He stared at me across the stone cell. Every once and awhile he would puff on his cigar, and the light from the embers would show the shine on his eyes.
"You've gotten yourself involved in something deeper than you can imagine my friend. There really isn't anyone you should trust down here, especially not them. Just because they kept cards hidden doesn't mean what they told you is true, or at least from a certain point of view it's true. In their minds I'm sure they do think that people look up to them, or want their guidance. They probably even think they are immortal." And he stopped to take a puff on his cigar.
"So they're just full of hot air? and how do you know so much? Who are you?"
"Like I said, I'm the Concierge. I used to have another name but I seem to have misplaced it a few decades or more back. I'm not one of them if that's what you think, but I'm not like you either. I'm, well I'm something else."
He said and I could hear the confident smile and pride in that, not a haughty pride but a self confidence and charm that seemed to ooze from his voice every now and then.
"As far as how I know things, well that is another story. Lets just say I got a different proposal when I arrived here. Add in that I've been here and met them before. I've seen more of this complex than most of them have or will. That leads around to your hot air question. The answer is yes and no. They certainly don't think they are misleading you, but they refuse to see things. They also keep secrets, like that those beasts are just one part of an elder race, and they are trying to steal those secrets. Deception is a way of life for them, as is fear. They deceive themselves by editing their reality. They are still human in that respect, that they can't stand to see how limited or scared they are. They don't know everything about these tunnels because they are scared to. And they won't admit that sometimes they die because they don't want to remember the dead. They don't want to think about it happening to them. You'll find my friend that in most cases the most primal motive is fear. That's a good thing and a bad thing. Good that you were afraid and too cautious to trust them, that's your gut helping you. Bad that you didn't listen to fear and bolt while you had the chance. And bad that they let fear drive them further from humanity.
So I wouldn't trust them, and I wouldn't trust anyone unless you know who they really are."
"Message recieved, caution is the rule, now why don't you tell me who you really are so I can trust what you say?"
"I'm afraid we don't have time, we could be here months before my story is finished, and how could I trust you that I just met to do that? Anyway we need to move faster than that if we are to save your friends on the surface. I'm not going to give you everything you need. I will tell you to take care of those pets, and even our friends themselves remember that you come from the above world, and they do not. Put that to your advantage. The final way I will help you is to open this door for you and give you a tool."
He reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a metal object the size and shape of a hockey puck and dropped it into my hands.
"This will glow different colors based on who else is nearby while you are underground and near the network of tunnels and glowing carvings. These carvings form a network that has multiple benefits, this tool can tap some of those benefits. Hold it close to the wall and it will whine and the pitch will get higher as you follow the path towards the nearest exit. There are other uses but those are the two you will need most. Don't trust the tunnels, don't trust the dark and don't trust your eyes if the tool tells you different listen to the tool, it knows better than your senses. And with that, you should go."
He walked over to the cell door, pulled out a metal item and stuck it in the keyhole, and the door swung open.
"Good luck, better run"
So I did.
--------------------------------------------
Authors note: Glad to be back, sorry for the short chapter but wanted to have that conversation and take the next step towards moving the story forward
Monday, February 28, 2011
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Chapter 7
Authors note: after I finish a later chapter I will go back and rework all the chapters into a more cohesive whole. Some major changes need to be made in chapter 6 for example, names need to be corrected. A few areas need expansion. But until I have a little more story to tell.
Chapter 7
I slept an uneasy sleep. And in my sleep, once again visions came to me. I was walking down the tunnels, without flashlight or aid my feet seemed to find their own way. As I turned one of the sharp turns my left hand reached out to the wall and engravings on that wall. As I touched it a glow started where-ever I touched. I continued to walk, I dragged two fingers across the wall on my left side. The glow had an orange hue as it grew to fill the passage. I felt a rhythm exude from the wall as I walked, a drum beat and a deep tone filled the space as I walked into the altar chamber. As I entered the chamber the light traveled behind me, following me like a dog looking for food. It crept out of the tunnel, growing til it filled the chamber with glowing light. I walked up to a closed door and placed two palms over two symbols that seemed to be calling to me. A warmth spread from the door into my palms, through my arms and with it spread a feeling like when your foot falls asleep. This whole time my actions seemed to just, make sense, I didn't decide to do anything. The door opened up before me, and on I walked, once again making contact with the wall as I entered this new tunnel. A softer light followed me now, I could still see, but only barely. The beat grew stronger as I walked on, the floor tilting slightly forward as I moved further in. The passage split, I took a path without thinking or even having time to note where the other path branched off to. The beat formed part of a song, wordless it penetrated my mind. I closed my eyes and hummed it as my feat moved of their own accord. On and on my feat seemed compelled by the beat as if charmed by a snake charmer. I know I passed through several more splits in the path because as the passage grew larger my fingers lost contact with the wall, though my feat did not slow. My eyes slowly opened as my feet brought me to a stop at the end of a tunnel, and I saw a hole in the floor, with a ladder sticking out of it. Once again my hands and feet knew what to do, and I began descending the ladder. Darkness enveloped me as I got farther down the ladder, passed where the light shone from the hole above. I lost count of the steps, I must have been traveling down hundreds of feet. All I knew for a long time was darkness and the stone wall in front of me.
As I reached the bottom of the steps, I found myself in a wide tall space, at one end to my right a single door was illuminated by a single symbol, exactly the same as the one I had seen on the door in the cellar, that seemed so long ago now. As I moved closer to it however I realized the scale it was built on. The door was over double my height, and wide enough to move an elephant through with room to spare. The symbol dominated it, and was the only marking on it's otherwise smooth surface. As I got within several feet of it, and moved my hands to place my palms against the door I was startled by a loud booming sound, like the footsteps of a giant. As I got within several feet of the door I realized that it was different from the other doors in another way, in that it was stone and not metal. It then revealed a further difference, as a crack formed down the middle, and the door became two which swung inward. As I tried to peer through the blackness the door had created in opening, I saw lamps light themselves, old style gas lanterns attached to Pillars in the interior space. These pillars were 4 feet wide, flaring at the base and extending upwards into a fog and supposedly eventually the ceiling. I began slowly moving into the hall revealed by the lamplight. A cloud of smoke appeared on either side of me, barely a foot away from touching me, and out of this cloud two robed figures appeared. Before I could even react they bound my hands in front of me with coarse rope. It hurt, and I realized I wasn't dreaming. One end of the rope they held, though at no point did I see their hands. A voice, deep and soothing came from one of the figures. "Follow us and all will be explained." I looked more closely at the figures as I had been distracted earlier by their theatrical entrance. They both stood much taller than me, at least seven feet tall, though they must have been slender because no part of their bodies seemed to touch the outside of their robes, and all openings in the robes seemed empty, almost like some sort of specter or spirit had inhabited the fabric. However they appeared quite real.
