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 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-

Read Part 4

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

Dry Spell (Part 3)

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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-

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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-

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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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Arrival (Part 7)

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“Beyond here, you’ll find the kitchen and the bathroom. Rent will be due on the first of every month and includes all the utilities… Green?” She poked me rather hard in the stomach with her cane.

“Yes?” I questioned, being brought back into the conversation rather abruptly. “Oh, I’ll just pay you cash now for the whole remainder of the lease, if you don’t mind?”

“Mind?” She said surprised. “I don’t mind getting a whole lot of cash all at once. Who would? I suspect I’ll be minding in a few months once I’ve spent it all, but now? It’d be just fine by me.”

I handed her an envelope with what Howard had told me would be the remainder of the lease. She snatched it, ripped it open, and started thumbing through the bills. This sort of behavior has never bothered me. It’s important to be sure you are not being swindled or short changed. Once satisfied that I had indeed given her the correct amount, She grinned ruefully.

“Well seems eveythin’s in order here. The keys to the place are on the nightstand in the bedroom. I left a note with my phone number on it. Call anytime day or night if you need anything. I suspect it’s hard showing up in a new city not knowing anyone. But you look a cunning type. I bet you’ll find your feet faster than you know it. I imagine you’ll want to get settled in and find some grub. I’d suggest the Verdé Mart just up the street in the Quarter. They make a wonderful Po-boy. Something to put some meat on your skinny bones.” She gave a wry smile at this last statement.

“Thank you so much Mrs. Flemming…”

“Johanna, dear.” She interjected.

“Sorry, Johanna. It’s been a pleasure.” I smiled.

“Oh, the pleasures all mine.” She said as she clutched the envelope. “Just make sure you don’t go round getting the police all up in here. I don’t like having to deal with them much.”

“I’ll be sure to keep my nose clean. Good day Johanna.”

“Good day Green.” She ambled out of the door and shut it gently behind herself.

I walked over to the door and bolted the lock. It was finally time to decompress. I deposited my bag on the table by the reading chair and slumped into it. This chair was brilliant. Whoever had crafted it was pure genius. Or perhaps it was the decades that people’s bodies had carved out the perfect feeling for sitting on a hot summer day to read or nap. I looked out the window by the chair, there was a blue house next door, but above that I could see the sky with a few lazy clouds hanging around. For one brief moment everything felt just right.

My bag slipped off the table and spewed onto the floor the four stories I had received at this point. I was sure before I left to set up a mail forward for the new ones, since whoever V was, they obviously weren’t getting them, or possibly would appreciate them the way that I was.

-V-

Arrival (Part 6)

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You could see that perhaps she had been a very beautiful youth, but the years had not been kind to her at all. She was at least reasonably thin. Not overweight, but not winning any skinny contests either. She wore a simple pink dress with green paisleys, with a white knit shawl over it. She looked up from her hand on the door to me. I was immediately sucked into her eyes. They were a vibrant hazel, with patched of milky white here and there. It was like looking pictures of galaxies I had seen in science books many years ago.

“Who’re you?” She asked producing a gnarled cane from her side in a offensive pose.

“I’m Green, Sheldon Green. Howard set up the sublet for this place for me. I believe you are Mrs. Flemming?”

“Oh! Well come on in deary. Yes, yes, I’m Mrs. Johanna Flemming.” The cane disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. “Can’t be too careful nowadays. Neighborhood ain’t what it used to be. Then again nothing is these days. Not even me. I wake up every morn with the aches in my bones so bad, I don’t much mind getting out of bed. But that’s age for you. And it’s been so hard since Jim passed these five years ago.” To this she clutched a locket around her neck and gave it a little kiss. “He left me alone and with all these properties to take car of. I ‘spose he left me something to keep busy with. Mr. Green you say?”

