Learning How to Smile

I’d lost count of how many drinks I had imbibed at this point. I just knew that 2 more sat in front of me at the bar and I was well past the point of rational thought. I’m pretty sure I had made a good assault on all my friends in my phone via text messaging. My inebriated self was setting up a good adventure/mystery for me to solve the next day. Nothing quite like waking up to countless answered messages from friends of which you have no idea what the question was anymore. My drunken self could be a right jerk sometimes.

I could feel myself faltering in my seat. This was rare, but I was pretty sure I was in that zone, a few sips away from a very terrible night. It takes years of practice to find this sweet spot. Countless evenings heaving over white porcelain, keeping my face cooled by the tiles on the floor. Sometimes friends would be kind enough to throw a blanket on me, most nights I was left to fend for myself. Usually the last thought passing through my head is be sure to lay on my side, don’t need to go out like countless other stupid musicians. Although their adventures usually have much harder drugs involved, not just the simple old go-to of alcohol.

Knowing I didn’t have much time left before I hit the passed out phase I decided to make a run for it. I looked at my one untouched drink and figured it would be a waste to leave it there, but knowing it would absolutely be detrimental to myself I found a friend at the bar and passed them the drink. They looked at me wide-eyed and surprised, perhaps it will come back to me one day. I said my goodbye, or whatever passed for one, I’m not sure if I was able to speak clearly at this point anymore and I walked briskly to my car.

Cleverly, I had parked on the street in the direction of my home. My keys made it into the lock of my car with little effort and I felt this would be an easy trip home. With the car started I pulled out into traffic. Reality hit me faster than I was prepared for. My vision had gone double. I was way drunker than expected. I had two choices now, drive for the center of what I could see between the extra lanes in front of me and hope for the best, or close one eye. I clamped one eye shut and got myself home within minutes, luckily I only lived a few blocks away.

The rest of the night blacked out I awoke to a phone full of return messages. ‘Great!’ I sarcastically thought to myself. I was taken aback at one message in particular:

It is best to start facing a mirror. Sitting, standing, or whatever is comfortable. Using your left cheek muscle lift the left corner of your mouth upward. Repeat on the right using your right cheek muscles. You will see now that your mouth is in a curve shape. From here you can experiment with keeping your mouth closed, opening your mouth and showing teeth, and a variety of different smile options. Work with it and really make it your own.

It was in response to my message: “I think I forgot how to smile…” After reading this I don’t think I will ever forget again, nor will I ever chance a drive like that again.

-V-

Beyond Certainty (Part 1)

In the land beyond reality there was an evil being named Faldorgon. He was truly the most evil and vile creature ever known to any cognizant being. His features so hideous descriptions would not do your imagination any justice. But if I were to try, conjure in your mind a beast with horns, tentacles, and beady eyes, lots of them, everywhere. Let it drip acid on the floor from its slightly ajar mouth and mumble odd gurgling noises. With every step the creature makes some of it’s limbs drag on the floor behind with talons and nails scratching out an eerie symphony.

Now Faldorgon looked nothing like this, but it was fun brainstorming, wasn’t it. He really was too unique to describe, the many features one would try to ascribe and cast just can’t be put down in our language. He was also one of the meanest creatures anyone could come across. He was the type to sell his mother to gypsies just for fun. In fact, he did just that, mainly to see the look in her eyes as she was dragged away. He smiled deeply as she shouted his name, cursing him.

But, for the sake of all things decent, I should tell you, he was only about two millimeters tall, and as you are reading this, a somewhat respectable nymph was about to step on him, extinguishing his life force forever, or until you read this again, in which case I suppose he keeps coming back and getting stepped on repeatedly. A fair ending to something like him I think.

Our ‘heroic’ nymph whom unknowingly defeated the greatest evil ever stands about five feet tall, emanates a strong scent of roses that would have girls swooning left and right, but has a fascinatingly odd problem of keeping men in her life. It wasn’t her looks per se, she was absolutely adorable, nor was it her charisma, she had loads of that pouring out of every part of her. No, her problem was a touch more bizarre and came down to her name.

Her name was of ancient decent going back thousands of years; the language in which it originated has now long since been lost, but her current moniker given to her was realized from the first time anyone ever asked her name. Being a magical creature, when she properly pronounced it her name began sparking in the air as it flowed from her mouth creating a small electric field in the air. Lightning whipped around her.

The person whom asked her ended up getting hit with the discharge of the field and received charred skin all over their body. From that moment on the strange nymph was known as Char. And the poor scorched man ended up becoming a bard and telling the world of this ‘terrible’ girl whom had permanently disfigured him in songs so beautiful that no one really ever wanted to get to know her better. Char had convinced herself that it was better this way anyways, who wants to hang out with lots of cool friends anyhow?

-V-

Crust

And then I awoke, my breath pounding back into my body. I hurled my torso into the air away from my bed; my head flowing behind like a rag doll’s. Something was very familiar about this. I couldn’t open my right eye, it was crusted over with something. I brought my hand to my face and picked at my eye. Some flakes of dried blood lay sitting in my hand as I inspected it with my good eye. What in gods name had I gotten into last night?