I passed on, moving deeper in and following my mysterious hosts. As we moved on a fog seemed to make the dark grip close. The dark felt like a blanket that provided no warmth, and caused a sort of uneasy feeling of being trapped, of claustraphobia. I lost so much of my ability to see that I was force to hold onto the cloak of the person in front of me. There was no telling what gender said person was. While tall and manish in voice, there was something distinctly feminine and graceful in their movements. I sensed some sort of movement out in the fog, several feet away. I heard most of it, but occasionally I would see something resembling a bit of skin, or perhaps a slicked down fur coat. I felt something wet and furry slip past my leg, and that perhaps is what put the idea of a slick furry thing moving in the dark. I tried to imagine it was a rat, but my senses would not participate in my deception, and reminded me it felt wrong for a rat.
I was led to the center of a great chamber which in shape reminded me very much of the chamber we had discovered up above, except in greater size, and more like an imitation of that chamber. The writing was absent but the glowing carvings were not. They glowed blue, carved into straight lines along the floor, illustrating a chair obviously intended for me to occupy. I sat cautiously, frightened of what these strange persons would do to me, but frightened more of displeasing them. I tried not to show any fear and instead attempted to be bold.
"Who are you? What are you doing here?"
The glowing carvings provided a bluish light showing many persons or creatures in hoods in the room surrounding me, behind individual podiums. The podiums rose out of the rock of the floor as if carved there when they carved the chamber, I made assumptions on that fact, but did not follow that line of questioning.
A voice came from my right and all turned towards it, the voice while deep was also commanding, speaking loud and clear like a sunday preacher. The tone was rather sermon like as well, resembling a fire and brimstone southern preacher, though I had already seen enough to curl even their hair. Perhaps enough to put the fear of God as it's said, but to be more accurate a fear of the unknown.
The voice rose, though it could have been any of three speakers, as they all sat in that area, and made no movements to indicate which had said the words: "While we will adress those issues in our own time, you will show all due respect. You are in our home now and so those questions would be more appropriate coming from our lips and not yours. However I will tell you we need not answer your questions, we know more of you than you of us. We may even know more than you about why you are here than you do yourself. But to answer your question first: We are the Eldest, a group with similar goals and with the means to attain them. We are immortals, some of the insects that crawl on the surface above have chosen to call us Gods, but there is nothing absurdly supernatural in our long life. Merely avoiding risks and believing does a fair part. But a larger part is linked to your second question. We are about several things, some we can speak of, some we can't. These caves link into a greater system that covers most of the continent, and connects to much more, though how much even we have not determined. That is one of our tasks, Another is tending to the creatures that live in these caverns, a relic from a race beyond time, but of that we cannot tell you more. Finally we continue to secure our immortality by dwelling this close to the surface and, shall we call it harvesting? Yes you may cringe but there is a great science to this, man has suspected it but not had the proper ways of achieving it, but by consuming the weak we become wiser and live for longer."
He paused here and let the indigestion that was clear on my face pass. The unease however, did not pass. Now many things were more clear. These people needed to be exposed to the authorities and wiped out.
"I do not need supernatural powers to tell that you plan to try exposing us, I would not advise trying it. There are secrets we guard more dangerous than just the loss of a single life. If you decided not to join us, yes I said join us, you will be detained until we can find a suitable way of erasing your memory, or of disposing of you. You may find that shocking that we don't eat you on sight but we are not savages, the people above are, Many of your forbearers sit among our ranks, though few have risen to the council that is their choice. Now you know what we can tell you, until you join and swear eternal loyalty we cannot reveal much more. If you have questions you may ask now. I repeat you may ask, but we may decline to answer."
Though I had many things I wanted to ask the most burning question rose to the top: "Where is my father? and the two men I brought on my first visit to the lodge above?"
"Your father? Yes I can see why you would think we would know that, though we do know much we are not omnipotent, like I said at the outset people merely mistake us for Gods. All I can tell you about him is that his time to either join us or perish had come, he would have found a way to pass to you a notebook he carries containing some and some more than I have told you here. As that is not all mine to tell I can reveal no further."
"And my friends?"
"I'm afraid the protection that extends to you does not extend to guests you bring, and that applies to all the members of your feeble human team at our gates. We spared them simply because we wanted you to come to us without seeing too much bloodshed, and to protect you of course. The blood flowing through your body is prime for selective breeding and for our selection process. We find it impossible to create more of our number through procreation, so we must recruit to expand our reach."
I responded with unfamiliar boldness: "No, not I, my team will find you eventually, and I don't think you'd hurt your investment."
"We are saddened by your choice but hopefully you will change your mind before you force our hand. For now you will be imprisoned, we have fed recently and you are right at least that you are valuable. We would much prefer everyone be friends."
At that they led me to a stairwell and led me up some steps into a dark prison cell. Almost immediately after my captor left me I realized I was not alone. Another man sat at the other end of the cell. I saw him as he lit a cigar, and by the light of the cigar embers. He was dressed in a finely tailored white suit with pinstripes. He appeared very much the gentleman, but something about those eyes, it unsettled me.
"Hello, so glad you get to share the hospitality of our hosts."
He offered a hand to shake, I was too startled to reject the familiar gesture and shook it. It was the type of handshake to chill your bones, firm with those strong weathered hands. Seemed like hands of a blacksmith not a gentleman. He smiled a warm smile but something was just off. So very polite. They say that first impressions are the longest lasting, I doubt I could forget his.
