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-

Yargo (Part 5)

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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)

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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

Yargo (Part 3)

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“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-

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Yargo (Part 2)

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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

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