I tried standing up, but my entire body was incredibly sore. With great strength of will I was able to pull myself to my feet. My room was a mess. Clothes everywhere, all dirty. I was wearing an old pair of blue jeans and a black tee shirt. I found a glass of water and some aspirin sitting on my bed stand. I didn’t realize how much my head was pounding until I saw them. I downed three pills and took a large swig of water. It felt so refreshing, but it was only a tiny drop into the abyss of my pain.

I figured I needed to clean up, then I would get to figuring out what happened to me. I pulled a new pair of jeans off the floor and grabbed the cleanest, least smelly black tee I could find. With every muscle protesting I drug my body into the bathroom. It was surprisingly clean, much cleaner than I had ever left it before.

I turned on the water in the shower and waited till I could see steam rising from behind the curtain. My first step under the spigot was bittersweet. The pain from the heat burnt deep, but it also started soothing my defeated muscles, melting them like butter in a hot pan under my skin. I looked down and saw a stream of red turn into a pool. How much blood had I lost?

Eventually I obtained free movement in all my limbs and started the long process of cleaning my body properly. The soapy loofah gently removing the most entrenched bits of blood and scabs from my skin. All the weight from my injuries felt cleansed from my body.

I turned off the water and reached for my towel, blue fluffy Egyptian cotton, and began the slow process of drying myself. Fully dry I stepped out in front of the mirror. With both eyes working now I could finally assess myself. Not terribly beaten up, few bruises around my abdomen. A small insignificant cut above my newly opened eye. It seemed it was mostly superficial damage.

I pulled on my clothes and ran a brush through my hair. Everything seemed in order. I turned to head out of the bathroom and slipped on a small puddle of water by the sink slamming my head into the toilet seat. And then I awoke, my breath pounding back into my body. I hurled my torso into the air away from my bed; my head flowing behind like a rag doll’s.

-V-

Fireflies (Part 3)

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I worked my way up to the bell tower. All modern in design and nestled between the chapels, this was the common meeting ground of the western block of souls. I didn’t know many of the people on this side, they were so modern in dress and thoughts I tended not to be able to have terribly good conversation with them, but there was one who I knew I could talk with endlessly.

Jenny always spent the early night in the garden by the bell tower and would make her rounds of the cemetery regularly. I believe she described herself as a social butterfly once, it fit perfectly. As expected she drifted through the gardens humming a tune quietly to herself I had never heard before.

“Jenny!” I called out.

She turned to me with a large grin on her face. She was watching over some young souls that were playing in the gardens. It’s not like anything could happen to them now, but we don’t let go of certain traits too easily. I think it’s inherent in all of us to watch over children, even if they aren’t ours. Parental instinct if you will.

“Eustice!” She called back to me, “it’s been ages, hasn’t it?”

“Well time seems relative here. You know that.” She nodded knowingly.

“What brings you to this side of the cemetery?” She asked with enthusiasm.

“There seems to be a new presence around, do you feel it?” I asked.

“Oh… That… Yeah. They are over there.” She said pointing to the north. Her lack of energy in this response intrigued me more than I would have expected. Deeply interested I started moving in the direction she had pointed.

“Oh I see, not really interesting in talking.” She called sardonically after me, sticking her tongue out.

“You know me, adventure awaits!” I called back over my shoulder as I waved a hand in the air. I could feel her making more faces at me behind my back as I continued on.

I came upon two people, real living people, sitting next to a grave with candles strewn about. The candles cast an eerie glow on their forms. They were shrouded head to toe in black rag like outfits. I could barely make out one mumbling something into the night. The other was humming tunelessly. The first one then started to speak out loud.

“Forgotten souls, hear my call. My name is Alice, I’m here to hear you and help. Please do not be afraid. Speak to me.” Alice said with determination.

I nearly fell over from laughing so hard. Every once in a while people do this. Try and ‘contact’ the spirits. My favorite part was the ‘do not be afraid’ as if they could do anything to us. We are dead. Not much else one can do.

“Oh great Alice, I’m here.” I said snickering. Living people can’t hear or see us, so I was taken aback when she turned right to me and stared in my direction.

-V-

Yargo (Part 5)

Go to Part 1

It had been a long morning and Walter was very tired; all he needed was a good place to sleep. Something inside of him was reassuring him with every step that his day could only be getting better. The funny thing about assuming things will get better when one is having a terrible day. The universe has a way of proving people wrong. Philosophers have postulated that this is due to the Universe having a bad day itself, or being bored, or just generally being a jerk.

On his door was a wonderfully written notice of eviction. Why, he thought, would anyone be evicted for just three months back rent? He knew people in the movies never had this problem, they just told the landlord the money would be there next week, and the idiots would believe it. It wasn’t so much being evicted that bothered Walter; it was the time he had to be off the premises.

The note said be clear of place by noon, it was already eleven thirty. Now he was truly in a bind. Without a car to put his crap in, he had only a half of an hour to get the really important stuff out of his apartment. He opened the door and took as much stuff as he could. He shoved bobbles and trinkets into pockets that he never knew he had before. Twelve was approaching fast and his landlord wasted no time. At precisely noon a big burly man, I use man loosely here, with so much hair, hair in places one would not choose to imagine, walked in.

Walter said in a faltering voice, “Yes, can I help you?”

The man replied in an overly interested voice, “It’s time to go.”

“Go? Where? Did I win a trip?” Walter sounded somewhat excited.

