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"from": "human",
"value": "The Orc and the Quill"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "It was a cold and lonely night in the city of Albion. The cobblestone streets were filled with people from all walks of life. The bazaar was a bright array of shades of amber and violet, and the air was filled with sweet exotic scents from lands far away. Godwin sat alone on his balcony. He saw the entire city for miles. The moon slowly rose from its slumber to embrace the city in its comforting light. A part of him wanted to go down and enjoy the festivities.\n\nBut Godwin rather enjoyed the company of a quill and parchment.\n\nHe thought about the quill and how he had found it on the side of a road outside the city. But here he was hours later, with no inspiration. He dipped his quill in ink and wrote. \"Lord\n\nOdin sat upon his lofty throne alone.\"\n\nHe put the quill down and brainstormed the following few words he should write. He heard a sound while gazing at the Moonlite mountains in the distance. Scribble, scribble, scribble. The quill was writing. \"Ahhh!\"\n\nThe quill did not notice and just kept writing. Godwin quickly grabbed the box the quill was in and slowly reached for it like he was about to squash a bug. It stopped writing as he reached for it and gently eased itself into his hand. He locked it quickly in the box and, for a brief moment, thought. I should throw this over the edge. However, something stopped him, and he just placed it on the small table before him. He didn't know how he should feel. A part of him was terrified, heart racing and extreme anxiety, but also a hint of curiosity.\n\nMagical items were common; however, he only saw magical items that acted on command, never one that acted uninstructed. He looked around to see if anyone was playing tricks on him. None of his neighbors were out, and the crowd below was focused on the festivities. Godwin shot a glare at the box. Godwin looked at the parchment to see what it had written. \"Why was King Odin alone?\" That is what was written. Godwin's curiosity got the better of him. He reached for the box slowly as if it were to jump out and stab him. Damn, pull yourself together. You're an orc. It's just a quill. What's the worst that could happen. He thought. Click. Godwin opened the box and took the quill in his hand. Plop, Plop, he dipped it back into the ink pot and wrote. \"Who are you or what are you?\"\n\nThe quill wiggled in his hand; he eased its grip on it so it could write its response. \"My name is Ava. What I am is your quill bound to serve you.\" \"Serve me?\" \" Is this a Jinni in a quill ?\" He thought\n\n\"Are you a jinni?\" \"Not exactly who I am or who I was does not matter. I'm here to serve thee.\" \"So what do you do exactly?\" \"Write what you desire, and you shall have it; however,\n\nbe careful what you write, for you can not take it back.\" \"I don't know what I want.\" \"Let me make this easy for you. Do you want love?\" \"No.\" \"Do you want untold vast riches? Could you get a new parchment ready? I feel I'm nearing the end of this page.\" Godwin hadn't realized how much space was already taken up. He pulled out a new piece. \"To answer your last question…No.\" \"Okay… how about power? How does that sound like love? I can tell by your grip you're an Orc. Orcs love power, don't they?\" \"Sorry to disappoint, I'm a strange Orc. No, I don't want power.\" \"I don't understand what you want?\" Godwin thought for a moment.\n\nWhat do I…want? He just noticed that this was the most in-depth conversation he's had with anyone. He felt pretty relieved to be able to speak to someone. He knew at that moment what he wanted was company. He wrote. \"I like company.\" \"Wonderful we're making progress love thank you. What kind of company are we talking about? The romantic kind?\" \"No… Your company is fine.\" The quill stopped writing momentarily and wiggled its way into Godwin's hand. Bounced and swayed around the parchment as though it were confused. It then turned sharply, facing Godwin, slowly moving inches closer to him. He felt like it was giving him a strange and irritated glare. Odd, it had no eyes or face, but he could feel its frustration. It turned its back sharply at him, lodged itself between his fingers, and nudged his hand to the parchment. It wrote “ I…Wish...For…” \"Tell me more about yourself.\" The quill gave in. \"You're strange for an Orc and definitely the most interesting one that has held me. For once I don't feel like I'm being used. What do you want to know?\" \"What is your name? Where are you from, and how did you end up in this quill.\" \"My name is Ava. I come from the Briar lands. How I ended up here is a long and complicated story.\" \"Summarize it for me. I have time.\" \"You're the first Orc or anyone who's ever shown a keen interest in me instead of my abilities. You're very strange, and I like it.\" \"That's because I understand what it feels like to go unnoticed and for others to see how they can benefit from you.\" \"Well, to keep a long story short, I was once an elf, a wood elf, to be more precise. As I said, I was raised in the Briar lands. Definitely not the place you'd want to raise a family. Full of werewolves, vampires, and necromancers.\n\nI was the daughter of a witch…\" \"That's unfortunate.\" \"yes, especially when I figured out what my mother had planned for me. I never knew who my father was. My mother told me he was just a traveler who used her for her body and left her. I asked if I had any sisters, and she said I did, but they had passed on.\" Godwin flipped the parchment so she could continue telling her tale. \"My mother would raise me until I was at the ripe age of 20. I was young and beautiful and had long Auburn hair. Many young men wanted my attention…I…\"\n\nAva stopped writing. \"Is something wrong? If it pains you to continue, then you can stop.\" \"No, it's been some time since I spoke about this.\" \"How long?\" \"300 hundred years..\" Godwin's problems seemed less serious now. He couldn't empathize with Ava, but he did sympathize with her. \"She told me to come in one day and look at a beautiful quill she had made. And asked me to test the ink in it for her on a parchment. I then wrote my name, and shortly afterward, she uttered an incantation. The sensation I felt was my soul being torn from my body, like cotton caught on thorns. Godwin grimaced at the description. \"As my soul left my body, I was transferred to this quill, and I could see my mother's soul entering my body and leaving her skin. I found out later that the skin she was in was that of her previous daughter. And now, Here I am serving my Purpose.\" \"How did you escape her?\" \"I don't know. I just prayed and got whisked away in some random part of the world.\" \"The three wishes you can grant?\" Godwin wrote \"Are a failsafe just in case she was to lose me. People would be so focused on their needs and their desires. And I would not have control of myself or my actions. I can't speak unless commanded to or asked a question..\" Godwin thought momentarily, and an idea suddenly zapped into his mind. He grabbed another parchment and wrote. \"I wish for the skills and abilities required of me to help you break free.\" \"Why are you doing this?\" \"Because all my life I've been stuck in this damned city, I want to experience life and tell stories. And help others where I can. So, How do we break this curse?\" \"You have to bring me to the Briarlands, where my soul was taken deep in the lonesome forest.\"\n\nGodwin dipped the quill in the inkpot. Tap, tap, he hadn't realized how low he was on ink. And that his conversation with Ava had filled six pages. He gently placed Ava back in her ornate box. And sat silently on his balcony, contemplating what had just happened.\n\nHe'd had an actual meaningful conversation with someone. However long this was going to take, Godwin was happy. For once in his life, he was doing something different and exciting. To ensure he didn't come back home, he would sell all his belongings to his landlord with no intention of returning to Albion. 5 years later \"Ay, we're here. This is as far as my carriage goes, shaman.\" The carriage stopped outside a long winding path between two mountains. \"Thank you for the trip.\" Godwin tossed a small pouch of coin to the driver. \"Best you turn back now, driver, before the beasties come out. A full moon's coming.\" The driver didn't hesitate and instantly sent his horses into a gallop in the opposite direction. Once he reached the end of the path, he was greeted by two colossal statues the size of mountains. The one to his left was that of Lokar wielding a staff, and to the right, Thoran wielding a mighty hammer with one hand. The beautiful Briar lands, a vast sea of copper and golden leaves that looked like an enormous Water painting, took him aback. In the distance, he could see the mountains and how they curved into a valley. He could see the city of Hallow's end. And smaller villages sprinkled between. He remembered her instructions and needed to find a place to make camp and talk to Ava. He pulled out a map and looked for the landmark of the weeping widow statue. He began his journey east.\n\nNight had fallen, and using the earth, Godwin made a tent large enough to make a fire and thick enough to protect him from intruders.\n\nThe shamans of the western Highlands had taught him how to harness the elements and nature to aid him. A skill few orcs carried but one he was happy to master to help Ava. He pulled out his journal and ink pot and began writing. \"We're here, Ava.\" \"Good. Remember what I told you and what you must do.\" Godwin felt a stabbing pain in his heart. He and Ava had grown close together over the last 5 years. They both had grown fond of each other. \"Yes, I just wish there was another way.\" \"Godwin, I do, too.\" \"Will I see you again in the next life, Ava?\" \"Maybe..\" \"I don't want to lose you.\" \"Neither do I, Godwin, but this life isn't the end, only the beginning.\" Godwin and Ava both knew how this would end. He wanted her but couldn't have her. Having her meant to keep her his prisoner. And he wanted her to be free and to rest in peace.\n\nEven if that meant he'd end up alone.\n\nThe day dawned crisp and cold. He knew he was getting near the weeping widow's statue, for he could hear low cries and sobs that got louder the closer they got to the witch's house.\n\nAva shook violently in his satchel. Her mother is trying to bring her back . He could see smoke in the distance and assumed it had to be the witch's hut. Her home was not as ominous as he'd thought it wasn't cozy, but it had a small garden of exotic herbs.\n\nAnd was carved into a large tree. As Godwin made his way, the door opened. And he saw Ava's body or rather her mother in her skin. \"Come on in, my dear. I have a proposition for you.\" \"I will make no deals with you, WITCH!\" \"Even if it means you and my Ava can live happily ever after?\" Ava was shaking in Godiwns satchel. He could hear the box crack as Ava went piercing out, aiming for her mother's throat. \"No no no dear this isn't how you greet your mother.\" She lifted her finger, but Ava lost control and floated obediently beside her mother. Godwin had no choice but to obey. He came inside the witch's home, which was spacious. It had a cauldron in the center by the hearth, a table carved from the tree they were in, and a closet in which he could hear muffled cries. \"Now take a seat Orc.\" \"You've obviously grown an attachment to my daughter.\" \"How do you know.\" \"I made this quill. Do you think I don't know what it writes?\" Fear gripped Godwin, all his conversations with Ava, and their plans. Her mother knew it all. \"Now that I have your attention.\"\n\nShe smiled. Ava was beautiful, and Godwin couldn't help but notice her deep green eyes, lustrous Auburn hair, and an amber locket around her neck. Her Elf ears were long and Curving towards the top. It's not her , he told himself. \"You can have her, and she can have her skin back, for I found someone else.\" She walked towards the closet and opened it, and another young woman came falling out. Her mouth was wrapped, her hair a mess, and her eyes red from crying. \"Now all you have to do is sign your name on this parchment, and the girl's soul will transfer from her body into the quill mine to her, and oh come now, you get the rest.\" Godwin considered it. He could be with Ava, and they could live out the rest of their lives together. What would she think of me if I sacrificed someone else for her ? Godwin looked at the Girl with fear in her eyes. He tightened his fist, readying a strike. \"I see you've made your choice. Cut him up Ava be quick..\" Ava began slicing away at him. The pain was excruciating. He was not able to cast any spells or incantations. Slice slice slice, the cuts became more profound, and Godwin had difficulty moving. He knew what he had to do but didn't want to do it. With a heavy hand that felt like the weight of the world, he reached out and snatched the quill. Crushing it. \"NOOOOOOO You Fool!\" Godwin was in shock. He didn't know what was going on, and he felt an uncontrollable rage begin to boil inside him. \"AHHHHHHHHHHH.\" He lunged toward the witch, and she threw everything she had at him: flying blades, fire, Ice, and storm. Nothing was working, but he kept getting closer. Godwin wrapped his wrapped one hand around the witch's throat, and before she could speak, he snapped her neck. He could see her soul leaving Ava's body as it went limp. The Girl who was to be the next sacrifice fled the house during the carnage. Godwin stared into Ava's dead eyes. I killed her twice. He fell to his knees and began to sob, holding Ava's lifeless body. I'm sorry, Ava, I've failed you. The silence was long and deafening until Godwin heard whispers near the quill. Ava's soul or remnants of it were in the feather. He noticed the amber locket around her corpse. Yes, yes, this could work , he thought. He cleansed the object to make sure nothing was inside of it. Using the life magic he was taught, he transferred some of his soul into the locket. He then grabbed the remnants of the quill. \"Let us be one. Let us be whole.\" The toll this took on him was heavy. He wasn't sure how much of his life he had given away. But, it was enough so he and Ava could have a few more years together. He wrapped the amber locket around his neck and waited for a few moments. Shortly, an apparition of Ava appeared. \"Godwin, what happened? How am I still here? Did you kill my mother?\" \"Yes, but I wanted to ensure your spirit had a safe trip to the other side.\" \"What did you do?\" \"I gave some of my life to bind you to this locket. I can break it, freeing you, but I won't get back what I had given.\" \"Why would you do this?\" \"So. I could see for the first time and say goodbye.\" \"Godwin, after all we've been through, I finally have the choice to leave or stay.\" \"The apparition paced back and forth. I know what I want.\" Godwin looked up at Ava. \"Will I be free after your life in this locket fades?\" \"Yes, once my time ends, the magic holding you will fade, and you'll be free.\" \"Take my hand, Godwin.\" Godwin reached out for Ava's hand. Her spirit gave him the strength to rise. They embraced one another. She looked up at him. \"I'd love to spend the rest of your life with you.\" When they kissed, it felt strange, for she wasn't fully physical but just enough for him to feel the initial sensation. For a long time, Godwin held Ava in his arms, and he had no intention of letting her go. For once, he had much more in life to experience, and now he could do it with the elf he loved."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "No Man's Land"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "It is incredibly taxing to recount all of the pertinent events of our history, let alone the full account of mine without mentioning some horrific details I had only discovered this month. My memory has been rather hazy due to severe shock and trauma throughout the past few months. I suppose I should begin there while I have my faculties. Part One: Travail We had set sail on a journey across an ocean that had not been traversed for generations. Our entire community was blighted with an affliction causing the population to dwindle to just us men aboard our ship. The last vestiges of humanity as we saw it. A dangerous and likely suicidal journey was ahead of us, but we were without anything to return home to anyway. Desperation can make any task seem less daunting, I suppose. Our young had been dying off while our elders ceased to bring us offspring. We were not certain of the cause any more than we were certain of our impending extinction.\n\nYet we had hope. An old tale of a far-off island known only as No Man’s Land, named such as a warning against all who tried to reach it. The surrounding waters breed only sickness, misfortune, misery, and death for all who try to approach it. All who have attempted have done so for one purpose. The Goddess of Immortality, a special idol that was rumored to grant eternal life, was told to be stored there. For most, a chance at eternal life, rumored to be true and never proven, was never worth the higher risk of losing their life. But, we had run out of options. All we had left was promise of myth and legend. Off to No Man’s Land we set sail. Among rank on ship was one of the oldest and only surviving members of our village’s officials. Fortunately for us, he was our local doctor. He became quite handy while we were aboard the ship. Many had never left the island and the voyage was cruel on their bodies. Despite our doctor, named Banks, helping, we lost a few of our already small crew. The air grew full of stink as we could see the island on the horizon. The waters were full of dead marine life. No monsters of the sea to ward off, only the foul, gut-wrenching odor of the salty dead.\n\n“No, you don’t ever get used to the smell. No matter how often you smell death, it smacks you in the face each time. Then in the stomach,” Banks put his arm around my shoulder as I lost my lunch overboard. The putrid water stared back at me and tempted my breakfast as well before the Doc spun me around. “You hang in there, Bub. We are almost there! We are but a day’s journey from fortune and glory,” and he was not wrong! The island was growing ever closer. We had only to look for a spot to anchor before we set out on our pontoon.\n\nThere were not many of us left for a proper split party to maintain the ship and the sick while we sent a crew out to search for the idol. However, Banks could not be persuaded to stay and tend to the sick and dying. “They won’t make it anyways, and I’ve come too far to die with those who are already dead,” was his only argument. Who were we to question his call? It’s not like we could if we wanted to. If they had no chance at surviving, maybe he had a point? We hardly even knew one another as it were. We had all been dying off so much, even before our journey, that we hardly saw it fit to properly get to know one another. It is quite an effort, especially for one to suddenly drop dead the next day. Banks happened to know most of us, being the village medical official that is. Perhaps that gave him the authority to boss us around at the time. He led those of us who were still able-bodied, which amounted to but four crewmen including myself and Banks who stood at the bow of the pontoon before barking at us, “Listen up, men. I have a bit of a confession. Admitting this is hard, but you must understand where I am coming from in order to trust me properly going forward. I have been here before. To this island. Put your hands down. I will answer questions later as I see. I need you to hear me out now. I have been here before and I am the only one to have been here and lived to tell about it as far as any of you lot or I know of! The inhabitants of this island are very dangerous and very territorial. They hate visitors, especially us. When we make landfall we will need to be quiet and discrete if we hope to have any chance of survival. Nod if you all understand me, because I will not go down WITH any of you for not paying attention to me now! Good. Now the other thing that is very important; if they do talk to you, the inhabitants, and they might try to, but if they do, do not listen to anything they say! They are liars and tempters. You have never encountered their kind before and I promise you will regret not being careful if you do! They are mystical and have magics they can use against you. I’ve seen many a man do strange things as a result of encountering these kind. Heed my warning, I will not think twice to strike one of you down if I think you are compromised by them. Nod again if you all understand! Good. Now, let’s start rowing,” he sat himself down after the speech and stared at us with a pleased grin as we all rowed in unison to the shore. Part Two: Booty Our main source of entertainment in the village was stories. We had many written works. Most of our free time was spent recreating stories we had read with variations or twists. Mostly tall tales much like the one we were following. My favorites of those were always the ones of pirates in search of booty. Not mythical treasure, just unfathomable wealth. Yet, here I was on a quest for immortality, something I wasn’t even sure I wanted. Living forever seemed a bit long then. Now, no time would seem like enough to me. We reached shore as night fell. Banks held us in a single file line and used hand signals and whispers. He warned none of us to make a sound as we got out and quietly pulled our pontoon to a dry section on the beach. The ship looked impossibly far away anchored off-shore, the moonlight passing through the cracks in the sails giving her an eerie glow. I could see the death emanating from her. A harsh tap on my shoulder spun me around to see that Banks had gathered our attention. There was a small clearing ahead at the edge of the treeline. He put his finger to his lips before turning to face the clearing and slowly we began our approach to it. As we could make out the tree line edge, we began to notice that it was actually a beautifully painted mural. “Shit,” Banks managed to sigh before collapsing to the ground in a slump. Before any of us could make any sense of what had happened, I felt a sharp sting in my neck just as my knees went weak and also began collapsing to the ground before my eyes refused to stay open for me.\n\nPart Three: The Friends Along the Way I awoke in a small room on a very comfortable bed. The clothes I was wearing were neatly pressed at the foot. I found myself to be wearing a very comfortable sleeping gown. I changed back into my clothes and found the door to be unlocked. As soon as I\n\nopened it the aroma of a fresh meal being cooked pulled me in its direction. I followed my nose down a set of winding steps and into a massive banquet hall. At the head sat a very oddly proportioned man. His face was rather slender and pointed with long flowing blonde hair held back with a band at the forehead. His body seemed even more perplexing, along with the fashion. At his chest, there were significantly swollen masses almost perfectly proportioned to each other and evenly distributed to take up the entire section between the arms. He looked at me with mutual curiosity as he gestured for me to have a seat. “I’m sure you have a lot of questions. Allow me to try to explain,” he spoke with such a soft and sweet voice, that I found to be soothing. He sounded nothing like Banks. “Your… friend, “doctor” Banks,” he said doctor while holding up both hands and scrunching his middle and index finger in rhythm with the syllables, strange behavior, but it definitely gave the impression that this man did not believe him to be a doctor, there was a tone that carried with it as well that I could not place, aside from when Banks had something to say about our ineptitude. “...he has been here before. He stole some things of ours, as well as one of our women. Ah, yes, you don’t know what we are, do you? My apologies for this crash course in history but, it is necessary. Have you never wondered why only Banks and a few of your other officials could speak? Never crossed your mind? What DO they teach you where you are from? Nevermind, you can’t answer quickly enough, we have much to discuss. Help yourself to some food while you have the stomach for it. Yes, the chicken is delightful! As is everything else on the table. Help yourself to drink, you have had quite the journey,” the woman took a sip from his chalice as I began to eat feverishly.\n\nThe food was delicious and my stomach screamed for more after the first bite. I had never had such foods. “Banks had come here long ago, as I said,” he continued, looking even more relaxed after having some of their drink. “The wine is quite good, you should try it. It was opened this morning at its natural peak! You won’t get another glass like it. You see, we have cut out a safe haven here. We need or want for nothing. Men like you have come here intermittently, rarely do they get this opportunity. I suppose you are wondering what happened to the rest of your men? Banks is being held in our barracks, awaiting our decision on what to do with him. The rest of your crew, minus one and you, are in the infirmary. We do not have much hope for them making it through the night. One already has passed, and you are here. You are all very sick. You may be experiencing some of the symptoms already, but it will only get worse.” I was mid-sip of the wine when this was said, causing me to choke a bit and spit some out on myself and the chalice. It was still one of the most delicious things\n\nI had ever tasted, even with the news of my impending demise.\n\n“You see, humans, what you and I are, have many, many different forms and identities and cultures.\n\nOr, at least they used to. We of this island are but a few of the variations on our kind. You are a man. I am a woman. A long time ago we cohabitated. That is not important though, much too far in our past to matter. Now, we live in isolation on this island. Protected from men by their own actions. You seek a magical artifact that grants immortality, no?” The woman began rapping his fingers against their chalice before gulping more. “I regret to inform you that no such thing exists here. We are not magical. The founder of this community is the goddess you seek,” he pointed at a portrait hanging on the far wall from the head. It displayed someone who looked very much like the person speaking to me, enough to make me look back and forth a few times.\n\n“The resemblance is uncanny, I know. All a result of her work. You see, before she founded our island community, she was one of if not the head of genetic and reproductive research. One of her discoveries was a method of reproduction that did not involve sex. Something, I know you know nothing about, unfortunately for you. Her ideas were eventually stolen and used for abhorrent means. Before the catastrophes that were to come could unfold, our founder, Dr. Godowski, decided to bring her best and brightest colleagues and friends, all of whom were women, to this island. We thrived here ever since, while the man’s world fell apart. You fought and murdered each other over dwindling resources. You tainted the waters and ruined the lands. You destroyed the very essence of humanity. For a long time, your world was on the verge of extinction, I suppose it still is. But this paradise exists, through science, hard work, dedication and the strength of community, we have outlasted all of the destruction your kind have caused. Make no mistake, I don’t blame you at all. This was so long ago, that most have forgotten or never had the chance to learn of it. Much like yourself,” the man paused again before pouring more wine from the decantur and consuming it in one gulp. “Banks, had made his way here. Your history had become muddled, but rumors of our island of women with the science to restore humanity and even grant eternal life, which I assure you we have not solved! Though, we do live much longer than anyone else in recorded human history now. Due to our founder’s medical and scientific expertise and equipment. Banks had made his way here in hopes of discovering these secrets. And he did, for the most part. He grasped our technology enough to attempt it on his own elsewhere. He kidnapped one of our women. We assume under the guise that he would show her things outside of our little safe haven. I admit, we are confined here for our own safety. We do not allow our kind to leave. Poor child. She did not understand how cruel the intentions of men can be or how utterly hopeless their world has become. He only got access to part of our supplies and equipment. His process was not true to ours and still required a woman to bear children. But he knew enough to learn how to breed a community of slaves. Sterile, speechless slaves. Flawed in so many ways,” he put his head in his hand for a moment before raising again to speak. “All of you and your crew’s organs are failing. Shutting down even as we speak. We have ways of eliminating all disease, ailments and flaws before insemination even occurs with our equipment. Unfortunately for you, we cannot stop what has already been done any more than we can reverse it. Occasionally we have want for breeding men, whom we send out to the world in hopes they can find a community to branch out to, maybe to revitalize humanity one day. I fear this has brought men like him here. Banks had realized his methods were flawed and unsustainable, and after many decades of his abductee, you and your whole community’s mother, giving birth to sterile, speechless men, born to die in their 20s, he decided it was at last time to come back for the rest. Stupid fool. The damage he had caused. He was too short-sighted to see how he was only pushing along extinction. I am so sorry to be telling you all of this in this way. You truly don’t have much longer to live. You are welcome to stay here in comfort for the rest of your days. You are also welcome to leave, return to whatever may be back where you came from. Perhaps visit your poor mother if she is even still alive.” The woman got up and left as soon as he had finished explaining everything to me. I finished my meal with a feeling of emptiness rotting away inside. Part Four: Yo Ho! They allowed me to visit Banks one last time before I left their beautiful community. He only handed me a vial with handwritten instructions that meant very little to me. He told me they would kill him and there was no hope for either of us, but if I were to find their treasure store, which I now know is their lab where they create life, I could fix everything with his instructions. Now I am aboard the ship. Uncertain if I can manage to sail it back home before I die, let alone manage the entire thing by myself safely the whole way. I want to see my mother, alive or dead, whom I only just now realized existed. They gave me a bunch of books to read for my journey home. They told me the least they could do was let me go with knowledge. I’m not sure how much better it feels to die knowing more. Our whole history was made up and lied to us. My whole life is a lie. I have no future. Perhaps I'm better off reading some more of those pirate stories I loved. "
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Jian"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Jian The world was in turmoil and leaderless without the benefit of a king. Hundreds of warriors gathered support of farming communities and other warriors and some veterans of war, all in a bid to claim the throne.\n\nSir Robert of the Lowlands, a burly man that could swing his axe so hard that it would fell a tree in one stroke, was often favored to win the crown, but he was held back by the last contender for the prize, Sir Kay a close friend. Their armies fought each other on the battlefield many times but every battle ended in a stalemate. The problem was that without the legendary sword, Excalibur, many of the claims were invalid and most of the people were just not sure who to support.\n\nSo after warring with each other, the strongest warlords met together under the flag of truce to deal with the problem of Excalibur and young Arthur, a squire was amongst them and he listened in on the discussions. \"Excalibur! Why must we be given the impossible task? The land needs a king, now! It doesn't need an old sword from a fable told by a fool!\" \"And yet\", came a dissenting voice across the table, here we are.\" \"Sir Kay,\" the first man said. \"You and I have fought side by side in the old days and we fought each other just last week! If we do not come together as one people, we will kill each other.\" \"I have no argument with you, Sir Robert of the Lowlands. You are right that we will be a divided land if we continue to fight, so I propose that we search for Excalibur.\" \"Ha!\" , sneered Sir Robert. \"A quest, Sir Kay? More like a fools errand. Search for a mythical sword that no one has seen and then once we find it, draw it from the stone! Sounds simple enough, right lads?\" There were a few murmurs of laughter but most remained silent. Sir Robert looked around the room and shook his head and ran his hand on the top of his bald head. \"Alright,. alright. Excalibur. So exactly where should we look? Would it do any good to offer a reward for it's location?\" Sir Kay put his hand on his red bearded chin, leaning forward on the wooden table. \"Merlin always said that only the worthiest would be able to see it, but he did say that it's location was here in the land and it was going to be due north, not northwest or northeast but... North.\" Sir Robert's brow furrowed and he looked away from the table banging his fist on it, his face showing a bit of red. \"Merlin and his riddles! Always a riddle wrapped up in an unanswerable question!\" He sighed again Sir Kay spoke again. \"How about this, then. We go to the people, you and I and we tell them that we're at a truce and that we understand the need to find Excalibur\" Sir Robert scoffed. \"Then what? We find a forge who can build Excalibur? That sword was said to be able to pierce armor with the tiniest touch and it's weight was greater than 20 armed men! No blacksmith could make such a blade!\" Sir Kay looked at his companion, brother in arms and competition to the throne. \"Excalibur is real, Sir Robert. I know it's real. It's out there waiting to be found!\". He grasped Robert's had. \"Brother, we both want the same thing! To unite the kingdom! It doesn't matter to me, who wins the crown as long as he is just.\" Robert looked at his old friend. The two of them had fought long and hard against each other for almost a year, without a clear winner. The continued fighting wasn't doing any good to the kingdom \"Alright. So we really look for Excalibur?\" \"Yes, brother, We tell the people that we will find Excalibur and that we will be gone for a month\" \"A month\", Robert murmured. \"Alright, agreed\" The next morning, the two of them stood before the kingdom and told them that the truce was still in effect and that both of them were going on a quest to find Excalibur. The people applauded this decision and were content to wait until they had returned. Sir Kay and Arthur headed due north towards the mountains while Robert headed to the northern plains with his squire. On the 3rd day, Sir Kay and Arthur stopped by a quiet lake in a glade and rested for awhile.\n\nArthur sighed as he took the pack from his back and started serving the provisions. \"Do you really think we will find Excalibur sir?\" Sir Kay laughed. \" We're alone now, little brother, you don't need to address me as sir. In answer to your question,. though l, I believe that one of us will find Excalibur. It wants to be found. The Lady of Lake embued the sword with a spirit, one that knows the needs of the people.\" *But, Kay, what if the sword is only a legend? What then?\" Sir Kay sighed, not wanting to acknowledge the possibility. \"If it's not real then we just saved the kingdom from war for a month. Perhaps after a month of peace, we can find some other way to resolve our differences\" Arthur nodded his head and sat down by the tree and did his best to not fall asleep. \n\n“Little bro, get some sleep don't worry about it. I'm going to need you fresh, come morning.” Arthur nodded his head again and he closed his eyes as he let himself sink into slumber on the soft grass. The glade seemed to slowly fade away like ripples in a pond. A glowing green object appeared far in the distance penetrating a fog. “Arthur……” “Hmmmm...?” “Arthur…” came a voice in a fog. “Over here...” The fog lifted and there in the middle of the glade was the magnificent sword in the stone, glowing green in the night, inviting Arthur to draw it from its resting place. “Rise and shine, little bro!” With a start, Arthur awoke, bolt upright, heart pounding in his chest and sweat on his brow. Sir Kay grinned down at his young sibling. “Say that must’ve been some dream! Whose the girl?” Arthur shook his head again trying to wake up. “Girl?”.\n\n“Yes, girl!” Kay said laughing. “You were breathing heavily!” “No, no..it was Excalibur!” Kay slowly takes turned to his brother. \n\n“Excalibur? You dreamt of Excalibur?” Arthur nodded his head. Kay walked around the glade, stroking his beard\n\n“What is it, brother? It was only a dream” Kay turned back to Arthur. “Little bro, the legend says that the closer you get to the sword, the more it calls...to the wielder” Arthur stares at his older brother dumbfounded. A cold sweat dripped down his back. “A squire? “came another voice. “Hah! A squire will become king? Now that is rich one!”, Sir Robert chortled as he and his squire came into the glade. Sir Kay smiled to himself and shook his head. \n\n“I realize that it sounds unlikely, but the legend does actually say that. Part of my knight training included taking on scribing as well and I used my position to read the legends.” Sir Robert scoffed again. “Scrollworm!” Sir Kay took the jab in stride and laughed. Arthur, on the other hand seemed troubled and focused on something else in the glade. His eyes peered into the glade, much like a cat getting ready to pounce on unsuspecting prey. \n\nThe two knights watched in silence Arthur ventures further ahead of them, towards the edge of the glade. \n\n“Arthur?”, Sir Kay called out. Both Robert and Kay followed Arthur to the edge of the glade. As they caught up to him, they saw him holding a sword in his right hand and a scabbard leaning by a rock nearby. Sir Robert looked at the scene incredulously, shaking his head. “Are you going to tell me that…that …” , pointing at the sword in Arthur's hand. “Is supposed to be Excalibur?” Sir Kay stood silently looking at Arthur and the sword. The hilt of the sword had a small, winged guard, and red tassels at the bottom. The blade itself was almost paper thin. “Arthur, “ Kay began. “Where did you find this?” Arthur looked at both of them pointed towards the stone with the first two fingers of his left hand. Robert threw his hands up in the air, growled and laughed, walking around the stone. He came closer to the blade and tapped it lightly and the blade rang in a vibration that even Sir Kay could feel. “A quest for a mythical sword ends with squire holding child's toy! If the people won't believe a fake sword made by a blacksmith, they certainly won't believe this.” Suddenly, as he said this, his face fell for a moment, then cleared and a smile appeared. “Let's go back!” Sir Kay looked back at Robert, his mouth hanging open. “Ummm, what?” Robert stopped for moment and looked at Kay. “Well, we found Excalibur, didn't we? Yeah the people won't buy it, but that's okay. Maybe the people will realize that they have to make the choice themselves and give up looking at a sword to make the choice.” Kay looked down and shrugged his shoulders watching Robert leave the glade. “Oh well. Come on little bro. Sheath the sword and let's pack up and head out.\n\nArthur did as Kay asked and followed his brother. “Kay,” Arthur began..” I really did pull this sword from the stone. Don't you believe me?” Kay mounted his horse and looked at his brother. “In fact I do. Now, we have to present the sword to the people and they have to believe too. Do you believe that this is Excalibur, Arthur?” Arthur looked down at the ground and then to the sword in his left hand...”I don't know” Kay looked ahead. “I'm a believer, Arthur. Right from the start. That is Excalibur and you are the rightful King of our land. Now, we must prove to the people that this is Excalibur. 3 days later, Sir Robert, his squire, Sir Kay and Arthur stood before the people on an open field. Sir Robert had just finished explaining that Excalibur had been found by the squire, Arthur at which point, Arthur was to unsheathe the blade. Arthur did as he was asked and drew the blade from it's sheathe and the blade sung as it sliced through the humid air. The crowd gasped at the sound. \"So, \" Sir Robert started. \"Is this Excalibur? Is squire Arthur your King?\" The crowd murmured amongst themselves. Arthur heard some saying things like \"so young, too young\" and \"can't be Excalibur. It's not even a real sword.\" Robert smiled in satisfaction. \"Yes, it is beautiful piece of craftsmanship and I salute it's maker, but this toy cannot be the sword of legend and this boy, cannot be king!\" There was a murmur of assent. \"Therefore, since Sir Kay has renounced his claim to the throne in favor of his little brother, and the boy cannot be king, that makes me the best choice now, doesn't it?\" Again, the crowd murmured and shuffled their feet, some of them started to open their mouths and shout \"hail, King Robert\", but the words seem to catch in their throats. Robert glared at the crowd, wondering if he had now become king of cowards who were too scared to be loyal. Sir Kay spoke up. \"People of the land. I have a proposal\" \"I think we've had enough of your proposals, Sir Kay., Robert growled. Kay ignored the comment and continued. \"Let there be a duel here and now between you and Arthur. Battle axe against sword. Whomever is the victor is the king.\" Arthur gaped at his older brother. \"Ummm..\" he began. \"Sir Kay....\".he tried to say. Kay turned to Arthur. \"Believe, Arthur! Believe! Trust Excalibur!\" Arthur swallowed hard, looking at his brother hoping to get out of this somehow. His stomach seemed to turn itself inside out as he looked at the gigantic figure of Sir Robert and his Battle Axe. \"Boy,\" Robert said his eyes seemingly boring into Arthur's skull. \"There is no honor in killing you. I know that is what, Sir Kay is planning. I have no wish to kill you at all, but this land needs a king. You can surrender now and avoid all of this.\" Arthur wanted to surrender. He felt the urge to lay down the sword and run back to his brother or run away from the field of battle in shame, like a dog with it's tail between his legs. Instead he sheathed the sword and held it out in front his chest and walked around the field. Sir Robert took a step and swung his axe overhead in a stroke that would have cleaved through flesh as easily as it would a log. Instead, it hit the soft ground, missing Arthur by inches. Robert snarled as he heaved the axe upwards again getting ready to strike. This time, he swang his axe horizontally from right to left,. missing Arthur again as he sucked underneath the first swing. The second swing came a little lower than the last and Arthur stepped backwards, feeling the wind from the axe touching his face. When the third swing came, Arthur pressed his sheathed sword at an angle, deflecting the axe swing upwards. Then, in a swift motion,.he unsheathes the sword and it sung in a small arc, slicing through Sir Robert's breast plate, which fell to the ground in a thud. Sir Robert, realizing what had just happened, stared at Arthur,.his jaw open as he dropped the axe to the ground. \"You.....it..... really is Excalibur...\", his voice barely a whisper. He dropped to his knees and looked up to Arthur. \"I have always said that the people should make the choice and I have made mine. My axe, my land ,my wealth.and my life, are yours to command, my leige! You are King Arthur!\" At once, all the people bowed in respect to the new King."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Lady Nimmo and the Cursed Belt"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Oakaford strategically positioned stumpers to capture the shadow elves who were shooting arrows into Lady Nimmo's house. Oakaford and the stumpers took this very personally. She brought them to life, and because of this connection, they become extremely upset when someone tries to harm her. \"Okay, everyone,\" Oakaford whisper-shouted. \"Less noise.\" The entire line of root-footed stumpers kicked up enough noise to alert a passed-out drunk troll who is hard of hearing. Of course, Oakaford's \"whisper-shouting\" only added to the cacophony. Ash-rim stealthy moved close to Oakaford. \"Captain, perhaps we should ask the elves for help? They're naturally quiet,\" he whispered. His three-foot-tall tree stump body was more agile than most stumpers because Lady Nimmo carved him from a rubber tree. \"We protect Lady Nimmo!\" Oakaford said too loudly. \"Shh, Captain.\" \"Oh, um, yes.\" Oakaford lowered his voice, \"We protect Lady Nimmo—not elves.\" \"I understand, Captain. But how are we going to sneak up on anyone? We're louder than a pack of grundle barrs chomping on dried leaves.\" \"Don't question your Captain. I know what I'm doing.\" Oakaford had no idea what he was doing. But he wasn't about to let this upstart know it. Suddenly, clashing swords and battle cries rang out from their left flank. The entire stumper guard raced to join the fight. Shadow elves and stumpers mixed it up like an epic Tolkien movie, and it grew more fierce as additional shadow elves and stumpers joined the battle.\n\nOakaford directed his troops from a hill. \"Ash-rim! Take some guards to reinforce those guys!\" Oakaford pointed to an isolated group of stumpers surrounded by shadow elves. \"Slim! Move your troops over there!\" \"Reg! Go help those guys!\" \"Tat! I need you to bolster our right flank!\" Oakaford continued shouting commands while studying the battlefield. Fighting in Trugen Forest gave them the home-field advantage, but he couldn't deny that those despicable shadow elves possessed some mad fighting skills. \"Trey! Take your team to the center!\" No response. \"Trey?\" Oakaford turned to discover he was alone. He turned back to the battlefield to see every stumper engaged in battle. He was about to join them when he heard someone shouting his name. Turning from the battle, he spotted several shadow elves running towards him. He pulled out his sword, \"Let's do this!\" However, instead of the shadow elves engaging, they circled him. \"Come on, you pansies!\" Oakaford shouted, facing each one. \"When I'm done cutting you all down to size, you'll be looking up to see down.\" \"Captain Oakaford. My, my, you are a feisty one,\" Lammerous said. The leader of the shadow elves cut through the circle, clapping his hands. \"I admire that.\" Following Lammerous were three ten-foot-tall magical tree trunks called kraff-nocks. One carried an odd-looking belt encircled with indecipherable ruins. \"You!\" Oakaford shouted. \"I never thought I'd see your skinny butt again. Didn't you get enough last time?\" \"A minor miscalculation on my part. I promise you won't be so lucky this time.\" Oakaford's temper rose upon hearing this condescending, pointy-eared, spineless twerp. He raised his sword and charged. Immediately, several whips from the surrounding shadow elves lassoed him in mid-stride. \"Tut, tut, Captain. Remember, I don't fight. I've never been into swords or exertion. Surely, you haven't forgotten that I'm an artist?\" \"Lady Nimmo is an artist. You're a monster.\" Lammerous's lips curled angrily, \"You dare to compare that witch to me!\" He snapped his fingers, and a kraff-nock appeared beside him, handing him the belt. \"You won't think so highly of her when I place this on you.\" Oakaford struggled against the whips that bound him vigorously. He didn't know what Lammerous meant but knew it couldn't be good. \"Yes. Struggle. You'd struggle more if you knew what this belt does.\" He snapped his fingers again. Two kraff-nocks joined in restraining Oakaford. \"It makes you evil.\" Oakaford struggled even harder. His mind was racing; could he be turned into an evil stumper? Surely not. There wasn't an evil piece of wood in his body. \"It won't work on me!\" Oakaford shouted. \"Oh, I assure you, it will. I procured this belt from the Order of the Tellmarians. Perhaps you've heard of them?\" Oakaford gave no response. \"No matter. Let's just say they're really talented at cursing objects. It's their magical gift. Anyway, I digress. The cursed belt will control you. You'll become my servant. And my first order will be to destroy your fellow stumpers.\" His maniacal laugh echoed throughout the forest. \"Never!\" \"You know what they say about never.\" He put the cursed belt on Oakaford, and the ruins glowed red, and a magical blast of wind encircled the struggling stumper. Oakaford's eyes began glowing as red as the ruins. After a moment, the wind died down, and Oakaford stopped struggling. He stood zombie-like: no expression, no response, no sign of life. \"My. That was unexpected. Those Tellmarians do love their theatrics,\" Lammerous said. He removed the whips and ordered the kraff-nocks to release Oakaford. Oakaford stood as still as a tree. If it weren't for his freaky glowing eyes, you'd think he was just another tree stump in the forest. Inside Oakaford, a battle raged. Powerful thoughts invaded his mind. They were commanding him to serve Lammerous. He remembered Lady Nimmo and fought furiously against the evil onslaught. To Oakaford, this inner war seemed to go on for hours, but it only lasted a few minutes. Inevitably, the cursed belt overcame, not that he had a chance. The poor stumper was no match against the power of the cursed belt. Lammerous waved his hand in front of Oakaford's eyes, \"Hello? Anyone home?\" He knocked on Oakaford's head. \"Can you hear me?\" \"I can,\" Oakaford said in a mechanical, hollow voice. \"Oh, my. What a sensational voice. I love it – so evil sounding.\" He ordered the shadow elves to loosen their whips and kraff-nocks to release Oakaford. \"Who is your master?\" \"You are.\" \"Delightful. I must send a gift to the Order, like a meat and cheese charcuterie board. Their belt is absolutely perfect.\" Lammerous snapped his fingers. \"Let me show you your new enemy.\" He led Oakaford to the battle and pointed to the stumpers. \"Annihilate them! Every one of them!\" Oakaford bellowed with an evil war cry, lifted his sword, and charged at the rear of the fighting stumpers. Ash-rim turned to see Oakaford joining them, his pride and confidence surging. He knew the advantage would be theirs once he joined them. But a nagging voice told him to look once more. He couldn't say why. He focused on Oakaford. This time, he noticed the glowing red eyes. \"That's not right,\" Ash-rim said. He left the front to intercept the charging Oakaford. Oakaford changed his course towards Ash-rim. \"Hey! Captain! Is all well?\" Oakaford readied his sword and swung. Ash-rim nimbly ducked and rolled. \"What's wrong with you!\" Ash-rim shouted. \"You! You pathetic piece of firewood!\" Oakaford recalculated his route and swung downward. Ash-rim blocked. \"What happened to you? Why are your eyes glowing?\" Ash-rim parried several more blows. \"Nothing! I've always been like this. You sorry excuse for scrap wood!\" \"There's a difference. For one, your eyes are freaking me out. Two, your voice sounds evil. And three, you're trying to kill me.\" \"Alright, maybe I've wisened up since last we've met.\" His evil voice cracked through their clashing swords. \"I now see through you. You want to be captain! You think you're better than me! Telling me how I should run things!\" Oakaford grew more menacing with each word. \"You think I'm a doofus! Well, how about now!\" Oakaford unleashed a torrent of blows. Ash-rim parried all but the last blow. He looked at his side. A terrible gash marred his wooden body. He had sparred with Oakaford many times but had never seen moves like these from his mediocre captain. He shouted retreat. Grief and confusion overwhelmed him. He needed Lady Nimmo's help. Lammerous was content and chose not to pursue the retreating stumpers. Oakaford was his. And if he was correct about Lady Nimmo, she would attempt a rescue precisely as he wanted. When the stumpers returned to Jorton, Ash-rim recalled his fight with Oakaford to Lady Nimmo and her inner circle. Jor, her father, and Flimlet, the dwarf, believed there had to be some misunderstanding. Perhaps Oakaford was only pretending to fight for Lammerous to get close enough to kill him. Tim the elf, Ash-rim, and Gladise, Lady Nimmo's mother, agreed with Lady Nimmo: evil magic was responsible. That night, Lady Nimmo called for a city-wide meeting. She warned everyone to be on the lookout for Oakaford and not to trust him until they found a way to restore him to his normal self. She appointed leaders to fill the spots of those leaving to rescue Oakaford, including herself and her husband, Captain Arrow James. The entire city loved and respected Oakaford and wholeheartedly supported the rescue party. Lady Nimmo asked her father to choose the party because of his experience with the King's Guard. Jor chose Lady Nimmo simply because he knew she'd go with or without his permission. But even Jor had to admit it wouldn't hurt to have someone who could carve a troop of stumpers to life in just a few hours. Next, he picked Captain Arrow because he knew the land beyond Trungen Forest and was Lady Nimmo's husband, which played a huge factor. Flimlet and Tim's speed made them indispensable, and Ash-rim, Tat, Splinter, Rain Storm, and Nob would provide the stumper support he knew they'd need before this was all over. The party received news that Lammerous took Oakaford to the shadow elves' port city of Lorevain on the Sea of Grindle. They knew they had to intercept Lammerous before he took Oakaford on board their ships. Once on their ships, they would sail to their homeland, where the party could do nothing. Oakaford would be lost forever!"
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The Locket"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I look over at Noah. His face is tight and focused as he backs into a difficult parking spot. Everything blurs around me, and my body trembles. When we leave the truck, Noah rests his palm between my shoulder blades, guiding me to the elevator.\n\nWhat happened? I wonder to myself. He was fine a couple of hours ago. Oliver was alert and talking. My hand clutches the locket hanging around my neck. It was just a few hours ago that he gifted it to me. It contains a photo of me, Mom, Grandma, and himself. Noah rushes me through the halls and to Oliver’s room. Anxiety runs through my body as we near his door. When Noah pushes it open, all I see is my unconscious brother. He has a pinkish gauze taped to his head. A tube sticks out of his mouth and wires protrude from his hospital gown.\n\nI feel my heart pounding against my chest. The world spins around me and my legs feel like they can no longer support my weight. I force one foot in front of the other as I approach Oliver’s bedside. His heart is beating, and he’s breathing. He has to be alive, right?\n\nThe doctor explains to me and Noah that Oliver is brain dead. “Although it may look like he’s alive, the machines attached to him are what give the false appearance. His brain is no longer active and there is no chance of recovery.” “How did he end up like this?” I ask. My voice breaks. “When I was here this morning, he seemed fine. They were talking about getting his discharge papers.” “His fall, although not from a great height, resulted in the rupture of an aneurysm within his brain. We ran a scan when he first came in, but it was too small of a bleed to show up at that time,” Doctor Hamilton explains. “I’m very sorry for your loss. I’ll leave you alone with him for a few minutes.” My legs go numb and I collapse to my knees. I grasp Oliver's hand as tight as I can. Noah kneels down next to me and rests his arm over my shoulders. I let go of Oliver and throw myself into Noah’s embrace.\n\nI try to regain my composure, and by the time I have, Doctor Hamilton and two nurses return. The sound of silence has overtaken the world around me. Even though the Doctor is speaking, I can’t hear what he’s saying. I cross to the other side of the bed and hold onto Oliver’s hand. I watch Noah nod, then step out of the way as one nurse pulls up the bars on the sides of his bed. The other nurse places the ventilator beside him. Noah herds me out of the room and signs a few papers. I watch as they wheel my brother away.\n\nThe next couple of days all blur together; they just feel unreal. I keep expecting Oliver to walk through the door. I expect to wake up in the morning and find he's waiting for me to go on a run with him. I expect it, but it doesn’t happen. Not now and not ever again. Oliver put in his will that if something like this happened, Noah would become my guardian, even though he’s only a year older than I am. I’m so grateful to Noah. He’s always stuck by me through everything for as long as I’ve known him. I sit on the edge of my bed, staring at the necklace Oliver gifted me on the day of his passing. I decide to pull the photo out and examine it closer. When I remove the photo, a thick origami heart with writing on it falls out of the locket. I slide off my bed and pick it up off the ground. After I stand upright again, I walk through the hallway down to the brightly lit dining room. \n\nThe paper unfolds easily, and inside is a photo of my mother and an attractive young man. His outfit resembles that of a forest dweller from a fantasy story, and his ears have pointed tips like an elf's ears. Someone wrote on the paper: Sip the vile, say Rowan Priss. Come find me and make a wish. Below that is a letter written to my mother. Probably from the boy in the picture. \tThe letter says: My dearest Kristina,\n\nI wish more than anything that I could return to you, but our forest has fallen to war against the fire people, and I don’t have any choice but to defend this realm. I promise, my love, that one day, I will come back for you and our children. Just like we always planned. Right now, it is far too dangerous for you all to join me here. I fear that if you do, doom will fall upon you. I love you, my wonderful wife. I will see you all again soon. Tell Oliver and Harper how much I miss them. With abundant love, Rowan. I remove the cap from the vial and give the liquid a sniff. It has no smell, and it’s clear like water. This has to be a joke, right? I replace the cap and fold the letter back into a heart. I leave the vial on the table, along with the letter, photos, and locket.\n\nA pang of hunger causes my stomach to grumble, and for the first time in two days, I realize how hungry I am. I put a pot of water on the stove and sprinkle multiple seasonings in. When it reaches the boiling point, I stir in an egg. Voilà, egg drop soup.\n\nI shut the burner off and almost instantly, the lock on the apartment door clicks. The door creaks open, and Noah walks in.\n\n“Soph, I’m back.” He shouts toward my bedroom.\n\n“Hi, Noah,” I chirp. He walks into the dining room, clearly surprised that I’m not only out of my room, but I’m also making food. “I just finished making egg drop soup, if you want some.” Noah hangs his briefcase from the back of a chair. “Mmm, that sounds amazing.” I carry the pot out and place it on a cloth trivet. Noah is looking at the vile and origami heart with a worried look. “What’s all this?” He asks hesitantly.\n\n“Oh, I almost forgot about that.” I stutter, “I found that behind the photo in my locket.” Looking at it now, I realize that it could easily look as if I planned to do something dark. “Noah, this might sound really stupid, but I want to try something.” “Okay?” He hesitates.\n\nI unfold the letter and hand it to him to read. “This sounds so stupid and so delusional, but I want to try. I just don’t want to be alone when I drink that suspicious liquid.” Noah looks at me with uncertainty. I know how strange this sounds. I know it probably won’t even work. But I want to try. I’ve lost everybody that I share DNA with. My mom, my brother, my grandma. I’ve never even met my father. So if this even opens up a sliver of possibility for me to meet him or bring Oliver back, I want to try.\n\nSeeing the commitment in my gaze, Noah investigates the bottle with the expertise of his father’s detective training. Then he shrugs. “Alright. Try it.” I can hear the hesitation in his voice. He doesn’t think it will work. But he’s also not going to try stopping me.\n\n“Alright,” I say, holding the vial in one hand and the cap in the other. I take a sip. “Rowan Priss,” I say confidently and then wait. I wait a good thirty seconds and nothing. Nothing at all. I slack my shoulders out of disappointment and then shrug. “Oh well. It was stupid.” I scoop some soup into my bowl and start sipping on the broth. Noah does the same. “I’m sorry, Soph,” he murmurs. I know he didn’t think it would work. Normally he’s a very literal guy, so I’m surprised he even went along with it.\n\nCRASH! The whole room lights up and I flinch, throwing my soup across the table. Then everything goes pitch black.\n\n“What in the living–” Noah snaps.\n\nWhen the lights come back on, a sickly thin man is standing next to me. I screech and fall out of my chair.\n\nThe man is tall with pointed ears. He has tangled brown hair and a bushy beard. A dirty green tunic and brown pants clothe him. He gazes at me with welcoming eyes.\n\n“Kristina?” The man looks around. “No,” I say quietly. “She’s not here. I’m Harper and this is Noah.” I get up off the floor and stand next to Noah.\n\n“Harper,” he repeats. “My daughter?” Noah looks from me to the man, wide-eyed. I pick up the photo and compare him to it. He has the same eyes and the same mouth.\n\n“Are you Rowan Priss?” I ask.\n\n“Yes,” he replies. “I am he. Though, in this world, I go by Rowan Keaton.”\n\n“And you’re my father?” I ask. “If you’re Kristina’s daughter, then yes,” he replies, smiling a bright smile. \"Which you must be, because you have the same stunning eyes.\" The room falls into an awkward silence. My mind is swirling with confusion, surprise, and wonder. I never thought I would actually meet my father. Nor did I think this would work. I recall the writing in the letter and think of a sentence that he had written: I promise, my love, that one day I will come back for you and our children. “Sorry to be so straightforward.” My feet shuffle awkwardly. “Why did you never return for us?” I question hesitantly. “In the letter, you said you would.” I gesture to the letter on the table. “I’m so sorry,” he answers. “After the fire people attacked, the Woodland fell. Most of my people have been in prison all this time, including me. I’m now free because you called me here.” “You probably want to clean up, in that case?” Noah offers. “I have extra clothes. They’ll probably fit you.” “Do you have a razor?” Rowan asks hopefully.\n\n“Yes,” Noah nods. “I’ll show you where everything is. Just follow me.” Rowan follows Noah down the hall to his room, which had been my brother's. Oliver had things worked out so that Noah would get the apartment if he wanted. I fall into the spiral of remembering the things I did with my brother. He’s taken care of me ever since I can remember, even when we lived with Grandma. I feel a warm tear slip down my cheek and quickly wipe it away. I can’t cry now. But I am. Another tear slips down my cheek. And another, and another. The tears keep falling as memories of my brother flood my brain. I can’t believe he’s gone. When Noah returns, he stops at the edge of the hallway, watching me for just a moment. I don’t notice, though. Not until he comes closer and spins me around to hold me in a tight embrace. His arms are strong. He’s in the police training academy now, but his father was a detective. He has received training in this field since he was young.\n\nNoah’s arm shifts upward, and he covers my head with his hand. After a moment, I pull back and dry my face with my sleeves. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. But what I mean is, I can’t grieve when there’s a sliver of hope that I can get him back. “No,” Noah consoles. “Sometimes you need to let yourself cry.” “I’m fine now.” I clear my throat. Noah gives me a sympathetic glare.\n\nNoah and I wait on the couch. Rowan returns after nearly an hour, looking like a completely different person. He shaved his face smooth and braided his hair back, completely transforming his appearance. Is he really the man in the picture? He doesn’t look any older now than he did in that photo. He’s clothed in Noah’s blue jeans and a buttoned flannel shirt. We all visit and make small talk over dinner. Eventually, the conversation shifts to the topic of the letter and then the wish. “Is it possible?” I ask. “Yes, but it’s awfully dangerous.” Fear glints from my father’s eyes. “May I ask what you’ll wish for?”\n\n“Oliver,” I whisper. “I want to wish for Oliver, your son. He passed on a few days ago.”\n\nSorrow crosses Rowan’s face. “Then we must leave at once.” He gets up from where he sits and heads to the door. Noah and I follow. I didn’t think he meant right this second. “It will be a quick journey,” he explains. “We must go west to the Glittering Willow. It should be a straight shot from where we land.” We follow him, barefoot, down the streets and to Central Park. The air is cool and causes a chill to run down my spine. “Keep in mind, the sun rises from the north and sets in the south where I’m from.” “That will be very useful to remember,” Noah says. “There is a catch, though,” Rowan states. He looks me and Noah in the eyes. “I can’t promise you’ll be able to come back to this world.”\n\nMy eyes dart to Noah. “If there’s even a chance for me to get Oliver back, I want to try, but it isn’t fair for me to drag you along. I don’t want to force you into leaving your family and your dream.” Noah hesitates. It seems like he’s trying to find the right words to say. “What dream?” He finally asks. “That was my father’s dream for me. This sounds like more adventure than I could ever come across in a lifetime. Wherever you go, I want to follow.” His voice drops before he says the next part, but I can still hear it. “Sophia, I love you.”\n\nCentral Park is spooky in the dark. The owners are against any modern technology, so there are no lights to illuminate the path.\n\nRowan instructs us to all grasp each other's hands, and to not let go until he says so. As soon as we all have a good grip on each other, he chants in a language I can’t understand. \n\nThe wind picks up and whips through the land. My hair blows in all directions, and I clasp Noah’s hand tight. Rowan stops chanting abruptly. Or it just got so loud I can’t hear him anymore. Everything surrounding us spins faster and faster. The trees turn to stars, and a light flashes so brightly that I can see it clearly through closed eyes. The wind stops and everything is still.\n\nI open my eyes to see tall, dark trees surrounding us. The leaves are light green with all kinds of flowers and clusters of blue radiance. I gaze in awe at the beauty of this place. “Welcome to the Forgotten World,” Rowan says with a hushed voice, though he’s grinning widely. “The Glittering Willow is just over there.” I look in the direction he points. My mouth drops when I see the size of the willow tree. It has to be hundreds of feet tall.\n\nI fall into step with Noah as we walk. He stares at the leaves above. I try to say something to him. The words are right on my tongue, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I can’t believe he left everything behind for me. His family, his training, his dream. Did he really mean it? Was that his father’s dream for him all along, or was he just saying that it was? My face turns red at the memory of his words. I love you. We’ve been friends for years. How did I not figure that out?\n\n“How does the wish work?” I whisper to my father. “You cup a flower in your hands, and whisper the wish onto it,” he replies, describing it with his hands.\n\nA high whistle noise whizzes past me, and Noah groans beside me. I turn to see him drop to his knees, clutching his abdomen. “Noah?” I grab his shoulder.\n\n“Hornet’s,” my father barks. “Don’t move.” I crouch beside Noah and stop either of us from moving. Finally, the whistling goes silent. “It’s safe.” Rowan crouches beside Noah and examines his torso. The light is already fading from his eyes. “How do we get the bleeding to stop?” I shudder. Even as I ask this question, Noah falls limp, and he stares blankly at the blue sky. “No,” I whisper. I never said it back. I never said I loved him . Rowan sets his hand on my shoulder, but I throw it off and run to the tree. I clamp a flower between my palms and sob. “Please, bring him back. Bring Noah back. Please.” Almost instantly, beams of light surge into Noah’s body. I watch as he floats high above my height. I watch his facial features transform, looking similar to Rowan's. He now has pointed ears and glittering eyes. Suddenly I realize my features are also elf-like here. When he lowers back to the ground, he lets out a gasp and opens his eyes.\n\nI run back to him and throw my arms around him. I might not get my brother back, but at least I’ll still have Noah. With tears glinting in my eyes, I whisper, “I love you too.” "
