
"You, of all people, Jacob Zamko, should see the truth in it." Quicker than thought, Kokabiel's hand shot out and touched Jack lightly between the eyes. His touch was cold and hard as frozen steel, thought Jack, before a new sensation drove the thought from his mind. He could feel something opening inside his head, unfurling like a hibernating animal awakened by the spring.
Jack blinked, and his gaze was drawn down to his wheelchair. Faintly but clearly, he could see a silver cord issuing from it, stretching far off into the distance. Causes and effects, he thought. Instinctively he reached out to touch it. The cord snapped at his touching, recoiling away from the chair.
He reached out for it, but Kokabiel was far quicker once again. He had grabbed the cord before Jack had even comprehended that it was broken. "I can hold this," he said, "but not for long. You must come with me now, if you wish to find the answers you seek."
Sara grabbed Jack by the shoulders. "We must go with him, Jack. You have waited so long for this. Trust him. Trust me, at least," she pleaded. Almost imperceptibly, Jack nodded. She had earned enough of his trust for that.
Kokabiel took his hand. It was so cold Jack began to feel an ache. "Whatever happens, remember: do not let go."{1}
And then they were off. Sara's world of pastels disappeared in a blur of color. They were moving at an unthinkable velocity, dragged through the astral plane by the retracting cord. Jack's instincts told him to flee, to escape, but there was no escape from either Kokabiel's grasp or Sara's clinging. After an indeterminate time they abruptly stopped. Jack had the fleeting impression of the clear blue sky, and looked into the eyes of the man to whom the cord had returned. The last thing he remembered was screaming. He recognized that man.
* * *
Jack opened his eyes. He was back in his apartment. In an instant he remembered everything.
"That bastard," he said aloud. His own voice sounded strange in his ears; he could not remember the last time he had spoken anything louder than a whisper. "I trusted him... I trusted him with everything," he said.
He stood, and strode to the front door. His keys were still on the table by the door, just where he had left them, though now they were covered in dust. He knew where he had to go.
He opened the door. The apartment hallway stretched before him. An all-too-familiar tang of panic and fear filled his mouth. He walked through it and closed the door behind him. There was a new emotion filling him now, smothering the fear and almost all his rational thought. He was filled with rage.
* * *
It wasn't hard to find. The cab driver knew where the film was being shot, and after twenty minutes of driving, Jack was there.
He knew security wouldn't just let him stroll onto the set. Maybe, years ago, when he still had friends in the business, he would have been able to talk his way in, but not now; especially not looking the way he must have: unkempt, rumpled, eyes squinting against an unfamiliar sun. He was angry enough to be tempted to bully his way past the security guards, but even now he didn't want innocent people getting hurt. The way he had been hurt, once: an innocent victim.
He surveyed the surroundings. There -- a restaurant with a roof-top patio, right across the block. That would be close enough. Soon he was sitting down at his table and cursorily glancing at the menu. He had managed to get the perfect spot, with a good view of the set. He looked down at it: some sort of outdoor establishing shot, he figured.{2} There, in the director's chair, sat Alexander Blackwood. Perhaps feeling Jack's gaze upon him at that moment, Alex looked up and stared straight at Jack, with his terrible and familiar eyes.
* * *
Jack blinked. He was seated in his wheelchair, in an astral plane which appeared to be a grassy field in summer. He hadn't known he could be brought, summoned, into the astral by someone else like this.
He didn't have time to think it over. Nearby, a man was standing quietly, turned towards the warm sun, eyes closed to its warmth on his face.{3} Jack gasped. The man -- Alex's astral body, surely -- looked less than human. His skin was the color of white ash, flaking away in the breeze. He looks like a zombie, Jack thought. He looks just like the zombies in that movie --
"Yes, Jack. The Dead Among Us. It's easy to direct a horror movie when all you need to do is look into the mirror for inspiration," Alex said, his voice a dry croak. He opened his eyes languidly. "But, of course, I have you to thank for all of that. I'm glad you came, Jack. I must admit, I didn't think you would," he said, a smile revealing his jagged teeth.
"Damn you, Alex. I trusted you. I trusted you with my life. I trusted you when you were there beside my hospital bed, explaining how the pyrotechnics had gone off wrong," Jack said, struggling to maintain an even tone in his voice. Alex just laughed at him, a horrible, reverberating sound.
"Of course you did, Jack. I was counting on it. You were the bravest man I've ever met. I knew you'd agree to do the stunt. I knew you'd survive the explosion, if just barely. And I knew you'd survive the surgery," he said. Alex opened his hand and there was a knife in it, a wicked thing of engraved brass. The edge carried a thin sheen of frost.
"I needed it, Jack. I needed your bravery, your courage. I was dying inside, working every day as a lousy stunt coordinator. Surely you, of all people, must have seen that. And so when I was offered a deal, I took it. I had to. There was a price, of course. But it has been worth it," he said, strolling towards Jack as he spoke.
"Alas, all good things come to an end," he said with a smile. "I didn't think you'd ever show up to bother me again. But here you are. So, before we part ways," he said, bringing the knife against Jack's throat, "let me ask you one thing. How did you do it? How does a man ruled by fear bring himself to confront his enemy?"
Jack moved at the speed of thought. He drove his hand like a blade into Alex's soft belly. His insides felt dry as summer grass, until Jack felt the touch of something familiar. The touch of something that had been part of him, once.
"Hatred, Alex. Pure hatred. I hate what you did to me, and I hate what I've become." He felt Alex's body go limp, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. Jack took the knife from Alex's weakening grasp. "Rot in Hell, you bastard," he said, as brought the blade down and severed Alex's silver cord.
* * *
Several months later, Jack had almost finished packing his apartment. He was moving back to Los Angeles. He had already lined up several job offers, mostly from agencies who remembered just how good he used to be. He'd show them he was as good as ever.
Just one last loose end to wrap up, Jack thought. He called Sara, and arranged a meeting.
Jack smiled when he saw Sara again, among her pastel colors. He relished the look of shock on her face when he walked up to her on his own two legs. "My God, Jack, you're alive! And you're whole! I'd thought we'd lost you there forever, when Kokabiel lost his grip on you."
"Takes more than that to keep an old stuntie down, Sara. Say, speaking of Kokabiel, is he around? I'd like to thank him for all his help," he said, easily. He wasn't quite lying.
"Of course, Jack; he's always around, somewhere. I'm calling for him now. My, Jack," she said, taking in the full sight of him, "if I were a younger woman, I might already be on a plane to America."
Jack shrugged amiably. "Another lifetime, perhaps. Ah, there's Kokabiel," he said, seeing a new astral body materializing. "Kokabiel, I suppose you already know how things turned out," he said.
"Indeed, I am aware of what has transpired. It warms my heart to see that you are whole again, and that perhaps I have helped set things right," replied Kokabiel.
"Perhaps. I'm sure I owe you much. I suppose I should return this to you," he said, and the knife appeared in his hand, not exactly pointed towards Kokabiel. "I thought you said you didn't meddle in the affairs of mortals."
Sara involuntarily took several steps back. Kokabiel's smile faltered slightly. "I see you have taken the lesson of cause and effect to heart, Jacob Zarko. To be fair, I said I no longer meddle in your affairs. You have taught me that such things are fraught with peril. For that lesson I am in your debt," he said. Jack thought he seemed to be retreating, although he couldn't discern the act of movement.
"Let us agree that all debts between us are repaid, Kokabiel. Go on, take it," said Jack, offering the knife again to Kokabiel. The words had barely left his lips before his hand was empty and the knife gone. "There was a time, perhaps, when I would have taken my revenge on you. But I've grown to appreciate small kindnesses. If you had not provided me with a wheelchair," he said, Kokabiel's eyebrows rising slightly, "perhaps this would have played out differently. But I'm willing to call it even, now. There's been enough violence."
"I think you should go now," Sara said, with an uncharacteristic hardness in her voice. Kokabiel looked at Jack a moment longer, and then bowed slightly. He was gone.
"Jack," she said, "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have trusted him. And now, I don't think I can forgive him. How can you, after all that's happened?"
Jack was thoughtful. "All it takes, babe," he said at last, "is courage."
THE END
* * *
Ceramic DM -- Fall 2006 -- Round 1b (1. tadk v. Roger)
Written 14-17 September, 2006. Word Count: 2700.
Illustrations:
[1] http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=25894
[2] http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=25892
[3] http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=25893
[SIZE=+1]by Roger Carbol[/SIZE]
Jack Zarko was sitting alone in his apartment when the phone rang. Jack looked over to it from his position on the couch, a bead of sweat running down the back of his neck. He let it ring. Finally the answering machine kicked in. A disembodied voice leaving a message was broadcast through the empty apartment.
"Hello. This is a message for Jack Zarko. Jack, if this is still your number, this is Alexander Blackwood. Hope you're doing well. Hey, I'm in town for the next couple days, getting some locations shot for this movie I'm working on. Anyway, give me a ring if you want to get together and reminisce about the old days. Take care, Jack."
Jack rolled over. The good old days. Back before Alex had become a director; back when he was just the stunt coordinator. Back when he was Jack's boss. He was there when the accident happened. Five years ago. It seemed like yesterday.
It'd be good to see Alex again, Jack thought, but he knew he was fooling himself. He wouldn't go out to see Alex. He wouldn't go back out into the great wide world with its crushing mobs of humanity and death lurking around every corner. The very thought of it set Jack's hands shaking; it took him ten minutes just to calm down enough to pick up the phone.
He dialed a long international number. It was late evening in France, but not too late to call Sara. He had a brief conversation, and then returned to the couch to prepare himself.
He hadn't left his apartment in five years, but he'd been abroad by other means.
* * *
Jack opened his eyes. He was in a place of swirling pastel colors and soft ethereal music. It was Sara's astral home plane. She was there, standing nearby. Her astral body was that of a young teenage girl, with a precocious pigtail of blonde hair. A silvery cord of energy ribboned off behind her.