"I am called the Concierge, and you have no idea what you're getting yourself into"
*music sting*
--------------------
That last bit was for my friend who knows who the concierge is, but the rest of you will get to know him soon enough. I'm terribly sorry it took me so long, I had myself written into kind of a corner there, but finally sprung that trap. Hopefully this will loosen up the story again and get it moving.
Chapter 7
I slept an uneasy sleep. And in my sleep, once again visions came to me. I was walking down the tunnels, without flashlight or aid my feet seemed to find their own way. As I turned one of the sharp turns my left hand reached out to the wall and engravings on that wall. As I touched it a glow started where-ever I touched. I continued to walk, I dragged two fingers across the wall on my left side. The glow had an orange hue as it grew to fill the passage. I felt a rhythm exude from the wall as I walked, a drum beat and a deep tone filled the space as I walked into the altar chamber. As I entered the chamber the light traveled behind me, following me like a dog looking for food. It crept out of the tunnel, growing til it filled the chamber with glowing light. I walked up to a closed door and placed two palms over two symbols that seemed to be calling to me. A warmth spread from the door into my palms, through my arms and with it spread a feeling like when your foot falls asleep. This whole time my actions seemed to just, make sense, I didn't decide to do anything. The door opened up before me, and on I walked, once again making contact with the wall as I entered this new tunnel. A softer light followed me now, I could still see, but only barely. The beat grew stronger as I walked on, the floor tilting slightly forward as I moved further in. The passage split, I took a path without thinking or even having time to note where the other path branched off to. The beat formed part of a song, wordless it penetrated my mind. I closed my eyes and hummed it as my feat moved of their own accord. On and on my feat seemed compelled by the beat as if charmed by a snake charmer. I know I passed through several more splits in the path because as the passage grew larger my fingers lost contact with the wall, though my feat did not slow. My eyes slowly opened as my feet brought me to a stop at the end of a tunnel, and I saw a hole in the floor, with a ladder sticking out of it. Once again my hands and feet knew what to do, and I began descending the ladder. Darkness enveloped me as I got farther down the ladder, passed where the light shone from the hole above. I lost count of the steps, I must have been traveling down hundreds of feet. All I knew for a long time was darkness and the stone wall in front of me.
As I reached the bottom of the steps, I found myself in a wide tall space, at one end to my right a single door was illuminated by a single symbol, exactly the same as the one I had seen on the door in the cellar, that seemed so long ago now. As I moved closer to it however I realized the scale it was built on. The door was over double my height, and wide enough to move an elephant through with room to spare. The symbol dominated it, and was the only marking on it's otherwise smooth surface. As I got within several feet of it, and moved my hands to place my palms against the door I was startled by a loud booming sound, like the footsteps of a giant. As I got within several feet of the door I realized that it was different from the other doors in another way, in that it was stone and not metal. It then revealed a further difference, as a crack formed down the middle, and the door became two which swung inward. As I tried to peer through the blackness the door had created in opening, I saw lamps light themselves, old style gas lanterns attached to Pillars in the interior space. These pillars were 4 feet wide, flaring at the base and extending upwards into a fog and supposedly eventually the ceiling. I began slowly moving into the hall revealed by the lamplight. A cloud of smoke appeared on either side of me, barely a foot away from touching me, and out of this cloud two robed figures appeared. Before I could even react they bound my hands in front of me with coarse rope. It hurt, and I realized I wasn't dreaming. One end of the rope they held, though at no point did I see their hands. A voice, deep and soothing came from one of the figures. "Follow us and all will be explained." I looked more closely at the figures as I had been distracted earlier by their theatrical entrance. They both stood much taller than me, at least seven feet tall, though they must have been slender because no part of their bodies seemed to touch the outside of their robes, and all openings in the robes seemed empty, almost like some sort of specter or spirit had inhabited the fabric. However they appeared quite real.
I passed on, moving deeper in and following my mysterious hosts. As we moved on a fog seemed to make the dark grip close. The dark felt like a blanket that provided no warmth, and caused a sort of uneasy feeling of being trapped, of claustraphobia. I lost so much of my ability to see that I was force to hold onto the cloak of the person in front of me. There was no telling what gender said person was. While tall and manish in voice, there was something distinctly feminine and graceful in their movements. I sensed some sort of movement out in the fog, several feet away. I heard most of it, but occasionally I would see something resembling a bit of skin, or perhaps a slicked down fur coat. I felt something wet and furry slip past my leg, and that perhaps is what put the idea of a slick furry thing moving in the dark. I tried to imagine it was a rat, but my senses would not participate in my deception, and reminded me it felt wrong for a rat.
I was led to the center of a great chamber which in shape reminded me very much of the chamber we had discovered up above, except in greater size, and more like an imitation of that chamber. The writing was absent but the glowing carvings were not. They glowed blue, carved into straight lines along the floor, illustrating a chair obviously intended for me to occupy. I sat cautiously, frightened of what these strange persons would do to me, but frightened more of displeasing them. I tried not to show any fear and instead attempted to be bold.
"Who are you? What are you doing here?"
The glowing carvings provided a bluish light showing many persons or creatures in hoods in the room surrounding me, behind individual podiums. The podiums rose out of the rock of the floor as if carved there when they carved the chamber, I made assumptions on that fact, but did not follow that line of questioning.
A voice came from my right and all turned towards it, the voice while deep was also commanding, speaking loud and clear like a sunday preacher. The tone was rather sermon like as well, resembling a fire and brimstone southern preacher, though I had already seen enough to curl even their hair. Perhaps enough to put the fear of God as it's said, but to be more accurate a fear of the unknown.