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Dreamweaver's Nightmare"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Dreamweaver's Nightmare \n\nThe morning sun filtered through the windows of Dreamspire, casting long beams across the polished stone floors. The high, rounded towers of the grand castle stretched toward the sky, their walls lined with books, tomes, and cascading streams of magic sand, each one flowing in different colors, symbolizing the dream and memory magic coursing through the realm. Sandman stood in the grand hall, his thoughts still tangled from the previous night. Something had felt off, though he couldn’t place it. He stirred his cup of crystal coffee absentmindedly, the spoon moving in a slow swirl. Just as he took a sip, the opening of a portal interrupted his thoughts. A shimmering blue light filled the room as Father Time stepped through his portal, the edges rippling with the soft ticking of unseen clocks. The faint motion of time could be glimpsed within the portal—moments spiraling forward and backward like flickers of passing memories. Tall and robed, Father Time adjusted his timepiece as he greeted Sandman, whose figure stood calm and still in the glowing light of Dreamspire. “Good morning, Sandman,” Father Time said, his voice calm but curious. “I trust the night was uneventful?” Sandman shook his head slightly, setting his cup down. “Not entirely. One of the Dream Wisps flickered during the rounds, and I saw something red in the sky. It vanished too quickly to make sense of it.” Father Time raised an eyebrow, taking a seat and summoning his own cup of crystal coffee. With a wave of his hand, the spoon inside began to stir counterclockwise. “That doesn’t sound right. Although plume detected some magical imbalances recently—perhaps this is connected.” Before their conversation could continue, Lumia entered the room, her usual calm replaced with concern. In her hands, she held a small, dark bag. “My lord,” Lumia began, her voice trembling slightly, “there’s something wrong in the Memory Vault.” Sandman immediately straightened. “What do you mean?” Lumia held up the small bag. “I found this on the floor inside the vault. It doesn’t belong to any of the Dream Wisps. And… thirteen Memory Stones are missing. Including the special one.” Time’s Insight: Memory Stones Palm-sized, smooth, rounded crystals store dreamers' memories, protecting them from trauma and nightmares. Memory Stones safeguard these memories for later retrieval or secure keeping, like a special stone holding precious memories. Sandman’s brow furrowed deeply. “Thirteen?” he repeated, feeling a sense of dread. “Yes, my lord,” Lumia confirmed, her voice steady but worried.\n\nSandman and Father Time exchanged a brief glance, and Sandman nodded slowly. “Lumia, there was something strange about one of the Dream Wisps last night. Could you go and check on them for me?” Lumia, ever dutiful, nodded and turned to leave. Her footsteps were light as she disappeared down the hallway, leaving the two alone. Once Lumia was gone, Sandman turned back to Father Time, his voice lowering. “The special stone she referred to—it’s important. It holds the magical memories of someone I must protect —someone vital.” Father Time’s expression darkened with understanding. “You mean…” “Yes,” Sandman confirmed. “It’s her. After you left, I cast an additional spell to protect her magical memories and placed them inside the stone. It was the only way to keep her safe after everything that happened. And now they’re gone.” Father Time’s grip on his staff tightened. “You cast that spell to protect her magic, and now that protection has been breached.” Sandman’s face was grim. “I can’t allow her to be vulnerable. Her memories and everything else are at risk now.” Father Time’s expression darkened. “The residue on that bag—it’s unmistakable. Dark magic from the Moonshade realm. We’ve encountered it before.” Sandman’s jaw tightened. “Then we don’t have time to waste. We need to retrieve the stones.” Before Father Time could respond, Lumia entered, her usual serene presence now clouded with concern. “My lord,” she said softly, “one of the Dream Wisps is missing. A blue aura— one tied to serene dreams—has vanished.” Sandman exchanged a tense glance with Father Time. “This complicates things,” he murmured. Father Time’s gaze sharpened. “Then there’s no doubt. It’s time we paid Draven a visit.” The cold air of ShadowVeil greeted them as they stepped through their portals, each tied to their own destinies. Sandman’s golden sand portal swirled behind him, dissipating like the remnants of forgotten dreams. Father Time’s shimmering blue portal slowly faded, the passage of time retreating into the void. They had left behind the familiarity of the Enchanted Realm, home to legends and myths, only to find themselves in the dark heart of ShadowVeil. The landscape here was foreboding, shrouded in mist and an unsettling twilight that seemed never to end. The towering trees, with blackened bark and twisted limbs, lined their path, their branches curling like skeletal fingers. They approached Bloodstone Castle, the imposing structure shimmering with crimson-stained stones under the eerie moonlight. The castle, a testament to centuries of power and darkness, loomed above them as they crossed the stone bridge leading to its gates. Sandman clutched the imposter bag tightly, feeling the dark energy that clung to it—Father Time walked beside him, his staff ticking with every step as though the universe itself acknowledged the gravity of their quest. At the far end of the hall, Draven, the lord of ShadowVeil, awaited them. His tall, pale, and imposing figure stood silhouetted against the crimson light of the castle’s walls. His eyes gleamed with an unnatural red hue, a clear sign of his vampiric nature. Beside him, Morgana—his wife and the most powerful sorceress in the realm—stood silently, her emerald eyes scanning the room with a sharp, knowing gaze. “You’ve come with a purpose,” Draven’s voice rumbled through the vast hall. “What brings you to ShadowVeil?” Sandman stepped forward, his voice steady and urgency clear. “Thirteen Memory Stones are missing from Dreamspire, stolen with the use of dark magic. We believe the trail leads here.” Morgana stepped closer, her eyes narrowing as she examined the imposter bag Sandman held. “This isn’t just any dark magic,” she said softly. “This is old magic. Whoever crafted this has deep roots in our realm.” Draven nodded slowly, considering the weight of their words. “There are many in ShadowVeil capable of such magic, but few who would dare to steal from the Dreamspire.” Father Time’s voice broke the silence. “We need to know who is behind this. The Memory Stones hold vital information, and we cannot let them fall into the wrong hands.” Draven’s expression darkened, his gaze shifting to Morgana. “Can you trace the magic back to its source?” Morgana’s lips curled into a faint smile. “Give me time, and I’ll uncover the truth.” Draven motioned toward a table in the corner of the hall. “We’ll wait for you to begin unraveling the magic’s source.” Morgana took the imposter bag, her emerald eyes glowing with power as she turned and left the room, leaving Draven to discuss their next steps with Sandman and Father Time. “We may need more information,” Draven said, his voice low and commanding. “There’s a merchant in Darfax—Vulmar. He’s known to deal in rare magical items. He may have answers.” Father Time nodded. “Then we’ll go to Darfax.” The journey to the Labyrinth of Darfax was treacherous. The ground beneath them shifted as if alive. Dark tendrils of mist clung to the twisted trees lining the path. Shadows danced along the gnarled branches, making the air feel heavy with ancient magic. \"This place…\" Sandman muttered. \"Always feels like it’s watching.\" Draven smirked. \"That’s because it is. Darfax is not for the faint of heart.\" As they reached the entrance, a dark chasm carved deep into the earth, Father Time turned to Draven. \"Are you sure Vulmar will cooperate?\" Draven nodded. \"He will—if he knows what’s good for him.\" They descended into the labyrinth, where the light dimmed, and the air grew colder. Footsteps echoed through the winding tunnels of the underground city as they made their way toward the heart of Darfax. Faint glimmers of light from jagged cracks in the stone cast eerie shadows. Finally, they reached a vast chamber. In its center sat Vulmar, the dark elf lord of Darfax. His sharp eyes gleamed as he rose from a throne made of twisted roots and black stone. His dark cloak shimmered with the same energy that pulsed through the labyrinth. \"Timekeeper, Dreamweaver,\" Vulmar acknowledged with a slight nod. \"What brings you to Darfax?\" Draven stepped forward, his voice low and commanding. \"We need information. Recent dealings have occurred in enchanted items—specifically, Memory Stones.\" Vulmar’s thin lips curled into a knowing smile. \"Ah, yes, there has been some interest in such items lately… rare in these parts, but not unheard of.\" Father Time’s voice cut through the tension. \"Was there anyone in particular asking about them? Perhaps a sorceress?\" Vulmar’s eyes flickered with intrigue. \"Now that you mention it, there was one—dark hair, dark purple eyes. She didn’t give her name, but I’d wager she’s no stranger to you.\" The group exchanged a knowing glance. Thalindra. Before they could respond, a pulse of crimson light filled the chamber. Morgana appeared, her emerald eyes sharp as she held the imposter bag aloft. \"It’s her,\" Morgana declared. \"The enchantments her magical signature are Thalindra’s. I’ve traced the magic to the Forgotten Sanctum.\" Draven’s gaze darkened as he turned to Morgana. \"Then it’s time to confront her.\" The air grew heavier as they approached the Forgotten Sanctum, a long-forgotten sanctuary hidden deep within the earth. Its jagged stone walls jutted out like crooked crones bones, a stark reminder of its ancient purpose. Cloaked in secrecy, it had served as a haven for sorceresses throughout time—a place to hide, to seek refuge, or to unlock powers beyond comprehension. Though many had tried to uncover its mysteries, only those with true knowledge of the arcane arts could find the entrance. Within its shadowed halls lay the Sorceress’ Path, a dangerous and forbidden route to untold magical power, concealed from the unworthy but sought by those desperate enough to risk everything. The Sanctum's very walls seemed to whisper of the hidden dangers within, forgotten to the world but never abandoned by those who knew its secrets. With a wave of her hand, Morgana broke through the wards protecting the sanctum. The shimmering barrier collapsed in a cascade of light, revealing a narrow stone staircase descending into the darkness. “Stay close,” Morgana instructed, her voice firm. “The wards are down, but we don’t know what Thalindra has planned inside.” Draven nodded as the group followed Morgana into the sanctum. The air grew colder as they descended the staircase, the faint glow of obsidian crystals lighting their path. The magic in the air was thick, almost suffocating, the kind that made the hair on the back of their necks stand on end. At the bottom of the stairs, they entered a vast chamber lined with glowing crystals, each one pulsing with eerie purple light. Strange symbols floated in the air, shifting and twisting as if alive. In the center of the room stood Thalindra, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders, her purple eyes gleaming with malice. She smiled as they approached. \"I knew you would come,\" Thalindra’s voice dripped with dark amusement. \"The Memory Stones are mine now.\" Morgana stepped forward, her hands glowing with crimson energy. \"You won’t get away with this, Thalindra.\" Thalindra laughed, her voice echoing through the chamber. \"You’ve always underestimated me, Morgana.\" Before Morgana could react, Thalindra snapped her fingers, and a dark barrier shot up between Morgana and the rest of the group. The barrier shimmered with dark purple energy, isolating Morgana from Sandman, Father Time, and Draven. \"Face me alone if you dare,\" Thalindra taunted. Morgana didn’t hesitate. \"You’ve meddled long enough, Thalindra. It ends now.\" The room exploded with magic as Morgana and Thalindra fought fiercely. Spells collided, sending brilliant flashes of crimson and purple light across the chamber. Shadows twisted and writhed as the two sorceresses fought, their magic crackling in the air. Sandman’s eyes drifted to the far side of the room as the battle raged on, where a small cage sat. Inside, the missing aura blue Dream Wisp flickered weakly, trapped but still glowing faintly. Beside the cage lay the Hold bag—the second half of the shadow-linked bags—pulsing softly with magic. Time’s Insight: Shadow-Linked Bags A rare pair of enchanted bags, Snare captures and traps objects, while Hold retrieves them, regardless of distance. Bound by ancient magic, they secretly transfer items across realms, keeping their contents secure and hidden. Morgana’s eyes briefly flicked to the Hold bag before she intensified her attack, forcing Thalindra back. \"You’re finished, Thalindra.\" Thalindra sneered, her fingers dancing with dark energy. \"You’ll never be rid of me, Morgana. I’m always one step ahead.\" With a final burst of magic, Thalindra opened a portal behind her. \"You may have won this round, but the war is far from over,\" she hissed, disappearing into the portal. The barrier behind Morgana dissolved as the purple glow faded from the chamber. Draven and the others rushed forward as Morgana dusted herself off. \"Are you all right, my dear?\" Draven asked, concern flickering in his eyes. Morgana nodded, brushing off the remnants of magic from her robes. \"She escaped, but the Memory Stones and the Dream Wisp are here.\" Sandman approached the cage, gently cradling the freed Dream Wisp in his hands. The small creature nestled into Sandman’s cloak, seeking comfort. Morgana bent down and picked up the Snare bag that had fallen during the battle. \"These are a matched pair,\" she said, glancing toward the Hold bag near the cage. As Sandman knelt by the hold bag, he carefully opened it and retrieved the Memory Stones from inside. Morgana tucked the snare bag into her cloak and gave Sandman a nod. “I’ll take care of these. They won’t fall into the wrong hands again.” Draven watched her with admiration. \"If anyone can secure them, it’s you.\" With the Memory Stones safely tucked away and Morgana now in possession of the Snare and Hold, Sandman felt the tension finally begin to ease. The group turned to leave the Forgotten Sanctum, the weight of their mission lifting, but something gnawed at Sandman’s mind. A flicker of unease, like a disturbance in the very fabric of the dream realm, sent a chill through him. He blinked... and everything went black. Suddenly, Sandman jolted awake, gasping for air. The dim glow of Dreamspire surrounded him, and the soft sounds of cascading sand fall provided a rhythmic backdrop. His heart pounded in his chest, and his hand instinctively moved to his chest, half-expecting to find the Memory Stones. Of course, they weren’t there. Not a dream, he thought to himself. A nightmare. They’re getting stronger... because it felt so real. A gentle knock interrupted his thoughts. Lumia floated into the room, her ethereal form casting soft light around her. \"My lord, is everything all right? You seemed... troubled,\" she asked, her voice filled with concern. Sandman offered a shaky smile, still unsettled by the vividness of his dream. \"It’s nothing to worry about, Lumia,\" he replied softly. \"Just... a nightmare.\" Lumia hesitated, studying him with a discerning gaze. \"If you say so, my lord.\" As Lumia turned to leave, Sandman couldn’t shake the lingering doubt. Dreams have a way of weaving truths within their fabric, he thought to himself. And this one... felt far too close to reality."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The Mask of Sammy: A Tale of the Arts Department"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "1937 New York City Sammy flung a precise complement of steaming chestnuts into a paper bag - an impressive feat given the enormity of his signature scoop and his signature over-the-shoulder tossing arc. Whistling his slightly manic but jaunty signature tune, Sammy proudly conferred his toasty treasure to the Dapper Dan and his Dazzling Dame as they swayed in rhythm with him and the skyscrapers looming above. The city had become heavily anthropomorphized ever since the banks had recovered and folks had quit fleeing for California’s golden boulevards or to die in the dusts of Oklahoma. As Sammy looked up, he spied a suspicious masked nemesis in a wheelchair clamping a hose to the street cart and draining his treasured chestnuts into a tank affixed to the back of the chair. An incensed Sammy pulled another impossibly large implement from the front of the cart, and as he brought the sledgehammer down, stars and songbirds sprouted from the evildoer’s noggin. Sammy ripped the mask from the now concussed lout, and a familiar countenance emerged – the unmistakable monocle and cigarette holder jutting from a squared jaw. “Nuts to you,” the rodent declared, propelling the chair and its inhabitant into the Broadway traffic. “Here’s your New Deal!” ** “Franklin Roosevelt?” Saanvi murmured incredulously as the YouTube video segued into a Dodge Ram ad. “ President Roosevelt?” “Bob Lanzei was never really great at picking the right side of history,” Assistant Professor Cooper admitted. “Lanzei somehow concluded the president was simultaneously a commie, a fascist, and a capitalist schemer who’d staged the Great Depression and the New Deal as the greatest land grab of all time. Sammy was an everyman’s squirrel for the era, and thus hated pretty much everybody. Steamboat Willie it wasn’t. Which brings us to why, no, I was not watching porn when you walked in. You ever hear of the Mickey Mouse gas mask?” Chairman Deshpande raised a single brow. “Excuse me?” “Introduced January 7, 1942, a month after Pearl Harbor. Fully functional, with the addition of ginormous mouse ears. The idea was to take the heebie-jeebies out of an enemy gas attack for the little Mouseketeers.” “That is positively horrifying.” “Comedy and tragedy – two sides, same coin. Hell, now that Steamboat Willie ’s in the public domain, they’re coming out with a horror version.” “And the Disney people are allowing this?” “Nothing they can do. Ever seen Winnie The Pooh: Blood and Honey ?“ “I shall add it to my queue,” Saanvi vowed. “Why is American childhood entertainment so steeped in violence?” “We traumatize and indoctrinate kids into our aggressive, xenophobic, toxic alpha culture. That’s the point of the new montage for the Children’s Empowerment Conference. If I can nail down the last few pieces.” “Including the Mickey Mouse mask?” “Don’t screw with the House of Mouse, or at least its legal team,” Ethan advised. “I’m waiting back on a call back from Chicago on possibly the last existing Sammy Squirrel Air Raid Mask. Released a week ahead of the Mickey mask. Disney’s mask was equipped with a filter effective against harmful gases and round ‘friendly’ sealed glass eyes, and manufactured from rubber. Lanzei used neoprene, a durable rubber substitute that’s resistant to chemicals – if you spend the bucks for high-grade neoprene. Imagine the blowback if you wound up with a playground of twitching dead tots in fake rubber squirrel masks. Within a month, amid possibly Disney-generated buzz, Lanzei pulled all masks from the stores.” “At least I know which spectre will be haunting my dreams tonight,” Saanvi said cheerfully. “Forewarned, forearmed. Hold on,” Ethan murmured excitedly as he swept his chiming iPhone from his blotter. “Whatcha got? Really? Brook Village? Less than two hours away? Who’s the seller? You haven’t talked to them? But they’re willing to sell, or at least loan it to the University? Then how do you know they even have one?” Ethan’s boyish expression vanished. “That could be a challenge. Well, uh, thanks?” Chairman Deshpande studied her friend and underling for fully a minute. “You have located your squirrel mask?” “Hah?” Ethan blinked. “Kinda. Few legal issues, though.” “Ownership? Provenance?” “Serial killer’s using it for the time being.” ** “So, you’re an artist ?” “Well, a sculptor, a metalsmith,” Ethan expanded as Police Chief Rainsford continued to twirl a gold-plated pen between index and road rage finger. “I, uh, was looking for a mask kinda, you know, like your guy’s been wearing to his. . .murders. I may have some insights that could help your investigation. You know it’s a gas mask, right?” “With squirrel ears. Some kinda hipster drug thing?” “You’re too young to remember Sammy Squirrel, right?” “Guy that wanted the Japanese put in camps, thought Truman was a Russian sleeper? The cartoon guy, not the squirrel. Look, Professor Cooper, I appreciate your generous offer, but we already hired a pothead slacker, his buddies, and their Great Dane.” “Chief, the last Sammy Squirrel mask sold at auction for $475,000. Seem goofy – pardon the pun – that a serial killer would wear a nearly half-million-dollar mask on his rounds?” Brook Village’s top cop sighed laboriously. “Okay, you tell me.” “My guess, he’s trying to send a message. You know about the mask because you caught the killer on video. At the richy-riches’ house where he shot the HVAC guy? At the condo site where the building commissioner got whacked? In the mall parking lot where that tax consultant was found, or in the lot where the old golfer got his last shot? At the comic book shop? Really kinda tough to get caught in full frame, in the right light, every single time you kill somebody. He wants to be seen, but not identified. So, yeah, message.” Rainsford quit twirling. “So what’s the message?” “I got no idea.” “ Rooby Roo ,” Rainsford smiled, waggling his fingers goodbye. ** “Grady was an idiot,” Henry Kim told Ethan. Kim as a slim, chic sore thumb among the multi-hued Lanterns and multiversal Marvels and the Mignolas and Kirbys and and the anime and its kinky cousins. “I took us online, got artists in for Thursday night signings, brought in vintage shit to hook the rich closet geeks and kitsch collectors. Now, Lanzei – that’s some esoteric, off-the-trail shit. You some kinda neo-supremacist type? Sammy Squirrel’s like the mascot for the white pride jags cause all the antisemitic shit. Or are you just an ironic hipster?” “The University’s got a kids’ rights conference next month, and I’m putting together an installation focusing on childhood trauma in American pop culture.” “Wow, awesome,” Kim stated. “So, you got a line on a mask? I’ll pay some righteous coin for it – got plenty of hipsters and the other types that would kill for one.” “Yikes.” “Grady wouldn’t care. He was an asshole.” “Enough to make any enemies? Maybe one of those antisemitic squirrel types? Maybe he was one of those antisemitic squirrel types?” “The incel, racist fanboy? Was a huge conspiracy theorist, but not that much of a stereotype.” ** “Smart home integration, zoned heating, geothermal, backup generators, gyms and theaters and pools and even home distillery equipment,” said Gary Fratelli, the Bubba Gump of Chicagoland HVAC. “These millennials find something cool and stupid to jam into their McMansion, well, just say we’re printing money. Wayne was a genius at all this high-tech sci-fi shit.” “Was he into comics?” Ethan asked. Fratelli shifted his bulk with a frown. “‘Cause Sammy Squirrel killed that comic book store guy, or because the Lanzeis live over in Stansbrook?” “The Lanzeis? The Sammy Squirrel Lanzeis?” “Ray and Sam, the sons. We do their cellar work and stuff. I don’t think Wayne was crazy about them at first – he said he caught a ‘weird vibe’ at the house. But he always volunteered to do calls there. Fact, Sam and Ray were on his call sheet right after the job where he got shot…” “Wait up. Sam? Bob Lanzei named his kid after a violent, racist cartoon squirrel?” Fratelli shrugged. “Mom named me after her first husband. Boy, Pop was pissed.” ** “Jesus,” Samuel Lanzei grunted, lifting the bottle. “You broke out the Chateau Lafite Rothschild for this guy?” Raymond Lanzei snatched the vintage from his brother. “Oops. Well, it’s only the ‘83, not the ’82.” The younger brother turned to their guest. “We got the ’82 at auction for $39,000.” “Yeah,” Sammy murmured. “This swill only ran us $3,700, so fucking drink up and we’ll bring out the Wheat thins and make a party of it. Jesus. “So your interest is in the mask itself, not the psycho further pissing on the family’s reputation?” Ray asked Ethan. “A little of both. How many Air Raid Masks are currently in existence, any idea?” “Mm. A group of white supremacists adopted Sammy as their brand, and their leaders started wearing them to anti-gay protests, similar nonsense. Their slogan was, ‘Give us our nuts back!’ -- overcompensating morons. A counteroffensive of transsexuals finally commandeered the Neanderthals’ masks and held a bonfire on the Indianapolis Statehouse steps. That took a dozen or more out. Then, we put a bounty on the things and got rid of another couple dozen. The last few, if any, are probably in wealthy collectors’ hands.” “Except for the one at the top of the six o’clock news,” Ethan noted. Sam poured himself another few hundred’s worth. “You think this is some kind of statement? Against your family, your dad?” “Dad’was a shitbag,” Sammy slurred. “Took him 10 years to give up on his big dream of that fucking demented squirrel becoming the next Mickey Mouse. Even after he started building shopping centers and car dealerships, Dad couldn’t let it go. Raymond and I tried to make our own way, but with The Squirrel’s legacy following us around, we’re still living on Dad’s trust in the family compound. I can still feel the old shitbag’s icy fingers around my neck.” “Sam!” Raymond snapped. “Another glass, Professor?” “Kinda feel like I should,” Ethan said.\n\n** The lights were still blazing in the one open shop on Brook Village’s four-block boulevard, and within 20 minutes of Grady’s wake, Assistant Professor Cooper learned why The Marvels sucked and Anthony Mackie Captain America was a travesty on a par with the cancellation of the McRib, and discovered Grady’s geek-gorgeous widow could kick grabby fanboy ass. “You the dude with the squirrel mask?” The guy was long and lean in a Hellboy tee and unfortunate man-bun, but Ethan -- bloated and wired from Takis and Rockstar -- was happy to end the neo-Comicon. “Not yet.” The sculptor followed the giant to a Batcove just before the restrooms. “Little fuckers,” Man-Bun muttered. “Harvey. Like Harvey Comics. I got like a 30-year run of Casper . I also got some vintage Disney, Warner Bros., Walter Lantz, Terrytoons — all the great old-school animated shorts. Even Sammy Squirrel. You know, Ralph Bakshi did a great subversive, meta take on Sammy in the late ‘80s, to pair-up with his Mighty Mouse retcon. I got the pilot segments, but it never happened ‘cause Bob Lanzei’s kids didn’t want their racist douchebag cartoon squirrel to be a joke . “I got 10 of the 20 old Sammy tie-in books, and Grady told me he was ‘onto something huge’ that could boost the per-issue value by a few thousand. Then he got caught hacking into the electric company system I guess to wipe out his bill, and he told me the trail hadn ’ t gone cold. Like some kinda inside joke. Like most of his humor. Shit, like most of ours .” ** “Five victims,” Ethan whispered. “The HVAC dude, the tax specialist, the building inspector, the comic book guy, and the golfer. Seemed to be no connection between any of them, but I can think of at least one. Or more accurately, two separate patterns. With a third overriding pattern.” “There an abridged audiobook version of this?” Henry Kim asked. Access had been easy, once Ethan’d convinced The Brothers Lanzei, Gary Fratelli, a couple of other likely red herrings, and, with a convincing web of lies Chief Rainsford to convene a gathering of the suspects at the late cartoonist’s manse, and dangled low-grade fame and fortune to persuade decoy herring Henry to help raid the family cellar. Ethan and Henry had then claimed loose bladders and scurried underground. “Wayne, Grady, and the inspector were high-risk targets, requiring planning and specialized access,” Ethan continued. “Then you had Kristin, the tax preparer, shot in an open mall parking lot. And the old golfer, stumbling back to his Lincoln after a long afternoon at the 10th hole. Two apparently opportunistic kills. Let’s take them out of the equation for a moment.” Henry peered about the walls of red, white, and rose’. “What do you think about a wine bar? Bring in the suburban retro whales with some merlot?” “Boring you?” “Sorry, let’s do your thing.” Ethan trained the maglite over the cellar walls, into the corner seams. “Wayne was a specialist in environmental controls and high-tech systems. The local building inspector had to sign off on major residential modifications.” “And Grady had the uncanny ability to sort Hulks by color.” “Getting there,” Assistant Professor Cooper growled. “Both these guys were out here. Wayne added a bank of backup generators with the inspector’s approval. I convinced Chief Rainsford to dig up the Lanzei’s utility bills, like Grady tried to do. The family’s had obscene electrical charges for 40 years. I checked around, and Raymond only started collecting wines about 30 years ago. So why the insane charges and high-tech systems way over the top for a home wine cellar? Plus, when Wayne added Lanzei’s new backup system, he said there was a weird vibe down here.” “No shit.” “Wayne knew instinctively what a wine cellar should sound and feel like. When he detected an odd hum or vibration that didn’t belong here, he told the Lanzeis about it, and they paid him off huge, just like they did the building inspector when he questioned how the cellar’s layout didn’t jibe with the home’s blueprints. “And then, enter Grady. One of your customers said he’d been onto something big but told him the trail hadn’t run cold. An inside joke, Harvey said . Bob Lanzei was obsessed with Disney. If he couldn’t live like Walt, he decided he could at least die like him.” “I thought that was lung cancer.” “Conspiracy buffs insist Walt Disney was cryogenically preserved after his death in ’66, despite documented proof of Disney’s cremation. Yeah, here we go. You see that line of light along the corner, and the way the wall seems to be almost inset into the ceiling? Like on a track, maybe? Gimme a hand.” Ethan sighed. “Or don’t, I’m guessing.” ** It looked and hummed like something designed long ago to turn Jeff Goldblum into a less annoying species. “Lanzei died in ’84 of a brain aneurysm, but I guess that wasn’t a satisfactory ending. I think Grady started putting things together after hacking into the Lanzeis’ electric bills. May have been what set this whole thing in motion: If TMZ or Extra or CNN got hold of this , Bob’s family would never have gotten another moment of peace or privacy.” Ethan located an inside handle on the front of the metal cylinder, next to a temperature gauge that read “-130F.” “Drumroll, please…” “Yeah, I don’t do that,” Henry stated. “What’s the plan here? I mean, if you’re telling me what I think, and you’re about to do what it looks like you’re doing, that’s kinda murder, dude. Well, some kind of crime.” “Yes, back away from the fridge.” Ethan’s heart did a double paradiddle at the gun in Sammy the Squirrel’s hand and the cheap but marginally effective neoprene gas mask on the serial killer’s face. “Dude,” Henry responded. “You got the chief of police upstairs. This is your move?” “Exactly his move,” Ethan managed. “Nothing like a son’s love for his dad. Right, Raymond?” “It was his dying wish, and he deserves better than a viral character assassination,” Bob Lanzei’s son barked. “We’re going to Old Yeller you two, and then, I’m going to give the world something else to meme about.” “What’s an Old Yell—?” “Henry.” Ethan looked the homicidal squirrel in the eyes. “You realized you couldn’t keep buying off the locals, so you decided to clean up every loose end leading to your Popsicle. Why you did it all on video — when you got busted for the killings, the Sammy mask would become evidence, likely locked away for years. Why not just destroy it?” “Sam’s in last stage liver/kidney failure, and as his last blast at Dad, he wants to sell off not just my wine, but also the last mask we’d kept. Well, the next to the last. I thought if I could tie up the mask in court for God knows how many continuances and appeals, I could outlive Sam, and Dad, too, if my brother got any wild ideas about going for the second mask.” Ethan stated to explain the flaws in Raymond’s scheme, then considered the heir’s words and glanced to the cryogenic chamber. “C’mon,” Raymond ordered. “This fucking thing is suffocating m—“ His grievance ended as a figure emerged from the darkness, like Thor on Social Security. The sledgehammer came down on Raymond Lanzei’s skull, and Henry shrieked appropriately as Ethan scooped up the fallen pistol and straight-armed it toward the new intruder. “Put that goddamn thing down,” Sammy grumbled. “You’ll give me a fucking heart attack, and then you’ll never get what you want. Not that I know anything, because Mom and Raymond were responsible for this whole crazy Good Humor shit. Right? Dad was a paranoid old fuck – his mask is yours if you testify I saved your life and help me crack this thing. C’mon, Deputy Dawg’ll be down here any second. Shit, technology. Wish Ray hadn’t killed that kid.” "
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Magic Carpet Ride"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "He wasn’t yet a grandfather, but nonetheless Scott was the oldest student in all of his classes at San Diego State University. In grade school, he had had no interest in the obligatory hour of Spanish lessons on Friday afternoons, so it was a little out of character for him to have chosen to pursue a major in that same subject area. I guess he enjoyed tackling the challenge of becoming proficient in a foreign language after all. Scott does still remember the warmhearted Mexican lady Mrs. Ortega, known simply as “Tega” by the family. She helped Mom around the house and prepared that spicy, foamy hot chocolate on crispy winter mornings. Perhaps that childhood experience also subconsciously helped to guide Scott onto this current path. Scott was supporting himself, and risking his life to some extent, by driving an armored truck while attending classes part-time. Then when it became difficult to afford the rent in the immediate vicinity, Scott found a reasonable apartment to lease just across the international border in nearby Tijuana. Besides saving a substantial sum of money, he figured by immersing himself in Mexican culture on a day to day basis could only help him succeed even furthermore in his studies. In order to arrive timely to work and to class, Scott made sure he was up and about by four o’clock in the morning. Then it was a torturous forty-five minutes waiting in line in his Dodge Caravan to cross back over into the United States at the San Ysidro Port of Entry. Next stop was the donut shop for coffee and a pastry, which he consumed in the parking lot of the Chula Vista 24 Hour Fitness club. He worked out briefly, showered, and then reported to either work or school, depending on the semester schedule. Most every college level class required at least one student oral presentation. This often unnerved Scott, who was more comfortable communicating on a one-to-one basis. The two exceptions to this occurred when conversational Spanish class professors Muñoz and Sánchez called for collaborative group performances. Practicing the skits with fellow students off campus took the edge off the exercise and that was just plain fun! With partner student Jaire, Scott played the part of infamous Mexican comic Mario Moreno (1911-1993) more commonly known as “Cantinflas”. Part of the Cantinflas “getup” was his famous upper lip, which sported a tiny mustache at each end and his almost falling-off sagging pants. In the other class, Scott worked with a guy named Patrick and two gals. In this instance, the theme surrounded a too popular athlete who used a commercial “girl repellant” dust to keep his many admirers at bay. The girls played the part of “porristas” (cheerleaders). Unpretentious Scott, who had quite the wild imagination, provided the basic idea for each of the two Spanish comedy sketches. On the first week of one particular fall semester, a beautiful Puerto Rican girl showed up on the second meeting of an evening conversational Spanish class to ask permission to enroll. Much to the delight of the male students, Tamara was accommodated and assigned a space in Scott’s three person study group. Tamara dressed herself in sexy knee-high leather boots and acted surprisingly reserved, as if she had no idea of how much attention she naturally drew from the guys. This attitude tended to make her even more attractive still. Miguel, a Guatemalan friend who had previously taken the same class, had given Scott his old textbook to sell. Tamara agreed to purchase the used book from Scott. At this time Scott, always the gentleman, had already been contentedly married for fifteen years. His spouse, Mary Ellen, was residing with his father while he was away at school. Well, realizing full well that the younger, single college girls who surrounded him were off limits, he saw no harm in half-jokingly asking Tamara if he could usher her back to her car after class. He truly was surprised and somewhat alarmed when she accepted his apparent chivalrous proposal and graciously invited him to accompany her. Having parked on a dark side street adjacent to campus, Tamara became disoriented and the two of them became momentarily lost. Scott, who was already nervous walking around with the most beautiful girl in class, began to unwillingly sweat while he tried to think himself out of the situation. He was relieved to find that Tamara remembered having parked across from the student day care center. This gave Scott the bearings he needed to show her the way and the eventful evening ended as Tamara finally unlocked the door to her vehicle (which actually may have belonged to a man she was seeing). A week later after class, Tamara surprised Scott for a second time. She was so pleased on having saved so much cash on the used textbook purchase that she insisted on buying Scott dinner at the local Jack-in-the-Box restaurant across the street. Scott, again still a little nervous hanging out with such a pretty creature, could not justify rejecting her heartfelt offer. He ordered a burger, while she ate a salad. To finish the tale, after class during the third week, Scott tried to “escape” his escort duties by walking directly toward his own vehicle, but Tamara stopped him in his tracks and insisted they march together to her car first. And so it continued for the remainder of the semester. During the brief walks, Tamara at times shared personal anecdotes about her love life and she actually shed a few tears on one occasion. Last class day at their final farewell, the two exchanged a brief, friendly embrace. Not mentioned previously, in addition to her poise and charm, Tamara already had completed a four year university course of study. However, the college graduate felt somewhat mortified coming from a Boricua bloodline and not having the ability to communicate in the Spanish language. Thus, her impetus to return to the classroom can be understood by anyone. During another Spanish course, Scott found himself sitting with one other man student among 28 female co-eds barely entering into the prime stages of their lives (many still teens). But by the second week of class, Scott was left all alone with the girls when his only male cohort evidently dropped out of the class. This is about the time Scott began to regret not having completed his college degree earlier, when he could have taken full advantage of all of the college social activities for singles. After having witnessed so many women present in his language courses, Scott reasonably concluded that females inherently had superior communication skills over men and also had the ambition to develop those same talents. After completing the majority of class prerequisites, Scott still needed to explore Spanish in a foreign country in order to fulfill all mandatory SDSU graduation guidelines. He decided to join a group of like-minded students on the university sponsored study abroad program taking place at Nebrija University in Madrid during the month of July 2009. There he would share accommodations in a private home along with another male student from New York’s Hunter College. After taking a placement examination on the first day of classes, Scott’s high score was satisfactory enough to place him in the most advanced level Spanish course being offered that session. On weekends, Nebrija staff chaperoned exciting field trips to nearby historical attractions like the ancient cities of Toledo, Segovia, and Avalon. The artifact that impressed Scott the most was the Pablo Picasso masterpiece “Guernica” that was shown during a school-sponsored visit to the Museum Reina Sofia. Again this summer, Scott found himself to be a decade or two older than his other classmates. That did not prevent him from noticing a special student (also married) who stood out over and above the rest of the girls. Monica was a bright, attractive girl who surprised Scott when she blushed bright red the first time he complemented her intellect. The Saturday morning excursion to El Escorial, a World Heritage Site built in the sixteenth century, was something not to be missed. All of the seats on the tour bus were taken, except for the seat alongside Scott. I suppose the younger generation saw him more as a parent than a schoolfellow. Without someone to talk with on the journey to their destination town of San Lorenzo, Scott reluctantly resigned himself to playing the part of an “outcast”. However, something else was in the cards for him that lucky day. On previous field trips, understand that another male student had been kind of “smothering” the aforementioned student Monica with attention, but in a most respectful manner. Of course, this prevented Scott from having any opportunity to befriend the girl himself. Scott believed this detachment was probably for the best, at least it would keep him out of “trouble”. But then again, Scott still maintained the illusion of spending some quality time in Monica’s good company. Today, Scott was unaware that neither Monica nor her buddy-buddy amigo had boarded the bus. Well, just as the bus driver fired up the diesel motor to leave, Scott interpreted the drama that followed as a kind of miracle. Another student on the bus recognized Monica across the street with a lost look on her face. After someone called out for her in a shout, Monica became aware that she was waiting on the wrong corner and ran over to join the group. When she boarded the bus Monica found the only seat still open and available was right alongside Scott! Was it a dream come true? Well, Scott was more than pleased to find that his patience and respect for the girl was perhaps, at long last, being rewarded. Spending time in conversational Spanish with Monica brightened his day to no end. An hour later, everyone disembarked and followed the tour guide through the famous palace and monastery. After the tour, the crowd broke for lunch. At the beginning of this unscripted time period, so as not to be considered a pest, Scott made a slight detour away from Monica. However, Monica called him back and apparently wanted them to continue chatting while they consumed their sandwiches. Scott, now trying earnestly to hide his pent up excitement, complied with her friendly request. Monica actually ended up sharing some fairly personal anecdotes with Scott, one of which described a separation followed by a reconciliation with her current spouse. On the return trip, fatigue fell upon the two student friends and they spoke less and less. At the end of the day, Scott was so satisfied with time spent with Monica that he checked her off his “wish list”. Coincidently in high school, Scott had the same good luck on the bus taking his class to the Santa Cruz Beach and Boardwalk during the school sponsored “senior ditch day”. Scott was a recent transfer student and had sat down alone on the bus. Of course, when the most popular girl (the school newspaper editor) sat down alongside him, he was dumbfounded. You see, Margie’s boyfriend was just a junior and not eligible to join the graduating class on the excursion to the amusement park. For bashful Scott, the conversation that followed was exhilarating! Scott used the efficient Madrid Metro system to commute back and forth from classes. One afternoon he walked down the wrong tunnel, passing by a group of three suspicious-looking male juveniles sitting on some stairs. He ignored them, spun around, and returned to the correct underground station where he waited with a small crowd of other riders. As a distraction when the door to the subway car opened, one of the hoodlums dropped some loose change directly in front of Scott’s feet. When Scott began to step forward onto the Metro, as if his shoes had been glued to the floor, he was shocked to find that he could not move even an inch. The reason being, a second hoodlum from behind had wrapped his arms around Scott’s legs and held him tight! A third hoodlum reached into Scott’s right front pants pocket and pulled out Scott’s passport. The passport slipped out from the delinquent’s hand and dropped to the ground. Fortunately, Scott had placed his billfold in the opposite left front pocket. Scott broke himself free and the three pickpockets ran away. Now on his hands and knees, he scrambled around on the floor to recover his passport. That was a close call and an appalling story that Scott recounted the following day. When the Nebrija University course of study came to an end, Scott stayed behind for another couple of weeks to join a tour bus exploring the Andalusian region of southern Spain known as the “Costa del Sol”. While staying at a base hotel in Torremolinos, among others, the destinations included: Málaga, Mijas, Nerja, and Ronda. Highlighting the tour were exciting side trips to the palace of Seville's Royal Alcázar and Great Britain’s territorial colony known as Gibraltar. A pair of older Spaniard women named Inmaculada (Inma) and Maria from the city that sponsors the famous annual “running of the bulls” (Pamplona) noticed Scott was solo and took him under their wing by inviting him to join them at their table during mealtimes. On Scott’s one free day away from the scheduled trip activities, he took a ferry boat across the Mediterranean Sea to Tangiers on the continent of Africa. There he joined a guided tour group of about a dozen other visitors who enjoyed a traditional lunch of Moroccan cuisine while being entertained by local musicians. The final stop was a rug emporium. Others in the group looked around the store, but left empty-handed. However, Scott was not about to depart without having purchased a “magic carpet” of some persuasion. He was drawn to a hand-knotted wool rug about the size of a yoga mat. Much later he was to find the theme of its beautiful pattern was the “tree of life”. None of the merchandise on display in the store was priced. Members of the sales staff insisted that the customers had the responsibility to open the negotiations by making the first offer. Scott had no clue as to the market value of his selection. For all he knew, it could have been worth twenty dollars or two thousand dollars! After fretting over the value, he decided to offer two hundred dollars. The price was deemed acceptable and the transaction processed without a hitch via credit card. This would be the only item that Scott would bring back home with him from his overseas trip. On the way back to the ferry terminal for the return to the Spanish mainland, the tour made a roadside stop where camel rides were being offered for a price. That attraction did not interest Scott, especially when he recalled the time Dad’s horse bucked him off twice in one day, fracturing both his left radius and right clavicle! Before returning to the United States from Madrid, Scott’s magic carpet began to take over. His itinerary was changed to include a layover in Great Britain. This was for the purpose of walking among the megalithic monument of Stonehenge. For Scott, this scene was akin to stepping foot on the moon and entailed completing another high priority wish on his bucket list. On the way to Stonehenge, the bus made two-hour stopovers at both Windsor Castle and the town of Bath. Upon leaving London’s Heathrow Airport for home (thanks to his magic carpet again?) Scott’s British Airways seat assignment was upgraded without charge! But the Moroccan magic carpet was not content to stay with Scott in California. On a visit with his spouse to Juneau, Alaska, the rug was left behind at the home of a pair of newlyweds, namely Scott’s step-daughter Karla and her husband Tyson. Since then, two beautiful boys have arrived on the scene. It seems the tree of life, carried proudly by the magic carpet, is living up to its name by overseeing the expansion of the population of Scott’s extended family. And since retiring, Scott has resided in a sleepy Mexican beach town where his Spanish skills come in handy on a daily basis. It’s wonderful when persons, places, and things work together for the benefit of everyone."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Oh, Well"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Denise was just leaving the band room when the siren went off. Because she was alone, she didn’t realize that no one else heard it. Looking around, she saw nothing that seemed out of place; she couldn’t identify where the sound came from. She threw her drumsticks into her backpack and headed outside. There she saw her Aunt Carol looking worried. “You heard the alarm?” she asked Denise. “Yes, but what does it mean?” Denise threw her backpack over her shoulder. “A Well has been stolen.” Denise looked up. “Well what? What well?” she asked. “Not a well small ‘w,’ a Well with a capital ‘W’,” Aunt Carol explained. “Follow me, Denise.” “What?” Denise had no idea what a Well with a capital W was. “You’re needed. I knew this would happen someday,” Aunt Carol said. “I had hoped that when it happened, you’d be older.” Denise had just turned sixteen. “What are you talking about, Aunt Carol?” Denise, totally confused, climbed into Carol’s Subaru. “The Wyvern Queen needs you to help find it. It’s your destiny.” “Wyvern Queen? Like the two-legged dragon with a barbed tail? That kind of wyvern?” Denise was totally lost. “Yes. She’s responsible for the Wells.” “Okay, I’ll bite. What are these Wells?” “Portable, potable water. Water is essential to the multiverse. The Wells provide water to everyone. This missing Well is assigned to Earth. Without it, all life dies. They are tightly controlled because they are so valuable. That’s what the siren was about.” “Okay,” Denise said. “But what has that to do with me?” “You are the chosen one. You’ve spent your whole life learning about swords, aliens, and space. You know Star Wars, Harry Potter, and Lord of the Rings . You’ve been trained. Now’s the time for it to pay off.” “What am I supposed to do?” Denise asked. “The Queen will tell you.” Aunt Carol pulled into her garage and rushed into the house, Denise on her heels. “Here’s the Wyvernian computer. Sit down.” “The what?” Denise asked as she sat in the desk chair, putting her backpack on her lap. “What do I do now?” Aunt Carol fired up the computer. A huge eye covered the entire screen. “Hello, Carol. Good to see you. And this must be Denise?” “Yes, Queenie. She will obviously need guidance, but she’s ready.” Aunt Carol smiled at the eye. “Wonderful, my dear. Let’s not waste time then.” Denise’s world disappeared in a swirling fog. She felt sick and exhilarated at the same time. After what seemed like ages, but might have been seconds, the girl found herself sitting at a large table in front of a huge wyvern and a garbage-sized tin can out of which a man sat (she thought), looking intently in her direction. “Hello, Denise. This is Bob,” the Queen gestured towards the man in the can who reached out and shook Denise’s hand. “We have no time to waste but we must finish tea before we go.” The Queen handed Denise a china cup full of dark liquid. “Tea?” she asked. “Not a big fan.” “It’s okay, Denise. Yours will taste like your favorite drink.” Sure enough, the drink tasted just like Pepsi. “Yum,” she said. “All right, team. Time to go. We’ll need to pick up the Terriers on the way.” The Queen leaned towards Denise. “They’re the best warriors in the multiverse.” The other stood up so Denise followed them. The Queen stood about fifteen feet high. The room was twice that, the walls covered with luxurious rugs and paintings of strange creatures. A few minutes later, Denise found herself on a long tarmac. The Queen was putting on what looked like an enclosed saddle. “It’s a Bubble,” Bob told her as his can hovered beside her. “Uh, thanks, Bob,” Denise said. “Is it polite to ask …” “It’s not. It’s my whole life but that’s all I can reveal.” “Ok. Bob, why me?” “You were born for it, Denise. Sometimes destiny doesn’t show itself for a while, but it’s been watching you. You are strong, brave, and pretty fearless. It’s just your time.” Bob pointed to footholds that had appeared on the Queen’s flank. “Go ahead, Denise. That’s how you get into the Bubble.” Denise climbed up as Bob hovered alongside her. At the top, he pushed a button that opened the Bubble. He floated in and settled in what looked like a big cup holder. Denise sat on a wonderfully comfortable overstuffed sofa, putting her backpack into a luggage rack overhead. “Wow,” she said. “This is very cool. Is all intergalactic travel this comfortable?” “Not all. But the Queen goes first class.” The same huge eye appeared on a screen in front of the sofa. The. “Be sure to buckle up,” the Queen instructed. Denise looked for a seat belt. She saw something buried in the cushion. “Glad someone figured out that seat belts are a good idea,” she said. “Good for you,” said the belt as it fastened itself around her. “A pain for me.” “Be quiet!” Bob growled. “These belts are a grouchy lot.” “Everyone secure?” the Queen asked. “We’re good, Your Majesty,” Bob answered her. Denise marveled at the Queen’s speed as she began to run. Effortlessly , they took to the air. “That was amazing,” Denise said breathlessly. “She’s the best transportation I’ve ever been on,” Bob told her. “You might as well take a nap or something. It’s a long way to the Terriers.” Bob disappeared into his can. Denise found herself tired and groggy. Before she knew it, she was asleep. She woke when the Queen landed abruptly. The Bubble opened just as Bob emerged from his can. “Time to meet our warrior friends,” he said, gesturing towards the steps on the Queen’s side. Denise made her way down to the ground. Once she had disembarked, the Queen suddenly shrunk to a size closer to her own. Bob leaned over. “Make Me Small pills. Very useful.” A creature about half Denise’s size came bounding out of a nearby building, making what sounded like barking noises, its small tail wagging madly. “Welcome, grrrouff, to our home,” growled the creature, standing up on its hind legs, its face almost eye level with Denise. It had smooth brown and black fur an inch long all over its body as well as a beard and mustache. Denise thought it handsome even though she personally preferred cats. “Hello, Macduff. Good to see you.” The Queen smiled as she put her hand out and shook Macduff’s paw. They followed him into the Hall. “They seem awfully carefree and silly for a group of warriors.” Denise pointed to an area full of Terriers jumping up and down for no apparent reason and another group playing tug of war. One chased its tail. The Queen laughed. “Yes. They do like to play but they can catch a Gopher faster than any other creature in the universe. That’s Gopher with a capital G, Denise. They stole the Well.” All these capitals , Denise thought. It must be a really big deal. That’s scary. The Queen walked to a small platform at the far end of the Hall. “Terriers. We need your help. You know me and you know my Pathfinder Royale Bob. This is Denise. She’s the one.” The Queen pointed to Denise and with all the Terriers’ eyes now upon her, she swallowed hard, bowed and smiled awkwardly. An approving growl swept through the room. “A Well has been stolen from the Vault. We need to find and return it.” The Queen waited until the Terriers finished leaping and howling. “We believe that it has been stolen by a giant Gopher from the planet Broke. You are the best Gopher hunters in the multiverse. We need you to keep them occupied while we recover the Well. Will you join us?” An exuberant howl went up around the room. “Gopherrrrs! Gopherrrrrrrs!” Coming from the Terriers, the word had a menacing and growly undertone. “Just one thing,” the Queen continued. “You can’t kill the Gophers until we find the Well.” The Terriers growled. “Once we’ve secured it, you may kill or capture any you can.” The Hall went wild. After meeting with MacDuff and other Terrier leaders to formulate a plan, the Queen took flight once again. Denise lost track of time as they hurtled through space, the Terriers’ Mercedes Bones ships scattered in front and behind them. The Bubble provided everything she needed: food, drink. Internet and a bathroom. This is amazing , she thought more than once. Finally, she noticed the Queen beginning to descend. Looking out of the Bubble, she could see a planet below. It was quite blue, like Earth appeared from space but even more so. “Bob is that Broke?” she asked. “And why is it so blue?” “Yes. It’s covered mostly with water. There’s land although it’s tricky to find sometimes. It’s the perfect place to hide a Well.” Bob began to close the top of his can. “Grab your backpack, Denise. We’ll be landing soon.” “What about air?” she asked. “No worries.” Bob handed Denise a small face covering. “Once we’ve landed, just put this on for a few minutes. It’ll fall off on its own. It adjusts your body to whatever breathable air is available.” Denise looked at the mask. “Wow,” was all she could think to say. “This space travel is a whole lot more amazing than in movies and books. And that’s pretty amazing.” “Don’t forget we’re on a mission,” Bob said. When they were on the ground, the Queen slid the Bubble off. Terriers had gathered around them with MacDuff at the front. All were armed and covered in chain mail. “All right, troops. Westies head west. Yorkies go north. Fox terriers – stay on the dry. And the rest of you spread out. When we find the Well, we’ll let you know.” The Terriers disappeared. “What do I do if I find it?” Denise asked. “My dear girl, you have more knowledge of space travails than many of us do. You’ll just know.” With that, the Queen took off, leaving Denise and Bob at the landing site. “Okay, Bob. What now?” “I’ll stay here and guard the Bubble. You can wait with me,” Bob added. “That wouldn’t be right. A space adventure where we just wait? No way.” Denise stood up and started off along a trail of grass with water on both sides. “Come back when you find the Well,” Bob called out as she walked away. The planet was indeed wet. By following the trail, she was able to find dry areas to move across. It’s a trail. It must lead somewhere. After a while, she noticed that the hill to her right had grown bushes along its bottom. She pulled them aside and found herself in the mouth of a cave. Moving inside, she was surprised to find incandescent moss lighting a path lined with rocks. A small rock rolled itself up when Denise approached. “Who goes there?” it asked. How can I understand that? Denise wondered. “I’m Denise. We’re looking for a Well that’s been stolen. Probably by your Gophers.” “Ah, yes. We know about that. And definitely not our Gophers,” it said. “I am Wequt. Follow me.” Denise did as she was told and found herself in a large cavern that was lit by holes in the mountain. Several large rocks sat in a line. They didn’t move as Wequt and Denise arrived. “These are our elders,” Wequt told her. “You seek the Well?” a zircon asked. “We are the Counsel. What will you do with it if we reveal its location?” “We’ll return it to the Vault and lock it up safely,” Denise told them. “And increase security so none get stolen again.” “As you can see, we have no need of a Well. But the Gophers stole it to sell. They hid it in our caves, stepping on many of us as they came and went. How do we know we can trust you?” Denise thought for a moment. “I have profound respect for the Well. My planet, which we call Earth, is having water problems and may need the Well someday. People fight wars over water. I promise to return and respect it.” The Council of Elders rolled together to confer. At least that’s what Denise thought they were doing. After what seemed like a geologic time lapse, they rolled back into a line. “We will show you the Well. Wequt and Elder Adnal will go with you.” “Thank you all.” Denise bowed. She wasn’t sure why; it just seemed appropriate. The two guides rolled down a hallway in the cave with Denise following closely behind, carefully watching where she stepped. Eventually, they came to an opening. Peeking around the wall, she saw a pulsing blue dot sitting on a boulder surrounded by stalactites and stalagmites. Wequt and Elder Findal stopped. “The Well,” the Elder said. Denise stared at it. She had never asked what it looked like. “That’s it?” she asked, just to be sure. Wequt giggled. “That’s it. New to you, is it?” “Yes.” Denise walked around the boulder. “Uh, how do I carry it?” Wequt shook his head. “In your pack, Denise. It doesn’t leak.” “Of course. Sorry. I am new at this. But I should have known.” At that moment, they heard a deep growl. As Denise looked in again, a huge beast with big teeth and sharp claws appeared at the other end of the opening. That must be one of the Gophers , Denise realized. It was huge, almost eight feet tall. It hovered over the Well protectively. Denise shrunk back. “How do you kill … or at least disable these things?” The Gopher heard her and turned in their direction. “Crap,” said Denise. She thought for a moment then took the drumsticks from her backpack, which she left with Elder Adnal and Wequt. “That is not your Well,” she shouted at the creature. It looked surprised. She wasn’t its usual adversary. Denise raised the drumsticks over her head and began banging them together. “You. Gopher. Get away from our Well.” She shouted at the top of her lungs. The Gopher hesitated and then moved back a step. “These are magic sticks from the planet Earth, and you cannot withstand their power.” All of her years watching sci fi were paying off. “Now get away!” She flourished the sticks and started drumming on a nearby boulder as she moved closer to the Well. The Gopher looked surprised but only for a moment. Then it began moving towards her, growling and gnashing its huge teeth. Denise struck the protective minerals which crashed to the ground. The Gopher stopped. “Dinna ye know not to bother t’ one, ye wee beastie.” MacDuff appeared at her side. Before she knew it, he was on the Gopher. She made a run for the Well, grabbed it and ran back, putting it into the backpack as she went. The guides led her out of the cave and pointed her back towards where the Queen had landed. When she got there, Bob was gone. She could hear battle sounds and followed them to the top of a hill. Looking down, she saw a slightly familiar gory sight. The Terriers and Gophers had been fighting, that much was clear. She saw Bob, holding a sword and hovering over a huge Gopher. Denise put her fingers to her lips and let out a loud whistle. When Bob looked up, she waved. He threw a chain over the neck of the Gopher and hovered up the hill, dragging the beast behind him. “Denise, good to see you,” he said. “This is the ringleader. But he won’t tell us where they put the Well.” “It’s okay, Bob. I found it.” Denise grinned broadly as she pointed to the backpack. “But a Gopher came. MacDuff went after it. I didn’t see him again.” “He’ll be fine, Denise. He cut his teeth on Gophers, so to speak. She was right, the Queen. You are the one.” They found the Queen was waiting for them at the landing site along with MacDuff who was unscathed. Denise gave him a hug. “You got it,” the Queen pronounced. “I guess all my role playing and movie watching paid off. But MacDuff saved the day when the Gopher came. And I admit that being on a quest is a lot different than watching it.” The Queen put a wing around her shoulder. “It is and it isn’t, child. Clearly you benefitted from all that watching.” She turned to MacDuff. “We’re taking this one back. Can you fit it on one of your Bones ships? You can let your fighters go after the rest.” “Surrrrre,” MacDuff assured her. He took the Gopher’s chain and growled. “Don’t even trrrry to get away.” When the Queen had put the Bubble back on, Denise and Bob settled in for the flight back to the Queen’s home on Wyvernia. “You have done the multiverse a great service, today, Denise. We won’t forget it.” “Thank you, Your Majesty. I won’t either. Won’t I have been missed, though?” “Time is relative, my dear Denise. But it is time for you to return home. Your Aunt Carol is waiting.” The world fogged over. Denise found herself in Aunt Carol’s car, leaving her school. “Have a good day?” her aunt asked with a wink. “Interesting, thanks. Did I just sort of save the universe?” Aunt Carol grinned. “Sort of, yes. Stay tuned.”"
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Avifauna"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Hard hot earth pressed into Nuavas palms. Flecks of obsidian speckled the dry ground. Sweat poured down her dark skin. Her arms and legs were stiff from crouching so long.\n\nA couple of feet away from her a pile of the most shiny stuff she could find was collected in a heap. She had purposely set it a couple of feet from the Vorexs lair. The Vorex are simple creatures, according to the elders they were collectors, which was why she was here in the first place. The Vorex had somehow made it into their village and stole one of the elders' relics, and she was going to steal it back. They would finally see who she was, a warrior. If the Vorex ever came out! The Vorex's home was completely made out of obsidian. It was as if the rock had been liquid at one point before freezing into a solid mass. The effect was a large misshapen mound of rock. Sections of the rock overlapped each other. She could see swirls on the rock's surface. They had carved holes into the obsidian. They were roughly shaped into small round tunnels. Nuava assumed it was for their entrances.\n\nMotion came from the tunnel entrance nearest her. Nuava slunk back letting the dry reeds hide her from view. A Vorex poked its head out. Its beady eyes darted around the savanna. It was taller than Nuava expected. But the description matched what the elders had told her. A humanoid flightless bird. Fluffy blue feathers covered most of its body. The only bits without feathers were the scaly forearms and the lower half of the legs. Brass beads decorated its feathers, shining in the setting sun. It straightened, its eyes fixed on the pile of stuff she had collected. Nuava grinned. Her muscles itched to be put to use. Nuava tracked the Vorex’s movements. It was so close now. The Vorexs hand reached the pile of treasure. Its clawed hand reached out toward the jewel pile. Nuava unconsciously leaned forward. A dry branch snapped under her palm. The Vorex stopped. Nuava froze. It looked around alarmed, Its feathers flared up.\n\nHer chest tightened. This wasn’t going to work. The Vorex were known to be superhumanly fast. If it ran off before she could make it take her to the relic… She launched herself at the Vorex. Her entire weight fell onto the Vorex. They collapsed into the dirt. Dust flew around them. The Vorex Shreaked. Her hands scrambled for purchase. The Vorex bucked under the sudden weight. Its beady eyes flared in shock and confusion. Nuava whooped. “HA! You're mine now!” The Vorex kicked, catching her in the stomach. She flew backward and crashed into the hard ground. She rolled, landing on all fours. Her heart drummed against her rib cage. Her body vibrated. This is what she was meant for.\n\nShe charged on her hands and feet. The Vorex had stood up and was starting to make a run for it. She Leaped, tackling the creature around the legs. It thrilled loudly as it fell. It tried to kick at her but this time she had its legs. She pulled herself up until she was sitting on its chest. Her fingers wrapped around its throat. It froze its eyes on her hands. She could feel Its rapid heart right under her fingertips.\n\n“WHERE IS IT?” Nuava demanded. \n\nIt blinked. The Vorex cocked its head to the side.\n\n“ THE THING YOU STOLE FROM THE ELDERS?” The Vorex opened its beak slightly letting out a weak chirp. Nuava growled.\n\n“I KNOW YOU HAVE IT .” The Vorex’s eyes looked at her blankly. Frustrated Nuava let go of the Vorexs throat. It started to squirm immediately. Nuava cursed. In one swift movement, she pulled out her dagger and threw it at the Vorexs head. It flinched away as the blade sunk into the ground mere inches from its head. It stopped.\n\n“That's what you get for being a Feather Butt!” Nuava huffed. She glared at the Vorex. It shrank away from her. She pulled a piece of paper from her belt. A quick sketch was inscribed on the paper. She pointed at the picture to the Vorex. “This thing. Where is it ?”The Vorex eyes widened with recognition. “See? This is what I want.” She gestured again at the picture. The creature nodded, its eyes glued on her face. “You're my prisoner now, so if you try anything-”\n\n She pulled a dagger from the ground. The vorexs eyes followed its movement. She let the blade shine in the fading light. It shrank away from the dagger.\n\n“Good.” Nuava stuffed the dagger back into her belt loop. She let it get to its feet.\n\n “Now all that's left is for you to show me the way.” The Vorex stalled. It looked at the knife in her belt, then back at her.\n\n“Yes, this sharp object will hurt you unless you get a move on!” she snapped. Nuava motioned for it to move. It started moving towards the obsidian caves. Nuava followed closely behind.\n\nWhen they reached the entrance of the caves, Nuava stopped. Her hand lingered on the wall. A dark abyss opened up in front of her. She stopped. The Vorex stopped watching her. Her hands lingered at the door. The darkness continued on forever. The elders' voices cramped in her head. Speaking all at once. “Shes just a child.” “You can’t” “Weak.” The Vorex had grown impatient and started walking. “Hey come back here.” Nuava shoved the elders' voices away And ran into the darkness. The tunnels she discovered weren’t all that dark. luminescent mushrooms framed the tunnel sides, allowing her to see just enough. The obsidian caverns were surprisingly quiet; she hadn’t seen another Vorex (except for Feather Butt).\n\n Ahead, the tunnel expanded outwards into a cavern.\n\n“Is this it?” She could barely keep the eagerness in her voice away. The Vorex let out a chirp. Nuava didn’t know how to interpret that.\n\nThe walls of the new cavern were chiseled away revealing the fine smooth stone underneath.\n\nThe walls were cast in a greenish glow, making the room look haunted. Cubbies were carved into the rock. Hundreds of them were all over the room. Each cubby held some foreign object. On the other side of the cave was another tunnel.\n\nShe absently wandered to the cubbies nearest her. It held a small jeweled dagger. She slid her fingers over the hilt. Feeling the cool metal. Jewels decorated the hilt. She held it up. It felt good in her hand. The weight was perfect. She practiced a couple of swings.\n\nShe Imagined herself on a battlefield. Her enemies fled before her as she tore down the battlefield. The elders smiled as she came home triumphant.\n\nFeather Butt caught her hand mid-swing. His eyes widened. He chittered at her. Nuava tilted her head. He waved frantically at the dagger to the cubbies and back again. His voice pitched upward when she still didn’t let go. “I get it you cocky bird.” Nuava jerked her hand from its grasp. She set the jeweled dagger back in its proper cubicle.\n\n“Ok, I stopped.” She placed her hands on her hips. “Show me where you hid the relic.”\n\nFeather Butt stared at her blankly. Nuava sighed. She gestured for the thing she wanted. Feather Butt nodded. He made his way to one of the cubbies and Nuava followed close behind.\n\nFeather Butt brought her to the other side of the cavern. These cubbies were small, dozens of small objects were crammed into the spaces. Most of them were useless objects. The Vorex hand hesitated around a cubby. Its eyes flicked to her, then back at the object.\n\n“Go on.” She motioned for it. The Vorex pulled out a small medanion. It shone gold in the light. Integert patterns were carved into the metal. Ancient text danced along the eagles. She stared at it in awe. The relic from the elders… Her hands shook as she took the item in her hands. She felt the smooth casing, it was unlike any material she had ever seen. The elders would have to see her now. She flipped it over. Feeling the smooth surface. And the delicate work of it. Her fingers slipped and the object fell out of them. It crashed onto the ground with a clatter. Panic gripped her. She scooped it up dusting the metal on her clothes. It was undamaged. She let out a sigh. “It’s fine. It just has extra weathering. Right?”\n\nThe Vorex stared at her in horror. It flexed its talons like it wanted to take the thing from her. Nuava tucked the object into her belt snuggly with her dagger.\n\n“Well, then I best get going,” Nuava said. She walked toward the tunnels. Feather Butt caught her arm. She stared at the scaly claws on her bicep then back at Feather Butt.\n\n“Look I can’t stay, I have to take this to my elders,” She shook him off. She started walking towards the tunnels again. Feather Butt stood in her way. “What are you doing? Move!” He didn’t. He kept glancing at the object in her belt and then back at her. No, not at her, behind her. She slowly turned around. “Stop.” The harsh raspy voice came from the other tunnel’s entrance. Ice crept up in her veins.\n\nAnother Vorex. Its feathers were molting, its back stooped in a hump. Golden ringlets decorated its feathers. It leaned heavily on its cane. The Vorexes elder. More Vorexes stood behind the old one. “Are, surrounded, stop.” “You talk?” she whirled around to Feather Butt. “You could talk this entire time?” “Understand little, language hard.” The elder Vorex's voice was raspy. It spoke slowly, its voice half rasp half chirp. “Knew, you would come.” “You didn’t. There's no way you could have, I didn’t tell anyone I was coming here.”\n\n“Your kind… would come… for medallion .” The old bird motioned with its clawed hand. More Vorex filled the room. Nuava crouched watching as they marched into the room. She stepped backward toward the other tunnel. She bumped into Feather Butt.\n\nNuava looked up.“You're not going to let me go either are you?” Feather Butt grabbed her dagger from her belt and threw it onto the floor.\n\n“Hey, that's mine!” More Vorex marched into the room. Nuava crouched at the ready.\n\nThe elder Vorex spoke again “Want peace, you stay. Be a-. \n\n\n\nWhat word?”\n\n“A hostage?”\n\n“No, trophy” “I think that's worse.” “Stay here… with others… good care for you.” Nuava looked around at the dusty objects. “Uhh no thanks.” “Then, will make, stay.” The Vorex lunged at her. She dove to the ground, rolling like her dad taught her. She was on her feet in an instant. Something glinted out of the corner of her eye. The jeweled dagger. A Vorex lunged at her. Its clawed talons dug into her skin. She gave it a sharp jab In the stomach. It reeled backward, letting out dry coughs.\n\nShe ran to the cubbies. Her hand curled around the dagger hilt. The familiar weight once again, in her palm. She twirled around brandishing the knife.\n\n“Ha, try to get me now!” The Vorex stopped. Their eyes now on the dagger.\n\n“Scared aren’t you?” She spun the dagger between her fingers. The Vorex’s eyes follow the movement. They didn’t advance farther but they didn’t back away either. They looked to the elder Vorex. Its eyes were on the dagger too.\n\n“Careful, priceless” It croaked.\n\nNuava stopped spinning the knife. They weren’t scared of her… Puzzle pieces slide together. The way Feather Butt had reacted when she threw the relic and how he had reacted with the dagger.\n\nShe held the dagger above the floor. Holding it between two fingers. Instantly the Vorex grew more tense as they backed away from her. Their eyes fixated on the dagger between her fingertips.\n\n“No drop, bad .” The elder voice was anxious.\n\n“So I shouldn’t do this?” Nuava let the dagger slip between her fingers. It crashed onto the floor, the careful inlaid jewels burst from the hilt skidding around the floor. Chaos ensued. Multiple Vorexs leaped for the falling dagger. Others scrambled for the jewels.\n\n“Break, priceless, enough, kill now.” the elder barked out something that sounded like a shrill bird call. The other Vortexes' heads snapped up. Talons reached for her. They all swarmed her all at once. Nuava grabbed another item from the cubbies. This one was a wooden box. The Vorex froze. “And what if something happened to this?”\n\n“Let go, now, priceless,” the elder's voice dipped into a growl. “will kill, no stay,\" “Not if I do this.” She tossed the box. It arched high over the vortex heads. They lunged for the small object as it fell through their talons. It bounced across the floor. The Vorex made a mad scramble to save it. Nuava threw something else. The Vorex dived. She grinned and turned back to the cubbies and began pulling everything out and tossing them over her shoulder. The Vorex scrambled for the items falling over themselves to catch them. Some items shattered upon impact. Others bounced and rolled.\n\n“Stop now.” Nuava jumped. The voice came right behind her ear. She spun. The elder Vorex stood right next to her. Nuava froze an object still in her hand. She held it up. But the elder was faster. Its claws wrapped around her wrist before she could move. They pressed on her wrist, freezing her fingers. “No, will not.” the elder's grip tightened. Pain shot down from her wrist. She felt the bones in her hand grind together.\n\n“Drop, now” Its grip loosened. She dropped the object. The elder snapped it out of the air faster than she could see. The Vorex put it safely back on the shelf but it didn’t loosen its grip. Instead, it twisted her arm. Nuava cried out. “Pay for damage,” Nuava gritted her teeth. She swung her leg out. Catching the old bird in the knees. It fell, hitting the ground in a pile of feathers. She staggered away. Her arm throbbed where the old Vorex had held it. The Vorex stopped grabbing for the fallen items. All eyes turned to her. Their beady eyes surrounded her.\n\n“Get her.” The elder Vorex croaked. Nuava bolted. The obsidian walls blurred past her.\n\nThe rough stone dug at her bare feet. The Vorex launched themselves after her. Talons scratch against stone. The tunnel split. Nuava hesitated, breathing heavily. Something flew past her ear. Nuava scrambled away. She bolted down the nearest tunnel. It looked the exact same as the one she had just left. The relic thumped painfully against her hip.\n\nMore Vorex appeared in the tunnel ahead of her. Nuava cursed and changed direction, she bolted through a tunnel to her right. The Vorex knew these caves far more than she did. Nuava stopped. The tunnel she had chosen led to a dead end. Light came from the ceiling. Silvery moonlight poured onto the floor.\n\nBird calls screamed from the tunnel behind her. She spun. The Vorex had reached her. Nuava ran for the skylight. If she jumped for it she could make it. Vorexs poured into the room. Claws grabbed her, pulling her back. She Kicked punching at the writhing masses all around her. There were too many. So many talons grabbing at her tearing at her skin.\n\nSuddenly they stopped. Their\n\nheads unanimously turned to something on the ground. Something gold. The elder's relic! It must have fallen as she was fighting. Nuava kneed her current captor in the groin. She dove for the relic.\n\nTalons raked across her back as she scrambled for the object. Feet kicked at her. Her hands wrapped around the relic. She lifted it triumphantly in the air. Everything stilled.\n\n“Not so tough now.”\n\nThe Vorex leaped after her. Apparently they decided it was not worth it.\n\nShe jumped. She grabbed onto the rim of the skylight. Her fingers gripped the hard rock.\n\nClaws grabbed at her legs. She screamed. Her grip loosened as she was dragged back towards the ground. There claws digging into her skin. The elders' words echoed in her head. “weak.” She kicked. The claws grabbing her loosened. Nuava pulled herself up. Sprawling onto the stony ground. She had gone into the heart of the beast and came out a warrior. She had done it. "
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The King of Stones"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Finn stricken the flint against the fire-steel until a small sparkle landed in the fire pit, starting the bonfire. As soon as the tiny ember hit the bunch of straws it lit up, roaring to life. When some warmth reached his face, he leaned back against the tree behind him, stretching his sore legs from the long journey. His eyelids growing heavy with sleep. It has been a long journey from Reinfield, his hometown.\n\nTwo years ago, he would have never imagined that he will find himself in the dark lands of Dún Na Gaar, looking for a stone that could change the fate of the world.\n\nIt was a day like many others, when he met that old cuckoo of a wizard.\n\nHe was working at his uncle’s crop, helping with the harvest. The air was dump and smelled of rain, while the last warm breath of summer breeze was taken away by the autumn’s chilly wind. He and his cousins had to work faster if they didn’t want to be caught in the upcoming down pour.\n\nThe last rays of sunset smeared the world in beautiful shades of copper and gold as the last haystacks were successfully piled on his uncle’s cart. Just in time before he felt the first teardrop falling from the sky on his forehead. He spurred the old ox with a light flick, when he saw something out the corner of his eye. There was an old man staggering at the edge of the woods. His thin body was wrapped in loose grey rags, a pointy hat, swaying on top of his head like a weathervane. He was walking slowly, gripping firmly his wooden staff as it was the only thing anchoring him to the ground, so the wind wouldn’t blow him away. When Finn saw the stranger, he sent his cousins back to the farm, while he went to check. But, by the time he reached him he noticed his bad state. “Sir. Are you ok?”\n\nThe man opened his mouth as to speak, stretching out a shaking hand, but before he could breathe a word, he slumped motionless on the road.\n\nFinn brought the poor man home laying him down in bed, while he fetched some food from his aunt.\n\nIt was already dark outside when the stranger woke up.\n\nFinn helped him straighten up on the bed, offering him a cup of fresh water and a warm bowl of soup. The man, who had been traveling for many days without food, gulped down everything at a shocking speed. When he finished, he thanked the boy and was ready to resume his travel. “But Sir, you are too tired to walk, and outside it’s pitch dark and storming.” The man laughed. “You are a good son, but there is no time, I must reach the capital before it’s too late.” “Late for what?” But the man didn’t reply. He jumped out the bed and steadied himself to leave. Just before he reached the door Finn brought him his staff and hat. By then he already realized by the clothing that it was not just any elder man, but a real wizard, and he knew very well to not talk back to a wizard.\n\nWhen Finn touched the wooden cane, it glowed of a pale blue light, and the stone embedded on its head, hummed to life, sparkling azure flames dancing from within.\n\nThe wizard stopped, giving him a long look. “Could it be…?” Finn looked at him in wander. “What is this?” The stranger plucked the stone from the staff and placed it inside the boy’s palm. It was cold at the touch, as it sent the boy’s hand prickling with its magic.\n\n“This is a Crackling Stone. Imbued with the power of the thunder and lightning. It awakes only in the presence of a Stone Whisperer.\" \n\nFinn’s head snapped up to stare at him. “What?? No! I am just the son of a farmer; I don’t even know what it means!”\n\n“It’s a rare talent, but nonetheless very valuable, especially in time of need like this.”\n\nFinn hesitated to look at the stone again, then he gave it back to the old man.\n\n“I think you have the wrong guy.” The wizard grabbed him by the shoulders and looked at him straight in the eyes. “Listen to me boy. I intended to go to the capital and choose someone among the bravest knights and protectors of the realm, but it is already too late!”\n\n“Too late for what?” “A grave disease is spreading from the north turning flesh to stone. Wizards from all realms have been creaking their heads to find a solution, but there is no cure. People are falling sick in great numbers from Turial to Venefeer. It has now reached Meadowfern.” “But Meadowfern it’s just few miles from here…” The young boy paled. “That’s why I need your help!” “But what can I do? I don’t know anything about magic or curses!” “There is only one thing that can stop the blight! You need to travel to Dún Na Gaar. There, in the underbelly of the tallest mountain there is a legendary stone. The Moonfire Opal. That’s the only thing that can stop the blight and turn back the stone to flesh! You can awake this crystal the same way you did with the Crackling Stone. You are the only one who can find it.” Finn jolted awake when he heard a twig snapping near him. The words of the wizards still echoing in his skull. He was so tired that he didn’t realize when he had dozed off, looking at the flames dancing in the pit. His traveling companion Kilmo was looking curiously at him, head cocked to the side.\n\n“Were you sleeping? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I brought back some dinner.” Kilmo, grinned proudly, swaying the two rabbits that he had just caught in the woods.\n\n“It’s fine, “Finn sighed. “I was just resting my eyes a bit.\" \n\nIt has already been two years since that mad wizard sent him on that quest, and the more time passed, the lesser was his hope to find the crystal.\n\nWhen he left his village only with an old bag and a rusty sword, the wizard told him that he would have been traveling to the capital to warn the king of the impending disaster, while he’d travel north. He never knew if the old man reached his destination or if the curse had already swiped out his village. But after all that time, there was not much hope for a different outcome.\n\n“If you are tired, I can take care of dinner while you rest. “Offered Kilmo setting his yellow eyes on the hares, a flick of forked tongue on his lips.\n\n“No way! Last time that you did that, there was no more dinner even before starting to cook.” Kilmo’s smirk turned quickly into a pout. “It’s not my fault if we ran out of food for so many days. I was hungry, you can’t blame me!”\n\nFinn gave him a dirty look but didn’t comment. He snatched the hares and the knife heading toward the creak to clean them. He had been traveling with that strange companion for a couple of months now, and there were still things that he couldn’t get used to. Kilmo was a kobold that he picked up along the way during his journey to Dún Na Gaar.\n\nKobolds are well known for their skills of shape shifting and trickery. In fact, Kilmo’s parents turned into humans to trick Finn into their shed, offering a place to rest during a night. But as soon as they’d capture him, they ripped off their human masks and showed their true colors. They were following the orders of the King of Stones, an evil Troll sovereign that ruled the lands of Dún Na Gaar. Finn tried to explain to them that he needed to find the Moonfire Opal to stop the blight and save his people. Yet the kobolds just laughed at his face and left him in the cage. But Kilmo was different from his parents, and when they went to sleep, he sneaked out helping Finn to escape. However, when his parent discovered them, they turned into vicious beasts and attack them.\n\nIt was a fierce fight, and they were so intoxicated by the King’s power that they were prepared to kill their own son to get to Finn. He had no choice but to kill them.\n\nKilmo was sad for the death of his parents, but he realized that their minds were twisted by the influence of the Troll King. Ultimately, he asked Finn if they could travel together as to find the evil King and kill him, freeing the creatures of the woods from his power.\n\nThe following day the two companions found a passage leading inside the fated mountain.\n\n“If the King of Stones takes control over my mind, you must kill me!” Cackled the kobold, but Finn shook his head discarding the thought.\n\nDeep growls echoed into the cave and the two steed themselves to fight. A group of kobolds and hobgoblins approached them. Their fangs shone wickedly under the light of the torches.\n\nFinn and Kilmo swung and slashed, but just as they felled their last enemy a new horde followed right after.\n\n“The King of Stones is not so powerful after all, if he hides behind his puppets of flesh! “Yowled Kilmo, fangs smeared with blood. “Oh, Great and Mighty King! Come out and face us, if you dare!”\n\nFinn was about to shut him off before he could doom them further with his bravado. But just as he finished the last sentence the monsters stopped, and they obediently paved aside, as someone approached from the rear.\n\nThere he was. The King of Stones. A large and mighty Troll, with dark green skin and yellow eyes bulging out of the sides of his massive head. He looked like a giant toad, walking on human legs. His shoulders were draped by a dark blue cloak, and on his head, it was seated the most opulent crown that Finn’s had ever seen. It looked so heavy with gold and gemstones, that only a head that large could hold its weight.\n\nBut it wasn’t the crown or the clothing that had caught Finn’s eye, but the thing clutched firmly in his right hand. A scepter of the finest silver and was topped with the most beautiful stone that he’d ever seen. Finn recognized it right away.\n\nThe Moonfire Opal was real, and it was in the hands of the King of Stones.\n\n“You think you’re so bold little kobold, just because you could escape my influence ‘till now?” croaked the King. His voice deep and rumbling like a thunderstorm.\n\nKilmo hissed, clutching his spear. But the King paid him no mind as he looked at Finn. “And you, human. What are you doing so far from home? Are you lost?” Kilmo flung himself at the King, teeth bared, his spear lunging at his throat. But with a sway of his webbed hand, the King murmured a spell, and Kilmo suddenly stopped in his tracks, dropping his weapon. “Kilmo?” Finn called. But the kobold was still. “Not so bold anymore.” Mocked the King Kilmo’s turned slowly to Finn, then he jumped, claws sweeping on Finn’s face.\n\nWhen he touched his left cheek, he winced. The left side of his face was raw and bloody. He stood up and ran toward his friend unsheathing his sword that clashed against his bared claws, bones scraping against metal. “Kilmo! Snap it out! I am not your enemy!” But the kobold growled pushing him back and lunging forward with fury. They fought for a long time. Hurting each other. The smell of blood soaked the air. Their pants and snarls mixed together. The monsters were still there watching them patiently.\n\n“Kilmo!” Finn yelled again “Please. I don’t want to hurt you!” \n\nThe King of Stones grew impatient, and he stepped forward branding his scepter. “Enough of this already. Kill him!” His voice thundered across the cave; an absolute order imposed with magic.\n\nWith a swift movement Kilmo kicked Finn that slammed against the wall. His sword slipped from his grasp rolling to the kobold’s feet. When Finn blinked, he saw the silver glimmer of his own sword pointed at his chest, his companion holding the weapon down at him. “Kilmo…” he called, as the kobold readied himself to strike “Even if you kill me, I will not hold it against you. You are my friend.”\n\nHis hand stopped, the tip of the blade just a breath from his chest. “Friend…” Kilmo repeated.\n\n“Yes. You are my friend. Nothing can change that, not even an evil spell.” “Spell… evil…” “What are you doing?! Finish him!” interjected the King Kilmo shook his head in pain, rationality crossing his gaze. He shuddered, every fiber in his body pulling against the spell. “No. I will not… be… your puppet!” And in a flash, he turned the sword to himself and stabbed deep into his chest. “No!!” Finn screamed flying to grab him before he fell. He pulled the weapon out, but blood came rushing in its stead.\n\nHe pressed his hands on the wounds, but the blood rippled out soaking his hands. “No” he gasped “It’s… fine.” “It’s not fine! You still need to avenge your parents! You can’t let it go when we are so close.” “I’m sorry Finn.” The monsters that were watching the battle up close looked at each other confused. One of them was bleeding but the human wasn’t cheering the felled monster, instead he was… crying?\n\nThen as that scene awoke something in them, they all turned to glare their King. It was his fault! Understanding the situation the King tried to save his face. He stomped his scepter to the ground, it’s metal reverberating across the rocky cave. The Opal shone on top of the scepter. It’s pale green and gold glimmer radiated in all the cave warming the skin of the monsters and Finn holding Kilmo, in the middle of the circle. \n\nWhen the Moonfire Opal brushed gently on Kilmo forehead, his skin turned grey and hard as stone. Before Finn could even realize, the kobold was a turned into a statue. After a moment the King turned toward his followers bowing slightly.\n\n“Fear not, because the life of this kobold was spared by my magic. Now he can rest, forever peacefully in the blessing of the King of Stones.” “It was you!” Finn hissed. “All this time, it was all your doing!” The King turned looking down at him. “Humans have always been a menace to these lands. It was only a matter of time before they reach here and take my Mountain.” “So, you set this curse, to wipe out humans.” “Don’t look at me like that. Your kind had always hunted and tortured mine. I only did that to preserve the peace of Dún Na Gaar.” “Turning your follower into empty husks and stones?!”\n\nAll the creatures were looking at Kilmo, snarling toward their King.\n\n“Foolish human! Do you think you can overthrow me with your sagacity? I am the power of the Mountain itself! I am Rowak, the King of Stones!” He rose high in all his presence and lowered his scepter on Finn’s head in a fatal blow. But Finn didn’t run, instead he stretched his hand to meet the Moonfire Opal. When his fingertips grazed it, they didn’t turn to stone, instead the Opal hummed, its high pitch vibrations ringing into the cave. Then, it shone as brightly as ever, until it burst, shattering in hundreds of pieces. The King crumbled on his knees, his face a mask of horror.\n\nAs the crystal exploded, it released a fine shimmering dust that covered Kilmo’s body, and then it flew out of the cave into the world.\n\nKilmo’s stone shell suddenly cracked open releasing him free. As he rose dusting the last crumbles from his shoulders, he found out that his wound was completely healed. He met Finn surprised gaze just to follow it to the King staring at them.\n\n“What have you done…” but his words died on his lips as Kilmo took his spear and plunged it deep into his heart.\n\nThe King of Stones fell on the ground without a sound. Its crown soaked in his own blood.\n\nRowak was defeated. The creatures of the forest were blinking confused, as the influence of the tyrant waned. They were finally free. Some of them were smiling, some of them crying. Few kobolds surrounded Kilmo, and they pull him up their shoulder screaming and cheering.\n\n“Kilmo the hero! Kilmo the savior! The King of Stones is dead! Kilmo our new King of the Mountain!”\n\nKilmo tried to tell them that Finn was the real hero, but the monsters couldn’t yet comprehend what had just happened.\n\nFinn didn’t mind. His gaze followed the dust of the Opal flying outside the cave dispelling the curse in the rest of the land. Finally, when Finn came back to his village he found his uncle, aunt and cousins all safe welcoming him back. And an unexpected guest. The wizard was waiting to escort him to the royal capital to be rewarded by the King himself as a hero of the land. The plague dissolved as a mysterious dust blown from town to town, awaking the victims from their stone’s coffins. And then the curse was lifted as if it was never there. From time-to-time Finn traveled to visit his friend Kilmo and told his sons and grandsons many stories about his kobold friend.\n\nAnd even after their death, the world remembered the story of their peculiar friendship, and how it brought the end of the King of Stones and healed the land from his curse. "