"Hello, Jack. It is so good to see you again." She hugged him; the touch of her body was warm and yielding. She looked into his eyes. "Is there something wrong, my friend?" she asked.
"It's good to see you too, Sara. I just got a call from an old coworker. He was there when... when the accident happened," he said. He involuntarily glanced down. His astral body was that of a young boy, but his body ended at the waist. Below was a wheelchair, ornately constructed of leather and brass.
"You should stay in touch with your friends in the physical world, Jack. I worry about you. It has been a long time. Perhaps it is time to move on," Sara said.
"I can't, Sara. I just can't. I don't know what happened. One moment I was the best stunt double in the business. Fearless. Now I can't even open my front door without being paralyzed by dread. I want to, Sara; Lord knows I want to. But I can't." He'd had this conversation with her before. It always ended the same.
Sara looked thoughtful. "There's an old friend of the family I'd like you to meet. Very old. My grandmother knew him when she was young. He's very wise."
Jack's hands tightened around the wheel grips of his chair. He was safe here. With a thought he could be back in his apartment. Slowly, he nodded.
Sara grinned. "I think you will like him, Jack. Kokabiel, are you there? Come in, please," announced Sara. A moment passed, and then she looked over Jack's shoulder.
He turned. Kokabiel appeared to be a young boy of perhaps eight, but with perfectly-white hair. The newcomer bowed to Jack slightly. "Jacob Zarko, it is a pleasure to meet you. Sarina Constatin has told me much about you." His voice was deep and resonant.
Sara stepped beside them. "Jack, this is Kokabiel. I've known him a very long time. He knows many things."
"You know many things, do you, Kokabiel? That's just great. Do you know why I'm here? Do you know why I've only got half a body? Do you know why I've been cowering in my room for the last five years? Do you?" he asked, with increasing anger. "I don't need this aggravation. Not today," said Jack, and he shut his eyes. He willed himself to return to the physical world. When he opened his eyes, he still saw Sara and Kokabiel, regarding him.
Sara began to speak, but Kokabiel silenced her with a look. "I know many things, but I no longer interfere in the affairs of mortals. Yet, in this place, all causes and all effects are revealed," he replied. "You wish to return to your body, yet you cannot. This is caused by your fear. Your desire to leave can no longer overcome it. Although time has little meaning in this place, eventually your physical body will wither away, and you will die here."
"You have asked me many questions, Jacob Zarko. The answers already lie within your grasp. Permit me to ask you a question: how did you come to obtain that object in which you are seated?" Kokabiel asked, gesturing towards Jack's wheelchair.
"What? This thing? I've no idea. It was here when I woke up -- when I woke up the first time," said Jack, looking to Sara. She said, "Yes, that is true; when I found Jack drifting out there, alone, he was in it then."
"Every thing here has a cause, Sarina Constantin; I thought you had learned at least that much from me. Can you not, even now, see its cause?" he asked. Sara peered at the wheelchair intently, but finally shook her head.
"You, of all people, Jacob Zamko, should see the truth in it." Quicker than thought, Kokabiel's hand shot out and touched Jack lightly between the eyes. His touch was cold and hard as frozen steel, thought Jack, before a new sensation drove the thought from his mind. He could feel something opening inside his head, unfurling like a hibernating animal awakened by the spring.
Jack blinked, and his gaze was drawn down to his wheelchair. Faintly but clearly, he could see a silver cord issuing from it, stretching far off into the distance. Causes and effects, he thought. Instinctively he reached out to touch it. The cord snapped at his touching, recoiling away from the chair.
He reached out for it, but Kokabiel was far quicker once again. He had grabbed the cord before Jack had even comprehended that it was broken. "I can hold this," he said, "but not for long. You must come with me now, if you wish to find the answers you seek."
Sara grabbed Jack by the shoulders. "We must go with him, Jack. You have waited so long for this. Trust him. Trust me, at least," she pleaded. Almost imperceptibly, Jack nodded. She had earned enough of his trust for that.
Kokabiel took his hand. It was so cold Jack began to feel an ache. "Whatever happens, remember: do not let go."{1}
And then they were off. Sara's world of pastels disappeared in a blur of color. They were moving at an unthinkable velocity, dragged through the astral plane by the retracting cord. Jack's instincts told him to flee, to escape, but there was no escape from either Kokabiel's grasp or Sara's clinging. After an indeterminate time they abruptly stopped. Jack had the fleeting impression of the clear blue sky, and looked into the eyes of the man to whom the cord had returned. The last thing he remembered was screaming. He recognized that man.
* * *
Jack opened his eyes. He was back in his apartment. In an instant he remembered everything.
"That bastard," he said aloud. His own voice sounded strange in his ears; he could not remember the last time he had spoken anything louder than a whisper. "I trusted him... I trusted him with everything," he said.
He stood, and strode to the front door. His keys were still on the table by the door, just where he had left them, though now they were covered in dust. He knew where he had to go.
He opened the door. The apartment hallway stretched before him. An all-too-familiar tang of panic and fear filled his mouth. He walked through it and closed the door behind him. There was a new emotion filling him now, smothering the fear and almost all his rational thought. He was filled with rage.
* * *
It wasn't hard to find. The cab driver knew where the film was being shot, and after twenty minutes of driving, Jack was there.
He knew security wouldn't just let him stroll onto the set. Maybe, years ago, when he still had friends in the business, he would have been able to talk his way in, but not now; especially not looking the way he must have: unkempt, rumpled, eyes squinting against an unfamiliar sun. He was angry enough to be tempted to bully his way past the security guards, but even now he didn't want innocent people getting hurt. The way he had been hurt, once: an innocent victim.
He surveyed the surroundings. There -- a restaurant with a roof-top patio, right across the block. That would be close enough. Soon he was sitting down at his table and cursorily glancing at the menu. He had managed to get the perfect spot, with a good view of the set. He looked down at it: some sort of outdoor establishing shot, he figured.{2} There, in the director's chair, sat Alexander Blackwood. Perhaps feeling Jack's gaze upon him at that moment, Alex looked up and stared straight at Jack, with his terrible and familiar eyes.
* * *
Jack blinked. He was seated in his wheelchair, in an astral plane which appeared to be a grassy field in summer. He hadn't known he could be brought, summoned, into the astral by someone else like this.
He didn't have time to think it over. Nearby, a man was standing quietly, turned towards the warm sun, eyes closed to its warmth on his face.{3} Jack gasped. The man -- Alex's astral body, surely -- looked less than human. His skin was the color of white ash, flaking away in the breeze. He looks like a zombie, Jack thought. He looks just like the zombies in that movie --
"Yes, Jack. The Dead Among Us. It's easy to direct a horror movie when all you need to do is look into the mirror for inspiration," Alex said, his voice a dry croak. He opened his eyes languidly. "But, of course, I have you to thank for all of that. I'm glad you came, Jack. I must admit, I didn't think you would," he said, a smile revealing his jagged teeth.
"Damn you, Alex. I trusted you. I trusted you with my life. I trusted you when you were there beside my hospital bed, explaining how the pyrotechnics had gone off wrong," Jack said, struggling to maintain an even tone in his voice. Alex just laughed at him, a horrible, reverberating sound.
"Of course you did, Jack. I was counting on it. You were the bravest man I've ever met. I knew you'd agree to do the stunt. I knew you'd survive the explosion, if just barely. And I knew you'd survive the surgery," he said. Alex opened his hand and there was a knife in it, a wicked thing of engraved brass. The edge carried a thin sheen of frost.
"I needed it, Jack. I needed your bravery, your courage. I was dying inside, working every day as a lousy stunt coordinator. Surely you, of all people, must have seen that. And so when I was offered a deal, I took it. I had to. There was a price, of course. But it has been worth it," he said, strolling towards Jack as he spoke.
"Alas, all good things come to an end," he said with a smile. "I didn't think you'd ever show up to bother me again. But here you are. So, before we part ways," he said, bringing the knife against Jack's throat, "let me ask you one thing. How did you do it? How does a man ruled by fear bring himself to confront his enemy?"
Jack moved at the speed of thought. He drove his hand like a blade into Alex's soft belly. His insides felt dry as summer grass, until Jack felt the touch of something familiar. The touch of something that had been part of him, once.
"Hatred, Alex. Pure hatred. I hate what you did to me, and I hate what I've become." He felt Alex's body go limp, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. Jack took the knife from Alex's weakening grasp. "Rot in Hell, you bastard," he said, as brought the blade down and severed Alex's silver cord.
* * *
Several months later, Jack had almost finished packing his apartment. He was moving back to Los Angeles. He had already lined up several job offers, mostly from agencies who remembered just how good he used to be. He'd show them he was as good as ever.
Just one last loose end to wrap up, Jack thought. He called Sara, and arranged a meeting.
Jack smiled when he saw Sara again, among her pastel colors. He relished the look of shock on her face when he walked up to her on his own two legs. "My God, Jack, you're alive! And you're whole! I'd thought we'd lost you there forever, when Kokabiel lost his grip on you."
"Takes more than that to keep an old stuntie down, Sara. Say, speaking of Kokabiel, is he around? I'd like to thank him for all his help," he said, easily. He wasn't quite lying.
"Of course, Jack; he's always around, somewhere. I'm calling for him now. My, Jack," she said, taking in the full sight of him, "if I were a younger woman, I might already be on a plane to America."
Jack shrugged amiably. "Another lifetime, perhaps. Ah, there's Kokabiel," he said, seeing a new astral body materializing. "Kokabiel, I suppose you already know how things turned out," he said.
"Indeed, I am aware of what has transpired. It warms my heart to see that you are whole again, and that perhaps I have helped set things right," replied Kokabiel.
"Perhaps. I'm sure I owe you much. I suppose I should return this to you," he said, and the knife appeared in his hand, not exactly pointed towards Kokabiel. "I thought you said you didn't meddle in the affairs of mortals."