The voice rose, though it could have been any of three speakers, as they all sat in that area, and made no movements to indicate which had said the words: "While we will adress those issues in our own time, you will show all due respect. You are in our home now and so those questions would be more appropriate coming from our lips and not yours. However I will tell you we need not answer your questions, we know more of you than you of us. We may even know more than you about why you are here than you do yourself. But to answer your question first: We are the Eldest, a group with similar goals and with the means to attain them. We are immortals, some of the insects that crawl on the surface above have chosen to call us Gods, but there is nothing absurdly supernatural in our long life. Merely avoiding risks and believing does a fair part. But a larger part is linked to your second question. We are about several things, some we can speak of, some we can't. These caves link into a greater system that covers most of the continent, and connects to much more, though how much even we have not determined. That is one of our tasks, Another is tending to the creatures that live in these caverns, a relic from a race beyond time, but of that we cannot tell you more. Finally we continue to secure our immortality by dwelling this close to the surface and, shall we call it harvesting? Yes you may cringe but there is a great science to this, man has suspected it but not had the proper ways of achieving it, but by consuming the weak we become wiser and live for longer."
He paused here and let the indigestion that was clear on my face pass. The unease however, did not pass. Now many things were more clear. These people needed to be exposed to the authorities and wiped out.
"I do not need supernatural powers to tell that you plan to try exposing us, I would not advise trying it. There are secrets we guard more dangerous than just the loss of a single life. If you decided not to join us, yes I said join us, you will be detained until we can find a suitable way of erasing your memory, or of disposing of you. You may find that shocking that we don't eat you on sight but we are not savages, the people above are, Many of your forbearers sit among our ranks, though few have risen to the council that is their choice. Now you know what we can tell you, until you join and swear eternal loyalty we cannot reveal much more. If you have questions you may ask now. I repeat you may ask, but we may decline to answer."
Though I had many things I wanted to ask the most burning question rose to the top: "Where is my father? and the two men I brought on my first visit to the lodge above?"
"Your father? Yes I can see why you would think we would know that, though we do know much we are not omnipotent, like I said at the outset people merely mistake us for Gods. All I can tell you about him is that his time to either join us or perish had come, he would have found a way to pass to you a notebook he carries containing some and some more than I have told you here. As that is not all mine to tell I can reveal no further."
"And my friends?"
"I'm afraid the protection that extends to you does not extend to guests you bring, and that applies to all the members of your feeble human team at our gates. We spared them simply because we wanted you to come to us without seeing too much bloodshed, and to protect you of course. The blood flowing through your body is prime for selective breeding and for our selection process. We find it impossible to create more of our number through procreation, so we must recruit to expand our reach."
I responded with unfamiliar boldness: "No, not I, my team will find you eventually, and I don't think you'd hurt your investment."
"We are saddened by your choice but hopefully you will change your mind before you force our hand. For now you will be imprisoned, we have fed recently and you are right at least that you are valuable. We would much prefer everyone be friends."
At that they led me to a stairwell and led me up some steps into a dark prison cell. Almost immediately after my captor left me I realized I was not alone. Another man sat at the other end of the cell. I saw him as he lit a cigar, and by the light of the cigar embers. He was dressed in a finely tailored white suit with pinstripes. He appeared very much the gentleman, but something about those eyes, it unsettled me.
"Hello, so glad you get to share the hospitality of our hosts."
He offered a hand to shake, I was too startled to reject the familiar gesture and shook it. It was the type of handshake to chill your bones, firm with those strong weathered hands. Seemed like hands of a blacksmith not a gentleman. He smiled a warm smile but something was just off. So very polite. They say that first impressions are the longest lasting, I doubt I could forget his.
"I am called the Concierge, and you have no idea what you're getting yourself into"
*music sting*
--------------------
That last bit was for my friend who knows who the concierge is, but the rest of you will get to know him soon enough. I'm terribly sorry it took me so long, I had myself written into kind of a corner there, but finally sprung that trap. Hopefully this will loosen up the story again and get it moving.
after the end: video version
Ok, recorded me reading the story, posted it on my youtube channel
Also if you are a fan of music browse over to my other videos
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gj6cf5XX9ZY
Also if you are a fan of music browse over to my other videos
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gj6cf5XX9ZY
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
after the end
no one ever considers what comes after the horrible end, if such horrible ends do come. In such sad stories it is simply said "he died" or "they died", and you are to hang your head, to feel the pang of sadness at their tragic end. It's rarely considered what comes next. Our story starts after the end. The bombs had all fallen, the heroes all dead, the battles all lost. No one really wins in the end, the logical conclusion of war is death. And there was death, so much death. A layer of ash lay over what was once some part of America, if I cannot tell you what part it is only because almost all of it looked much the same, lifeless, fields and valleys and mountains of fine grain sand. For hundreds of miles, a layer of sand and silt lay over the landscape, broken by an occasional oasis, the once verdant lands converted into nearly endless dessert. I suppose you might be able to figure out something by the fact that the wind when it blew was not so cold that it would kill, and the heat during the day was not so hot as to cause instant dehydration.
The days really have no number either, but I can tell you it was some time after the end that the man emerged to survey his new dominion. In those days it was said that every man was at least the equal of a duke, or perhaps even a king, because there was so much land available to any one man that they could be considered as rich as the dukes and kings of early centuries. There would be no more competition for land, not for some time. I cannot even be sure of the other survivors, just of the man I will tell you of. He had the luck, if you can call it luck, of being in a shelter when the horror struck. Regardless, he had been knocked unconscious, and had laid out for time beyond memory. He did not dream, and hardly found a need for food or even a great amount of fresh air for some time. The time he laid there was at least a week, it could have been a month or two, perhaps even several years, all the clocks were broken, and calenders need human hands to advance the months and to mark off days. You probably think I'm silly for estimating such a long time for our friend to have laid in repose, recovering from the disaster. People always forget the strangeness of the human body itself. The tale of rip van winkle may not be so far off from the truth. I tell you that what I think happened, and again I cannot be sure for I am no doctor and there are few experts who could tell you, is that his body greatly wished to sleep through whatever calamity had befallen mankind. And after his mind and body met in conference and discovered there was no sleeping through the awful fact, why I believe at that point they decided that death would be a better fate than living in such a world. I wouldn't be surprised if an eye was cracked at that point, and upon opening closed very quickly to try and block out such a cruel reality.