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The Magic Feathers of the Caburé"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Tajñí Lelé is a forest elf from the world of the Wichi-Mataco indigenous people, the most well-known and powerful, famous for his magical powers. He was called “Cabeza de Sajasta” (Sajasta Head) because of his curly, tangled hair, similar to the lichen that grows on the leaves of trees. He wore a green hat with two holes through which his pointed ears protruded, which moved in the direction of the sounds he heard. He had dark skin and long, hoof-like nails. He always carried an axe on his shoulder and a quiver full of poisoned arrows. When he walked, a cloud of horseflies, bees and wasps buzzed around his head. As part of his outfit, he wore a cháguar bag across his body, where he kept the katchá, the magic he used to fulfill his wishes and do his pranks that made him die of laughter. His behavior caused discomfort to the other inhabitants of the forest, who were already fed up with his jokes and pranks. Tajñí Lelé had three talismans, each with its own magic: The horn, an instrument with a reed that was placed inside the mouth and that, when moved skillfully with the fingers, resonated like a music box. It produced an enchanting melody, so beautiful that it hypnotized everyone who heard it. While playing the horn, Tajñí Lelé walked along the riverbank and the fish, along with all the aquatic creatures, including the frog family—the field frog, the burrowing toad, the dwarf frog, the tree frog, the stone-colored toad, the cururú toad, and many others—fell into a trance that made them jump over the water. The mischievous goblin then took advantage and caught them. Chilaj, the Owner of the River, was upset and very angry at the harm that the evil one was doing to his children. Another talisman was a round crystal stone that shone with shades of different colors. Tajñí Lelé liked to go out with it at night because in the thick darkness it shone like a star, attracting the curiosity of nocturnal animals and causing a commotion that woke everyone up. The mischievous goblin took the opportunity to catch the prey he wanted and laughed and made fun of the frightened and half-asleep animals. The Mothermount, who protected her children, went mad with fury against the goblin, throwing arrows of curses and stone fragments at him. A perfume made from the flowers of a plant called *roe's tongue* was Tajñí Lelé's other talisman. She made it using flowers and fruits from a vine whose leaves had a rough shape and texture similar to that animal's tongue. She kept her magic perfume in a tightly closed leather bag, and when she opened it, an intense fragrance escaped that filled the entire forest with its aroma. Women were the victims of this spell, as it impacted them. When they smelled it, they felt as if an arrow had hit them directly in the heart. It caused them a strange restlessness, a deep desire to cry and to love. As if in a dream, they began to follow the trail of the perfume that led to Tajñí Lelé. When they saw him, they gave in to his whims. This was the talisman of Love, of falling in love. The Owner of Love, Kosacaíl, did not know how to stop the blatant abuse of power that Tajñí Lelé exercised without measure. The atrocities committed by the cunning goblin put the inhabitants of the forest in a situation of conflict, so it was decided to call an assembly. No one missed the meeting, and after a long debate, they concluded that the only solution was to take away the three talismans that gave him his magical power. “Yes!” –they all said–, but how are we going to do it?”. They knew that Tajñí Lelé was evil and that he always carried his axe on his shoulder and his quiver full of poisoned arrows. Chustaj, the owl asked to speak: “I know Tajñí Lelé's customs, and I know the best time to steal the bag with the three talismans.” “And when is that time?” –asked an iguana, who was very upset because the evil goblin always woke her up during the best part of her sleep. “After eating, just before the Sun goes to sleep, he falls fast asleep in the hammock he has under a quebracho tree.” “But who can approach him so silently and softly like the flight of a feather so that he doesn't hear it?” asked a green frog who lived tormented by the music of Tajñí Lelé. “Me!” said raising one wing the caburé. -Ferruginous Pygmy Owl- “You?” asked everyone, because the little owl of prey was very unsociable and generally didn't participate in anything. “Yes! I'll steal the bag with the amulets!” he said. Everyone agreed, because there weren't many candidates for the task. The caburé watched Tajñí Lelé for several days, and one day, when he was sure that the goblin was sleeping soundly in his hammock, he flew towards him, grabbed with his beak the bag where he kept the three talismans and flew away until he disappeared into the endless sky. \n\nFearing that Tajñí Lelé would find him, he hid the three talismans among his feathers. On his right wing he placed the crystal ball that the goblin used to attract and hunt the forest animals. Around his neck he placed the musical horn that he used for fishing and in his left wing he hid the bag with the perfume of love. The cabureí or caburé is a small owl that lives in forested areas, particularly in the Chaco plains of Paraguay and Argentina, and is credited with supernatural powers. Some call it the “King of Birds.” It is a small bird, almost the size of a fist. Its legend says that with its song it summons all the birds of the forest, which come to its call, and from among them it chooses its victim. The Wichi-Mataco Indians believe that their feathers have “katcha,” magical powers, so they use them as talismans. To have luck in love, they take a feather from their left wing; for success in hunting, they take a feather from their right wing; and to fish, one from their neck. The Creoles also use their feathers as amulets to attract luck in gambling, work, war, and love."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The Legend Me"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The things of legends don’t feel mystical. Legends and myths are the jobs of bards and poets. To take the horrors of battle and romanticize them into stories for the masses. They make the putrid copper scent of death and the rotten taste of festering meat palatable as one drinks ale at an inn. Legends are stories crafted by the bard about actions from hands like mine.\n\nCalloused covered hands chose years of toil and work instead of chasing an impossible dream. My friends tested their metal, became pages or joined armies. They chased dreams of glory while I tilled soil, cobbled, and forged iron. If it could be pulled, hammered, lifted, or worked I did it. Worker Fae, they called me, not for magical means, but because of an energy and work ethic of our long-lived neighbors. I didn’t tire nor complain. With a Fae like focus, I worked and forged, molding my body and skill into something that could survive the quest I actually had planned.\n\nAt sixteen, my body wasn’t ready. Nor was my mind or spirit. Maybe it was wisdom that guided me, but as I trained and toiled my friends became fodder. Trialed by fire in a crucible of conflict and war that mostly brought death. Instead I tilled fields, and in turn learned horticulture. I discovered the secrets to harvest and absorbed the skills needed to survive the wild. I hunted with my elder farm hands and picked their brain for every piece of knowledge on plants and tracks.\n\nI forged steel not only to learn how to repair and sharpen, but to practice. Every foil and axe needed to be tested. Each one needed practice before being handed off. I absorbed everything my master smith had to teach. Every skill and technique a knight or soldier would share. I took every critique on my form and art; I honed my crafts and trained my skills. I learned to use a perfectly balanced weapon and how to get the most out of those that weren’t. I spent a decade working for others, so at twenty-six I could turn to my family and a quest to retrieve my ancestor’s pilfered blade. Tough jerky, wet nights, little sleep and less water are the realties of a quest. Companions come and go. Mercenary numbers come and go as your wealth swells and fades. Even with my decade of careful planning and with perfectly balanced blades, the best armor I could forge, and a pack full of supplies, I was woefully naïve of the realties that I would face.\n\nI always thought the journey would take years, but six never crossed my mind. I knew the weather would be hard, but until you have watched a flash flood wash away your camp and supplies, you can’t understand. I knew battles would be hard, but until your mount is cut out from under you, you don’t understand just how outmatched you are. How the roads less traveled are less traveled for a reason. That what goes bump in the night is kept out by the accumulation of hinderances. Guards are not knights and certainly not heroes. They are fodder. My friends who joined the force are a number to throw at enemies. The walls aren’t meant to be impenetrable, but are obstacles. The truth is the greatest warrior, unless protected by divinity or dark magic, can be felled by a single blade or wound. A wall disrupts the well-honed instincts of those trained in death. Waves of soldiers are a distraction that increases the chance that a lucky stab or even a deep cut can become a festering wound.\n\nThat is the truth. The unnaturally large number of hindrances keeps towns safe, especially when riches can be reaped from an untamed wild.\n\nThe wild is a harsh, unforgiving teacher, but I was a well-trained student versed in the skills to live and adapt. I found allies and food. Won battles and quested for treasures to fuel my travels to my ancestor’s legacy. I found friends, mercenaries, and even lovers. In the company of others, I honed my skills, saved and was saved. I worked for others, even when on a solo mission of my own.\n\nThat was the past. The last, because now I sleep alone around a pile of coals looking at the mountain of a doomed salvation. About a half day’s walk from here is a cave waiting for me to test my skills. Tempting me with a legacy to reclaim.\n\nLeaves crunch, because despite a flash of summer heat, fall is here. Years in the making, this moment has been delayed time and again. The leaves announce my approach, but I will not wait another winter for the element of surprise. Alas, that wasn’t to be.\n\nEach step, and twig snap, causes me to tense and squint. At the pinnacle of my journey, the crescendo of my third act, I stay ever vigilant, ready to act, because the truth is: “This is for me.”\n\nI speak the words into existence. A mantra I didn’t realize I needed.\n\n“This is for me.” I say it again, letting the energy rush through my veins like snow down a mountain. It consumes me, powers me, washes me in its light.\n\nThis is for me. My life hasn’t been, but this moment is. Retrieving this lost relic isn’t my family’s dream, because I was orphaned at thirteen. My stories of glory have already been written and shared by companions and bards whistling like birds in the air. Despite my skills with a blade and how well I prepared, this final part of the quest will never be shared.\n\nI’m not a poet or a bard, and this final stanza isn’t meant for legend or song. The sword forgotten to time may or may not be mine. Here, taking the first steps to the end of my quest, I smile with glee. Maybe death awaits, but I will greet it as me.\n\nI will greet it as me."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The Choice"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Star listened to the hum of the force field that held her prisoner, the soft blue light the only illumination in the cold, dark room. She let the tears she held back so tightly when the guard came around flow freely down her face. The tears the Special Forces commander shed were not of regret – she would have done it again if needed, but of betrayal by those who were supposed to be her friends broke her heart. People who said they loved her and that they would have her back always were nowhere to be found. Liars. She sat in prison for the past month for disobeying orders and helping her teammate – her brother – escape supposed justice. Nine was accused of myriad atrocities least of which was the attempted murder of his best friend. It turned out that the accusations leveled at him were false. A shapeshifter took his form and committed the crimes and the truth came to light when Star shot and killed it. She knew her brother would never do what they accused him of and she went to his aid. She thought their friends would feel the same. She thought that her boyfriend Lucien and most especially Nine’s girlfriend Lia would have come to help her find Nine and get to the truth. They came, but not the way she thought they would. The Special Forces team they belonged to, the Hunters, were part of the manhunt. She and her team were imprisoned, but their friends the Crimson Five helped them escape. Not only was she on the run, Star had to deal with finding her brother, but she had to do it before the Hunters did.\n\nThe teams found him at the same time. The Hunters would not back down, so Star had to do something she never thought she would have to do. She had to choose between her brother and the man she loved. Lucien would not relent, he had to obey orders.\n\nSo she shot him. She aimed so that the wound would not be fatal, but she knew when she pulled that trigger it would be all over between them. She and her team, the Pente Force, found the shapeshifter that took her brother prisoner and stole his form and Star killed it. They escaped to planet Zatoks so Nine could receive treatment for his injuries sustained while captive. The queen agreed to help Nine and shelter the rest of the team, but Star had to turn herself in and face her crimes. If she didn’t, Zatoks risked war with Earth. In the end, Star proved her brother innocent, but it cost her everything. \n\nMr. Sanderson, the head of Federation Defense, was so furious with her, he struck her in the face multiple times before throwing her in prison somewhere on a planet with a small outpost. No trial, no sentencing, just punishment and isolation as she was the only inmate in the prison. One piece of bologna between two pieces of stale bread was the only meal she got at first. Then cold soup, probably dumped right out of a can, was added as her supper. She hated the food of course, but she mostly hated the dark and the fact that no one came to see her. She guessed that Mr. Sanderson wanted her to think about her crime, but she could only play in her mind the betrayal of her boyfriend and his team. The sole person she saw was a prison guard that came to deliver her food. The guard wore a mask, but she knew it was the same man every time because after a while she knew his shape and the scent of his aftershave. He made no attempt to communicate, and she didn’t try to interact with him. She doubted he would talk to her if she tried. As she sat in her cell she heard footsteps coming up the hallway. Star wiped away the tears and listened hard. Those were not the footsteps of her regular guard. A knot formed in her stomach as she backed away from the force field that held her. The footsteps were heavy, so she knew it was a man, but the gait was all wrong. Her anxiety eased a little when she heard the spoon scraping against the metal food tray. If he was going to execute her, he certainly wouldn’t feed her first. She wondered where her guard was. The silhouette of a figure she didn’t recognize appeared at the door, shut off the force field, and placed the food tray on the floor. Star also heard an odd, delicate clink in addition to the metal tray placed on the floor. As the figure activated the force field, a small object glinted in the blue light. Without a word to her, the mysterious figure disappeared. Star found herself staring at a jeweled disc on the floor next to her soup.\n\nStar waited until the footsteps echoed in the distance before she moved toward the disc. She picked it up and squinted in the dim light. Upon closer inspection, the disc looked more like a golden compact encrusted with dozens of small clear, purple and light blue jewels. Right away she knew it was a communication device. She ran her fingers over the top and when she did so, she noticed that her thumb caught on an engraving on the bottom. She turned it over and traced the mark with her finger. She could barely see the crest, but knew by the feel of the shape who sent it to her and her heart sank. Devlon, heir to the Wardon Empire, sent her the communicator. Enemy to the Federation Chain of Life, the favorite son of Emperor Tozar was obsessed with her. Only a few months prior she barely escaped from him after he held her against her will for six months trying to make her his queen. Tears reappeared in her brown eyes. She hoped that it would have been one of her friends that wanted to communicate with her. The only one who wanted her was the last person in the Universe she wanted. She placed the device on her bed and went to eat her cold, lumpy soup. It was barely edible. As she ate, she gave a side glance in the direction of the small case and remembered all the delicious food Devlon had provided for her every day, even though she barely ate it. The fact that he knew she was in prison and was able to smuggle the device to her was unsettling. When she saw him last, he was screaming with rage as she made her getaway. What could he possibly want? Loneliness enveloped her. She physically shook her head trying to get rid of the feeling, but she kept thinking about the jewel case and decided to give in to her curiosity and relieve her unwanted solitude.\n\nShe left the small table and her disgusting soup and walked over to her bed and picked up the case. She turned it over with her fingers a couple of times, admiring the beautiful gems on the top with gold peeking in between. Devlon certainly had good taste. Finally, reluctantly, she opened the communicator. A small screen inside it came alive and Devlon’s face filled it. His demeanor seemed serene -- a far cry from the rage he exhibited at their last meeting. “Hello, Star,” he said in a smooth tone. He looked more Terran than Wardonese. He had a full head of dark brown hair, mustache and beard with fair skin, where Wardon men were typically bald with grey skin. If he wasn’t a psychopathic mass murderer, he would probably be considered handsome. Star only saw the evil and remembered the time she spent as his prisoner. “What do you want, Devlon,” she asked. Devlon shook his head slightly.\n\n“Traded one prison for another,” he said. “You should have stayed with me.” “I would never have stayed with you,” she said, bitterness creeping into her voice. “I certainly treated you better than Federation Defense has,” he remarked. “These are the people you have pledged allegiance to? I wouldn’t feed the swill they’ve been giving you to a farm animal.” “How do you know what they’re feeding me?” “I’ve had my spies keeping an eye on you since you were sent there,” said Devlon. “It’s criminal the way you are being treated.” Star stared at the screen, her face emotionless. \n\n“Why are you spying on me? Are you reveling in my misery?” The emperor’s son’s face grew serious. “I sent you the communicator because I want you back,” he said. “I can get you out of there. Tell me you will be my queen and I will bring you back to me.” Star gave out a nervous laugh. “Living in a cage with you gawking at me is not a life.” Devlon leaned in more, completely filling the small screen.\n\n“It wouldn’t be like that. You would be here of your own free will. There would be no cage. There would be fine clothes, jewels, the finest foods and drink. You would never have to pick up a laser again. You would be pampered beyond your wildest imagination. And you would be loved. They don’t love you, Star. You are only a tool to them.” Devlon’s words hit her hard, and she admonished herself because of it. Was she really talking to the son of her most hated enemy? Was she actually picturing the life he promised? What was wrong with her? “No,” she said. “I can’t go with you.” Devlon didn’t try to mask his disappointment. He leaned back a little in his chair.\n\n“Very well,” he said. “Keep the communicator. My offer still stands. You only need to press the green button on it and I come for you myself.”\n\nTheir conversation was over. The screen went blank. She was alone again. ### Ten days passed since Star communicated with Devlon. Her situation didn’t change. No visitors and poor food. She wondered how much longer Mr. Sanderson was going to punish her and what would happen once she got out? She didn’t know where her team was or whether or not Nine completely recovered.\n\nShe pulled Devlon’s communicator out from under her pillow like she had so many times since they last spoke, rubbing her thumb across the jewel-encrusted top. One press of a button and her life would change. She was so lonely, and she was tired of crying. She was tired of reliving all the scenarios of that day. She just wanted it all to go away. Star found her fingers in a position to open the box, but she stopped herself. If she opened that compact and called Devlon, she would never see her team again. But she had no idea if this punishment was a life sentence, so she may never see them again anyway. Star tried to shake off the growing temptation, but it didn’t look like anyone was coming for her. Maybe if she went with Devlon she could turn him to the side of Federation Defense. Maybe if she sacrificed herself Federation Defense could win the war. Star opened the communicator. Suddenly, she heard footsteps. Once again, it was not her usual guard. She heard two sets of footsteps, and they were running toward her cell. Star closed the communicator and put it in her pocket. She backed away from the cell as the footsteps got closer. She heard the heavy breathing of a young woman as the two figures stopped in front of the cell. “Here!” cried the woman. “She’s here.” Star recognized her friend Serena’s voice instantly. Marcus the Commander, of the Crimson Five, fiddled with the controls of the force field. After a moment, it vanished and they both rushed in, grabbed each arm and pulled her out of the cell. “Come on, we have to go!” instructed Marcus. Star let her be led from the cell. They passed her guard, who stood against the wall, mask still on, allowing them to pass. Star mouthed a thank you to him and the masked man nodded in her direction. “What’s going on?” asked Star as they ran out of the prison. “We’re getting you out of here,” said Marcus. “The Queen‘s been looking for you.” “She doesn’t think what Mr. Sanderson is doing is right and she’s willing to risk war to save you. She asked us to help her get you back.” “We’ve been looking for you for months, but then Queen said she couldn’t locate you. Some sort of jammer,” said Serena. Star stopped short, but Marcus grabbed her by the waist and carried her. \n\n“You can’t stop, Star, we only have a short window to get out of here.” “What kind of jammer?” asked Star. “Don’t know,” said Marcus. “It’s not ours. The Queen said she’s never encountered it before.” Star had. That was the jammer Devlon used to keep her team from finding her when he held her captive. It was all a lie. He tricked her. She almost fell for it. Had her friends not come in time, she would have been his prisoner forever. Marcus put Star down and they ran to the Crimson Five’s ship and escaped before Mr. Sanderson’s other forces could catch them. On the ship. Star laid in the bed in the infirmary and pulled out the communicator. Anger and a new sense of betrayal welled up inside her. “You almost had me,” she said to the communicator.\n\nShe decided to keep it. One day she would use it to turn the tables and trap him."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Magical Object"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The breath saws in and out of my lungs as I watch my foot step over the red rocks. The burn in my legs is pleasant, lowkey. My lungs feel strong, my body limber. God, I love hiking. The humid, sweet smelling wind gently washes over my sweaty forehead, bringing some blessed cooling relief. “Ellie! Did you want a picture of the tank?” Jordan yells back at me. His blond hair has been bobbing up and down the red dirt hills as we make our way down to lower sigua falls. He likes to run ahead and sprint up the tall hills and then back down them- a bit like my 6 year old cousin who can’t sit still. Jordan smiles that wide, white smile at me that crinkles his blue eyes. We’re hiking buddies, friends. Co-workers. I’m hoping for more but I’m pretty sure Jordan is pretending blissful ignorance to not hurt my feelings. It’s not working. I glance over at the rusted out husk of an old tank from the 40’s, when Japan occupied Guam during WWII. The Chamorros (the locals) underwent such horrors when the Japanese came. The tank, while kinda neat to look at- has always given me such an ominous, creepy feeling from it. I look back at Jordan who’s looking at me kind of impatiently now. “No, thanks. The first time was enough.” I pull out my water bottle as we come to a stop next to each other. “Aw Come on. The sky is such a neat back drop right now.” He cajoles. Jordan loves taking pictures, but gets bored without a subject in them. I look up at the ominous dark gray clouds that are rolling in on the horizon. They aren’t over us yet, but if they catch us when were down at lower sigua, getting up the muddy hill will be treacherous. Jordan raises his eyebrows at me expectantly. My stomach does that flutter thing as my face heats up (I hate blushingbut can’t control it) and of course I cave. I huff a bit and start climbing the dirt mound the tank laying sitting sideways on. As I settle on top of the tanks side, sitting crisscross to make the big sky behind me look even more dramatic against little ol’ me, I glance down at the inside. The clouds move overhead in the wind and the sun briefly flashes out, blinking off something metal just under the rusted edge of the tank that’s sitting in the red Guam dirt. “El, what..?” Jordan trails off as I carefully lower my upper body over the edge. At 5’9, I have arms juuuust long enough to grasp whatever it is. I grab what feels like a chain and pull a bit. It’s partially buried so I use the tips of my fingers to grab at clumps of dirt around it until its loose enough to come free. A very ugly, crusted chain is pulled up with very old dog tags attached. I peer closer at it, my excitement mounting. From World War 2? Jordan and I look at each other, dumbstruck, as I hold it up in front of me. Goosebumps cover my arms and legs. My hands are a bit shaky as I bring them closer to my face. The name seems to be a bit blurred out (dirt or rust I’m unsure just yet) but the year for date of birth is listed as 1915. It’s end of October in 2015, so this person would’ve been 100 years old this year. If they’re alive. I blink out of my thoughts as Jordan tries to take it from me. I pull my hand back. “No. I don’t want anyone touching it.” I don’t understand why. But the certainty settles deep in my stomach as Jordan’s eyes widen a bit incredulously. “I just want to look at-” He starts, “No.” I say, more firmly than normal. I put it in my camelback pocket. I need to keep it safe. There’s a niggling, confused feeling in the back of my head. I’m not very assertive normally. I don’t completely understand why but I know if I let Jordan hold the tags, he won’t give them back. They’re mine now. “Let’s go back to the car. It looks like that storm is going to be too vicious to be out here.” I say/demand. He looks at the clouds. “Nah, they’re too far just yet. We have time.” He starts off down the path, a bit faster than normal. HE avoids my eyes for a bit, annoyed. I stare after him for a second before my I look at the ground and start to follow. I trip a lot on hikes. The air is a bit strained those first few minutes as my mind wonders. Wanting to know who the tags belonged to, if he lived, and if these needed to be in a museum. The thought of handing the tags over makes my stomach clench uncomfortably. I found them, so I don’t think I’m going to give them up. After a bit, as we cross a creek and begin the final-steepest and muddiest descent into lower sigua waterfall. Jordan starts chatting away again, his earlier peevishness seemingly forgotten. He looks back and starts pointing out the most slippery parts to avoid, like he normally does. I’d say he does it to be a gentleman, but I think it’s more self defense because if I trip here I’ll fall on top of him (not something I’d dislike too much, honestly. But with where we’re at we’d tumble down this hill and break some bones at the least). As the roaring sound of the waterfall reaches my ears, I look up to see the sun shining through the jungle trees to bounce off the pool of water the falls collect into. I set my camelback on the big rocks that make up the edge of the plunge pool. It’s beautiful here, always, but the gray clouds lend a surreal quality to the day. My arm hair stands on end as I look around at the rippling water. Jordan, of course, heads straight to the rock wall the water falls over and begins to climb the slippery rock face. He always wants to jump off a ledge about half way up, but it’s a risky climb with rocks sticking out of the water below him. When he gets to the ledge there’s enough room to run jump out, but not until he’s there. I sit down on a large rock sticking out of the small stream that leads into the plunge pool and pull out my snack of beef jerky and the dog tags. My legs feel like noodles. As I chew, I rub my thumb over the flat of the tags to start wiping away 75 years’ worth of grime. I wonder about the soldier it belonged to, who he was, if he had a family that grieved him. My mind turns to my family, half a world away in Texas. I joined the Navy to see the world, to discover myself. It’s exciting but also incredibly lonely sometimes. The roaring of the waterfall fills my ears as my eyes focus down on the tarnished metal. A tingling in my fingertips starts to vibrate down my arm. It spreads across my whole body as I raise my eyes to where Jordan is on the rock wall. He’s just a few more steps away from the ledge. The vibrating spreads across my chest, my collar bone, chest, down my stomach and legs. My eyes seem to narrow and sharpen on Jordan. A large cracking sound fills the lower valley. It echos around us, making the air feel heavier. Jordan startles and looks up just as a huge boulder detaches itself from the rock face above him. I stand and scream out for him to jump, but it smashes into Jordan’s head before the first syllable leaves my lips, caving his skull in with a crunching sound. His body falls with the boulder and the smaller rocks raining down around it, splashing into the water. Jordan’s body goes under with the largest boulder on top of him. My breathing lunges in and out of my lungs as I stare in disbelief. …I don’t know how long I watch the rippling waves before my tunnel vision seems to waver. The air around me wavers and becomes quiet once again. MY attention is drawn back into myself as the vibrating seems to get stronger. It’s similar to how your body shakes dut]ring takoff on an airplane. The feeling reverses it’s course and lessens in my feet first, then up my legs, stomach, chest, collar bone, and across both arms. Suddenly, I’m sitting on the rock again, with the taste of jerky in my mouth and Jordan at the rock wall, about to pull himself up to that first step. My mind clicks the impossible together faster than I’d think. I don’t know if I just traveled back in time or if it simply gave me a glimpse of the future, but somehow I’m certain the Dog tags clutched in my now sweaty palm just showed me what was about to happen. “Jordan!” I yell in a complete panic, jumping to my feet for the second time. He looks sharply over at me. “Yeah?” He asks. I open my mouth to explain… but he won’t believe me. It sounds ridiculous. It’s insane. I look around confused about what to do next. I know deep in my bones what just happened was real. I lived it. So, I do the next best thing I can. I grab my ankle and start crying crocodile tears I perfected when I was younger. “I twisted my ankle! Oh god it hurts so bad.” I grab it and start hopping around. I just need to keep him away from the wall in time to see the boulder break off, and then we’ll be able to leave. Otherwise he’ll insist on jumping at least once before we leave. Jordan comes over to check it out. My mind is spinning as he checks it over, moving my ankle this way and that and asking questions. I watch the wall, waiting for the telltale crack. I keep looking over and drinking in Jordan’s features to make sure he’s really still here, and then looking at the rock wall in fear, terrified. I know I’m acting pretty out of it. Jordan seems to be getting irritated. He can tell I’m not really hurt. “What’s going on here Ellie?” He asks sharply. I pull my gaze away from the waterfall, still seeing the vision of his head caving in on repeat. I think I have PTSD. I start to really shake, from adrenaline? Shock? I look over at him to lie again when that same crack crashes through us. I flinch as we watch the deadly boulder break off- again- and fall beneath the tumbling water. Much faster this time, it seems. “Omigod!” Jordan stares at it with wide eyes. “ Omigod- Omigod I would’ve been on that wall in 2 minutes!” He looks over at me, his blue eyes wide and a little excited. Like he just escaped something. I just stare at him, scared. This isn’t neat. This isn’t fun. He really died. His HEAD CAVED IN. “I think we really should head back now.” I grab my pack and begin the climb back, my hand clutching the dog tags the entire way. One thought keeps circling my mind on the way back, both of us quiet and lost in our own thoughts. They’re magic. They can let me live a future briefly, and then come back to a moment in time to change something essential. I squeeze my hand around the metal as rain begins to fall into our eyes. My car comes into view through the trees. I have magical, life-saving dog tags."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Remember"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "She couldn’t remember how she got there. All she knew was that she was sore and hungry and tired. She closed her eyes for a moment to try and remember. It didn’t seem to help. When she opened them, she looked around hoping to find some clue as to what might have happened. She was sitting in the sand on a beach. The wind was blowing, and the moon was in the sky above her. The area was deserted, which seemed reasonable since it appeared to be the middle of the night. The sandy beach appeared to stretch for miles in either direction.\n\nThe last thing she could remember was meeting someone for breakfast in a small café in a small town called Salem, Ohio. Now it appeared that she had lost more than twelve hours of time and been transported somewhere along the coast of Florida.\n\nHer name was Jasmine, and she was a pretty girl of about 25. She had long black hair and startling blue eyes.\n\nJasmine had decided to take a chance and meet up with someone that she had been talking to on one of the many dating sites that had become so popular.\n\nNow she couldn’t help but wonder if the person she was supposed to meet was responsible for where she was now or if something else had happened. She decided that it obviously wasn’t helping any to sit there wondering. So, she decided to get up and look around a bit. She was fully dressed wearing a black sweater and a pair of jeans. However, her shoes were missing so that now she was barefoot. She did not have her purse or her phone anywhere that she could find. Once she stood up and turned around, she could see that she was in front of one of the many hotels located in the area. She slowly limped towards the entrance. She didn’t have any injuries that she could see, but her whole body ached like she had been run over by a train. She made her way to the front desk and asked the young clerk if he recognized her and also if she was registered there at the hotel. While he was checking, she looked around the lobby hoping to stir some kind of memory.\n\nUnfortunately, there was no whisper of a memory, and the clerk could not find her registered on the computer. So, then she asked if she could use the phone to call someone. Jasmine placed a call to her sister Sari. Her sister picked up immediately, demanding to know where she was. According to the clerk she was at New Smyrna beach. Sari wanted to know how she had gotten there but Jasmine was still clueless. She was also very hungry and tired. She asked if her sister could help her. She did not have her ID or credit cards, so she was pretty much stranded.\n\nHer sister Sari told her that she had a friend in the area that might be able to help her. She would give them a call to see if they could come pick her up. While Jasmine was waiting, she decided to go back outside and explore the area that she first came awake. She could tell where she had been sitting because the sand had been disturbed. She started by filtering the sand through her fingers. She suddenly felt something. It looked like a necklace with a big stone on it. As she looked at the stone, everything seemed to come into focus. It felt like the world had been spinning around her and now it was standing still. She remembered everything. She had gone to the café to meet the gentleman she had been talking to on the dating site. However, when she got there the person she was expecting wasn’t there. Instead, there was a complete stranger waiting for her. He was an older man who carried an air of elegance with him. He appeared tall and strong with silver hair. He waved her over to sit with him. At first, she was tempted to simply walk right back out. However, she was overcome by a sense of curiosity and figured that she should be safe enough in the crowed café. As she sat, the gentleman introduced himself as Latimer. He apologized for the subterfuge but stated that he had been searching for a way to set up a meeting with her. He had something special to give her. He said that it had belonged to her mother.\n\nFor a moment she was overcome with sadness, because her mother had died a long time ago. She wasn’t sure if she could believe him, but she couldn’t resist finding out what it was. As she waited, he pulled a beautiful necklace out of his pocket. On a silver chain, there rested a huge emerald.\n\nAs she looked at the emerald, the world started to spin and went dark. Next thing she knew she woke up on the beach with no shoes, purse or phone. The memories seemed to rush over her like an avalanche. She knew that she must discover exactly who Latimer was and how this necklace seemed to have transported her in both time and place.\n\nShe decided to wrap the necklace in some paper and place it in her pocket hoping that would keep it from moving her again. When she walked back to the hotel her sister’s friend Kevin was waiting for her. He appeared to be about the same age as she was with shaggy blond hair and greyish blue eyes. He seemed startled upon first seeing her. Of course, that was probably because she looked just like her twin Sari.\n\nBecause Sari had explained the situation as well as she could he had brought a pair of flip flops with him, hoping that they might be acceptable. Jasmine was quite grateful. She felt like her whole world had been turned upside down. His willingness to help her made her want to cry.\n\nThe two of them went to a fast-food restaurant and grabbed a couple of burgers. She thought she had never tasted anything so good. As they sat there, she explained to Kevin everything she remembered. Jasmine expected him to laugh and call her crazy. Instead, he just sat there like he was flabbergasted. He stated that he heard of a necklace that could do that, but he thought it was just a myth. Jasmine decided to call her sister up again and ask her if she had ever heard of the necklace or of the gentleman named Latimer. Sari couldn’t remember anything. When their mother died, she had left a box of letters that the sisters had never had the heart to go through. Sari said that she would go through them and see if there was anything referring either to the necklace or the strange man. Kevin suggested that maybe there was a reason that the necklace had brought her to this beach. He had grown up hearing about mysterious appearances and disappearances in the area. In the stories there was always a necklace that was referred to. For the night, they agreed that for the night, she would stay on the couch in his apartment and in the morning, they would look on his computer to start a search. Afterall it was getting close to midnight and Jasmine was exhausted. She may have been flung from one place and time in an instant, but it felt like she had run a marathon. The next morning, Jasmine woke to the smell of bacon cooking. The aroma started a grumbling in her stomach. She stretched and then got up to discover where the aroma came from. Kevin was in the kitchen fixing bacon and eggs. She couldn’t help but ask him how he managed to stay single when he was so good in the kitchen and so willing to help out a stranger. He just laughed and said that he would do anything for a friend. Once they had eaten the delicious breakfast, they headed over to his office to get to work on the computer. Unlike the rest of his apartment, it was a little messy with books and papers lying everywhere.\n\nJasmine asked him what he did for a living. Kevin confessed that he was a history professor at the local college. She couldn’t believe her ears. He definitely didn’t look like any professor she had ever known. First, they searched the history of the place for stories of the mysterious appearances and disappearances he had mentioned. She was surprised at how many stories there were that came up. Several of them even mentioned a strange emerald necklace. However, it appeared that they had been treated as tall tales. She wondered what the origin of the necklace was and why it seemed to be centered in New Smyrna. While they were working on the computer, Kevin’s phone rang. When he saw that it was Sari, he put it on speaker and let her know that Jasmine was listening. Sari told them that she hadn’t had much luck going through their mom’s old letters. However, Latimer, the gentleman that met Jasmine at the café, had contacted her. Evidently, he found her number in Jasmine’s phone. He explained to her how Jasmine had disappeared just as he was about to tell her the story behind the necklace. She left everything behind including her shoes. He requested her help to try and find her. They weren’t sure if they could trust him, but at this point it seemed like he was the only one who had any answers. Sari gave them Latimer’s contact information and then she said that she was going to get on a flight and come down to New Smyrna. It seemed like that was the best place to find any answers. Everyone was in agreement to this. After hanging up with Sari, Kevin called Latimer and again placed the phone on speaker. Jasmine explained to Latimer how she had found herself on the beach. Latimer then suggested that he also take a flight to New Smyrna and meet them. They reluctantly agreed to this. After all it seemed like it was the only way they would get any answers.\n\nThe next day, they all met at the restaurant attached to the hotel that Jasmine had first found herself in front of. Jasmine was extremely nervous and anxious while they waited for Latimer to show. She was worried that something else might happen with the necklace before they figured out what was going on. Strangely enough when Latimer walked in, he did not inspire a feeling of fear. Rather she felt relaxed for the first time since she had woken up on the beach. Once all of them were seated, including Sari, Latimer told them that he had a strange story to tell. He said that up until he met with Jasmine, he had not been sure of whether it was even true or not. Now he did not have any doubts. It seems that long ago, before Florida had been settled by the Spanish, there arrived a ship to the shores of new Smyrna. It carried a young couple who escaped from pirates. They brought with them some of the loot that had been carried by the pirates. Among this was an emerald necklace. Once they landed on the shore, they had no way of returning home because the small boat they arrived in was wrecked. They were able to trade most of the loot with the Indians that were currently in the area, to help them survive. However, they held on to the emerald necklace.\n\nAt the time, the necklace did not appear to have magical powers. However, over time as it passed from one generation to the other strange stories were told of people disappearing or reappearing with the necklace.\n\nAs it happens Jasmine and Sari were the last descendants of the couple that had landed on that shore. Somehow, the necklace had become misplaced over time.\n\nLatimer’s theory was that when it recognized Jasmine, it transported her to what it considered home. He said that since he had come across the necklace in an estate sale he had been researching and attempting to find descendants of the first true owners. The sisters decided to keep the necklace in a safe place and continue to research it’s past as much as possible along with the help of Latimer and Kevin. Who knows what adventures might follow them. "
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Jack Lost It"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "BREAKING NEWS: Martha Clayborne, head of the NIAID, has extended the stay at home order. Today marks the third straight year of nationwide lockdowns. Ms. Clayborne is under fire recently for her involvement in the KEL Clinics scandal. Experts say… It’s been three months and Jack was still unable to find the remote control for his TV. It’s been running nonstop. The TV itself had no buttons – something to do with modern design. It was stuck on the same channel at the same volume. Jack tried unplugging the TV once but it caused his apartment to lose electricity for hours until the maintenance worker could turn it back on.\n\nEveryday was mostly the same as the day before except for Thursdays. Jack had subscribed to LOOT!, a service that would send the customer a box of random items (referred to as treasure), for a monthly fee.\n\nJack was awoken by a sharp knock at the door.\n\n“It’s here early,” Jack said to himself as he waited for the shadow under the door to disappear, signaling it was safe to secure the package.\n\nJack opened the door and grabbed the box which he turned on its side to avoid opening the door too wide. He placed the box on the kitchen counter, cutting the tape down the middle with a sharp knife. A note was laid on top of the items.\n\nDear valued customer, Thank you for your continued support. Please enjoy this month’s LOOT! You will find this month to be especially full of the types of treasure you’ve come to expect from us. Redeem this coupon for 40% off your next month’s subscription. Inside the box, Jack pulled out a cup shaped like a frog, a pair of small binoculars, and a pirate made of felt. At the bottom of the box, was a large cat onesie which Jack unfolded in front of him. “This is the best one yet” Jack mumbled to himself.\n\nJack spent the evening in his cat onesie watching reruns of old sitcoms. Every so often, Jack would have an idea of where the remote might be. Usually some obscure place he hasn’t looked before – or had forgotten he looked.\n\nIt was around 10:00 pm. Jack had fallen asleep on the couch. He woke up to go to the kitchen for a drink of water. He picked up the binoculars lying on the counter. There was a sticker on the side of the binoculars with a cartoon ghost. It read: NIGHT VISION\n\nJack, wanting to test the validity of his night vision binoculars, opened his apartment window and stood at the end of the small balcony.\n\n“They actually work,” he thought.\n\nJack aimed the binoculars at the window of an apartment across from his. Someone else was looking back at him. A man in a dog onesie with the same binoculars. The man lowered his binoculars and nodded in Jack’s direction. The man got on all fours like an animal and walked into the black of his apartment.\n\n“Why did I have to get the cat onesie?” Jack thought. A large pounding at Jack’s front door woke him in the middle of the night. He could see a shadow underneath the door. Jack hoped if he was silent and didn’t turn on any lights that whoever was at the door would leave.\n\n“I know you’re in there I can hear the TV” the voice said from behind the door. “You’re looking for your remote, right?” the voice continued.\n\nJack shifted closer to the door.\n\n“You have my remote?” Where is it?”\n\n“We can’t talk here, it's not safe” the voice said.\n\n“Safe? There’s no one else here. Who are you?” “Meet me in the alley. You’ll have your remote back soon.” “The alley? What alley?” Jack said.\n\n“The one on your map. You're one of us now; I have to go”.\n\nThe shadow underneath the door disappeared. Jack went to the kitchen and flipped on the light. He searched through the box, taking it completely apart. He checked the pockets of his onesie – nothing, no map.\n\nHe picked up the pirate made of finely matted felt. In the pirate’s hand was a piece of brown paper. Jack took the paper, unfolding it into a map many times its original size. It was a pirate map with red lines and an X. The map, Jack quickly discovered, was a map of his city. The X marked an area behind an apartment building just a few blocks away.\n\n“This must be it,” Jack thought. “This is where the man behind the door wanted me to go.” With some hesitation, Jack left his apartment for the first time in months; sneaking out in his cat onesie. If he was caught he would be fined and possibly thrown in jail.\n\nJack followed the map of red lines to the alley where the X was marked making sure to stay off the main streets.\n\n“Psst over here” said a figure leaning against the wall. Jack couldn’t see the figure but the shadow of the figure’s ear was imprinted on the damp concrete where they stood. It was the ear of a dog. “Hello?” said Jack. “Why are you here?” the figure asked.\n\n“Well…you said you had my remote and I was –” “Why are you speaking English? I can’t understand you.” The figure interrupted.\n\n“What do you mean? You’re speaking English – I can understand you.” Said Jack. “You’ll have to use your voice,” said the figure. “My voice? What do you -” “You’re a cat,” The figure said sharply. “So, what? You want me to sound like a cat?” “I can’t understand you.” Jack scoffed. “This is ridiculous. I’m going home”. Jack turned and started back the way he came. The figure barked. The echoes rang through the silent streets. They both were at risk of being caught. “Okay, okay…Meow?” Said Jack. “Well why didn’t you say so” said the figure. “Follow me.” The figure leads Jack to an abandoned building not far from the alley where they met. They climbed a few flights of stairs until they happened upon a crawl space. Jack and the figure squeezed through the small space in the wall.\n\nThe pair crawled for a few minutes in pitch black. “Where are we going?” Jack said, not expecting an answer. “We’re here,” said the figure. The pair arrived at the end of the tunnel to an area draped with strobe lights and blankets and sheets overhead that created a large tent. Lining the inside of the tent were bleachers filled with people in onesies of various animals. Everyone was staring at Jack.\n\nA woman in a squirrel onesie approached Jack and the man in a dog onesie, handing the man an item. “What is this place?” Jack asked. “Who are all these people?” The dog said nothing, handing Jack the item. “What’s this?” Said Jack “Your remote,” said the dog. “My remote…Why do you have it?” “We don’t know.” “And why is there one button left on it?” “We removed the ones that didn’t work.” “Why haven’t you pushed this one?” said Jack “We don’t know what will happen,” said the dog. “Happen?”\n\nThe dog nodded. “You want me to push it?” Said Jack. “That’s why you’re here,” said the dog.\n\nJack looked to the crowd and back at the remote. He hovered his shivering finger over the last button before pushing down on it; holding it there for a few seconds. The crowd looked around at each other waiting for something to happen. The crowd let out a moan of disappointment as they began to leave. “Was that it? Was something supposed to happen? Why is everyone leaving”? Said Jack. “We thought you were the one” Said the dog, hanging his head as he followed the crowd out. Jack crawled alone through the dark tunnel, down the flight of stairs, and through the alley. He arrived home where everything was how he left it. He plopped down on his couch in front of the TV. He pulled the remote from his pocket and hovered his finger over the last button."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Fear the Crimson Tear"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "In the dimly lit corner of a bustling New York City tavern, a young man named Henry Gilbert nursed a pint of ale with a look of quiet resignation etched into his gaunt features. His eyes, once lively with the excitement of academic discovery, now bore the weight of defeat and despair. His frayed shirt and disheveled hair spoke volumes of his recent misfortune, a stark contrast to the well-dressed patrons who chuckled and clinked glasses nearby. A linguist by trade, Henry had once held a prestigious position at the local university, his office lined with the tomes of forgotten languages and ancient texts. But a series of unfavorable reviews and a scandal involving a stolen manuscript had left him penniless and unemployed, a shadow of his former self. The tavern door creaked open, allowing a shaft of light to pierce through the smoke-filled room. A tall, impeccably dressed man with a top hat and monocle stepped in, his gaze scanning the patrons before settling on Henry. The man's attire was out of place in the working-class establishment, a clear indication of his wealth and status. He approached Henry with a confident stride, his leather boots echoing on the wooden floorboards. The British accent was unmistakable. \"Mr. Gilbert?\" he inquired, his voice a blend of refinement and curiosity. Henry looked up, his eyes narrowing as he sized up the stranger. \"Who's asking?\" The man offered a courteous smile, revealing a set of perfectly straight teeth. \"I am Lord Nathaniel Winston Fairchild, and I believe I have an offer that may pique your interest, given your... current circumstances.\" He gestured to the empty chair across from Henry, who grudgingly nodded for him to sit. \"I've been told you carry a strong passion for ancient languages,\" Lord Fairchild began, leaning in slightly. \"I need someone with your particular set of skills for an expedition of sorts.\" Henry's curiosity piqued, he took a tentative sip of his ale. \"What kind of expedition?\" Lord Fairchild leaned closer, his eyes glinting with excitement. \"To find the mythical Crimson Tear, Mr. Gilbert. An ancient artifact rumored to draw its immense power from the stars. I've gathered a team of experts, each with their own unique talents, and we're heading to South America to retrieve the Tear before it falls into the wrong hands.\" The mention of the Crimson Tear sent a shiver down Henry's spine. He had read about the legendary artifact in dusty tomes during his time at the university. Supposedly, it had been lost to the sands of time, but here was a man claiming not only to know its whereabouts but also willing to pay for its retrieval. \"What makes you think I'd be interested in chasing after some myth?\" Henry asked, trying to keep his voice steady. Lord Fairchild's smile grew more pronounced. \"Ah, but it's not just any myth, Mr. Gilbert. The Crimson Tear is the key to unlocking an era of unparalleled knowledge. The power it holds could change the course of human understanding, and potentially, the world itself. And as for your compensation,\" he slid an envelope across the table, \"I believe this will cover your immediate needs and then some.\" The weight of the envelope was substantial, and Henry felt his heart race as he opened it to reveal a generous sum of money. A very generous sum at that. It was more than enough to pay his rent and clear any debts he'd accrued while out of commission. He glanced up at the aristocrat, his curiosity now warring with suspicion. \"What's the catch?\" \"There's always one, isn't there?\" Lord Fairchild's smile never wavered. \"The journey will be perilous, fraught with danger and uncertainty. And there's the matter of the competition.\" \"Competition?\" Henry's eyebrows shot up. \"Indeed,\" Lord Fairchild nodded gravely. \"A band of mercenaries with less than noble intentions. They seek the Tear for its power, to conquer and subjugate. We cannot let such a fate befall it.\" The gravity of the situation began to sink in as Henry felt the coarse paper of the envelope between his fingers. The thought of escaping his dire circumstances with an adventure that could rewrite history was tantalizing. He had always been drawn to the thrill of discovery, and this quest was the stuff of legends. But the shadow of doubt lingered. \"And this team of yours?\" Henry asked, his voice low and measured. \"Who are they?\" \"Ah, a wise question,\" Lord Fairchild replied, his eyes still twinkling excitedly. \"There's Miss Elena Castillo, a documentarian with a sharp eye and an even sharper tongue. She's there to record our findings for posterity.\" He leaned back in his chair and took a sip from his own drink, a whiskey that smelled of peat and distant lands. \"Then there's Monsieur Jean-Baptiste LeRoux, a man of the wilds. A game hunter, if you will, who knows the jungles like the back of his hand. His skills will be invaluable in navigating the treacherous terrain.\" \"And the others?\" Henry pressed, feeling the suspense like a weighted blanket. Lord Fairchild's expression grew more solemn. \"Miss Castillo will be accompanied by Dr. Abigail Hartwell, a physician of considerable renown. She's there to ensure everyone's safety, and I suspect she'll have more than her fair share of patients on this journey.\" His gaze grew distant for a moment, as if contemplating the dangers that lay ahead. \"Then there's Mr. Silas Crow, a Hoodoo mystic from the Louisiana bayou. His knowledge of ancient rites and his... unconventional methods might just be the edge we need to secure the Tear.\" The room fell quiet as the weight of their mission settled over them. Henry took a deep breath, the smell of stale beer and tobacco mixing with the eagerness that now bubbled within him. \"Alright,\" he said, his voice firm. \"I'm in.\" Lord Fairchild's smile broadened, and he stood up, extending a hand. \"Excellent. We leave for Brazil tomorrow at dawn.\" The following morning, the cold, grey light of daybreak revealed the SS Avalon, a sleek, iron-hulled steamer docked at the pier. The ship's marvelous grandeur stood out against the dilapidated wharf that encircled it, and Henry couldn't help but feel a mix of elation and trepidation as he boarded. The plank beneath his feet was slick with dew, and the salty sea air filled his lungs as he took his first steps onto the vessel. The deck was a flurry of activity, with sailors shouting orders and securing ropes. Henry made his way to the cabin that had been reserved for him, his luggage clutched tightly to his chest. Inside, he found it surprisingly luxurious for a ship that would be taking them into the uncharted wilderness. It was clear that Lord Fairchild had spared no expense for their journey. As the sun climbed higher in the sky, Henry was summoned to the main salon for introductions. The room was filled with ornate wooden furniture and velvet curtains that swayed gently in the breeze from the open portholes. The other four team members, whom Lord Fairchild had mentioned to Henry the day before, were already there, waiting for Henry with a mix of interest and wariness. Mr. Silas Crow had a tall and thin physique, his skin a russet, reddish brown, and deep-set eyes that peered right through Henry. He was dressed in a tattered waistcoat over a white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal ink-marked forearms that spoke of his acclaimed Hoodoo heritage. He offered Henry a firm handshake and a knowing nod, as if acknowledging the gravity of the journey they were about to undertake. Miss Elena Castillo, on the other hand, was a petite but fiery-spirited woman with an unwavering gaze that surveyed the room, assessing everyone and everything with a journalist's keen eye. She wore a sensible traveling ensemble of trousers and a blouse, her hair tied back in a tight bun that spoke of practicality rather than vanity. \"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Gilbert,\" she said, her accent a rich blend of Spanish and English. \"I've been looking forward to this adventure for quite some time.\" Dr. Abigail Hartwell was a woman of stoic poise, with a no-nonsense air about her. Her medical bag was never far from her side, and she looked as if she could handle anything the jungle threw at them. She offered a curt nod in greeting, her eyes appraising Henry with a hint of skepticism. Monsieur Jean-Baptiste LeRoux, however, was a boisterous character. He slapped Henry on the back with a grin that revealed a gold tooth. \"Ah, the linguist! We shall need your clever tongue to charm the snakes and savages, non?\" His French accent was thick, but his English was fluent, peppered with the occasional Spanish word that suggested he had spent considerable time in the lands they were heading towards. The four of them stood silently for a moment, sizing each other up. The cabin was filled with a tension that was only slightly alleviated by Lord Fairchild's grand entrance. \"Gentlemen, Miss Castillo, Dr. Hartwell,\" he announced with a flourish, \"our journey begins!\" The SS Avalon chugged out to sea, leaving the grey skyline of New York City behind. As the days turned into weeks, the team grew accustomed to the rhythm of the ship. They studied ancient texts, shared stories of their past, and honed their skills in preparation for what lay ahead. Yet, as they drew closer to the shores of Brazil, an eerie feeling began to settle over the crew and passengers alike. One evening, as the sun set and cast the horizon in shades of blood and gold, a lookout spotted another ship on the horizon. It was gaining on them, a black silhouette with tattered sails that seemed to eat the light. A tension gripped the Avalon as the news spread. The rival expedition had found their trail. The race for the Crimson Tear was on. The captain called for an emergency meeting in the cramped map room, his face grim. \"We've been spotted,\" he said, pointing to a spot on the chart. \"They're a fast one, that's for sure. We can't outrun 'em, but we can outsmart 'em.\" Silas Crow stepped forward, his eyes gleaming. \"I can help,\" he offered, his voice a low rumble. \"My people have ways of navigating the unseen world. I can summon a fog so thick it'll blind 'em, send 'em off course.\" The others exchanged doubtful glances, but desperation painted their expressions. \"Do it,\" Lord Fairchild said with a nod. Silas retreated to the foredeck, his Hoodoo talismans clinking together as he moved with purpose. He spread his arms wide, chanting in a language that predated the very continent they approached. The air grew thick, the ship's lights flickering as a supernatural chill settled over the water. Slowly, a mist began to rise, coiling around the Avalon like a living creature. It grew denser, swirling outward until it swallowed the horizon whole. The mercenary ship grew larger in the fog, a looming specter of doom. But as the fog thickened, it was as if the very fabric of reality twisted around the Avalon, obscuring them from view. The mercenaries' cries grew distant, muffled by the dense wall of white that now separated the two vessels. The suspense on the SS Avalon grew palpable as the crew listened to the enemy ship's panicked calls echo through the fog. It was clear their pursuers had no idea where they had gone. The fog had become a cocoon of protection, a silent guardian that shielded them from their adversaries. With the fog thickening and the enemy's ship lost from sight, the Avalon slipped into the shadows of the night, unseen and unheard. The uncertainty on the ship, thick as the fog Mr. Crow had just conjured, broke into a tense silence, and the crew breathed a collective sigh of relief. But the adventurers knew better than to celebrate too soon. The jungle ahead was fraught with dangers of its own, and the Crimson Tear's secrets were not easily claimed. As the mist gradually cleared, the coast of Brazil emerged from the gloom. The thick mass of foliage stood out like a curtain of greenery before the approaching steel vessel. The jungle was a breathing labyrinth, brimming with age-old mysteries and untold horrors. This is where their real trial would start. The team gathered their gear and prepared to disembark, their eyes reflecting the excitement and fear of what lay ahead. Henry clutched his notebook tightly, filled with the knowledge that would be their guide through the uncharted jungle. Elena checked her camera, a modern marvel that would capture the unseen world they were about to enter. Dr. Hartwell readied her medical supplies, her expression a mix of determination and apprehension. Jean-Baptiste LeRoux checked his weapons, his grin now a grim line as he eyed the jungle. They stepped off the ship and onto the soil of a new world, their boots sinking slightly into the rich earth. The humidity was a striking presence, wrapping around them like a damp embrace. The air was thick with the scent of decay and life, a cacophony of sounds rising from the foliage that surrounded them. The quest for the Crimson Tear had only just begun, and the jungle held its breath, waiting to see who would emerge victorious from the shadowy depths of its embrace. The trek through the dense underbrush was arduous, each step fraught with the potential for discovery or disaster. They hacked their way through vines that seemed to reach out for them, yet despite the hardships, they pressed on, driven by the promise of the Tear and the fear of the mercenaries that dogged their heels. Two tiresome days later, they stumbled into a vast clearing, the jungle parting like the curtains to a grand stage. At the center, floating in the air as if held by invisible threads, was the Crimson Tear. It pulsed with an energy that seemed to resonate within the very fabric of the world, casting a bloody light across the clearing. The team stared in awe, their breaths catching in their throats as the reality of their quest sank in. The tranquility was shattered by the sudden crash of underbrush and the emergence of the mercenaries. The two groups faced each other across the clearing, the air crackling with tension. The mercenaries were a rough, battle-hardened bunch, their eyes glinting with greed and malice as they drew their weapons. The crew of the SS Avalon readied themselves for the fight of their lives, their hearts pounding in unison with the jungle drums. The battle was swift and brutal, the clang of steel and the thud of bodies echoing through the clearing. The mercenaries fought with a ferocity born of desperation, their leader a monstrous brute with a scarred face and a gleaming blade. However, the crew was no less determined, each member drawing upon their unique skills to hold the line. In the chaos, one mercenary reached out for the Tear, his eyes alight with madness. But as his grubby fingers brushed the gem's surface, it crumbled into mere stardust, the power within it unleashing a maelstrom of ancient terror. The ground beneath their feet trembled as the earth split open, revealing a gaping maw filled with writhing, alien forms that defied description. An eldritch being, liberated from the Tear's destruction, had been roused. Panic gripped the mercenaries, and the crew took advantage of their distraction to flee. They sprinted back through the jungle, their path illuminated by the otherworldly light that spilled from the fissure. Behind them, the creature's inhuman howl grew louder, a symphony of terror that seemed to shake the very air. As they reached the ship, the creature emerged from the jungle, a nightmare given form. Though it did not pursue them. It had found new prey in the mercenaries, who had foolishly sought to claim the Tear's power for themselves. The team watched in horror as the being descended upon their enemies, the earth shaking with every step it took. With the mercenaries consumed by the eldritch horror, the crew of the SS Avalon sailed away from the carnage, their mission a failure in the eyes of the world, but a victory in the face of the ancient evil they had unwittingly unleashed. The Tear's power had been lost, but the knowledge of its existence remained, a whisper in the dark that would haunt Henry's dreams for years to come. The jungle closed in behind them, as if eager to swallow the secret once more, leaving only the echoes of their encounter to linger in the air."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Power of Hope"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The Sun reflected from the waterlogged sandy coast of a deserted island embedded in a faraway broad ocean and shined the edges of burbling waves splashing against the flat ground and driving off sea creatures back underneath the subterranean where they hide from the sharp light of the Star’s glare. Surrounding the mysterious space of the island called by navy and fishermen – The Death’s Spirit – for its deadly shores inset with enormous cliffs that smashed every ship’s or boat’s fore when purposeful sailors sailing to its nearness and trying to get the coast were devoured by Poseidon’s Kingdom and lost in the depths of the sea, was inhabited with miscellaneous animals surviving the conditions of the hard atmosphere seizing the isle each day and the darkness of midnight. The island’s nocturnal standstill covering every plane and peak of grand mountains rising above the ocean level and overgrown with green vegetation of various kinds broke only the inner purplish lights streaming through the tiny grains of sand and letting through the slight magical illusion appearing like it would be the heart of that little piece of world. Every single night the shore lighted up with this enchanting illuminous veins reaching the deep ends of the underground. Yet not a soul knew how far the glimmers extend. No human foot entered the land or found what was hidden inside the core of the island so far. That pure secret was unseen by a living being for loads of ages and centuries. Once a day when the Sun, submerged in the infinite Galaxy, hovered high above the ground of The Death’s Spirit and made it impossible to see the offing of the distant ocean horizon. The diurnal time occupied common peace and quiet when a flock of birds flew off the crowns of the trees of the afforestation somewhere in the mountains and among the rocks reverberated a strident crack. However, for the rest of the day, it was all that made a difference in the harmony of the place’s stillness. With the dusk falling crabs and other water mammals dug themselves with their little pincers and small limbs inside the soggy sand near the shore and bugs hid underneath the leaves of plants arising from the spongy soil. The serene silence felt again, and the deafening quiet embraced the surroundings. Only soft crickets chirpings in the remote place were interrupting the tranquil night ambiance while the Moon glowed in the starry sky. Contrary to this part of the landmass, the other side of the isle looked a bit rough as the rest of the dinghy crushing in the riffs was splashing about the rocks seeable in the Moon’s rays. The crew was gone. Crags surrounded the close edge of the dry land and raised from the scary waters when a slight movement flashed between the rocks and footsteps floundering in the wet ground of the approaching waves sprawling the shore were heard. It seemed there was an invader. A human figure. A man. He was a young vagabond boy petrified to death after suffering shipwrecking on the island. He was scared, trying to find a shelter or a hideout from the scary sounds resounding in his head as he was hit when the dinghy crashed into a cliff face. Was it a fear? Or a simple sudden shock? There was nothing else for him to do than run! Escape off that! The endless bushes, leading him deeper into the eerie jungle lianas and in fatigue forcing him to think they were snakes trying to seize him with their elongated bodies, exhausted his mind so much that he fell unconscious, heavily dropping his body on the ground to the foliage. That night stars lighted with a new beginning of a resurrection. A resurrection of the island’s spirit that formerly inhabited the heart of the land and changed the current life of many visitors. The presence of a thing which sank into oblivion. “Ohh…” a new day of the youngster shined with bright Sun rays shining through the leaves of the trees. He woke up and stroked his hit head on the ground, and then he carefully and very slowly got on his feet with astonishment in his face like where he had ended up. The scared lad confusedly looked around himself and once again touched the back of his head pounding with sharp pain as he fell onto a log hidden under the high swards. He was a boy about twenty years old who lost his parents in a tempest on their merchant ship seven years ago. That time he was entrusted to his grandparents who hated him for his willful mind. From the moment the son of the wealthy pair was banished from his land by the only people who had cared for him, he decided to prove to them he was something more than a traitor. The boy’s name was Trevor. The name he got was after his great grandfather who laid his life in the Napoleon’s War. But as an unfavorite part of the family, this was not mean to him to be an exceptional person from the others. His deeds and revolts against his family line just forced him to live in banishment and like a pariah of the dynasty. So, even though he was courageous and chivalrous, he felt lonesome all the time. Since he lost his parents, he grew up a guy who never trusted anybody and later it made him very suspicious and treacherous of his surroundings. The only love that never betrayed him was the affection for the sea. Wide water plains of the ocean he always loved to rove. But he was about to learn a lot yet. His guardians were not just like he thought, and a dirty trick was played on him. The night, when he was dishonestly dazed and tied up to be sent in a dinghy on the waves of the raging ocean to die there and relieve his grandparents' worries, a comet fell into the dark sky. And the boy, vile deceived, in tears, and full of fright wished to become one of them. To be a small flame of one of the stars sparkling in the nightly dark and shining in the path of other beings closed in the same fate as he was his whole life. To become something more. The shipwrecking changed everything that day. Later, when he pulled together and made a small look around the place, his mind realized that he was a poor castaway. Trevor spent the whole day on the beach then, watching the sunset deluging the horizon, and pondering how could have happened to him. How could they? Though he was not able to come up with anything. Maybe it was a destiny not to know. While the dust was falling, Trevor’s eyes glittered with teardrops full of hopelessness and powerless at his goddamn life whereas he was sitting on the moist surface of the sandy shore. After many days of sorrow, fury, and disappointment, he was dejected and depressed remaining in the one place on the island where he was trying to find some pieces of ships and wood to build a raft to get back or make a signal for anyone to find him. A few days later, in one slight second, he was at the deepest bottom of collapse, and for the second one, he made up his conscience and opted to do something fruitful to stay on that island when becoming aware that anyone would search him anymore. The first thing he found was a place where stay overnight. He was looking for something underneath a bush to cover himself in case he was cold. However, he found nothing even close to it. In the morning, he woke up covered with dirt and mud from the nearby pool where he fell asleep since he gave up searching a bush. It made him mad but for the other day, he knew he needed to search harder. In the meantime, when Trevor wandered about the shores and valleys to find some small animal or a little bit of not poisoned berries to eat, a memory was recoiled in his mind. With amazement he remembered the moment when he sat on the beach one of the days ago, watching the sunset. There was something he could see with his peripheral view. Feeble lights. It was like a little sparkle of hope for salvation. The dark brown-haired boy reached the same beach when was getting dark already. Tired, exhausted, and disillusioned he desperately looked for the lights he saw but stopped walking somewhere in the middle of the sandy plain and looked to the horizon again when nothing was in the empty shore. He dropped his body on the ground whilst his eyes were fixed on the ocean and lowered his head afterward, closing his eyes with sadness. Then all of a sudden, a strident flash of glow made him look under his feet. The soil literally shined with a magical violet color and blinded Trevor’s irises. Charmed, he got up promptly, staring at the light in front of his face. He could not believe it, but it was real. The ground softly flashed with the gleam and made it look like the earth breathing. It was an unforgettable sensation. The guy kneeled above it and carefully touched the surface with his fingers. He felt nothing, but right after he started digging deeper inside the land. Though, overwhelmed by curiosity he struck a sharp thing and cut himself in the palm. It ached so much he pulled back from the digging and seized the hand hard to stop the bleeding somehow. He dropped his arms in his lap when concluding that he was never going to make it like that. It was worthless. Therefore, he lay down then, putting the hurt palm on his belly, and looked at the sky that came on with glimmering jewels. With closing his eyes, he fell in dreams. Boundless space for imagination. And at the dawn of the Sun, he was woken up by a strange feeling all over his body. It was like he was tied up with ropes. His heart started to pound with dread at that time. He jerked and ripped from the embrace of the slim roots of a plant, standing up and backing off the place. Trevor usually did some work in the woods and did not even remember he cut himself the previous night. However, he felt differently than at some other time. The entire day it was strange to him what he felt in his body. It was neither a bad thing nor a good thing. When a vision of a room flashed through his mind. It took him aback, and he hardly closed his eyes, trying to shake that from himself. Although the better was getting dark, he felt an urgent duty to go where he supposed he had to go. Nevertheless, it was unclear where it was. He set off his way even then. His inner self led him to a peculiar part of the island where an oppressive atmosphere fell on his chest, yet he continued on, dying of curiosity about what was there. A narrow crack was leading into a cave where the light was glowing from the back of the blind alleyway. The boy came closer to it and looked at the object radiating light lavender warmth. Gazing at the jewel fascinated the man, even more, when he kept his eyesight on that thing at a closer distance which then forced him to finger it. The touch was like entering the other Galaxy that showed him the past and the future of his. The vision was so swift he threw himself off the gem and in terror sneaked out of the cave and went so far as his legs managed to walk. Then he took a seat somewhere and frightened thought about everything he saw and pondered about if going inside the grotto was a mistake or not. It took him many hours to soothe himself. And then… He made a way back . Trevor was seated aside from the jewel that was lying in a heap of ground and stones in one of the corners of the buried cave and stared at it for a very long time, not sure doing what he wanted. After several minutes he stood up from his knee band with folded arms and presentiment of a future regret. He approached the gem as near as he could, still solemnly fixing his face on it, and then took out of his pocket a scrap of fabric and prepared to take hold of the shining crystal in his hands with it. He deeply hesitated because of awareness of what would happen if he would fail somehow. The loyalty needed to guide him for the rest of his life and the straight journey home awaited him. The only thing he knew was that when he got the land of his, it would in a long time, on the other hand, a great adventure was waiting in the outer world away from the isle yet, and he as a lover of seas wondered what it would be. The purplish crystal remained on his neck in a necklace he created himself. It refilled his determination and braveness and gave rise to a new man full of hope."