Sara involuntarily took several steps back. Kokabiel's smile faltered slightly. "I see you have taken the lesson of cause and effect to heart, Jacob Zarko. To be fair, I said I no longer meddle in your affairs. You have taught me that such things are fraught with peril. For that lesson I am in your debt," he said. Jack thought he seemed to be retreating, although he couldn't discern the act of movement.
"Let us agree that all debts between us are repaid, Kokabiel. Go on, take it," said Jack, offering the knife again to Kokabiel. The words had barely left his lips before his hand was empty and the knife gone. "There was a time, perhaps, when I would have taken my revenge on you. But I've grown to appreciate small kindnesses. If you had not provided me with a wheelchair," he said, Kokabiel's eyebrows rising slightly, "perhaps this would have played out differently. But I'm willing to call it even, now. There's been enough violence."
"I think you should go now," Sara said, with an uncharacteristic hardness in her voice. Kokabiel looked at Jack a moment longer, and then bowed slightly. He was gone.
"Jack," she said, "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have trusted him. And now, I don't think I can forgive him. How can you, after all that's happened?"
Jack was thoughtful. "All it takes, babe," he said at last, "is courage."
THE END
* * *
Ceramic DM -- Fall 2006 -- Round 1b (1. tadk v. Roger)
Written 14-17 September, 2006. Word Count: 2700.
Illustrations:
[1] http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=25894
[2] http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=25892
[3] http://www.enworld.org/attachment.php?attachmentid=25893
tadk
Explorer
Forever lasts too long for those in love CDM for Tadk
Forever lasts too long for those in love
CDM Fall 06 Round 1b
© 2006 CW Kelson III (Tad) All Rights Reserved
http://www.myspace.com/ludorock
www.ludorock.com
Openings:
Look at these people hiding from the red raindrops
while earthquakes shake the broken timber of this burning town.
There's poison in the water, the ocean's blood that's turned to slime and gotten hard
All the fish and whales are corpses on the scab
In the darkness soldiers gnaw their tongues in pain, you see
So help me God, at the end of time they're screaming on their knees!
Oh let them die! Oh let them die!
“Broken Bride Part III: The Lamb and the Dragon”
Ludo
Words by Andrew Volpe Music by Andrew Volpe and Tim Ferrell
Up on the stage, solo spot trained on her face, the lead singer of the small house style band that was playing that night, sits down gratefully in the stool someone had put up there. She sat down, put her feet up on a speaker pointing back towards her and started to sing another song. It had been a long set and odds are this was the last song in it.
"There is no end to misery
No end to pain, sorrow, suffering, death and devastation
There is no end to the torments we inflict upon ourselves and each other
Unless we are touching
Then it can all go away
Slowly, gently, easily
Drift away slowly into no where
The dance is made
Dancers taking their time
Wafting slowly from love to love
Drifting on the tides of right now
Endless weeping of two to one to three to one to two all back over again"
The two guys up there with her, lead and percussion, joined in with the chorus,
"There is no tomorrow, there is no yesterday, there is no now, there is only you and I and the what could be, There is no past, there is no future, there is no present, there is only the you and I and the right this second. There is nothing unconnected, all is tied together, with knots and lives, With knots and lives."
Then she takes back over again, tears almost streaming down her face in the harsh actinic lighting,
"What ever is left to hope for, lies in your hands and in my very own ones, wrapped up all together into a series, Gordian is always right, but not right now,
Knots and lives are the glue, holding you and I together
Knots and lives are all we really have
To tie us one to the other together, together, together."
A small little riff and the song is over. Sad, haunting, the fragile echoes die away in the nearly silent establishment.
"Ok that was almost a let down, new song off the next CD we make. Drop a note leaving your thoughts on it." She paused once more, since the song was over, and continued once more,
"Thank you again, we are taking a break now, feel free to leave change in the guitar case. We are Pyrrhic Muses and after wetting our whistles, will be back on stage."
The lovely lithe woman, her voice husky like a NYC Siren gone folk with a flogged background, all decked out in black jeans, lavender muscle-shirt with the head of a canid emblazoned on it leaves the stage. Her band mates follow, guitarist and drummer, heading to the restrooms and bar while canned crud for pop is blared out of dj sounding speakers. The lights come up and Vik takes a long slow look around. Rumor had it these were the latest bomb, but they sounded like they had been playing together longer than they had been alive.
There were three CDs for sale on a stand to the side, the lead singer heading over there with water and lemon in hand, to take cash only the little hand calligraphied sign said.
"That last track is off the next cd, did you like it?" She holds out her hand,
"Cat A Strophe, like catastrophe but cuter."
"Hi my name is Vik, really digging the set so far." What a dork comment to make, even if she is young enough to be your daughter damn near.
"Digging the set, what an odd turn, not heard that in like forever. So you like our style, a little retro for lots of folks."
"Nope not heard a thing like it before, that one song sleeping dogs or something, that really about teared me up," Vik admits while the two of them wander to the bar.
"Yeah one of our oldest songs, been with the three of us since the start. Sometimes it brings the house down, sometimes not."
She pauses, "Ice water with lemon please."
The bartender hands it over to her, she slugs some of it down,
"Well almost time to head back up there, I got a solitary question for you though hun."
Looking her over once more, Vik grunts, "Sure fire away."
"Like the man says, the endless search for self, has it led you to here or this just a place to kick back a few whiskeys?" The perky lady with eyes that look a lot older than her shape would suggest, asks in all seriousness while the guitarist works to check the tuning of his rig.
"I am pretty comfortable with me, but I am looking for the right one, wanna be the right now to find out if you are the right one or not?"
Gotta take a stab at it, short, cute, quick and creative, all fine elements in a relationship.
"Gonna think on it while we play, stick around, you might be surprised." She leans in and pecks his cheek, reaching up on toes and almost against him but not quite, but the impression on the fabric of life carries her image across the remaining distance to his sense of touch.
Then she wanders back up to the small stage, dwarfed with the sheer energy of the trio of a band.
Couple of hours later, when it is the next day and the second set is over, not a single cover song that he can tell, they have material for at least a marathon session, the lady comes down to him as he sat there nursing the final drink, past last call, while Pyrrhic Muses broke down their gear.
Shortly later it was off for a night of coffee the two of them all alone with her hand in his.
Intersections:
"What are you thinking lover?" Cat asked out loud from the kitchenette where they were staying for the night on the road, hitting all of the small towns and smaller cities around the central larger one where Vik had met her.
“Just about tonight, the gig, how we are on the road all the time, learning the ins and outs of the road, without ever learning a real thing.”
“Well dear, we are learning how to live and love and make money the old fashioned way, with hard work.” Cat strolls into the kitchen, snagging her first cup of coffee as dressed as the day she met her mother.
“ Also we are learning all about these lovely hick towns with no clue about good music. I think it will be a snoozer session tonight. Gonna be a slow one here, got the feeling it will be about fifty years before it is a happening town.
“Well get dressed, time to head into town and see if there is a music shop anywhere close and score some indie tracks to get inspiration from.” She walks back into the bed room, to dress and drink her morning coffee.
“You want to get married?” Vik spouts out of the blue.
“Hurricane love, not in this life no I don’t, no matter how perfect a man might seem, never in this life.”
“Ok just wanted to ask, why hurricane though.” He asks back.
“Because you are causing stormy waves in my heart, and the tide is coming in I fear.” With a little black top, jeans and sneakers on her feet, the two of them head out into the daylight.
Death came too swiftly, it came with the speed of a bullet nearly, but none the less lethal for that slight lack. It came with kinetic finality, dropping down from forever to cut short a life made long in retrospect, taken one that should not have ever been lost. Death came falling out of the sky to crush the life from the one man she thought she could ever love, and would never love again. But that does not happen for a few more minutes at least.
“Hey V, look over there, what is that?”
“Don’t know love, not sure about it.” Vik responded back.
It looked like a column of mud, standing there in the sunlight there that early pre-noon morning in a small sleepy town in the almost rural, almost suburban, almost urban part of the country where nothing happens to speak of.
It was just standing there, without moving, nothing happening to it in the slightest bit.
A screeching from the sky came hurting down, heat searing and blasting the area close to where the couple was standing. Something impacted in a small building close by, flames and bricks flying in all directions, scattering shrapnel in all directions. Something had impacted onto the site of this small town, close to where the two lovers had been walking, causing despair and destruction all around it. Bodies suddenly were lying on the ground, already the sound of sirens in the near distance could be heard.
Cat looked down at her body, nothing was hurt, no blood showed, and she looked over at V who she called Hurricane cause he was making a storm of her entire life, and she stared. Cat stood there, staring at what had just happened. The coating of mud that flowed up and over Vik covering him in a light brown suit from head to toe, watching it harden all over his flesh, somehow tossed or moved in the force of the explosion of the meteor or what ever it was that had destroyed the small office building there so close yet forever away from them both.
“I cant move love.” Vik said with an odd tone in his voice.
“Huhh, what do you mean, other than the mud you look fine love.” Cat wonders out loud in a way.
“All cold inside Cat, all cold inside, and I cant move my body.” The plaintive tone is clear in his voice.
[pic2]
“It is going to be alright V, I know it will be,” But the doubt was there, “Everything will be just fine. We got a gig to play tonight and you need to be there. Tonight and every other night that we play.” Cat cries ever so softly as she can see the light leaving his eyes, standing there encased in a suit of mud thrown up in an impossible situation to murder the only man she might ever have loved.
The fire, police, and ambulances all arrive to take away the inexplicable bodies, along with Vik’s, sealed solid in a casket of mud with a young lady crying on her knees reaching out to hold his hand but not able to hold it.
They arrive to take away all the bodies except for the one she is closest too.
[pic 1]
Outcome:
[pic 3]
The three of them climbed and climbed up the singular lines and fabric, farther and farther towards infinite light. The weight of the wheelchair hindering Cint less and less with each pull of his hands, dragging the belted conveyance higher and higher.