“Hmmmm…” the man patted his beard in thought, or least Walter thought it was his beard. “I do not believe so. You have however won a one way ticket out of this apartment.”

“And if I resist?”

“Oh… I do like it when they resist, please I have some aggression to get rid of.” The man grinned and began smacking his left fist into his right hand.

“Do you?” Walter replied in a half frantic voice.

“Well yes and no.”

“Yes what? And No what?”

“Yes I do have some aggression to get rid of, but no I don’t really enjoy it when ex-tenants resist.”

Walter had to ask, “Why is that?”

“Well you see; it’s my mum…”

“Stop,” Walter interrupted, “I think I have heard this story before.”

“Don’t want to listen, ehhh?”

With that Walter sat down on his bed and waited and made a stubborn face of a four year-old. The man picked him up with one hand and tossed him through the window. “Would you like to come back in and try that again?” said the man.

“Um… no I don’t believe so, I’ll just be hobbling down the street.”

“Well have a nice day sir.” The man smiled from ear to ear.

“Thanks, you too, enjoy your day evicting people.” Walter’s voice sounded almost sarcastic.

“I will, I always do.” Walter could tell that the man was very ecstatic about this point; something in his voice just screamed it.

-V-

Yargo (Part 4)

Go to Part 1

Walter was full of rage; he did not know what to do. So, as best as he could he gathered his thoughts, took a deep breath, and politely walked out of Mr. Stairwell’s office. Walter went through a list of all the objects that he needed to remove from his ex-employers premises; it consisted of a stapler, two kneed-able erasers, and a green pen and pencil set that his grandmother given to him. While he had devoted a good portion of his life to these objects, he thought screw it, threw them away and left.

The rage had finally found him now, he tossed everything behind him and stormed out of the building. Knowing that things could not possibly get any worse, he ambled into the parking lot with little left on his mind. He thought it interesting to see a small car with green and blue lights in the parking lot. Hmmmm… he thought to himself, I wonder what idiot got himself in trouble today.

With each step he could feel his heart sink. With every crackle of gravel underneath his worn souls he felt that something was improper. To keep with the wonderment of the day he knew that something bad had to be happening to him, it was almost like clockwork (in fact, the knowledge that his car stereo may have been stolen was just dawning on him). The lights began to dance a blue-green pattern across his mind: blue, green, green, blue, blue, it was almost too clear. The police were impounding his car. The jerks had received a call earlier that day about an unsightly trash heap that moved itself onto the corporation’s parking lot.

It was a good thing he lived only six blocks away, so a walk seemed in order. It was the most beautiful day Walter had ever let his senses perceive. The sun was beating down on his back; a small breeze was tickling his chin. The sky was a wonderful shade of purple (the color one can only imagine if they shut their eyes and press in on their eyelids and see the colorful starburst patterns that the mind creates). I feel it is a good point to note here that Yargo is not a place on earth, I had sort of been skirting the issue, but if you recall the color of the grass in first paragraph and while it seems very much like earth, no one could really have this bad of a day. Hopefully.

The smell of the air was so exquisite beyond anything that any reasonable human could describe (to put it into the best words anyone could only come close to understanding; it was like walking into a chocolate store and having nothing but the smell of chocolate invade your nose). In fact the day was so overwhelming that one might not have been able to stay outside for more than an hour without their head exploding. Luckily for Walter, he was brought back to reality with a head on collision into a four-foot in diameter phone pole. After an undetermined blackout period, he got up and headed around the corner to his apartment complex.

-V-

Read Part 5

Goodbye

She stood in the doorway, lips quivering slightly. The sunlight was sneaking through the open frame silently stealing a kiss on her cheek. I’d seen this scene so many times in my head before, but this time it was real, and there was no changing it. She wore a summer dress I had bought for her last year. It was a deep azure blue, which set her eyes ablaze. The cut accented every part of her body in just the right ways. She held one hand on the doorknob and the other resting gently on the doorframe.

A breeze lapped against her hair, pushing and pulling the blonde locks like waves crashing on a beach. Every once in a while a blink of her tiny perfect ears would slip into view and quickly disappear again. In a single moment I thought of all the good times we shared. Beaches and camping, traveling to far away places, blindly meandering around new and exciting villages, spending time doing nothing at all, watching television and movies, having picnics, daydreaming. She exhaled slowly.

I returned my gaze to her face. It was composed of a strong sense of sadness and stern detachment. She wasn’t looking at me per se, but more through me. I could feel it. It was unnerving. We felt stuck in a moment. I have no idea how long it lasted, but it was broken by the sun finally finding some refuge behind a lone cloud playing in the sky. Her lips parted slightly.

“Well?” It emanated from her lips with shocking indifference. I looked into her eyes and found them considering me in a way I had never seen before. I felt lost.

“Well, what?” I replied, not sure what to say anymore. I decided my best plan of action was to get as much information as possible.

“What do you mean, ‘well, what?’” She retaliated with fire, “don’t you have anything to say? Anything at all?”

“What can I say?” I thought out loud. She rolled her eyes to this answer.

Then it all hit me in a wave. The other half of our story, the nightmare nights of pain and sorrow, the agony we had put each other through, the fights, the scrutiny, the derision and ridicule. We were not good for each other at all and we both knew it. But what was left at this point? She stood there in silence, waiting.