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Mirror of the Enchantress"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Of all the things my Grandmother owned, her mirror was the only thing I ever wanted. I had been drawn to it since I was a child. It was as if it called to me, like a siren song, begging for just a gentle tap on its pristine, reflective surface. Grandmother never would let me touch it, but now here it sits on my thrifted, antique vanity. I wandered over to the Vanity and sat in front of the beautifully ornate mirror. It's frame was of swirling, gilded gold and looked as if it belonged in an old, Victorian estate rather than my industrial studio in the city. I still felt the heaviness in it's presence and wondered if I was the only one who felt it. I began to stand from the vanity chair, needing to get ready for work, when I heard my name. It was soft, almost too quiet. Quiet enough that perhaps I imagined it. I lingered towards the armoire, pulling the doors open to choose an outfit when I heard my name once more. \"Brielle.\" This time, there was no mistake. Someone was calling me. The voice was feminine and soft and it had a quality about it that felt like a tug on my mind, beckoning me to obey. My eyes were wild, looking around the studio apartment in pure fear. Nothing could be hidden in the apartment as there were no walls to hide behind. The only thing to hide behind was the curtain that hid the bathroom area, but it was wide open. Slowly, my eyes drifted back to the mirror and to my utter horror, I saw a pair of honey brown eyes staring back. But these eyes were not my own. My eyes are a muted shade of murky, ocean blue. Nothing else in my reflection had changed but my eyes. I approached the mirror and blinked several times, but the color remained the lovely shade of golden honey. Again, my name filled the air and as it did, the mirror rippled. I jumped back, alarmed by the sudden movement of the glass-like liquid. Despite my fear, previous warnings and intuition, I touched the rippling glass. My lungs felt as though they were ablaze. I coughed and gagged as I rolled off of my back and onto my knees. Grass. Beneath my fingers was a mixture of grass, soil and twigs. It was shaded, but not dark out. The sun was softly breaking through the trees, giving small areas an ethereal glow. I looked around, shifting on my knees as I surveyed my surroundings. I was in a forest. I turned around slowly on my knees and then I saw her. Her golden hair fell to her hips and her sun-kissed skin radiated warmth and light. Her eyes were the eyes I saw in the mirror. That golden honey. She wore a simple Ivory gown and a gold circlet atop her head adorned with what looked to be a sunstone in the center. \"Who are you?\" My words were a dry rasp. She smiled and reached out her hand to help me up. \"My name is Iliana and I am in need of your help.\" I stared at her hand, cautious. I looked into her eyes and saw no malice. Carefully, I placed my hand into hers and rose from the ground. I wiped myself off as I pried, \" And what exactly would you need me for and where am I, first of all.\" I looked to her expectantly, a hand on my hip. Her smile turned wary as she regarded me. \"We are in Solara, my home territory. I am the Princess and my mother, Queen Cyra, has gone too far. I need your help to overthrow her and take the crown.\" Her eyes were pleading. \"Why me?\" I was simply a bartender. Nothing more, nothing less. She took a careful step forward and her eyes turned serious. \"The mirror belonged to Vanessa, your Grandmother. Vanessa stole the mirror from the Queen and left through it with the Queen's commander, Eren. My mother has had many lovers, but Eren was her favorite. So, when Vanessa stole not only her Enchanted mirror, but also her lover, she lost herself in madness and she has been terrorizing our lands ever since.\" \"So, you're telling me, my Grandmother stole the Queen's mirror and boyfriend and somehow I am supposed to stop her after all these years of her not being able to get over it? Yeah, I don't see how.\" The confusion and shock was evident on my face. The princess looked up to the canopy of trees and sucked in a breath. \"Unfortunately, yes. That mirror is a portal to different worlds or other places within this world. There is only one like it. If we can trick my mother into touching it, we can banish her to a wasteland in another realm. Vanessa was the one who created this mirror. She was what we called an Enchantress. Your realm might have called her a witch. She was a crafter who could enchant items, produce potions, cast spells. She worked for the queen as an advisor and liaison between realms and other territories, but she also provided her enchanted services to the queen as needed.\" She paused briefly giving me a moment to absorb this new information. \"How did you know to call for me?\" I remembered hearing her voice call my name and thought it odd that she knew of me, especially if Grandmother never touched the mirror again after coming to our realm. She gently touched the sunstone in her circlet. \"This was crafted by Vanessa. The circlet allows me to see the mirror and use it to call for help. My mother does not know of it's ability. Vanessa Enchanted it before she left through the mirror. I have seen you through the mirror many times throughout your life. I have also seen your mother and her brother.\" It felt odd knowing she had seen me without my knowlege. I became irrationally embarrassed, worried about what I may have done in front of that mirror. Though I know I really did nothing at all but stare at my reflection, judging myself. Iliana smirked smugly and pulled a book from her satchel. \"I have Vanessa's spell book. You should be able to use it.\" She tossed it into my hands and I slowly flipped through it. There were mundane spells for everyday things such as illness, pain, love, beauty, but then there were also spells for trickery and war. The one I noticed first was an invisibility spell. \"Perhaps we could start here.\" I pointed to the spell for invisibility and cracked my neck. I may just be a bartender and this may just be a crazy dream, but I can play along. \"If we turn invisible, perhaps we could get to her while she sleeps and make the mirror touch her hand and transport her to some deserted realm.\" I shrugged at the simplicity of my plan but maybe it could work. Iliana narrowed her eyes in thought, staring just past me into the trees. \"Yes, this could work. She takes a nightly sleep tonic, But there are two guards that stand at her door. Perhaps we could use the mirror to transport into her room tonight after she goes to sleep, veiled with the invisibility spell so that even if she is not asleep or awakens, she will not suspect.\" Her arms crossed over her chest and she smiled, her eyes hopeful. I took a step forward and panic hit me. \"Where is the mirror?\" She stepped aside and pointed to a tree behind her. There the mirror was propped against it's trunk. \"It travels with you wherever you go.\" I settled, panic easing away, but slowly being replaced with uncertainty. \"Does your mother have abilities?\" She laughed haughtily and shook her head. \"Heavens, no! That's why she had an enchantress. But she is the Queen and her guard and armies heed her every command, even the most heinous ones. Just last week she burned an entire village to the ground because their local enchantress wouldn't craft her a new mirror. She has been on the hunt for a new enchantress for decades and has yet to find one. They are rare and tend to run in specific family lines. My mother has been slaughtering all the known lineages when they refuse her.\" If I wasn't scared before I was now. But it suddenly dawned on me that Iliana must be more than 50 years old, but she looked not a day over 20. \"You speak as though you witnessed all of these happenings and as though you knew my Grandmother before she took the mirror. This had to have happened before my mother and uncle was born. How old are you?\" \"I am 103. We are what your realm would call Fae or Fairies. We do not all have abilities, only the Enchantress'. But we are remarkably long lived. Not immortal though. We typically live about 8-900 years. Your Grandmother and Eren must have passed I assume since you have the mirror. Your realm does not support such long lives as ours. Not sure why. Perhaps it is the air or even the food. Who knows.\" Her eyes briefly lit with curiosity before the flame dulled and she straightened, holding her hand out to me. I took her hand and she lead me to the mirror. \"They did, pass away. Eren, My Grandfather, passed away at the beginning of the year. My Grandmother passed away just last month. \" Her eyes took on a wistful sadness as she brushed my fingers with her thumb. \"I am truly sorry. Vanessa and Eren were every bit a love match and I considered Vanessa a great friend.\" I nodded and we stood there for a moment. I glanced up at her golden honey eyes and must have stared into them a beat too long because her eyes darkened ever so slightly and a subtle haze glossed over them as she gestured to the mirror. \"Let's get back to the castle. I'll have to hide you away in my bed chamber until nightfall. I apologize.\" She still had my hand in hers as she smiled apologetically and reached for the glass of the mirror and gently touched it with her fingers. Suddenly we were in a large room of carved stone walls and beautiful wooden floors. The large arched windows revealed an impressive view of the forest we had just been in and flowing rivers cutting through the lands and in the distance, a village still in pristine condition stood. Likely where the Royal staff lived. Iliana sighed and plopped down onto the plush bed in the center of the room. \"Come, lay a while. We have much time yet before nightfall.\" She patted the spot beside her welcomingly. I slowly made my way over and sat down beside her, eyeing the curves I had not quite noticed before in the shadows of the forest. Here, draped across the bed, there was no hiding the figure beneath the thin material of the dress. There was a slit on either side of the gown's skirts, revealing her toned thighs and shapely legs. I quickly snapped my attention away as I felt a warming tingle in a place I haven't felt in a while. Her hand gently caressed mine, asking silent permission to grab. I opened my hand to allow hers to hold it. Once she grasped my hand she slowly dragged it up her body and placed a chaste kiss upon the back of my knuckles. \"Thank you for doing this. I know it is none of your concern, but I am in your debt.\" Her thick blonde lashes fluttered over her sultry honey gaze. She shifted from her back onto her side, propping her head on her hand. \"What would you like as payment?\" She traced a finger idly on my forearm as she spoke. \"The mirror. I'd like to keep it, if that's not too much to ask.\" I swallowed and sat up a little, nervous at her sudden change in behavior. I wasn't sure but it felt like she was hitting on me. Highly unlikely, but stranger things have happened today. She tilted her head back and sat up. \"As you wish, but I must ask one thing if this is the case.\" She brushed my hair over my shoulder, revealing my collar bone. She leaned forward and whispered in my ear, her breath hot on my skin, \"Visit me. Often.\" She pulled away and a soft smile graced her full lips as she eyed my clearly flustered face. I simply nodded. Night fell on the castle swiftly. I had no idea how long I had been asleep. I awoke to Iliana's arms around me, her voice purring in my ear \"It's time.\" She slithered away from me, my back suddenly cold from her absence. I rolled to face her and sat up as she handed me the book. \"All you have to do is read the spell. The magic will do the rest.\" She nodded to the invisibility spell on the page opened up before me. I studied it for a moment and then read it aloud. \"Swift and quiet, unheard and unseen, light as a feather, clear as the air we breathe, cover us with the shield of unwavering invisibility until Reveal we breathe.\" And suddenly we were invisible. We could see each other, but our reflection in the mirror was non existent. Together we clasped our hands and touched the mirror. We were in a dark room, similar to Iliana's. The windows had the curtains drawn and there was no light save for a small candle at the bedside where a raven haired, fair skinned woman lay sleeping. She resembled Iliana, but had slightly sharper features. The princess must have gotten her coloring from her father. Together we crept silently towards the bed, mirror in hand, her on one side and mine on the other. We decided to raise the mirror and touch her face to it instead of risking moving one of her hands. Slowly we brought the mirror down and tapped it to the tip of her nose. She awoke immediately as her body was sucked into the mirror head first. Her scream echoed through the room and then she was gone. The guards burst into the room but could not see us. They searched the room but when they did not find the Queen, they ran to Iliana's room across the castle on the other side. We touched the mirror and were back in her room. Iliana crawled into bed and whispered \"Reveal.\" So that she would be seen, but I would not yet. The guards rushed in and asked if she was okay and informed her of her mother being missing. She played the dutiful daughter and feigned worry. She ordered them to search the grounds and do all they could to find the Queen. When they left the room, she crawled back into bed and reached out her hand toward where she last saw me. \"Reveal.\" I whispered. I crawled onto the bed and sat beside her. She gently grabbed my chin and turned my face towards hers and time moved in slow motion as she kissed me. Her lips were soft and warm against mine. Her skin smelled of roses and vanilla. As she pulled away, I felt sorrow with her removal. \"Thank you. With my mother gone, I can finally heal these territories and set things right. I couldn't have done it without you and that mirror. I am grateful.\" Her smile was soft and genuine, but there was sorrow there as well. A bit of remorse that it had to end this way. \"I'm sorry you had to do this.\" I wrapped my arms around her and held her against my chest, bringing her with me as I laid back. She cupped my cheek and kissed me again briefly. \"It had to be done. There was no other way. She wouldn't stop. Her goal was to find Vanessa and Eren and end them both herself. Even knowing they were passed on wouldn't have stopped her. She would have tried to take you and keep you prisoner to use that mirror and just as a way to get back at them even after they were gone.\" I pulled her closer against my body and kissed her deeply. Feeling bold, I grabbed the back of her neck, the intensity of our kiss deepening further. She reciprocated in kind, wrapping her legs around me tightly. She pulled back, breathless. \"I will require you to visit me VERY often. That is a royal command.\" Her eyes were like fire as they burned into me with a smoldering passion and wicked glint. \"Hey, where were you yesterday? We were slammed and had to call in Rufus.\" My boss, Leland, leaned against the frame of the back room, his arms crossed over his chest. I sighed and rubbed the back of my neck, still feeling where Iliana's fists had tugged at my hair. \"I'm sorry, Leland. I had some things going on with my family I had to deal with. I should have called.\" \"It's alright. Just don't do it again. You call me next time.\" He pointed a finger in warning but his eyes were kind and his mouth twitched in to a half smile as he left the room. I walked behind the bar and let out a string of curses under my breath. I whipped the hand towel over my shoulder and placed my hands on the bar. \"What can I get for you?\" All I could think about was getting home to that mirror and my new second life within it."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The Thief's Lucky Charm"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I didn't mean to steal Mrs. Abernathy's cat. Honest. But when you're known as the neighborhood's most nimble-fingered \"collector of misplaced items,\" sometimes things just... happen. And Mr. Whiskers happened to be wearing a very shiny, very pawnable collar.\n\n\"Ruby!\" Mrs. Abernathy's shrill voice cut through the humid Harlem air. \"You bring Mr. Whiskers back this instant!\" I peered down from my perch on the fire escape, the fat tabby purring contentedly in my arms. \"Sorry, Mrs. A! Looks like he wanted a change of scenery. Can't blame him, considering that floral wallpaper you've got.\" Her face turned an impressive shade of purple. \"Don't you sass me, young lady. I know you've been eyeing my mother-of-pearl choker!\" I gasped, feigning shock. \"Me? Never! Though now that you mention it, that does sound like a mighty fine piece of jewelry.\" With a wink, I hoisted Mr. Whiskers onto my shoulder and shimmied down the rusty ladder. The cat, bless his furry little heart, clung to me like I was his personal tree. As soon as my feet hit the cracked sidewalk, I deposited Mr. Whiskers, sans his collar, gently at Mrs. Abernathy's feet. \"There you go, safe and sound. No need to thank me for the complimentary cat-sitting.\" Before she could launch into another tirade, I darted off down the street, weaving through the colorful crowd of Harlem's finest. A mix of jazz and soul poured from open windows, providing the perfect soundtrack to my getaway. I slipped into Mama Josie's corner store, bell tinkling overhead. The smell of fresh bread and spices hit me like a warm hug. \"Ruby, child,\" Mama Josie's rich voice called out. \"What trouble you stirring up now?\" I flashed her my most innocent smile. \"Who, me? I'm as pure as the driven snow.\" She snorted, dark eyes twinkling. \"That snow must've landed in a coal mine, then.\" I dramatically clutched my chest. \"You wound me, Mama J. And here I thought you'd be proud of my can-do spirit.\" \"Can-do, my foot. You best be careful, girl. That sticky-fingered spirit of yours is gonna land you in hot water one of these days.\" I waved off her concern, snagging an apple from a nearby crate and taking a big, crunchy bite. \"Nah, I'm too quick for that. Besides, someone's gotta keep things interesting around here.\" Mama Josie shook her head, but I caught the hint of a smile. \"Just remember, there's a fine line between interesting and foolish.\" \"And I dance on that line with the grace of Alvin Ailey,\" I quipped, doing a little twirl for emphasis. The store's bell chimed again, and in walked Tommy \"Two-Tone\" Jackson, sporting his signature mismatched shoes.\n\n\"Yo, Ruby! You still up for that thing later?\" I quirked an eyebrow. \"Depends. Is this 'thing' gonna get me grounded for a month or shipped off to a convent?\" Tommy grinned, gap-toothed and mischievous. \"Nah, nothing like that. Just a little... reallocation of resources.\" I tossed my apple core into the trash with perfect aim. \"Now you're speaking my language, Two-Tone. Count me in.\" As we headed out, Mama Josie called after us, \"You two behave now, you hear?\" I threw her a salute. \"Always do, Mama J. It's not our fault if trouble comes looking for us!\" Stepping back into the bustling Harlem streets, I felt that familiar thrill of anticipation. Another day, another adventure. And who knew? Maybe this time, I'd actually manage to keep my hands to myself. But probably not. * * * Tommy and I sauntered down 125th Street, the rhythm of Harlem pulsing around us. The plan was simple: snag a few wallets from the tourists gawking at the Apollo Theater. Easy pickings, or so I thought. \"Hold up,\" Tommy said, grabbing my arm. \"I got something better.\" I raised an eyebrow. \"Better than separating wide-eyed out-of-towners from their cash? This I gotta hear.\" He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. \"You ever hear of the Lucky Lady's Locket?\" \"Sounds like something my grandma would wear to bingo night.\" Tommy rolled his eyes. \"Nah, it's way cooler than that. It's this old jazz relic, supposed to bring crazy good luck to whoever has it.\" I snorted. \"Right, and I'm secretly Billie Holiday's long-lost granddaughter.\" \"I'm serious, Ruby! This thing's legit. My cousin's friend's uncle swears he saw it work miracles.\" \"Ah yes, the most reliable source of information. Your cousin's friend's uncle.\" Tommy ignored my sarcasm. \"It's at the Blue Note. You know, that fancy jazz club on 3rd Avenue?\" Now that caught my attention. The Blue Note was legendary, known for its smoky atmosphere, killer music, and a place my mother frequented. \"And how exactly do you propose we get in there, Two-Tone? In case you haven't noticed, we're a couple of teenage delinquents, not high-rolling jazz enthusiasts.\" He grinned, that gap-toothed smile spelling trouble. \"That's where your sticky fingers come in handy. We sneak in through the back, you work your magic, and bam! We're set for life.\" I chewed my lip, considering. It was risky, sure, but the potential payoff... \"Tell me more about this lucky charm.\" \"It's this old locket, right? It's on display right above the bar next to the first dollar bill they framed. They say it belonged to some big-shot singer back in the day. Whoever wears it, can't lose. At anything.\" My mind raced with possibilities. With that kind of luck, I could pull off heists that would make Bonnie and Clyde look like amateurs. No more scraping by, no more close calls with the cops. I could finally give Grandma the life she deserved. \"Alright, Two-Tone. I'm in. But if this turns out to be some wild goose chase, you're buying me a month's worth of ice cream sundaes from Sal's.\" Tommy's face lit up. \"You won't regret this, Ruby. We're gonna be legends!\" As we plotted our grand entrance, a tiny voice in the back of my head whispered a warning. This was bigger than our usual schemes. Riskier. But the thrill of the challenge, the promise of that golden ticket to a better life, drowned out any doubts. \"So,\" I said, cracking my knuckles. \"Here's the plan.\" * * * Tommy nodded, his eyes wide with excitement. \"What you got cookin', Ruby?\" I grinned, the beginnings of an idea taking shape. \"So, the Blue Note's got a big performance coming up, right? Some hotshot trumpeter from New Orleans?\" \"Yeah, Louis Armstrong's protégé or something. Place'll be packed.\" \"Perfect. Here's what we do: We go in as part of the cleaning crew.\" Tommy's forehead wrinkled. \"Cleaning crew? That's your big idea?\" I rolled my eyes. \"Would you let me finish? We snag some uniforms, right? But here's the kicker – we're not just any cleaners. We're the world's most incompetent cleaning crew.\" \"I'm lost.\" \"Think about it. What's the best way to get noticed? Be so bad at your job that everyone's watching you. While they're all focused on the disaster we're creating, one of us slips away to find that locket.\" Tommy's eyes lit up. \"Oh, I get it! Like a magic trick. Misdirection!\" \"Exactly. Plus, who's gonna suspect the idiots who can barely mop a floor of being master thieves?\" We spent the next hour plotting out the details. Tommy would be our fumbling janitor, knocking over mop buckets and 'accidentally' spraying patrons with cleaning solution. Meanwhile, I'd play the role of his exasperated supervisor, apologizing left and right while using the chaos to case the joint. \"But how do we get the uniforms?\" Tommy asked. I smirked. \"Leave that to me. I know a guy who owes me a favor.\" *** I adjusted my oversized uniform one last time, taking a deep breath as Tommy and I stood at the back entrance of the Blue Note. This was it. Showtime. \"Ready to make a mess, Two-Tone?\" Tommy nodded, his face a mix of excitement and nerves. \"Let's do this.\" We pushed through the door, carts laden with cleaning supplies. The kitchen staff barely glanced our way as we navigated through the bustling prep area. So far, so good. As we burst into the main club, I put on my best harried supervisor face. \"Tommy! How many times do I have to tell you? The mop goes in the bucket, not your pants!\" Tommy, bless him, played along perfectly. He stumbled, sending a spray of soapy water across the floor. \"Sorry, boss! I'm trying!\" Heads turned. Perfect. I stormed over to him, clipboard in hand. \"Trying? You're about as useful as a screen door on a submarine! Now clean up this mess before-\" CRASH! Tommy had 'accidentally' knocked over a tray of glasses. The sound echoed through the club, drawing even more attention. \"I'm so sorry!\" I gushed to the nearest waiter. \"He's new. Very new. Like, just-born-yesterday new.\" The waiter rolled his eyes and hurried off to get a broom. Meanwhile, Tommy was making a spectacle of himself trying to mop up the water and glass with a feather duster. I seized the opportunity to scan the room.\n\nBoom. There was a locket on a velvet neck mannequin right where Tommy said it would be. * * * I was ready to swipe the locket when a familiar face caught my eye. No way. It couldn't be. Leaning casually against the bar, twirling a cocktail stirrer between his fingers, was none other than Slick Rick. The last time I'd seen him, he was swiping wallets at the Harlem Street Fair while I was liberating some fancy watches from a jewelry stand. Our eyes met, and his lips curled into that infuriating smirk I knew all too well. I noticed his gaze flick towards the bar. Towards the mannequin where I'd spotted the locket earlier. Oh no. He was after the locket too. Our eyes met, and in that split second, I knew we were thinking the same thing. We both lunged for the bar. \"Pixie Sticks!\" I yelled.\n\nRick and I reached the bar at the same time, shoving and elbowing each other as we scrambled for the shelf. \"Back off, Slick,\" I grunted, trying to push him away. \"I saw it first.\" \"Possession is nine-tenths of the law, darling,\" he retorted, fingers grazing the shelf. \"Since when do you care about laws?\" We grappled, a tangle of limbs and curses, each trying to get the upper hand. In our struggle, we knocked over a row of glasses. They shattered on the floor, adding to the cacophony of the club. Just as my fingers closed around something cool and metallic, a booming voice cut through the chaos. \"FREEZE!\" * * * I froze, the locket clutched tightly in my fist. Slick Rick's hand was wrapped around mine, both of us caught like deer in headlights. We turned slowly to face the source of the commanding voice. There stood the club's bouncer, a mountain of a man with arms thicker than my waist. His eyes narrowed as he took in the scene - shattered glass, spilled drinks, and two very guilty-looking thieves. \"Well, ain't this cozy,\" Rick muttered under his breath. I elbowed him in the ribs. \"Shut up and let me think.\" The bouncer took a step forward, his massive frame blocking out the light. \"You two. Manager's office. Now.\" I glanced at Rick, seeing the same spark of mischief in his eyes that I felt in my chest. Without a word, we both bolted in opposite directions. \"Tommy!\" I yelled as I vaulted over a table. \"Plan B!\" Tommy, bless his heart, didn't miss a beat. He grabbed a nearby fire extinguisher and let loose, filling the air with white foam. Screams and chaos erupted as patrons scrambled to escape the unexpected shower. I ducked and weaved through the panicked crowd, the locket still clutched in my hand. Just as I thought I was home free, a hand grabbed my collar, yanking me back. \"Not so fast, sweetheart,\" Rick grinned, trying to pry the locket from my grip. I stomped on his foot, hard. \"What part of 'don't call me sweetheart' didn't you understand?\" He yelped but didn't let go. We stumbled through the club, locked in our ridiculous tug-of-war, knocking over chairs and bumping into disgruntled patrons. \"You know,\" Rick panted as we wrestled, \"we could always team up. Split the take fifty-fifty.\" I snorted. \"Yeah, right. Last time we partnered up, you left me holding the bag. Literally.\" \"Water under the bridge, darling. I've changed!\" \"And I'm the Queen of England.\" Our bickering was cut short as we crashed into a waiter, sending a tray of martinis flying. The drinks rained down on us, soaking us both in gin and vermouth. \"Great,\" I sputtered, wiping olive juice from my eyes. \"Now I smell like my Uncle Louie after a three-day bender.\" Rick, looking equally bedraggled, couldn't suppress a laugh. \"You gotta admit, Ruby, we make quite a pair.\" Before I could retort, the bouncer's voice boomed again. \"There they are!\" We scrambled to our feet, slipping and sliding on the alcohol-slicked floor. In our haste, the locket flew from our grasp, arcing through the air like a glittering comet. Time seemed to slow as we both lunged for it, colliding mid-air in a tangle of limbs. We hit the ground hard, and propelled by our momentum and the most watered-down booze in Harlem, we slid out the front door.\n\n *** I bounced up and took off running down the street with Rick right behind me. \"You just gonna leave your partner?\" Rick shouted as I ducked into a alley past a shoe shine stand.\n\n\"Tommy can handle himself.\" He knew the Thief's #1 Rule - Look out for #1. I listened for any signs of anyone from the Blue Note following, and hearing none, I caught my breath. The locket finally rested in my palm, warm from our frantic struggle. I gazed at it, expecting to feel that legendary rush of luck they always talked about. But as I studied the tarnished metal and faded etchings, a strange sense of familiarity washed over me. \"Wait a minute...\" I murmured, turning it over in my hands. A tiny inscription on the back caught my eye, half-worn away by time. To my dearest Ethel Mae... My breath caught in my throat as realization struck. This wasn't just any old lucky trinket - it was my mama's locket. The one she always wore, right up until the day she... Well, let's just say that day changed everything for me and leave it at that. \"You've got to be kidding me,\" Rick groaned, \"Don't tell me you're getting all sentimental over a piece of junk jewelry.\" I shot him a glare that could cut glass. He may be a slick-talking charmer, but that didn't give him the right to insult Mama's locket.\n\n\"This 'piece of junk' was my mother's,\" I snapped, clutching it protectively to my chest. \"It's all I have left of her.\" For once, Rick seemed at a loss for words. An uncomfortable silence stretched between us as the weight of the situation settled in. The locket, which had seemed like such a tantalizing prize, was now a stark reminder of everything I'd lost. My chest tightened as a wave of grief threatened to drown me right there in that dingy alley. Get it together, Ruby, I scolded myself. The last thing I needed was to have a blubbering breakdown in front of Slick Rick, of all people. I blinked rapidly, forcing the tears back down. My gaze fell on the delicate chain, and a faint memory sparked in my mind... Mama's gentle hands as she tucked me into bed, her warm voice murmuring, \"This locket reminds me of you, my little Ruby. As long as I wear it close to my heart, we'll always be connected.\" A sad smile tugged at my lips. All this time, I'd been chasing after some mystical idea of luck when the real treasure had been with me all along. Not a charm or a token - but a connection to the woman who gave me life and loved me more fiercely than anyone else in this world. With a shaky breath, I slipped the chain over my head and let the locket settle against my chest, its familiar weight reassuring. It may be tarnished and imperfect, but it was mine. A piece of my history that could never be taken away. \"You know,\" Rick piped up again, his voice uncharacteristically soft. \"If it means that much to you, maybe we should just call this one a wash.\" I arched an eyebrow at him. \"You're kidding, right? After all that effort to get this stupid thing?\" He shrugged, offering me a lopsided grin. \"Hey, what can I say? I'm a sucker for a pretty face and a hard-luck story.\" Despite myself, I felt the corners of my mouth quirk up in a reluctant smile. Maybe there was a shred of decency in that scoundrel after all."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Nick Palma, Once and Future King"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "A black limo with tinted windows pulled up on Washington Street in Hempstead. Two burly men, dressed in black shirts and slacks, got out of the vehicle and headed for the front door of a small run-down house. Their arrival was observed by two Englishmen crammed inside a Mini Cooper, parked further along the road. The buzz of excitement around the start of the new school year had worn off. For Nick Palma, a Senior at Hempstead High, widely considered a nobody, it was a just another fall afternoon, the intermission between the drag of school and the drab of his evening shift at McDonald’s. His fellow Seniors were playing football or soccer, or were at band practice, whereas he was at home alone in the living room, playing an online video game. Nick pummeled an RPG noobie with flaming fireballs, then there was a loud knock at the door. His mother was on dayshift at the hospital, his sister, Candy, was at a “study date” with her latest crush. Nick was racking up record points on the game by ganking up on the noob, so the interruption was annoying. It was probably the landlord; his mother was always late paying the bills, a regular monthly drama since his father’s disappearance. The second rap on the door made the house shake. Nick dropped the game console and felt a surge of rage, “stress hormones” according to his mother, “it’ll give you zits,” said his sister. He felt like punching the wall, but the last time he’d done that, at school, he’d been hit back with detention and a home visit from the School Resource Officer. Perhaps it was the SRO, again! Why couldn’t everyone just leave him alone? School was a problem, work was a problem, home was a problem. So many problems. Nick opened the door and froze. Standing in front of him were two towers of menace.\n\n“Nicky Palamara?” said the man on the right, who was wearing wraparound shades that made it impossible to make out his intent from what remained of his big square-shaped head. The second man, a steroidal man whose bald head rippled with its own walnut musculature, was studying a photo held in his fist, comparing it to Nick. The man nodded affirmatively, “it’s him”.\n\nOn the other side of the road, camped out in the Mini, the two Englishmen, Lionel Blythe-Worthington and Ray Kray, watched the two American goons and the Palma boy. Howzat and RayKray, their monikers back at MI6 HQ, were an unlikely duo: Howzat, tall and lean, was a bookish man who dressed in well-tailored suits; RayKray, an ugly, pasty-faced bruiser was dressed in a bright blue Adidas leisure suit that barely made the stretch around his beer belly. Odd fellows, but they were alike in their ruthless dedication to His Majesty’s Secret Service. “The two Vinnies have made contact with the once and future”, said Howzat. Back at the house, Nick tried to shut the door, but a size 13 loafer got in the way. “There must be some kind of mistake”, said Nick.\n\n“No mistake, Nicky”, said walnut head, “My name’s Vinny, by the way”.\n\n“And I’m Vinny too” said the man in shades. “We’re the two Vinnies,” they said in unison. It was part of a double act that typically sent shopkeepers into a blind panic and to the cash register. “Look Nicky…” “Nick.” “Look Nicky, we’re here with good news for you and your Ma,” said Shadey Vinnie with, revealing a gold incisor with his smile. “You’ve come to the wrong house. My name is Nick Palma” Walnut Vinnie handed Nick an envelope. “Here Nicky, leave this for your Ma, it’s a present from the Don. She’ll understand. Nick peaked at the wad of hundred-dollar bills. “We’re making you an offer you can’t refuse”, said Shadey Vinny. “It’s a joke”, said the Walnut Vinny, laughing. Then the two Vinnies told him something that rocked Nick’s world. He left the envelope of money on the kitchen table and followed the two men out to the limo. Nick’s Father was alive. Sibylla shouted loudly from the battlement parapet atop the castle, “William, quick, the sword, run, hide.” Through the notched crenel, she watched King Henry’s army burst through the city gates, flooding the streets with armored knights carrying the tricolor of the Holy Roman Empire. The battle was lost, Palermo would fall.\n\nWilliam, boy-king of Sicily, ran into the great hall where the sword, a gift to his father, from Richard the Lionheart, hung above the fireplace. William grabbed Excalibur with both hands and fled. Fear and cunning his only guides, pursued by the terrible sounds of battle, William ran toward the harbor, he was soon trapped in a narrow alley by bloodthirsty knights. William ducked into a shadowy gap between two ancient hovels and thrust Excalibur hilt-deep into a fissure in the rock. He was grabbed by both arms, dragged backwards, and lost consciousness. The tenement building in Little Italy doubled up as a club house. Don Enzo Stromboli, and his cousin, Father Ignatius, were presiding over a meeting of the Capos in a Blood-and-Holy-Water meeting in the second-floor dining room that overlooked Elizabeth Street. They were eagerly waiting for the two Vinnies to deliver the Palamara boy from Long Island. At the window, a lookout man was surveilling the early-evening activities down on the street.\n\nFather Ignatius, telling the gathered men a story, pointed to a small pile of antique manuscripts that lay on the dining room table, “souvenirs” that Johnny D. had liberated from the Vatican library.\n\n“Palermo fell, King Henry claimed Sicily for the Holy Roman Empire, and young William was imprisoned in Germany”.\n\n“Where he got his eyes gouged out”, said Giorgio Chiello, a rodent-like man, with relish. Father Ignatius shivered with distaste, “William survived, escaped from Germany and returned to Sicily under the name of Tancredi Palamara, and lived out his life on the hills near Palermo as a goat farmer”. Don Enzo’s took up the story, “and eight hundred years later, his descendent, a peasant called Palamara arrives in the United States, a huddled friggin mass.” Don Enzo transitioned between pomp to profane with ease.\n\n“What’s this got to do with the garbage business?” said Jimmy Fabio, who was following the story with difficulty. “Well, this Palamara fella gets processed through Ellis Island as one ‘Joseph Palma’… great grandfather of our boy from Hempstead”. “Nicholas Palma is the same blood as King friggin Tancredi, and rightful owner of the sword that Jimmy D’s men discovered hidden in a crack in a wall in the Via Dolore in Palermo”, said Father Ignatius. Jimmy D was a study in stoicism, but inside he was bursting with pride; for sure, he’d get a promotion. “This kid’s the King of Merry Old England”, said Don Enzo to his stunned audience. “Can’t we just blow up the alleyway?” said Jimmy Fabio, for whom explosives were the trade equivalent of duct tape, “it’s easier to bring the sword to the boy, than the other way around”. Enzo loved his nephew Jimmy, but the young Capo’s addiction to explosives was alarming. “Have you ever heard of the Sword in the Stone, Jimmy?” said Father Ignatius. “Yeah, Father, I took the kids to Disneyland last year and Jimmy Junior bust a blood vessel yanking at the fucking magic sword”. Don Enzo winced at the memory: Jimmy roughed up Mickey and Minnie and the Don paid off the Orlando Chief of Police to spring his Capo from the jailhouse. “If this Nicholas Palma boy can pull the sword out of the stone, we’ll know we’ve got the right boy and the right sword”, said Father Ignatius. “Less messy, no collateral damage,” said Don Enzo. “What about the boy’s father?” said Johnny D. “Rogue”, said Don Enzo, “we’re following his moves in Palermo”. It was dark outside and the music of night life in Little Italy could be heard in a moment of quiet. “I still think we should use explosives,” said Jimmy. The two Vinnies and Nicky were heading Westbound on the Long Island Expressway when the Manhattan skyline sparkled into view. Nick was in the plus back seat of the limo, struggling to understand the news: his no-good father was alive. “Are you messing with me?” said Nick. “Nah, Nicky. Your old man is alive and kicking. You’ll probably meet him in a few days. “It’s a crying shame, ain’t if Vinnie, the way some fathers don’t comprehend their responsibilities” “A crying shame, Vinnie” The two Vinnies regaled Nick with stories about goodfellas and bad cops, about cheap eats and hot girls.\n\n“You got a girl, Nicky?” said Walnut Vinnie. Nick didn’t have a girlfriend but wished he did. Mostly, the girls at school seemed sorry for him.\n\n“No worries, we’ll set you up with a date!” said Shadey Vinnie in the driving seat. The Vinnies both laughed, and Walnut Vinnie reached around from the passenger seat and gave Nick a friendly slap on the knee. “Why are you taking me to visit this Mr. Stromboli?’, asked Nick. “Nicky, we’d have to kill you if we told you”, said the Vinnies. RayKray and Howzat, the British secret agents, followed the limo toward the mid-town tunnel.\n\n“Seven bleeding bucks. Got any cash?” asked RayKray, holding out his palm for the toll fare.\n\nHowzat, in the passenger seat, never carried change, nor credit cards or any kind of identification. His only accessories were a Sig Sauer P226, which he carried in his shoulder holster, and an encrypted cellphone, over which he was updating their controller back in London. “Fuck it,” said RayKray, waving at the ticket booth collector. The Mini’s glove compartment was jammed with parking tickets and traffic violations. Ignoring them was one of the perks of diplomatic protection. They tailed the limo through the tunnel and down Second Avenue. “They’re here with the kid,” said the lookout man as the two Vinnies emerged with Nick from the limo. Taxi cabs and Ubers were inching along the street, the restaurants were busy, two odd-looking men got out of a Mini cooper, parked illegally, a drop-dead gorgeous girl in a low-cut blouse weaved past them and the lookout man watched on hips sway back and forth, back and forth. Nick Palma, standing like an exhibit in the dining room, was about five foot ten, black haired, thin and wiry. His face was pale and pimply, and he had dandruff. He also wore thick-rimmed glasses, behind which there were a pair of anxious brown eyes. Father Ignatius, instigator of the big scheme, was disappointed. “I thought he’d be bigger, more… charismatic,” said Father Ignatius, “are you sure you got the right boy, Vinny?”\n\nThe two Vinnies nodded, “calls his self, Nicky” said Walnut Vinny. “Nick, not Nicky,” said Nick, uselessly. “Well, it’s going to give them WASPs a nasty shock,” said Don Enzo, “bowing and scraping to an Italian passant.” The mobsters were talking about Nick like he wasn’t there, but Don Enzo seemed attentive, even protective, but a man with a face like a rodent, lurking in the corner, gave Nick the willies.\n\n“His Royal Highness, Nicky the first! Once and future king of jolly old England”, said Johnny D, ingratiating himself with the Don. This was getting very weird; Nick was contemplating escape. His mom was probably worried, and his supervisor at McDonald’s was probably pissed. Then again, he’d have to give back the money, and he might not meet his father. It was weird, but it was also exciting. \n\n“Listen kid, we’ve got a proposition for you”, said Don Enzo, “have you ever been to the old country?” Nick had been to Delray Beach to visit his aunt. Hot and sweaty, tacky and ugly, crammed with old folk; he hated Florida. He’d prefer to be stuck in boring Hempstead forever. “Not Florida”, said Enzo, “Sicily.” Nick had never been out of the USA. “He’ll need a passport, some clothes, bags, credit cards and cash,” said Enzo, clicking his fingers. “On it boss” said Johnny D, slipping out of the room. “And someone make sure his mother is informed. There’s nothing more dangerous than an angry mother”. Nick wondered what this could mean. Was his mother in on this too?\n\n“Erm, Don Enzo, I really appreciate the attention, but I think there’s been some kind of mistake? said Nick. It did seem that way. The only thing going for the boy was his honesty. “Listen Nicky, have you ever felt like you were destined for more important things?” said Don Enzo In truth, no, Nick had never felt the call of destiny. Yes, he expected to graduate from High School, and yes, he expected to get a job, buy a car, find his own apartment, maybe meet a girl, grow a beard, eat Sushi one day. If this was his destiny, it didn’t seem very important. Father Ignatius was worried. Perhaps he’d made a mistake, perhaps the souvenirs were forgeries and Johnny D got duped? The boy was obviously a loser. Don Enzo was a good judge of boys and men, identifying talent early, cultivating loyalty with ease. As a child, his nephew Jimmy had been a feckless bully; he was feckless no more. Giorgio “the rat” the cunning street urchin was a feared lieutenant, and the two Vinnies were bumbling idiots, always had been, always would be, but they put the fear of God into everyone. Sometimes, though, you have to work with the hand you are dealt. The King of Spades seemed more like the Two of Clubs. \n\nDown on the sidewalk, MI6-man, RayKray was shuffling back and forth in the street, getting antsy. “You look like a football hooligan”, said Howzat. “And you look like a blooming undertaker,” said RayKray. Suddenly, the second-floor lights of the tenement building dimmed. “The meeting must be over,” said RayKray, “You sure they want the boy, dead or alive? It seems a bit bleeding heartless… and sloppy” “Just following orders,” said Howzat, twitchy, anxious.\n\nJust following orders? There was no way Howzat could kill a kid. It wasn’t cricket. “They must think this kid’s the one?” said RayKray, skeptically. The notion that this innocent boy had a claim to the throne seemed preposterous.\n\n“According to HQ, this is the once and future” Howzat released the holster catch so that he had easy access to the gun. The mission had the green light, “Once and Future” was the code. The two Vinnies stepped out onto the sidewalk, one to either side of the street-side door; they were scanning the street. Out stepped the Don, his arm draped over the boy’s shoulders. They were followed by a priest, and a handful of Capos. Howzat was a skilled marksman who could take out one or two of the mobsters from a distance of thirty yards, but not half a dozen.\n\n “Too sloppy,” said Howzat dropping his hand by his side.\n\nIt was dark, warm October evening. Nick’s senses were overwhelmed by the sights and sounds of Little Italy. “Tomorrow you’ll fly to Italy, first class. Thursday, you’ll be in Naples, and you can visit with your old man,” said the Don, \"and next week, you'll have your date with destiny in Sicily\". Nick’s felt like Jim Hawkins, the innkeeper’s son in Treasure Island III video game.\n\n“but you’re staying with the family tonight. I hope you like home-cooked Italian food.” Nick watched two odd-looking men get into a parked Mini Cooper. One was so tall that he could scarcely get his head inside the car, and the other was so fat that he struggled to squeeze into the driver’s seat.\n\n“What about my supervisor at McDonald’s?” said Nick, “what about school?” There were many loose ends. “Fuhgeddaboudit,” said Don Enzo. Don Enzo was good at making problems disappear."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Greed to Redemption"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "As the dull evening sun shot beams of light through poorly made attic window Sean continued to run through his late grandfather’s old boxes of stuff. Sean’s life had become almost as miserable as their poorly maintained residence in Louisiana, sagged under the weight of neglect, passers by on the street in front of it would assume that it had been forgotten by time itself. It’s windows which were once clear portals to the world beyond, were now just mere pieces of shattered glass. The smell of aging wood dominated the surrounding atmosphere as if to hide the corrosion which had consumed the metal parts of the building. Despite its flaws and the deteriorated conditions, Sean and his family dearly addressed it as HOME. “There’s no treasure Sean, stop messing up the attic” the annoyed voice of his father would constantly echo through his ears. He would casually disregard them as he viewed his father as one of the main reasons his life was a mess. Their already miserable home became an unwitting stage for unwelcomed visitors, drawn like moths to a flame. The father’s sins entangled in a web of illicit affaires, casting a dark shadow over their lives. These men, emissaries of debt and danger, would arrive at their doorstep, their threats echoing through the corridors. Yet, he put these in instances in the back of his mind and focused on escaping the sad reality which he had inherited. Even now the indelible memories of his grandfather linger in the corners of his mind, like movie shown in a theatre, each frame etched with love, laughter and wisdom. He spoke of great treasure buried within a world unknown. He had put countless hours and effort into it, but in vain. And now the only reminders of grandpa’s adventures were a map and letter to his beloved grandson, whom took it as his duty to fulfill the task which his beloved grandfather had started. With lofty aspirations of finding grandpa’s treasure, he hastily fled the house on an uneventful Tuesday morning, completely disregarding the panicked state his parents will soon face. After arriving at the first destination which was a rather barren beachside, He stood at the water’s edge, his gaze stretching across the expanse of the mesmerizing azure sea. Regret gnawed at him, for he had once made a selfish choice. But now, resolute, he vowed to uncover that hidden fortune. Wealth awaited him in a place yet to be discovered. He took a glance at his map, “FORTUNE AWAITES IN YOUR RIGHT SIDE”. Sean’s head instinctively turned to his right; his grandfather was signaling him to enter the cave that resided in the right side of the beach kind of hidden away from the sight of beach-goers. Despite initially hesitating, the inexorable pull of curiosity and the obsession of finding something that will enable you to live an unimaginably comfortable lifestyle and escape the life of constant fear and poverty compelled him to venture into the shadowy depths of the forbidden cave. After first setting foot in the cave a chill ran through his spine, a sense of overwhelming dread engulfed him, his mind flooded with thoughts of how this journey could go wrong and yet he reminded himself of the wealthy lifestyle and how he could leave his half-deteriorated house in Louisiana and replace it with a mansion, if he found this treasure. He tips- toed through the narrow and winding stretch of cave, with its ceiling almost touching his head. He thought of how this cave could give nightmares to a person with claustrophobia and how much of MAN he was to have no fear of the dangers which lurked within the cave or the haunted nature of the cave itself. Finally, he found himself standing Infront of some kind of door, which Sean pushed open with no effort. However, he was not prepared for what he was about to stumble upon. It was a temple of some kind carved out of the cave. It had depictions of various animals on it’s walls with small beams of sun light dimly illuminating the area, it had an eerie feel to it. With his body shivering from fear Sean reached the end of the temple. There lays a small bench, appearing to be made out of stone and it had some kind of button on it. His mind overflowing with thoughts of curiosity Sean was compelled to push the button. To his utter bewilderment the cave started to violently shake, and eventually a hidden passageway hidden within the caverns was revealed. Sean started walking down the passageway yet again to be met with unidentifiable illustrations of mythical creatures poorly carved on the sides of the cave. In that moment, weariness draped itself around him like a heavy velvet cloak, urging him to surrender to its embrace and rest wherever fate would allow. However, his eyes began to glimmer with hope as he glanced at a small wooden box lying untouched in the far corner of the passage. Instinctively, he cheerfully sprinted towards it praying to God that he had found the treasure, indeed his prayers were answered. After delicately lifting the wooden lid, the box unfurled its secrets—a trove of opulence. Gleaming golden jewelry, diamonds and emeralds whispered tales of forgotten civilizations cradling Sean’s heart in a cocoon of joy. And there was something else in the box. It was a letter. It read, “Dear Sean if you are reading this you have found the treasure, that I had spent so many years trying to find. Of course, I found it myself but, what would and 79-year-old man with cancer do with a treasure? And if I even if I handed it over to your parents, it would probably get stolen by those guys whom your father owes unreasonable amount of debt to. Now I want you to spend the money wisely. And DON’T ever use it for the bad of another person. It will haunt you forever. \n\n Love, Grandpa His tears fell freely now, Sean understood—the treasure was not only diamonds and gold but also the ache of missing, the joy of remembrance. His grandfather’s legacy, woven into the fabric of time, embraced him. Filled with ambivalent emotions; the sheer joy from finding the treasure and grieving from reading his last massage from his beloved grandfather, Sean ran like child in search of his mother through the passageway past the temple and eventually back to the cave entrance. However, another surprise which wasn’t so pleasant awaited him right at the entrance to the cave. When he pressed that button in temple, whatever mechanism that allowed to open the passageway had violently shaken the whole cave. As a result, the cave entrance had collapsed completely blocking off the only known way out from the cave. When Sean arrived at the scene, he was beyond devastated. He frantically began to look for something to break open the entrance. When he found nothing, he instantly realized that he was going to meet his demise right there in that lonely cave, trapped with his own thoughts. He sat down, thought about how an obsession could lead to disaster; But there was no turning back now. He also thought about how much more of a pain it would be for his parents; the loss of their only child. How their life would become twice as more as sad and depressing as it was before; But there was no turning back now. His thoughts reminding him of how he could’ve focused more on his studies, and made his life successful, pulling him and his parents out of the deep gorge their father had gotten them into. But there was no turning back now. With his newfound love for his family and appreciation for the little things he had, Sean silently sobbed as the unfortunate reality of dying alone sunk him in a sea of sadness. Although it would eventually become his final resting place, Sean went for one last walk in the cave, or so he thought. As he was walking along the cave he caught glimpse a tunnel on the left side of the cave, and he realized that it leads right up to the beach. Once again engulfed in excitement he gleefully ran the short distance up to the beach and was eventually home. Once his arrival at his home Sean was met with police officers and flashing red and blue lights. He quietly hid the extraordinary reward he gained from his unforgetting adventure, in an overgrown shrub. He was met with the utmost bewildered looks of everyone. His father came charging out of the house and hugged him warmly as if whispering to him how hurt he was. His mother came out still sobbing. However, his answer to everyone’s confused questions, including the relatives who were also at his house, was “I went looking for grandpa’s treasure, didn’t find it”. Few hours after the departure of most his relatives and answering many questions for the police officers, Sean quietly went to the bush where he hid his treasure chest. He grabbed the chest, ran back to his room put it in his closet and locked it. “What’s that?” one of his uncles hadn’t left and had saw him locking the chest in his closet. “Nothing” Sean was beyond relived to see his uncle leave the room. He knew that if his uncle found out he’d want it so badly. Unlike his father Sean’s uncle was involved in more serious, unforgivable crimes. With drug trafficking and ransom being his most notable crimes. Grateful for the preservation of his life, Sean retired to his bed. Little did he know that the morning would bring forth yet another disquieting revelation. It was a cheerful morning, the mellifluous sound of chirping rhythmically flowing to his ear, bright beams of sunlight illuminating what was once the room of a sad, depressed teenager, Sean glided through the hallway with excitement. Greeting everyone with an enchanting smile and a gleeful “Goood… morning” he went straight to the hiding place of his treasure. However, his euphoric emotions faded out of existence as he opened the closet doors. His treasure, the reminder of his secret adventure, the way he could escape his reality – was GONE. After few hours of frantically searching for it, he realized that it was gone. FOREVER. And he knew who had taken it away from its righteous owner. His uncle. When Sean inquired his mother about his uncle, she stated that his uncle wore a big smile on his face and said that he’ll move to a different state. Anyone would go as far as they can to get back something so valuable, something that they risked their life to get right? NO, Sean was not ready to go after the treasure again. His uncle was a powerful man he could easily take down Sean with his criminal buddies. Sean was not about to risk his life again for the treasure. In a matter of five years Sean turned his life around. He was a well-known student in Harvard university. And his father had paid all the debt he owed to the thugs he had worked with. Sean’s life seemed to have heeled itself. And after a long time there seemed to be peace in Sean’s household. One unassuming day they received an envelope with cash inside. It was from Sean’s uncle; to see the reason he had randomly decided to send money to them, Sean’s confused parents called him. But, no answer. Again, they received money the other day. And again. And again, until they had more than 20 million dollars. Yet no one has seen him or had any type of interaction with him since the day he first started sending money. And then 2 weeks later they heard that Sean’s uncle had sadly passed away in fatal car crash. Such an odd chain of events. Everyone thought it was strange but nobody knew the secret behind it. Except for Sean, he remembered his grandfather’s words “if you will do a person bad things with the treasure it will haunt you forever.”"
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The Golden Pocket Watch of Elias Cobb"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The Golden Pocket Watch of Elias Cobb The Yukon heaven stretched out, vast and indifferent. Yet that morning it was pleasantly blue and pristine—a shining cupola of cloudless, northern sky. Spruce and pine, chalked and contorted by wind, stood silent. Their boughs were dusted with a light snow from the previous night’s fall. Ravens croaked and chickadees whistled, on and off. In the rivers and lakes ice granulated, drifting disparately through the myriad blues of glacial meltwater. April. Thawing. Elias Cobb trudged through the crackling underbrush, his boots clagged with brindled mud. His skin red with cold. Twin streams of vapor left his nose and his mouth, wafting round his weathered jowls and fissured cheekbones. He was a sourdough, an old hand in these parts, though the luster of gold had eluded him. It was always thus with gold. It was always thus with Cobb. But, ever since he was a youngster, he had dreamed of a paystreak that would set him up for life; the motherlode. He paused to adjust his pack, the creak of leather straps breaking the cold silence. The resinous air was crisp and tobacco smoke sweetened its aroma like baking bread. Slowly, deeper, he advanced into the darkening interior of the boreal forest, each footfall hard-earned. A man chasing a golden dream. As he did most days, Cobb trudged for miles, eyes scanning the riverbanks, rock faces, and gullies. Ever seeking a trace of placer gold hidden in the gravel bars. In a small clearing by a tall bluff, he found a dead man. Flat on his back and wizened like dark, dried fruit. Odorless, mummified by cold. His oilskin jacket was torn, shredded by the fall. And his face was fractured, cracked open by the tree stump, which had entered through the nape of his neck as he descended. God damn it if the tree hadn’t gone and grown through him, leaves and all. Cobb reckoned it must have poked out his tongue and most of his teeth on account of how the skull looked. Behind, the scalloped granite face from which he had fallen was wet and moss grew in a thick pile all over it. Cobb studied the edifice and squinted up into the flaxen sun that spliced through the branches in shafts. He breathed in deep, he breathed out deep, and then pulled on his pipe. He turned to take a steamy piss as he contemplated his grisly find, the sour vapor coiling up from the undergrowth. Then he turned back to examine the corpse, scanning his way across it. He rifled through the man’s clothes, finding nothing until he checked the breast pocket. A watch. A gold pocket watch. It was not a beautiful watch, but it was gold—least he thought so. It was scuffed and tarnished, rendered greenish-brown by a dull patina, but it was gold. He was sure of it. And on the back of the case was an etched symbol that seemed somehow older and more unfamiliar than other etchings he had ever seen. Though none made much sense to him on account of not knowing how to read. Cobb’s fat, tobacco-packing-finger-and-thumb wound the ridged crown until he felt it tighten. But the watch was dead. He shook it. He heard no rattle, no loose parts. So he tried again, breathing on it. Still nothing. And so, after a second check through the fallen man’s coat, Cobb went on his way. He could get the watch fixed up and sold in Dawson City, maybe. He was not walking long before he heard a gentle ticking. Over and over. It would come and go as he walked. The windless day made it audible. And before long he worked out it was, in fact, the watch. And what Cobb also got to reckoning was how it would only tick when he walked a certain direction. Were he to head back on himself, it would stop. Were he to go anglewise, it would stop. The only way to keep the watch ticking was to walk the way that kept it so. He figured it to be like a compass, and he was not wrong to do so. The hands didn’t move as such—just kept pointing to “XII” and shuttling back and forth every second. Cobb ruminated hard on these events. He was sure he was mistaken, and he knew that watches don’t know where you are going. And besides, watches don’t want folks to go anywhere. And yet here he was, switchbacking and double-stepping to ensure that where he walked was in accordance with the watch. He smoked while he walked. He smoked his whole pouch, wondering what in the hell was happening and what he was doing. He reckoned he covered eight miles or more just following the ticking of the watch. After a time, he kept it pressed to his ear on account of a noisy breeze that blew up from the west, carrying a chill. He came upon more rock, in front of which stood a tall series of black spruce and lodgepole pine. The sedge was thick and the ground was sodden underfoot. He coughed. He heard his cough return to him - an echo. He coughed again. The same. Then he sang, “Hell-o-oh?!” He heard his voice rebound again. And so he went scanning through the rock face for the cave he figured must be there. The watch’s ticking brought him right to the entrance. He peered into it and swore out loud, for fun. The watch had made him giddy. He felt lucky. Cobb wasn’t one for getting ahead of himself too much, but he was minded to head into the cave and was half-expecting to find the paystreak he reckoned destiny owed him. He stopped and walked into the dark aperture. It was grey and mildewed. He choked as the damp air caught on his throat. He lit his candle lantern and as he did so the cave walls were gently illuminated in fronds of golden lamplight. “Well, I be damned,” he exclaimed, slack-jawed and motionless. “Well, I be damned to hell.” Cobb wiped at the stone. Then again, harder this time, the soft glow of precious metal catching in the half-light, streaking through quartz like a buried secret revealed. His heart raced. There it was, an old paystreak, untouched for who knows how long. Glittering like the promises the Yukon whispered to old fools like him. Cobb unslung his pack and fumbled for his hammer, fingers clumsy with urgency. The cave was quiet save for the regular ticking of the watch in his pocket and his own ragged breathing. His grip tightened on the handle, and with a sharp crack, he brought the hammer down on the vein. The first blow splintered the quartz, shards of rock falling like shattered glass. He struck again, and this time, the gold came free in small chunks, heavy and real in his hands. The ore gleamed dully, still crusted with bits of quartz and dirt, but unmistakably gold. He ran his thumb over the nugget’s cool surface, a thrill of triumph surging through him. He laughed, and then he cried, and then laughed again. “I knew it! I knew it!” He kissed the watch. Then he kissed it again. The grizzly was maybe nine feet tall on its hind legs. Drunk with gold, Cobb barely heard it approach him. The first thing he knew was that he was being thrown to the floor of the cave. The next, he was lifted and dragged back into the daylight. The animal did not care that he screamed and cussed. The claws tore his flesh apart in broad streaks that frayed at their edges and then ran red into the loam. He felt the wet of its nose upon his cheek. Its teeth bore down on his neck. And before he died, Cobb heard his own windpipe crack, snapping crisply like a brittle branch. Two years later: Cornelius Gretsch considered making camp by an overgrown granite bluff. As he assessed the area, he came upon a dead man. “My good God,” he said. He looked over the emaciated stash of bones, hair, teeth and leathery flesh - much like dried fruit, he thought. The bones were broken all over, and he reckoned it was a bear that did it. He found a corn-cob pipe, a smashed candle lantern, and - a few feet sideways - a gold pocket watch. He picked up the watch and listened to it. He heard nothing at all, until he started moving. Then he heard it tick. And like Cobb - and all the other fellas who found that watch - he followed its lead. And soon enough, Cornelius Gretsch was dead too."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "I'll Never Do That Again"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I’ll Never Do That Again by Burt Sage “You want my most embarrassing moment?” I ask. “Yeah,” Fred says. “I thought it would be a good way to get us going tonight.” Our next door neighbors, Fred and Susan, are over for our regular Saturday night get together. Every other Saturday night they come over here; on alternating nights Karen and I go over to their place. We have dinner and then talk about the old days, current events, etc., but never politics. The visiting couple gets to choose the initial topic of conversation, and for tonight Fred and Susan have picked embarrassing moments. “Which one?” I ask myself. There are so many. But there’s one that really stands out. “OK,” I say. “It was back in the early 2000’s. Karen and I had decided to visit our son in San Diego. Instead of flying out, we would drive. I had just bought a Prius, and the forty or so gallons of gas would cost only about a hundred dollars each way. It was much cheaper than airfare, and we would have a familiar car at our disposal while we were there. We had always said that driving across the country was something we wanted to do. You know, see the country up close, and now was as good a time as any.” “And the highways were good. Interstate all the way. I-30 down to Fort Worth, then I-20 through much of Texas, picking up I-10 in west Texas. At Casa Grande, NM we would take I-8 for the rest of the trip to San Diego.” “It was a typical hot, dry, and windy summer’s day with the temperature in the low 100’s as we left I-10 in Casa Grande to take I-8,” I continued. “I distinctly remember Karen saying that we should buy gas because the country down through New Mexico and Arizona was pretty desolate. But I had looked at the trip odometer I had reset at the last fill up. We had gone 450 miles and Gila Bend was only 60 miles away. We’d still have a hundred miles of gas left when we got to Gila Bend. ‘Why waste time filling up now.’ I thought. So we pressed on.” “I also remember the sign as we entered I-8. No services next 58 miles. ” “We had gone about 30 miles when I looked down at the speedometer to check my speed. Right beside it was a flashing yellow image of a gas pump. It was the ‘low fuel’ warning light. It meant that I only had about 25 miles of fuel left.” “How is this possible,” I ask myself. Even though the air conditioning is cooling the car well, beads of sweat are forming on my brow. Casa Grande is 30 miles behind us, and the next ‘service’ is more than 25 miles ahead of us. “I’ve got to find some gas!” I say to myself. “I screwed up,” I say to Karen. “I need to find some gas. We have only about 25 miles of gas left.” “I TOLD you that we should have gotten gas back on I-10,” she says, in her most sarcastic voice. “What are you going to do now?” “I don’t know,” I admit. I look over at Karen. She’s slumped down in her seat, arms folded across her chest, and looking straight ahead, expressionless. But I know she’s exhausted the thesaurus of synonyms for words like idiot, moron, and imbecile. I slow down a bit to think. I’m racking my brain for some ideas on what to do, when we approach an intersection. On the right side of the highway there’s a hand-made sign that reads Construction site with an arrow pointing to the exit ramp. “A construction site?” I say to myself. “That means workers and pickup trucks and all kinds of equipment. Surely I can buy some gas from one of the workers. We can siphon it from his truck to my car.” So I pull off. The intersection is not a typical interstate intersection. Normally there would be a couple of gas stations and a restaurant and maybe a motel. Here? The only evidence of human existence besides the highway itself is a YIELD sign. As we head north, the countryside becomes even more desolate. Just miles and miles of miles and miles. Not even the slightest sign of life. I want to say God-forsaken, but clearly that’s wrong. God is here in His full majesty in the rugged beauty of the sand and sage and mountain vistas. But in my present state of mind I can’t appreciate it. After several miles I see a cloud of dust up ahead. “That must be the construction sight,” I say to myself. Then the gas engine on my Prius quits. It’s out of gas. I only have maybe 5 miles left on battery power. It’s enough. I pull into the construction sight and it’s exactly how I envisioned it. A couple of dozen cars are parked randomly around; at least half are four wheel drive Yukons or Tundras or the like. And there’s an RV off to one side with power and telephone lines leading to it. “Worst case,” I say to myself, “I can call AAA.” There’s a sign on the RV door that reads “Office”, so I knock. “Come on in,” a loud manly voice shouts. I open the door and survey the inside of the RV. At one end there’s an enormous, well-tanned older man sitting behind a desk at least three sizes too small. There’s a woman sitting behind a second much-closer desk doing some typing. It’s air conditioned, and there’s a telephone on each desk. “What can we do you for?” the man asks, good naturedly. I explain the situation, and ask about siphoning some gas. “How you gonna do that?” the man asks. “Well,” I say, “If one of your men would drive their truck up next to my Prius...” “You ran outa gas with a Prius?” he butts in, astonished. “Well, if that don’t beat all. Hey, Mary, you hear that? He ran outa gas with a Prius.” “Yeah, I heard,” Mary said. But she can’t hide her laughter. ‘You got 600 miles of range and you run out of gas?” the man asks, laughing. “How in the world do you do that?” “I didn’t think I would,” I say. “My trip odometer read 450 miles at Casa Grande and I was sure I could make it to Gila Bend.” “You doin’ 80 on the Interstate?” he asked. “Yes,” I said. “And runnin’ your air conditioner?” “Of course.” “Well, that explains it,” he says. “Those advertised mileage numbers are only good around town at low speed. Kinda surprised you made it this far.” “You’re right, of course,” I said. “I can see that now. So, how about siphoning some gas?” The man stands up. He’s got at least 6 inches and 75 pounds on me and every ounce of the 75 pounds is muscle. “We ain’t gonna do no siphoning,” he says. “No, sir, we ain’t gonna do none of that. Out here gas is scarce. Closest gas is 30 miles away in Dateland. We ain’t gonna do no siphoning.” “I’ll pay you whatever you ask,” I plead. “Nope,” he says. “Out here, we always keep a little extra gas on hand. And if somebody needs some, we give it away. Never know when you might need a little help yourself. C’mon.” He leads me out of the RV and over to his truck. Under a tarp in the back of his truck are two full 3 gallon gas cans. He pulls one out, walks over to my Prius, and empties the contents into my gas tank. “That’ll do you until you get to Dateland,” he says. I reach for my wallet. He puts his hands out, palms facing me. “Now don’t you go insultin’ me,” he says. “Like I said, we give it away.” “I can’t thank you enough,” I said. “In the future, whenever your gas gauge says half empty, fill it up. You just never know,” he says. As I walk away to my car, I can’t help remembering the number of times Karen has told me the same thing. When I get back in the car and look at Karen, her position hasn’t changed an inch. Still stone faced, sullen, looking straight ahead. I know she’s going to let me have it. It’s only a question of when. She stays that way for the 30 miles to Dateland. I stop at the first gas station I see and fill it up. When I get back into the car, she still hasn’t moved an inch. “All right,” I say, “Out with it. Get it out of your system. We can’t go all the way to San Diego like this.” She starts to laugh. But it’s not a hysterical laugh, or an angry laugh. It’s a kind of a quiet giggle. “You’re not angry?” I ask, astonished. “Oh, I was for the first 30 minutes or so,” she says, softly. “In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever been as angry as I was then. But I realized that it was just you being you. And my getting angry wasn’t going to make matters any better.” She turned to me. “But,” she said with a wicked grin, “I’ve got the greatest story to tell everybody I know back home. Especially the members of my church choir. I’m going to tell them how you ran out of gas with a Prius. You’ll never live this one down, buster. You’ll never live this one down.” Fred can’t contain his laughter. “You ran out of gas with a Prius?” he exclaims. “Karen’s right. You’ll never live that down.”"