FG's long hair blowing in the winds coming off of the dancing primaries all about them. Higher and higher the three of them climbed, heading towards an uncertain destination. But a place better than where they had just come from filled with death and the end of love for more than one of them.
They climbed the ropes that held all of the past and future together for the sakes of Cat A Strophe, as well has their own selves. They climb these ropes leading towards a future far away from home, for the sake of the children that should have been carried by Cat sired by Vik who were their predecessors.
There was no real reason for it to end this way, three total strangers thrown together at the end of time, climbing literal robes towards light streaming down from thousands of stars all compacted into a single solar system, the ending of all time for this go around of the universe, waiting for the next expansion to occur, the natural contraction having come to an end here in the forever distant future, where two men and one woman is all that remains of a century so far in the past, there is not even a number for it. The time spent in between the eons of eons of eons flicker by in the stress of the climb, towards the light at the end, of this go around at reality.
Sleeping Dogs
by
Pyrrhic Muses copyright 2054 The Night Breathes Music
Stillness, the silence of the grave.
Quiet now, the dead to be are sleeping.
Let this quiet reign thru out the night,
and Sleeping Dogs, be still in sight.
refrain The Silent Dogs, Restless and torn,
Move in their dreams, in search of bones.
The Sleeping Dogs, Restless and torn,
Writhe in their dreams, searching for homes.
Darkened pasts echo our futures, the now to be in soon.
Sounds of thunders, distant and close punctuate the room.
Lie still my Beauties, rest in peace.
Chase the rats, and be at peace.
Howl and Growl, Snap and Whine,
Whir of gears do define.
The angles of Life, boundaries fine
Do rest in YOUr sleep, my hounds My Hounds.
Peaceful dreams, I wish, Abound.
refrain The Silent Dogs, Restless and torn,
Move in their dreams, in search of bones.
The Sleeping Dogs, Restless and torn,
Writhe in their dreams, searching for homes.
Sleeping Dogs
They do Whine
Sleeping Dogs
I've defined
Sleeping Dogs
Still whine and snap
Sleeping Dogs
Can still crack
Can Still Crack, Can still crack
refrain The Silent Dogs, Restless and torn,
Move in their dreams, in search of bones.
The Sleeping Dogs, Restless and torn,
Writhe in their dreams, searching for homes.
Silent no more, my Dogs are awake.
The hunting now they will make.
I, wish to offer my grief
That Sleeping Dogs, are, not, still, allowed, to, , sleep.
(all the more I can do in the time limit)
Forever lasts too long for those in love
CDM Fall 06 Round 1b
© 2006 CW Kelson III (Tad) All Rights Reserved
http://www.myspace.com/ludorock
www.ludorock.com
Openings:
Look at these people hiding from the red raindrops
while earthquakes shake the broken timber of this burning town.
There's poison in the water, the ocean's blood that's turned to slime and gotten hard
All the fish and whales are corpses on the scab
In the darkness soldiers gnaw their tongues in pain, you see
So help me God, at the end of time they're screaming on their knees!
Oh let them die! Oh let them die!
“Broken Bride Part III: The Lamb and the Dragon”
Ludo
Words by Andrew Volpe Music by Andrew Volpe and Tim Ferrell
Up on the stage, solo spot trained on her face, the lead singer of the small house style band that was playing that night, sits down gratefully in the stool someone had put up there. She sat down, put her feet up on a speaker pointing back towards her and started to sing another song. It had been a long set and odds are this was the last song in it.
"There is no end to misery
No end to pain, sorrow, suffering, death and devastation
There is no end to the torments we inflict upon ourselves and each other
Unless we are touching
Then it can all go away
Slowly, gently, easily
Drift away slowly into no where
The dance is made
Dancers taking their time
Wafting slowly from love to love
Drifting on the tides of right now
Endless weeping of two to one to three to one to two all back over again"
The two guys up there with her, lead and percussion, joined in with the chorus,
"There is no tomorrow, there is no yesterday, there is no now, there is only you and I and the what could be, There is no past, there is no future, there is no present, there is only the you and I and the right this second. There is nothing unconnected, all is tied together, with knots and lives, With knots and lives."
Then she takes back over again, tears almost streaming down her face in the harsh actinic lighting,
"What ever is left to hope for, lies in your hands and in my very own ones, wrapped up all together into a series, Gordian is always right, but not right now,
Knots and lives are the glue, holding you and I together
Knots and lives are all we really have
To tie us one to the other together, together, together."
A small little riff and the song is over. Sad, haunting, the fragile echoes die away in the nearly silent establishment.
"Ok that was almost a let down, new song off the next CD we make. Drop a note leaving your thoughts on it." She paused once more, since the song was over, and continued once more,
"Thank you again, we are taking a break now, feel free to leave change in the guitar case. We are Pyrrhic Muses and after wetting our whistles, will be back on stage."
The lovely lithe woman, her voice husky like a NYC Siren gone folk with a flogged background, all decked out in black jeans, lavender muscle-shirt with the head of a canid emblazoned on it leaves the stage. Her band mates follow, guitarist and drummer, heading to the restrooms and bar while canned crud for pop is blared out of dj sounding speakers. The lights come up and Vik takes a long slow look around. Rumor had it these were the latest bomb, but they sounded like they had been playing together longer than they had been alive.
There were three CDs for sale on a stand to the side, the lead singer heading over there with water and lemon in hand, to take cash only the little hand calligraphied sign said.
"That last track is off the next cd, did you like it?" She holds out her hand,
"Cat A Strophe, like catastrophe but cuter."
"Hi my name is Vik, really digging the set so far." What a dork comment to make, even if she is young enough to be your daughter damn near.
"Digging the set, what an odd turn, not heard that in like forever. So you like our style, a little retro for lots of folks."
"Nope not heard a thing like it before, that one song sleeping dogs or something, that really about teared me up," Vik admits while the two of them wander to the bar.
"Yeah one of our oldest songs, been with the three of us since the start. Sometimes it brings the house down, sometimes not."
She pauses, "Ice water with lemon please."
The bartender hands it over to her, she slugs some of it down,
"Well almost time to head back up there, I got a solitary question for you though hun."
Looking her over once more, Vik grunts, "Sure fire away."
"Like the man says, the endless search for self, has it led you to here or this just a place to kick back a few whiskeys?" The perky lady with eyes that look a lot older than her shape would suggest, asks in all seriousness while the guitarist works to check the tuning of his rig.
"I am pretty comfortable with me, but I am looking for the right one, wanna be the right now to find out if you are the right one or not?"
Gotta take a stab at it, short, cute, quick and creative, all fine elements in a relationship.
"Gonna think on it while we play, stick around, you might be surprised." She leans in and pecks his cheek, reaching up on toes and almost against him but not quite, but the impression on the fabric of life carries her image across the remaining distance to his sense of touch.
Then she wanders back up to the small stage, dwarfed with the sheer energy of the trio of a band.
Couple of hours later, when it is the next day and the second set is over, not a single cover song that he can tell, they have material for at least a marathon session, the lady comes down to him as he sat there nursing the final drink, past last call, while Pyrrhic Muses broke down their gear.
Shortly later it was off for a night of coffee the two of them all alone with her hand in his.
Intersections:
"What are you thinking lover?" Cat asked out loud from the kitchenette where they were staying for the night on the road, hitting all of the small towns and smaller cities around the central larger one where Vik had met her.
“Just about tonight, the gig, how we are on the road all the time, learning the ins and outs of the road, without ever learning a real thing.”
“Well dear, we are learning how to live and love and make money the old fashioned way, with hard work.” Cat strolls into the kitchen, snagging her first cup of coffee as dressed as the day she met her mother.
“ Also we are learning all about these lovely hick towns with no clue about good music. I think it will be a snoozer session tonight. Gonna be a slow one here, got the feeling it will be about fifty years before it is a happening town.
“Well get dressed, time to head into town and see if there is a music shop anywhere close and score some indie tracks to get inspiration from.” She walks back into the bed room, to dress and drink her morning coffee.
“You want to get married?” Vik spouts out of the blue.
“Hurricane love, not in this life no I don’t, no matter how perfect a man might seem, never in this life.”
“Ok just wanted to ask, why hurricane though.” He asks back.
“Because you are causing stormy waves in my heart, and the tide is coming in I fear.” With a little black top, jeans and sneakers on her feet, the two of them head out into the daylight.
Death came too swiftly, it came with the speed of a bullet nearly, but none the less lethal for that slight lack. It came with kinetic finality, dropping down from forever to cut short a life made long in retrospect, taken one that should not have ever been lost. Death came falling out of the sky to crush the life from the one man she thought she could ever love, and would never love again. But that does not happen for a few more minutes at least.
“Hey V, look over there, what is that?”
“Don’t know love, not sure about it.” Vik responded back.
It looked like a column of mud, standing there in the sunlight there that early pre-noon morning in a small sleepy town in the almost rural, almost suburban, almost urban part of the country where nothing happens to speak of.
It was just standing there, without moving, nothing happening to it in the slightest bit.
A screeching from the sky came hurting down, heat searing and blasting the area close to where the couple was standing. Something impacted in a small building close by, flames and bricks flying in all directions, scattering shrapnel in all directions. Something had impacted onto the site of this small town, close to where the two lovers had been walking, causing despair and destruction all around it. Bodies suddenly were lying on the ground, already the sound of sirens in the near distance could be heard.
Cat looked down at her body, nothing was hurt, no blood showed, and she looked over at V who she called Hurricane cause he was making a storm of her entire life, and she stared. Cat stood there, staring at what had just happened. The coating of mud that flowed up and over Vik covering him in a light brown suit from head to toe, watching it harden all over his flesh, somehow tossed or moved in the force of the explosion of the meteor or what ever it was that had destroyed the small office building there so close yet forever away from them both.