“Well the way I figure it, there really is only three words I can say anymore.” I was making my gambit.

“Three words, eh?” She said sarcastically, “this ought to be good.” I wasn’t entirely sure what she was expecting, but a fire was building inside of me. I took her hand from the doorknob and placed it gently in mine and looked deeply into her eyes.

“I don’t care.” I said it softly but with plied earnestness. In the briefest moment I watched her jaw drop a little as she turned and rushed through the doorway. When there is no winning, no going back, you may as well go for mutually assured destruction.

-V-

Yargo (Part 3)

Go to Part 1

“Who the heck is it? If you don’t have your crap ready for the deadline, I’m not even going to consider an extension.” Came the voice from the other side of the door.

“It’s me, Walter.” Walter replied in a shaky voice.

“Who?” The voice forcibly requested.

“Walter, I work in section five…”

“Yeah, and I’m the blasted Easter bunny, what the blazes do you want at my door?” Anger was still dripping on each word.

“You asked to see me sir.” Walter replied with a bit more assurance.

“Hmmmm… So I did, well don’t just stand out there with your thumb up your butt, get in here… NOW!!” With that Walter jumped to attention and grabbed the doorknob and started pulling like a maniac. After a couple of seconds he noticed a little sign above the handle reading ‘Push’. Feeling like a moron he opened the door and slowly slumped in.

Mr. J. Stairwell was the name embossed upon the name plaque. The plaque was very elegant, unlike the dirty man that sat behind it. Mr. Stairwell looked like an obese dwarf on a bad day. He had an army of fat rolls around his belly, which was covered, as best as it could, by a t-shirt with the profound statement ‘This is not a beer-gut, this is a fuel tank for my love machine’ placed on it. His hair was brown and had a few dread locks in it, obviously not meant to be a fashion or religious statement. And he had a very distinct odor reminiscent of a fast-food-restaurant trashcan.

Walter thought it his duty to start the conversation before Mr. Stairwell forgot he was there, “So, Mr. Stairwell…”

“Yes… What… What the heck do you want here, I told you stupid people I’m not buying any of your damn religious hogwash. I don’t…”

“Mr. Stairwell, my name is Walter, I work in section five.”

“No you don’t.” Mr. Stairwell stated matter-of-factly.

“Yes, I distinctly remember working there yesterday.”

“I mean you don’t anymore, muttonhead!”

“You mean you’re laying me off?”

“Well, Walter is it?” He changed disposition to something almost motherly.

“Yes.” Walter was getting angry at his Mr. Stairwell’s insanity.

“I like to think of it as getting rid of useless weight, taking out the trash, actually I prefer the term… You’re fired! You cotch, get your crap and get out of my business”

Walter would have liked to say something that described the true ugliness of this man; how terrible he had been to Walter. How much he wanted to beat the living piss out of this man. How just the mere sight of his putrid body made him want to puke every last bit of stomach lining he had out through his nose (I would not suggest trying this at home). But alas, the only thing that came out of his mouth was, “Sure be out in fifteen then?”

“You have ten, now get out of my office and off these premises before I send the dogs after you.”

-V-

Read Part 4

Cloud Surfer

Walton was lying on his back alone in his favorite park. He could feel a light fleeting breeze kissing his cheek and moving on to rustle the tree leaves nearby. The sun was playing in the clouds shining rays of light all around him in erratic patterns around him. Birds were busy adjusting their nests chirping greetings to the rest of nature playing around the grounds. Walton let the day wash over himself as he let his mind wonder.

He started imagining his future. What would life bring him? Where would he go? What would he see? Hundreds of different lives passed in front of him powered by his imagination. Each one fully lived and realized in a matter of moments, brilliant and beautiful.

Something shifted in the clouds above him. It caught his attention almost immediately. It couldn’t have been a bird, it moved way too capriciously. Darting and dodging in the sky in ways he had never seen before. Then something incredible happened, the object started falling, and falling fast it was heading right at him. He only had seconds to roll out of the way as the being crashed into the ground where he once was.

Off kilter and a little disoriented, Walton stood up and stumbled back to where he was once lying on the hill. A young girl was crumbled up in a scar left in the soil by her impact. She barely moved, but Walton could see her mid-section slowly heaving to take in breath. She needed help, and he knew he was the only one around.

“Miss?” He tried lamely. He knew she was hurt bad. “Miss, can I help you?” He tried again with a bit more zeal.

“Urrghmmmphff…” was all that the being could manage. She then spit out a bunch of earth from her mouth, coughed and tried again.

“Ugh… That hurt! Did you do that?” She pointed a finger at Walton. “It was you wasn’t it! I was doing perfectly fine and then you, you, you,” she seemed to be stuck searching for the next word, perhaps the crash had affected her mental capacities as well.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I said defensively.

“Of course not, you saw me, you pulled me down here! Stupid human.” She seemed really upset.

“I don’t get it.”

“Your kind never does. I’m a cloud surfer. We are a great race of people that control and work the clouds above you. We control the storms and the skies as we have for millennia. As children we are told to be careful of your kind, and now I know why. Jerk!”

“Well what can I do?” I asked feeling upset that she was blaming me for this.