Again, this is all conjecture, but what I can tell you is that a man is not so much the captain of his own fate as that his body will stop when it is supposed to. Like I said, this is a story about what happens after the end. The man's life did end, in a way, on the day the bombs fell. But of what came before I'm not here to tell. He opened his eyes, and emerged from the structure that had been a building of some kind. In fact, it had been a post office. Our hero was no post man, he was simply checking his postal box in the well built structure, and the structure itself protected him. He had been the only one in the building at the time not near a window, and so he was the person to disturb the dust as he sat up, and dusted himself off. He found his way to an outside door, opened it and surveyed the landscape. The sun beat down too hard for him to see for a minute, but as his eyes adjusted he saw the endless dust covering most of the remains of his hometown. He tried running to his car, but parked on the street it had become an unrecognizable hulk. So he started jogging across the wasted landscape, towards where his home and family had been. He found no street signs, and so from memory he tried to find his neighborhood. But it, like most of the town, had been converted to sand and ash. when he dug through almost a foot of the ash mix he found what had once been the ground, the concrete of a foundation and in another place the still nutrient rich soil was all that remained of a house and lawn, perhaps his, perhaps his neighbors, perhaps someone he didn't even know. He realized he was still holding something, his mail. It was the day the bills had come, how funny was that? he chuckled at the bills, no more worrying about that. "I'm immortal" a voice in his head seemed to mutter, half to himself, half proclaiming it to the world. So he said it out loud. "I'm immortal" he said in his normal speaking voice, still trying to figure out why he had said it, and was he really?
He saw there was more than just bills in the stack of mail. He found a sales flier. The sales flier was for home insurance. He chuckled again. Then he laughed, he laughed and laughed so hard he had to sit down. He screamed and laughed at how silly it was. It said "Protect your investment, you never know what might happen." No comedian on earth had ever said a sillier set of words. Danny Kaye, or Robin Williams or any comedian of any time period would be envious of such a perfect joke, with such perfect timing. He laughed so hard he cried. He cried so hard he ran out of air and passed out in the sand. And that is what happened after the end.
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I just had this story to tell, there might be more, I just don't know. I hope you liked it.
The days really have no number either, but I can tell you it was some time after the end that the man emerged to survey his new dominion. In those days it was said that every man was at least the equal of a duke, or perhaps even a king, because there was so much land available to any one man that they could be considered as rich as the dukes and kings of early centuries. There would be no more competition for land, not for some time. I cannot even be sure of the other survivors, just of the man I will tell you of. He had the luck, if you can call it luck, of being in a shelter when the horror struck. Regardless, he had been knocked unconscious, and had laid out for time beyond memory. He did not dream, and hardly found a need for food or even a great amount of fresh air for some time. The time he laid there was at least a week, it could have been a month or two, perhaps even several years, all the clocks were broken, and calenders need human hands to advance the months and to mark off days. You probably think I'm silly for estimating such a long time for our friend to have laid in repose, recovering from the disaster. People always forget the strangeness of the human body itself. The tale of rip van winkle may not be so far off from the truth. I tell you that what I think happened, and again I cannot be sure for I am no doctor and there are few experts who could tell you, is that his body greatly wished to sleep through whatever calamity had befallen mankind. And after his mind and body met in conference and discovered there was no sleeping through the awful fact, why I believe at that point they decided that death would be a better fate than living in such a world. I wouldn't be surprised if an eye was cracked at that point, and upon opening closed very quickly to try and block out such a cruel reality.
Again, this is all conjecture, but what I can tell you is that a man is not so much the captain of his own fate as that his body will stop when it is supposed to. Like I said, this is a story about what happens after the end. The man's life did end, in a way, on the day the bombs fell. But of what came before I'm not here to tell. He opened his eyes, and emerged from the structure that had been a building of some kind. In fact, it had been a post office. Our hero was no post man, he was simply checking his postal box in the well built structure, and the structure itself protected him. He had been the only one in the building at the time not near a window, and so he was the person to disturb the dust as he sat up, and dusted himself off. He found his way to an outside door, opened it and surveyed the landscape. The sun beat down too hard for him to see for a minute, but as his eyes adjusted he saw the endless dust covering most of the remains of his hometown. He tried running to his car, but parked on the street it had become an unrecognizable hulk. So he started jogging across the wasted landscape, towards where his home and family had been. He found no street signs, and so from memory he tried to find his neighborhood. But it, like most of the town, had been converted to sand and ash. when he dug through almost a foot of the ash mix he found what had once been the ground, the concrete of a foundation and in another place the still nutrient rich soil was all that remained of a house and lawn, perhaps his, perhaps his neighbors, perhaps someone he didn't even know. He realized he was still holding something, his mail. It was the day the bills had come, how funny was that? he chuckled at the bills, no more worrying about that. "I'm immortal" a voice in his head seemed to mutter, half to himself, half proclaiming it to the world. So he said it out loud. "I'm immortal" he said in his normal speaking voice, still trying to figure out why he had said it, and was he really?
He saw there was more than just bills in the stack of mail. He found a sales flier. The sales flier was for home insurance. He chuckled again. Then he laughed, he laughed and laughed so hard he had to sit down. He screamed and laughed at how silly it was. It said "Protect your investment, you never know what might happen." No comedian on earth had ever said a sillier set of words. Danny Kaye, or Robin Williams or any comedian of any time period would be envious of such a perfect joke, with such perfect timing. He laughed so hard he cried. He cried so hard he ran out of air and passed out in the sand. And that is what happened after the end.
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I just had this story to tell, there might be more, I just don't know. I hope you liked it.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
A request: Love story: Jack's story
Someone special asked me to write a love story, so I decided I would. I do requests if I can, it might only be a short tale, but remember the sentiment is deep.