“I cant move love.” Vik said with an odd tone in his voice.
“Huhh, what do you mean, other than the mud you look fine love.” Cat wonders out loud in a way.
“All cold inside Cat, all cold inside, and I cant move my body.” The plaintive tone is clear in his voice.
[pic2]
“It is going to be alright V, I know it will be,” But the doubt was there, “Everything will be just fine. We got a gig to play tonight and you need to be there. Tonight and every other night that we play.” Cat cries ever so softly as she can see the light leaving his eyes, standing there encased in a suit of mud thrown up in an impossible situation to murder the only man she might ever have loved.
The fire, police, and ambulances all arrive to take away the inexplicable bodies, along with Vik’s, sealed solid in a casket of mud with a young lady crying on her knees reaching out to hold his hand but not able to hold it.
They arrive to take away all the bodies except for the one she is closest too.
[pic 1]
Outcome:
[pic 3]
The three of them climbed and climbed up the singular lines and fabric, farther and farther towards infinite light. The weight of the wheelchair hindering Cint less and less with each pull of his hands, dragging the belted conveyance higher and higher.
FG's long hair blowing in the winds coming off of the dancing primaries all about them. Higher and higher the three of them climbed, heading towards an uncertain destination. But a place better than where they had just come from filled with death and the end of love for more than one of them.
They climbed the ropes that held all of the past and future together for the sakes of Cat A Strophe, as well has their own selves. They climb these ropes leading towards a future far away from home, for the sake of the children that should have been carried by Cat sired by Vik who were their predecessors.
There was no real reason for it to end this way, three total strangers thrown together at the end of time, climbing literal robes towards light streaming down from thousands of stars all compacted into a single solar system, the ending of all time for this go around of the universe, waiting for the next expansion to occur, the natural contraction having come to an end here in the forever distant future, where two men and one woman is all that remains of a century so far in the past, there is not even a number for it. The time spent in between the eons of eons of eons flicker by in the stress of the climb, towards the light at the end, of this go around at reality.
Sleeping Dogs
by
Pyrrhic Muses copyright 2054 The Night Breathes Music
Stillness, the silence of the grave.
Quiet now, the dead to be are sleeping.
Let this quiet reign thru out the night,
and Sleeping Dogs, be still in sight.
refrain The Silent Dogs, Restless and torn,
Move in their dreams, in search of bones.
The Sleeping Dogs, Restless and torn,
Writhe in their dreams, searching for homes.
Darkened pasts echo our futures, the now to be in soon.
Sounds of thunders, distant and close punctuate the room.
Lie still my Beauties, rest in peace.
Chase the rats, and be at peace.
Howl and Growl, Snap and Whine,
Whir of gears do define.
The angles of Life, boundaries fine
Do rest in YOUr sleep, my hounds My Hounds.
Peaceful dreams, I wish, Abound.
refrain The Silent Dogs, Restless and torn,
Move in their dreams, in search of bones.
The Sleeping Dogs, Restless and torn,
Writhe in their dreams, searching for homes.
Sleeping Dogs
They do Whine
Sleeping Dogs
I've defined
Sleeping Dogs
Still whine and snap
Sleeping Dogs
Can still crack
Can Still Crack, Can still crack
refrain The Silent Dogs, Restless and torn,
Move in their dreams, in search of bones.
The Sleeping Dogs, Restless and torn,
Writhe in their dreams, searching for homes.
Silent no more, my Dogs are awake.
The hunting now they will make.
I, wish to offer my grief
That Sleeping Dogs, are, not, still, allowed, to, , sleep.
(all the more I can do in the time limit)
yangnome
First Post
To whom it may concern:
By the time you see this, I imagine everything has already happened. I doubt you will ever understand why I did what I did, but hopefully this letter will give you some insight into my reasoning.
Others have always treated me like an outsider. Growing up, other kids used to laugh at me and tease me because I looked different. I tried doing everything I could to fit in. I bought the right clothes, tried to listen to the right music, watch the right movies and TV shows, but it did no good.
My Mother always told me that this happened because kids were mean. She said that once people grow up and start moving on with their lives, people would accept me for who I am rather that what I look like.
That was bullcrap.
The fact of the matter is, unless you fit in, people will treat you like crap because they can. It makes them feel better about themselves. If a group of people agree that you ok bad, they must be normal. I’ve dealt with it all my life. Frankly I’m sick of putting up with it.
All my life people have pointed and laughed at me-- people have made jokes about the way I look. I’ve had little kids on the bus cry when they see me. The fact that they cry doesn’t get to me so much, but when their parents try to shield them from me...
When I was in grade school, kids used to call me Alien. The name stuck with me through junior high and high school, but the teasing got worse. Anal probes, cattle mutilation, abductions they teased me constantly. As if I’d think it was funny that I was born with a defect. I learned to stop fighting against it though, that only made it worse. I used to break down in tears, but that only made it worse. They’d attack me harder. Later, I learned to laugh along with them. It didn’t stop the jokes, but they weren’t as nasty about what they’d say. Of course, to them it was funny that I laughed and joked along with them—like the retarded kid who laughs when people call him stupid.
I filled a niche as the butt of their jokes. Like the time the Homecoming Queen, Tina Richards, pretended she had a crush on me. It started with notes left in my locker. From the start, I knew it wasn’t true. I knew that she’d never see anything of worth in a beast like me. Over time though, I did start to believe—or at least I wanted to. She kept sending me notes. I’d rush to my locker between each period to see if another one had come. I’d read them during class, picturing her walking down the hallway with me—that’d show those other bastards.
I sat behind her in my math class. She didn’t talk to me much, before the notes, but after she started sending them, she’d occasionally say ‘hi’, and give me that coy smile. That mocking smile as I later found out. I loved the sweet smell of her perfume. Its scent also wafted from the notes she left for me. ‘Did others know how she felt about me’ I used to wonder. Of course they did—they were all in on the joke I found out later.
One day, before I found out it was all a cruel hoax, I was sitting behind her in class and I noticed a hair had fallen from her head onto my desktop. I took it between my fingers and twirled it around. At the end of class I carefully tucked it between the pages of my book. I began to look for her hairs every day. I had a small collection inside my algebra book.
I digress though. This whore had me convinced that she truly saw through my exterior and was able to see who I was on the inside. It wasn’t to be though. In one of her notes to me, Tina invited me to the Winter Formal with her. I was nervous about going, but excited nonetheless. My mother took me to have a suit made—I’ve never really been able to buy clothes off the rack with my physique. I bought a corsage for her, a nice one with five white roses. I even rented a limo to pick her up—I used money I had been saving since Elementary school. Anyway, I show up at her house and Brad is there with a bunch of their friends—you know, the cool kids; the ones who’ve teased me all my life. I was surprised to see them all there, but foolish me, I thought here was my chance to show them—I had a date with the most beautiful girl in the school.
That’s when they tossed their punch line at me. They all got a good laugh from it. I had been fool enough to believe that a girl—the girl—could be attracted to me. She of course went to the dance with Brad. I’m sure they laughed about it all night. Meanwhile, I couldn’t bear to bring myself to school for the next week.
I always allowed myself to find comfort in my mother’s advice. ‘They were only doing it because they were insecure teenagers’. “When I get older”, I’d tell myself, “they’ll appreciate me for who I am.” It didn’t happen.
I anxiously looked forward to high school graduation—my chance to escape. It didn’t really lead anywhere though. My folks didn’t have much money, so I wasn’t able to escape off to college—not that it would have done me any good. I went to the local community college with the same losers that had teased me through high school. New campus, same bullcrap.
I started off trying to get an English major. The problem with that is that English professors at the junior college level really suck—at leas the ones I had did. I had my fill of it when we studied the elephant Man. The pretentious bastard had the nerve to tell me I couldn’t understand the meaning behind Merrick’s struggle.
The class did open up new gateways for me. The bastards that shared the class with me had a new nickname for me, and a few new lines they could use to jeer me.
With that, I decided to give up on college. Instead, I tried to focus on learning skills I could use to make money. Why try to study to gain a deeper understanding of human society when it was all so foul on the surface?
I began learning how to work on aircraft. I spent the next six months learning the skills I needed to become a crewman at the local airport. Union wages would provide enough for me to get by and enough security that I wouldn’t have to worry about finding another job in the future.
Even with this new turn of events, I wasn’t able to escape my past though. Some of the same dimwits who followed me through school attended my technical school and eventually worked along side me. My mother was wrong. The teasing never really stopped. It may not have been as frequent, but it still persisted nonetheless.
They even tried rehashing the old joke that Tina played on me. A girl at work, Pam, began expressing interest in me, but by then, I was too jaded to fall for it all—not to mention, she wasn’t anywhere near as convincing as Tina. She had asked me out on a date following work, but I knew better this time. I turned her down. Of course, she blew it off and confessed she hadn’t been serious all along. She told others about it, and even teased me on a daily basis about it.
I told myself that I refused to open myself up to them again. I’d just do my work and not let their taunting bother me.
By now, you’ve got to be asking how things wound up as they did. I’m getting there. I realize this is probably longer than you’d expect, but it does help explain my decision, please be patient.
Well, Pam was upset that she wasn’t getting a reaction out of me. Instead of dropping it, she decided to take things personal. Today, she went to the boss and told him I had been coming on to her, and despite her frequent requests to stop, I kept asking bothering her.
Of course, I denied all of this to my boss. He wrote me up though and threatened to fire me. He didn’t believe me that the bitch was making this crap up. I told him to stick his job up his ass if he didn’t believe me.
I couldn’t believe the bastards would cost me my job just because I look different from them. As I left work, only one solution seemed available to me. I came home here and gave it thought. I stood in my bathroom, looking at myself in the mirror. I tried to squint my eyes, I even tried to look through the cracks between my fingers. None of it could make me look beautiful. They were right, I looked like an alien. There was no way I could fit in with them, ever. They were right, I looked like an alien. There was no way they, or you could understand the pain this caused me. It was a pain that could not, would not heal. The solution was clear. I have to try to make them understand—make you understand. I know how to do this. I am committed to helping you understand.