“Nothing. That’s what you can do. Stupid human.” She hefted herself up and started hobbling away.

“Wait!” I yelled after her, but as I was hollering she dispersed into a lighted mist and floated up into the sky. Some days I think I should just stay inside.

-V-

Yargo (Part 2)

Go to Part 1

Walter was a man who enjoyed music very much. He was a firm believer that music soothed the savage beast (and was unsure about the effects regarding the normal beast). Through his hangover realized that he had no music playing in his car, even though there did seem to be a random percussionist beating on a large assortment of items in his head.

He was deeply perturbed when he reached down to turn on the stereo and his hand met with a void where the power switches used to be, he felt he needed to inspect further. The entire rest of drive to work he spent assuring himself that the missing stereo needed a break from the daily grind and would probably return itself to the car later that day.

The trip to work was an exceptional drive for Walter, as he nearly caused six accidents without even being aware of it. He believed that it must have been some newly sanctioned car horn-honking holiday. Every person in a car that passed him had something descriptive to say, but since his muffler seemed to be on holiday with his stereo, he couldn’t make out what they were saying. He imagined they were complementing his extraordinary driving technique.

Walter was surprised that he was able to get to work on time and felt his day was actually starting to shape up, but when he got there some jerk with a red sports car had parked in his parking spot. The hate began to swell up inside of him. He had been parking in this spot for seven years now. How could anyone not know this by now?

He needed revenge and he needed it fast, so he parked his car in the corner of the parking lot, placed his sharpest key in his hand and nonchalantly walked into work. A person with a very acute sense of hearing might have heard a scratching sound of metal on metal, but thank the powers for Walter, no one was around.

Have you ever wanted to be invisible? You might think it would be great (you know sneak into the girls changing room, and what not). But to have no one, save cockroaches, acknowledge your existence (and only because when you happen to step on one it makes a crunchy, squishy noise) is bad. This was the feeling Walter got as he entered is work building.

It probably would not have been so bad, thought Walter, had it not been for the door: when the automatic door doesn’t even recognize you in front of it, then you know you have a problem. He walked smack into the glass door. He had to wait for someone else to come along and actuate the door, so he could get in.

Walter finally got to his boss’s office door, after much rubbing of various parts of his body from other run-ins with objects that didn’t bother to get out of his way like the soda machine in the hallway. He gently knocked upon the door. A sickly, raspy voice as if having had smoked about ten thousand too many cigarettes called out.

-V-

Read Part 3

Dry Spell (Part 3)

Go to Part 1

I honestly hadn’t even thought about it. Perhaps she was on to something. The signs were always in front of us, but no one thought to look at it differently until it was so severe that the real underlying issue came to light. Okay, so now I feel that this must be true. What to do?

“What are you planning on doing about it?” I asked her.

“What? Me? Oh, nothing really, I study history. I don’t think there really is anything I can do to help or contribute. Perhaps I’ll just continue doing everything I do the same as I have before.” She gave a weak smile as she stated this.

“Yeah, I suppose that’s all we can do.” I reciprocated, “I guess we can leave it up to the better minds out there that are already working on the problem and hope.” But deep down I knew that I wouldn’t be satisfied with just rolling over and letting my life be decided by men in lab coats I didn’t know. Something inside of me was pushing me, no, reassuring me that I could unlock the solution to our problem. I don’t know why, but I’m sure it would make sense eventually. My first order of business was to learn as much about water and its impact in the environment as I could, so it was off to the library for me.

I guess it doesn’t really matter when or where, but all libraries seem to be the same place. Just stacks and stacks of books, a few elderly librarians hiding behind desks keeping to themselves, and some random patrons tucked away among the stacks. I’ve always loved the smell of a library, something about lots of old books wafting that papery smell. I don’t think I can really describe it completely, but anyone who has spent a few minutes in a good library will know what I mean.

I wasn’t sure where to start, so I found my way to the main circulation desk and waited patiently for a librarian to take notice of me. A rare gem came out from behind a large stack of books piled high on a desk. She looked to be in her late twenties, wore red acetate glasses with a cat-eye theme, stood six inches shorter than me, had dishwater blonde hair than framed her face well and went just past her shoulders. She looked expectantly at me.

“How may I help you?” her voice was soft, powerful, and entrancing. I found myself staring into her sky blue eyes.

“A book,” I said rather stupidly.

“Well this is a library,” she chuckled, “we have a lot of those around here. Any one in particular?”

“Oh, right!” I could feel myself blushing, “I need books on global warming, weather patterns, water tables.”

She looked at me thoughtfully for a moment as if she was appraising me. She held up one finger and rushed off back to her desk out of my sight. She returned wearing a blue knit cardigan. “Follow me, I think I know exactly what you need.”

-V-

Yargo (Part 1)

It was a sunny day in Yargo; the clouds were acting as if they were agitated with themselves, staying as far away from each other as they could. The grass in the town square was as blue as dragon’s scales and the sun beat red-green light upon the land. People in the town square were busy with the hustle bustle of daily life, trying to ignore the town drunk, Waldorf.

Waldorf could normally be found hanging around the square begging for any drinks or money (but preferably drinks, and usually the strongest you have, and oh hey is that a flask you have in your breast coat pocket. It’s just; I know what that looks like from the outside and I bet you could spare a swig). Today Waldorf had found himself a new drink of choice, which by smell alone could put hairs on a fully-grown woman’s chest, and take them off a man’s chest at the same. This particular drink was known as Jargon’s special ale.