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Where Magic was understood"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Where Magic was understood. Oriel stood on the slope. He was dressed is his favorite undergarments and cloak. There was thunder and lightning as the air pressure dropped and the winds from the highlands brought in the rain on strong gusts with more lightning. He returned to the garret where he was wont to spend his days writing of the things that have been. The old house was one he had inherited from his family who were minstrels and people of the road from a previous era. When things were different years ago the family was on the road with music, plays and goods that were trafficked as needed items of clothing or just articles people could use. These were particularly well received as all were handmade by his family and were aesthetic, artistic creations. Some years ago, he had taken to writing, so that, his experiences he’d lived through could be recorded. Then, there was a large family, but now, there was only him and the house here on the cliff. Now in the early afternoon the rain had abated and the sun was shining on the mountain again. Oriel decided to go down to the diggings in the grotto again. This was his favorite pastime when he broke from his engagement with writing. He took the stair to the front of the building and crossed the level area below the house on the edge of the cliff. It was wet and there was running water off the mountain still deluging into the gulleys on the way to the stream below the house. It was picturesque and invigorating in the cool afternoon, but importantly the path to the mine was uncluttered and safe even while still wet now. It had often been scattered with rock fragments from the cliff above. Oriel stopped and viewed the house and the panorama out across the commons below; where the village nestled to one side and the open fields spread out further afield of the community called Hawks Lane. Hawks’ lane was not always as it is currently. It used to be a meeting ground where all the Gypsies congregated in the fields after their travels. It had eventually become the home camp when they returned. Now it had grown into a town with some of the subsequent generations of nomads actually settled maintaining, farms with some livestock and crops.\n\nHe shook his head as if to shake off the flood of memories that avalanched in upon him and turned to the stairway into the grotto. At the entrance he placed his palm on the lintel and the door opened. He entered, stood on the counterweight to the left of the doorway and held the handle in the rotating pillar, as it turned and inverted so that he could exit to the floor below. No one had ever discovered the grotto. It had been set up with the first Chieftain almost a century earlier. The entrance procedure had only been known by a select few even in those days. He now walked into the open passage before him and where it turned there was another doorway. He walked into an alcove to the left and placed his hand into a shallow recess and the door opened. He sealed it again by repeating the procedure from the inside. There was a short stairway down which he went into the grotto. It was a vast chamber with stalagmites that rose from the ground with diameters of over 5 feet and some were almost complete from floor to ceiling where they met the stalactites. It was a magnificent spectacle on the shore of a large lake; still, ink-blue with water the stretched into the dark beyond. There was one source of daylight through the roof from a narrow chimney that had with centuries eroded a path through the stone from above into the grotto to the lake. \n\nOriel turned to a rockface where there was a control panel, opened the cover, pressed a toggle-switch and a rope dropped from above. He pulled the rope and the lights went on in the grotto. It was a display that he cherished but also with a twinge of guilt. It was so spectacular it should be shared and not be secret; which it has been all these years; even from the other community members and the rest of Britain. The canoe was lashed to the stalagmite at the foot of the path to the main grotto. He hoisted himself into the canoe and paddled across the lake for some 50 to 70 meters and turned in towards the bank where there was a strong current and pulled the canoe into the current. He stopped rowing to let the stream take him further. In about 15 minutes he could hear the waterfall and began to slow the craft looking for the docking hitch above the waterfall. He was calm but strained to scan the rockface for the recognizable hitch that he was used to. He turned the canoe and made a second pass along the same route. He didn’t find the hitch. Now he became concerned as he had never had this uncertainty on any previous trip. He rummaged in the bottom the canoe for the flash light. The canoe was now in the strong stream being pulled to the waterfall. He was still calm but was anxious about the missing hitch, which threw him off guard and now he was in the fast stream downstream towards the waterfall, which was a new threat. He started paddling to get the canoe under control. He didn’t find the flash light and abandoned the search for attention to his safety now. He started thinking of ditching the canoe and trying to swim to the rockface and realized that he was now in danger and panic whelmed up in him. He used forceful strokes on the oars to counter the direction of the canoe’s drift, but seemed to be losing the battle. He really applied force to the oars, the canoe was rocking from side to side with the effort and his next stroke missed the water and Oriel slipped on the canoe bottom, lunged into the side of the canoe and went over the side. …………... He opened his eyes and his immediate thought was that he had died. What he saw was an angel in his vision – a woman that ranked as the most captivating presence and beautiful person he had seen. Stunned he was speechless. She asked how he felt, but he could not answer. He was dumb with awe. She asked if he was hungry. His mind ran amok with his predicament. His thought was…’I did not know that they ate in heaven.’ He stuttered to try an answer. It was a failure of communicate. Nothing seemed to fit. She held his hand and said very calmingly. “Please rest! Take it easy and don’t rush! I will come back. Here is a buzzer press it if you need help or want to talk.” ……………….... Oriel lay awake and looked at the ceiling of the high painted wood beams and looked about at the well-furnished room. He had no recollection of how he came to be at this place. He was now doubting that he was in heaven, then remembered the buzzer. He found it pressed it twice and tried to sit up in the bed. He was assaulted by the most vicious pain and collapsed back on the bed. He lay moaning in the bed when the angel appeared at his side. She said nothing. Oriel tried again to sit up and collapsed again moaning. She let him be. After some time, she asked how he felt now. I still could not utter what was on his mind nor express myself. She spoke. “Are you hungry?” She then repeated what she had said previously and left. ………………… Some time passed and I lay once more contemplating the ceiling and the room. But decided not to try sitting up so I pressed the buzzer first. The angel arrived at my bedside. I looked her in the eye. She did not blink and in the pools of her eyes I saw compassion and such a depth of patience I concentrated on that and tried to speak. ‘Who are you?’ echoed in the room. I realized I had shouted it out to make sure it got out and could be heard. Though she winced with the impact of the sound of my shout she replied calmly and softly that she was Angel and was part of a group of towns people that found me on the river bank unconscious. I tried again this time croaking a bit but I asked if she knows me. ” No, we were hoping you could tell us that.” “How long have I been here?” “Two weeks.” “Where is here?” “This town i[..]"
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Passages of Patagonia on the Ship Destiny's Dreams"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "In the attic of a lighthouse keeper's house built in the 1800s on the Mystical Coast, someone opened a weatherbeaten old wooden box in the corner. It contained the ship's logs and journals from the 1800s for a vessel called Destiny's Dreams. There was also a colorful, textured woven cape. It must have been treasured by someone very much. These are the stories of the voyages of the Destiny's Dreams from those journals. ****** Silhouetted against the sky, the young sailor named Joaquin climbed the rope ladders to the ship’s topsails of the vessel Destiny’s Dreams. They were in the Patagonia Passage at the tip of South America in the 1800s. “Careful.” The captain of the ship called to Joaquin. “I will be fine.” He called down to the captain. “I will furl the main sail around the boom. Then I can trim the fore and aft sails close to the center of the boat.” Joaquin was the boatswain, also called the bosun. He was young but experienced from starting as a boy on another ship. “He knows what he is doing.” The first mate, Adelberto, spoke to the captain. “The ship will be more agile now in the narrows of the Strait.” “He is a very impressive young man.” Captain Alfonse’s voice held admiration. “Clever. Good ideas.” Miles away on the shore, seventeen-year-old Estrella felt the cool wind from the waters of the Patagonia Passage. It blew through the otherworldly lands at the tip of South America. The fingers of the chilly gust touched her cheek. It seemed to whisper to her of the scenes that her sightless eyes could not see.\n\nNext to Estrella, her best friend and playmate, Sombra, looked up at her. Sombra’s name meant shadow and he went everywhere with Estrella. He was an animal with a sharp, foxy face and pointed ears. Now he stood looking up at her adoringly. His coat was reddish brown with darker accents. “Papa, I hear singing and music. What is out there?” She tilted her head. A cape of bumpy textured woven fabric in bright colors enveloped her shoulders. The low, grey clouds above seemed less dark, as if the cloak she wore brightened everything around it. Ignacio, her father, squinted into the distance over the silvery waves. “A ship. Moving fast. Built for speed. People on the deck. Some type of gathering. Wait till they get closer. I can’t see much yet.” A few minutes later Estrella heard bouncy rhythms of stringed instruments and a flute playing. The songs were like melodies of birds in the morning, with a background of breezes. “Someone is singing. What wonderful music.” Estrella’s mouth curved into a smile. “There are people on the deck of the ship singing and dancing. It must be a party. This is so unusual. Let’s get your mother.” Estrella placed her hand on her father’s arm . Together they walked past the rough buildings in the village to a cottage. Sombra walked close to Estrella's side. Estrella reached down frequently to touch the top of Sombra's head, and stroke his ear. A while later, Ignacio, Estrella, and Sombra returned with a tall woman, wearing layers of thick wraps for warmth. “Ines, see that ship. what do you think of this?” The man spoke to his wife, who smiled, then laughed.\n\n“They do look funny. Hopping and swaying around like that. I guess it is their style of dance.” Out on the ship known as Destiny’s Dreams, the Captain looked through his telescope at the shoreline. The passengers on the ship were celebrating their entrance to the Patagonia Passage. It would take them from the Atlantic Ocean to the Pacific. Every week they found something new to celebrate. It was becoming a tradition on the Destiny’s Dreams. Captain Alfonse’s colorful parrot, Foresta, bobbed and hopped from one claw to another. A smaller, grey parrot, Bonita, squawked and made her favorite sound. “Hahahaha.” The ship entertainers from Buenos Aires played their instruments, sang, and danced to music. Some passengers sat gathered around a woman next to a large lantern with blue, etched glass. It cast an indigo glow on everyone. She was telling stories. “What kind of ship is that?” Ignacio's voice held both laughter and puzzlement. “We must be imagining this.” Ines chuckled. “Mama, Papa, such wonderful sounds.” Estrella’s voice rose with excitement and her smile widened. She felt so alive. The sounds awakened something inside of her. Estrella tingled all over. “There is so much to hear that I can almost see.” It was true. In the dark shadows that shifted in front of her, with the tiny bits of light, shapes seemed to form. Out on the ship, Captain Alfonse’s rescued monkey, Rio, scampered up the rope ladders that led to the top sails of the ship. Then his long-fingered hands grasped a loose end of a halyard. Rio swung across the ship from one side to another, over the heads of the musicians and dancers. “Ines. Did you see that?” “Ignacio, I think I might have lost my mind.” “What is it Mama? Papa?” Estrella reached over and grabbed her mother’s arm. Then Estrella began to hum along with the music carried by the winds from the ship. Next, she instinctively moved her feet, bending her knees and swaying. Lol “I’m dancing.” She laughed. The music washed over her like the wind enfolding her. Estrella moved her arms and hands in a flowing gesture to the music. Ines and Ignacio smiled at each other. Several ships stopped at the village each month. If the captains did not want to sail around the treacherous Cape Horn, then they could take the longer, safer channel of the Patagonia Strait. At the other end of the village, a group of people stood outside a building watching the ship. They began discussing their situation. “If they drop anchor and come into shore in a boat we can ask if they have room for us.” “ Yes. Good thing we left the other ships when the mutiny started. It was not safe. Too bad we have been stranded here.” “When the food got low and we were eating mostly hardtack biscuits, I thought it could not get any worse.” “I know. Then we only had the crumbling powder from the biscuits. We knew the captain failed to store enough supplies. No wonder two of the ships in the fleet quit and went north to Buenos Aires for food and supplies.” “When the other ship’s crew had that mutiny I was afraid our ship would too. Good thing we saw this village and they agreed to row us into shore in their surfboat.” The women, men and children in the group watched the Destiny’s Dreams closely. They were eager to continue their voyage on another ship. “Let’s drop anchor and take the surfboat into shore to explore and meet the people here.” Captain Alfonse felt curiosity and anticipation rising inside of him. “I’ve never stopped along the Patagonia Strait before.” Adelberto, the first mate, nodded to Alfonse. Everyone in the village began to walk to the supplies store. It was logical that the people in the rowboat would head over to that building. Alfonse, Edelberto, and the other sailors in the boat pulled it up onto the pebbled beach. Joaquin, noticed the interesting young woman wearing colorful clothing. The girl did not seem to gaze at the newcomers, but she tilted her head and seemed to be listening intently. When they got closer he saw her eyes were wide with long eyebrows like wings. But her eyes did not glance to the left and right or up and down. Then he realized why. She is without sight, he thought. But she is stepping along with such confidence. What a smile, too. His thoughts began to whirl and he drew in a quick breath of air. Joaquin, Captain Alfonse and Adelberto introduced themselves in front of the supplies building. Everyone began talking at once. “Welcome to our village.” “Where are you going?” The passengers stranded there, from the ships of the mutiny, crowded close to the man wearing the peaked cap. “Are you the Captain? Do you have room for ten more people?” They poured out their story. Adelberto and Alfonse wore expressions of shock. “You are welcome to join our voyage on the ship Destiny’s Dreams.” Joaquin found his eyes kept returning to glance at the young girl in the colorful cape. Under the grey skies, she was like a beam of light. But it was not only her clothing but her face and expressive hand gestures that entranced him. He decided to speak to her. “Are you from the ship that had the mutiny too?” Joaquin saw Estrella turn her head when she listened to his voice. Estrella noticed he had a naturally melodic tenor voice. It was a voice she liked. Sombra leaned against Estrella’s leg. She reached down to put her hand on his head. He licked her fingers. Then he looked at the strangers. A protective feeling came over him. He placed himself between Estrella and the new people. With a serious looking face, he pointed his ears at the people and gave them such intense, big eyed looks that they stepped back. “Good Sombra. We are alright.” Estrella spoke to her friend. They communicated with their own invisible language as if thoughts and feelings could be sensed through the air. It was part of Estrella’s special gifts that compensated for her eyes. Estrella’s parents explained they were long-time residents and were not from the ship. The wind sent a strong gust then and the bright cape draped around Estrella’s shoulders slipped off and tumbled along the shore. Joaquin ran after it. Estrella heard his footsteps leave. Her mouth drooped slightly. She turned her head to listen to the sounds of his movement. But she tried not to be too obvious. There was something about him. Who was he? Sombra gave a yip and nudged Estrella. Then he left her side to run after the cape and fetch it for her. Joaquin and Sombra both reached the cape at the same time, and Joaquin let Sombra have the cape. He was surprised when the dog carrying the cape trotted at his side. Estrella felt Sombra nudge her hand with the cape in his moutmouth. Joaquin spoke. “I went to chase it when the wind blew it off your shoulder. Sombra wanted to carry it back. It is a very beautiful wrap.” Joaquin spoke softly, watching Estrella’s face. She heard his melodious voice and said, “Thank you.” While the other people made plans Joaquin answered Estrella’s questions about the ship, the music, and the singing. “Here.” She spoke impulsively. She wanted to have some kind of connection with him. Their brief conversation had pierced a sense of isolation she often felt. \n\nShe loved her parents and Sombra. But she did not have friends in the village who were young people near her age. She held out the cape. “I want you to have this. It is very warm and it was woven here in the village.” Joaquin felt a rush of emotion. He was so used to being alone in the world, although he was surrounded by sailors and passengers on the ship. No one had ever given him a gift like this. Little did she know what it meant to him. He would treasure it and think of her. Now he sadly pictured the ship sailing away, taking him with it, leaving her behind. She was someone special. He knew it. A deep longing filled him. A longing to talk to her and share his thoughts and experiences. There was no one who really knew him. Estrella felt the air charged with some kind of energy. She knew Joaquin was not speaking and wondered why he had paused. She enjoyed listening to his voice and hearing him talk about his adventures on the ship. Ines, Estrella’s mother, noticed the two young people interacting. She knew her daughter did not have friends other than the few other adults in the remote village. Expressions flitted across her daughter’s face like weather over the ocean. Ines knew her daughter must be lonely. Life in the village could get monotonous. Estrella was young. But someday Ines knew her daughter might meet someone special, and even get married. Now Joaquin held the bright woven wrap and it stood out on the grey day. He felt Estrella was like the cape. She was a brightness under the grey sky. The music and singing from the ship was still floating over the waves to the villagers. Ines turned to Ignacio. “Maybe it is time for us to leave this village too. We have been here long enough.” Captain Alfonse heard her. “We sail on a joyful ship. There are plenty of food supplies. You are welcome to join us. Sombra can come too.” Estrella could not believe her ears. That night Ines and Ignacio talked long into the night. They felt it would be good for Estrella to be around more people. The captain appeared trustworthy and the ship was well-maintained. When they asked Estrella what she wanted to do she did not hesitate. “Yes. Let’s go.”\n\nThe next morning the passengers on the ship were excited about meeting the new people. Estrella, Ignacio, Ines, and Sombra rode in the surfboat out to the Destiny’ Dreams. On the deck of the ship amid the singers and musicians Estrella heard a familiar voice. It was Joaquin. “Good day to you Estrella, and to Sombra.” She felt Sombra lean against her on one side. On the other side Joaquin guided her hand to his bent arm. “Shall we take a walk over to the musicians?” At Joaquin’s voice Estrella nodded and smiled. She felt Joaquin’s arm move a little to the music on the deck of the ship. Then they were moving their feet and dancing. The salt air breeze was cool on Estrella's face. The sounds of the ship creaking, the sails fluttering, and the waves splashing blended together. She loved the many sounds. While they stepped slowly to the music, Joaquin began to tell her about his experiences on voyages and visits to ports. He saw by her face she was enjoyinlithe stories. “Estrella,\" he said. \"I want you to tell me about your experiences too. At the village. How did you find Sombra?” Estrella felt a burst of feeling. Joaquin understood what was important to her. He wanted to listen to her stories too. She was not used to talking this way. Her voice was hesitant at first. Joaquin spoke and murmured to encourage her. He took the colorful woven wrap she had given to him, and wound it around them both at the shoulder. Estrella felt the texture of the familiar fabric. Wrapped in the warm cape together, Estrella and Joaquin felt like they were in a world of their own. The Destiny's Dreams sailed on, to the songs of the musicians and the sea, the voices of the ship's parrots, and the sounds of the Captain's rescued monkey named Rio. The ship carried Estrella and Joaquin deeper into the world of the Patagonia Passage."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Quest for Tears"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Coughing and groans came from Seth as he was nearly motionless in his bed. Serena was making him soup to try and get him to eat. It’s been years since the magical diseases began covering their land and when her twin brother became ill months ago, she knew it was up to her to stop the sickness from taking him like it did their parents in the very beginning. But she has yet to find a medicine or herbal remedy to heal him and he progressively has been getting worse.\n\n“Here, Seth. I made your favorite. Potato soup.” Serena pulled a chair to the bed. “Not—” he coughed, “hungry.” He has yet to open his eyes.\n\n“Seth please, you haven’t eaten anything in almost two weeks.” Water began forming inside Serena’s eyelids. The only answer she got from her brother was soft low moans of pain. She begged again but remained with the same response. She put the soup back in the pot and looked at the book on the dining table. She’s been reading to him every night since he became sick. And now she needed to get a new one.\n\n“Then I’m going to run to the bookshop in town for a new book. I’ll be right back brother.” She glanced at him and with no other response, grabbed the book and headed to town.\n\nIt wasn’t long until she stepped into the shop full of books. The owner, Lyla, was rearranging some on a shelf. “Serena, my dear. Back already? You’re getting faster with your reading.” Lyla said coming to greet her.\n\n“Yes, I suppose so.” Serena gave a sorrowful smile. “I guess things with Seth are no better?” Lyla asked. “No, and I’m out of options.” Serena placed the book on a desk. Lyla stayed silent for a moment before running to grab another from the back.\n\n“Here, no charge.” Lyla put the book in Serena’s hand. “I’m sorry I can’t do more than simply give you a book to read to him.”\n\n“It’s okay. It’s always nice to see you, Lyla. I appreciate this.” Serena said holding the book up. “I guess I should be going. Thank you.” She turned to walk out the door.\n\n“Well, I may have one more option for you,” Lyla said stopping Serena from leaving the bookshop. “I know of a man who has made miracles happen. He has limited magical abilities and has used them to help others. I have his card here if you’re interested?” She finished and held up a black card. “Really? Yes, yes I’m interested. Where can I find him?” Serena said taking the card to observe.\n\n“His shop is on the edge of the village towards the forest. You’ll find the information needed to find it on the card. I hope he can help your brother.” Lyla gave a soft smile.\n\n“Thank you, Lyla! Thank you,” Serena blurted before running out of the shop and straight to Zoranders shop. She believed she found it but from the outside, it looked uninviting and dark. But desperation ached in her and she walked into the chilling shop.\n\n“Hello? Is anyone here?” Serena asked slowly stepping into the shop. “I’m looking for Zorander Kane. My name is Serena Vikena. I need your help. Please?” A door to the far left opened pouring out an abundance of mist and a tall dark-haired man emerged.\n\n“I am him. What can I help you with child?” He spoke. His voice was deep and almost harsh-like.\n\n“I was told of you and your miracles. My brother, he’s deathly sick. I need something, anything, to help him heal from his diseases or I will lose him. Please, I’ve tried everything.” Serena begged.\n\n“I’m sorry, but I don’t possess anything of the sort here in my shop. The objects you see are simple trinkets and minor works of magic. Nothing to cure the doomed.” He said with a slight wave of his hand indicating for her to leave.\n\n“Please, sir. You must know of other regions where such items can be found. I’ll do anything to help my brother. We’re twins you see, and our parents are no longer with us, and I just have—” Serena stopped as Zorander raised his hand to silence her.\n\n“I know of one place, maybe, that could potentially bring you what you need. But it’s a long trip.” Zorander said sternly.\n\n“If it will have something to heal my brother, I’ll do it,” Serena stated.\n\n“Oh, it will. This cavern holds many potions, many of them to be life-saving. But only of those worthy of such magic will be granted entry to retrieve the item they seek.” Zorander dug through his cabinets behind a desk in the back and pulled out a map. “If you think you’re worthy, this map will be all you need.” He glanced up at Serena as she slowly walked up to the desk.\n\n“I believe I’m worthy. I have done no wrong throughout my life. My mother taught me well. And—” Once again Serena was cut off by the rise of Zoranders hand.\n\n“That will be enough, my child. If you believe, then that’s what matters. But this gift will come at a cost in the end.” Zorander gave a sinister smile that set Serena's hair on end. But she didn’t care. All she wanted was to save her brother.\n\n“Whatever it costs, I will pay my debt.” She took the rugged map from his hands. Worry grew but the hope for Seth grew faster.\n\n“Then go child. Be on your way and be vastly cautious.” Zorander spoke once more before sending Serena on her way.\n\nSerena first stopped to ask Lyla if she could care for Seth while she was away, which she agreed to. She studied the map, packed her essentials, said her goodbyes, and left early the next morning to go and bring back the magical cure for her brother. The journey began as any other with an exceedingly amount of exhausting walking but Serena was more determined than ever to get that potion for Seth. She looked at the map and noticed she would be going through another forest like the one she just emerged from. She noticed two large rivers and a mountain range also in her path.\n\nThe first river was her next checkpoint and when she came to it, she saw the rushing rapids and no way across. But as she looked to her right, she noticed a mermaid on the edge of the river. She approached her and noticed she was caught in some kind of trap.\n\n“Excuse me? I can help if you’d like?” She asked the fearful mermaid. The mermaid didn’t respond in words but with a shake of her head. Serena pulled out her knife, given to her by Seth years back, from her pack. She began cutting the rope that entangled the mermaid, releasing her in minutes. The mermaid showed great gratitude.\n\n“Do you know of a bridge nearby? I need to cross this river.” Serena asked. The mermaid only glanced to the other side and held out her hand. Serena didn’t feel comfortable with her solution but the mermaid motioned for her to grab her hand again. So, Serena locked up her pack, stepped into the water, and grabbed the mermaid’s hand. She began to swim pulling Serena along with her like it was nothing. It wasn’t too long before they reached the other side and Serena climbed out, thanking the mermaid. She swam off into the rushing water and Serena continued her journey for the potion.\n\nIt’s been two days since she left home and realized she needed a break and stopped to rest just inside the second forest. She drank her water and ate some of the food she packed. All she could think of as she looked at the stars was Seth. Hoping, and praying the potion ahead will bring him back to good health. The next morning, she was off again, walking through the beautiful forest. She’d never seen some of the creatures or even the plant life before. She saw a little mushroom-headed creature pulling at a flower three times its size. She bent down to pick it for him and he smiled before running into the ferns with the flower in hand. Serena continued on her way.\n\nIt was another day’s walk before reaching the second river. This time, she saw a bridge and used it to run across. She stopped to fill her bottle with the water before continuing. She stopped for the night again to rest up more. The mountain was in view and she knew the cavern was somewhere towards the top. She was so close and it brought her great joy knowing she was going to bring Seth to health. She wondered how he was doing. His fever rose a lot just before she left which worried her but made it more vital for her to leave as soon as she did. She didn’t know how much longer he could fight. She had to get that potion.\n\nJust as the sun peaked on the horizon, she was heading towards the mountain. It wasn’t too steep to climb but she knew it was going to be a bit of work. Pinpointing the sun, she knew she’d spent half the day climbing. But based on the map, the cavern wasn’t much further. Then she heard crying. A baby creature crying. She looked up to continue her path, but she couldn’t let that poor creature suffer. She headed off to her right and just over a large rock she saw the crying creature. A baby dragon. Its wing was caught under a large rock. Serena quickly grabbed a thick branch from a nearby tree and shoved it under the rock for leverage. Using all of the strength she had, she lifted the boulder enough for the baby's wing to be released. The baby dragon flew up happily and off into the sky.\n\nShe hurried up the rest of the mountain, reaching the cavern on the map. She was surprised none was guarding this magical place, but she thought maybe it was guarded by magic that Zorander mentioned when he was saying only worthy people may enter. She slowly walked inside the cave-like structure, finding rocks holding up a multitude of potions. Serena realized she didn’t know which one to grab. But as she walked by, a multi-blue potion began to glow. She grabbed it and just knew it was the potion she needed for her brother. She smiled.\n\nSerena packed it up and began her journey home, only now, she ran as much as she possibly could, making the trip much shorter than before. It was a few days before she saw her village in the distance.\n\nAs she drew closer, she saw the lights of her village and though exhausted, she broke out in a full-on sprint towards their cottage. She couldn’t wait to get to him. She entered the village and was about to cut through the courtyard. Still running, she rounded a corner and was slammed to the ground by a big-bodied man.\n\n“I see you’ve returned safely child,” Zorander spoke wiping his jacket where she hit. Serena stumbled to her feet.\n\n“Yes. Yes, I must go.” She went to go around him but he grabbed her arm.\n\n“Not so fast. There is a matter of payment you owe me.” He smiled a grim smile.\n\n“I will pay my debt. Just let me get to my brother. He needs—” She was cut off by a hand to her throat.\n\n“I don’t think you get it. The payment is that potion child.” Zorander loosened his grip but remained there.\n\n“What? No. No, I need this for Seth.” She pulled from his grip, now clutching the potion.\n\n“He’s not the only one sick, girl. Give me the potion. Now.” Zorander reached for it but Serena stepped back yanking it from him. “I too ran out of options given I’m not worthy to enter that cavern. But you. Well, you did me a favor.” He launched to her now and she tried to run but once again was pulled back and fell to the ground. “No, I won’t let you take this last chance from me,” Serena yelled.\n\nZorander made another attempt for the bottle. Serena was fighting with what strength she had, but Zorander had his hand on the bottle now. They fought back and forth. However, during the fight, the bottle slipped and fell directly onto a rock, shattering it, and leaving the liquid to seep into the ground.\n\n“No!” Serena screamed. “You stupid girl. You lost my only chance.” Zorander went to hit her but she kicked him in the leg and ran. He didn’t follow as she ran all the way home to Seth. After tearfully explaining what happened to Lyla, she dismissed her to be alone with Seth.\n\nSerena sat at Seth's bedside and just stared at him and watched as his breathing slowly became worse. She knew that without that potion, it would be a matter of days before she lost him. Tears poured from her eyes as she laid her head on his chest, making him give a low groan. She apologized for not being able to save him. She told him just how much she loved him. But there was no response as usual. As she cried over her hurting brother, a loud lightning strike sound and bright light came from just outside the cottage. Serena wiped her eyes and went to the door to investigate. When she opened it, there was a beautiful woman dressed in all white standing directly in front of her.\n\n“Who are you?” She asked still choked up.\n\n“My name is Celeste. I’m an enchantress from a faraway land. I have come to see you, Serena.” The woman softly spoke.\n\nSerena wasn’t sure what to think, but as she stood there, the enchantress made her way passed her into the cottage. “I’ve had my eye on you dear one. You’ve been through a lot for a young girl of your age. And yet your heart is still so pure.” Celeste said.\n\n“Umm,” Serena was speechless as she looked at this elegant woman standing in their dingy cottage.\n\n“My child, I know the quest you have just returned from, and I know of Zorander and his wickedness. I know of your sick brother,” She gestured to Seth lying completely still in bed. “And, I know of the outcome of the potion you obtained.” “That potion was my last hope. And it’s gone to the Earth. I have nothing left.” Serena’s tears returned.\n\n“The potion may have broken, sealing Zoranders fate horribly, but that doesn’t mean it has to be the same for Seth. Because, unlike Zorander, I have real magic gifted to me.” She glanced at Serena’s brother once more before looking back at her with a smile.\n\n“What are you saying?” Serena spoke low through the tears and raspy voice.\n\n“Well,” Celeste walked further into the cottage having a seat at the table centered in the middle. “Anyone willing to put their life in grave danger for another, and help who they can along the way, deserves at least one wish. Don’t you think?” She gave a sweet smile.\n\nSerena’s eyes got big as she looked behind her to her brother lying unconscious on the bed and back to the woman. “You mean—” “You can wish for whatever you like sweet child.” She smiled.\n\nA great pleasure rose within Serena. “I want nothing more than for my brother to be healed of the magical sicknesses he possesses.” She blurted out.\n\n“Then that is what you shall receive.” The enchantress spoke softly. She walked over to Seth on the bed, where he was hardly breathing. Words of another language escaped her mouth as her whole persona lit up and her light covered Seth completely. It seemed to only last mere minutes before everything went dark and the woman stepped back. “He is well again. It will take some time for him to get his original strength back, but then he’ll be himself again. Only now he’ll be healthy.” She slowly began to walk out the door before turning around one more time. “You two take care of one another. I know there is a great love here. Cherish it always.” She smiled and walked out the door.\n\nSerena lunged for her brother shaking him. “Seth. Seth?” She looked him over. His fever was gone. His color came back. All signs of his sickness had vanished. He slowly blinked his eyes open.\n\n“Serena?” He softly said.\n\n“You’re okay!” Tears of joy poured from her cheeks as she wrapped her arms around him tight, and he even hugged her back. She hadn’t felt that in a long time. “Hold on, I’ll be right back.” She blurted before darting out the door. “Enchantress? Miss?” She looked for the woman but there was no sign of her. “Please? You gave me the only thing I could ever want. Let me repay you.” Serena was blinded by a light directly in front of her. Once it faded, a baby dragon was lying curled up. The baby dragon she saved. There was a note with him which she hurriedly picked up to read. You owe me nothing, my dear sweet child. But this little one here could use your help. He needs a loving home. I know you and your brother will be great for him as he will be for you one day.\n\nSerena smiled, picked up the sleeping dragon, and headed inside to see her brother already up and out of bed. She ran to hug him and cried.\n\n“Hungry? Because I’m starving.” Seth said smiling. Serena could only smile and nod.\n\nShe wasn’t going to lose her brother after all. And all was well again. "
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Operation: Snowball"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "“Agent Bass, come in. Bass, can you hear me?” Special Agent Hinkle barked at me. “Loud and clear, boss. I can also smell your tuna sub.” I reply with bitterness. This is the third wild goose chase in three weeks. Stakeouts, no sleep, smelly hotels, fast food, and stuck in a 2008 Caprice Classic with Agent Tuna, is pushing me to the limit. This operation is a joke. “Keep the comments for the comedy club, Bass. Eyes on the prize.” Hinkle said “Yes, ma’am.” I attempt a respectful answer as I walk through Cleveland’s industrial district in the dark. “Intel good on the location?” “Direct from the North Pole.” “Ma’am? Is that code for another operation?”\n\nHinkle snapped, “Just a figure of speech, rookie! Now get inside the warehouse and locate our fugitive.” “With all due respect, ma’am, shouldn’t we have a whole team to assault the building at night?” “No! He would be expecting that. I lost the funding for an assault team due to a slight mishap in Denver. Damn bureaucrats! Trust me, Agent, a one on one confrontation will nab this perp. Are you scared, Bass. You should be. This guy is a stone cold killer.”\n\nThe mishap was Hinkle sending twelve agents into a trap. The ‘Frozen Dozen’ were allegedly buried inside a meat locker for six hours and almost froze to death. Why isn't my fearless leader going inside to seize the mastermind who has eluded her forever? I’m glad I only have an earpiece or Hinkle would have seen my deep eye roll.\n\n“Approaching the side door, ma’am.”\n\n Why do I always work with wack jobs? There was Agent Rankin in Germany for Operation Toothache. I will never touch Listerine again. Can’t forget Regional Director Nelson in London for Operation Beanstalk. I get triggered when I see a pub. Of course, there is my worst favorite; Special Agent Bedford, in Mississippi for Operation Cottontail. That woman was nuts. I scoured hundreds of trash bins looking for evidence the size of rabbit pellets. Never could find it. Who comes up with these names? The special agent asked, “What do you see, Bass?” “The door and window are frosted over. It's snowing inside. This shouldn’t be possible; it's July.”\n\n“He’s in there. Proceed with caution. Radio silence until you see his deadly coal eyes. I’ll be listening.”\n\n“Roger that, boss.”\n\nI push on the door and it slides open until it hits a pile of thick snow. It’s at least 32 degrees as I enter; it’s getting colder. Hills of snow cover all the boxes and drums. My steps become silent as I move on the wintry mix. The warehouse is dark, except for light coming from the back office. The standard fluorescent bulbs cast long shadows which transform the building into an Arctic wonderland.\n\nThere’s movement in the office. I remove my Glock and hold it in my frostbitten fingers. The eerie creak of rusty hinges echo in the deserted tundra.\n\n“Please come in, Agent Bass, I have been expecting you. By the way, Happy Birthday.” The perp called out to me. “I don’t know how you know my classified information, but remove yourself from the office, now! Frank Rosti, you are under arrest for…” A seven foot round frame dressed in an all white three-piece suit exited the office. Mr. Rosti wore a black bow tie and a dark gray top hat with a small pink flower. He gave me a malicious grin. I would have peed my pants if I wasn’t so damn cold. My body shivers and teeth chatter.\n\n“Hhhaaannnds uupppp Ssnowbbballllll!”\n\nThe giant fugitive complied and asked, “Do you even know what my crimes are, Agent?” Rattling teeth silence my frozen tongue, so I shake my head just to remain moving. I can’t take it! I drop the gun and rub my ice cube hands together. My warm breath is useless against the perpetual cold. “Agent Charles William Bass, nickname Chilly. Mother, Crystal, and sister, Milly, deceased. Father: whereabouts unknown, presumed dead.” The fugitive leaned against the doorway. “You are single, University of Florida grad, and top of your class from the academy. Because of a minor infraction with a colleague, you've been assigned to fringe agents around the world. Currently, you are experiencing stage two hypothermia. Any longer and you will be unconscious.” This dude knows way too much about me. Frost covers my black hair. I am jumping up and down to make sure I can run back to the warm summer night.\n\nMr. Rosti stepped back and lowered his arms. \n\n“Mr. Bass, I have no issue with you and I’m tired of running. I’m very tired. Ms. Hinkle has been chasing me for years and almost apprehended me in Denver.”\n\n He removed his hat and extended it to me. “This is what she is after. She believes it is magic. Magic does not make the man. The man makes the magic. Take it, it won’t harm you. Take it to her. Please, before you freeze to death.” I touch the top hat and feel instant warmth course through my soul and then my body. The hat collapses into a thin circular disc. I stare at the man’s charcoal eyes and feel a strange kinship. I place the top hat inside my jacket and waddle from the warehouse.\n\nI exit and Special Agent Hinkle is there with the car.\n\nShe waved me over to the Chevy. Hinkle held a thermos and poured me a steaming cup of black coffee.\n\n Before I drink the hot elixir, the stainless steel mug defrosts my frozen fingers and face. The ice coating my tongue and throat melts slowly as the java revives my senses. \n\n“Thanks.” I shiver. \n\n“No problem, Bass.” Hinkle poured herself a cup and sipped it. “Rosti still in there?”\n\n“I think so.” I say. “He told me to give you something. I have my doubts about his intention.”\n\nShe laughed, “What is it? A snowball?” I remove the black disc from my jacket and snap it into shape. My boss stumbled away in shock. Hinkle’s cup splattered on the warm blacktop. She whipped out her gun and pointed it at me.\n\n“Hand it over, Bass! Now!” “Boss, I think it’s a trick. Why would this criminal just hand it over?” I flip the top hat in the air and catch it. \n\nHinkle cocked the gun as sweat beads rolled down her forehead.\n\n“I have been searching for that treasure for thirty years. For three generations, the Hinkles have tried to recover what moronic children stole on Christmas Day: my great grandfather’s magic hat. Place it on the ground and step back. I will shoot you. Do it! Now!”\n\n“Ma’am, listen, this is crazy. This hat is not magic. Watch, I’ll prove it.” \n\n“Drop it, Bass!” Bulging eyes glared at me.\n\nI place the hat on my head. Nothing happens.\n\nBam! My right shoulder explodes with pain as the bullet exits with my blood. I smack the ground with a thump. \n\nThe top hat rolled to the feet of my superior officer. Agent Hinkle holstered her weapon and picked it up with reverence.\n\n“Sorry, Bass. I did warn you.”\n\n Her Cheshire cat smile sends shivers down my cold spine.\n\n“Hinkle, don’t do it.” I moan. “Shut up or I’ll shoot you again. I have waited my whole life for this moment.” The federal agent raised the headpiece over her head and gently crowned herself with the family’s relic. Weary arms lowered to her sides. Complete satisfaction engulfed her wrinkled face, but soured to surprise and then horror. \n\nAn arctic cloud exploded from the hat encasing the special agent. Within seconds, she morphed into an obscure human ice sculpture. The top hat remained unchanged on Hinkle’s crystallized skull.\n\nAs I roll to my side, I witness a white shadow approach the human sized ice cube.\n\nFrank Rosti removed his hat from the frozen agent. He leered at me. \n\n“You warned her, Charles. I wish there was another way. But you did good; Son.” He extended his hand to me. “Those acting classes really paid off.” He lifted me to my feet.\n\n“Thanks, Pops.” I scan my father’s face. “You don’t think the shivering was a bit melodramatic.”\n\n“Nah. You did great. A chip off the old ice block.”\n\n He patted my shoulder and pain shot throughout my body.\n\n“Oowww!” I cry and grab my wound. “Sorry, kiddo. Don’t worry it will heal up in a couple hours.”\n\nMy father stood over the icy remains of Agent Hinkle. “She was a piece of dirty slush. But now she is a snowflake.” \n\nFrank Rosti pushed the ice sculpture over and it shattered on the blacktop. The pieces melted into tiny puddles and quickly evaporated. \n\nI stand next to my hero and say a prayer. “Snowflakes to waters. Waters to vapors. Vapors to the heavens.” In unison we proclaimed, “Amen.” We walked in silence to the car. \n\nFrank started, “Oh, you dropped this.” He gave back my handgun. “You got your cover story ready?” I smirk, “Thanks.” I retrieve the gun and holster it. “Of course. Memorized. How do you think I made it through London, Mississippi, and Germany?”\n\n“Chilly, what you did for those magical creatures is beyond the Himalayas. No one will think twice about investigating the tooth fairies, the beanstalk giants, or the Easter bunnies. Not to mention a lovable snowman.” He messed up my hair.\n\n“Thanks Pops.” I climb into the driver’s seat. “My next assignment is in Washington State and Oregon.” I lift up a file on the passenger seat. “Operation Big Feet here I come.” “Sasquatch, son. They are a strong and noble race. We will need them for the final battle. Maybe I’ll tag along and have some fun.” “Great, I would enjoy your company.” I ask, “Are you sure you want to take on the North Pole?” “Who do you think is behind all those agents tracking and harassing the magical beasts no longer friendly with Mr. Red-suit? Who has enslaved elves and reindeer for hundreds of years, just to give some brats some toys? Who created the chemicals in ‘Summer Wheeze’ and destroyed all my snow people? Who desires all the winter magic for himself because he feels threatened by me? Who became jealous of my 1969 animated special because it was better than his lame Animagic one? Who is greedy, corrupt, and much fatter? Who kidnapped, tortured, and murdered your sweet mother and darling sister, just to lure me to destruction? Yes, son, we have to cut off the head of this candy cane serpent. It is time.” I close the door, start the engine, and roll down the window.\n\n“But what about Christmas?”\n\nThe white suited man walked around the front of the car and plopped down next to me. He activated the AC to full blast. My father reclined the seat all the way back. He tossed the silk hat in the backseat. “You know, son, Christmas has been around a lot longer than the Man with the Bag . It’s about so much more.” My confused look must have tickled him because my favorite snowman bellowed a hardy laugh which vibrated the windshield. I love his laugh. “Let’s drive, boy, I can explain on the way.” He smiled, “You see, thousands of years ago, in the land of Israel, a baby was born in a tiny village named Bethlehem...” I shift the car in drive and leave Operation Snowball far behind."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Price to Pay"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The cave was quiet, except for the soft drip of water. Callum McGrath stood in the center, his flashlight casting long shadows on the rough walls. His heart pounded—not from fear, but from the thrill of discovery. He'd found it at last. The golden box.\n\nHe knelt down, brushing away dust and dirt that had gathered on the ornate surface. The box gleamed under his light, its edges smooth, like it hadn't aged a day. The legend was real. Tracy Hartman, the greatest treasure hunter of her time, had vanished without a trace, leaving behind this mysterious box. Rumor had it the box could grant any wish—but not without a cost.\n\nCallum’s breath hitched. His mentor, Professor Higgins, had spent years chasing every lead, and now it was Callum standing here, at the final stop. Higgins had warned him, over and over: \"It’s not worth it, Callum. Whatever ye do, don’t go lookin’ for it.\"\n\nBut Callum never was much for heeding warnings.\n\nThe box was smaller than he expected, not much bigger than a loaf of bread. Its golden shine warmed under his touch, and delicate carvings of vines and leaves twisted over its surface, all leading to a single latch. As he reached for it, a strange warmth crawled from his fingers up his arm. A voice—soft, almost singin'—whispered in his mind.\n\n\"Make yer wish, but remember—every wish demands a sacrifice.\"\n\nCallum froze, his hand hovering above the latch. A sacrifice. The legend had hinted at it, but no one knew exactly what that meant. Some reckoned it required somethin' material, while others said it would take somethin' far more valuable.\n\nThe cave suddenly felt darker, colder. He could feel the weight of the decision pressing down on him. He took a step back, his heart hammering in his chest.\n\nThe box, though small, radiated power. It pulled at him, tempting him. He had come so far, endured months of research, dangerous hikes, and dead ends. And now, the answer to everything—his fame, his fortune, his future—was right here.\n\nBut at what price?\n\nCallum thought of Tracy. She was fearless, always chasing the world’s greatest mysteries. And yet, she disappeared without a trace. Had she used the box? Had she made a wish and paid the price?\n\nA chill ran down his spine. His fingers itched to open it, to feel its power. But the whispers grew louder.\n\n\"A sacrifice is always required.\"\n\nHe paced the cave. What would it take? His wealth? His youth? His memories? Was it worth the risk?\n\nHe thought of his mother, back in Dublin, struggling to make ends meet. How often had he promised her he’d make it big, find the treasure that would change their lives? His mother, who’d worked two jobs after his father died, never complaining, always smiling.\n\nCould the box grant him that wish? A new life for both of them? Surely, that was worth a small price—somethin’ he could live without.\n\nBut what if it wasn’t small?\n\nCallum knelt again, studying the box as if the carvings might reveal a clue. His flashlight flickered, casting eerie shadows. He realized how deep underground he was—alone, with just the box and his growing doubts.\n\nHe placed both hands on the box. The warmth grew stronger, and his pulse quickened. The urge to open it was overwhelming. His fingers trembled as they reached for the latch. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, drowning out reason.\n\nThen, a voice spoke again. But this time, it was different. It was Tracy’s voice.\n\n\"It’s not worth it.\"\n\nCallum gasped, stumbling back. His mentor’s words echoed in his mind: \"Don’t seek it. Whatever ye do, don’t seek it.\"\n\nHe remembered the stories of Tracy’s disappearance, the warnings from those who knew her. She was never afraid of danger, but this—this was somethin’ else.\n\nHe sat down on the cold stone floor, his flashlight flickering again. He thought of all the times he’d been told to be careful, to choose wisely. And here he was, about to throw caution away.\n\nCallum's hands shook as he reached for the box one last time. The pull of power was almost too much.\n\nBut then, he thought of his mother. What good was wealth if he lost something more important? What if the box took something he couldn’t bear to lose?\n\nHe stood up and, without looking back at the golden box, walked toward the cave entrance. The whispers faded, the warmth left him, and the weight lifted from his shoulders. Callum knew that Tracy had made the wrong choice—and paid the ultimate price.\n\nBut he wouldn’t.\n\nStepping into the crisp mountain air, Callum breathed deeply. The box’s power still tugged at his mind, but he knew he’d made the right choice.\n\nSome treasures aren’t meant to be claimed. Some wishes aren’t worth the cost.\n\nAs Callum made his way down the mountain, the memory of the box clung to him. He couldn’t stop thinking about how close he’d come to making a wish. What if Tracy’s voice hadn’t stopped him? What if he had ignored his mentor’s warnings?\n\nThe setting sun painted the mountains in gold and amber. But as night fell, unease crept in. He glanced over his shoulder, half-expecting something to follow him from the cave.\n\nWhen Callum finally reached the small village, twilight had settled. He checked into the same inn as before. The innkeeper, an older man with a heavy accent, eyed him curiously as he signed in.\n\n“Find what ye were lookin’ for up there?” the man asked casually.\n\nCallum hesitated. “Not exactly,” he said, sliding the pen back. “It wasn’t what I expected.”\n\nThe innkeeper nodded slowly. “Most who look for Tracy’s treasure say the same—or worse. Few come back.”\n\nCallum stared at him. “You know about the box?”\n\n“Aye,” the innkeeper replied. “Tracy stayed here before she vanished. Last anyone saw, she went up that mountain.”\n\nCallum swallowed hard. “Do you think… she used it?”\n\nThe innkeeper motioned to a table by the fire. “Sit down. Ye need more than a bed tonight.”\n\nThey sat in silence for a while, the fire crackling. Finally, the innkeeper spoke.\n\n“Tracy was brilliant, but even she couldn’t resist the box. She went up with a team, but came back alone. Changed. And then, a few days later, she was gone.”\n\nA chill ran down Callum’s spine. “What happened to her?”\n\nThe innkeeper met his eyes. “She made a wish. And the box took something she couldn’t bear to lose.”\n\nCallum’s stomach twisted. Was that the price? Losing someone precious? He had been so close to opening the box, but now he was sure he’d made the right choice.\n\nThe innkeeper stood up and placed a hand on Callum’s shoulder. “Ye did the right thing leaving it alone. Whatever power it offers, it’s not worth the sacrifice.”\n\nCallum nodded, though the temptation still tugged at him. The box had felt so real, so powerful.\n\n“Thanks,” Callum said as he headed upstairs.\n\nThat night, sleep came in fits. Each time he closed his eyes, he dreamt of the golden box, pulsing with power. The price. The sacrifice.\n\nIn one dream, he saw Tracy standing in the cave, holding the box. Her face was hollow, her voice a whisper. “I made the wish,” she said. “But it took more than I could give.”\n\nCallum woke in a sweat, heart pounding. The room was dark, moonlight casting shadows.\n\nThen, he heard a faint whisper outside his door.\n\n“Make your wish.”\n\nCallum’s blood ran cold. He jumped out of bed, threw open the door, and stared into the dark hallway. No one was there, but the whisper grew louder.\n\n“Make your wish.”\n\nIt wasn’t coming from outside—it was in his head.\n\nThe box hadn’t let him go.\n\nHe realized then that he couldn’t just walk away. The temptation would follow him, haunt him, until he made his choice.\n\nFrozen in place, he stared down the empty hall, knowing the box was still out there, waiting. The whispers were louder now, and Callum understood that leaving it behind wasn’t the end. It was just the beginning.\n\nThe next morning, Callum packed his things in silence, feeling the weight of his decision. He hadn’t told the innkeeper about the whispers, but the old man had seen it in his eyes and gave him a sad, knowing smile.\n\nOutside, the mountain loomed in the distance, shrouded in mist. The golden box was still there, waiting for him to return.\n\nAnd this time, Callum wasn’t sure he could resist.\n\nThe pull was stronger now, the whispers constant. “Make your wish,” they echoed in his thoughts, relentless.\n\nCallum stopped just outside the village, his breath visible in the cold air. He turned and looked back at the mountain. He had come too far to turn back. The box had chosen him—or maybe, he had chosen it.\n\nTaking a deep breath, he turned and headed back toward the mountain, heart racing with anticipation.\n\nThe climb felt shorter this time, as if the mountain was eager for his return. When he reached the cave, the whispers faded, replaced by a hum of energy.\n\nInside, the golden box sat where he left it, glowing in the dim light.\n\nAs Callum approached, a figure stepped from the shadows. It was a woman, tall with dark hair, wearing a weathered leather jacket. Her sharp features caught the box’s golden glow.\n\n“You’re not the only one who’s heard the call,” she said, her voice calm but edged with tension. “I’ve been following it for months.”\n\nCallum’s grip on his knife loosened, but he stayed cautious. “Who are you?”\n\n“Emily Blake,” she replied, her eyes steady. “You must be Callum McGrath, Professor Higgins' student, right?”\n\nHe blinked in surprise. “How do you know about me?”\n\nA small smirk appeared. “Word gets around in this line of work. Higgins made a name for himself, and so did you by association.”\n\nCallum lowered his hand. “What are you doing here?”\n\nEmily’s gaze shifted to the box. “Same as you. Trying to figure out if the legends are true—and if it’s worth the cost.”\n\nCallum’s pulse quickened. He had thought he’d be alone in this, but now, standing with Emily, he realized he wasn’t the only one struggling with the decision.\n\n“What do you know about it?” Callum asked.\n\nEmily’s face darkened. “More than I’d like. My father was a treasure hunter. He found something like this once. He made a wish.”\n\nCallum’s heart skipped. “What happened?”\n\n“He wished for success. And he got it. But the price came later—my mother got sick, and he lost everything. Even himself.”\n\nCallum stared at her, the weight of her story sinking in. “And you’re still here?”\n\nEmily nodded, jaw clenched. “I have to know if this box is the reason I lost everything. And if it’s worth trying to use it.”\n\nSilence fell, the only sound the hum of the box. Callum felt a strange connection to her—both haunted by what the box could give, and what it might take.\n\n“Do you really think you can control it?” Callum asked, his voice barely a whisper. “The price might be too high.”\n\nEmily’s eyes flickered with a mix of determination and doubt. “Maybe,” she said softly. “But I need to know. I need to see if I can make a wish without losing everything.”\n\nCallum’s hand hovered over the latch of the box, the warmth seeping into his skin, the whispers growing louder. He could feel Emily being drawn in too, the same temptation gripping them both.\n\n“What would you wish for?” he asked suddenly.\n\nEmily’s gaze locked with his. “I’d wish to bring my father back. To undo what the last wish took from me.”\n\nCallum’s breath hitched. Her wish was dangerous, the kind that could unravel everything if the box twisted it. But he understood her desperation. He had his own desires, but her story made him realize how fragile they were in the face of such power.\n\n“And you?” Emily asked softly. “What would you wish for?”\n\nCallum thought of his mother and the promises he had made. But now, faced with the weight of Emily’s story, he wasn’t sure anymore.\n\n“I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice rough. “I thought I did. But now…”\n\nBefore he could finish, Emily placed her hand on the box. A surge of energy crackled between them as both their hands rested on the surface.\n\n“We do it together,” Emily said, her voice firm. “We both make a wish. We both face the consequences.”\n\nCallum hesitated. The power of the box, the intensity of the moment, it all pressed down on him. But the look in Emily’s eyes—her resolve, her shared fear and hope—pushed him forward.\n\nTogether, they released the latch.\n\nThe box opened with a soft click, golden light spilling out, enveloping them. The whispers swelled, circling them like a storm.\n\n“Make your wish.”\n\nThe voice was clear now. It was the box speaking, offering them the power they sought.\n\nCallum looked at Emily. She nodded. “We do it together,” she repeated.\n\nWith a deep breath, Callum reached into the box.\n\nAnd together, they made their wishes.\n\nThe light blazed, the power overwhelming. Callum knew there was no going back.\n\nThe price had already been paid. "
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "A Kaper of Kobolds"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Strix and Squirt stood at the entrance of their cavern at the base of the Tengar Hills, the misshapen clay jugs they used as an alarm hanging a foot over their heads. The once narrow forest trail, now beaten by armored feet and burned by torches, stretched wide before them. Their red scales glinted in the morning light. Kobolds, as everyone knew, weren’t the most imposing of creatures. These scaly dragon-kin stood about the height of a ten-year-old child and had twice the squishiness with beady eyes and brains that kept them alive but little more. The clan’s leader, Old Bag, described them as being not the strongest, not the fastest, and not the smarted; they were, however, the least-deadest of the clan after the Big People who called themselves “adventurers,” raided their cave and stole their most sacred artifact, the Light of Divine Guidance. Old Bag consulted the bones and learned that a Human named Farmer Greyson had hired these “adventurers” to steal the Light from the Tengar Bag Kobolds and bring it to his farm. \"Alright, Squirt,\" Strix said in his squeaky voice, his scaly snout scrunched up in what he hoped looked like an expression of determination as he sniffed the spring air. \"Light Thingy is just over there… or there… maybe there. Definitely there. Yes.\" He pointed vaguely in various directions until the faint trails of smoke and the smell of roasting meat suggested the direction of cooking fires. Squirt picked his ear with the sharpened rock serving as the point of his spear. “I dunno, Strix. That a long way to go.” He kicked a small rock at the base of the entrance. “What if Big People won’t give it back? You know, they might like it there.” “Like it? Fine where it is?” Strix flailed his arms, which made the makeshift armor of leather straps and randomly placed metal plates rattle. “Big Persons stole it from Tengar Bag Kobolds. We not be Tuckers, but Big People will poop their caves with fear of us too! Besides, Light is shiny. You like shiny.” Squirt’s eyes lit up. \"Shiny?\" “Yeah, shiny!” Strix nodded and then puffed up his tiny chest. “Come! We complete mission we promised Old Bag we’d do.” Squirt hissed a sigh, fiddling with the sharpened rock serving as a spear point. “Fine. But crossing big river will be dangerous.” Strix started down the trail. He waved a dismissive claw. “No worry. Big People make wood floor over river. We walk on that.” The two Kobolds set out along the forest trail for their grand adventure, their spears slung over their shoulders, they traversed the violence-widened path in the warming spring air. A gentle breeze wafted the earthy, floral scents from the forest into Strix and Squirt’s nostrils. A sparrow tweeted as it flew overhead. A white-horned stag bounded through the underbrush. As they neared the forest’s edge, the burbling whoosh of the Gorbel River filled their ears. Beyond the Gorbel, the Big People lived in their caves of wood, stone, and thatch. Soon, the two Kobolds stood before the banks of the loud, swift river. The broken remains of a wooden bridge littered the dirt on the river bank. “Where this wood floor?” Squirt asked. Strix narrowed his eyes and scrunched his snout. He pointed. “Was there. Not there now.” Squirt poked at the water with his spear. “Water wet. Run fast. You know how swim?” “Of course I swim!” Strix glared at his clansman and puffed his chest in indignation. A puffed chest made him look confident, even if he was one of the scrawniest of the clan. “We like dragons. Dragons lizards. Lizards swim.” “Then why I never see you swim?” “I, uh, well… I no like swimming in public. Others get mad they not me, think I steal women attention with skill.” “Then why no one has your eggs?” Squirt watched as the river wrested his spear from him. It floated downstream at an alarming rate. “Don’t like this. Not good.” Strix followed the spear’s path and narrowed his eyes. \"We need plan. Smart plan.\" “But Old Bag not here. Where smart plan grow?” Squirt tilted his head, his eyes blank and empty. Strix slapped the back of Squirt’s head. Squirt added, “Ouch!” Strix pointed to his head. “Smart plans grow in brain. I got big enough brain grow smart plan.” He scanned the area, thinking fast. “Okay, smart plan. Uh… we find log! Yes, log. We push log into water and ride across.” Squirt scratched his head. “Logs big. Heavy. Sink in water. Plan dumb.” “You dumb. Plan smart. Logs made of floaty wood. Come!” Strix scurried into the underbrush at the edge of the forest. Squirt trailed behind him, muttering something about heavy things sinking in water. They found a log, respectable enough by Kobold standards, which, of course, meant it was small enough for the pair to manage but large enough to not be classified as a stick. Together, they pushed the log from the forest to the river bank and then into the river. They hopped on, each clinging to the log with all four of their claws. As the log sped downstream, Squirt looked up at Strix and said, “What now?” He pointed first to the south and then to the east, saying, “Water go this way. Farm that way.” “Not know!” Strix shouted. His plan only had one step, log , and he had considered neither the direction nor strength of the current. And then his eyes widened as an idea came to him. “Paddle! Paddle with arms.” The two Kobolds flailed their arms with wild abandon, digging their hind claws into the bark for stability. Water splashed up and over as the log continued following the current. After minutes of ceaseless and fruitless labor where the water splashed in his eyes, Squirt shouted, “It not working, Strix!” “More paddle!” Strix shouted over his shoulder. The pair paddled as fast and as forceful as their scrawny arms could manage, but their efforts had minimal impact on the log’s trajectory. Eventually, the log slammed into a large rock protruding from the river’s depths, sending both Kobolds flying through the air in opposite directions, screaming. Strix landed on the far bank, wet and bruised but alive, while Squirt faceplanted in a mud puddle a few feet downstream. “Well,” Strix said, dusting himself off after pulling himself to his feet, “could be worse.” Squirt gurgled from his mud puddle, unable to express his displeasure in words. Instead, he simply lifted his right arm with the middle finger of his claw extended. Strix patted Squirt on the shoulder. “No time now. Come.” A short walk from their harrowing encounter with the river, Strix and Squirt stood at the edge of the Greyson Farm. They crawled under the lowest horizontal beam of the wooden fence and ducked behind a large stack of baled hay. The stone and wood frame of the farmhouse loomed before them, its thatched roof offered shade to the farmhands resting by leaning against the wall. Clucking chickens and snuffling pigs guarded the entrance. Strix squinted as he surveyed the farm. “We sneak in. Quiet.” Squirt, still picking mud from his ears, shook his head. “Burn Big People cave. They burn ours.” Strix flicked Squirt on the snout. “Bad. Fire bring all Big People. Only two Kobolds. Dumb plan.” “Sneaking dumb.” Squirt scratched his head with a muddy talon. “Chickens look mean.” “They just farm birds. What hurt they do?” Strix dismissed Squirt’s concern with a claw. He puffed out his chest again, but he too eyed the chickens with a hint of concern as one of them, a particularly large chicken with a blood red comb and waddles, strutted around like a veteran palace guard. As this large chicken patrolled the yard, it clucked with the authority of a champion fighter.s “See?” Squirt whispered, pointing to the large chicken. “That one been in fight and kill.” “It fine,” Strix said with a hint of concern noted by a lifting lilt in his voice as he pointed to the barn. “We stay low, no talk, sneak into open building over there. Best place to hide Light of Divine Shiny Thingy.” Strix and Squirt waited until the farmhands dispersed and returned to their labor. They dropped to their soft white underbellies and slither-crawled along the ground, beginning the arduous task of sneaking across the farmyard. They moved in fits and starts, hiding behind random objects like an overturned water bucket, a patch of unusually tall grass, and a barrel full of warm, yellow water. The farmhands didn’t notice the pair, but the chickens, however, weren’t so easily fooled. Each in their turn, the birds began clucking, creating a loud, dissonant symphony, as they pecked at the ground, advancing in the Kobolds’ direction. The large, crimson-combed chicken led the charge. Squirt froze. A squeal escaped his lips, but he recovered and slapped his hands over his snout to shut it. His heart thundered in his chest. “They spot us, Strix!” Strix curled into a fetal ball. “Shh! Stay still. They think Kobolds rocks.” “Rocks no smell like Kobolds.” “Maybe chickens think so.” The chickens closed in, circling the two Kobolds. Their beady eyes locked on the pair. The largest chicken clucked an order, and on her command, the others launched themselves at the Kobolds, scratching and pecking them as they covered their faces with their tiny hands. The Kobolds squealed and screamed. Without a thought in his head, Strix grabbed the nearest object, a huge sack of grain, and swung it at the largest chicken. He lost control as the sack made contact with the chicken’s head, and flung the sack into the assaulting feathery horde. The sack exploded in a cloud of dust, sending grain and chickens squawking in all directions. “Run!” Strix yelled. The two Kobolds scrambled to their feet and dashed for the barn, dodging irate chickens and leaping over pig troughs. Behind them, the crimson-combed chicken unleashed a furious cluck of defiant rage, but, fortunately for Strix and Squirt, it chose not to pursue. They reached the open barn doors, gasping for breath. “See?” Strix panted, his tongue hanging from his open mouth as he rested his hands on his knees. “Easy. Only minor cuts.” Squirt glared at his partner in this endeavor. He shook his head, bruised and bleeding, and one of his pointed teeth fell onto the ground. “Not do that again.” “Anyway, Light of Divine Shininess Thingy this way. Come.” Strix gestured as he slipped inside the barn. The barn was larger and more open than any chamber in their cavernous home, likely larger than their home itself. Bales of hay and sacks of feed for the chickens, pigs, cows, and horses lined the wall to their right, and shelves filled with tools, jars with names such as grease and oil , and various farming supplies. And there, nestled between two lanterns, was the Light of Divine Guidance. Housed in a container of crimson scales shaped like an open lotus flower stood the thick red and gold wax pillar candle with an everlit flame , an enchanted wick designed to never cease burning. As the flickering light danced and reflected off the scales, it was indeed shiny—the shiniest of shinies that either Kobold had ever seen. “There,” Strix whispered in a reverent tone, his eyes wide with excitement as he pointed to the candle. “Light of Divine Shiny Thingy. We heroes!” Squirt nodded. The flickering flame transfixed him. “So shiny. Grab and go!” They scurried to the Light, but it was on a shelf too high for either to reach—even when standing on their tiptoes. Strix climbed on Squirt’s back and, standing on his shoulders, retrieved the stolen artifact. The moment Strix descended from Squirt, a low, menacing grunt echoed from the shadows of the far end of the barn. The Kobolds froze. Squirt turned to the shadows. His eyes shot wide, and he extended a trembling claw, pointing toward them. “Uh… Strix?” Strix turned in the direction of Squirt’s talon. He squeaked a gasp as his eyes landed on the biggest, meanest, angriest dire boar either of them had seen. This boar would feed the entire clan for a month, but instead of laying still to become food, it snorted and locked its eyes upon them. A flimsy gate kept the boar from charging, but the farmhands had neglected this task for so long, the boar could break through the fence given the proper motivation. “Okay,” Strix whispered. “We need all Kobold smarts for this.” “But we no have them.” Squirt’s voice cracked as he spoke. Strix ignored him. His eyes darted about the barn. When his gaze landed on a nearby jar labeled grease , a terrible, wonderful, incredibly stupid idea formed in his head. He pointed to the jar. “We grease big pig!” Squirt blinked. “What? “Grease big pig! Make slippy and slidy. Open fence, jump on pig, and run away!” Hesitant, Squirt shifted on his feet and asked, “You sure? Big pig looks big mad.” “Exactly!” Strix exclaimed. “That why it work.” Squirt stared at him. “I may be dumb…” “You are.” “But that biggest dumb idea ever.” Strix lifted a single finger. “So dumb. Must work. See? Smart.” Squirt shrugged. No better options presented themselves, so he agreed with a reluctant nod. Each Kobold grabbed a jar of grease, climbed onto the fence, and slathered the massive boar with grease. The boar snorted, bucked, and slammed its tusked face and shoulders into the fence, clearly not enjoying the process. But it had yet to attack. “Okay,” Strix whispered once the boar had been greased to his standard. “Get ready.” With a flick of his claw, Strix unlocked the gate. It swung open with a loud creak, and the greased boar, free from its confinement, bolted out. Strix and Squirt leaped onto its back, and they slipped and slid from front to back and side to side as the boar bucked and raced from the barn. The greased boar, screaming in a full panic as two Kobolds grabbed its ears and held on for dear life, as the beast tore across the farmyard at a breakneck pace, heading toward the open fields. The pair shrieked in blended terror and triumph, doing their best to steer the pig with their claws and the spear Strix carried. “It work!” Strix shouted over the shrieks of the speeding boar. “See, Strix big brain smart!” Squirt, holding onto the boar’s ear with one hand and to Strix’s belt with the other, wasn’t as certain as his companion. But, as they sped away from the farm, the farmhands unable to catch the speeding boar without rushing to the horses, he shrugged, remembering the Light of Divine Shiny Thingy was safely tucked in his pack. Maybe they weren’t the weakest, slowest, and dumbest Kobolds of the Tengar-Bag Clan. When the pair returned to their cavernous home, the handful of Kobolds remaining in their clan gathered around to see the surprisingly safe and triumphant return of their most sacred treasure. Old Bag, an elderly Kobold whose scales had grayed and in perpetual possession of a grumpy and disappointed disposition, examined the candle with narrowed, judgmental eyes. “This… this Light of Divine Guidance.” Strix puffed up his chest and placed his hands on his hip. He nodded once. “Yep! Biggest shiny of all shinies!” The elder squinted at him and then shrugged. “Work good enough. You still alive.” The clan erupted into a cacophony of excited yips and hisses, their tails twitching and claws clapping in an uneven rhythm that echoed through the cavern as they cheered the returning victors. Kobolds scampered around Strix and Squirt, peeking at the Light of Divine Guidance with awe-filled, wide eyes. Some whispered in admiration; others clapped the pair on the backs, praising them for their daring heroism, and others exchanged gleeful glances, already envisioning tales of their kin’s daring feat. One particularly excitable Kobold leaped onto a rock and proclaimed, \"Strix and Squirt, Bringers of Shiny, Heroes of Tengar-Bag!\" This declaration fueled the throng’s frenzy, and soon they were lifting the duo onto their scaly shoulders, chanting their names with pride. For the first time in what felt like forever, the small, battered tribe stood tall, believing they might yet reclaim their place in a world dominated by Big Peoples. As the cheering tribe dispersed, Strix and Squirt exchanged victorious grins. “So,” Squirt asked, “What next?” Strix scratched his head for a moment, mulling the possibilities in his mind. “We burn Farmer Greyson farm. Kill bloody chickens.” “Squirt blinked. “Us leave chickens alone this time.” Strix tilted his head. “We steal shinies then?” Squirt smiled. “You grow big brain! I like.” Strix clapped his arm around Squirt’s shoulders. “Soon, Big People fear us more than Tuckers.” And with that, the legend of Strix and Squirt, the least strongest, least swiftest, least smartest, and least deadest, and yet most successful Kobolds of the Tengar-Bag Clan continued to grow."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The Treasure of the Mille-Louise"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Ben held the model ship close to his chest as he made his way through his grandfather’s home. To him it was magical, full of things he recognized the importance of mixed in with things that seemed outlandish and exotic: Paintings of old starships, alien masks on the walls, trinkets from worlds lightyears away... It was, in actuality, a modestly sized home, but the retired merchant spaceman had used the space well. Ben made his way to the bedroom his grandfather slept in. He knew the old man was awake from the light under and around the door. A polite knock and he entered.\n\nHis grandfather looked up from the aged leather tome he was studying, always preferring physical print to the headache-inducing electronic screens. His hair was white and fleeing, his mustache well-groomed, and he was dressed in his favorite maroon silk robe, made from the threads of a Velusian spider. \n\n“Can’t sleep, shipmate?” the old man asked. The young boy shook his blonde hair. Thunder rumbled outside, but both knew it would not be followed by rain. It rarely rained on the desert planet of Caligula: the fierce lightning storms would rage across the planet in such frequency that lightning rod arrays were ran throughout the city to collect power. \n\n“I’d have thought you were used to the storms by now,” grandfather said.\n\n“I am, I just... can’t sleep.” “I see,” the old spaceman said, a grin playing under his mustache. He nodded his head sagely as he noticed the model ship Ben was carrying. “That’s an old freighter. I saw one at the fleet museum when I was your age.”\n\n“Tell me the story again, grandpa!” Ben shouted as he jumped onto his grandfather’s lap. The old man let out an ‘oof!’ as Ben excitedly continued. “Tell me of the Mille-Louise and the cargo she carried.”\n\nGrandfather grinned, this time showing white dentures. He dropped into his storytelling voice: an orator’s commanding voice that age had only tempered.\n\n“It was centuries ago, back in the dark days of the Colonial Civil War: The last conflict humanity waged against itself.”\n\nBen nodded. He’d the tale over a dozen times but it was his favorite story, because he knew it was true. Grandfather continued.\n\n“Caligula was barely a settlement back then, a fierce planet full of storms and sandlampreys that a doomed blockade runner found itself crashing into, his ship loaded with Tangen ore to support the war effort.” Ben nodded. “That’s so valuable,” he said with a practiced air. “A whole ship loaded with Tangen ore!”\n\n“Indeed. Aboard the ship, the alarm klaxons were blaring as the starship hurtled through the atmosphere, G-forces slamming crewmen against the bulkheads.”\n\nBen listened on, enraptured by the story he had heard so many times before. “On the bridge,” the old man continued, “the captain gave a sad smile to his first mate. He had failed - the ship was doomed.” He slammed the back of his hand against his palm. “Boom! The ship crashed into the sands of the Badlands.”\n\nGrandfather’s flair was followed by a crack of thunder from outside, as if the ship had crashed right then and there outside their window.\n\nBen’s eyes lit up. “And it’s still out there, grampa? The ship and cargo?”\n\nThe old spacehand nodded. “Aye shipmate. Just waiting for some daring soul to come and claim it. Are you such a man?”\n\nBen nodded. “Yes.”\n\nGrandfather tilted his head. “You sure? The Badlands are fraught with danger. The lightning and sandstorms. The voracious predators. The ruthless bandits.” “I’m not afraid,” Ben replied puffing his chest out. “I’m going to be the first one to find the treasure of the Mille-Louise .” \n\nGrandfather smiled, “You just might, my boy. You just might.”\n\nYears passed, and with the years, Ben grew taller and broader of shoulder. His beloved grandfather grew older and died and with that, the Badlands replaced Ben’s grandfather as his teacher. The planet’s harsh environment showed him such secrets. As he learned how to survive and how to make his way back to civilization, he learned to read the tracks of animals, to judge a storm’s approach, to shoot a gun, and how to find the secret routes.\n\nDeeper and deeper Ben traveled into the barren wastes of the planet, plying his trade as a guide and tracker. But he never stopped looking for any sign of the ship that haunted his memories—the Mille-Louise and its precious cargo. Sometimes, the discovery of a piece of metal half-buried in the sand would spark his hope, only to be followed by a vague sense of disappointment when it turned out to be just another scrap of wreckage from an old settler ship. Still, he remained hopeful, growing more and more experienced as the Badlands became his second home. In time he fancied himself a regular scout, a true tracker... until he met her. She was known only as ‘Red’ and to Ben’s mind she was truly the finest tracker on Caligula. Red was a red-furred Daedalian who had fled the Sh’ra invasion of her homeworld. Her reputation was one of skill, ferocity, and survival. Being from a canid race certainly helped—her nose could pick out scents from miles away and her large, jackal-like ears could detect the faintest sound of a lamprey burrowing beneath the sand. Her fighting skills were unmatched as well: whenever they ran into bandits, she swooped in like an avenging angel. If her rifle didn’t drop them from a distance, her blades finished the job up close.\n\nBen couldn’t help but admire her. He quickly realized that, for all the years he had spent in the Badlands, he still had much to learn. Red didn’t just survive out there - she thrived. But what surprised Ben more than her formidable skills was Red’s demeanor toward him. Where others might have treated him like a rival or dismissed him as a dumb kid trying to prove himself, Red showed him respect. She never patronized him or questioned his abilities. In fact, she gave him advice - real advice, not the kind people usually gave to placate someone younger. It was during one of their long treks across the desert when Ben began to feel a connection growing between them. He remembered the first time he misjudged a storm, thinking it was farther off than it was. Red had seen the signs he missed. An unusual gust of wind, a subtle shift in the sky and she yanked him to safety just before the lightning struck too close for comfort and turned the sands into dirty glass. “You’ve got good instincts, Ben,” she said, her voice calm as always. “But instincts aren’t everything. You’ve got to learn to listen. The desert talks.” Ben remembered looking up at her in that moment, covered in sand, his heart still pounding. She hadn’t scolded him for his mistake, just reminded him that the planet always had something to say if he paid attention. He had smiled, despite himself, grateful for the lesson and the way she handled the situation. As time went on, he found himself growing more comfortable in her presence. She reminded him of his grandfather in a strange way. Both had an air of quiet wisdom, an ability to teach without making him feel small. But unlike his grandfather, who had always felt a bit distant, Red was more... present. She didn’t just give him stories, she gave him skills: She showed him things in real time, whether it was tracking an animal, navigating a tricky ravine, or slowing one’s breath when firing a rifle to steady one’s aim. At first, he had thought of her as just a partner - someone to learn from. But as days turned to weeks and their encounters with bandits, storms, and predators piled up, he realized he was beginning to see her as something more. She was always looking out for him in a way that felt... familial.\n\nOnce after a close call with a Razorglider swarm, Ben had slumped against a rock - bruised but alive. Red stood over him, offering him a water flask. As he took it, his hand brushing against hers, a thought occurred to him. “Thanks, sis,” he muttered, barely realizing he had said it out loud. Red tilted her head, her ears twitching. “What’d you just say?” Ben flushed, shaking his head quickly. “Nothing.” But Red’s emerald eyes softened for a moment, and her usual stoic expression turned into something warmer. She didn’t say anything, but from then on, there was an unspoken understanding between them. She wasn’t just a mentor or a guide.\n\nShe was family. Ben knew Red had a rough past—fleeing the Sh’ra invasion and building a life on Caligula couldn’t have been easy. But whatever walls she had built around herself, Ben felt like she’d let him slip through. In her own way, she was as protective of him as he was of her. Even if they came from different worlds, different species, there was something more that bound them together—something stronger than blood. As they journeyed through the unforgiving Badlands side-by-side, Ben realized that Red wasn’t just a companion. She was the older sister he never knew he needed. Maybe whenever he found the Mille-Louise he’d give her a generous cut of the treasure. If there was anyone he wanted to share with it would be her. It was the least he could do for her. \n\nStill he was beginning to think his lifelong dream would remain a dream, like the mirages he frequently saw on the horizon, until one day when he found a lead.\n\nIt was among the many ramshackle buildings of the city of Chohe’s more rundown district, and on a planet like Caligula that was saying something. The buildings were still the old pioneer style; made from ship hulls. Ben had visited many times, mainly to see the junk shops. They were hidden treasure troves and the young human had made some unique finds there on more than one occasion. He pushed past the beaded curtain that served as the shop’s door, his boots thumping against the dusty metal floor. There was\n\na squeaky fan in the corner that served as the only airflow in the building as a radio played a song in a language Ben had never heard before.\n\nThe shop had the distinct must of aged items and the shelves were crammed full of all manner of knickknacks: Mostly old electronics like long-obsolete computers and pieces of equipment. The proprietor sat behind the counter, his skin like old leather, and his smile far too white.\n\n“Welcome my friend! See something you like? I’ll get you a good deal.”\n\nBen nodded, he already knew the proprietor would try to charge him more than the stuff was worth. He frowned with discretion as nothing was currently catching his eye - that’s when he stopped at a bin full haphazardly-placed components. After a few digging motions his eyes widened.\n\nA ship's navigational beacon.\n\nIt was an old model that much Ben could discern, but what really stood out about it was the hawk insignia engraved upon the device.\n\n“Can’t be,” Ben whispered his fingers tracing the emblem.\n\nThe Captain of the Mille-Louise had used the hawk insignia as his own personal coat of arms. It had to be fake. But then again maybe it wasn’t? He had to know.\n\n“I’ll take this,” Ben said, putting it on the wooden shelf that the proprietor called a front desk. Ben didn’t even try to haggle much to the proprietor's surprise. Ben rushed out of the shop. He had to know. Was it real? He just needed to take it back to base to authenticate the beacon. Ben had studied enough on antiquated ships to know what to look for to tell a fraud from an authentic piece. Small details like placement of bolts, materials used, pitting in the metal.\n\nEverything Ben checked told him it was authentic. All he really needed was to hook it up to something with enough power and see if he could trace the ships last known telemetry. It would tell him exactly where the ship went down. Ben took in a breath.\n\nThis was it.\n\nA dream within his grasp, and the wealth that would come with it, but first... He just had to know where that junk dealer had found it, he didn’t seem to know what he had.\n\nTucking the beacon in his satchel the young human set out back to the shop, brimming with questions. Upon stepping through the garage door, though, Ben froze. A scent he knew too well filled his nostrils. He may not have had Red’s senses but he knew the stench of slagged metal and burned flesh when he smelled it. The junk shop had been shot to pieces - very recently, as parts were still glowing orange from the heat of blaster bolts.\n\nBen’s hand strayed to his own sidearm. His instincts were screaming at him to flee, and when he saw the men decked out in unmarked military gear he knew it was more than time for that: Ben knew mercenaries when he saw them.\n\nHe ran for it as he snapped a shot off over his shoulder, he knew it wouldn’t hit any of them but it might get them to back off and give him a head start.\n\nThey were gaining on him. Ben could hear their heavy footfalls behind him as he ran down the labyrinthian back alleys of the warehouse district of Chohe. Though Ben was armed, he dared not fight back with his antiquated and obsolete slugthrower or his blaster. Neither weapon was a match for what he faced. A dozen men in full combat gear and military grade weapons pursued him. A blaster bolt passed centimeters from his face impacted the wall ahead of him in a shower of sparks. Panicked, Ben ran to his right, going down a second alleyway. “Fool!” A synthesized voice behind him said. “Stun force only! We don’t want to risk damaging what he’s got!” Ben ran on into the shadows of the growing dusk. He made an immediate left between two buildings, then a right, and another left. There was no sign of anyone else except for the voices of his pursuers. Thoughts kept running through the young man’s head. How had he ended up in this situation? Ben exited an alley and found himself at the back of a ship’s storage container and a few vagrants that stared at him oddly. Ben didn’t say anything to them as he ran past them. His chest was heaving and sweat was running into his eyes. He ducked behind a decommissioned forklift and huddled into the sand covered pavement. The men chasing him burst into the area, the vagrants scattered and Ben resumed his flight. “Damnit! Where is that kid?” One of the pursuers asked. “Break out the motion trackers! Find him!” Good luck with that . Ben thought. With all the bums scattering and the various small animals that roamed the streets they wouldn’t know where he went. He kept running, moving down a final alleyway before he found himself on a bustling street. Levitating skimmers and wheeled vehicles drove down the dusty streets while pedestrians plodded along the sidewalks. Darkness was growing as the heavy storm clouds of Caligula gathered overhead.\n\nBen fell in with a group at the crosswalk, none of them paid him any mind. This was the frontier, someone being armed wasn’t an unusual sight; nor was someone out of breath from running. The young human didn’t know what to do next. He’d escaped out of pure luck. He still had what they wanted, and, if his foes were as good as they seemed, they’d be waiting for him at his home. Ben was in way over his head. There was only one person he trusted enough that could help him now. During the excitement, blocks away, Red was going over her ledger. Her long canine ears twitched as she looked over her day’s earnings. The Daedalian made her living as a hunting and touring guide: on that day she had been giving a scenic tour of the outskirts to some curious offworld tourists. A furious knocking sounded at her door. Red flattened her ears in annoyance and a snarl issued from her muzzle. She had just closed shop five minutes ago, there was a sign that said as much on her door. Despite the obvious sign, the knocking continued. Furiously the red furred Daedalian stalked towards the door her tail swishing behind her. Red threw open the door and gasped at what she saw.\n\n“Ben?!” Red exclaimed. “Red! Thank the spaceways you’re here.” She stood aside to let him in before promptly shutting and locking the door.\n\n“What are you doing here?” Ben faced her. “It’s terrible. I- well-” Red could hear his rapid heartbeat and smell his perspiration. His body language was that of someone highly agitated. “You’re in trouble, aren’t you?” Ben nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I am.” “Come upstairs and tell me everything.”"