“Well most people just call me Green. No salutatories necessary for me.” To this she stopped and turned to me. Her eyes narrowed, and she examined me from head to toe. It felt like she was looking into my soul. Weighing each and every part of me. It was an uncomfortable few moments. Finally she smiled and continued into the house.

“Don’t know much about no salute-a-stories here. Nothing but good ole fashioned hospitality. If it’s Green you say, then Green it is. I think you’ll like it here. Most people do. It’s mostly quiet, and everyone generally keeps to themselves.”

I was barely listening to her. I was astounded by the architecture of the home. Vaulted ceilings, they had to be around sixteen feet high. Beautifully sculpted crown molding adorned the painted tin ceiling. There was a slight musty smell in the house, as if it had been lived in for a long time and barely ever got aired out. Hardwood floors beneath my feet creaked with each step. Light slowly filtered through the shuttered windows and dust slowly played in the beams of sunlight. In the corner was a cozy old armchair, threadbare. You could see that many a great story had been read in that chair. Next to it was a simple coffee table, the current newspaper sitting atop it, pristinely folded. I followed her back into the next room. This seemed to be the bedroom, there was a single bed with a nightstand next to it. Not much else to speak of, no wall hangings or anything.

-V-

Read Part 7

Arrival (Part 5)

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“When I used to skip school we would walk the river front, cause it’s shorter. It don’t seem it, but you walk that river front all the way to Canal street it’s shorter than going up St Claude or something. You know? And we played ball and everything. Almost every Monday in football season we’d skip and go downtown. Just a bunch of stupid asses, I guess that’s what we were, really. You know? But uh, that’s how it was, you know? Did I tell you when I was a kid, son, trust me. We grew up poor. I mean dirt poor. Seven cents streetcar fare and you got four transfers with it for the seven cents. And that’s a fact. It was sevens cents for many many many years. Man, I could tell you stories. You know? And you say, ‘old man, he’s lying,’ and I’m not lying. I don’t have no reason to lie. You know? It’s the truth. Sometimes I can’t believe it. I tell my kids, they laugh at me.

“Ah, here we are. 2400 block of Royal. That’ll be 50 dollars.”

The trip had been so entertaining; I decided to give this old man a 100 dollar note. He started to get some change out. “Keep it, you seem to be a good man.”

“You sure? I mean, I’ll take it, but you know?”

“Absolutely, It was worth a bit of good company.”

“Alright, well you enjoy the city. If you need any more rides you go ahead and call me up.” He said handing me a business card; I took it, got out and closed the door. He drove off slowly.

As I exited the car, the air hit me like a wall of dank misery. It was unseasonably hot, well for what I would consider the season. I was a born and raised northerner, where seasons were always mild, except for the few freak occurrences. Winters that were extra cold and snow filled, summers that were so hot you could cook an egg on the sidewalk. But here, it felt like it was hot all the time, hot and humid.

I looked around me for the first time. Really looked. This city was amazing. It was all falling apart and decaying, but every house had a decently new coat of amazing vibrant paint. Not the traditional house colors you’d see in any other suburb or city, with their drab browns, grays, whites, and the occasional powder blue, or light yellow. No, here every house was a mixture of colors that would excite you. Purple with bright yellow shudders, greens, pinks, reds, and every other color under the sun. It had a certain whimsical feeling about it.

I walked up to the address that Howard had given me and knocked on the door. I had no idea what to expect. I wasn’t sure or not if Howard had already left, and what arrangements he had made for my arrival. An aged black woman opened the door. She stood much shorter than me, but perhaps that was just her age, years of gravity and life pulling her down. Her face was a mass of lines that went in every direction.

-V-

Read Part 6

Arrival (Part 4)

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I got into the cab and looked out at the airport as we left.

“How long is this going to take? And what part of the city am I going to?” I pondered out loud.