For Kaci
Jack's story
Jack never expected what might happen in his life. But perhaps I'm getting ahead of myself. The year was somewhere in the 90s, before the y2k panic but during the clinton era for anyone who is counting. The city was Denver, not the biggest city, or the most romantic, but love can happen anywhere. Jack was an artist, self taught. He painted beautiful pictures, everyone told him someday his work might hang in a museum. For some reason he didn't really know whether to believe them. His work, it still lacked something. For some reason he couldn't put his finger on it. I suppose I shouldn't get too far into his career, you might be thinking now that this isn't a success story, it's a love story. Well, first of all, let me get to it I'm setting the stage. I might also add that love of your work is a beautiful thing in it's own right so stop making such quick judgments. Don't think you know it all, I don't. But I'll stop teasing you because Jack's search for inspiration, whether he knew it or not, would lead him into adventures he never expected.
So our story starts on a morning sometime in winter, it's very cold out, but not so much as to prevent people from going about their daily life. On this morning, like many before it, Jack woke up with the sunrise, got out of bed, and put on his slippers. He fumbled around for some suitable clothing, and attempted to make himself breakfast. But, alas he had forgotten to buy coffee, the curse of an artist is the flighty mind, he was perhaps entranced with some color, or daydreaming about something or other, or maybe he just forgot. We don't really know, but what jack DID know was that he needed coffee, he felt like a train had run over him and he needed to stop feeling that way or how was he supposed to be inspired? And so his foggy brain came up with a plan, to finish getting dressed for a start. Then down the stairs from his loft apartment, to the street. Then his foggy brain managed to remember a coffee shop only two blocks away, where he gladly ordered his normal coffee drink, and didn't have to fix it for himself for once. Like I said, it was winter, and being winter and morning the coffee shop was rather full. Everyone seemed to be craving a quick pick me up. So all the tables were rather full. He contemplated, for a moment, returning to his home and sipping his coffee in peace there, but his dislike for the cold walk alone was just enough to make him settle down in a seat by a fake fireplace, across from a person who seemed to be hidden behind a newspaper. He tried a sip of his coffee, alas still too hot to enjoy. So he attempted to find something to read, maybe get inspired. The magazines were dull, and despite being a normally pretty easy to stimulate person he found himself restless. And so he sat there, he drank in the environment of the coffee shop, and he found himself curious about the person behind the newspaper, what they were reading and what them here on this morning, and perhaps if he could persuade them to lend it to him.
This, among other reasons, was why he struck up a conversation with the young lady when she emerged from behind her curtain of newspaper, folded it up, and saw him looking at her. "Good morning!" said she, in some shock, but interest to strike up a conversation. "And a good morning to you as well.", said he in a generally genial sort of way, at this point he had taken some sips of his coffee and already was feeling much perkier. "I saw you were reading the paper and was wondering what article caught your interest?" he said.
She: Oh I was reading about the new play that opened last night, a friend of mine was in the production.
He: Oh that does sound interesting. By the way my name is Jack.
He extended his hand and she gently shook it, in the way polite women do.
He continued: I'm an artist and I always do enjoy seeing other people's creative efforts.
She replied: My name is Zelma. an artist you say? what sort of art?
He: Painting, generally. I have tried my hand at other art, but I seem to do my best work with paint. What do you do?
She: I'm going back to school. I want to learn more about architecture. I don't really know if I'll apply it but I'm interested to learn, maybe go into real estate. So what do you do with your spare time?
He: Well, daydream alot, look for inspiration, play games every now and then.
She: Do you ever need company on your search for inspiration?
He smiled a knowing smile and said: I could use someone to, shall we say, help me expand my horizons.
She scooted closer, and looked him in the eyes and said: Perhaps I could help you with that.
He returned her gaze, interested, and perhaps telling more with his eyes than his lips he said: Well I'm game for that. When are you free?
She found herself taking a boldness that surprised even her and said: right now actually, I was just passing the time here. Would you like to go for a walk?
He was equally entranced by her boldness, and stood, and offered a hand to her, and said: I'd love to
They talked for hours, sharing stories, asking and telling much more about themselves, it almost seemed like they had known eachother for some time the conversation came so easily. She found herself leaning on him as the day wore on, and he found his arm wrapped around her waist. It wasn't conscious on either of their parts, sometimes these things just have a way of happening on their own. Sadly the days in winter are short, and so after watching the sunset, they decided to part. He walked her home, and taking some initiative he brought her close and kissed her.
He said, with all the warmth in his heart: Goodnight sweet Zelma, I'll be thinking of you.
And she said, feeling bubbly and so happy: Goodnight my Jack, I look forward to seeing you again.
When Jack got home all he could think about was her, his lady, his new muse.
To be fair I must say that it was much the same for her, she thought of how she wanted to fall asleep in his arms. He fell asleep that night hugging a pillow, dreaming it was his sweet loving lady.
They had more wonderful dates, some days him charming and surprising her, sometimes she was the one who seemed to be the charmer. It could really be said that neither one of them was being the leader or being led. They came of their own free will, drawn by the warmth of loves flame in a world of ice and snow. One night, when the moon was shining bright, she led him to her bed chamber following an evening of star gazing, and they made love. I won't intrude on their intimate time with the details, but let me just say that it was everything and more than either of them expected. They wanted that night to last forever, and while it did it felt like it would. Sadly into every life some rain must fall. And with the usual cruelty that life gives the time they had together was cut short. One day six months after they had met her father came to town and told her that he had gotten her into Harvard, and that she must leave immediately. He had pulled all his strings for you see he was a business man, and he wanted her to carry on his legacy. And so for a time Jack had to do without his darling Zelma. I won't sugar coat it for you my dear readers it was pretty brutal. For Jack it felt most painful of all I feel, as an artist he was prone to slumps, and his work didn't bring him as much joy as it might have otherwise. He went through the motions, but his new work seemed to only sing back to him his song of lonelyness.
Halfway across the continent Zelma longed for her Jack, she wanted to send him letters but her father had ways of intercepting them. Her only hope, was to escape her father's grasp. But she seemed unable to find a way to do it. A year passed, achingly slowly.
One day, a friend of Jack's was sitting with him, listening to his troubles. He said: You know Jack, maybe you should do something about this lost love of yours, problems don't just solve themselves. Sometimes you have to be the one that makes change happen.