When I finish this letter—bear with me, I am close to the end, I am going to get dressed and head down town. Today happens to be homecoming. The school is having a parade down Main Street this afternoon. Today, I will show you my pain. If you are reading this, it is because I have shared it with you. I hope that you can feel it.
If you are reading this, you already know that when the float with the Homecoming court passed today, I shot the Homecoming Queen. It was nothing personal. I did not know her . I just hoped that it would make me feel better. I wanted to share this pain with you. I am sure that you and others in this town will not be able to understand why I did this. Have comfort in the fact that I too now am gone. If I was successful, I took my own life as well. If I didn’t succeed in that, I’m sure I’ll get the chair.
If anyone learns anything from the events that transpired today, I hope they learn to look beyond a person’s exterior and try to find the beauty within.
Respectfully Yours,
Jonathan Grey
By the time you see this, I imagine everything has already happened. I doubt you will ever understand why I did what I did, but hopefully this letter will give you some insight into my reasoning.
Others have always treated me like an outsider. Growing up, other kids used to laugh at me and tease me because I looked different. I tried doing everything I could to fit in. I bought the right clothes, tried to listen to the right music, watch the right movies and TV shows, but it did no good.
My Mother always told me that this happened because kids were mean. She said that once people grow up and start moving on with their lives, people would accept me for who I am rather that what I look like.
That was bullcrap.
The fact of the matter is, unless you fit in, people will treat you like crap because they can. It makes them feel better about themselves. If a group of people agree that you ok bad, they must be normal. I’ve dealt with it all my life. Frankly I’m sick of putting up with it.
All my life people have pointed and laughed at me-- people have made jokes about the way I look. I’ve had little kids on the bus cry when they see me. The fact that they cry doesn’t get to me so much, but when their parents try to shield them from me...
When I was in grade school, kids used to call me Alien. The name stuck with me through junior high and high school, but the teasing got worse. Anal probes, cattle mutilation, abductions they teased me constantly. As if I’d think it was funny that I was born with a defect. I learned to stop fighting against it though, that only made it worse. I used to break down in tears, but that only made it worse. They’d attack me harder. Later, I learned to laugh along with them. It didn’t stop the jokes, but they weren’t as nasty about what they’d say. Of course, to them it was funny that I laughed and joked along with them—like the retarded kid who laughs when people call him stupid.
I filled a niche as the butt of their jokes. Like the time the Homecoming Queen, Tina Richards, pretended she had a crush on me. It started with notes left in my locker. From the start, I knew it wasn’t true. I knew that she’d never see anything of worth in a beast like me. Over time though, I did start to believe—or at least I wanted to. She kept sending me notes. I’d rush to my locker between each period to see if another one had come. I’d read them during class, picturing her walking down the hallway with me—that’d show those other bastards.
I sat behind her in my math class. She didn’t talk to me much, before the notes, but after she started sending them, she’d occasionally say ‘hi’, and give me that coy smile. That mocking smile as I later found out. I loved the sweet smell of her perfume. Its scent also wafted from the notes she left for me. ‘Did others know how she felt about me’ I used to wonder. Of course they did—they were all in on the joke I found out later.
One day, before I found out it was all a cruel hoax, I was sitting behind her in class and I noticed a hair had fallen from her head onto my desktop. I took it between my fingers and twirled it around. At the end of class I carefully tucked it between the pages of my book. I began to look for her hairs every day. I had a small collection inside my algebra book.
I digress though. This whore had me convinced that she truly saw through my exterior and was able to see who I was on the inside. It wasn’t to be though. In one of her notes to me, Tina invited me to the Winter Formal with her. I was nervous about going, but excited nonetheless. My mother took me to have a suit made—I’ve never really been able to buy clothes off the rack with my physique. I bought a corsage for her, a nice one with five white roses. I even rented a limo to pick her up—I used money I had been saving since Elementary school. Anyway, I show up at her house and Brad is there with a bunch of their friends—you know, the cool kids; the ones who’ve teased me all my life. I was surprised to see them all there, but foolish me, I thought here was my chance to show them—I had a date with the most beautiful girl in the school.
That’s when they tossed their punch line at me. They all got a good laugh from it. I had been fool enough to believe that a girl—the girl—could be attracted to me. She of course went to the dance with Brad. I’m sure they laughed about it all night. Meanwhile, I couldn’t bear to bring myself to school for the next week.
I always allowed myself to find comfort in my mother’s advice. ‘They were only doing it because they were insecure teenagers’. “When I get older”, I’d tell myself, “they’ll appreciate me for who I am.” It didn’t happen.
I anxiously looked forward to high school graduation—my chance to escape. It didn’t really lead anywhere though. My folks didn’t have much money, so I wasn’t able to escape off to college—not that it would have done me any good. I went to the local community college with the same losers that had teased me through high school. New campus, same bullcrap.
I started off trying to get an English major. The problem with that is that English professors at the junior college level really suck—at leas the ones I had did. I had my fill of it when we studied the elephant Man. The pretentious bastard had the nerve to tell me I couldn’t understand the meaning behind Merrick’s struggle.
The class did open up new gateways for me. The bastards that shared the class with me had a new nickname for me, and a few new lines they could use to jeer me.
With that, I decided to give up on college. Instead, I tried to focus on learning skills I could use to make money. Why try to study to gain a deeper understanding of human society when it was all so foul on the surface?
I began learning how to work on aircraft. I spent the next six months learning the skills I needed to become a crewman at the local airport. Union wages would provide enough for me to get by and enough security that I wouldn’t have to worry about finding another job in the future.
Even with this new turn of events, I wasn’t able to escape my past though. Some of the same dimwits who followed me through school attended my technical school and eventually worked along side me. My mother was wrong. The teasing never really stopped. It may not have been as frequent, but it still persisted nonetheless.
They even tried rehashing the old joke that Tina played on me. A girl at work, Pam, began expressing interest in me, but by then, I was too jaded to fall for it all—not to mention, she wasn’t anywhere near as convincing as Tina. She had asked me out on a date following work, but I knew better this time. I turned her down. Of course, she blew it off and confessed she hadn’t been serious all along. She told others about it, and even teased me on a daily basis about it.
I told myself that I refused to open myself up to them again. I’d just do my work and not let their taunting bother me.
By now, you’ve got to be asking how things wound up as they did. I’m getting there. I realize this is probably longer than you’d expect, but it does help explain my decision, please be patient.
Well, Pam was upset that she wasn’t getting a reaction out of me. Instead of dropping it, she decided to take things personal. Today, she went to the boss and told him I had been coming on to her, and despite her frequent requests to stop, I kept asking bothering her.
Of course, I denied all of this to my boss. He wrote me up though and threatened to fire me. He didn’t believe me that the bitch was making this crap up. I told him to stick his job up his ass if he didn’t believe me.
I couldn’t believe the bastards would cost me my job just because I look different from them. As I left work, only one solution seemed available to me. I came home here and gave it thought. I stood in my bathroom, looking at myself in the mirror. I tried to squint my eyes, I even tried to look through the cracks between my fingers. None of it could make me look beautiful. They were right, I looked like an alien. There was no way I could fit in with them, ever. They were right, I looked like an alien. There was no way they, or you could understand the pain this caused me. It was a pain that could not, would not heal. The solution was clear. I have to try to make them understand—make you understand. I know how to do this. I am committed to helping you understand.
When I finish this letter—bear with me, I am close to the end, I am going to get dressed and head down town. Today happens to be homecoming. The school is having a parade down Main Street this afternoon. Today, I will show you my pain. If you are reading this, it is because I have shared it with you. I hope that you can feel it.
If you are reading this, you already know that when the float with the Homecoming court passed today, I shot the Homecoming Queen. It was nothing personal. I did not know her . I just hoped that it would make me feel better. I wanted to share this pain with you. I am sure that you and others in this town will not be able to understand why I did this. Have comfort in the fact that I too now am gone. If I was successful, I took my own life as well. If I didn’t succeed in that, I’m sure I’ll get the chair.
If anyone learns anything from the events that transpired today, I hope they learn to look beyond a person’s exterior and try to find the beauty within.
Respectfully Yours,
Jonathan Grey
Kassiopeia
First Post
After Shock
by Antti Helin
He woke up to the thumping of the veins in his head. He listened to it for a while, but it didn't offer him any real relief. He sat up on the bed, sighed and rubbed his temples. He opened his eyes, and wondered what time of day it was. Everything was covered in a purple haze. (Picture 3) Some limbs weren't where they were supposed to be or what they were supposed to be. He considered that he was dreaming - he wasn't sure since it had been so long since he had dreamed. This realization made him particularly depressed.
He carefully lifted himself from the bed and the world started to flow back into its usual shape and colour. The thumping in his head accelerated slightly. He switched the lights on and walked to the kitchen. He had piled all his kettles and pans on the counter before going to bed. He pushed them down to the floor and smiled. He was very proud of his powerful sound system, and he turned it on, full volume. Someone stomped their feet upstairs in protest but he ignored it. He chugged down a couple of aspirins in a robotic motion. He knew it was useless, but he'd promised he'd take them.
It was noon. He had business in the city - Nori wanted him to have another shot at this new treatment he'd found on the net - so he found the least dirty clothes he could. Out on the street a Farewell parade was going on. (Picture 1) A tractor with a platform full of children in tow was driving down the main street. He loved children. They were so chaotic and noisy. He had always considered a career in education or daycare, but you couldn't do much of that anymore if you were Shocked. That's why the Farewell parades were being held - the kids on the platform were seven. They'd have to leave before they'd grow up too much and be in danger of getting Shocked too.