This ale led to the demise of many a restrained man. And it was one man in particular that had the joy of feeling the after-effects named Walter, where our story really begins. Walter, who stood about five feet eight inches tall when in his stocking feet, had blue-gray eyes and was a rather plain person. He kept to himself most of the time and tried desperately to keep his brown mess of hair as in line as he could, but it was a constant battle that he lost consistently. Right now he was nursing a very strong headache from the previous night’s festivities.

Walter unwillingly woke up at the crack of dawn; he had been told to be in the office first thing in the morning for an important meeting with his boss. He was blasted into wakefulness by ice-cold water spewing from this shower spigot. After three minutes of soap, lather, rinse he couldn’t feel any of his appendages and felt it would be a good time to try and warm up.

Dressing was also a bit of a hassle. Why is it when one needs to be somewhere everything seems to be in the wrong place or just generally slow you down? After pulling on what he felt were his best choice of work clothes from the floor, at least they didn’t stink too badly, he walked outside to locate his car.

The previous night he had gotten himself into all types of trouble he would never have the pleasure of remembering. He fumbled with his keys in the lock. Got the door locked and spun around ready for the hunt. The search ended much quicker than he expected, he found his unsightly black car parked halfway through a young sapling on the lawn of his apartment complex.

It stood about three feet off the ground, resembling a cardboard box, and was held together with so many coat hangers one might have mistaken it for a mobile closet. Being particularly clever (or so he thought), he sauntered up to his car and quickly drove off before any decent being could report him.

-V-

Read Part 2

A Word

I wrote a word. Just one. On a stone and threw it into the ocean. It was my word. It was what would save me. I hope someday someone finds that word and brings it to me. The word is the beginning of my song.

I wrote a song. Just one. On a guitar and threw it into the sky. It was my song. It could tame beasts and free minds. It flitters on the wind and lurks in our minds. It is the song of nature, of humanity, of dreams and dreamers. It binds us, defines us, plays in our hearts and lives beyond us. It is as glorious as a sunrise, somber as a black night. It is as pompous as I am.

I wrote a story. Many, in fact. And put them in the universe. They were mostly my stories, all from my imagination and my life. Some for people in particular, most for anyone to find what they needed. The universe gives people what they need, but it also needs people to be the attendants of its many messages. Each one of us bears this role at different times. We are seldom aware. Perhaps this is my role and time to tell people this is the case.

Sometimes you write what is in the moment in your head. It doesn’t make any sense. Your muse guiding your pen on the page, scripting the words that have need of being there. Even as I write these, I have no idea what their purpose is. But I know it’s needed. I feel that I’m writing this to get across the idea of how, or why I must write. But even that is just a guess, I really have no idea for sure.

I sit in front of my canary-yellow legal pad, pen poised, each symbol placed on the paper in a rushed motion. Missed letters. Misspelled words. Later, I will go back and edit, but the need to get the idea out overtakes my will to be correct and complete. These ideas you are reading, a stream of thoughts from my mind to be placed in your mind. The funny thing is, you are probably reading this in a voice in your head that isn’t your own. Do you know me? Is it in my voice? Or in a voice you think is mine?

As I write I tend to think of each syllable, each pause, each accent, and each run. Do I want you to feel stuttered reading short quick sentences? Is this pause, here, meant to feel like a kiss on the lips from a long lost lover? The idea that I can pass on dreams and emotions through nothing more that a few simple words is both the most beautiful thing I can think of and at the same time terrifying. One word even holds this power. And it can be any word you think of, nonsensical and new, sonorous and simple, or jagged and complex. What is your word?

-V-

Gorta Mor (Part 7)

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The acrid cloying plumes of smoke filling the room emanating from behind the counter took the brothers by surprise. They immediately started choking back coughs. The room had a long row of stools lined up against the counter with a copper bar running the length of it. Further back in the room one could barely see a few random patrons at small tables huddled over glass mugs. Behind the counter two gentlemen stood. They looked like mirror images of each other, both wearing black slacks, white button down shirts, red suspenders, white aprons around their waists, full bushy mustaches, and the beginnings of hair loss at the crowns of their heads.

“Ah, customers!” One expounded to the other in an overly British accent.

“Why yes! Our first ever.” The other replied.

The brothers looked at each other in silence. What was this place? They thought as one mind. It certainly was unlike anything they could have imagined from the outside. They looked around the room once more.

“Um, what about those men over there?” Shamus asked.

“Men? Over there?” The first said to the second.

“Couldn’t possibly be, I think they came with the building.” The second replied back.

Shamus and Darbish were thinking that these two guys must have been cracked. Then again, they sounded British, and generally speaking that was the same thing to the brothers.

“So what is this place?” Darbish hazarded.

“Place?” The first countered, “This is not a mere place! It’s a pub! The very first on your native soil, no others exist in all of Ireland.”

“Yes! We really have the market cornered,” the second continued, “You see we bring a drink with us. Lager! It has amazing properties.”

“Properties?” Shamus asked suspiciously, “What kind of properties?”

“Try one, on the house.” The second stated, pulling two beers from the tap and placing them in front of the brothers.