“It’s ‘bout a thirty minute ride, and you’re going to a real nice part of the city. Bustled right up next to the Quarter. It’s right next to the Tremé. Ain’t it funny how cities work. One street like Saint Claude separates a decent neighborhood like the Bywater from a pit like the Tremé.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Well, I tell you what, I’ve been in this city my whole life. And it’s poor over there, but they live better than a lot of poor people do, believe me. ‘Casue uh, I used to collect for the loan company years ago and I’ve been in some of those projects, man. The people, They just didn’t have nothing. Sometimes I wouldn’t try to collect, I’d leave them a dollar if I had it to buy something for their kids. It was that bad. I was born back…

“I’ve been doing this 40 years, so it’s been, quite a while back. In fact the projects is all torn down I think. But we had a bunch of projects here when I was a young man. But most of them were white back when I was a kid. Cause uh, New Orleans was probably 85 or 90 percent white. You know?”

As he droned on I found myself staring out the window at all the flat land with random trees sticking out. It was all so green and swamp like, but still felt very dry, as if it had once been a nasty swamp that the waters had receded from and left a lush green graveyard in its wake. It gave a sense quiet serenity.

“So yeah, it’s changed. That’s what I said. It changed, I mean, but everything’s changed. We had 150 million people, 130 million when I was born in 1929, now we got 300 and something million. So, You can see right there, where you got lots of changes.”

“Yeah, the world’s gotten a whole lot crazier.” I put in.

“It’s getting it, the populations killin’ us. We killing ourself environmentally really. And we do pretty good though, considering. I mean really, You know? I still eat good, I still can take a bath every day. Got a decent house to live in. Good job.”

“You sound like you got a pretty good mind on you,” I interjected.

“Well I got good common sense, son, I guess. You know? I think that means… I don’t have a college degree, I’m a high school graduate. But in my day that was good. You didn’t particular have the money to send you to college, you were lucky to go to high school. I was fortunate to do that.”

I found myself staring now at thousands of tombs, as far as one could see. I was so unaccustomed to seeing tombs and not grave markers. It was quite overwhelming. I had heard once that they had to practice this since the water level is so high in here, that if they buried someone six feet under, the next storm would see them coming back.

-V-

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Arrival (Part 3)

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The day my boss called me into his office to let me know I had been let go was such a blur. I was only partly there. The rest, well most, of me was walking through a forest in A’s most recent story. I had already decided that I didn’t have anything more left for me in this place, and figured it would be good to go try life in a completely different setting. And where better than America’s own largest port of sin, the crescent city, New Orleans.

I called the number listed at the bottom of the letter. Howard sounded very relieved to have anyone call. It seemed that he needed to be across the country with his estranged wife for reasons he would not disclose. He wouldn’t be able to afford keeping his apartment for the next three months to the end of the lease. He also wouldn’t be able to handle the large legal fees. Strangely, for all the things he was not, he was a man of his word. If he said he would pay someone, good deal or not, he would pay. It’s rare to find people like this nowadays. It seems most people just make promises and let them go.

I looked out the window at the quickly approaching tarmac. My muscles were tensing up as hard as they could. I closed my eyes and tried desperately to push all thoughts out of my head. I felt and heard the skidding sound of tires meeting runway. I was finally able to release the armrests and open my eyes. It seems so silly to get all worked up over something I have completely no control over. The plane will land or crash irrelevant of my actions, I’m pretty sure.

We had finally landed at Louis Armstrong Airport. The plane taxied into the terminal and I found my way to the cabstand. Most people would have found their way to the baggage claim, but I had no use for this futility. I sold everything I owned. I was on a one-way trip. The full extent of my possessions were the clothes on my back, and a small courier bag with all my money I had and the four manuscripts I had received at this point.

A very old man leaned up on his cab and stared at me intently. He wore a faded plaid short sleeve shirt of green and blue, had denim jeans that looked like they were recently pressed. When he realized that I was looking at him, he mouth crooked into a half smile. I walked up to him. “Need a ride?” he asked with a raspy voice.

“Certainly do.” I responded.