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The Fetch Quest: A Tale of Three Dogs"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The Great Fetch Quest: A Tale of Three Dogs The afternoon sun hung high in the sky, casting a golden hue over the sprawling backyard. It was the kind of day that felt endless, where the air buzzed with possibility, and the smell of freshly cut grass beckoned adventure. For three determined dogs, this day would be one of legend. Their beloved toy—a tennis ball, worn and muddied from countless games of fetch—had just been thrown into the great unknown by their human. What was once a simple, playful toss had now transformed into something far more important. This wasn’t just a ball. This was the ball. Their treasure. Their prize. The one thing that mattered more than treats, belly rubs, or even chasing squirrels. And it was up to them to find it. Baxter the Golden Retriever: The Loyal Knight Baxter’s heart thudded in his chest, his golden coat shimmering in the sun as he stood poised at the starting line. The ball had been launched far, a mere glimmer now as it sailed through the air. To anyone watching, this might have seemed like a simple game of fetch. But to Baxter, it was so much more. The tennis ball was a symbol of his loyalty, his unwavering love for the human who had thrown it. Fetching it was his duty—a mission to serve, protect, and bring back what was rightfully theirs. With a deep breath and a wag of his tail, he set off, pacing himself as he always did, relying on patience and his sharp nose. The smell of the ball lingered in the air, a familiar scent that called to him like an old friend. As Baxter trotted along, the wind ruffled his fur, and he couldn’t help but glance back at his human, who stood watching him with a soft smile. Baxter’s heart swelled. He had to do this. Not for glory, not for competition, but because he must . He was the loyal knight of this kingdom, and this quest was his. Zara the Border Collie: The Tactical Huntress Meanwhile, Zara was already several paces ahead, her eyes fixed on the distant spot where the ball would land. She had calculated everything—the arc of the throw, the speed of the wind, the exact place where the ball would fall to earth. For Zara, this wasn’t just about retrieving the toy. It was a puzzle to solve, a test of her brilliance and speed. Her black and white coat blurred as she sprinted across the yard, every muscle coiled with purpose. She was a dog on a mission, and nothing would distract her. Not the chirping birds, not the rustling leaves, not even the other dogs who followed in her wake. Zara’s world had shrunk to one singular goal: the ball. She could already see it in her mind, tucked between her bite as she triumphantly brought it back to their human, the first to succeed. She would be the champion, the tactician, the one who had conquered the impossible. Her paws barely touched the ground as she weaved through the grass, faster and faster. This wasn’t just fetch. This was her quest, a journey to prove that she, Zara the Huntress, was the smartest and the swiftest. Tank the Bulldog: The Fearless Warrior Behind them both, Tank the Bulldog charged forward like a freight train. His legs were shorter, his body more compact, but what he lacked in grace, he more than made up for in sheer, unbreakable willpower. To Tank, this wasn’t just a game. It was a battle, and he was a warrior. The ball had been thrown far, too far for most to reach. But Tank? No distance was too great. No obstacle too big. His stubby legs churned as he bulldozed through the yard, his head down and snub nose sniffing furiously for any sign of their treasured toy. Zara might be fast, and Baxter might be calm, but Tank had the heart of a lion. He refused to be defeated. His breath came in short, determined huffs, his eyes narrowing as he pushed forward, dodging trees and trampling through bushes. This was his ball, and no one— no one —would beat him to it. The ground seemed to shake beneath his paws as Tank rumbled ahead, every muscle in his sturdy frame working together. He may not have the elegance of Zara or the patience of Baxter, but he had something far more valuable: grit. The Ball: Their Shared Destiny The ball bounced and rolled along the grass, glinting in the sunlight like a prize at the end of a long journey. It had no idea of the chaos it had caused, nor did it care. But to the three dogs, it was everything. They approached from different directions, each with their own story, their own drive, their own reason for being here. Zara’s sharp eyes spotted it first. She let out a triumphant bark, quickening her pace as her legs became a blur. She would be the first, she had to be. But just as she was about to lunge, Baxter appeared from the side, his nose leading him true. He didn’t see the ball yet, but he could smell it. The scent was strong now, close, and Baxter knew his quest was nearly complete. And then there was Tank, barreling forward, undeterred by the competition. He didn’t care about precision or tactics. He only cared about one thing: getting that ball . The three dogs converged at the same moment. Zara leapt, Baxter lunged, and Tank charged. For a heartbeat, it seemed like they might collide, but at the last second, Zara’s paw touched the ball. She froze, victorious. Or so she thought. Baxter arrived next, sniffing the ball with a wag of his tail, while Tank skidded to a stop, tongue lolling out in exertion. For a moment, all three dogs stared at the prize—this tiny, unassuming ball that had captured their hearts and ignited their spirits. They had completed the quest. Together. The End of the Journey As their human called out, the three dogs glanced at one another. The competition faded, replaced by a sense of camaraderie. They had each embarked on the journey for their own reasons, but in the end, it was the adventure that had mattered. The thrill of the chase, the wind in their fur, the shared pursuit of something greater than themselves. Zara nudged the ball toward Baxter, who picked it up gently in his mouth. With Tank waddling beside them, they trotted back to their human as a team, each a hero in their own right. It wasn’t just fetch. It was a quest. A quest that would live on in their memories, forever cherished and never forgotten."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The Pit"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Port placed his foot down on the narrow stone ridge, expecting it to hold firm. The scattering of grit beneath it had the opposite idea, shifting viciously under his weight. His sturdy boot shot away, his leg following as if they had both conspired to abandon him. His heart raced, and every muscle in his body screamed to drag his wayward limb back into alignment. They failed. It was the rope around his waist that saved him, snapping tight and preventing a deadly plunge into the abyss below. He hung there for a moment, suspended at an unnatural angle, staring into the endless dark below. “Woah…thanks, Ward…” Port panted as he was yanked back onto the rocky lip. “No worries little brother! Told you the rope was a good idea!” Ward taunted in the told-you-so banter of their youth. Port dropped onto his backside, sucking in air through his nose and exhaling slowly. He closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the pit’s wall, trying to calm his racing pulse and battle the adrenaline coursing through him. “Come on you pansy! You were never going to fall. I had you! Just make sure you do the same if its me next time.” Ward said, striding past him as far as the short rope would allow. Port noticed Ward’s furtive check of the knot around his own waist; he was rarely as confident as he pretended to be. His older brother nudged a stone over the edge with the tip of his boot, peering over as far as he dared. There was no sound of it landing. “How far down do you think it is?” he asked. “Best not to think about it. We should focus on the path ahead. Watch your footing; after all these years there could be anything waiting for us. Obstructions and pitfalls, just like those little stones that had it in for me.” “Not to mention whatever booby traps that old coot left for us!” Ward added. “Come on, lets get moving, that massive diamond won’t wait at the bottom forever!” “Well…it kinda will…” Port muttered under his breath. Still, he stood, and they continued along the narrow pass in single file, the wall on one side and an unending drop on the other. Port wasn’t afraid of the trenches of spikes or arrows firing from pinholes that his brother was suggesting. The endless sinkhole that they called ‘The Pit’ was constrained only by the imagination of the wizard who created it. So instead he scanned the way ahead, watching for anything… magical . Why the old timer had strutted into town that day remained a mystery. He remembered the event well, despite being only twelve at the time. Who could forget a wizard of old creating a giant sinkhole in the central square with a flick of his wrist. Port recalled being afraid, the shaking ground under his feet and the vibrations through his chest as the earth caved in on itself, dropping an open column through the stone that descended beyond sight. When the magic wielder hurled a sparkling diamond the size of a watermelon into the hole and declared the first to retrieve it would know unimaginable wealth for the rest of their days, Port’s fear had given way to a fluttering excitement. His reaction echoed in every other person present, who had turned from their terror in greedy curiosity.\n\n“We can go back you know?” Ward’s voice pulling Port from the memory. “We haven’t gone very far; we could be back home by this evening.” His serious tone revealed genuine concern, a rarity from his brother.. “Go home to what?” Port replied. “Mother and Father are gone. Everyone knows if merchants like them don’t dock on schedule, there’s no point in hoping. Without them we have nothing. There’s no work, Ward. You know this is our only option to become anything more than poor farmhands.” Ward dropped his gaze, examining the thin sliver of ground beneath him. “Yeah I know…alright then. Let’s get that diamond and get out of here. So what if no one’s succeeded in all this time! They ain’t as smart as what we are!” Port rolled his eyes and gestured forward and they continued their descent, following the wall of the pit along the spiralling path downward. When they reached a wide set of stone stairs that stopped half way down in a clean cut, they both paused. Suspicious of the abrupt change in terrain and dead end, Port tossed a stone that clattered down the man-made structure. Nothing happened. Ward threw another, its clacks against the stone echoing from some unseen surface in the distance. When it dropped out of sight over the edge he shrugged and hopped both feet at once onto the first step. In reaction, a huge, second staircase swung out of the darkness below and connected with a dusty thud. Port leapt onto the step alongside his brother, surprised at his split second reaction to join him rather than retreat from the danger. They exchanged glances as Ward shrugged again and hopped down onto the next step. Another staircase flew at them from the side, thudding into place with barely a recoil of the stone under their feet. Now they had two directions to choose from. They tested the remaining steps, each one summoning or removing yet another staircase. Which one to take was anyone’s guess and so they chose at random. Every step on subsequent sets had the same effect. It was like a constantly moving maze of pieces and all Port knew for sure, was that as long as they kept moving down, they were going in the right direction. Hours passed. Progress was slow. When yet another staircase appeared out of the darkness, sporting a half crushed skeleton over its leading edge, Port recoiled in horror. Ward however, took it in stride, “Well, at least we know this ones new and we’re getting somewhere” he shrugged. “Just don’t get between the pieces like this poor sod.” Port looked up at the shrinking circle of sky above them, he could just make out the pinpricks of stars forming on the paling disc. The darkening of their surroundings suggested that their first day in the pit was coming to an end. “We should rest up” he said “Fresher minds will get us further tomorrow” They dropped their packs, whose contents clanked as they hit the ground. They'd packed everything they had thought might be useful, which meant they were excessively heavy. Port sat down and leaned against the pit wall, the current staircase conveniently at the edge of the hole. They ate and drank from their rations in silence until Ward broke the quiet. “Why?” “What do you mean, why?” “Why did he do it? Why put this here? Is it some kind of test? Is there a secret waiting for us when we get that diamond? Or is it all just for his own amusement? “We’ve had this conversation so many times. No one knows, Ward. There’s no point guessing. Hopefully, we’ll find out soon enough.” “Geez, be like that then. I was just trying to make conversation! Just, don’t let me roll off the edge while I sleep, alright? You feel that rope tightening you drag me back up yeah?” “Sure. Get some sleep.” Port said, bundling up along one of the steps as best as he could. Port woke from a fitful sleep, disorientated and taking a moment to remember why his back ached. He blinked away fatigue and and saw the pit illuminated anew. Grabbing his brother’s shirt, he shook him awake.\n\n“Ward, wake up! Do you see that?” Not waiting for a reply he stood, gazing down at a solid path across the middle of the pit below, leading to an opening in the opposite wall. Darkness obscuring what lay within.\n\n“Look! If we can just cross the next stairway, we’re home free! We were so close last night but couldn’t see it without the light. Let’s go, come on!” After some experimentation to get the right combination of steps, Port led his drowsy older brother directly across the chasm and into the unknown. Darkness hit them as soon as they entered. A complete and unbroken pitch black. The pair pulled lanterns from their packs and lit them, illuminating at most a few metres ahead. “Stay close little brother” Ward said, grasping Port’s wrist. “We go slow; step where I step and we’ll find our way” They spent what Port guessed was the rest of that day inching through the caverns in total darkness. Dead end after dead end sapped his mental fortitude, and when a dim doorway of light greeted them after another corner, Port was too confused to believe it was real. “Almost there! You see it!?” Ward yelled, pulling Port into a run. “Slow down!” Port warned. But the eagerness of his brother, desperate to escape the oppressive blackness, was unstoppable. Both of their eyes, unaccustomed to the light, misjudged the distance and they crashed through the opening, falling over a sheer drop. Port’s scream was cut short when he landed on something soft and springy. It gave slightly under his weight and bounced like an enormous fishing net. Struggling to stand, he found it difficult to find purchase on the strange fabric. He tugged on the rope at his waist and found Ward just ahead, equally struggling to regain his footing. The light stung his eyes; he squinted against it, waiting for his pupils to adjust. Raising a hand to shield them, he saw that they were back in the main pit. Looking down, they were suspended above the open maw of the hole, visible through the gaps in the net. Lucky this was here or we’d be toast Port blinked away the last of the pain from his eyes and looked toward his older brother. Just beyond Ward’s prone form, a set of blinking eyes caught his attention…and there were far more than two. He looked to either side and saw enormous, thick legs pressed against the walls of the chasm. Black, hairy and many. A giant spider? How original. Without a word, Port pulled free the machete strapped to his pack and sliced a hole in the web below his feet. As he fell the rope between them pulled taught and dragged Ward down with him into a free fall. What felt like an eternity in the air was closer to a few seconds before they splashed into an underground lake that spanned the width of the pit in one direction, but only half in the other. Port burst to the surface, gasping for air, surprised he hadn’t inhaled water in the landing. “WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?” Ward roared at him from where he tread water nearby. “YOU’RE WELCOME” Port snapped back “What were you thinking charging ahead like that? You dropped us straight into that creatures web!” “Errr…Port? Best get ready for another drop, because we’re going over…!” He followed Ward’s gaze to the centre of the lake, realising too late that they had been slowly drifting toward the edge. The unmistakable sound of falling water crashing into something below sent a spike of panic through him, but no amount of thrashing against the current could stop him from surging over the edge and cascading downward. During the fall, he was convinced they were dead. When his feet slammed into the solid water below, he braced for the impact, sure he’d break both legs. Even when his brother hauled him onto the stone shore, he coughed violently, feeling as if he were still drowning. It was only when he sat upright, looked around and saw they were safe that he thumped his brother in the arm with a balled fist and unleashed a string of colourful insults. “But thank you for dragging me out” he added, grudgingly. The following days were monotonous by comparison. The path returned to a winding trail that skirted the edge of the void, as if the danger had been replaced by a gruelling test of endurance. The silent sameness eroded Ports sanity. Looking up revealed the same view as looking down; the identical path twisting into darkness, the light of the world above long gone. If it weren’t for Ward, he thought he might have thrown himself off the edge several times, just for something to change. Their conversation inevitably dwindled and in the quiet gaps, Port began to see diamonds in every stone, only to find simple rock when he reached out. He caught spiders in the corner of his eye, retreating into crevices that didn’t exist. He heard voices on the stale winds that gusted from below. They passed several remains of other adventurers, some of which laughed as he stepped over them, only to revert to their inanimate form when he looked directly at them. Most looked to have fallen from above, only one seemed to have actually travelled this far willingly. He held the hilt of a knife, plunged into his own chest. Port trudged on, winding downward, using nonsense conversations and reminiscing with his brother to try and keep them both going. All they had to do was keep moving. They slept on the path, ate on the path, they never left the path. Until finally, Port bumped into his brothers back. “What are you doing? Keep moving!” he said, shoving Ward forward another step. “We’re here…” he mumbled. Port looked up, to see the path simply end. Far below stretched a flat surface in all directions. Bare dirt and stone reaching out into the darkness. Could this really be the bottom of the pit? “Quick get the ropes out!” Port said, the new terrain shaking him from his mindless apathy, catapulting him into action. “There’s nothing to tie them to little brother, I think we are supposed to jump…” “That’s a long way down” Port replied, peering over the edge. “I can make it. I can try to cushion your fall. Make sure to bend your legs and roll and you’ll be fine” “Wait…Ward are you sure..” Port was cut off when his brother simply leapt over the edge without another word. His mouth dropped open, wordless at Ward’s recklessness. Only when the rope around his waist began to pull did the situation register in his mind, his stomach lurching as he was yanked forward off his feet and into open air. When his legs hit the ground, he instinctively bent and rolled as he had been reminded to do. That didn’t mean the sharp pain that shot through his bones or the desperate, painful gasps for air that followed being winded were any less unpleasant. He groaned and didn’t move, laying still until he had checked himself over and risked sitting upright. “You DAMN FOOL!” He roared at Ward, who was still lying on the ground laughing to himself. “I knew you’d never have the nerve to jump little brother. Better to just leap and avoid all that anxiety! We’re here aren’t we?” Port looked around the dark expanse, solid earth beneath them for the first time in an age. He pulled out a lantern and lit it, shining the light ahead. Leading Ward behind him, who was taking longer to find his feet, he walked out onto the empty plain. They strode directly for the centre, where they found a dais, raised on a platform surrounded by steps. It was empty. “Where is it…” Ward muttered “We came all this way…I WANT MY DIAMOND OLD MAN!” “Relax” Port said, hold a hand up to his brother. “Let’s look around, It’s got to be here somewhere. We’d know if someone had retrieved it.” They circled the dais, stepping over more bodies and bones that must have fallen from above attempting the descent. Ward had been right about one thing, they had made it where others failed. They spiralled outward, checking the entire area with the small cast of light from the lantern. From the heavy sighs and curses muttered under his breath, Ward’s frustrations were growing. Port felt his own not far behind. On the verge of rage, he finally saw it. A glinting in the light, up against one of the edge walls of the pit. They both rushed forward and stopped dead in recognition, the sparkle of a cut diamond, half hidden by the rotten clothes of the dead man holding it.\n\nWard yanked it free, placing his foot against the chest of the poor soul who strove to keep his prize even in death. He had to use two hands to hold it up and they both marvelled at the colossal jewel. It refracted the lantern light in endless patterns and shone as if from within. “We did it little brother! We’re rich!” Ward yelled and then hollered a woop of joy upward, so loud that it could have been heard on the surface. A huge smile broke out across Port’s face, yet he found himself unable to truly celebrate. Something was nagging at the back of his mind. Unable to place the feeling, he looked down at the long dead person that had withheld their reward. That was when it dawned on him. “Ward. How do we get out?”"
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Payback in the Zamborini Desert"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Payback in the Zamborini Desert “We have all the supplies we need,” said Jonas. “Let’s get going.” He zipped up his spacesuit. “Let’s see the inventories,” said Dr. Grant. Dr. Evelyn Grant led the group. She was a\n\nrenowned archaeologist known for her unending pursuit of historical truths, and she took her responsibilities seriously. She inspected the readout on her visor. “We should bring extra oxygen, just in case,” said Dr. Samuel North, the project engineer. He pointed to the endless sands of the Zamborini Desert and the rock formations that jutted out at odd angles like tombs for alien bones. “We have enough oxygen,” argued Jonas. “I’m the field expert. I have a Ph.D., like the rest of you, though I don’t flaunt it. Three days in to the Lost City, one day to explore and gather artifacts, three days back. We have enough oxygen to last ten days, which is more than enough.” “No one has explored this planet before,” said Dr. Grant. “We don’t know what we may encounter. I want us prepared for the worst.” “The Boogie Man might be behind any rock,” said Jonas. “We’ll have to blast him when he appears. Zzzzt! Zzzzt! The Boogie Man is dust.” “Very funny. We’re fortunate that the gravity and atmosphere are much like earth’s,” said Dr. Clara Evans.. “We still have to wear suits and helmets, because the atmosphere has too many poisonous gases for our systems.” “Yeah, we all know that,” said Jonas. “I’m the field expert, and I’ve read the reports, and read them, and read them. I didn’t have anything else to do between the trip from the space station to this lonely place.” He added under his breath, “Especially since Clara has no interest in romance.” “I’ll pretend that I didn’t hear that,” said Dr. Grant. “This isn’t a fraternity house. Let’s keep this expedition professional. Every one of us must act like an adult for the good of the group.” She took a look at her expedition professionals: Jonas Reed, a seasoned field expert, a Ph.D. who refused to flaunt his degree; Dr. Clara Evans, a medical doctor and an experienced cartographer; and Dr. Samuel North, a resourceful engineer. “Agreed?” she asked. “Yes,” said Clara. “Yes,” said Samuel. “Yeah yeah yeah,” said Jonas. “When we get back home with our treasure, we’ll dance all night in our underwear.” “Maybe you will,” said Samuel. “You have no shame.” “Samuel, you’ll be at the senior center playing bingo in your pajamas,” said Jonas. Samuel said, “You’ll play banjo in the bingo parlor with only a fig leaf to protect you.” Dr. Grant asked Clara, “Let us know when we need to change course.” Clara said, “Based on the aerial photos, we will continue on this course for three kilometers, then veer northwest at a rock formation.” “Increase your pace, everyone,” said Dr. Grant. The sands and sand dunes stretched to the horizon. “Life is not a race to be won, but a journey to be enjoyed,” said Jonas. Samuel responded, “You go ahead and smell the roses in this desert, Jonas. The rest of us want to reach the treasure cave before the year is over.” “Roses are red–,” Jonas began. “Hey, that looks like a lizard.” A blue-green lizard-like creature had scampered onto a rock ahead of them. The creature was twice the size of the lizards found in deserts on earth. Its scales reflected the morning light like a prism splits white light into colors. “Stay still, you guys,” said Jonas. He paused, thinking. “Sorry, my mistake. Guys and gals and everything in between.” He circled around behind the lizard, crept up to it, and snatched it in his gloves. It struggled to escape and he clasped it tighter. Samuel said, “Maybe you should let it go. We don’t know anything about it.” “Then you can study it close-up and learn,” said Jonas. He pushed the lizard at Jonas’s hands. The lizard popped up and its tongue darted out, tearing a hole in Jonas’s space suit, then the lizard darted to the shadow of a rock. “What have you done?” Samuel asked. “Now I have to stop and patch my space suit. That slows us down.” He set down his pack and rifled through it for tape and patches, then stopped and put a hand over the torn spot. “It hurt my arm. Burning sensation. Must have been the tongue. Poison in . . . it.” He fainted. Jonas ran toward him. Dr. Grant pushed him away. “Clara and I will handle this,” she said. “I’ll deal with you later.” The two women spent several minutes to tend to the wound and reseal the space suit. Jonas awoke, and they gave him a healing liquid that made him feel better almost instantly. Dr. Grant pulled Jonas aside. “You had better settle down, man. We don’t know anything about the creatures on Miravel Prime. We don’t know about the terrain, or what lurks beneath our feet. You’ve been trained to take care around danger. I suggest you cool it.” “Yes, ma’am,” said Jonas. “I didn’t mean to hurt him.” “I don’t want to hear about it,” said Dr. Grant. “I want you to contribute to the group. You have a lot to offer. You explored Nymorath and Xyloxis. That’s one reason I selected you for this team.” “You wouldn’t believe what we did on Xyloxis,” said Jonas. “Tell me about it another time,” said Dr. Grant. “Team, let’s go forward. We’ll make our camp in three hours.” They made their camp by a rock formation, ate dinner, and slept, taking turns to keep watch. In the morning they ate breakfast, checked their equipment, and began their walk again. The morning sky, bluish-green, did little to pick up their spirits. Noticing this, Jonas sang an ancient star-song: Look to the stars Look past the planet Mars We will go far Farther than Zanzibar “Very nice, Jonas,” Clara said. “Now if you would keep quiet, we’ll enjoy the walk more.” “Yeah, sure,” said Jonas, who dashed behind her and crimped a breathing tube just enough so that she would not notice the lower air flow right away. Three hours later, as they were close to gathering for lunch, Clara stumbled and fell on the sand. “Can’t . . . breathe,” she said. “Let me help you,” Jonas said. “Mouth-to-mouth resuscitation will do the job.” He bent down to remove her helmet. “Knock it off, Jonas,” said Dr. Grant. She pushed him away from Clara, removed the helmet, and placed her breathing tube in Clara’s mouth. After a few minutes, she revived. Dr. Grant inspected Clara’s equipment and found the pinched tube. She whirled around. “Did you do this, Jonas?” “Do what?” he asked. “Pinch the tube.” She pointed at the spot where the tube had been pinched. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. That could have happened at night. She could have rolled over and slept on it. That’s how it was pinched.” He put on an innocent look. “This had better not happen again,” said Dr. Grant. “Never again.” Her eyes were cold. The group traipsed forward. On the third day, they came to ruins, ruins they believed were the lost city of Zamborini, the fabled megalopolis rumored throughout the galaxy to be rich with secrets and treasures. The rose-red ruins stood ten stories tall. The explorers found footholds and handholds, and they climbed to the top and scraped away the accumulated soil and plants. This work took longer than they had expected. They broke for lunch and went back to work. The more they scraped the growth away, the more carvings that appeared, carvings in the rock that had stood in the sand for millennia. Jonas scraped the sand away from the “porch” of the formation, and underneath it he found more carvings. Dr. Grant photographed these carvings and studied them on her visor. She knew the languages from Gliese 581c and Aragon Oedipus IV, and she deduced that the language in these carvings had derived from those languages. She fed the information into her language database, which processed the data and provided a rough translation. “Listen up, team,” she said. “I have a rudimentary translation of the carvings on this porch. Essentially it warns that anybody who enters the sanctuary within will have their biggest flaws exposed and it may cost their life, for he who approaches the throne of Tharxxos must have a perfect heart.” Dr. Clark said, “That’s the best I can do on short notice. I do know that Tharxxos rules over the realm of lost memories, forgotten artifacts, and vanished civilizations. His form is said to change like smoke, always slipping away from clear vision. He collects what is left behind and guards ancient knowledge in realms beyond the reach of humans. Anybody who loses something valuable must pray to him, hoping he may return it.” “First,” said Jonas, “we must find the door to this sanctuary. It must be adjacent to the porch.” He began to clear away an area. The others assisted him, and after an hour and a half, they had the outlines of a door in the rock. The door had a giant iron handhold. “Let’s go in,” he said. He pulled with all his might on the handhold. The door did not budge. The others assisted him. The door swung open, and before them was a large dark chamber. “Let’s shine our illuminators before we take a step inside,” said Dr. Clark. “I’m not afraid,” said Jonas.\n\n“Do you have a perfect heart?” Clara asked. “Always,” said Jonas. He was less than ten steps inside the chamber when four spider-like arms, each a foot in diameter, creaked from the darkness. Jonas turned and tried to run back outside, but each arm had ten fingers, and the fingers grasped Jonas’s throat and squeezed. “Help!” he called. His eyes bulged. He squeaked. His face turned bluish. The others ran into the chamber and attempted to pull the fingers from his throat. Some succeeded, some did not. By this time Jonas had passed out. Dr. Clark suggested that they all pull his legs, and their combined strength was enough to free him from the grasp of the fingers. They dragged him outside the chamber and into the sunlight. “He wasn’t right with Tharxxos,” Clara said. “He didn’t have a perfect heart.” Dr. Clark said, “He’s not gone yet.” She went through the procedure to resuscitate him. Slowly but surely this worked. His chest moved up and down as he took short breaths, then longer breaths. After a while, as they looked on, concerned, he sat up and looked around. “That thing almost killed me,” he said. “The legend says you must have a perfect heart to approach Tharxxos,” said Dr. Clark. He frowned. “Thank you for saving my life, everyone. I don’t have a perfect heart. I have a wicked heart. I did pinch that hose,” he said. “You probably knew that already. I don’t deserve to be around you people.” He stumbled to his feet. “I don’t deserve to live.” He stumbled to his feet and headed toward the chamber. Dr. North grabbed his arm, and Jonas shook it off. He ran and stumbled into the chamber. After a few seconds, they heard a startled cry and stifled cry for help. After a few minutes more had passed. They heard a thump. Dr. North shone his illuminator inside the chamber. “He’s lying there, dead, and the creature is wrapping him in a web.” “No one has a perfect heart,” said Dr. Clark, “so none of us should go into the Tharxxos chamber. Time to return to the ship.” ***"
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Saved by a Laughing Parrot on the Ship Destiny's Dreams"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The books waited on their shelves to tell their stories to the next person. They were in the Biblioteca in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, on Guanabara Bay, the western coast of South America, in the 1800s. Ten year old Marco walked the aisles and set the returned books back on their home shelves.\n\nIt was another serene day with his family of books, who were alive with adventures, mysteries, and wisdom. The words from the story he was reading last night floated through Marco’s mind. “Square white sails filled with wind, the ship flew over the waves, and the boy captain stood near the mast.” Marco pictured himself as that boy captain. He did not remember his life before he came to live inside the library in Rio De Janeiro. The Biblioteca was his home. The books were his family. He had a best friend there, too. One day a small grey parrot peered at him from between books on a shelf. Marcos thought the bird must have been abandoned there too.\n\nThe bright eyes looked into Marco’s own eyes with an unwavering gaze. Marco was entranced by the dark orbs surrounded by pale color. It was like Marcos fell under a spell. Then the bird hopped onto his arm. Marcos stroked the top of its head. Who knew the feathers were so soft. Marco named the parrot Bonita. She became his best friend. Adopted by the bird, and surrounded by his family of books, Marcos felt at home. His earliest memories were of waking up in a corner with an old woven blanket wrapped around him and hearing voices. “What do we have here?” The tall, slender figure of the woman who was the head librarian spoke.\n\n“You must be hungry. Follow me child.” Her voice was kind. She led him to her office and gave him some food. Then she gave him small tasks in the Biblioteca to perform. That night she let him return to his cozy corner and gave him a pile of soft blankets. The days passed like this and turned into weeks and months. The librarian read stories to Marco and other children during the afternoons. Then she taught him about letters, words, and sentences. The stories of ships and the sea were his favorites. His mind was full of these images. Years went by. Bonita the parrot learned to copy people’s voices and the sounds of things like pages flipping. In his time off, Marco strolled to the harbor with Bonita on top of his shoulder or his head, and they became a familiar sight there.\n\nIt was a quiet life until one day. When Marco walked to the harbor with Bonita she suddenly took off, flying over to land on a clipper ship in the harbor.\n\nAnother parrot, larger and wearing blue, red, and yellow feathers, stepped along the rigging toward Bonita. The two birds bobbed their heads and made soft murmuring sounds, then each accepted the other. “I see your parrot has made a new friend.” The booming voice came from a tall man, with mustache, beard, and a peaked cap with a brim. “Captain Alfonse here,” he said. Marco held his hand out and they shook. “I’m Marco. This is my parrot, Bonita.” “And this is Foresta,” said the captain, pointing to the other bird. “Where are you from, young Marco?” “I help take care of the books at Rio de Janeiro library, the Biblioteca.” “Well, young man, we have a library too Would you like to see it?” A huge smile and wide eyes showed on Marco’s face. “Come this way.” The captain’s waved. Marco and Bonita spent the day exploring the library and following the captain around the ship. “I could use someone to take care of the ship’s library, teach reading, and record events into our ship’s journal.” The captain’s words made Marco shiver with excitement. But then he thought of his safe, secure place at the Biblioteca. What did he know about this captain and his ship? When they parted, Marco promised to visit again. He began to go to the ship every day after work. Then one day the Captain said, “We’re leaving tomorrow, boy. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to come with us?” “Thank you. But I will remain at the Biblioteca.” Marco heard himself speaking and felt a sinking feeling. He returned to the little corner of the library where his books and blankets waited for him. Bonita seemed to feel his mood, and she did not speak or imitate sounds on the way back. Marco awoke in the dark early the next morning. A painful tightness gripped his chest. Words tossed in his mind like stormy seas. “The Destiny’s Dreams is leaving today. With Captain Alfonse. And the ship library. The ship’s journals and log too.” Like a sleepwalker, Marco gathered his few belongings and wrote a heartfelt letter for the head librarian to express his gratitude, and to say goodby. Someday he would return. At the harbor, Captain saw a grey parrot sitting high on top of someone’s head who was coming through the crowd of passengers. His eyes felt wet. The boy with the heart of the seafaring life was coming toward the ship. Alfonse knew his instincts had been correct. Bonita picked up on Marco’s happy mood, and exploded with her favorite sound. “Hahahaha.” “’Welcome aboard, mate.” Captain Alfonse greeted Marco warmly. “So glad you decided to come with us.” The rest of the morning went by with sailors climbing up the wood steps sticking out of the three masts, and unfurling the reefed sails from their booms.\n\nThe white squares of oiled canvas filled the sky above the deck like fluffy clouds. A brisk wind came up in the early afternoon, and the Destiny’s Dreams pulled away from the wharf. But coming over the horizon of the open sea was a darkness moving toward them fast. “Monsoon squall approaching, Captain,” said Edelberto, the navigator, squinting through his telescope. On the deck the visiting astronomers set up their powerful telescope on its tripod. “Captain. You need to see this.” The astronomer’s voice was low but urgent. “I expect it is a short squall. It could be over in only minutes.” The captain’s voice was calm. The black sky and dark wall came toward them. The waves in front of it churned and were the color of midnight with white wave caps like stars. “This one looks bad.” Adelberto’s voice was worried. “Put out the wooden water barrels. We can use fresh storm water,\" said Alfonse. He was determined to make use of the opportunity. “Lash the barrels together.” The sailors rolled the barrels across the deck and began using thick rope to tie them. “I’ll help.” Marco came out of the ship’s library. Bonita’s claws were tightly wrapped around the cloth of his shirt. They went everywhere together. The daytime light disappeared, and they were swallowed up in the dark monsoon squall as if they sailed into a cave. Marco slipped on the deck, grabbed the rope to the rain barrels lashed together, and clung to it with all his strength. The wind hit the ship’s sails with a solid blow. The hull leaned far over to the side, almost capsizing. The railing with the water barrels and Marco went beneath the waves. The cold ocean swept over the rail and took the water barrels and Marcos with it. He gasped. His fingers froze onto the ropes. His body swirled and spun through the water. Through it all something sharp pierced his skin on the shoulder. It was Bonita’s claws. Marco’s head popped up above the water. He still held the rope of the barrels. His legs pumped and he climbed on top of the barrels. Then he and Bonita were floating in a black fog on a raft made of the barrels. He tried to call for help but his voice would only croak. Salty ocean water hurt his throat. Bonita crawled up on top of his head. Marcos grabbed some more of the barrel’s ropes, lashed them together more tightly, and stretched out on top of them. In only minutes the squall was past, but the fog remained. It was so thick Marcos could only see a few feet away. Where was he? His dreams of going to sea had only just begun to be fulfilled. Was this the price? Was he paying for it with his life? Marcos pictured his safe, cozy corner in the library with his soft, dry blankets. He felt so tired after battling the sea and the wind of the squall. Marcos collapsed on the barrels floating in the ocean. His eyes closed. Bonita came and sat on his chest near his neck, her beak almost touching his nose, her eyes on him without moving. The ring of a fog bell came through the clouds of fog over the water of the bay. Marco awoke and realized he was lying in wet clothes on the wood barrels lashed together. He held his breath.\n\n“What’s that?” Marcos whispered. But the small grey parrot standing on Marco’s chest heard. Bonita leaned into his face. “What’s that?...What’s that?” She perfectly copied Marco’s voice and whispered words. Her active mind liked new games like this. Then she made some random sounds, including her favorite. It started softly and grew louder till it penetrated the fog. “HahahahahHAHAHA.” There it was again. A fog bell ringing through the walls of cotton around them. Too weak to holler, Marco whispered to the round eyes of Bonita peering into his face. “Someone’s coming. Heeeelp.” But Marco’s voice could barely carry ten feet. How long had he been floating on the raft of barrels? Was it only hours or days since he was swept overboard in the monsoon squall? Bonita cocked her head and rubbed her soft feathers against Marco’s cheek. Then she jumped up and down on Marco’s chest. Next she mimicked the sound of a brass clapper hitting the bell sides. “Bong..bong...bong. Ha. Screech.\" Bonita’s voice sent a copy of the bell ringing out through the white world. Nothing was visible through the fog, but the sound echoed for a long way. Bonita bobbed her head with each bell sound. She raised the feather crest on top of her head, ruffled her wing feathers, and did a two step dance with her clawed feet. Then she followed her dance proudly with her best ear-splitting squawk and screech. Bonita liked this new game. “If anyone is out there, I know they will certainly hear that.” Marco spoke to the bird. Bonita picked up on the boy’s words and spoke in Marco’s voice and tone. “Anyone out there. Squawk. Screech.\" “Hahahahah.” Hundreds of yards away from Marco and Bonita, Captain Alfonse of the clipper ship Destiny’s Dreams was out in the swirling mists in a surfboat with sailors looking for Marco. Sounds disturbed the silent fog. Bonita squawked and started talking loudly. “Hear that…hear that…Bong, bong, bong. Hahaha.\" Captain Alfonse did hear it and froze. “Someone is hollering and ringing a fog bell,\" he said. The sailors rowing his surfboat stopped and listened. “Go this way,” one of them said. “No, that’s not it. The fog is playing tricks on us.” Another sailor spoke and shook his head. The sailors on the surfboat peered into the white wall billowing around them. They kept discussing Marco. “Good thing Marco grabbed those ropes to the rain barrels when he was swept overboard.” “Otherwise, he would be lost, gone for good.” “He must be floating somewhere on those wood barrels.” “Keep searching. Don’t give up hope.” While Captain Alfonse kept searching another vessel was in the nearby bay too. In the waters near Rio de Janeiro not all of the ships were friendly. A ship without an insignia flag silently moved in the barely perceptible breaths of air pushing it’s sails through the fog. A captain stood next to a carved wooden bow sprit in the shape of a half-human and half-fish leaping out of the water. “Get the rest of that new shipment from Rio hidden below the deck.” The words came through the captain’s black colored beard. It was woven into multiple braids tied with narrow rags. “Get the men ready,” he said. The bay authority knows something is missing. Their ships will be looking for smugglers .” An eerie sound came through the fog. “Bong. Bong. Bong. Hahaha. Screech.\" “Listen. There is someone out there.\" The captain’s first mate spoke. There was no way he could know it was a small, grey parakeet imitating fog bells. The captain murmured to the mate, who hurried to the wheelhouse. “Quick, the port authorities are after us,” he said. \"Spin the wheel. We need to turn and outrun them.” But the light breaths of air were barely strong enough to cause the ship to drift a little. Meanwhile, a little distance away from the smuggler’s ship, Marco sat up on the raft. Did he hear a ship out there somewhere? “What’s that?” He knew the parrot might copy what he said. But it was comforting to hear a voice, even his own. “What’s that...bong, bong, bong...screech, SCREECH. Haha.\"\" In the fog a hundred yards away, the smuggler’s ship captain dropped his mouth open. “What is that unearthly sound?” “Ghosts. They know what we have done.” “Over there. Following us.” A sailor gasped and pointed into the rolling masses of fog walls. The crew looked over with horror. The fog seemed to take shape and their imaginations saw things that were not really there. “Don’t look at that. We are getting out of here. “ The smuggler’s ship captain put the sailors to work and the boat managed to get underway and leave the area. A quarter mile away, Captain Alfonse and his sailors kept rowing and pausing to listen. “We’ll find him. I know we will.” Alfonse was determined. He pictured the elfin face of the skinny boy. An image of the boy’s eyes looking directly into Alfonse’s eyes seemed to appear in front of Alfonse. “I am sure he is out here. I know it.” At his tone of voice the sailors looked at Alfonse. They raised their eyebrows and exchanged glances. Out in the fog, Marco’s raft hit something in the water and caught on it. The boy pictured the charts of the bay on the ship Destiny’s Dreams. Guanabara Bay had over 100 small islands. The bay was around 20 miles across at the widest point. Then he heard the sound of oars. A mossy rowboat with an old man, who had a beard full of knots and tangles that fell almost to his knees, emerged from the fog near the boy’s raft. “I thought I heard something out here.” The man’s voice was raspy and his face was lined and weathered. “I just need to get back to shore.” Marco was hoarse but he managed to speak. “Climb in then.” The man motioned with an arm and Marco stiffly moved and fell into the mossy rowboat. He huddled there while the man rowed. After a while they approached a partly sunken ship with strings of green seaweed hanging from it. The wood of the ship was splintered, rotten and falling apart. The man pulled his long beard out of the way, tossed it over his shoulder, and tied the rowboat to the half sunken vessel. They climbed out. When they entered one of the vessel’s rooms, Marco was surprised to see the decayed elegance of a once prosperous wooden ship. He watched his rescuer. Then he weakly walked around the part of the vessel that was still above the water. Bonita flew off his shoulder and sat on the rotting rigging. She fluffed her feathers, bobbed her head up and down, hollered in her loudest parrot squawks, then imitated the fog bells. “Bong… Booooonnnng...BOOOONNNNG. Haha.\" Bonita did not like this ship. Something was wrong. The old man went down a hallway with a big key and locked some of the rooms. When the ship was smuggling goods she was fast and outran the authorities. But one day when her captain slept the crew failed to pay attention and she wrecked on the rocks near shore. Out in the fog, Captain Alfonse and his crew in the rowboat were still searching for Marco and the raft of barrels. “I hear a fog bell,” said one of the crew. “Or the imitation of one,” said Alfonse. “Could that be Bonita?” Another sailor spoke. They rowed toward the sounds. The foggy shape of the wrecked, half-sunken ship appeared. “Bonita.” The sailors called out. “Marco.” The little grey parrot screeched. Marco came out onto the deck. Bonita’s voice echoed through the fog. “Hahahahah.” “Captain!” Marco’s body sagged with relief. The rowboat came closer and the sailors lifted Marco into it. Bonita flew over to grasp his shirt. She rubbed her head agains his neck and face. “Congratulations, Marco,\" said Captain Alfonse. \"You are a real sailor now. It is not everyone who could have survived that.” The other sailors cheered and patted him on the back. A warmth grew inside of Marco and his eyes were shining with something wet. “A real sailor,” repeated Bonita. “You have paid the price. Survived the storm. You are one of us now. A Destiny’s Dreams member.” The Captain’s voice was proud. Later that afternoon, the sky cleared with the strongest blue Marco had ever seen. The crew surrounded him and held a celebration. After dark, Marco went into the library with Bonita and began to write. “It is everything I ever wanted. I paid the price. It is worth the risk.” He read it out loud. Bonita imitated his voice. “Worth the risk.” Then, \"Hahahaha.\""
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "For the rest of my life"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "As Vipsanius opened the locket, the voice from inside rang loud and clear. \n\n„Please, please, remember me when I’m gone“\n\nThe feminine voice sounded breathless, teary, and almost desperate. After a second came a response.\n\n„Of course I will. For the rest of my life“\n\nThis one was well known to everyone gathered around Vipsanius in witnessing this decisive moment. The voice was his own, gruff but always level. Only, in these words it had a tone they had never heard before – frail, choked up, almost sobbing. Falling apart. \n\nThe words from the locket fell on them like a tree falling deep in the forest – with a groundbreaking rumble and then… complete deafening stillness. As if all the rest of the woods held their breath to see if the noise brings any danger, unsure of how to proceed. Everyone looked to their steadfast leader, who now seemed so small and defeated, with his head hung low, hiding his face from the gentle blue light emanating from the locket. It floated at a chest level, waiting patiently. Having delivered the prescribed message, it had nothing left to do but await further instructions. \n\nAfter what felt like an eternity of shock, uneasy shuffling and questioning looks, there came a quiet voice from the crowd.\n\n- …Vipsanius?\n\nHearing that seemed to break the spell, as the man lifted his head with a sharp inhale.\n\n- Yes. – he exhaled – Yes. What is it, Sam?\n\n- Well… – the young boy looked around into all the eyes holding the same questions – Was that… your voice?\n\nVipsanius sighed.\n\n- Yes, dear boy. That was me.\n\n- And… the other one?\n\n- That… - for a second, Sam thought he saw a wet glimmer in the village leader’s eyes, before the man blinked it away – That, dear boy, was my mother.\n\nMurmurs erupted in the crowd. The leader never talked about his family, where he came from, or ever really about his past. As far as they knew, he’s always been here, running the inn. Always willing to listen, never turning down requests for help, trouble big or small. He wasn’t even really their leader – everyone just effortlessly trusted his judgment. So far it never failed. He always seemed to know what to do. \n\nBut this time was different. When news started reaching them about an army marching from the mountains burning everything in their way, Vipsanius began acting… strange. Where he usually was steady and focused, now he was unsure, like he couldn’t gather his thoughts. His absent eyes running away into the distance in the middle of conversations and during his regular chores. Except for when messengers came. They had his undivided attention. \n\n- They crossed the Great River! – the redhead was almost falling of his horse, which looked no less tired.\n\n- Mirko, great heavens! – Vipsanius ran to the younger man and helped him off – Come here, are you alright? \n\n- I’m fine, I’m fine.\n\n- Jill, bring the boy some water! You said the armies have crossed the River? Where are they now?\n\n- The Smiths – Mirko gasped as he was gently sat down on a bench – Lakeside is already gone. Burned to the ground. Only a couple families managed to escape into the woods. But they were hunted down too, every last one.\n\nVipsanius’ eyes darkened while he knelt in front of the bench, to get on the messenger's eye level. Before he could say anything, the women came running back carrying a ceramic pitcher.\n\n- Thank you Jill, capable as always. Now please go and ready a room for our guest. -\n\nhe turned back to the young man in front of him, giving him the water – Drink boy. Now, how large are these armies? \n\n- Huge – the redhead spat between gulps – At least five times as many as at the largest town market. I’ve never seen so many people in my life!\n\n- Ah. You’re right, that is huge – the older man stood up, with a bit more difficulty than usual, as if under a weight – You did well my boy. Now go rest, the room is waiting for you. \n\nWith every new update that came, Vipsanius spent more and more time behind his inn, sitting alone and looking into the sky. Noone dared to bother him, even though his comforting presence was much needed in the village. When he finally called the people to gather, everyone obeyed with anxious hope. He will know what to do. Vipsanius always knows what to do. \n\nBut when they found him in the square, sitting on a lonely stump, he looked like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. As everyone finished coming in, he rose up and began speaking. With a gravely expression, he told them that there is a way to save their village. Their lives. And that it was the only way he could see. But it was dangerous. Far too dangerous to consider it lightly. And that they had to make the decision for themselves. He couldn’t do it without their permission. \n\nAnd so, of course the people of the village chose to trust their leader. The gravity of his speech scared them, but no more than the prospect of war and fire consuming their whole world. And if Vipsanius said he didn’t see another way, they believed him. Whatever it was, it had to be done. \n\nHearing their decision, Vipsanius sigh deeply. It almost seemed like he hoped they wouldn’t make that choice. But he knew better than anyone that they had to. He reached into his pouch and took out a small locket. It was silver, set with small blue stones in swirling lines. As he held it in his open palm, it began to levitate, rising to the level of his chest. And then he opened it.\n\n*** - Your mother…? What happened to her?\n\nVipsanius sat back down on the stump, more pushed down by gravity than by his own strength. After a long pause, he started speaking.\n\n- When I was young, I had… a power. A magic. Amazing, and unnatural. And powerful. I could level trees with a single flick of my hand. Set fires with just my sight. Bring on a storm with a word. But it was wild, couldn’t be fully controlled. So amazing was this power, I thought myself invincible. I was arrogant and reckless. When I heard there was a war in our lands, I thought I had to take part. I started raiding the enemies’ camps, laying waste, burning everything I could see, crushing tens of hundreds of soldiers under rockslides and hail. I felt like a god, unstoppable. But the enemy didn’t take lightly to such destruction. They organized and traced my steps back home. One day when I returned, the whole village was on fire. Soldiers everywhere, chasing my family, my friends, everyone I knew. And most of them could have escaped. I could have helped them, be cautious and pick them off one by one to put in a safe spot, hide until the danger has passed. But I was proud, and they had hurt the people I loved. I had to punish them, stop them immediately. In my rage I brought down disasters on a scale yet unseen. Noone could have escaped me. And it wasn’t until I was done, that I realized… no one could have escaped. My family was there, among the soldiers who came after them. Everyone I knew was there. Under the rubble, in the ashes, lying in puddles. Noone escaped. By a feat of luck, I found my mother. She was still alive, but the life was quickly draining out of her. She was scared. In pain, she asked me to remember her. The last thing she ever heard was my promise. I spent days going through the rubble and burying everyone I could find. My family, my friends, all the people I knew in my life. And the soldiers, whatever was left of them. After I finished, I set out into the world and never came back. After a while I settled here. Opened an inn. Found some peace. And here you all know me.\n\nAfter his words, the silence was even deeper than the last one. Some people terrified, some moved, some so shocked they couldn’t even begin to know how they felt. But again there came a lone voice, to ask a question everyone was thinking.\n\n- But you don’t have any powers now? I’ve never seen you do anything magical. And there were many times it could have been useful.\n\n- You’re right John, I don’t. Before I left the ruins of my village, I sealed away my power. It’s bound in this locket and I vowed to never use it again. If… if I ever got tempted, I set myself a message. The last words I spoke with my mother. To remind me of the consequences this power brings.\n\nHe let his face fall into his hands. He couldn’t stand the gazes of his people. Not after what they just heard. \n\nThere wasn’t a single word said. Only a hand, slowly reaching out to rest on the old man’s shoulder. And after it, another one. And then Vipsanius felt only hands, warm, trusting hands of his people. And the tears that burned his eyes and ran down his cheeks. He couldn’t change the past. But they trusted him. And he would take care of them. For the rest of his life. "
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "An Unexpected Meeting"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Evangeline stood in the corner of the dimly lit inn, her back against the wall. The leather-bound hilt of her silver sword stuck out over her shoulder, glinting in the candlelight; a sturdy fur wrapped quiver rested just below the double-edged sword. Silently she took in her surroundings: one elderly (and frail) bar wench, two burly men in the far corner engaged in a round of cards, one middle aged woman and her husband in the center, and lastly a greying gentleman in the corner across from her. The last one caught her interest. \n\nHe sat by himself nursing his drink, which Evangeline thought smelled oddly of herbs but couldn't be certain from her distance. He had a small satchel strapped across his chest; she could see bits of leaves and twigs sticking out from its flap. And odd aroma of various herbs and flowers wafted from the leather bag every time the man moved. His hair was slightly receding, streaked with gray and silver tones that wrapped around his face and fell into sideburns. His eyes were a honeyed-amber color with puffy gray bags below them. His lips were thin and greyish purple, she noted that he barely opened them to partake of his dink. \n\nShe couldn’t quite place it but something about the man drew her in; something was off. Her talisman didn't move, but her senses were jittering at his presence. Her heart stilled as he met her gaze with his bright eyes. He made sure to keep her gaze and nodded for her to come join him; raising his cup to her. She drew in a deep breath before slowly making her way across the Inn to his table. \n\nHe motioned with an open palm for her to sit across from him, she noted his fingernails were thick and pointed, reminding her of beastly talons. \n\n\"Please have a seat, Fair Maiden.\" His voice was smooth, and he spoke well; he was someone obviously well-educated and from a well-to-do family.\n\nEvangeline nodded and sat down directly across from the man. \n\n\"You haven't taken your eyes off of me since I arrived.\" He said taking a sip of his drink. She was sure it had more than just stale beer or watered-down vodka in it, another curiosity to add to the enigmatic man. He motioned for the bar wench to bring another drink over.\n\n\"I simply took notice of an interesting person.\" She shrugged, placing her hands underneath her chin, resting her elbows on the edge of the table.\n\n\"Interesting, you say? Hmmm\" he hummed before taking a drink, eyeing her from across his cup. \"I'll opt to take that as a compliment, seeing that you of all people would know about interesting personas.\"\n\n\"What's that supposed to mean?\" She asked watching him as he slipped a steel tumbler from his satchel. He popped off the cork and topped off her drink with his herby hooch. \n\n\"Merely that, I should think, the world's only female slayer would know an interesting person when she saw them.\" He said with a hushed voice as he eased the tumbler back into his bag. \"I've heard quite a few tales about you over the years.\"\n\nShe scoffed over her drink. \"Modern tales of slayers are about Silver Falcon, not me.\" She said taking a sip of the concoction before her. \n\n\"You'd be surprised then to learn of the fast-spreading tales of the Crimson She-Wolf.\" He said with a thin smirk over the rim of his mug, raising it to her slightly.\n\n\"Enlighten me then.\" She challenged. \n\n\"Of course, Milady.\" He cleared his throat before proceeding. \"I believe the first one I heard was of how the Falcon and yourself rid Canth of a rather nasty beast, a Garkain; I believe most stories go into the gory details of how you burned the creature to a crisp before severing its head from its body. Then there are the war stories, of course...\" the man used his hands to talk spreading his hands wide and rolling them for effect. \"All which differ slightly, but still make large of your heroic deeds on the battlefields; wiping out an entire battalion on your own at Rose Hill, some say.\" He said placing his fingertips together for emphasis. \n\nEvangeline bit her lip. \"People of all races and stations in life tend to exaggerate things they've not witnessed themselves.\"\n\n\"That is very true, indeed.\" He said taking another drink from his mug. \"Although,\" he drawled on. \"I have a feeling, that your deeds don't need much exaggeration, do they Fair Maiden?\"\n\nEvangeline rolled her eyes. \"Enough about me.\" She said taking a swig of her drink, she could feel the effects of the stout alcohol working already. \"Obviously, you know exactly who and what I am. But I, Dear Sir, am at a loss on what title you hold, and whom to address you as.\" \n\n\"Ah,\" he smiled with thin lips. \"I beg your pardon, let me introduce myself. I am Nolan Conrad Ainsley; a barber-surgeon during war times and a simple herbalist the rest of times. You can address me as Conrad, though.\"\n\n\"A barber-surgeon... That explains some things I suppose.\"\n\n\"Such as?\"\n\n\"The herbs you carry, the hooch, and the faint smell of... carrion...\" She trailed off closing her eyes to take in a sniff and hone in on the exact scent. She didn't notice how he clenched his teeth and twinge as she mentioned it. \"A smell such as that lingers long after your work is done.\" She opened her eyes to see him drain his mug.\n\n\"That it does.\" He said somberly, avoiding making eye contact with her.\n\nShe heard feet shuffle behind them and picked up the scent of a drunken farmer; the smell of shit mixed with cheap ale. \"How'd you like to take a walk with me Conrad? It's beginning to get a bit crowded in here, don't you think?\" She said, nodding back over her shoulder at the approaching man. She saw Conrad grimace. The man was on them before he could utter a reply.\n\n\"'Ey, there Darlin'.\" the man said as he ran his hand down her back as he approached. She rolled her eyes with disgust and clenched her teeth. Conrad tensed and clenched his teeth as well, sensing where things were headed. The man hiccupped before continuing. \"How 'bout ya come an' talk with a real man?\" The brawny farmer said facing Evangeline, leaning on the table trying to block out Conrad with his large body. \n\n\"I beg your par-\" Conrad began, pushing himself up from his seat.\n\n\"Get lost ya ol' geezer!\" The man yelled grabbing hold of Conrad by the collar of his shirt and hoisting him up out of his chair completely. Conrad didn't flinch, he held the man's gaze before speaking again. \n\n\"I suggest you put me down, Good Sir.\"\n\nThe drunkard moved to shake Conrad but stopped when he felt a sharp pain along his neckline. Evangeline had already drawn her sword by the time Conrad’s feet had been lifted from the ground. The tip of her blade touched the man's carotid artery. The farmer flinched against the blade cutting a fine line into his dark skin. A trickle of blood began to flow down his neck as his pulse quickened. Conrad pried the man's fingers from his collar and with dignity, straightened out his shirt and vest. \n\n\"It seems the lady would prefer my company at the moment, Good Sir. Kindly, remove yourself from our presence.\" Conrad quipped, staring into the man's eyes. The man relaxed and stepped away from the pair. Evangeline sheathed her sword, cautiously. Conrad tossed some coins onto the tabletop. \"Shall we?\" He asked offering her his arm. Evangeline nodded and took the arm he offered with a subtle smile. He ushered her past the gaping patrons and out of the inn into the quickly fading light of dusk.\n\nThey walked a-ways down the path, glancing every so often over their shoulders to see if they were being followed. She felt Conrad’s grip on her hand tighten as four men approached them from the side, as well as two at their rear. \n\n\"Seems like we made quite the impression.\" He sighed.\n\n\"Seems to be a reoccurring theme for me.\"\n\n\" I can see why.\" He muttered, giving her a once over, letting her hand slip from his arm to pull her sword from its sheath. \"I'll take the two at the rear.\" He said turning to face the burly men. She blinked a few times, gave the man a good onceover, thinking to herself that there was still something peculiar about him. It was odd to her how easily she trusted this stranger with her life. She didn't bother to look back, she knew, for some strange reason, that he could easily handle himself.\n\n\"If I were you, boys, I'd turn right around and leave. You fail to realize whom you're harassing.\" Conrad called over his shoulder as he approached the other men. A smile crossed her face, she knew it was she that he referred to.\n\n\"You an' yer whore made a fool of out of our friend. One of ya did somethin’ fishy back thar. Made 'em act all funny like, ya ken? We dinna take kind ta the likes of ya.\" Conrad’s eyes shifted ever so slightly towards Evangeline. Evangeline glanced over her shoulder at him, momentarily making contact. She had thought the farmer had backed off too easily. Her new friend had a bit more explaining to do when they wrapped this dance up.\n\n\"You'll leave us be or suffer the consequences. Your choice.\" She said taking her stance, her blade level with her eye, pointed at the men before her. \n\n\"Shut yer mouth whor-\" the man jabbed a grubby fist at Evangeline, before he could finish his sentence she had severed his hand from his body with a fluid swipe of her blade. The man screamed and clutched the bloody stump. Blood gushed from the forearm covering the man in a crimson wave.\n\n\"Get the wench!\" Another screamed as he lunged at her. She pirouetted and slashed the man across his abdomen, spilling his intestines across the dirt path. The other two men stood rooted in place, mouths agape in horror as the man fell into a convulsing heap. Evangeline took a step towards the men, her blade raised to strike, covered in blood of their fallen comrades. One man dropped his sword and fled in the opposite direction. The other haphazardly lunged at her with his pitchfork, she easily knocked the weapon from his hands prompting him to follow his friend and flee. She turned to face the initial brigand. The man was sobbing, clutching his stump to his belly. \n\n“Fuck you ya mutant bitch.” he sniveled reaching for his belt knife.\n\nShe made quick work of him; with a single slash she decapitated his head from his body, ceasing his mewling. \n\nShe flicked her sword in the air, shaking blood from the blade as looked back to check on Conrad. The two assailants were slashed to ribbons, blood pooled between the two bodies at his feet. \n\n\"Well, well. That was something one doesn't see every day; to behold a slayer in battle is quite something indeed.\"\n\n\"You didn't do so bad yourself I see...\" she said sheathing her sword. \"You're quite a resourceful man, Conrad.\"\n\n\"You pick up a few things when you're in my profession.\" he said straightening out his clothes. \n\n\"I'm sorry you got dragged into this bloody mess.\"\n\n\"Don't apologize. If I didn't want to be involved, I would have left your company sooner. I wouldn't have invited you over if I wasn't prepared for something like this.\" He said with a shrug, motioning at the scene before them. \"What I mean is that you are a slayer, humans don't exactly accept your kind... and to top it off... you're exceedingly beautiful, if you'll allow me to say so. That alone is enough to bring plenty of unwanted attention; an inevitability.\" \n\n\"It certainly seems that way at times.\" She muttered, trying to hide the blush spreading across her face by turning to assess the area around them. The ground was now saturated with a shade of crimson that matched the setting sun.\n\n\"We had best gather our things from the inn forthwith and slip away before anyone notices these fellows are missing.\" \n\n\"Good idea.\" She said turning back towards him, the blush faded from her face. \"My horse and supplies are in the stable around back of the inn.\"\n\n\"Mine as well; we should be able to slip in and out unnoticed then.\" \n\n\"Only if we make haste. Let's go.\" She said walking past him with large steps. Conrad nodded and followed her lead. \n\n\"Where are you heading from here, if I might inquire?\" He asked as he took a spot beside her on the dirt path.\n\n\"Why? Are you going to follow me?\"\n\n\"I thought, perhaps, I should accompany you, for a ways, for my own safety, that is. If any unruly mob came after me, what would I do without your assistance?\" \n\n\"I suppose having company for once wouldn't be too bad. Someone who can defend themselves is a plus, and...\"\n\n\"And what?\" He asked, a faint smile playing across his thin lips.\n\n\"Someone interesting and knowledgeable.\" She finished; the corners of his mouth turned up more at her flattery. She paused a moment before she continued. \"I didn't use magic on that man, but you did.\"\n\nHe groaned and nervously ran his hand up the back of his neck, ruffling his hair. \"I was hoping no one would notice that.\" \n\n\"You might be able to hide things from most peasants, but not from me. You should keep that in mind if you're going to be my traveling companion. I know you're hiding who or what you really are.\" She said holding his gaze. \n\nConrad swallowed nervously and looked away from her. She stopped in her tracks about a hundred yards from the inn. \n\n\"You helped me out back there. I owe you a debt now; I won't force you to tell me but be aware that I'm watching you. I will figure it out, one way or another. Don't abuse my trust, Conrad, it's something I rarely hand out.\"\n\nHe blinked a few times at her, taking a moment to process her words. \"Of course. I thank you for your trust and discretion.\" He stated with a courteous bow.\n\n\"Enough chit chat. Let's gather our things and be rid of this place.\" She stated moving alongside the shrubbery, concealing herself as much as possible.\n\n\"Agreed.\" He said following her lead to the back of the inn. \n\nLuckily for them no one was around. They took their belongings, mounted their horses, and fled north along the byway. The land was lush and fertile, the dirt road lined with plentiful grasses and trees. It was a much better view than the dessert land Evangeline had previously been traveling through, but it also gave monsters and men ample places to hide. She focused her attention to her senses; keeping herself alert for anything that might be lurking in the picturesque scenery. \n\nThey rode a distance in silence, the hours passing along from dusk to midnight. The silence between them gave Evangeline ample time to try and riddle out what secret her new companion possessed. He had magic of some sort, that she was certain of; good or bad, she couldn’t decipher yet. \n\nHe's not natural. There's something off with him. He's uncanny. He's not a slayer, obviously not part elf but yet he's not a normal human either... if he is, he's a sorcerer and hiding it somehow, for some reason. Mysterious though he may be, I still am drawn to him. Could it do any harm to let my guard down this one time? To live in the moment, with him... To let something happen... It's been so long. She thought to herself as she kept her horse at a slow run. Her thoughts wandered as time went on; contemplating her options and trying to solve the conundrum of the man that accompanied her. "
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Faith in a Storm"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Alice hunkered closer to the rocky overhang, grimacing as a fresh torrent of rain washed down her back. She checked her cartridge belt again- wet ammo wouldn't stop this storm. The hair on the back of her neck rose, tingling, and she dropped into the gravelly mud, slamming her hands over her ears as a furious streak of lightning shattered the cliff side and swept away two wagon teams with a roar louder than any ordinance. Alice swept her sopping hair aside and looked at William prone beside her, missing when things had been simpler and lying beside her had been his choice of love rather than a necessity of war. She smothered the old feelings and scrambled to her feet, slipping on the wet stone. Peter and Fredrick hustled around the bend ahead of them, their green woolen coats dark with the wet. “Definitely a Rainmaker boss, yep.” Peter patted the leather wrapped binoculars dangling around his neck. “Dug in there deep. Poked his head out to summon that last bolt there. Gotta glimpse.” Peter winced as another flash of lightning shook the hillside. Alice just made out the screams over the downpour. “Nice work Peter, that is good Intel and confirms the General's suspicions that this is the work of a shaman.” William looked at his unit, his foundation, and nodded grimly. He tented his hand on the rock, the flow of water parting around each finger like upside down teardrops, like depressions in her skin, and breathed deeply through his nose. Alice wished she could pull strength from the land. She used to pull strength from him. She swallowed a knot in her throat and wiped wetness from her face. Fredrick spat a dark stream over the side. “I reckon he must be strong to call a storm like this.” “He must be the Conduit of a region with a pretty good population,” Alice said, “I'm surprised he'd go against the Conventions like this and risk the spirit, the lives, of his people. It's betrayal.” She turned her glare away from William before he noticed and wiped the rain from her face again. William shook his head. “It might not be betrayal, maybe his Region are zealots and are fully behind him, all fighting this war…” “The women and children are not fighting…” Alice interrupted only to be waved off by William. He used to care what she had to say. “It does not matter. Technically, we are going against the Conventions too. We need to get to the top of this mountain and do what we were hired to do. We need to eliminate him before he wipes our employers off this pass.” “But we’re homesteaders William, and we're all here,” she gestured at the four of them, her friends, her family. “If you die, it's only us who lose our connection, it's our choice, our faith.” A writhing wind surged past them, trying to skin them from the rocky face. Alice grasped her rifle in both hands, squinting down at the long line of soldiers below. The wind trampled a string of them and swept several over the edge. The three men stood as one and Alice stood alone. Frowning, she slung her rifle over her shoulder and patted the butt of it reassuringly. It was her lucky charm. It had been with her since the start of this war, when the four of them had left their farmstead in the wilderness, their little piece of Land, where William, their Conduit, lead them, and they had joined up because it was right and because the money would help them survive. William had still loved her then. After the next spear of lightning disintegrated a wagon, Peter leaned around William and looked up to the top of the mountain with his binoculars. Alice looked as well, grimacing at the treacherous terrain and she blew hot breath over her cold fingers, preparing for the climb. Peter slapped William's shoulder, and he waved the silent command, a two-fingered salute turned on end and rushed along the narrow pathway, trusting his People to follow. When there were no more steps to take on the dwindling path, William leapt upward and grasped the soaking stone, pulling himself up to another ledge, never looking back. Peter posted up, one foot width filling the jagged remains of the path, and cradled his hands for Fredrick, boosting him up the two body lengths William had bounded with ease. Fredrick took a knee. With one hand he clung to the rock, and with the other he reached down to catch Alice's hand as she was assisted upward in the same manner. She mirrored Fredrick's pose and unsung her rifle. The two of them held the stock, stretching the weapon as low as possible as Peter jumped and grabbed it. He scrambled up, joining them. William was several bounds higher. His magic was tied to his Land, like all Conduits, but his, unlike this Rainmaker, was a physical sort of magic, wild, feral, and it augmented his body to do things beyond a regular person. He'd told her once that if they grew their homestead big enough, his connection would let him shift into animal forms. He'd never wanted such things before. The rain pulled and shifted momentarily, a tidal wave dashing them into the rock. Alice struck her head and lost her footing as the rock disintegrated below her. Peter grabbed her right shoulder and pushed her back into the rock, arresting her motion and dousing her in a fresh rivulet of gravelly runoff. She squeezed his hand in thanks. They made their way upward, pulling themselves up, trying to keep William in sight. Alice remembered the last time they had all climbed like this, basalt cliffs not far from the Region they had grown up in, a small town. They had loved the danger of it, the adventure, and the freedom. They had found joy in each other and after years they decided they were a People on their own and decided to carve out their own piece of Land. The air and the rain grew colder the higher they climbed. The metallic earthy smell fell away as the moisture in Alice's nose started crystallizing. Her fingers took on a premature rigor-mortis, frozen in a hooked claw, and she had to watch each time she set it in place, testing her weight against the hold. Long shadows raced above them with each flash of lightning below making the accent look effortless. They continued on. William waited for them under a larger overhang. His coat steamed. Their breath floated like a haze before being whipped away by a rush of wind. Alice threw her ice claws under into her armpits to slowly thaw back into hands and succumbed to her shivering. At a quiet command from William, Peter went back into the frigid downfall to look for the Rainmaker again. William stood tall and comfortable. The same look he had after any exertion. The last time she saw it had been after he had been dragged into a room by a giggling woman, naturally helpless against her strength. He didn't realize she saw until he came out a while later, striking this pose and lighting a cigarette in the common space. He'd said they had grown apart, that the world had so much to see and to experience. He'd said they could bring it back with them to their homestead. It, them. She'd forced herself to feel cold then too, icy nothingness, the rich smells of the tavern had crystallized to nothing then too. The alternative was too much to bear. He'd said to have faith, he'd always love her. Her faith in him as their leader was why she followed him back out into the slurry of rain and sleet. As he bounded upward with ease it was harder and harder. The storm continued to rage below them. Alice gritted her teeth wondering how many more men had been killed by now. Her fingers resumed their freeze as Peter, Fredrick, and she continued up. They were close to the top, the cliff face was sheer. The mountain rumbled and she frantically clung to the pitiful handhold she could barely feel and coughed out the rainwater she'd snorted up with her gasp. Fredrick and Peter similarly pulled themselves tight against the face. Alice looked down past her feet at the marching column below in time to see a huge swathe of the dim lantern lights be snuffed out. Something had changed. The wind charged around them, jostling and shoving. Alice wedged her gun into a fracture in the cliff and pulled herself up. She looked to Peter as lighting highlighted the tense muscles of his jaw. Highlighted how he squinted his eyes so tightly before looking upward, the glint in them reflecting the frustration and determination that she felt as well. A look that said once they reached the top, it would be over. Peter gave Alice a resolute nod. He looked past her and shared a look with Fredrick. The air was thick. “Gotta be close.” Alice read it from Peter’s lips. She couldn't hear him over the wind and rain. Peter leaned back, hanging from one hand, and lightning struck, a white sun blazing from the metal rim of his binoculars blinding Alice. The thunder erupted inside her head and she clung to her rifle, cowering. A sharp clean smell was overwhelmed by burning wool. The cold brought Alice back first. Her vision came next, but it was superimposed by a ghostly burn of Peter looking upward. Her ears were ringing and she didn't know if she could hear the rain. Peter and Fredrick were gone. She let the cold consume her. She had to get to the top. Alice climbed. she fought the icy rain and dashing wind, slamming her hands into cracks and holes, certain she was wounding them but unsure of the extent. Finally, she pulled herself over the final ledge, rolling through the water, headless of any danger. William was grappling with another man. She watched as he ferociously threw the Rainmaker towards the edge, which would've sent anyone else to the death. The Rainmaker summoned an impossibly strong gust that supported him, setting him back on the rocky pinnacle. William dove aside as lightning struck. Alice crawled through the ice and propped herself against a boulder. She flinched as another bolt turned a puddle to steam where William had been moments before and Peter's ghost was made more solid before she blinked him away, willing the ice to her heart. William lifted the Rainmaker and dashed him on the ground and barked a laugh. Alice gritted her teeth. Peter and Fredrick were dead and William was laughing. Alice drew a fresh magazine from her belt, the waxed canvas having done its job. She sighted on the battling men, waiting for a clean shot. William prowled up to the Rainmaker, a smile playing at the corners of his lips, like a cat toying with a mouse. The other man scrambled backwards. William lunged, fist cocked. The Rainmaker sprung his hand forward and released lightning directly from his fingers, a brilliant tether connecting their two forms. Alice squinted her eyes closed and caught a familiar whiff of burning wool as William fell to the ground. The Rainmaker stood and William rolled over, their positions reversed. The Rainmaker raised his hand, fingers spread. Alice saw his fingertips start to glow with bluish white light and she took her shot. Alice stood next to William on the precipice. She breathed in the crisp mountain air flavored by wet wool. She tasted blood in her mouth and spit. It was drying on her face from the cut on her forehead. The warming air and majestic view of neighboring mountains and forested valleys below doing little to warm her frozen heart. It would be a long time until that happened. “It is a pity about Peter and Fredrick. They were good men.” Alice looked at him in shock, her mouth dropping open. “They were our best friends, our family, how can you be so callous?” “War is dangerous and many men are lost. We have to move on. It's a big world.” Alice's eyebrows rose and she felt something shift in her, a tearing. William's head cocked to the side, the picture of subconscious confusion. He'd felt something tear too. He was too disconnected to realize. He rolled his shoulders experimenting with the unease. He said, “Do not worry Alice, we will always love them. But someone else will come along,” and without another word he jumped from the precipice, faithful his power would get him down as easily as it got him up. Alice jerked forward hand reaching, “Wait!” struggling from her lips. She paused, dreading another loss, and then looked over the edge. It was too late. "