Shamus looked confusedly to Darbish, “On the house? Surely we can just drink it here.” To this Darbish shrugged.

“Oh absolutely and certainly,” the first said, “it’s merely a saying we use back home to indicate that you will not have to pay for the drink. Free of charge, a gift, if you will from us to our very first and finest customers.”

The brothers eyed the drinks distrustfully and gave into their curiosity. As they brought the mugs up to their mouths the rims happened to tap each other and the owners hooted in unison, “Cheers!”

Both the brothers nearly spit out the lager immediately. The hopped up, carbonated fizz hit their pallets like sledgehammers on baby chicks. Their faces turned sour as the looked at each other and they both realized that they couldn’t let the other outdo them. They swallowed the drink and stared in disbelief at the bar keeps.

“That was horrendous.” Shamus started.

“Yes, and I felt no properties you spoke of.” Darbish added.

“Oh, ho ho ho,” The second laughed, “The first one is not where one feels the magic.”

“Not at all!” The first continued, “You need to keep imbibing to get to the magic. But I tell you what. Since you really are our first customers, and we would hate to make a bad impression of it. Let us let you drink your fill for free and you can decide at the end if there’s any magic there.”

-V-

Guru (Part 4)

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Now was time to pay Guru’s bloodlust was running low, and he knew it. He did not want to startle his fellow dwarfs so he kept fighting like a mad berserker, even though he was at his wicks end. As sanity was slowly creeping back into him he realized something drastic must be done. He yelled to comrades to back off and as soon as he had entered the cave. Then he ordered them to blast it shut as soon as he was through. Many of his fellow dwarfs were reluctant, but in his learning’s when some mad dwarf was giving orders you did first, asked later, if you were still breathing that is. Guru ran through the portal and his companions did as he bid. But blowing a cave mouth shut is no easy nor safe task, a few of his equals died facilitating this final cause.

The next part Guru was truly unclear about, he recalled being brought down by some rocks and quite a few drow. His current physical state screamed to kill him while he was down, but for some reason beyond him they placed him in a cell. Most likely to not give him the pleasure of dieing in battle, for a life stranded in an oubliette. It was here he spent the majority of his life living off of rats, and other oddities they tossed in on him, the few occasions that they remembered his existence. Guru was a fighter, he needed to survive so for years upon years he worked at digging his way out. With the only readily available tool being a rat bone one can get very creative.

The day Guru saw daylight once more he nearly cried, but as we all know dwarfs would rather be mangled viciously than cry he held back all the pent up tears. He was glad that the drows must have forgotten him, but he could take no chances. So off he went to the nearest town. Something was very odd to him after a short walk he was rather winded, and needed to rest. He thought back to the days before the invasion, life was so much better then. Then, he thought to himself, how long ago was then. After a half a days walk, he found himself in Xaventry. He must have been gone a long time for this place had never even existed while he was a child. Thinking about his own self preservation he mugged a poor man in some ally, his mind was moving to fast to recall where he was, he needed some different clothes incase some of the drow had realized he was missing. It was then that he ran into a drow in the streets. By gods, had the drow won, and conquered all, he ran like mad, he ran as far away as he could. While running he was attacked by wolves…

From here, this is where Guru came into my care. After the ferocious attack by the wolves, Guru was left fatally debilitated. I assured him that the drow had nowhere near taken control of Alyria. He seemed happy to this fact, but as he smiled you could just see the distancing look in his eyes. As his last breath was expelled from his now chilling body, I thanked him, and he brightened once more. There was a flash of a warrior’s grin, then blank. That my friends, is the Story of Guru, whose name I hope remains on all our tongues as a true hero.

-V-

Guru (Part 3)

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Down in mining shaft number eight, the stuck into a strange cavern. It was here they came across an interesting find; a young hurt drow child was lying in the base of the cavern. The last blast before they found the cavern must have sent some rocks tumbling upon the drow. He was immediately taken to the dwarf healers where he died shortly thereafter. When news of this spread everyone knew something very bad would happen. The drow were a very volatile race, and once they had something set in their minds, they would stop at nothing until they achieved their goal. Guru could feel that rough time were ahead of them. He got to sit in on meetings with his father and the king. He recalled how heated they got; the king and his father knew how grave upcoming times would be. During that time, it would be impossible to pass the kings throne room without hearing some type of shouting within.

Then one day they struck. It was a blitz attack, even though the dwarfs knew invasion was in the air, they were not ready for it so soon. The drows came in waves, just like the unrelenting sea, no matter how many you put down they kept coming. General Gerenuk was at the front line, it was not dwarf like to have the generals in the back giving orders, besides he had the bloodlust in him. His axe swinging, he mowed through the drow like blades of grass. But unfortunately the drow were more like crab grass, every time you finished off one, two more would be in their fading brothers place. They were the ultimate warriors, it seemed that their archaic language had no place for words like fear, pain, and losers, well unless they were applied to those they chose as their enemies. General Gerenuk had personally trained his son, and requested that his son be at his side. So there was Guru, watching the lust take hold of his father as he tore trough countless drow. He tried his best to feel the same way, but alas did not have his heart in it.