“Where to?”

“Say’s here I’m headed to the 2400 block of Royal Street in the… Marigny?”

“It’s pronounced Mary-knee, and I can get you there for a good price.”

“Sounds good.”

“Don’t look like you got any bags, what you in town for?”

“Searching for something.”

“Well I hope you find it.”

-V-

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Arrival (Part 2)

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The stewardess finally broke off her gaze. I was the victor of the staring, but little else was won. It seems my encounters with other people were more often than not becoming attritional. So much of my life had been spent being there for others, I was done trying to please people. I needed a way out and I found it, in an invitation from an old acquaintance.

Howard sent me a letter, who sends letters anymore?

In this letter it was related to me that he was in need of a sublet in New Orleans and every person he knew and tried had been a fruitless endeavor. The letter looked photocopied, so I assumed it had been sent to many people that were far cries from his close friends, it could even have been a scam. But at this point I was willing to follow any path open to me.

I had met Howard on a business trip to New Hampshire seven or eight years ago. Back when I had a steady job that forced me to maintain a regular schedule. Back when life seemed so much simpler. I would wake up, take my morning shower, get clothed, and drive to work. Stare at a computer screen for nine hours. Have a boss periodically come in and tell me to stop working on whatever I was working on and focus on a different project. This would happen two to three times a day. I gave up on even trying to finish anything.

My only reprieve would be the random trips to weird small towns across the country and my lunch hour. I coveted my lunch hour. I never actually ate lunch, or breakfast for that matter, I would only eat a massive dinner each night. My lunch hour was reserved for my one escape from this world.

It started about two months ago; I would receive a package in the mail every few weeks with a random short story. Each elegantly hand written, with a letter attached, the first one I ever received read as follows:

Dear V,

I hope all is well. I know we left it on bad terms, but I decided I would send you stories until the day we can meet again and resolve all the baggage between us. I miss you so much. Please be safe. You know how to find me; I wait for you every day.

-A.

On my lunch breaks I would go down by the river with the most current manuscript and get lost in the artistry painted by A. Whomever they were, they knew how to masterfully build a universe inside your head that was beautiful, sad, wonderful, crazy, clean, dirty, anything, nothing, and everything. You could feel the hope and sadness of A in each and every phrase, each and every story. I found myself only living to get the next manuscript. If one didn’t come before I had finished the newest one, I would go back and select one at random to reread.

-V-

Read Part 3

Arrival (Part 1)

The stewardess tapped me on the shoulder bringing me to a state of wakefulness. Bleary eyed I looked up to her. She was an older woman, late forties if I had to wager a guess. The years had not been too kind to her and one could see her time in customer service had permanently removed what may have been a wonderful smile. Her nearly gray blue eyes offset her muted brown hair, which looked like it had been dyed more than once recently. It was cut into a bob that did nothing to frame her face. I shifted my focus to her hands. They had a sense of aged life I could never understand. These hands looked like they had cut boulders. Plainly they had seen more life and misery than I ever would with my entire body. Scars ran up and down the tough skin pulled tight across her bulging veins and bird like bones. “Sir, we are about to land. I need you to bring your seatback up.”

I narrowed my eyes and found myself fixedly locked into her eyes; an unspoken battle of wills was raging. I’ve never understood the point of moving the back of the chair three inches forward for the safety of landing. I personally believe it is a sociological experiment some jackass devised to see if people would never question how a slight change in comfort would allow the plane to land better. A pilot once told me it was designed to allow people to get out of the plane quicker in case the plane had an emergency. The only emergency I can think of on final approach is a crash landing, and well, in that case. Who cares? We are probably all dead anyways. But since I didn’t really want to delay the landing of the plane on my account, I complied with her request and set the seat back. I gave her a little smile and was met with an icy cold stare. Perhaps it’s impossible to reach some people.