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Searching for Sasquatch"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": " \tLiving just outside of Portland, Oregon, Connor Deschutes and his family had always enjoyed the great outdoors.\n\nConnor had spent three years in the Boy Scouts earning a dozen merit badges in that time.\n\nHis father, Oliver, was an avid fisherman, spending the weekends in his motorboat out on Lost or Bull Run Lake hoping to snag trout or bass that populate most of the lakes throughout the state. \n\nOn the weekend that would make Connor famous, he was out camping with his Boy Scout troop near Mount Hood.\n\nHis scoutmaster Victor Kennisfield was spinning old campfire stories about the legendary Bigfoot around their evening campfires. \n\n“Yessir, he was bigger than a grizzly bear with teeth as sharp as razors and fire red eyes, I knew we were in for it. The Cherokee call him Tsui ‘Kalu and he is known as a man killer.\n\nSo, when we saw him, we were really scared.\n\nAnd then he let out a shriek that made our blood curdle.” Victor told this story as his troop of wide-eyed scouts sat around the campfire listening to each word as if it was gospel. As he completed his tale of the legendary Sasquatch, the light of day was sucked out of the sky as the woods became pitch black. \n\nA couple of raptors screeched from the safety of their perches in the pine trees making the unsuspecting scouts flinch. Among them, Connor sat cross legged, eagerly soaking in every word of his scout master. “Hey Vick, you laid it on kinda thick.” Joel Pusick, the assistant scoutmaster, noted when Victor finished his story, and the boys began to disperse from the campfire. \n\n“It was all in good fun.” Victor chuckled as he leaned back in his fold-out chair. “Yeah, but I saw some of the kids were freaked out by your extraordinary descriptiveness.” Joel shrugged as he watched the boys filter on back to their tents that had been swallowed up by the darkness.\n\nThey had all become nothing but moving shadows.\n\n“It was my initiation when I was a new scout.” Victor sniffed. “Did they even have electricity back then?” Joel tilted his head. “Wise guy.” Victor shook his head. Mr. Kennisfield?” A voice sounded from the shadows. “Yes?” “I’m Connor Deschutes.” He coughed. “Connor.” Victor smiled as he tried to remember who Connor was. “What can I do for you?” “I was wondering…” Connor shifted from one foot to the other.\n\n“What were you wondering?” Victor’s face was lit by the dying fire. “Is Bigfoot real?” He was finally able to find the words.\n\n“As real as I am to you.” He answered. “Really, Victor.” Joel shook his head as he chuckled. “Hey there Connor, you have my wife for your Geography teacher.” “Oh yeah, Mr. Pusick. She’s really nice.” Connor smiled. “I’ll be sure to tell her that you said that.” He laughed. “BigFoot is real, son.” Victor interjected.\n\nConnor’s eyes grew wide as he walked away. “Was that necessary?” Joel sighed.\n\nWhen the morning came the sun peeked through the trees.\n\nThe boys stumbled out of their tents and made their way to where Mr. Pusick had set up a buffet line with pancakes and bacon.\n\nVictor stood shoulder to shoulder with the younger, taller man as they placed pancakes and two slices of bacon in each of the boys’ mess kits.\n\n“What a beautiful morning.” Joel declared. “Beautiful morning to see a Bigfoot.” Victor nodded. “C’mon Victor, give it a rest.” Joel shook his head. “You may not believe this, but back thirty years ago when I was a Boy Scout, we spotted a Sasquatch in a clearing.” He put two pieces of bacon in a boy’s mess kit. “Are you serious?” Joel chuckled. “From me to that clearing over there.” Victor pointed. “What did you do?”\n\n“What could we do?\n\nWe just stood there as still as statues.” He offered a crooked wry smile. \n\nConnor heard this as he waited to receive his breakfast.\n\n“I wish I could see one out here in the wide.” He whispered to himself. “C’mon Deschutes, step it up.” One of the boys behind him in line griped.\n\n“Sorry.” He held out his mess kit and received his breakfast.\n\nThe open bottle of Maple Syrup for the pancakes was at the next table.\n\nConnor took the bottle and squirted the sticky syrup in a puddle on top of his breakfast.\n\nAs soon as the scouts had eaten and cleaned up the area, Victor took them on a hike along the easier trails near Mount Hood. The trails were heavily wooded.\n\nRealizing the hazards of such rugged terrain, Victor Kennisfield held a troop meeting around the campfire that was now just charred pieces of wood from the night before. “Remember when we are on the trail, even though it is clearly marked, we must stay together. It is easy to get lost and there are wild animals that will harm you if you come across them.” He folded his arms across his chest and made sure to do a quick headcount to make sure there were no stragglers. “So, patrol leaders, I want you to make a list of your patrols and have them to me in fifteen minutes. The quicker I have these, the sooner we will begin our hike. Scout Master Pusick will tell you about the trail.” Victor concluded as he handed out slips of paper to the patrol leaders.\n\nThere were five patrols in the troop which averaged eight boys per patrol.\n\nSome patrols were less, because the boys assigned to the patrols were not able to make the campout for various reasons.\n\nIt was essential to know who was assigned to each patrol before scurrying off into the woods. “All right boys.” Joel addressed them, “We are going to hike Bobcat Trail which is one of the easier trails out here.\n\nIt is approximately six miles, and we should be back at the campsite by lunchtime.\n\nI want to stress the importance of staying together since this is a heavily wooded national forest area.\n\nThere are places on the trail that will let you have a breathtaking view of Mount Hood which is snow covered year-around.\n\nThere are also some places along the trail where I want you to use caution as they can be hazardous. Sprained ankles are painful making it hard to complete the hike.\n\nEveryone should have their first aid kits with them.\n\nMake sure you have your canteens filled with water and your first aid kits in your backpacks. Any questions?”\n\nA hand went up in the rear of the gathering.\n\n“Arty?” Joel made sure not to roll his eyes.\n\nArty was a frail scout with glasses he usually lost during his campouts and an inhaler for his asthma. “Mr. Pusick, will we be encountering any Bigfeets?” He sniffed as he pulled out his inhaler from his pocket. “No, I do not think we will encounter any Sasquatches.” Joel shook his head. “But let me stress again, there are wild animals out in the woods.\n\nIf we stay together, they will leave us alone as long as we do the same.”\n\n“I have the lists.” Victor said as Joel finished.\n\n“Good, let’s get ready to go.” Joel pointed to a clearing, “Over there is the trailhead. Form up over there.”\n\nConnor’s patrol, The Badger Patrol, consisted of Jake Homme, Brandon Avery, Arty Winesocket, Kent Jordanian, Zack Weaver, Orlin Brockington, Darrell Ramsey and their leader Zig Rossingland. They would follow Wolf Patrol.\n\nMost of the Badger Patrol had been on other campouts, so they were familiar with the routine, but The Wolf Patrol were made up of mostly newbies.\n\nFollowing them ensured that the Tenderfoot scouts would not wander off into the woods.\n\nEven with the sun overhead at ten in the morning, in the forest just a few yards away it was still opaquely dark.\n\nIf someone would wander off they would surely get lost. There arose a howl.\n\nEveryone stopped. After a few minutes the troop began to move forward again.\n\n“Wonder what that was.” Arty got out his inhaler. “Probably some werewolf.” Zack chuckled knowing that this would surely spook Arty. “Really?” Arty gasped. “No, Zack is just rattling your chain.” Zig shook his head. Connor loved hiking in the woods.\n\nThere were so many things to see and so many strange noises that weren’t heard where he lived.\n\nHe collected things that were interesting to him like stones with odd shapes, acorns, small branches that had broken off the pine trees, all sorts of things he treasured.\n\nWhile Zig kept his eyes straight ahead, Connor was focused on the ground of the path ahead.\n\nUsually when the hike was over, Connor’s pockets were full of stuff. His mother was always unstuffing his pockets when he returned home as she put his filthy clothing straight into the washing machine.\n\n“Connor, what’s this?” She would ask as she delicately held the item between her two fingers as she grimaced. He would tell her matter-of-factly, but even with the gained knowledge, it did not always make her feel any better. “Connor, dear, you must leave the stuff you find in the forest in the forest.”\n\nWith his eyes focused on the ground, Connor saw blood. Seeing this made him stop in his tracks.\n\nHe bent down, putting his knee on the ground.\n\nThe leaves were covered in blood and there was a trail that led to the woods. Filled with natural curiosity, Connor continued to follow the trail until he smelled something very foul.\n\nWhen he finally looked up his heart nearly came to a complete stop.\n\nSitting on a fallen log was Sasquatch and it seemed the creature was in some distress. The sasquatch looked up and saw Connor.\n\nHe let out a ferocious growl.\n\nConnor stood there frozen in fear until he realized the blood had come from the hairy beast.\n\nHis long hair covered hands were clutching his knee and Connor could see the sasquatch’s hair on his leg was matted with blood. “Are you hurt?” Connor wondered out loud.\n\nThe sasquatch let out a mournful sound as if he was in pain. “Can I have a look?” Though he was covered in black hair all over his large menacing body, the sasquatch clearly had distinguishable facial expressions. He looked sad and hurt by his apparent injury.\n\nSlowly Connor approached, but the beast just sat there whimpering.\n\n“Let me see it.” Connor pulled out his first aid kit and unwrapped some gauze. “Pull you hand away.”\n\nHe would not do what Connor was telling him. Frustrated, Connor demanded, “I can’t help you if you won’t let me have a look.”\n\nHe tilted his head and whimpered some more, but slowly he removed his hand away from the injured area. “Aw, that’s not so bad.\n\nYou just skinned it.” He pulled out some antibiotic cream and dabbed some on the wound. The sasquatch howled and knocked Connor away.\n\nConnor could not believe how strong the beast was.\n\nShaking his head from the blow, he could see the sasquatch was sorry he had reacted so harshly.\n\n“You are a lot stronger than me.” Connor told him, “If you do that again, I can’t help you. The cream will sting, but it will help the wound heal.\n\nI saw all the blood on the leafs and I thought you were really hurt, but I can see it’s not too bad.\n\nJust let me put on the gauze.\n\nAlright?”\n\nHe bowed his head and then he reached out his hand to Connor. “Alright, are you ready?” Connor looked into his eyes and could see that he was ready.\n\nHe noted that Mr. Kennisfield has exaggerated about Bigfoot in his story the night before.\n\nThe sasquatch did not have razor sharp teeth, and he was not a cannibal, because if he was, Connor would have been a snack. \n\nHe rubbed in the cream on the open wound as the beast winced in pain, but at least he was letting Connor do it.\n\nAfter he had cleaned the wound, he began to wrap it in gauze until he tied a knot to secure the dressing.\n\n“There, that will make you feel better.” Connor said as he put away the things in his first aid kit. He did not expect the hug nor the strength of the grateful embrace, but he knew the intent of it. “You’re welcome.” Connor nodded, “Now I have to get back to my troop.” He left with a wave that the beast returned in kind.\n\nWhen he got back to camp, he told the others in the patrol about his encounter with Sasquatch.\n\nThe others sat there wide-eyed listening to every word. “We should go try to find him.” Zig suggested.\n\n“It was in the woods.\n\nBy the time we get there the sun will be going down.” Arty sniffed.\n\n“If we want to see him, we’d better get started now.” Connor said. “Do you think we will be missed?” Zig wondered aloud.\n\n“Naw, the rest of the troop is just sitting around doing crafts.” Kent shook his head. “Alright, let’s go.” Zig ordered, “And bring your cell phones so we can take pictures of him.”\n\nAnd so, the Bader Patrol set off on their quest to find Bigfoot.\n\nThey moved stealthily to the trailhead.\n\nIt was already getting dark in the woods as the boys made their way up the trail.\n\nBirds made a lot of racket as the boys passed by, but they were on a quest. There was a low growl just off the trail. “What was that?” Arty was already shaking and reaching for his inhaler. \n\n“I dunno.”\n\nKent gasped. “Relax, he doesn’t speak, he growls.” Connor assured them. “Are you sure?” Orlin was hiding behind a nearby pine tree.\n\n“Hello!” Connor called out, “It’s me, the one who helped you earlier.”\n\nAnother growl sounded.\n\nThe pitch and tone of the growl seemed to confuse Connor, however. He was worried and it showed on his face. “Connor, what’s wrong?” Zig whispered an aside to him. Another growl, but this time the beast growling stepped onto the trail in front of them. It turned out to be a black bear. “That ain’t no sasquatch.” Arty cried out as the bear ambled toward them.\n\nHe was hungry and could smell that a few of the boys had snacks.\n\nHe wanted some so he stood on his hind legs and roared.\n\n“What are we gonna do?” Arty panicked. “Run.” Zig blurted out as he turned to make his getaway, his foot caught a root sticking up from the ground.\n\nHe gracelessly fell to the ground.\n\nThe bear was on Zig before he could get back to his feet. “Help me!” He was trapped under the bear. Zig could smell the bear’s breath.\n\nIt was awful.\n\nThe boys screamed as they watched in horror as the bear prepared to claw and bite their leader. From the shadows of the woods, a sasquatch ran toward the bear. \n\nThe boys screamed again. Connor would have screamed, but then he saw the gauze on the sasquatch’s left leg that he had put there earlier in the day.\n\nThe bear turned and growled in the sasquatch’s face.\n\nUsing one of his powerful arms, he flicked the bear off of Zig like someone would flick a mosquito from their arm before being bit. The bear flew several feet before landing with a thud on the ground.\n\nShaking off from his abrupt flight, the bear disappeared into the woods. “My God, he saved us.” Arty got out his cell phone and groaned, “What?\n\nNo bars?”\n\nEveryone else had done the same but found that all they had were no bars.\n\nConnor was the only scout who did not get his phone out to take a picture of the giant savior standing in front of them. “Thank you.” He looked up at the sasquatch.\n\nIn telling the story around a campfire later, he would always tell his listeners that upon hearing his words, the beast nodded ever so slightly before disappearing into the woods. “Shucks.” Zig shook his head, “None of us got a picture.”\n\n“It’s okay.” Connor put his arm around Zig, “We’d better get back.\n\nIt’s getting dark.”\n\n“Sure thing.” Zig agreed, “Badger Patrol, we are going back to the camp, pronto.”\n\nNo one disagreed. “Are you alright?” Connor asked Zig. “I’m a little shaken, but nothing is hurt.” Zig nodded, “And Connor?” “Yes.”\n\n“Thank you so much.” He patted Connor on his back. He then called out to the rest, “Not a word when we get back.”\n\nThere was an “Aye” in unison as they began to hike back to camp.\n\n“I hope one day I’ll get to go to Loch Ness where I can take a picture of the Loch Ness Monster with some bars on my phone this time.” Arty said as he put his inhaler back in his pocket. "
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The Sailor & The Sea"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The woman in the mist, will sing your name to thee, you’ll follow and be gone, if you find the Mirror-Sea. Her voice will call you in, but home, you’ll never be, if you follow the Siren’s Song, into the Mirror-Sea. If you go with her below, you will never be free, because you were already lost, when you found the Mirror-Sea. So listen to this well, it’s the last I can say to thee, beware the Siren’s Song, if you find the Mirror-Sea. Sea Shanty, circa 1793. I held it in my hand, reverently . A compass. A simple, thing, really. For a sailor, especially. I must have held and used dozens … But this one? This was different. As I held it to the light, I noticed something that hadn’t been visible moments before. An engraving, perhaps. I tiled it again, but there was nothing. I frowned, and held it to the light once more, and there it was. I squinted. There was an image. A Siren, on a rock, a ship in the background. I looked around, searching for the Antique Dealer to ask a few questions, but he had disappeared into the labyrinth that was the back of the shop. Instead, my eyes found a magnifying glass. Perfect. I walked to the front of the shop to try to see the engraving in a clearer manner, but the windows were small and grimy, the glass barely offering anything substantial in the way of light. Better than nothing , I thought. I tiled the compass again, and using the glass, I was able to see more detail. It was then that I noticed the name of the ship, and I froze in disbelief. The HMS Terror. The ship that would be leaving the next day, with myself upon it. I took a step back, away from the window, and embraced the gloom of the shop whilst I composed myself. I looked around. There was nothing abnormal about the place. This close to the port and the docks, it was unsurprising to find memorabilia on display in shop fronts, from eye glasses to maps, to nautical equipment… To magical compasses , I thought. I corrected myself. A silly thought. It is a coincidence, a simple coincidence. The Terror wasn’t a new ship, just reconditioned for the journey North. Ahead of its time, people said. This compass had probably been made for an Officer on an earlier voyage, so there was nothing strange, really. Oh, how quickly our minds try to make sense of the abnormal, the bizarre. I went over to the sales desk and rang the bell for service. A shuffling, elderly gentlemen made his way out from the back, quick enough to respond when someone was buying. “I wonder, Sir, if you know anything about the providence of this compass? It is quite… compelling.” The man looked at me, searchingly, over the little spectacles that were balanced on his nose. “You’ve seen it?” “The engraving? Yes, although I must admit it took me by surprise.” I was still holding the compass in my hand, reluctant to put it down, even for a minute. “Not everyone can see it.” I frowned. “You mean, not everyone notices it?” “I mean what I said, boy. Not everyone can see it.” I bristled, unhappy at being referred to as a child. “Well, either way. I would like to buy it, Sir. My ship leaves tomorrow and it will be useful.” He was still looking at me over his glasses. “You’re sailing aboard the Terror ?” “Yes, although what business of yours that is, I do not know.” I felt myself becoming angry, unsure as to whether he would left me leave the shop with my trinket. The man sighed and turned to his till. “And you are sure you want it? You don’t have to have it, you know.” He turned again to look at me, directly in the eye, and something about his demeanor changed, shifted. “You can walk away from it.” I shivered, as though a ghost had walked over my grave, but I shook it off, my desire for the compass overriding the feeling of dread. “For goodness’ sake, man! I would like to buy the compass, please !” The frustration of the situation was driving me to the edge of my patience. Why have something in his shop that he didn’t want to sell? Ridiculous. The man sighed. “Well, then, remember that you chose this. You chose this. You were warned. Oh, and I don’t do refunds.” He pointed to a sign behind the counter that said just this. I exhaled and relaxed. “Yes, thank you. And I apologise for raising my voice. It was… ungentlemanly of me.” “That’s okay, boy.” I paid an exorbitant fee for the compass and left the shop, placing it in the watch pocket of my waistcoat. The next few days passed in a flurry of activity and before I knew it, we were aboard the Terror and sailing North to Greenland. There, we would re-fuel and re-supply to ensure our supplies would last us through the Winter, should we come icebound. Spirits were high in this first leg of the journey, and the other Officers and I dined well. It was the third night at dinner that I told my tale of the compass I had found. “An antique shop, you say?” asked the Captain, turning my trinket over in his hand. “That’s right. And quite an objectionable fellow he was! I don’t think I’ll be returning.” “On Cavendish Street?” “I believe so, yes.” I replied. “I had no idea there even was an antiques dealer on Cavendish street!” The Captain could barely take his eyes from the compass. I shrugged. “I may be incorrect. But you see,” I leaned over to take it off him, not liking the covetous look on the Captain’s face. “If you turn it over, you see the engraving. Look what happens if I tilt it to the light of the lamp.” The Captain looked. “I don’t see anything, James.” I frowned. “Really? You don’t see it?” “Must be getting old.” The Captain waved it away and then yawned. “I think we are done here for the night, gentlemen, don’t you?” Murmured responses came from around the table and the Officers began to get up to leave, the call of their beds too much to deny. As I was leaving, Dr Goodsir came over and caught my elbow. He lead me to the back of the room, away from where crewmen were clearing away the dishes from our supper. “Don’t show it off, James,” he told me, quietly, concern on his features. “What? Why?” Worry passed over his weathered features. “I’ve seen items like this before. I’ve seen sailors driven mad by trinkets like yours.” I laughed. “Surely that’s a bit dramatic, Sir!” But the look on his face assured me of his seriousness. “Listen, if I were you, I’d tell no-one you have it. Ideally, you would throw it overboard and be done with it.” My stomach dropped at the idea of parting with it. “Why on Earth would I do that, Sir?” “Because it’s Siren-made , my son!” Dr Goodsir’s voice raised a little and he pulled me further into the corner of the room, anxiously trying to avoid being overheard. I couldn’t help but laugh again. “Surely you don’t expect me to believe that? I think you’ve been too long at sea, Dr Goodsir!” “Yes, Son, you are probably right, but being at sea means that you learn things, things that other men do not know. You need to take care. Do you know the tale of the Mirror-Sea?” “The shanty? Of course I do! What of it?” “Have you ever seen one? Have you seen a Mirror-Sea?” The doctor was wringing his hands, obviously disturbed by the conversation. “Of course not, man. It’s a myth, a legend!” I clapped my hand on his shoulder in an attempt to lighten the mood. “But what if I told you it wasn’t a myth? What if I told you that the trinket you carry is linked to the Mirror-Sea and that by having it, you could have unintentionally doomed us all?!” “I would say that you’ve had too much brandy, my man, and I think it’s about time I took my leave.” I nodded, bowed politely and left Dr Goodsir with his mouth gaping open like a fish, needing to remove myself from the conversation. As I headed back to my quarters, I tried to dismiss the notions of the doctor, but I found that I couldn’t. I couldn’t deny the strange pull of the compass, and I couldn’t deny my feelings when I thought about losing it. With thoughts tumbling around in my mind like the waves of the sea, I poured myself another stiff brandy and tried to sleep. Eventually, I fell into slumber, but it would not be a restful night, for my dreams were to be vivid and strange. I dreamed of a woman, an astonishingly beautiful woman, who was calling to me, but somehow, I couldn’t reach her. She was always just out of my grasp. When I awoke, the compass was on my nightstand, not in the pocket of my waistcoat where I had left it, and from that point onward, my descent into madness intensified. Wherever I went aboard the Terror , my compass went with me. I couldn’t bear to have it out of my possession, or even out of my hand. As I walked around the deck, always looking down, my back became bent and hunched over. Crew members avoided me, for when they looked in my eyes, I wasn’t present. My waking dreams followed me around, and I began talking to the lady in my dream-visions. She often responded, and I would have long conversations with her, as if she was there beside me. Dr Goodsir eventually moved my sleeping quarters into the sick bay so that he could keep a keen eye on the struggles I was having, but his his droughts and tonics could not clear the madness from my eyes and mind. I would neither eat nor drink without persuasion and I grew thinner and less able to complete my duties by the day. Any attempt to remove the compass from my hand would lead to fits of anger and abuse; I would lash out and strike the person, or I would turn the anger inward and would begin banging my head against a beam. I was truly, truly lost. We were two days out of port when my mind suddenly cleared, and I remember the moment distinctly. I awoke, as if from a dream, and peered into the darkness of the sick bay. Dr Goodsir was asleep in his chair; he had clearly been watching over me. I climbed to the deck to take some fresh air, and I caught my breath at the stillness and the beauty of what my eyes beheld. This could only be the Mirror-sea of legend. The water was so glass-like, it reflected the stars of the clearest night I could ever remember aboard a ship. There was not a finger-span of blackness between the stars, and I could see as clearly as the brightest day. We were still, and silent. The world was still, and silent. I could not even see the break of water at the bow. And that’s when I heard her for the first time. She was singing. I rushed to the prow of the Terror and she was there, upon a rock, as in the engraving upon the compass. A thought, as definite to me as the knowledge of my own name flooded through me; I belonged to this woman . As I watched, other sailors began to appear on deck, drawn out of their slumber by her miraculous voice. But they could not have her, for she was mine. I needn’t have worried, however, for soon, other voices began to join in the lament. If you follow, to the deep, I’ll sing you songs, while you sleep. And when you wake, there I’ll be, with two suns rising, from the sea. But if you leave, and swim away, heed the words, I’m going to say. You’ll never settle, always pine, for the love, that was once mine. Before I could think, my body responded, and I began to remove my boots, sailors all around me doing the same. The desire to get to this… enchantres s becoming something of an overwhelming and physical need. I wasn’t the first into the water, but I also wasn’t the last. Sailors broke the clarity of the Mirror-Sea in drastic attempts to get to the Sirens. Men were pushing and shoving in the water, clamoring over each other to get as near to these women as they could, as quickly as they could. I have no idea how many drowned that day. But no-one approached the Siren on the rock, because she was mine . By the time I had reached her, there were less sailors in the water and the Mirror-Sea was returning to glass. Of where the men had gone, I did not know. “I was glad it was you, who found my trinket,” spoke the voice of a thousand angels. Suddenly, the water did not feel so cold. “I am also glad, my love.” “Will you come? Beneath the waves?” A frown crossed her perfect features and I pledged, at that moment, that nothing would ever make this woman have to frown again. “To be with you? I’d cross a thousand oceans.” She reached down and stroked my face. “And you know you will never return?” I nodded, enthralled. She slipped into the water and took my hand, her dark hair fanning out around us. A shout from the ship caught my attention and I turned. Dr Goodsir was on the deck, my compass in his hand. “Keep it!” I yelled. “For I have no need of it, now.” I did not look back again, but followed my woman into the waters, and into the deep. "
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The Repeat"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The rain was falling harder now as the sheep went about their business. He was no sheep he was a wolf, a soulless killer. One on whom time had no effect nor would it bring forgiveness. Kane lent back on the rough exterior of the bank. A tall grey colossus which matched his view on the world. Rain dribbled from his worn and wide brimmed hat, running freely down his long duster coat he looked like something from a forgotten time. Kane scarcely registered the wet, along with most feelings. They had left him long ago. He looked out of place, out of time in this bustling city. Although he stood out from the passers by all seemed to avoid seeing him. As he took a final drag on his cigarette awkwardly with his mangled hand, the missing fingers still felt alien even after so many years. His eyes lifted to the dark and oppressive sky and he gave a long sigh. Flicking his butt into the pooling street his free hand reached into his coat, the feel of cold metal sent a shiver through him. It always did especially before the killing. Turning Kane strode to the stone steps of the bank, a glance up showed “WESTCOAST INCORPORATED” hanging above the old weathered iron wood doors. It was one of the oldest buildings still standing in the city. Kane remembered the building of the bank and the opening, blood had flowed on that day too. Gently pushing the door open he stepped into the eerily quiet of the bank. It wasn’t the first time he thought it felt like a mausoleum. His nose flared at the fresh metallic smell of blood. Kane released another long sigh, he would kill them for this. He didn’t relish the killing but it seemed to be his purpose. The silence was broken now as distant footsteps tapped out a rhythm on the marble floor, the voices were a mix of sobs and harsh whispers. Slowly, almost robotically he shook off and hung his dripping coat and hat on the coat hook, then with a final sigh he stepped from the atrium. The feet were running now, thundering all around, echoing with guns being readied and masked faces barking at him. The swelling noise all around threatening to consume his calm. “Get down on the floor!” “What’s that?” “He has a sword” “What the hell?” Kane drew his blade, its cold simple bone hilt worn and yellowed from countless years of war felt like home to his callused hand. But there was no war. No great foe. There was nothing left in this world for an immortal warrior. The sobs became screams as he drew his sword and the first shot rang out echoing through the great stone tomb bringing silent gasps. Kane paused mid stride as he looked at the new hole in his shirt, no blood. It had been so long, he searched his mind for the memory of pain. His wife’s face. He found.it. Pain that could never be eased. He thought of how he killed her. Pain became rage, red hot and impossible to contain.. He held it no longer. Now panting with sweat holding his ruined shirt to his solid frame, hard as stone to the gentle hand that brought him back to the now. “Who was she?” Blue eyes seemed to peer into his soul. The thought incited a chuckle and the hand withdrew but the eyes still beckoned the answers forwards. Kane tried to speak but his voice was gone. How many years had it been since he spoken? Kane spoke, his voice akin to gravel. “My wife, I killed her. For this.” Kane pulled himself away before the blue eyes could penetrate him farther it wasn’t lost on him the irony of going against five armed men with a sword and being wounded by the cold blue eyes of a stranger. Kane shoved past the police as they entered the bank donning his coat and hat as he exited. The officers fell over themselves to get out of his way. They all knew about him and while they didn’t always like the mess he left they couldn’t deny his effectiveness. Easier to let him be, they all had been briefed on the immortal that lived in the city. A fortunate few hand been saved by his sword, though even they feared him. Kane returned to his refuge. Not a castle, hotel or grand mansion. But a grave yard, not any grave yard. This was his, grown around the empty grave of his wife and filled with his friends. Though it had been years since he had called someone friend. As he slumped down onto the wet grass the nightmares came at him. Like evil foes he could no more vanquish than the demon that gifted him with this existence. The years didn’t matter when you lived forever. But the world did, it had been simpler and so much quieter. Kane longed for those days. Well that was before the wars started. Kane thought back to his village the small farm he had out the back of his simple home where he grew potatoes. The one room wooden structure with a small stone hearth that made the burning heart of his world. Julia would be busy making dinner for him, her smile would melt his heart. The walls were decorated with skins of animals he had hunted or trapped. It was perfect, they wanted for nothing. But that wasn’t true and it broke Kane again to face the truth. He could tell himself he was young and didn’t know better, but he would be lying. He had a hunger that food couldn’t satisfy and a simple life just starved him further. He wanted adventure and so when he heard tales of war and great battles a new desire began to grow. That summer his dream came true, the high Lord of the land. Someone Kane had never met, never even thought of. The only connection Kane’s village had with the high lord was when his soul collectors came through. They would select the chosen ones and take them to the capital. No one knew exactly what happened to them and rumors included everything from death in dark rituals to eternal life. Kane had given it little thought. It was just part of life in the village. All thoughts of the Soul collectors left Kanes mind as he watched the five thousand soldiers march in perfect step into his village. Their armor dark as night with embossed decorations of bloody battle. His heart quickened and then exploded with excitement. “There is a Tyrant coming from the east. He brings his strange beliefs and threatens our Way of life. But I need more brave men to face him.” His lords voice was strong and powerful, booming out for all to hear. Until it turned soft and his brilliant blue eyes met Kane’s, and softly he said. “Will you join me?” It was as if his lord spoke only to him. Kane was nodding already eager to prove himself. Rushing home he told Julia the news and was forced to take steps back by her reaction. She quickly hit all the emotions Kane could have thought possible. Shock at his rash decision, anger that he didn’t talk with her first, fear she could loose him and this one grow into terror. Kane couldn’t understand and left her with anger this was more important and he was doing it for her safety. The battle was not what he had expected. He had been given simple armor and a spear, really just a pointy stick and was sent to face an unimaginable force. This tyrant army seemed to be ten times the size of his own and filled with holy men and song. Briefly before the dying Kane noted the oddity that his lord had a dark army that was silent and the tyrant had an army of bright color and song, they were so different a flash hit him that the other army seemed nicer somehow. But all too soon it was over. Kane lay in the mud bleeding next to the man he had run through with his spear. His side was ruined, a riot of pain where his foe struck him with an axe. “Why would you fight for such a beast?” Kane stared at the dying man. His mouth hung limp. He was going to ask this question, but it was already too late his foe, perhaps partner in a great game was dead. The battle had been chaos, wild and untamed like a winters storm. No green fields of battle, no brothers in arms. Just mud, pain and men dying. Kane was one of the few to survive though he may have thought he was dead. Even wished for it, not like now but still he had wished. Death didn’t come nor answer his call but another did. His face burned into Kanes memory. The hook nose and almost cat like blue eyes. “You look like you need a hand friend” The demons voice was like honey but far too sweet to stomach. With a chuckle and a click of his fingers Kane found himself sitting upon a high mountain top. Sun burning down on him, the cold wet mud gone. Kane gasped at the beauty of his home as his eyes drew to the encroaching fires. “He is getting closer you know; He will burn it all for the fun. If only you weren’t hurt. Maybe you could do something about it.” As the sweet words turned to ash Kane felt the Pain again. Looking to his bloody side he screamed as his hands frantically tried to put the pieces back. The enemy’s axe had been vicious, Kane had finished him but time would end Kane, unless. “I can help you know, fix you up and make you stronger than anyone before you. Not forever. You understand. Just till you get revenge or I will allow forgives if its possible for one like you.” Kane screamed again, a great roar that threatened to bring down the mountain. “Quiet while I speak” The demon laid one finger on Kane and the pain was gone. Blinking though tears Kane met the vicious, calculating eyes. “There will always be a price, take me for a fool?” “Why yes you are a fool Kane and yes there is a price.” Quick like a predator the creature lunged as it drew back Kane saw blood on its face and looking down saw the mangled remains of his left hand. His pinky and ring finger gone, with a loud swallow the demon looked back. “Sorry, slightly hungry. Now do you wish the power to crush all those before you. Power only lent not given. For if you gain revenge or forgiveness the power shall be gone and the price returned.” Kane still stared at his bloody hand no pain, it was a strange sensation he flexed his hand as he looked up contemplating. “The price?” “Why I thought that was obvious, flesh is my price.” Kane stared as he tried to understand. Would the monster take more of him, could he find revenge on the tyrant with a missing arm or worse? He probed the wound in his side, he would probably die and the demon said what it took would be returned. “Aye, I give you my flesh beast.” Kane raised his ruined hand as he spoke meeting the eyes of a trickster but blind to them. “ Why thank you Kane” Again the demon spoke with honey in its words. That is all Kane heard before he found himself alone on the mountain with no way home. It took Kane more than four weeks of travel and hunger to reach his home and by his count he should have died at least twice probably three times based on the little he had been able to eat on the journey. He didn’t die. But a part of him did when he reached his home or what was left of it. The tyrant had not squandered his time after defeating the High Lord. The land was blackened and burnt as was Kanes home. Reduced to a pile of ashes that seemed to suddenly blind Kane with the beauty that had once stood there. Worse yet Julia was nowhere to be found, not even her body. Kane spent the next five years hunting the tyrant. Carving a bloody path through his men. One man who stood against an army and in a final bloody showdown he killed the tyrant screaming to be told what had happened to Julia. But he never found Julia and this was when he saw the trickster that he had made a deal with no simple demon. Julia was the flesh the demon took and the revenge was to be sought on the demon or forgiveness from his wife who he dammed to hell for power. In the aftermath of his destruction he saw the truth, the tyrant was no monster he had attacked in retaliation to the High lord who had been sacrificing people from his village to demons. What is worse the Tyrant hadn’t been a bad ruler, he was fair and would have brought peace. Instead he had been killed by a fool. This fool now stood at the head of the empire and failed for a second time. Stepping down from the role he left a power vacuum which sent the Kingdom into the hundred year war for power, while Kane simply sat in the ashes of his old home on the empty grave of his wife lost to him forever. Kane scarcely slept these days, he didn’t need It. His body wouldn’t grow tired or weak if he didn’t eat. But the gaping hole in his heart destroyed him every night. After the first hundred years of rage self-pity and drinking he finally vowed to seek forgiveness as he knew the demon would not face him again. So he remained in what was once his kingdom dishing out justice as he saw it, the bogey man for all wrong doers. That was until he met the blue-eyed woman. You see the blue eyes in the bank were not there by accident. She had put herself in his path and would offer another deal and the temptation of forgiveness. Kane felt her presence in spite of her silent steps as she approached. “Leave me in peace” He growled at the intruder, faintly considering he had spoken more today than in the last twenty years. The interloper didn’t retreat but came closer and in a melodic gentle voice said. “Don’t fear Kane I mean you no harm” At first he didn’t recognize the voice from the bank to consumed in annoyance at the intrusion. “Ha fear. Clearly you are in the wrong graveyard. You should be the one to fear.” The gentle chuckle helped to loosen his long silent voice. “I come with an offer for you.” Kindra hadn’t even finished speaking when Kane leapt to his feet steel singing through the air pausing at her throat as his eyes opened and his gaze fell on his target. “You! Are you my old foe? I will take my revenge?” She didn’t falter as she held his gaze. “ I am here to offer you revenge or perhaps a chance at forgiveness. Which ever suits you, but I require your help with an old foe in a modern time. There is a tyrant for you to vanquish again.” Kane pressed the point & his sword to her pale skin drawing the slightest drop of blood as he bore into her. “You think I would repeat my past mistakes!” His voice was a fierce growl now as the anger and hatred for his old foe rose. “ My offer is a release I can give you a chance at revenge on the demon or the chance to ask Julia for forgiveness..” His eyes softened at her name. Kindra saw the falter and felt the lost soul that was within him. She pushed forward. “Do this for me Kane and just perhaps save your own soul.” The sword withdrew. Kane stood in silence. If asked Kane would have struggled to list let alone understand all the feelings that rose in him. He had been aware that for a long time he had considered herself unworthy. He had killed his wife for pride and power nothing more and deep down he still remembered the fact that he hadn’t even considered her when he made the deal. He had taken her for granted and at times even resented her for she represented the dull life that he tried to escape and now longed for with every ounce of his being. “Take me to this tyrant.” Kane sheathed his sword and walked to the gates of the cemetery feline eyes following him as Kindra smiled at the back of her old immortal warrior she had cursed all those years ago."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Pioneering My Personality"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "PIONEERING MY PERSONALITY Or … The Tale Of Jacqueline And Heidi My life always had a peculiar slant to it. I grew up playing games, especially dress up, keeping secrets, being mysterious and elusive. Deviating from the norm, pretending. No, I didn’t have a psychological problem. I was just as normal as the next kid. Nevertheless, my spirit had a way of letting me down. I had a reason. My mother granted me excessive interest. In fact, both of my parents were strict to the point of extremes so this made me less than courageous in the choices I made. Inhibition set in and I was alone, keeping myself company. What I needed was an escape from them, from life. During high school I was the girl that no one accepted because of her weight, in no way remarkable to look at. Not chosen for sports, or class officer, I never stood out in the crowd, nor was the center of attention, except, of course, at home. An outcast, if you will. No one noticed me and I didn’t belong. I wasn’t the subject of any conversation, for that I was sure. Back then, I inclined toward a solitary existence, absorbed into my studies. Socially, I had been cheated out of quality friendships so I might just as well have been discarded. Popularity is overrated anyway, although at the time I didn’t realize that. Most all my classmates lacked in recognition of my achievements, which included musical talent and great grades. In my hometown, that didn’t qualify for popularity. In those days, abnormally, I felt no scorn or blame. I can’t ever remember being insulted or made fun of. Just invisible. After a while, I didn’t like it, but didn’t mind it. I never complained. Like a ship at sea with nowhere to anchor, I was a lost crusade. The kind of person whose name would never appear on any theater marquee nor noted for any legacies, or whose biography would interest no one. The pattern followed me through fifteen years of adulthood. I became a flutist in a major city symphony, an introvert, and what’s more, never dated. In fact, my relationship resume smacked of three entries from high school ROTC dances. As much as I tried to convince myself this was a standard way of life, I knew something lacked. In the back of my mind lurked the possibility that someday I would make my break, instill an impression on someone, somewhere, if given the chance. That day came one morning when I woke up with a new attitude, tired of feeling like an old souvenir long forgotten and put away. Weary of always being on the outside looking in. I had suddenly realized my life, up to now, was a series of mistakes and a resurrection was in order. Several months earlier, I had read an article about a woman who was forced to wear a wig due to abundant hair loss from her chemotherapy. Her husband insisted she wear it, or he’d divorce her. The story hadn’t left my mind. Of course! That was it, my answer. Wigs! Oh, the potential they would embrace! \n\n Without a doubt, the initiative took a while to catch on, as this novelty would not be something that could be decided on in a minute. Would I be that far off base if I took on this mission? The closest to an answer I could get for myself was to go ahead and take a long shot, the opportunity. \n\n Throughout the next few weeks, I purchased a wig wardrobe just for experimentation. As I speculated on the different styles, optimism and submissiveness immediately hijacked my rationale. With every check of my profile in the mirror, I mouthed the words “Shame on you!” but, oddly enough, the meaning just didn’t penetrate my conscience. Hauntingly, each wig brought out the misbehavior and sensuality buried deep within me. Suddenly, I felt original. The idea took on proprietary measures and soon set itself into motion. If I was going to carry this thing through, I needed to reform and figure in a willful decision plus some creative insight. Wearing the wigs, I realized I could be anyone I wanted to be and the notion of a masquerade excited me more than I cared admitting. It did no good to remind myself this adventure might get out of hand. It took a few more days, but I prepared. All the while, certain thoughts struck me: Was I up to being an imposter? To committing fraud? Did I have enough courage to lead a double life? After all, I would only be deceiving myself so what worries should I have? I felt like a new car would, ready for a test drive, or that I was at a private party and a certain amount of informality was permitted. Or, even as if I were dancing without steps. \n\n Goodness, was I well overdue for change! Little did anyone know, I lacked the knowledge of those women who carry style, grace and class. Therefore, I was a kindergartener in the school of beauty invention and no one else could lend any advice.\n\n With the help of a professional cosmetologist, I had a facial makeover and discovered my own refinement. The magical transformation enlightened me. It was as if I sailed on a maiden voyage to a land far far away, or that I had kept a promise made to myself long ago. Let me be quick in pointing out my intuition imbued on a wild goose chase and my good sense might very well blackmail me throughout this metamorphosis. Could I create this novel life with my old backwardness and shy ways? Time would tell. I was ready. All was in place.At first, I continued donning my frumpy wardrobe for daytime and maintain my identity as the timid and private person my acquaintances knew. Not embarrassed or ashamed, I simply decided it was just best for the time being not disclosing my secret. Under flowing outfits, I still hid my well-proportioned shape, which included a more-than-blessed bosom. I saved my new personality for after work hours and weekends. They couldn’t come soon enough. When dusk arrived, my adrenaline kicked in knowing the next few hours would bring about the dazzling nightlife I yearned for. Little by little, I blended in to the social scene, alone, but I was used to that aspect.\n\n Soon, I was on an obstacle course with two different lives and my emotions were deadlocked into a feud. Outside, my confidence swirled, while inside, nervousness downloaded into full swing. Fear and excitement served as building blocks to my rationale. You must understand where I’m coming from, an unfamiliar place. Keep in mind, I was brought up with modesty and insignificance, so naturally, those aspects would be foreign, would have to be put aside, clearing the way for a new presence. Once I slipped on a wig, my looks changed drastically. Along with my new appearance came further concerns. I had to sort out the emotions that were changing in unknown proportions because all this brought up the pressing problem of identity. When reality set in, the confusion of who I should be and what personality needed adoption pawned my soul. \n\n On the surface, there were no limits and my priorities hinted at a leap of faith. Yet, I sensed an anxiety I had never known before. Was my sensibility falling through the cracks? By any stretch of the imagination, this was a game for sure, as definite as a calling card.\n\n Sometimes I felt as if I were playing charades, the way a spy passes himself off by hiding in a crowd. On the other hand, this new life leaned toward the similarity of traveling out of a run-down neighborhood and finding my way into a well-maintained community where I will remain. There were times I reminded myself I created no illegality. Half jokingly, I theorized I had served time as an unfulfilled doormat and suddenly had been paroled for courageous behavior. Within months, the wigs became sentimental attachments, second nature, safety nets. Wearing them was like hearing the same melody playing different notes each time with me being the song, the styles being the notes.It didn’t matter whether the wig was short, curly, long, or straight. I was now ready for any occasion, almost at a moment’s notice. Shades from honey blonde to chestnut brown, Irish red to platinum ash made up my evening silhouette. I just knew lasting memories would originate while I wore the hairpieces. An early-Cher style inspired me, giving a natural boldness lacking before. My favorite was the long auburn nineteen forties Rita Hayworth piece with its wavy, sleek, sexy layers framing my face, adding kindness. Those times when a delicate, modest mood invaded, I sported a short, curly coif that worked for effect, making me appear a debutante, a sophisticate. In my super short, close-cropped wig, I passed for a bewitching girl-about-town. When I returned to my former self, luckily, just a simple shake or brief run-through with a brush was all my mousy brown hair needed. Finally, I was in my element, in my own little corner, a success at something. A sense of belonging, with no plans for a relapse, popped up in my radar. The most beneficial revelation of all seemed my damaged ego soon gave way to flattery. Now comfortable with my new look, I learned how to call flirting into play. For once, I actually rated compliments while making heads turn my way, especially from the opposite sex. Moreover, I accepted dates, spending unconventional, sensational nights out on the town, dancing the evening away with someone different almost every night. Cinderella had arrived, at least in my mind. You see, deep down, I longed to be the woman who men are secretly in love with, the kind men fantasize about. One of those female characters in the classic movies who were made for romance and intrigue with a tad bit of naughty demeanor. I guess everyone has her or his own dreams. With every charade, my heart pounded, reminiscent of someone who was caught up in a police chase. Another wig, another bad memory purged. Another style, another pleasant leeway into my reverence. Strangely, I loved this double life. I kept reminding myself I was as free as the air with no one to answer to. I couldn’t find anything wrong with this simulation regardless how many times I confronted myself. Because once I got a taste for this unfamiliar bravery, I realized no more room for doubt existed. I had to make this work, or give up the silly notion of pretending. And the delicacy of that taste seemed just too sweet, too satisfying. It’s now been six months since I sported my first hairpiece. For good measure, I still keep the secret. Those closest to me are unsuspecting as I continue masking under loose clothing and natural hair. I’ll gradually modify my appearance to accommodate a newer look, when the time is right. Only I’ll know at what point the mystery will be revealed. \n\n You probably wouldn’t mind asking: what am I gaining throughout all this? How could I allow my life such change? Well friends, I’m collecting traits I’ve never known before as a child or adult, notably confidence and self-esteem. Those old feelings of isolation, loneliness, shyness, and shame no longer leave their calling card. I’ve lost nothing in this captivating changeover. When the past comes to mind, a smile blossoms. For me, there’s no going back. Never again will I permit anyone to destroy my credibility. Contrary to what you may believe after reading this story, NO, I don’t possess a psychological problem. I’m just as normal as the next person. It’s just that my psyche opts to play talent scout for every new adventure. Now that you’ve taken in all the facts, do you think I’m living a fantasy, just being practical, or have compromised in maturity? Have I fooled myself along with others? I’ll let you decide. For now, I know I will never again be too ordinary or a run of the mill person living in the shadows. The wigs won’t let me, for they decide my fate. From here on out, I’m wasting no more time. My attitude is under new management as I have been given a reason to believe in something. As for other questions needing addressed, I can answer them myself. Had I been born again? Or self-created this new personality? Yes on both accounts. My constitution deviates as I change wigs. Does this lifestyle suit me? Will I continue carrying this pretense through? Absolutely, for I have exceeded my own expectations and underestimated my judgment.\n\n After all, it’s too late to turn back now. Why should I? I’ve not only been compelled to break with the past but love the new person I have become. My life has just begun. Do I think of myself as my own pioneer? Perhaps. But what once was a silly idea is now my lifestyle. And I envision the lasting effects with anticipation."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Echoes"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The sky tore open and poured out all its anger onto the town and those in it. It seemed as though their world would end in that very moment with water rushing down the streets eating anything that comes in its way. The winds, stronger than they ever had seen, howled and echoed across the city. Two men fought their way through the tempest in search of shelter or escape. Thomas, a tall broad shouldered man in his early 20’s, pushed against the relentless wind. Micheal, a regular size college student with a strong mind followed, struggling to keep pace. They had just met a moment ago and shared one thing in common, a hope of survival. “I think there might be something up ahead!” Thomas shouted, his voice barely reaching Micheal due to the roar of the wind. Micheal nods in agreement as he lifts his arm to see for himself. Through the blinding sheets of rain, a blurred structure came into view. It appeared to be a barn or storage of some sort. Seeing a possible escape from the storm urged them to push past the ferocity of the storm. The two men battle with the rising water that is now up to their mid thighs , their movements becoming labored as the flowing water pulls at their legs. Through persistence, they carry on. Upon nearing the building, Thomas was able to detect signs of life and warmth by looking through the glass window. They both approached the entrance of the shelter and opened its doors to see people wrapped in blankets sitting closely together. Walking in, they study those they are sharing the space with. Some with warm drinks in their hands, feeling relieved, and others crying over the separation from their loved ones to reach here. There was a mix of emotions in the air around them. Micheal and Thomas are both assisted by who they assume are owners of the shelter. They are brought blankets and towels to dry off and keep warm. The howling winds of the growing storm are heard from within the building as the men get comfortable. They look at each other with uncertainty for what fate has written for them. Michael was about to sip into his hot chocolate when a frail, desperate cry cut through the noise of the storm.\n\nThe two men, along with others, stood up and looked out the windows to pin where the noise came from. They exchanged glances with one another when they saw an elderly woman barely standing on a surface in order to not be caught by the strong and constant flow of the water. Without hesitation, both men rushed towards the door.\n\n“We have to get her in here. Now!”, Thomas screamed to Micheal as the noise from the storm overpowered his own voice. Micheal responded with action as he looked around for a light of some sort. He grabbed the nearest oil lamp and began walking away from the shelter and towards the woman. Likewise, Thomas grabbed a rope that was laying nearby and followed with determined steps. The others in the shelter watched curiously through the windows as the men entered the water once again. The water was now waist high and it had become very difficult to take steps, but the men knew they had to help the old woman.\n\nShe was clinging to a lamp post while standing what seemed to be the leftover of a roof. Thomas reached her first and asked if she was alright before attempting to lift her. She was too timid to give in, but the sight of the rising water and growing winds compelled her to trust the man. Thomas grabbed her left arm and brought it around his shoulder. With his arm around her frail frame, he began bringing her down while Micheal clutched onto her left arm. As they began walking towards the shelter and against the storm, Thomas began getting a strange feeling of weakness in his limbs. They looked up to see that they were only halfway there. Both men struggled to keep footing as the powerful flow of water showed no mercy. The woman started to shift and had a look of lost hope on her face. Micheal, noticing this, grabbed onto her tighter, taking load away from Thomas and told her, “Hold on ma’am! We’re almost there!”. A sudden wave of water pushed against them and caused Thomas to lose his footing and slip into the water. Micheal swung his arm and caught hold of Thomas’s hand and tried to pull him up, but he had only so much strength in him between carrying the woman, his own weight, and trying to help his friend.\n\nThomas cried out, “Help! Micheal!” He held on tight to Micheals arm. With another wave, the flood claimed Thomas, tearing him apart from Micheal and carrying him away swiftly. Micheal reached out his free arm and screamed, “NO!” after the sudden separation. He watched as the water carried Thomas away, salty tears welling in his eyes. Within that moment, reality hit him when a tree fell down in the distance. He re-shifted his focus back onto the old lady, pushing harder and harder to get to the shelter. With his free hand, he pushed objects out of the way so that the woman wouldn’t get hurt. After many determined steps and a heavy heart, Micheal was able to bring the old woman to safety.\n\nHe placed her on the porch before getting on it himself. A man from inside rushed to the door to open it from them and upon entering the little kids cheered for Micheal. He was applauded by others for his heroic efforts while some women brought blankets and warmers to the old lady. Although he appreciated the recognition, he accepted it with an aching heart. He knew that Thomas was the real hero. If not for him, Micheal would still be stuck in the ditch where Thomas found him.\n\nSoft light crept its way in through the cracks of the boarded window. Micheal woke up to find men putting on their coats, women waking up their children and others heading out of the shelter. He picked himself off the floor and walked out. The skies had cleared and a strange hush enveloped the area. The relentless flood waters were nowhere to be seen but the scar it left behind surely was evident. Micheal’s eyes wandered over the sight of trees blocking streets from being ripped out the ground, homes without roofs, and an array of items scattered across the streets and lawns of people’s homes. Micheal saw in the distance people swarming around ambulances and police, asking about their loved ones. And so Micheal began walking."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "In Search of a Shell"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The Muses had struck Aldora as she meandered along the coast. Her feet left footprints in the sand, and the waves soon washed them away. The wind cut capers around her shoulders, lifting her hair from her lowered head. A camera bounced around on her neck. In the sky the sun was at its pinnacle, partially covered by clouds. Seagulls screeched merrily, their voices causing dissonance with the waves. \n\nKicking up sand, Aldora wondered if she would ever be able to find a rare shell. She was experienced in beachcombing and diving, but anything she had ever managed to find was lame. Experts in the field unfeelingly reassured her that it could take her all her life to find what she desired. For nearly five years Aldora had been searching for what she considered the greatest prize of her life: a queen conch shell. The golden and pink hues of the shell always set her dreaming.\n\nAldora threw up her head. What good was it to mope around on the beach? Maybe she could go diving later, if the wind calmed down. Turning away from the crashing waves, Aldora trudged up to the boardwalk.\n\nThe boardwalk was busy, as usual, with tourists who ducked in and out of the shops. Signs for the different wares and services flapped in the breeze. Aldora’s feet slapped the wood as she slowly wove her way through the crowd. She had a few dollars in her pocket, intending to buy herself a Cuban sandwich for lunch. After all, walking on the beach for nearly three hours would make any teenager ravenous.\n\n“Hey, ‘Dora!” a familiar voice called. Aldora rolled her eyes before turning to the person standing behind her. “Hello to you, too,” she sarcastically replied. William shrugged his shoulders and grinned.\n\nFor one, Aldora could not stand William. Every time she encountered him in school or on the beach, he insisted on tagging along with her until she could properly dispose of him. His hair was unfashionable, his smile was crooked, and he always looked like he had rolled out of bed without bothering to check his appearance in the mirror. Aldora’s mother always chided her for judging people based on their image, but this guy was different. \t\n\nAldora quickly turned away from William and continued her quest for her lunch. William joined her at her side. They walked silently for a few minutes until the odor of fried fish overwhelmed them. “You don’t happen to be turning in for lunch, do you?” William asked. Aldora merely nodded and walked into the small restaurant.\n\nAfter ordering and receiving her sandwich, Aldora viciously attacked it with only the vivacity known to those who are hungry. William had also bought himself lunch, and they sat together at the same table. When Aldora was done, William ventured to inquire what she would be doing for the rest of the afternoon. Aldora glanced at the beach and noticed that the waves had calmed a little. “Probably diving or beachcombing if the tide goes out,” she replied.\n\nWilliam had undeniably brightened at the mention of diving. “What do you like to dive for?” \n\n“Shells,” Aldora succinctly responded.\n\n“Alright! You’ve got to meet my dad- he collects shells too!” \n\n“Maybe some other time.” Aldora feigned uninterest, but her eyes had the glint of curiosity, and William caught on.\n\n“His shop is just up the boardwalk here- let's go!” With that, William seized her hand and took off running. Aldora had no choice but to follow, although her shoulder felt like William had nearly torn her arm out of its socket.\n\nRunning after just eating is not a wise decision, but they soon arrived at their destination. The sign held still in the breeze and read “The Poppin’ Divers”. It was a rusty-looking shop, with a squeaking door and paint chipping off the sides. Nevertheless, William pulled Aldora in with alacrity. He was single-minded in his mission to introducing Aldora to his father.\n\n“Hello, son!” a voice boomed in from the right. “Who’ve you got there?” Aldora was transported in front of William with another tug on the arm. The man standing in front of her towered above her, his muscles bulging over his crossed arms. The wall behind him was lined with different pieces of scuba gear. “This is Aldora, dad, and she told me she collects shells,” William answered. The man scanned Aldora up and down. Deeming her fit, he stuck out his hand and bellowed, “I’m Mr. Riley, Will’s dad here. How can I help you?”\n\nIn the last few seconds Aldora had been struck with an idea that caused her to wonder whether she was sane or not. What if she asked this man, Mr. Riley, if she could borrow a set of his scuba gear? Aldora had left her set at home, and she did not relish the idea of walking all the way back in order to haul the awkward pieces. At first, she rejected this new idea with vehemence. This was William’s dad’s shop, after all! Why would anyone in their sane mind ask a favor of someone they did not admire? Also, Aldora had nothing but twenty-five cents and her beloved camera on her. How can you pay with nothing?\n\nUnfortunately for Aldora, her thirst for her queen conchs got the better of her. She shook Mr. Riley’s hand and rashly requested, “Would I be able to rent a set of gear for diving?” Mr. Riley looked amiable enough at the prospect of a new customer, but as soon as he found out she had no money, he roared with laughter. He laughed until the tears came into his eyes, Aldora’s face burned with indignation, and people passing by craned their heads to look into the shop. When he done with his fit, Mr. Riley coolly turned back to Aldora and his son, and motioned for them to leave the shop.\n\n“I’m not a free-store, you know,” Mr. Riley scowled. Aldora was miffed. She retorted, “I didn’t say you were! I’m not dumb, you know!” \n\nMr. Riley ignored her comeback and turned to his son. “And why did you come bringing this girl here if you know that I don’t like people who can’t pay?” \n\nWilliam trembled a little under the sound of his father’s voice. “I brought her here so you can talk about shells. It’s not like I knew she was going to do that!” Mr. Riley turned away from his son’s eyes and began cleaning up a shelf. “Don’t come back in here today.”\n\nIn defeat, Aldora and William scurried away from the shop and ran down to the beach. They found a smattering of rocks to sit on. Aldora was glowering from her humiliation and sat with her arms crossed. She glared at the rocks, the sand, and the waves, wondering why she was so brash in her actions. William had followed her and sat next to her, but she entirely ignored him.\n\nWilliam felt awful about his dad’s response and the ensuing rejection. He knew his dad didn’t like people who thought they could get away with things for free. William had only been trying to link two shell enthusiasts in order to get Aldora to actually like him. He didn’t know why Aldora despised his presence, but he tried anyway.\n\nHe turned to Aldora. “I’m sorry, you know,” he gently said. There was no response. “I just wanted you to get to know my dad. He’s a great man, and he has the largest shell collection I know anyone to have. I’m really, really sorry.”\n\nAldora turned to him, fire flashing in her eyes. “Do you really think I wanted to rob your dad of money?” Her glare made him uncomfortable. He shook his head. “Then I am going back there, and I am going to tell your old man exactly what I think!” Aldora jumped up and was off before William could reply. In fact, he was shocked at her audacity! \n\nAs Aldora ran up the beach, she looked as wild as the ocean. She hadn’t stopped to think about the consequences her actions might bring. She only stormed up the boardwalk, determination blazing in her eyes like a great conflagration. William ran after her, wondering what scene was going to ensue.\n\nAldora flew into the shop, scouting out Mr. Riley. She found him with a satisfied smirk on his face as he watched her approach. “Mr. Riley, sir, I resent the fact that you refused to hear out my proposition about the scuba gear. You should be the most embarrassed out of both of us for doing that! I was going to offer to find something with a lot of value in exchange for the scuba gear. But since you don’t care, I’m off and I’ll never be back again!”\n\nDuring this outburst Mr. Riley’s face appeared surprised. He thought that Aldora was one of those girls that were easily subdued when rebuked. He didn’t think any other sort of girl would hang out with his son.\n\nMr. Riley quickly grabbed Aldora’s arm. For the second time in the day, she felt like her arm was going to be ripped off. “Let go!” Aldora fussed. In her mind, however, Aldora had hoped for a response from Mr. Riley, and this was perfect. By this time William had arrived, huffing from running the whole way.\n\n“Look here, girl, I don’t like being spoken to this way, and you deserve the switch for it.” Mr. Riley’s face was stern and unforgiving. Aldora pulled away from his grasp. Suddenly Mr. Riley’s mouth broke into a smile, causing Aldora to startle. “But you are one of the boldest girls I have ever come across. You remind me of my wife, actually.” With that remark a shadow passed over Mr. Riley’s face. \n\nAldora had been slowly inching to the door, hoping to exit while he wasn’t looking. Mr. Riley’s next words arrested her attention. “I’ll make a deal with you,” he cautiously began. “If you leave your camera here and go scuba diving while William mans my boat, you’ll have no fees this time around.”\n\nAldora pondered this change of events. This deal sounded great, except Aldora had to leave her precious camera with someone she barely knew. She had received her camera for a birthday present. It could take pictures underwater. There never was a place where Aldora was without it. Moreover, she was still feeling humiliated over Mr. Riley’s earlier response. She lifted up her head haughtily. “I won’t, not after what you did to me,” she answered.\n\nWilling to make amends, Mr. Riley apologized, “I am sorry for my actions toward you earlier.” Slightly mollified, Aldora replied, “And I’m sorry for my outburst.” She then acquiesced to the deal. She honestly did not know why she was agreeing to it. Perhaps she had an inkling of a feeling that her hunt for shells would go differently that day. William had stood looking on, surprised at his dad’s allusion to his mom as Aldora confronted him. He shook his head to himself and got prepared to pilot the boat for Aldora.\n\nGingerly setting down her camera, Aldora wondered if she was slightly deranged. She was sacrificing her camera for this expedition. Sometimes sacrifices are necessary in order to achieve a goal. Aldora felt this acutely. Mr. Riley locked her camera away in a safe underneath the shop’s counter. Aldora felt as if she had been robbed, but she knew that she would get her camera back later. She swallowed the feelings in her throat and took the wetsuit Mr. Riley held out to her. She made her way to the changeroom to put it on.\n\nWilliam had found the keys to his father’s boat and was tossing them around impatiently. At least the pier was only a couple hundred yards away. If it had been any further, William would have despaired of ever getting onto the boat. Aldora had come out and received the rest of her gear from Mr. Riley. “Thanks, Mr. Riley, sir,” she told him. Mr. Riley nodded, then turned to his son. “And you, son watch out for any signs of storms. Come back before the tide goes out.” William nodded.\n\nAldora and William didn’t say anything to each other as they walked to the pier. They got into the boat and William started it. Aldora had flopped on the seats in the back of the cabin and watched the views as William coasted to the open sea. He knew exactly where to go because he had gone shelling with his dad many times before. He pointed the bow toward the coral reefs in the southeast. Receiving a message from his dad on the radio, William replied their coordinates. The boat was moderately sized, with a large deck special to its kind. The sun shone brightly, promising an afternoon of good weather.\n\nAfter thirty minutes, they had arrived at the reefs and sand flats. Neither of them had spoken to each other. Aldora popped out of the cabin, pulling on her oxygen tank, flippers, and goggles. Making sure to double-check every part, Aldora gave William instructions on when she would be ready to resurface. She then leaned her back on the portside and flipped off.\n\nIt was truly another world being in the water. The different species of fishes gleamed in the sunlight, and the corals in the near distant sang a song of color. Aldora enjoyed being underwater, and smiled to herself as she began to scout the sand flats for her special shell. She swam around for nearly an hour when she spotted what looked like a queen conch. Making sure she still had the bilge of the boat in view, Aldora excitedly approached the shell. It was a queen conch shell, after all those years of searching! Aldora calmly reached for her treasure. It was the greatest of her dreams come true.\n\nWhat Aldora wasn’t anticipating was for the shell to scuttle away as if it had been struck by lightning. Aldora wasn’t worried that she would get lost; she had a GPS device attached to her waist so William would know where she was. She pursued the conch shell, but every time she got closer, it shot away further. Queen conch shells weren’t supposed to do that, but Aldora didn’t stop to think.\n\nWilliam got a little nervous when he noticed Aldora’s path on the radar. Why was she moving away so quickly? No one swims that fast while shell hunting. William started the motor to cruise after Aldora. She was moving farther and farther away at an alarming rate.\n\nAldora continued to race after the shell, almost touching it every single time she got near. Was the shell possessed? She didn’t understand, but she didn’t give up. \n\nHours passed, and William knew that the tide would be going out soon. He radioed his dad for instructions. The man swore and told him to give the signal to come up. William did, but there was no action on Aldora’s part. Was the GPS malfunctioning?\n\nThen, suddenly, the GPS lost contact. Aldora didn’t notice, but she realized she only had thirty minutes left on her oxygen tank. She gave one last push for the goal, edging into the open ocean. William called his father again about the lost contact. Mr. Riley told him he was coming to meet him with the Coast Guard. William gave his coordinates and hoped there was no danger.\n\nAldora was losing oxygen rapidly. She looked for the boat, but it was nowhere in sight. \n\nMeanwhile, the Coast Guard got on the job immediately, with Mr. Riley on board. This was serious. William paced up and down the deck of his boat.\n\nAldora began pushing for the surface, leaving her precious conch shell to its fate. At this moment, her life was more important. She felt herself getting faint, so she engaged the emergency tank.\n\nThe Coast Guard’s boat overtook the boat William was on. He related the details to them while Mr. Riley merely grimaced at the loss of his charge. The Coast Guard took action.\n\nAldora was panicking. The tanks felt heavy, the surface seemed far. Served her right for going diving without a professional on board the boat. Still, she pushed upward, making sure she was following the direction of her bubbles she was making.\n\nThe Coast Guard scanned the area for irregularly moving things. On the very edge of the radar a swimmer was detected, about a mile away.\n\nAldora’s head broke the surface. There was nothing in sight but the setting sun. She struggled to keep afloat.\n\nThe Coast Guard picked up speed to the direction of the object on the radar. Mr. Riley cursed when he realized that Aldora’s oxygen tank would be empty now.\n\nAldora fought to stay on the surface. She disengaged the empty oxygen tanks, knowing that it would be better without them.\n\nThey got nearer and nearer. The Coast Guard slowed down to trawling speed. Just off the starboard side a thrashing figure was detected. They prepared their rescue team.\n\nAldora used up the very last bit of oxygen, then slipped into the false bliss of unconsciousness. \n\nTwo divers flipped into the water, then grabbed hold of the net they had prepared. They swam toward the diver, keeping her sinking form in view.\n\nThe next thing Aldora knew was that she was blinking her eyes open. Before her hovered a medic, William, and Mr. Riley. Most surprising of all was what she held in her hands. Two queen conch shells were nestled in her arms. Looking from them to Mr. Riley, she held one out. “Here,” she croaked. “That’s compensation for loss of your tanks.” Mr. Riley laughed as he took it. William gaped at Aldora for her find. “Man, look at those shells!” "
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "A Rusty Summer."