Then it happened, all at once, fifteen drow pounced upon Gerenuk bringing him down hard. Something inside of Guru snapped, he saw nothing but red. The world faded into the background, all he saw was the axe in his hands, and fifty or so drows that would be considering the idea of waking up that morning a rather bad choice. Like a flash of lightning he passed unseen though the crowd of drows, leaving a trail of blood and corpses. With this new hope the dwarfs had renewed spirit and rallied behind him, mostly because in front would have been a shortsighted choice. Guru was a refreshing juggernaut for the dwarfs, he instilled hope where all was lost; mostly he killed drow like it was nobodies business. With Guru leading them they pushed the drow all the way back to cave in which they had come. That cave, the place where it all started, with that accidental blast terminally injuring a clandestine drow.

-V-

Read Part 4

Guru (Part 2)

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“I am afraid I have some terrible news about your friend,” he said.

“To tell the truth, I just met him, but what is this news you speak of?” I replied.

“I have done as much as I can for the… man…” he seemed hesitant at this point, “but I am afraid there is little to be done, he is at his end.” At this the healer sighed.

I could feel that something more was behind his words. “What else are you not telling me?” I inquired.

“Well… whilst I was trying my best at restoring him, I came across some things that are very interesting.”

“Well out with it man…?” I implored.

“For one, your man here is not actually a man. He seems to be wearing stilts under his pants to make him taller.” He came closer to my ear and whispered, “I believe he is a dwarf, sir.”

“And…?” I asked, wondering why any dwarf would need to disguise himself as a man.

“It seems he has a tattoo on his left arm.” The healer said blankly.

“So?” I replied.

“Well it is a very ancient tattoo, only one that dwarves high up in the really old culture would have, but no dwarf I’ve seen the my life has ever had one like this.”

“So, tell me, what all is to be done with him?”

“The only thing I can suggest is to make him comfortable…” With this the healer went back into the room. I followed, and paid him for his services. Then I picked up the dwarf and walked him back to my hotel room. Laid him upon the bed and waited.

It was at this point I reflected on my own death. This is certainly how I would want it to be, in the company of a fellow warrior, as my last life’s breath were leaving me. While I was pondering this idea, the dwarf stirred. I was to my feet almost immediately.

“Graahhck,” he said slightly muffled in the pillow.

“How may I help you, sir?” I questioned.

“Ah… an Alyrian,” he stated, “I need to tell my story before my life is gone.”

“Please do,” I pushed, “I would be glad to pass your story on to generations that come after both you and I.”

His voice was very gruff, and his grasp of the Alyrian language was a little muddled, but I will try to recount as much of his story as I can here:

The Dwarf warrior’s name was Guru; he was the son of Gerenuk, who happened to be King Degnar’s high general. He told of when he was mere child, how the dwarfish empire sprawled all over the place. He used to spend time at his fathers side while they made tactical plans of where they should conquer next. He recounted playing out in the high grass with his young friends; they had no fear of anyone. The dwarf empire under King Degnar was the strongest anyone had ever seen. No one dared to mess with any dwarf at that time. Everything felt like it was in harmony. Then one day it would all be changed forever.

-V-

Read Part 3

Guru (Part 1)

Gather around now children, as I recount a story I remember from my younger more agile years…

It was on one of my many voyages that I happened to be passing through Rune, and stopped at the Griffon Hotel for the night. I had had a long and eventful day while traveling, and I needed rest badly, but for some reason sleep was not coming easily. So I left my room and staggered to the front desk, where I inquired about the local scene in Rune. The clerk was very helpful, and told me about the many pubs that were around town. I seized his advice and took to the street. Whilst I was traveling down Yew court, a thief snuck up behind me, and placed a knife in my back.

“Give me all your gold, or else,” he stated.

“I haven’t anything of value,” I replied, but he insisted.

“Well, I am afraid you must pay somehow, not good business if I let everyone run away.” While he was babbling to himself, I unsheathed my sword and swung around fast. He was very agile and intelligent; it was no surprise that he expected this. He was quick to parry my blow, but that is when I saw a hole in his defenses. I quickly kicked at his leg sending him flat on his back. Then I fled as fast as I could down Yew court, and turned at the first intersection I could. I found myself on Main Street, following this street lead me to town square, where I quickly recounted the directions the hotel clerk gave me to the closest pub. So I headed down Main Street and turned down the first ally I saw. This led me to the Perplexed Otter; this is where my night truly got interesting.

I sat down and asked the barkeep for a beer, what I got could be mildly called a drink of some sort. Its color was strange, similar to pond scum, and the flavor truly different, similar to pond scum. I sat back, took a swig and decided this was truly relaxing. Just then a nondescript man stumbled into the bar, bleeding on everything.

“Halloo, what is this?” I asked, “What happened to you?”

“Mrrrpphhhh,” was all he could expel, and then he was out cold.

I looked up, obviously the only one who seemed to care. I could not get one person to share eye contact with me, it seems that I was alone in this pub. Seeing the general heartlessness of the patrons, I decided the best thing I could do was to yell for help. Luckily a city guard was passing by and he heard my call. He was quick to enter, and understood the graveness of the situation. We rushed the man to the healer in the Runic Temple. I waited outside to the many screams and maddening sounds that took place in the healing room. Then, after most of the agony seemed to subside in the room; the healer came out to talk to me.

-V-

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