The smell of the recycled air on the plane was beginning to bother me. I shifted uneasily in the chair. Flight itself has never really bothered me nearly as much as the takeoffs and landings, with the latter being much more tortuous to me. I believe most people feel a sense of relief on final approach as their current leg of their journey is coming to a safe conclusion. For me, it is fraught with all the possible ways the pilot, a simple human like me, could smash the plane into the ground. The plane buffeted. I gripped the armrests with lightning reflexes. A sheaf of papers nearly fell out of my lap.

I have no idea why these thoughts always came to my head. Thousands of airplanes have landed so many times safely. But I guess it was a trend that has been part of my entire existence, to question and try and find fault in anything and everything around me. I’ve been trying to amputate this part of my personality for ages, but it always seems to stick to me.

-V-

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Gorta Mor (Part 6)

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“And I suppose you think you can do something about it?” Gorta Mor said as he hefted himself up to twice the height of anyone else in the field.

“There are many ways we could stop you! Firstly we could restrain you.” Darbish started. Gorta Mor just smiled as the skies grew a little darker and the wind began to pick up.

“Then we will make you go back and replace every potato you destroyed.” A small cloud appeared above them and the breeze started to have little gusts.

“And then we will make you apologize to each and every person in Ireland personally.” Darbish was finding it harder to continue with the distracting and changing conditions around him, but he carried on as the small cloud expanded and the air bordered on a gale.

“Next, we will…” With each word shouted from Darbish’s mouth the conditions worsened ten fold, he tried to endure, “make… you…” He couldn’t keep on, the weather developed into insane bursts of thunder and lightning cracked in the near distance. No words would be heard over this tempest. So Darbish gave in and stopped his monolog.

With his last word uttered the world quickly returned to just as it was before. Gorta Mor launched into a hearty laugh. He took a deep breath and exhaled on the brothers. The blast of air knocked the brothers back, it was sickening and cloying. They both fell to the ground gasping for fresh air.

“Nothing you said had any affect puny man. There isn’t crumb diddly you can do to stop me. In fact, for your insolence I think I will take this girl as a payment. You have wasted enough of my time, now be gone with you!” Gorta Mor then picked up Jenny and moved off into the distance cursing the potatoes as he went.

The brothers, defeated, ambled down the road they came, kicking stones and thinking to themselves how weak they truly were. Shamus spotted a strange building in the distance; it was like no other the brothers had ever seen before. It had the word ‘Pub’ on its signage along with an etching of a yellowish stein and a frothy head spilling over it.

“What do you suppose that is?” Shamus asked Darbish.

“I don’t know, I’ve never seen a shop called a ‘Pub’ before, it looks like they sell drinks. It must be some kind of eatery.”

“Shall we?”

“I don’t see why not, its not like we have anything better to do. Why couldn’t we do anything to help her?”

“Darbish, he had way more power than we will ever understand. I don’t think we ever stood a chance.”

“Perhaps, but I’m sure there’s a way to beat him, I just wish we knew what it was.” Darbish was pounding his fist in his hand as he said this. They looked at each other for a few moments and silently agreed that there was nothing they could have done. Heads hung low they entered the pub.

-V-

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Heart of Revenge (Part 4)

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The other side of the elevator doors did not hold a pleasant sight for me. Two burly men with fully automatic assault rifles trained on my head and body. They sort of looked like twins, heavily muscled and very well armed twins. I figured I’d try a little humor to lighten this tense moment.

“So, uh, Tweedledee and Tweedledum any idea where the rattle is?” I smiled as best as anyone could knowing that they could be littered with a large array of bullets at any moment. They gave each other a look that inspired a little more fear in me than I’m usually used to.

“You got a lot of balls.” The one that I’d like to think of as Tweedledee said to me.

“Well you know, what’s the point in have extras if you’re not willing to show them off every once in a while.” I wasn’t dead yet, so I figured I’d continue trying my luck at the wisecrack game.