Besides, he wasn't the bookish type. He had been a baker. He loved kneading the dough and the smell of fresh bread. Machine-made bread was nothing like it, but nowadays you didn't have a choice. He had virii and bacteria and all sorts of poisons wafting off his body, they'd explained to him. Besides, bread was full of carbohydrates, and you didn't want too many of those in your diet.
He baked in secret every now and then, but don't tell them. He had lost a friend to obesity too, but a loaf once in a while?
He was reluctant to leave the parade and the children, but he had a bus to catch. He found a seat right above the engine.
It's so strange, he thought. They can design an entire state exclusively for the Shocked alone, with good old fashioned buses, houses and everything. They live on Mars or put their soul into a computer, and they can only die if they want to, and many other things they had not dared to tell him. But they had not been able to find an MP3 player, or a portable CD player, or even a Walkman, or at least a pair of ear phones. "The only way we can help you with your problem," they had told him, "would also drive you insane." Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea after all. At least they had promised to find him something more secluded than a flat in a block. He had already gotten a couple of notices for the loud noise in the late hours. Maybe Nori could prescribe him some sleeping pills too.
The bus stop was a couple blocks' walk away from Nori's clinic. The city was pretty quiet, he wondered if it was actually a Sunday. Not that it mattered, Nori was always available and the buses always ran. He didn't want to know how. He believed the rumour that the drivers didn't really drive them, and that was enough.
The appointment with Nori was uneventful. Nori explained to him once again that his condition was most likely psychological, and most certainly a byproduct of his Shock. He had done some reading, though, and argued that no other Shocked one had ever had something like this. Nori ponted out that the Shock was not well known by modern psychology - after all, they had not even found a way to cure the Shock yet, let alone all its symptoms. Why else would they go through the trouble of isolating and furnishing forty thousand square miles for the Shocked alone?
The new therapy method Nori had found was also uneventful. He was strapped to a chair inside a big machine - an MRI, he was told, it allowed them to look at his brain - and some electrodes were planted on his scalp. He sat there still for fifteen minutes as electric impulses were shot through his cortex, but the headache went nowhere. Nori wasn't too talkative after the session, but did give him the sleeping pills. Nori also promised him again that they'd try to find him a more secluded apartment. He responded again that yes, it was a good idea and they should hurry. Some people at the Institute of Antiquated Electronics were also working on a replica portable music player based on some blueprints and photographs, which sounded even better.
He headed back to the bus stop. He missed the sounds of a city. A real city, not this copy. It was pretty good but not the real thing. Not far enough cars, because they gave you the other deadly carbosomething. He was sad that the true sound of a city was probably lost forever. His generation would take it to the grave with it. He wondered what Chicago was like nowadays.
He heard a rumbling, penetrating sound from somewhere far. It was familiar. He walked in its direction and found its source: a construction site. He suddenly recognized the sound, it was a jackhammer. He felt the headache slowly fading away. He got closer and closer and found a bunch of workers. He knew what nanomachines were, but it was probably safer to build things the old way. Knowing what they were and seeing what they can do were two entirely different things, he reasoned.
The one with the jackhammer was a cute girl with red hair. He watched her drill for a while and wrapped himself in the sound. She noticed him and stopped.
She wiped her brow. "Hello, can I help you?" (Picture 2)
"Uh, uh, no. Just... keep on doing whatever it was you were doing."
She looked puzzled but smiled. He smiled right back.
by Antti Helin
He woke up to the thumping of the veins in his head. He listened to it for a while, but it didn't offer him any real relief. He sat up on the bed, sighed and rubbed his temples. He opened his eyes, and wondered what time of day it was. Everything was covered in a purple haze. (Picture 3) Some limbs weren't where they were supposed to be or what they were supposed to be. He considered that he was dreaming - he wasn't sure since it had been so long since he had dreamed. This realization made him particularly depressed.
He carefully lifted himself from the bed and the world started to flow back into its usual shape and colour. The thumping in his head accelerated slightly. He switched the lights on and walked to the kitchen. He had piled all his kettles and pans on the counter before going to bed. He pushed them down to the floor and smiled. He was very proud of his powerful sound system, and he turned it on, full volume. Someone stomped their feet upstairs in protest but he ignored it. He chugged down a couple of aspirins in a robotic motion. He knew it was useless, but he'd promised he'd take them.
It was noon. He had business in the city - Nori wanted him to have another shot at this new treatment he'd found on the net - so he found the least dirty clothes he could. Out on the street a Farewell parade was going on. (Picture 1) A tractor with a platform full of children in tow was driving down the main street. He loved children. They were so chaotic and noisy. He had always considered a career in education or daycare, but you couldn't do much of that anymore if you were Shocked. That's why the Farewell parades were being held - the kids on the platform were seven. They'd have to leave before they'd grow up too much and be in danger of getting Shocked too.
Besides, he wasn't the bookish type. He had been a baker. He loved kneading the dough and the smell of fresh bread. Machine-made bread was nothing like it, but nowadays you didn't have a choice. He had virii and bacteria and all sorts of poisons wafting off his body, they'd explained to him. Besides, bread was full of carbohydrates, and you didn't want too many of those in your diet.
He baked in secret every now and then, but don't tell them. He had lost a friend to obesity too, but a loaf once in a while?
He was reluctant to leave the parade and the children, but he had a bus to catch. He found a seat right above the engine.
It's so strange, he thought. They can design an entire state exclusively for the Shocked alone, with good old fashioned buses, houses and everything. They live on Mars or put their soul into a computer, and they can only die if they want to, and many other things they had not dared to tell him. But they had not been able to find an MP3 player, or a portable CD player, or even a Walkman, or at least a pair of ear phones. "The only way we can help you with your problem," they had told him, "would also drive you insane." Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea after all. At least they had promised to find him something more secluded than a flat in a block. He had already gotten a couple of notices for the loud noise in the late hours. Maybe Nori could prescribe him some sleeping pills too.
The bus stop was a couple blocks' walk away from Nori's clinic. The city was pretty quiet, he wondered if it was actually a Sunday. Not that it mattered, Nori was always available and the buses always ran. He didn't want to know how. He believed the rumour that the drivers didn't really drive them, and that was enough.
The appointment with Nori was uneventful. Nori explained to him once again that his condition was most likely psychological, and most certainly a byproduct of his Shock. He had done some reading, though, and argued that no other Shocked one had ever had something like this. Nori ponted out that the Shock was not well known by modern psychology - after all, they had not even found a way to cure the Shock yet, let alone all its symptoms. Why else would they go through the trouble of isolating and furnishing forty thousand square miles for the Shocked alone?
The new therapy method Nori had found was also uneventful. He was strapped to a chair inside a big machine - an MRI, he was told, it allowed them to look at his brain - and some electrodes were planted on his scalp. He sat there still for fifteen minutes as electric impulses were shot through his cortex, but the headache went nowhere. Nori wasn't too talkative after the session, but did give him the sleeping pills. Nori also promised him again that they'd try to find him a more secluded apartment. He responded again that yes, it was a good idea and they should hurry. Some people at the Institute of Antiquated Electronics were also working on a replica portable music player based on some blueprints and photographs, which sounded even better.
He headed back to the bus stop. He missed the sounds of a city. A real city, not this copy. It was pretty good but not the real thing. Not far enough cars, because they gave you the other deadly carbosomething. He was sad that the true sound of a city was probably lost forever. His generation would take it to the grave with it. He wondered what Chicago was like nowadays.
He heard a rumbling, penetrating sound from somewhere far. It was familiar. He walked in its direction and found its source: a construction site. He suddenly recognized the sound, it was a jackhammer. He felt the headache slowly fading away. He got closer and closer and found a bunch of workers. He knew what nanomachines were, but it was probably safer to build things the old way. Knowing what they were and seeing what they can do were two entirely different things, he reasoned.
The one with the jackhammer was a cute girl with red hair. He watched her drill for a while and wrapped himself in the sound. She noticed him and stopped.
She wiped her brow. "Hello, can I help you?" (Picture 2)
"Uh, uh, no. Just... keep on doing whatever it was you were doing."
She looked puzzled but smiled. He smiled right back.
Linderel
First Post
Untitled
"That's a really, uhm... cute lizard. Critter. Thing. So-- what was that you needed help with, again?"
The green, scaly creature lounging on the desk (picture 2), seemingly innocuous, made Robin really nervous. Not that she would ever admit to it in a million years. No, sirree! There was nothing that could faze Robin Farrel, and the rest of the world could damn well keep thinking just that if she had any say in the matter. Not even if said lizard looked like it wanted to eat something with a little more substance than whatever it was that Annie fed it.
Either way, she didn't really want to know what it was, exactly, since it didn't look like a normal lizard at all. She didn't even want to think about it. Everyone knew Annie hung out with some very strange people, not to mention she had a bit of a mad scientist in her.
Poking a vial half filled with a bubbling green liquid-- "Don't touch them! They're very fragile," Annie rushed to say-- she followed the girl through a vast expanse of room after room that the other called a house, absently wondering where the parental units were. She'd met them the previous time she had come here, and they seemed nice people, although unnervingly resemblant to their daughter in terms of geekiness.
Robin sometimes idly entertained the thought that maybe they had produced the girl in a test tube for all her perfection. Then again, maybe not. That was the stuff of science fiction stories... yet.
They arrived at a flight of stairs, winding deep underground and lit only by the occasional lamp imbedded to the wall here and there. Giving an incredulous stare at her host's back as she started descending, she followed suit.
"Let me get this straight. You have..." she started and shook her head bemusedly as the other turned to blink at her. "You have another laboratory? In the basement?"
"Sure. My own room only has space for about a third of my equipment, and if I screw something up, I won't be causing any harm to the furniture. Or Gojira-- the lizard."
"... Right." Trust Annie to give a name like that to a pet. She was just too weird sometimes.