So Jack realized that was true, and he came up with a daring plan. He had to sell almost everything he owned except the shirt on his back. He gave up the lease on his apartment. And he bought two things, a train ticket to get across the country, and a ring. He decided he would take the bull by the horns, take the risks. After all you're only young and in love once, if you're lucky. He rode all night and all day to get to the city where his love was, and when he got there he had to ask for some time before he found out where she was. She was in a strict sorority, one that forbid them any contact with boys, that put high value on studies and no value on social life. He had to sneak into the campus at night. He happened to make friends with one of the night patrolmen by telling his tale of love. By using this contact he was able to get to and find her window, Zelma's window, his love so close at last. It was a first floor window, rare luck indeed. He inched close to the window, which lie next to her bed, and he whispered as loud as he dared: Zelma, it's your Jack, please open the window.
Zelma thought she was dreaming at first. Jack had to whisper a second time before she believed it was him. Her heart jumped for joy, it pounded so hard it felt like it was going to come out of her chest. She opened the window. In he crept, into her room. She kissed him, wanting to take him now and show him her love, regardless of the surroundings. He stopped her, and told her he had something important to talk to her about. I think her heart skipped a beat. What could be that important? she wondered. He got down on one knee and brought out the ring. His voice sounded braver than he felt, for truly he was as scared as he had ever been in his life. He said: Zelma, I love you. I've traveled hundreds of miles, sold everything I have and risked everything to find you again. Now I have to know, will you come back with me and be my wife?
Her eyes filled with tears and she hugged him saying: Yes yes a thousand times yes you wonderful silly man.
They both jumped out the window, and she hired a taxi to take them to her father's house in nearby Boston. She knocked on the door, it was early morning at this point. The butler answered the door, and went to wake her father. Jack came with her into her father's study. Now as Jack faced the man who had taken his love from him, but whom he must respect as the father of the woman he loved, he was a little intimidated. But his love for Zelma pushed him on. He stood up, and spoke strongly saying: Sir, I have asked your daughter to marry me and she has agreed. We would like your blessing. I can take care of her and I love her and I intend to make her my wife.
Her father replied: What of her career? What about her future?
Jack answered: Have you thought to ask her what sort of future she wants?
Her father: Well Zelma? what do you want?
Zelma: I want to be with him, I want to have his children, everything else is secondary.
Her father turned to Jack, and for a moment just looked at him, appraising him you might say.
He spoke: Boy, you have made me see my error today. In the beginning I was furious, but you humbled me. You obviously make my daughter happy, and you showed great cunning in getting here and getting her back. Not many men would risk so much, and there is only one reason. Your love is worthy, welcome to the family, son.
Epilogue
Now it's many years later, their children are just entering their teen years. Sometimes they need reminding of what being young and reckless is like, but I can tell you this, they are just as happy today as they were on their wedding day. And their children know the meaning of love, and doing what it takes to find it, and keep it. They are happy, and who knows, maybe they really will live happily ever after.
For Kaci
Jack's story
Jack never expected what might happen in his life. But perhaps I'm getting ahead of myself. The year was somewhere in the 90s, before the y2k panic but during the clinton era for anyone who is counting. The city was Denver, not the biggest city, or the most romantic, but love can happen anywhere. Jack was an artist, self taught. He painted beautiful pictures, everyone told him someday his work might hang in a museum. For some reason he didn't really know whether to believe them. His work, it still lacked something. For some reason he couldn't put his finger on it. I suppose I shouldn't get too far into his career, you might be thinking now that this isn't a success story, it's a love story. Well, first of all, let me get to it I'm setting the stage. I might also add that love of your work is a beautiful thing in it's own right so stop making such quick judgments. Don't think you know it all, I don't. But I'll stop teasing you because Jack's search for inspiration, whether he knew it or not, would lead him into adventures he never expected.
So our story starts on a morning sometime in winter, it's very cold out, but not so much as to prevent people from going about their daily life. On this morning, like many before it, Jack woke up with the sunrise, got out of bed, and put on his slippers. He fumbled around for some suitable clothing, and attempted to make himself breakfast. But, alas he had forgotten to buy coffee, the curse of an artist is the flighty mind, he was perhaps entranced with some color, or daydreaming about something or other, or maybe he just forgot. We don't really know, but what jack DID know was that he needed coffee, he felt like a train had run over him and he needed to stop feeling that way or how was he supposed to be inspired? And so his foggy brain came up with a plan, to finish getting dressed for a start. Then down the stairs from his loft apartment, to the street. Then his foggy brain managed to remember a coffee shop only two blocks away, where he gladly ordered his normal coffee drink, and didn't have to fix it for himself for once. Like I said, it was winter, and being winter and morning the coffee shop was rather full. Everyone seemed to be craving a quick pick me up. So all the tables were rather full. He contemplated, for a moment, returning to his home and sipping his coffee in peace there, but his dislike for the cold walk alone was just enough to make him settle down in a seat by a fake fireplace, across from a person who seemed to be hidden behind a newspaper. He tried a sip of his coffee, alas still too hot to enjoy. So he attempted to find something to read, maybe get inspired. The magazines were dull, and despite being a normally pretty easy to stimulate person he found himself restless. And so he sat there, he drank in the environment of the coffee shop, and he found himself curious about the person behind the newspaper, what they were reading and what them here on this morning, and perhaps if he could persuade them to lend it to him.
This, among other reasons, was why he struck up a conversation with the young lady when she emerged from behind her curtain of newspaper, folded it up, and saw him looking at her. "Good morning!" said she, in some shock, but interest to strike up a conversation. "And a good morning to you as well.", said he in a generally genial sort of way, at this point he had taken some sips of his coffee and already was feeling much perkier. "I saw you were reading the paper and was wondering what article caught your interest?" he said.
She: Oh I was reading about the new play that opened last night, a friend of mine was in the production.
He: Oh that does sound interesting. By the way my name is Jack.
He extended his hand and she gently shook it, in the way polite women do.
He continued: I'm an artist and I always do enjoy seeing other people's creative efforts.
She replied: My name is Zelma. an artist you say? what sort of art?