“We could just off him you know.” Tweedledum piped in. This was not going to work in my favor if he was making the decisions for them. Although I was getting the feeling that these guys only had enough brains between the two of them for one person.

“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?” I asked, buying time, “I mean wouldn’t you have to clean up the mess, or at least explain why there is a mess to your boss?”

“He does have a point,” Tweedledum muttered, “I mean I don’t want to have to do the cleaning, and I always have to do the cleaning. Why’s it you never do the cleaning?”

“Because, the boss likes me better you dolt.” Tweedledee answered back. I was seeing my in here, I just had to play them off each other a little.

“Hey, Tweedledum, you could just let me out of here a little so I can do my delivery and be on my way. Plus you know it would be you making the decisions, we both know you’re the smarter one anyways.”

“You know he does have a good point,” I could see that I was making some headway here, “plus the boss didn’t say nothing about offing him.”

“Would you just shut up?” Tweedledee threw back at him, “I know the boss didn’t say nothing, but this is the only fun we ever get to have, no one ever tries to raid the lair. It just get’s so boring around here.” I spied my way out of the situation.

“Okay guys, you’ve had your fun. Supposing it’s time to let me out and on my way? I’m real sure the boss wants this package toot sweet.” The last idiom must have caused their brains to work overtime; I don’t think these guys ever got out.

“Uh, yeah okay.” With the flip of a hidden switch I was released. I rubbed at my wrist, which was surprisingly unharmed in the grips of the elevator trap. “You’ll want to go straight down the hall, it’s the big red door at the end. Can’t miss it.”

“And I can’t say I’ll miss you guys either, thanks much.” I skirted them as quickly as I could and made my way down the hall.

-V-

Gorta Mor (Part 5)

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Jenny watched as the brothers sped down the road away from her. She thought that at least following these guys would keep her mind off her starving children. So she followed them down the road.

“Wait up!” She called after them. The both stopped dead in their tracks and once she was with them they set off at a steady pace. After a few hours of travelling the trio find a field that is only half ruined. Feeling that they might be able to glean something from this sight they all rush into the field.

“What do you suppose is causing the blight?” Shamus asked.

“Only half of this field is gone, perhaps we will find out.” Darbish answered.

Bent over in the middle of the field they could see a demon talking to the potatoes. He seemed to have lost control of his mental faculties and is damning each potato individually. As he put his curse upon each potato, it would wither away and die. The three travelers all feel the horror at once.

“What are you doing?” Yelled Darbish at the demon.

“What am I doing?” The demon turned away from his work and gave an appraising glance at the travelers. “I’m fixing a problem. Ireland used to be a wonderful and lush land to live in. The animals thrived, the plants blossomed and bloomed plentifully, the sun shone down on the land and in return it smiled back at the sun. This expanse used to be astonishing and remarkable. All my brethren loved to spend time here. Then one day, the despicable and detestable humans came along. They tore at the loam. They ripped at Erin’s heart. They forced more spuds, taters, and tubers into her and made her use her life force to sustain them.”

“Yeah, but we didn’t do any of that.” Shamus said dismissively.

“You!” The demon seemed enraged at this interruption, “You absolutely did do this, you and all of your kind. I can hear her weeping at night. I feel her pain as you plough and pull and till.”

“We are just like any other animal here,” Jenny threw in, “we all deserve the right to live off of the land. Who are you to tell us otherwise?”

“Who am I? You ask,” the demon seemed to take Jenny in for the first time. He sat a moment and pondered if it was even worth his time to convey his name to the filth that had become his enemy. “I am Gorta Mor. I look after Erin and protect her from the likes of you. I will destroy the consumption that you have created in her, and happily take you with it.”

“I’m afraid we can’t let you do that Mor.” Darbish forcefully explained to the demon. This caused Gorta Mor to sneer at the misuse of his name. “We need these crops to survive, we will not die like this. We will endure and carry on, and you won’t be able to stop us.”

-V-

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