Why Robin was agreeing to help her classmate was beyond her, really. It wasn't like she wanted to get involved in any shady business. Besides, trekking all the way up here was beyond troublesome. How Annie managed to travel to campus and back every single day was a complete and utter mystery. Not only did the huge building stand on a cliff, looking down over a valley (picture 1), it was also a fair distance away from the rest of the town. She felt slightly woozy every time she walked to the terrace, unable to forget there was practically nothing more than a thick wood floor between her and a very long fall.
Then again, Annie didn't leave her excellence at passing all academic courses with flying colours. Who knew how she had time for it, but the girl was also an athlete. Trust her not to be bothered about a little trip of, oh, fifteen miles every single morning, or a drop that to Robin seemed only a little shorter.
Not that she envied her. It was always amusing to hear the girl go on about her newest project, though, so maybe she didn't mind that much after all.
"Now, what is this thing exactly, then?" she asked, leaning over the table to look at the current project.
"Mushrooms." Her voice was flat, and Annie cringed, just a little, seeming to brace herself for the inevitable explosion. Robin was rather infamous for her short temper, being known for being sometimes able to go off for twenty minutes straight about one or the other. Usually, the people on the receiving end of her fury merely opted for looking suitably chagrined, deciding to try and ignore the onslaught of expletives, insults and inane spluttering. She was a great person to hang out with, after all, if you just could deal with the temper.
The thought was not always that comforting, though. Like in the present case, where the girl looked very much like she wanted to cause someone - or something - bodily harm.
"After all of that," she ground out, her voice dropping about an octave and then beginning to rise again, reaching a crescendo at the end, "you're trying to tell me this whole thing is about mushrooms?!"
Annie nodded, timidly, and pointed to the large glass container sitting on the windowsill. True enough, there was a group of blue mushrooms (picture 3) in one corner of the container, all innocent and happily unaware of how close they were to becoming the object of the wrath of one Robin Farrel. Beside her, she could hear her classmate let out a frightened squeak.
By this point glaring at everything and anything that her eyes landed on, she advanced on the container, the quiet 'eep' sound from behind being strangely gratifying. Not that she truly intended to harm the contents, even though the thought was very tempting. Annie would be devastated if all her hard work went down the drain.
Of course, she didn't see how these mushrooms were special, but logically they must have been. The girl never got quite that excited over nothing. And judging from the way she was now squeeing in delight and clapping her hands, this was something big indeed.
Squinting, Robin trained her attention on the container once more. She rather regretted that after a while, as she witnessed the little blue mushrooms stir and pop open a round pair of bright eyes each.
Blink. Blink.
The fertiliser Annie had been giving them had to have been pretty damn potent. She didn't quite get why they had spent a dozen vials and caused some sort of explosion while apparently trying to develop an even more efficient mix, but nevermind.
Watching the contents of the container detach from the dirt and hop around, blinking at the world in general, she decided she didn't want to know.
Feeling slightly hysterical, Robin hoped they wouldn't suddenly sprout arms and legs and start jigging. That would have been way over the line. She felt like she might faint were that to happen. Hell, at this point anything could make her jump.
As the laws of universe went, that was exactly what happened next. Or something very near to it. She was too flabbergasted to process most of the images being sent to her brain.
This was it. She was never going to come to this house again. Ever. While Annie cooed over her new... pets... ? she turned tail and got out of the room.
Too. Freaking. Weird.
She could apologise later.
Stumbling to her tiny apartment practically on the other side of town, Robin had distinct trouble paying attention to her surroundings, resulting in more near-crashes with lamp posts she cared to count. Through the stupor, she thought she might have almost walked under a car, but she wasn't entirely sure.
She definitely needed a long, long bath. Preferably accompanied by a glass of something slightly stronger than water. Oh, yes. Fishing around in her bag for the ever-elusive keys, Robin froze when her fingers brushed something cool and dry but very much alive.
Out and up her arm skittered the very same lizard she had been shooting suspicious looks at just a few hours prior.
She considered fainting as an option, or maybe screaming at the top of her lungs. That sounded like a pretty good idea. Nevertheless, she merely ended up letting a strange, slightly choked sound, feeling light-headed and edging past hysteria.
Well, drat.
"That's a really, uhm... cute lizard. Critter. Thing. So-- what was that you needed help with, again?"
The green, scaly creature lounging on the desk (picture 2), seemingly innocuous, made Robin really nervous. Not that she would ever admit to it in a million years. No, sirree! There was nothing that could faze Robin Farrel, and the rest of the world could damn well keep thinking just that if she had any say in the matter. Not even if said lizard looked like it wanted to eat something with a little more substance than whatever it was that Annie fed it.
Either way, she didn't really want to know what it was, exactly, since it didn't look like a normal lizard at all. She didn't even want to think about it. Everyone knew Annie hung out with some very strange people, not to mention she had a bit of a mad scientist in her.
Poking a vial half filled with a bubbling green liquid-- "Don't touch them! They're very fragile," Annie rushed to say-- she followed the girl through a vast expanse of room after room that the other called a house, absently wondering where the parental units were. She'd met them the previous time she had come here, and they seemed nice people, although unnervingly resemblant to their daughter in terms of geekiness.
Robin sometimes idly entertained the thought that maybe they had produced the girl in a test tube for all her perfection. Then again, maybe not. That was the stuff of science fiction stories... yet.
They arrived at a flight of stairs, winding deep underground and lit only by the occasional lamp imbedded to the wall here and there. Giving an incredulous stare at her host's back as she started descending, she followed suit.
"Let me get this straight. You have..." she started and shook her head bemusedly as the other turned to blink at her. "You have another laboratory? In the basement?"
"Sure. My own room only has space for about a third of my equipment, and if I screw something up, I won't be causing any harm to the furniture. Or Gojira-- the lizard."
"... Right." Trust Annie to give a name like that to a pet. She was just too weird sometimes.
Why Robin was agreeing to help her classmate was beyond her, really. It wasn't like she wanted to get involved in any shady business. Besides, trekking all the way up here was beyond troublesome. How Annie managed to travel to campus and back every single day was a complete and utter mystery. Not only did the huge building stand on a cliff, looking down over a valley (picture 1), it was also a fair distance away from the rest of the town. She felt slightly woozy every time she walked to the terrace, unable to forget there was practically nothing more than a thick wood floor between her and a very long fall.
Then again, Annie didn't leave her excellence at passing all academic courses with flying colours. Who knew how she had time for it, but the girl was also an athlete. Trust her not to be bothered about a little trip of, oh, fifteen miles every single morning, or a drop that to Robin seemed only a little shorter.
Not that she envied her. It was always amusing to hear the girl go on about her newest project, though, so maybe she didn't mind that much after all.
"Now, what is this thing exactly, then?" she asked, leaning over the table to look at the current project.
"Mushrooms." Her voice was flat, and Annie cringed, just a little, seeming to brace herself for the inevitable explosion. Robin was rather infamous for her short temper, being known for being sometimes able to go off for twenty minutes straight about one or the other. Usually, the people on the receiving end of her fury merely opted for looking suitably chagrined, deciding to try and ignore the onslaught of expletives, insults and inane spluttering. She was a great person to hang out with, after all, if you just could deal with the temper.
The thought was not always that comforting, though. Like in the present case, where the girl looked very much like she wanted to cause someone - or something - bodily harm.
"After all of that," she ground out, her voice dropping about an octave and then beginning to rise again, reaching a crescendo at the end, "you're trying to tell me this whole thing is about mushrooms?!"
Annie nodded, timidly, and pointed to the large glass container sitting on the windowsill. True enough, there was a group of blue mushrooms (picture 3) in one corner of the container, all innocent and happily unaware of how close they were to becoming the object of the wrath of one Robin Farrel. Beside her, she could hear her classmate let out a frightened squeak.
By this point glaring at everything and anything that her eyes landed on, she advanced on the container, the quiet 'eep' sound from behind being strangely gratifying. Not that she truly intended to harm the contents, even though the thought was very tempting. Annie would be devastated if all her hard work went down the drain.
Of course, she didn't see how these mushrooms were special, but logically they must have been. The girl never got quite that excited over nothing. And judging from the way she was now squeeing in delight and clapping her hands, this was something big indeed.
Squinting, Robin trained her attention on the container once more. She rather regretted that after a while, as she witnessed the little blue mushrooms stir and pop open a round pair of bright eyes each.
Blink. Blink.
The fertiliser Annie had been giving them had to have been pretty damn potent. She didn't quite get why they had spent a dozen vials and caused some sort of explosion while apparently trying to develop an even more efficient mix, but nevermind.
Watching the contents of the container detach from the dirt and hop around, blinking at the world in general, she decided she didn't want to know.
Feeling slightly hysterical, Robin hoped they wouldn't suddenly sprout arms and legs and start jigging. That would have been way over the line. She felt like she might faint were that to happen. Hell, at this point anything could make her jump.
As the laws of universe went, that was exactly what happened next. Or something very near to it. She was too flabbergasted to process most of the images being sent to her brain.
This was it. She was never going to come to this house again. Ever. While Annie cooed over her new... pets... ? she turned tail and got out of the room.
Too. Freaking. Weird.
She could apologise later.
Stumbling to her tiny apartment practically on the other side of town, Robin had distinct trouble paying attention to her surroundings, resulting in more near-crashes with lamp posts she cared to count. Through the stupor, she thought she might have almost walked under a car, but she wasn't entirely sure.
She definitely needed a long, long bath. Preferably accompanied by a glass of something slightly stronger than water. Oh, yes. Fishing around in her bag for the ever-elusive keys, Robin froze when her fingers brushed something cool and dry but very much alive.
Out and up her arm skittered the very same lizard she had been shooting suspicious looks at just a few hours prior.
She considered fainting as an option, or maybe screaming at the top of her lungs. That sounded like a pretty good idea. Nevertheless, she merely ended up letting a strange, slightly choked sound, feeling light-headed and edging past hysteria.
Well, drat.