He: Painting, generally. I have tried my hand at other art, but I seem to do my best work with paint. What do you do?
She: I'm going back to school. I want to learn more about architecture. I don't really know if I'll apply it but I'm interested to learn, maybe go into real estate. So what do you do with your spare time?
He: Well, daydream alot, look for inspiration, play games every now and then.
She: Do you ever need company on your search for inspiration?
He smiled a knowing smile and said: I could use someone to, shall we say, help me expand my horizons.
She scooted closer, and looked him in the eyes and said: Perhaps I could help you with that.
He returned her gaze, interested, and perhaps telling more with his eyes than his lips he said: Well I'm game for that. When are you free?
She found herself taking a boldness that surprised even her and said: right now actually, I was just passing the time here. Would you like to go for a walk?
He was equally entranced by her boldness, and stood, and offered a hand to her, and said: I'd love to
They talked for hours, sharing stories, asking and telling much more about themselves, it almost seemed like they had known eachother for some time the conversation came so easily. She found herself leaning on him as the day wore on, and he found his arm wrapped around her waist. It wasn't conscious on either of their parts, sometimes these things just have a way of happening on their own. Sadly the days in winter are short, and so after watching the sunset, they decided to part. He walked her home, and taking some initiative he brought her close and kissed her.
He said, with all the warmth in his heart: Goodnight sweet Zelma, I'll be thinking of you.
And she said, feeling bubbly and so happy: Goodnight my Jack, I look forward to seeing you again.
When Jack got home all he could think about was her, his lady, his new muse.
To be fair I must say that it was much the same for her, she thought of how she wanted to fall asleep in his arms. He fell asleep that night hugging a pillow, dreaming it was his sweet loving lady.
They had more wonderful dates, some days him charming and surprising her, sometimes she was the one who seemed to be the charmer. It could really be said that neither one of them was being the leader or being led. They came of their own free will, drawn by the warmth of loves flame in a world of ice and snow. One night, when the moon was shining bright, she led him to her bed chamber following an evening of star gazing, and they made love. I won't intrude on their intimate time with the details, but let me just say that it was everything and more than either of them expected. They wanted that night to last forever, and while it did it felt like it would. Sadly into every life some rain must fall. And with the usual cruelty that life gives the time they had together was cut short. One day six months after they had met her father came to town and told her that he had gotten her into Harvard, and that she must leave immediately. He had pulled all his strings for you see he was a business man, and he wanted her to carry on his legacy. And so for a time Jack had to do without his darling Zelma. I won't sugar coat it for you my dear readers it was pretty brutal. For Jack it felt most painful of all I feel, as an artist he was prone to slumps, and his work didn't bring him as much joy as it might have otherwise. He went through the motions, but his new work seemed to only sing back to him his song of lonelyness.
Halfway across the continent Zelma longed for her Jack, she wanted to send him letters but her father had ways of intercepting them. Her only hope, was to escape her father's grasp. But she seemed unable to find a way to do it. A year passed, achingly slowly.
One day, a friend of Jack's was sitting with him, listening to his troubles. He said: You know Jack, maybe you should do something about this lost love of yours, problems don't just solve themselves. Sometimes you have to be the one that makes change happen.
So Jack realized that was true, and he came up with a daring plan. He had to sell almost everything he owned except the shirt on his back. He gave up the lease on his apartment. And he bought two things, a train ticket to get across the country, and a ring. He decided he would take the bull by the horns, take the risks. After all you're only young and in love once, if you're lucky. He rode all night and all day to get to the city where his love was, and when he got there he had to ask for some time before he found out where she was. She was in a strict sorority, one that forbid them any contact with boys, that put high value on studies and no value on social life. He had to sneak into the campus at night. He happened to make friends with one of the night patrolmen by telling his tale of love. By using this contact he was able to get to and find her window, Zelma's window, his love so close at last. It was a first floor window, rare luck indeed. He inched close to the window, which lie next to her bed, and he whispered as loud as he dared: Zelma, it's your Jack, please open the window.
Zelma thought she was dreaming at first. Jack had to whisper a second time before she believed it was him. Her heart jumped for joy, it pounded so hard it felt like it was going to come out of her chest. She opened the window. In he crept, into her room. She kissed him, wanting to take him now and show him her love, regardless of the surroundings. He stopped her, and told her he had something important to talk to her about. I think her heart skipped a beat. What could be that important? she wondered. He got down on one knee and brought out the ring. His voice sounded braver than he felt, for truly he was as scared as he had ever been in his life. He said: Zelma, I love you. I've traveled hundreds of miles, sold everything I have and risked everything to find you again. Now I have to know, will you come back with me and be my wife?
Her eyes filled with tears and she hugged him saying: Yes yes a thousand times yes you wonderful silly man.
They both jumped out the window, and she hired a taxi to take them to her father's house in nearby Boston. She knocked on the door, it was early morning at this point. The butler answered the door, and went to wake her father. Jack came with her into her father's study. Now as Jack faced the man who had taken his love from him, but whom he must respect as the father of the woman he loved, he was a little intimidated. But his love for Zelma pushed him on. He stood up, and spoke strongly saying: Sir, I have asked your daughter to marry me and she has agreed. We would like your blessing. I can take care of her and I love her and I intend to make her my wife.
Her father replied: What of her career? What about her future?
Jack answered: Have you thought to ask her what sort of future she wants?
Her father: Well Zelma? what do you want?
Zelma: I want to be with him, I want to have his children, everything else is secondary.
Her father turned to Jack, and for a moment just looked at him, appraising him you might say.
He spoke: Boy, you have made me see my error today. In the beginning I was furious, but you humbled me. You obviously make my daughter happy, and you showed great cunning in getting here and getting her back. Not many men would risk so much, and there is only one reason. Your love is worthy, welcome to the family, son.
Epilogue
Now it's many years later, their children are just entering their teen years. Sometimes they need reminding of what being young and reckless is like, but I can tell you this, they are just as happy today as they were on their wedding day. And their children know the meaning of love, and doing what it takes to find it, and keep it. They are happy, and who knows, maybe they really will live happily ever after.
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