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "In the quaint town of Willowbrook, where the rhythm of life was as predictable as the changing of the seasons, there was an object so common it was overlooked by nearly everyone—a battered old bicycle named Rusty. Rusty had been left to lean against an oak tree in the backyard of the Alden family for as long as anyone could remember. Its paint was chipped, its chain rusty, and its seat worn, yet it held a silent dignity as if it remembered better days. The Alden family had long since forgotten about Rusty, their lives too busy with the hustle of modern times. But one summer evening, as twilight painted the sky in hues of purple and orange, a storm rolled in, unlike any Willowbrook had seen in years. Lightning danced across the sky, not just in flashes but in intricate patterns, as if sketching something unseen. A bolt, charged with an unusual energy, struck the oak tree, sending sparks flying, one of which landed directly on Rusty. The next morning, when young Emily Alden, a nine-year-old with a penchant for adventures from books, ventured outside, she found Rusty not just undamaged but oddly shimmering under the morning sun. She approached, her curiosity piqued. As she touched the handlebars, she felt a warmth, as if the bike was alive, and then, to her astonishment, Rusty spoke in a voice that sounded like a gentle breeze rustling through leaves. \"Hello, Emily,\" Rusty said, his voice a curious blend of machinery and magic. \"I have been waiting for someone like you to find me again.\" Emily, though shocked, wasn't one to shy away from the extraordinary. \"You... you can talk?\" she stammered. \"Yes,\" Rusty replied, \"and I can do much more. The lightning was not just ordinary; it was charged with magic from the storm. I am now... enchanted.\" Emily, remembering her books on magic, asked, \"What can you do?\" Rusty's pedals began to turn on their own, and he said, \"I can take you anywhere you wish to go, not just in Willowbrook, but beyond. All you need to do is ask, and off we'll go.\" That day marked the beginning of an extraordinary summer. Emily, with Rusty as her companion, embarked on adventures far beyond the sleepy streets of Willowbrook. They flew over the ocean to distant lands where castles rose into the sky, navigated through enchanted forests where trees whispered secrets, and even ventured into the heart of a desert where a great sphinx posed riddles. Each journey taught Emily something new. In the land of castles, she learned about courage when she helped a young prince escape a tower guarded by a dragon. In the enchanted forest, she discovered the value of listening, as the trees shared their ancient wisdom about healing the earth. The sphinx taught her that sometimes, the simplest answers hold the most profound truths. Rusty, for his part, was not just a mode of transport but a companion. His wisdom, accumulated from years of standing silently, observing the world, helped Emily navigate through these magical realms. He taught her about the mechanics of magic—how it required balance, how a wish could be powerful but needed to be pure. However, not all was rosy in these adventures. Emily faced challenges, from battling the dragon to solving the sphinx's riddles under pressure. Each encounter tested her, but with Rusty's guidance, she grew, not just as an adventurer but as a person. She learned empathy, understanding, and the subtle art of diplomacy, skills she hadn't known she needed. As summer drew to a close, Emily realized that these adventures were not just for fun. They were preparing her for something. One evening, as they sat by the riverbank, Rusty revealed the final piece of his magic. \"Emily,\" he began, his voice somber, \"this magic, it's not just for us. It's for Willowbrook. There's a darkness growing, subtle but present. You must use what you've learned to protect our home.\" The following day, Willowbrook faced its trial. A mysterious fog rolled in, not just obscuring vision but sapping the joy from the town. Emily, with Rusty's help, realized this was no ordinary fog but a manifestation of forgotten dreams and lost hopes, feeding off the town's neglect of its own history and stories. Using the bike's magic, Emily gathered the townsfolk, weaving tales of their adventures, reigniting their sense of wonder and community. The fog, unable to sustain itself against the renewed spirit of Willowbrook, began to lift. Emily, with Rusty, led a parade through town, where children and adults alike shared stories, reigniting the town's heart. The event became known as the \"Great Fog Lifting,\" and Emily was hailed as a hero, though she always credited Rusty. However, as the autumn leaves started to fall, signaling the end of summer, Rusty's magic began to wane. The enchantment, powerful as it was, had its limits. On the last day of summer, under the same oak tree, Emily said her goodbyes to Rusty. \"You're not just a bike; you're my friend,\" she said, her voice choked with emotion. \"And you, my dear Emily, have taught me what it means to truly ride the winds of change,\" Rusty replied, his voice fading like the setting sun. The next morning, Rusty was silent once more, just a bike, but imbued with memories and the quietude of magic fulfilled. Emily kept him polished, a symbol of her extraordinary summer, a reminder that magic often lies in the most ordinary of places, waiting for the right heart to discover it. Years later, Emily, now a storyteller of renown, would often visit that oak tree, telling tales of Rusty to her own children, ensuring that the magic of that summer lived on, not in spells or enchantments, but in the hearts and minds of those who believed in the extraordinary within the ordinary. And so, the story of Rusty, the enchanted bike, became not just a tale of magic, but a testament to the power of imagination and the unending adventures that await when one truly sees the world through the eyes of wonder."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Panthera's Princess"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Panthera’s Princess Aurora finally evaded Seamus, her elderly, very strict tutor, as she made her way out of the kingdom’s giant iron doors. She was almost one hundred percent sure that no one saw her face as she dashed away with a gray hooded cloak around her shoulders.\n\nShe had been trying to sneak away from Seamus for what felt like forever as they walked the streets of Panthera. As far as her tutor knew, they were out of the royal palace that afternoon so they could stretch their legs after hours of what Aurora deemed boring history about the kingdom she came from. In reality, Aurora had tried to get the old man to let her “roam” the kingdom so she could use that as an attempt to escape.\n\n“A young lady of twelve years should not be out there alone,” Seamus said. “Especially not the princess. Aurora had poked out her bottom lip and showed Seamus her best doe-eyed look. “I would be totally safe here in the kingdom’s walls, Seamus. Pleeeeaaaaase.” Seamus had looked at her. She could tell he was considering it.\n\nCome on! Seamus’s face softened. “Alright.” Aurora was about to jump for joy when Seamus put his hand up to stop her.\n\n“However, I will accompany you. As I said, you should not be walking around outside of the palace alone. Even if you feel safe.” Shoot. Aurora tried to hide her disappointment.\n\nAfter that, they left the royal palace and went strolling through the market area of Panthera. Aurora was looking for any opportunity to slip away from her tutor and royal babysitter.\n\nShe told Seamus that she wanted a very nice bracelet she had seen one day out in the market, but she couldn’t remember the vendor that had it. While Seamus was trying to describe the bracelet to one of the vendors, she took that moment to blend in with a passing group of shoppers. Once she had some distance between Seamus and herself, Aurora took off towards the iron doors of Panthera.\n\nShe was twelve-years-old and had never set foot outside of Panthera’s walls. Her family constantly reminded her it was a dangerous world out there, especially for her.\n\nBut she was very curious. There had to be more than just Panthera. She knew about The Guild, the group of powerful wizards who traveled across the land, doing various jobs for people. Where they resided wasn’t far.\n\nIn fact, that’s where she wanted to go. Members of The Guild had come to Panthera frequently, including the Guild Leader. As well as Lars Alexander.\n\nLars was a couple of years older than her, and super cool. His particular magical ability was lightning. He had close cropped blond hair and piercing gray eyes. She enjoyed seeing him whenever he showed up in Panthera. Unfortunately, they hadn’t spoken to each other much.\n\nNow, she walked down a path in the forested area outside of Panthera, feeling a bit excited. She was on her way to The Guild, finally, where she could possibly see Lars. And the other members, of course.\n\nAs she got further away from home, something dawned on her.\n\nShe wasn’t entirely sure which direction The Guild was in. She hadn’t even thought to ask anyone for directions. She was too occupied with getting out of the kingdom’s walls before anyone realized the princess was leaving alone.\n\nAfter pausing momentarily, she decided that she would just ask the next passerby. Surely she had to encounter someone on the path. People were visiting Panthera all the time, so it couldn’t be long before she saw someone.\n\nCould it? She shook her head as if she was getting rid of her doubt and continued walking. It was a few minutes later when she noticed that there was a young boy sitting in a tree just ahead.\n\nHe had short dark hair, curling around his ears. He wore short sleeves and shorts, and she saw that he had light brown skin. And if Aurora was honest, he looked a little wild, like he spent all his time in the forest.\n\nHe wasn’t looking in her direction. In fact, he looked like he was asleep, with his back against the tree. Aurora approached him cautiously, trying not to startle him.\n\nBefore she could speak, he opened his mouth and spoke to her.\n\n“Why are you out here all alone?” Was he serious, Aurora thought. No greeting or introduction?\n\n“That’s none of your business,” she replied defensively. Who was this kid?\n\nThe boy opened his eyes and gave Aurora a look. A smirk appeared on his face.\n\n“It’s pretty dangerous for a little girl to be traveling in the forest with no escort.” Aurora’s eye twitched. Little girl? This boy had to be around her age. “If you must know, whoever you are, I have a destination in mind. Is this the direction of The Guild?”\n\nHe leaned forward on the branch where he was perched, as if he was interested in that bit of information.\n\n“I don’t think that’s somewhere you should be going.”\n\n“What do you know?” Aurora was getting irritated now. She had intended to ask this boy for directions, but there was such an arrogance about him that made him difficult to talk to.\n\nHe smiled at that, showing teeth. “I know a lot of things. The answers don’t usually come free, though.” Aurora glared at him. “I will not be giving you any money.”\n\n“Suit yourself,” the boy said. “Let’s see if you can find The Guild on your own then.”\n\nAurora clenched her teeth and stormed off, walking past the dirty, arrogant boy. She would find her own way to The Guild. Or at least find another traveler to ask for directions.\n\nShe didn’t get very far when she heard a thump behind her. She turned and saw that the boy had hopped out of the tree and was walking towards her.\n\nHow did he jump from that high without getting hurt?\n\n“I must say, you’re going in the wrong direction.” He still had that infuriating grin on his face.\n\nAurora narrowed her eyes at him. “Why does it matter, when you won’t even tell me how to get there?” The boy held up a finger. “I told you I don’t give out answers for free.” “Ugh!” Aurora was not usually violent, but she wanted to slap the smile of his dumb face.\n\n“Was that meant to be a word?” he asked, like he had no idea why she was frustrated.\n\n“Leave me alone,” she said through clenched teeth. She turned her back to him once again and continued walking.\n\nAurora could hear his feet crunching the leaves as he followed her.\n\n“You’re not being very nice. What’s your name?”\n\n“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she called out over her shoulder. She decided she wasn’t wasting anymore time on this vagabond.\n\nShe walked a little further before she realized he hadn’t replied. There wasn’t even the sound of footsteps behind her anymore. Aurora turned around to see what happened.\n\nHe disappeared. But how? It was too quick, she thought.\n\nWhatever. He was annoying anyway.\n\nShe turned back around, and before she could take a step, there was a sack thrown over head.\n\nAurora was stunned for a second, then she struggled to fight off her attacker. She felt strong arms around her, and found it hard to get out of their grip.\n\nHer brother and father taught her some self defense. Even though she was a princess, they wanted any threats to regret thinking she was a harmless damsel. But no matter how much she fought, the arms didn’t loosen. “Let go of me!” Aurora yelled. This couldn’t be that wild boy. He was only a little taller than her, and scrawny. This person holding her had to be taller than the boy, and definitely well built.\n\n“You are a feisty one, aren’t ya?” a raspy voice grunted in her ear.\n\n“Don’t hurt her, you dolt,” said another voice. This one was deeper. Maybe he was in charge, Aurora thought. “We need her unharmed.”\n\n“She keeps fighting me!” the raspy brute said angrily.\n\n“How do you know she’s the right one?” It’s the boy! Aurora stilled as his voice registered. What was he doing with these two? Was he there to stop and distract her? She should’ve known he was trouble. How naive she had been.\n\nStupid! “Take that off her head, Roderick,” the deep voice said.\n\nThe sack came off Aurora’s head and her hood was pulled down. Her long, curly black hair fell down her back. As her vision adjusted to the light coming through the forest, she noticed the boy standing in front of her. He was looking slightly ashamed, as if he didn’t quite like what he had a part in.\n\nNext to him stood a tall, lanky man with a bald head and a black goatee. There was an old scar across his nose. His dark eyes were on Aurora as he inspected her.\n\n“It’s her,” he said with a smile. “She has long black hair and hazel eyes. Plus, the brown skin.”\n\n“But why is she so special?” the boy asked. “Are we just kidnapping a princess?” The tall man turned to the boy next to him with a frown. “‘Just a princess.’ She is not a mere princess, boy. She’s probably the most dangerous creature in these parts. Apart from her father, of course.” The boy now looked at Aurora with more interest. Even curiosity, and a little bit of fear.\n\nThey couldn’t know about her secret, Aurora thought. How could they? Not even the people of Panthera knew. No one besides the royal family and Seamus.\n\nIt had to be some other secret, she thought, trying to convince herself that these three holding her couldn’t know what even her kingdom didn’t.\n\nBut she had doubts. The tall man had said “dangerous creature”.\n\nIf the people of Panthera knew… “We should get a big reward for her, shouldn’t we, boss?” Roderick said excitedly, his tight hold still on Aurora.\n\n“Oh, definitely,” the boss said. “As long as you don’t hurt her, like I told you, you big brute. Loosen your grip before you break her!”\n\nRoderick’s arms went a little loose around Aurora then. When she tried to fight him off moments ago, she couldn’t get a good angle to attack. “Sorry bo—agh!”\n\nRoderick’s apology was suddenly cut off with a yelp. His hold on Aurora went slack and she heard him fall back with a loud thump.\n\nIn front of her, the boy and tall man had shock on their faces. “You guys are asking for trouble.”\n\nThat voice. Aurora knew that voice. What was he doing out here?\n\nShe turned around to see who had helped her. She saw his blue eyes and short blond hair.\n\n“Lars…” she said breathlessly.\n\n“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” he said to Aurora, walking up to stand beside her. Although, he only gave her a quick glance as he approached. He was more focused on the two still standing behind her.\n\n“Lars Alexander,” the tall man said, making it sound like Lars’ name had more letters than it did.\n\n“Scum,” Lars replied coolly.\n\nAurora noticed he had an intense look in his eye. She also realized that there was energy coming off of him. Electricity. “Now now,” the man said, putting his hands up in a placating gesture. “No need for hostility. We were just escorting the dear princess here back home.” “Liar.” Lars clenched his fists and took one step forward, towards the boy and bald man. He held up his right hand and opened his fist.\n\nAurora could see gold lightning crackling around Lars’ open hand. Was he going to blast the two who were involved in capturing her? She could guess Roderick suffered that fate. He still lay unconscious on the ground. Well, Aurora hoped he was just knocked out and not dead.\n\n“Think about what you’re doing,” the man said apprehensively. He moved closer to the boy next to him and gripped his arm. The boy’s face showed he was definitely afraid of what Lars might do.\n\nAurora stepped closer to Lars and reached out to him. “Hey, Lars…maybe we can just let them go?” The arrogant boy and bald man should be punished, but she didn’t think they should be struck down so harshly.\n\nLars didn’t look at her, but his fingers twitched just a little. A lightning bolt suddenly struck the ground between them and the other two, causing Aurora to flinch. As the bright light faded and smoke cleared, she noticed that the man and boy were gone.\n\nJust like the boy disappeared earlier. She then remembered Roderick and looked down. He was gone as well.\n\nWeird.\n\nShe turned to Lars, only to realize he was looking at her. She startled and took a step back, his gaze too much for her at that moment.\n\n“What’s wrong?” he asked. His tone was nonchalant, his face showing no expression. It was like he put what just happened behind him.\n\n“N-nothing,” Aurora stammered. “Thank you. For rescuing me.”\n\nLars’ eyes narrowed slightly as he continued to look at her. He then gave her a quick nod.\n\nAurora decided to jump at this chance. “Actually, would you mind helping me a little more?” “With what?” Lars asked. His tone was still the same. Or maybe a little annoyed, Aurora thought. This is the most she had spoken to him!\n\n“I was out here because I was on my way to see y—I wanted to see The Guild.” She almost slipped up and revealed too much.\n\n“Does your family know you’re going to see The Guild without an escort?”\n\nNo. “My tutor does. He was actually with me when we got separated out here.”\n\nLars stared at Aurora. Then she noticed a slight twitch at the corners of his mouth. It looked like he was trying to hide a smile.\n\n“You’re a terrible liar, you know that?” Aurora’s eye twitched for the second time that day. She sighed. “Look, will you help me or not?”\n\nLars looked in the direction she had been going. For a moment, it seemed like he might ignore her. Then he spoke again.\n\n“Keep up.” He turned on his heel and walked away. Aurora was stunned for a moment.\n\nYes! That wasn’t so difficult.\n\nShe almost skipped after Lars to catch up, overflowing with excitement. The scary events that just happened were quickly fading from her mind. "
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The Magic in the Music Box"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I just started kindergarten this year and I love it. I live with my mom had dad in a three bedroom two bath house. I attend Forest City Elementary school and I really love it. Mom and Dad both work at the hospital so after school I ride the bus to my Grandma Irene's house. Grandma Irene is so much fun to be with. She has a special music box that plays the song \" Someday my love \" and when she opens it, we go on some magical adventures. We have been to Italy and seen the Leaning tower of Pisa, to Hawaii and seen a hula dance and to Australia to jump with kangaroos. Every day is an adventure. It was a Tuesday afternoon and I was excited to go to Grandma's house but upon arrival, I was greeted instead by my Aunt Kelly. I asked my aunt where my grandma was and she sat me down on her lap and explained that Grandma had become suddenly ill and had to be rushed to the hospital. My heart shattered, I was with her yesterday and everything seemed normal as usual. Was it something that she ate? I begged my Aunt Kelly to take me to the hospital to see her. As my Aunt Kelly led me down the long corridor to Grandma's room, I was shaking but I just knew that she was going to be sitting up and laughing like she always does . When I entered the room, I was shocked at what I was looking at, that is not my grandma, I screamed. There were tubes coming from everywhere it seemed and Grandma wasn't laughing. I walked to the edge of her bed and put my hand next to hers and she reached over and grabbed it. I stood next to her for what seemed to be a eternity until my Aunt Kelly told me that it was time for us to leave. I didn't want to leave Grandma there; I wanted her to come home with me. As soon as we left the room, the tears started falling and I had no control over them. My Aunt Kelly was trying to comfort me but I didn't want to be comforted. I wanted Grandma to come home. The next day at school was rough for me, all I could think about was Grandma. I was very quiet on the bus ride to Grandma's house but in my mind, I knew that she would be waiting for me. When I got to the bus stop instead of Grandma being there, my mom was waiting for me. She scooped me up in her arms and carried me in silently into Grandma's house. Once we were inside, she sat me on the couch and sat next to me and grabbed my hand. She told me that Grandma had a heart attack and that the doctors did everything they could to save her but that she went to be with Jesus. I screamed and cried; I begged Jesus to send her back to me. I needed her more than he did. My Mom grabbed me and squeezed me tight, letting me calm down the anger that I was feeling. After a while she explained to me that when you go to Heaven that you won't be sick anymore and that someday when I go to see Jesus that I will be with Grandma again. Mom kept me out of school to go to Grandma's funeral. It was literally the worst day of my life. Mom sat me in her lap so she could hold me tight as we said goodbye. The next morning Mom told me that she would be picking me up from school until we could get the bus schedule changed. Mom was really quiet on the way home and so was I. When we got home, she fixed me a snack and sat down next to me. She lifted a bag off the floor and said \"Grandma asked me to make sure that you got this. When I opened the bag, it was the music box and I took it and ran to my room. I felt sad, mad, angry and blessed all at the same time. I set it on my dresser and just stared at it, somehow it didn't seem magical anymore. I hadn't even opened the box for a very long time.\n\nI was in middle school now and there was a dance coming up and I really wanted to go with Alan Reynolds. Alan was the cutest boy in school but I knew that he would never ask me. The night before the dance I was sitting in my room just dreaming about Alan. I picked up the music box and opened it to hear \"Someday my love “. I was daydreaming about me and Alan at the dance. My Mom started calling for me and I closed the music box and ran downstairs, she handed me the phone. \"Hello, I said and I was shocked to hear Alan's voice on the other end. He apologized for not asking me sooner but he had been so busy with football practice and he asked me to go to the dance with him. I was ecstatic, I danced all around the house and my parents laughed at me. The dance was magical with Alan, I felt like I was walking on air. Alan asked me to be his girlfriend and I eagerly accepted. We would hang out at the local burger joint and it was fun for a while but all he ever wanted to talk about was football and that was getting tiresome. It was the last year of middle school and then on to high-school, I explained to Alan that I needed to put all my focus on my studies and that I really wouldn't have time for dating. Alan was heartbroken but said that he understood.\n\nI focused hard on my education. I wanted to be the best and make Grandma proud. In my sophomore year I was in advanced classes and by Junior year, I was told that I had enough credits to graduate early. I was so excited when I got home to tell my parents and they were super proud of me. I went into my room and was thinking about my future. One thing that I have always wanted to do was to backpack through the Appalachian Mountains but I never asked because I thought my parents would never let me. I picked up the music box and was dreaming about the adventure of a lifetime hiking through the mountains, when all of a sudden there was a knock on my door. I opened it and Mom was standing there smiling and super excited. \"What is going on? \" You are never going to believe the phone call that I just received \" she said. Mr. Baker your social studies teacher called to ask if you would be interested in going backpacking with him, some other students and several parents in the Appalachian Mountains. My jaw dropped and for a moment I was speechless. Mom said \" Mr. Baker needs to know right away. I ran downstairs and called him and told him that I would love to go. It was going to be a week in the mountains living off the land. The trip was going to be in two days, so I started getting my bag packed and ready to go. I threw in everything that I thought I would need. Then I looked at the music box and put it in my backpack. We hiked for hours and it was exhausting. Our goal was to get to the top before we stopped. The weather was cold and with the elevation it made breathing more difficult. Once we reached the top the snow started falling and it got even colder. The snowfall was getting heavier and it was to the point where visibility was very poor. If we would of continued there were no guarantees that we might not fall off of the mountain. We tried gathering firewood but we were now in a blizzard situation. I honestly have never felt so scared. I sat down on the ground and felt some tears falling from my face. I reached into my backpack and took out the music box and imagined myself being in Hawaii with the nice warm weather. As I was listening to the song, in the distance I heard the whirring of blades on a helicopter and to my surprise it was hovering over us, sending ropes down for us to tie ourselves to and be airlifted to safety. Once I was in the helicopter a strange thought crossed my mind. Every time I wanted something really bad and opened up the music box, my wish would come true. Maybe it really was magical. When I arrived home my parents were waiting with open arms. I told them that I was fine, I had my guardian angel Irene with me. I set the music box back on the dresser. I was getting ready to start college in the fall and I wanted to be a nurse just like my Mom and my Grandma. Thoughts of Alan and how he was doing kind of filled my head and I wondered if he was still in town. I opened the music box and was listening to the beautiful song and thinking about Alan. I was interrupted by Mom calling me to come downstairs for a phone call and you are never going to believe who it was. Yes! It was Alan! We talked for hours and he invited me to dinner. That night Alan told me that I was his first love and that he wanted me to be his last one. We spent every available moment together and on the day of my graduation from nursing school, Alan asked me to be his wife and I said yes. We have been married for almost a year and in early spring we are expecting our first child. The music box still sits on the dresser and whenever I have doubts about life, I open it and realize that I have all my dreams. When Jasmine is old enough to have a imagination, we will be having some great adventures together. "
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "They’ll Call Me the Villain"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "CW : Swearing and some overall dark themes It was overcast that day. I’d taken the long way home from school through the forest to see the leaves changing, a path I’d walked for the past eleven years of my school career. The only thing on my mind was the homework I needed to finish that night for film class, the career I’d planned to go after my entire life. For reasons that I, to this day, still do not understand, I missed the turn that would’ve taken me back home and thought I could correct it by simply taking a different one. The new route took me downhill and it wasn’t until I’d reached the bottom of the hill that I realized my mistake, a mistake that would turn out to be a blessing, then a curse. At the bottom of the hill, hidden in the shadows of the trees and covered in twisting vines, was an old stone pedestal bearing a single, semi-translucent crystal hanging from a silver chain. At the time, I hadn’t heard about any prophecies or magic connected to existing objects. Before I learned the truth, it just appeared to be an abandoned necklace and, given the rule of finders-keepers, I grabbed it— the crystal was cold—, slid it in my pocket, and promptly went back up the hill the way I’d come so I could get home.\n\nThat night, alone in my room and slogging through homework, the necklace was lying on a textbook on my desk, the light from my lamp making it reflect tiny rainbows along the light-colored wall. I hadn’t thought to put it on, not until it hit the hard wood of my desk and scared the shit out of me midway through my homework. When the next attempt at sitting it on the textbook failed, I grabbed it— the crystal was warm— and clipped it on.\n\nA jolt like an electric spark shot through my body and my skin was covered in hot pinpricks. My hands shook violently as if there was pent up energy they were holding on their own. I could’ve sworn my heart was going to give out with how rapidly it was beating. I wanted to scream, yet couldn’t push the sound out of my throat. The crystal burned against my skin and I commanded one of my shaking hands to grab it; the once semi-translucent crystal had adopted a bright rainbow glow. I made to pull it off, yet it wouldn’t budge and, upon searching for the clip, I discovered it had vanished. My breathing had to have been as quick as my heartbeat and my eyes blurred with tears of panic and pain. The hand holding the crystal burned. I dropped it to shake off the sensation, yet triggered something else— a flurry of polychrome energy that spiraled into my wall, the loudness of its collision blowing out my hearing for a solid minute. When it returned, my mother was yelling my name, yet I couldn’t respond. My gaze flicked from my cooling hand to the residual energy and glitter-like substance on my wall. I never did finish my homework that night.\n\n— The following morning, a man turned up at the door. He was old with graying hair and loose clothing. I never caught his name— he refused to tell me or my mother— but he knew mine and he knew the necklace I’d taken.\n\n“How do I get it off?” I had asked, to which he laughed. “You don’t,” he answered, “because that crystal has chosen you to fulfill the prophecy.” Before I could ask what he meant, he explained, as if running by a script, “What you have is an enchanted crystal from several millennia before you were a figment of anybody’s imagination. It chooses who is worthy enough to wield its power and, once you put it on, it doesn’t separate from its wielder. You have been chosen to protect this world from villainy and crime, Dean. That said,” he continued, “you have two options: come with me and learn how to harness your magic or stay here and have to manage uncontrollable magic.” ”That’s not much of a choice,” my mother told him, though he ignored her and kept his eyes fixed on me for an answer.\n\nAt the time, I thought I knew how the story would play out— I’d go with him, learn to harness this odd power, and earn glory for myself and my mother. I’d be written about and played in movies. I’d have a secret identity and an awesome outfit. I really only had one option, anyway.\n\n“I’ll go with you.” — Six years. I spent six years of my life with him, far away from everything I knew and almost completely cut off from the outside world. Six years being jumpscared by the magic that had a mind of its own; six years sustaining injury after injury yet having to pull myself up to keep going; six years on front page covers on newspapers as I started going after small criminals; six years not looking back on what I missed because of my change of plans; six years playing the hero.\n\nWithin those six years, I stayed at a base with my mentor unknown to the outside world. Any free moment I had during the day was spent on training— nothing was ever enough. My free time was in the late hours that I should’ve been asleep in my room, yet despite my exhaustion, it got close to impossible to do so. Even when the magic would refuse to even function at the end of the day from how much I’d used it, I rarely slept. My body ran on five imaginary energy drinks per day and, despite my mentor not saying so, I had my suspicions that the crystal’s magic was taking its toll. It was a rainy winter day when my life was upended yet again. I was supposed to go out on a mission that day, he’d told me, to tackle a bigger criminal organization than I usually did. I’d been snapping my magic on and off to kill time when his laughter reached my ears, slightly muffled by his office door. However, his laugh— higher pitched and exaggerated— was accompanied by a deeper laugh I’d never heard before. Curious— maybe it was more concern than curiosity— I cut the magic and stepped silently over to the door and pressed my ear against it, holding the necklace with one hand so it didn’t swing into the heavy wood. “How did seventeen kids believe a fake prophecy?” He was saying, his voice completely missing the idea of whispering. “Every one of them wound up dead and they really never noticed the pattern? Every stupid kid wants their fairytale ending and completely forgets a little thing called reality. ” The deeper laugh came again and an equally deep voice responded, “That’s why you enlist kids for this shit and not adults— the kids aren’t smart enough to realize they’re being played.” My grip on the necklace tightened to prevent me from wrenching open the door and screaming— a fake prophecy. I had turned down colleges and potential job opportunities that would’ve given me a leg up in a film career. I had broken off friendships and avoided romantic relationships that had made my life whole for years. I’d left everything I’d ever known to come here and fulfill what I thought was my destiny, yet I had sacrificed my future for a fake prophecy.\n\nIn hindsight, it should have been obvious— the vague instructions during our training, the lack of information about what effect the magic would have on my body, the fake choice over whether or not to leave home— yet somehow it had gone clean over my head. I’d tried to ignore the warning signs in favor of something that seemed so fantastical it’d felt true.\n\n“To be honest,” he was saying, “Ihave half a mind to just get rid of him now and trash that necklace just so I can be left the fuck alone. They don’t pay you nearly enough to deal with those stupid kids! I swear, if I have to do this with an eighteenth kid, I’ll hurtle myself off the nearest bridge.” The deeper voice added, “Just be careful while doing it— make it look like some criminal’s fault so you don’t have to worry about being found out. You can’t be messing up now when you’ve made it this far, can you? Soon we’ll find the one we need and finally be able to extract the magic for ourselves.” My legs were shaking, yet I managed to push myself off the door and force my legs to go back to my room, shutting the door and locking it before sliding to the ground. Seventeen kids who wound up dead because of a fake prophecy. It was almost unfathomable— almost. Six years of my life I spent on this fake prophecy and I would have nothing to show for it except the tombstone I’d be buried under.\n\nThe crystal, still clutched in my hand, grew cold, something it hadn’t done since the first day I’d picked it up off that damned pedestal. I hesitantly brought it up to my eyes and, instead of it being semi-translucent or even a rainbow glow, the crystal glowed a lifeless blue that projected on the wall closest to me the way my desk lamp had made rainbows with it all those years ago. Within the lifeless blue space were shadows with white eyes, shadows of different heights and weights and genders, but all of them were kids. Sixteen shadows. Sixteen dead kids who’d put their faith in a bullshit prophecy.\n\n“Why does he want the magic?” I found myself asking and immediately felt stupid. The crystal’s blue glow, however, was shrouded in shadow as it formulated its own reply.\n\nWithin the shadows, magic flowed from the hands of figures the color of blood, only it wasn’t polychrome like mine, but monochrome— it was in the wrong hands and that, I could only guess, meant danger. “Kid,” my mentor called, prompting the crystal to snap out its glow on its own. “Whatever you’re doing in there, finish it fast— you’ve got to go deal with this thing.”\n\nI allowed the crystal to fall from my hand. I pushed myself to my feet.\n\n“How many other people had this crystal?” My voice was low. “Huh? Kid, it’s a prophecy. Just you,” he answered dismissively. The crystal flickered red, a tactic it’d shown me to tell me when someone was lying. “Where are the other sixteen kids?” I pressed, my voice starting to raise. “What the fuck are you on about?”\n\n“Sixteen other kids tried to fulfill this prophecy and all of them are dead, isn’t that right?” The crystal grew hot again. “What are you trying to say, that I’m a murderer? Please, I’m the only reason you’re as successful as you are!” “I’m saying you’re greedy— you always have been, anyway— and you don’t care if kids die because you still get what you want! They were children and you ripped them away from their lives with a fake prophecy and then you let them die!”\n\nHe shoved down the door handle and I unlocked it to meet him with a violent flurry of magic. My former mentor was dead before he hit the ground and I had not a twinge of remorse.\n\nI knew how the story would play out— the people will find out what their beloved hero did and they’ll call me the villain, yet they’ll never know the truth, never know they would’ve done the same if it had been them. "
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Message in a Bottle"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "John gazed out of the kitchen window in a fantastical trance. The world outside this window was a carefully crafted fantasy. The garden was overgrown now, but still it described a form of order that he could not exert on the aspects of his life that really counted. Life was wayward and chaotic. It presented a pretence of order for a while, and then it would unravel however a person reacted to the undoing of all their efforts. This John knew, was a death of sorts. A harsh end that handed him an opportunity to begin again. The assault course through to the beginning would build his strength so that he was equal to the challenge of the next phase of his life. He breathed a sigh that wracked his body with sadness. He hurt in ways that were unfamiliar, even though he had been here before. The body’s memory was necessarily fickle. The body only lived in the present moment. No past and no future. John was all too aware of the animal he was, and right now, that animal was wounded and maddened with the pain of wounds it did not see coming. He wanted to fight, but he neither had anything to fight against or for. There was no point in fighting for himself. He’d done that already and inflicted losses upon himself in the mistaken belief that he could win a battle that only he had attended. A single word formed itself within him. Time. This concept weighed heavily upon him. He felt old and maybe he was. There was none of the youthful exuberance left for him. This was the last, downhill stretch of his life and the fork in the path had been hidden from him, so that by the time he realised Vicky had taken it, it was far, far too late. There was no going back. Time made life flow in one direction and one direction only. Or so it was said. John wasn’t so sure about that. He’d experienced all of time’s tricks and been assailed by its wanton use of him. Time was a label slapped upon one of the many faces of chaos and John was too scared to remove that label and peer at what lay beyond. Looking down at the turgid washing up water he experienced a slip in his reality. The dirty dishes had been spirited away to the drainer, but he had no sense of how that had happened. He was here, but he was not present. He almost did not bother upending the washing bowl, but the dirty water offended him sufficiently to provoke a reaction. The action performed, he left the bowl asunder. A simple act of defiance that reminded him of the expanse of hurt that lay beneath him and would not allow him to relax or to sleep.\n\nThis hurt was not his own. He had been gifted the pain by another. By others. A terrible pass-the-parcel. The music had stopped and here he was. His inner teenager had awoken then. He’d kicked against John’s raw and bleeding side and raged at the unfairness of it all.\n\nThis is not my fault. And it genuinely wasn’t. For once in John’s life, he had not fucked up. Oh, there were lessons to be learnt. The presence of the pain told John that. But the teenager was right. This wasn’t his fault and it just was not fair. John had wallowed in that unfairness for some while. He lay there in that poisoned cocoon for far too long. The drug that seeped into him was soporific. He bathed in the lie of it. He pretended that someone would see how unfair his plight was and come and rescue him. That someone was an idealised Vicky. She would find her way back to him and make everything alright again. Only she could do this. He waited. Time punished him for his foolishness and amplified his pain. That pain pinned him in his prone and pathetic position and mocked him. He was ashamed of who he’d become. He was ashamed of how he had gotten here. He wanted to die, but didn’t have the honest strength to deliver that mercy. He was getting what he deserved and a dark part of him relished the self-pity he drank in gluttonously. As he crawled away from that place, he worried away at questions that he could not yet answer. But he did it all the same. There was a utility in this. The words he found were stilted and fell short, but they paved the way for him to live the answers that were required. He was at last doing something that was needed.\n\nAnd yet he dare not look up and face the enormity of his now lonely existence. He did not have the courage to face the world, let alone step out into it as himself. Instead, he put on a face and called it brave in the frozen state that it presented. This was not him. He did not know who that was. Not yet he didn’t. He tried not to think about whether he’d ever known who he was. Better to consider his former self as dead and buried. That John was no longer with us. The new one would emerge from its chrysalis state in due course. Thoughts of his history began to emerge from the depths of his grief. He must learn from history in order not to repeat the patterns of the past. All of this was necessary. He was moving forward at last. He repeated mantra after mantra to encourage the eggshell thin positive state that he needed in order to do the work on the other side.\n\nAll the same, this Saturday dragged him along the cheese grater of his pain in a protracted and disinterested manner. The weekends were the worst. The weekends were where the\n\nHole\n\nresided. In the week, he could grab a hold of routine and throw himself at work. His beleaguered body was familiar with this and it relished going through the motions. He found that other tasks came easily in the evenings. He shopped. He cleaned. He paid his bills. Sometimes he even slept through. Mostly sleep played with him in a bed that had grown too big and cold for him. He lay there begging for the caress of slumber and when it eventually came, it tossed him and turned him until he was good and ready for the witching hour. Every morning at 3am he was smashed awake with an accusatory thought that had turned up mob handed. He tried to reason with the crowd, but it was too big and he was weak and tired. If he slept after that, he did not remember. All there was as his alarm went off was nausea and fatigue. Another joke at his expense. The feeling that he could now sleep. The desire to sleepwalk through the day. But the day was too jagged and cruel to allow him that comfort. There was relief in the face that was reflected in his watch face. The afternoon was here at last. The moment of weakness could now be indulged. One of his guilty pleasures. He was after all at a never ending wake. Crouching, his knees fired off warning shots that he did not heed. He opened the cupboard door to reveal a depleted stock of spirits. Previous visits were a matter of retrieving the bottle of single malt and bringing it together in a union with a tumbler that he would then celebrate twice over.\n\nThis time, he paused at the door and looked inside the cupboard. His initial motive might have been a guilty stock take. Taking stock of his weekend drinking and the need to replenish a cupboard that had been teeming with bottles before Vicky had left. Provisions for the eventuality of her sudden and brutal exit from his life. That may have been how it started, but then time wove one of its spells and he was drawn to a dusty bottle in the deepest corner of the cupboard. As his eyes fell upon the bottle, he was restored to a point that had occurred over a decade ago. This bottle was, he knew, a time capsule. Shuffling the nearest bottles aside, he took the older bottle and remembering himself, also brought along the half full whisky bottle for the ride.\n\nWithdrawing to the relative comfort of the sofa, John poured himself a generous quantity of whisky and sipped at it as he commenced a staring contest with the dusty bottle. He knew the old bottle would win, but he could not rush this. The contents of that bottle had aged sufficiently and they were to be savoured. As he sat there taking repeated sips of his whisky, he considered the first question the bottle presented to him. If he could turn back time, would he do things differently? His stock answer was no, he would not. He was who he was right now because of all that had occurred in his life. His was a life without regret. That was what his mind said. His broken heart disagreed, and he could move no further forward on this. In asking this question, the bottle reminded him that it was his time machine. He cast his mind back to its creation and smiled wryly. Time may weave magic, but this was a magic of his own and now he would at last uncover the secrets that he had woven into the magic of this bottle.\n\nLeaning forwards he almost plucked up the bottle. But his tumbler was now empty and so he attended to this first. He imbibed some of the amber blood and said a self-serving prayer. This was his moment and there was nothing else to it. The world could go fuck itself right now. It had taken enough of him and he needed this. He realised he needed it more than anything. For the first time in an age he felt a warmth that went beyond the whisky. He was feeling the flame of hope within his heart and now he smiled that hope into the room around him. Another, generous sip from his tumbler and he was up and away to the door that connected to the garage. He found a large rag, selected a hammer and wrapping the bottle up in a shroud he readied himself to smash the bottle open. He paused before this violent and sacrilegious act. He’d not even tried to retrieve the contents from the bottle. But then he nodded. Smashing the bottle was right. Symbolic of the destruction of his life. Another end to herald a bright new beginning.\n\nStill he paused. This was not him. He was a giver and a fixer. He was not prone to the breaking of things. This was wilful. He felt as though he was in danger of becoming the sort of thing that threw fast food wrappers from the window of a car when the easier and better option was to use a bin when the car stopped. This was a line he did not want to cross, because lines and boundaries and values were all that kept him and his life intact. Without defining a safe and good place for himself, he would have lost everything and had precious little prospect of becoming the man he saw glimpses of as his pain subsided. In the pulses of it’s terrible heartbeat he was seeing an outline of himself up ahead and he wanted to fill that space. With a force of will and an impetuous burst of energy he brought the hammer down and was rewarded with the song of breaking glass. He stood for a while and savoured that song. Just beyond reach were lyrics of joy. He fancied he’d hear them one day soon. These were promises of better days ahead and reminders that all things will pass, however we choose to label them, for often a thing is neither bad nor good. It just is. We sully it with unwarranted decoration so we can dabble around the edges of a life instead of living it. Carefully, he unfurled the rag and glass fell in a pile to the side of a beige mottled envelope. He gingerly pincered thumb and forefinger in order to life the envelope free and despite his deliberate actions an invisible shard of glass pierced the pad of his finger. Undeterred, he took the envelope back to the sofa. Once there, he pressed the wounded fingertip to the envelope and left it there whilst he drank more of his whisky. Satisfied that he had paid his blood price. He examined the envelope itself and the fingerprint of blood. Taking his time. Delaying the moment of truth. A truth that existed ten years ago and would be revealed to him now. Closing his eyes, he sought something of the contents of the envelope, but all he found were the circumstances of its coming into being. The pain of another life and the solace he had sought in the bottom of the bottle. He sensed the presence of that second tumbler and was satisfied that he had not fallen so low this time. He would drink a second tumbler, but no more. The altered state that he had attempted to hide in all those years ago was for another man. A different version of the person that now sat here. That was some of why the bottle had come into being. Another end that promised a beginning where a stronger John could be more. More himself. More honest.\n\nHe felt the contents of the envelope calling to him and he shed a tear. There was a desperate honesty here. A love letter to his future self. Well he was here now and he was about to commune with his other self. He carefully opened the envelope. A counter to the previous violence exacted upon the bottle. This now was a loving ritual towards a religious relic. The gum of the envelope yielded and now he slipped his finger into the envelope and withdrew the letter. His hand trembled as he held the pages before him. His eyes swam with invisible tears and his mind roiled with waves of possibilities. He could stop right now. He didn’t need to do this. The presence of a reluctant fear intrigued him. Suppressed memories resonating with the imminent future. A warning not to bring two timelines together. A deceitful scream of denial against the truth about to be revealed. Now it wasn’t just his hand that was trembling. His body thrummed with the inevitability of what was going to happen. This was a shocking paradox of two versions of himself meeting. The words could not be denied though and before he understood what was happening, they were tumbling through his eyes and into his heart. Filling it in a way he did not know was possible. The love he felt for the broken man who had had the courage to open himself to the world and express his inner truth almost overwhelmed him, but he fought to keep himself together and ride through to the very end. He owed this to the man who had done this for him.\n\nAnd as he at last opened himself up in order to contain these words, he understood. He understood that these words came from a past that went far beyond ten years ago. This was the truth of the ages. His parents had contained this truth. He should have honoured them far more. He should have listened with every fibre of his being. He should have asked them to talk to him about all the things that mattered so that they mattered to him as much as they always should.\n\nAs the words continued to come alive and speak to him, he saw along a path that was not only the past, but also the future. Everyone who had gone before him and played a part in his creation. His being, a culmination of the hopes, dreams and love of so, so many people.\n\nThe truth blossomed around him and he felt his roots in it. He felt it deeply. In one moment, he was an insignificant spec in the endless universe, and yet in the next, he was everything. His connection. His place in the universe should have unhinged him, but instead it enlivened and humbled him.\n\nThis letter from his past self, and all the past selves that coalesced in this moment, spoke to John of the consequences of his actions. He’d dreaded the warning that he’d expected to be contained in these few pages of hand scribbled sentences. He’d feared the prospect of coming full circle to the same desperate state as his past self had been in ten years ago, but instead he’d been freed of his misery and pain by the truth of the words and the infinite expanse of love that was a part of his creation and a part of him.\n\nThese pages contained the lesson he must learn. The lesson that his pain was bringing to him. His past self had gifted him this elevation from the pain, and now he saw what he must do. John smiled as he returned the letter to the envelope. He was still smiling as he raised his glass to all those versions of himself who had been, and those who were to be, and he promised them all that he would live well and that he would embody the truth of them all. That was the day that John really started living."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The stone"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "He lay there, his fear crippling him much more than his mangled legs that were currently soaking the dirt with his blood. His life was seeping out of him by the second; his fall was too great to survive without assistance, and that assistance was what he feared. The person closest to him when he had been attacked was a man who lived to destroy him. Ignatius knew that if the man found him, he would spend his last days praying for death. The irony was that it would be the first time he prayed in years. Ignatius founded a church some twenty years ago and worked to convince the nation that he was God's chosen messenger. He had schemed and lied his way to the proximity of power and waited until the time was right to seize power himself. He bit his tongue at every stupid suggestion and bowed his head to prevent the disdain that was ever present on his face from showing. Every moment where it would have been easy to betray these fools, he instead shored up their power. Fattening them up until the day of his choosing. That day had occurred a mere five days ago. Having succeeded, now all he had to do was kill all these God damned rebels. The Hemlocks, The Sugar Beets, The Long Knives, The True religion, the storm brigade. Any of whom could contest his supremacy, any of whom could be behind this attack. Ignatius knew, however, who it was who hunted him now, who had shot him out of the sky and had hunted him in his sleep, who was even now chasing him to the end of the earth. It was a man who refused to die; no matter how often he was cornered, betrayed, captured, and broken, he kept coming back. A man who had been on the receiving end of Ignatius's schemes far too many times. Alan Fumegate. If he was found by Alan, he would face fifteen years of pent-up fury, and death would not come quickly. Ignatius had started to believe that the man was his hubris personified, coming to steal away everything he valued. \n\nThe ground had shaken, the forest burned, and there had been explosions and the shrieks of his abandoned followers. Alan, in his unmistakable mech, buzzed around killing many of the most prominent members of Jehovah. The finance minister was set aflame. The secretary of defense impaled on his own mech. The treasurer and a group of CEO's were decapitated by the blades of the mech known only as Agony . Members of the opposition party, as well as members of the shadow government, all flattened at once. People that Ignatius would have had to slowly get rid of overtime had just been murdered before him. It was interesting how the Hemlock kill list and his own were so similar. Ignatius would be giddy with relief if he wasn't at the top of their list. So he had fled at the first sign of danger, fleeing so quickly he had forgotten that he had his own mech that offered a measure of defense. He could hear the mechanized behemoth in pursuit until he stumbled into a cave and, in desperation, tried to dig himself out of the back of it. A bomb had gone off, and the ground had opened up and swallowed him whole. Sometime between his frenzied escape through the forest and his fall into the cavern, he had emptied his bowels. He had broken his femur, ruptured his spleen, his arm was burned so badly the bone was visible, he could barely hear from his right ear, and he was concussed. But he was alive. He set about to correct that. As it turns out, the ends of the earth were in an underground cavern. A cavern that seemed to have all of the world's riches. Not only would he be tortured, but his dreams would be destroyed. When they found him, they would have enough money to rebuild everything he had destroyed and to replace him. Money and faith were his only tools for controlling the fools who had placed their lives in his hands, and now the enemy would have taken both. Shit, they may have also taken his hands. Ignatius looked around him, taking in the jagged rocks of Jade that had cut his hands as he reached out to arrest his fall. The sharpest edges were too high for him to reach. There were silver coins in piles around him, large enough to bury him alive. But suffocation was not the way he wanted to go. He continued his appraisal when a thought struck him that forced him to pause his frantic search for death. Why could he see so well if he was underground? It was dim, to be sure, but he could see everything around him. He looked up at the hole he had fallen through, trying to figure out where the light was coming from. It was too high up to provide this much light. He looked around him, ignoring the trinkets and jewels that he would have killed just hours ago. There. He looked and saw that the light was brighter to his left. He did not know why he bothered, why this mystery compelled him to move his battered body. Perhaps he just did not want to die in this dimly lit, dirty room. He crawled towards the light. Every inch was an inch closer to death. Every inch was an inch closer to destiny. His arms started to bleed, then his hands and his one working leg ached from overuse. The journey could have taken minutes or years; he would not have known. The light grew brighter with each inch; he could see now that he was not crawling through the dirt but flecks of gold. Ignatius made his way to a room that was getting wider as he descended to what must be the center of the world. His mind could not comprehend some of the things he saw, things he had never seen before, and things that should not exist. Dead things suspended in glass appeared to be monsters of legend. Things that had too many arms, wings, and heads. Things that existed only to terrify. Some familiar things seemed out of place: the Mona Lisa, Starry Night, and the Hope Diamond. Stacks of every currency that had ever existed were packed in tight bundles strewn about the room, stuffed in suits of armor, tossed atop piles of gold bars, and spilling out of \n\nWhoever this place belonged to appeared to have made a habit of hoarding everything of value that had ever existed. As he crawled towards the now blinding light, it became clear where he was. Ignatius had spent many of his forty-five years stealing, first from his father, then from his parishioners, and finally from his allies. He could steal, beg, and borrow for a thousand years and never have half the wealth he could see around him. There were statues in a semicircle around the pond. Their eyes glowing in the light emitting from the statues were reflected off rubies larger than his head. Their forked tongues were clearly silver. The rest of the statues were gold, from their sharp talons to their outspread wings. They were surrounding a raised giant obsidian slab in the middle of the pond, under the warm lights, six petrified eggs the size of pumpkins. Ignatius had discovered a dragon lair. There was no ignoring that he had passed unicorn horns, werewolf skulls, and a well-preserved cask of Basilisk venom - even if he would not know these things for a century. He crawled through more gold in this room than in the Nation of Jehovah. That myth and mysteries were the only things that could explain where he was. Ignatius had always been able to jettison his understanding of the world when it became inconvenient and adopt the ideals that helped assure his survival. That is why he ignored the gold-plated swords, the knives carved from emeralds, and the diamond-encrusted pistols. That is why he focused on the plain black stone placed casually on the pond's banks. The stone was the only place where the light seemed to shrink away. It seemed like an ordinary rock, out of place here. But Ignatius knew what it was; he felt it in his bones. It was surly delirium more than faith that guided his movements. Maybe his will was so strong that fate bent to it; he must survive because he was not done with this world. He reached the stone, seconds from death. He touched it. His fingers tingled painfully as his flesh weaved itself back together. He let go of the stone in shock. He looked at his now healed hand, his vision starting to blur. He would not die today. He grabbed the stone with both hands and cradled it to his chest. Ignatius thought he had known pain, that being launched out of his mech into a tree was the pinnacle of agony. He had been stabbed, shot, burned, and choked. But as his bones fused, his cells split, and his skin regrew, he saw that he had never truly known pain. The fact that he could now hear his screams was his only proof that his body was healing. The stone whispered to him, asking a question to his very soul. \" Would you like to live long enough to discover the meaning of power?\" A question that had only one answer Darkness found him. A day later, Ignatius woke up. He willed himself to sit up and found it to be an easy task. He looked at the stone still in his hands. It no longer tingled, and his body no longer hurt. Its task is done; it now appears to be just an ordinary stone. But Ignatius knew differently. This stone had healed his body, not just the wounds he had received in the last 48 hours. Ignatius had the energy of youth. He walked over to the pond, careful not to touch the water, and leaned close to look at himself. His hair was black again and no longer receding, the wrinkles around his eyes were gone, and his teeth were whiter than ever. Logic would eventually lead him to the conclusion that the stone had spoken to him as it saved his life. This was the philosopher's stone. Having accepted his destiny, he could now see the words on the stone carved in small gold inscription: \"If you would like to live long enough to discover the meaning of power, carry me. Here are my powers three: Drink my elixir and live for all eternity. Bathe me in your blood until I glow scarlet, and you will bask in my wealth. Give me your will, and I will heal. Lose me, defile me, betray my secrets, and you will lose it all. I bless you and all who follow with greed that is unquenchable. I am the philosopher's stone, and you are my student. \" Ignatius sat there for an eternity, the ramifications of his discovery dawning on him. He thought he knew whose lair this belonged to, a man who had always seemed out of place. He was always too prepared, too eager for war, and far too wealthy for his job as CEO of a Mineral company. Clearly, dragons were real, and so was magic. A dragon masquerading as a person couldn't be too out of the realm of possibility. If the stone's words were to be believed, stealing this stone may lead to Nox's death. Not stealing, Ignatius corrected himself. Ignatius had found destiny. \n\nIt was not theft to claim it. He looked at the inscription; he would certainly keep this a secret. His life depended on it. If even 1% of the stories about dragons were accurate, Nox would never stop searching for his treasures. He would have to ensure that Nox did not discover who defiled his lair, and he needed to escape before he returned. Luckily, Ignatius had just the tools to destroy this place. He would make it look like a bombardment from the battle had caused it. If he could make it look like the rebels had done it... If he did this correctly, he could solve all his problems in one fell swoop. He continued to think about the inscription; the stone would heal him only if he willed it to do so. He thought of the many ways around that, poison, sudden attacks, theft of the stone, starvation, exposure, paralysis , killing him while he slept... He would need to remain vigilant and hire security. He could limit his sleep as long as he could heal himself from the consequences. \n\nIf the stone could indeed extend his life in perpetuity, perhaps he could afford to slow his ascent and create fewer enemies. He would have to test the stone further. For starters, how does the elixir of life work? How did he create it? He suspected that the stone's proximity to the pond was not a coincidence. Other than the stone, the water was the most ordinary-looking thing there. Water was scarce, but not enough for a rich immortal being to find it as valuable as gold. The arrogant bastard had created a pond out of the elixir of life to showcase his wealth. The elixir of life from the stone. Ignatius tipped over the stone and shook it near his ear. He could hear a faint sloshing like milk in a coconut. Hmmm promising. He looked around until he found what he was looking for, a large silver helmet with topaz and quartz. Ignatius inspected it before bringing it to the pond. After a short pause, Ignatius plunged the helmet into the pond. The water was pleasantly warm, and when he drew his hands out, they were completely dry, though the skin was refreshed and new. \n\nIgnatius dipped a pinky in the water and dripped it into his mouth. It evaporated immediately, and he felt a surge of energy. Looking into the helmet, he saw half of the water was already gone. Water that wasn't wet and would evaporate as soon as it touched air. Interesting. There was one more thing to test before he escaped. He took off his shirt, which was barely hanging on as it was. It took a few minutes, but he was able to fashion the shirt into a makeshift sack. He grabbed a few items from the piles of weapons, a smile bible engraved in ivory and some type of scaly leather, 10 stacks of cash, some of the older bills, and some jewels. He knew it was a risk but also knew it would take him some time to fully understand this new world. He would need a few of the trinkets to properly frame the rebels. As for gold, he brought the stone to where his blood was still wet on the cavern floor, placed the rock on it, and watched it slowly turn scarlet, then ruby, and finally a crimson so bright that its light outshone the incubation chamber. Dust swirled around the stone and landed on the ground where his blood had been. The stone greedily lapped up his blood, leaving gold dust in its wake. The flecks of gold around him made sense now. Ignatius shuddered, wondering whose blood he had crawled through. How many people had been brought here to bleed out on the floor to feed the stone? No matter. The important thing was that the stone worked, and all evidence of his presence had just been wiped away. He intuitively knew that the effects would be better if the blood was fresh and if the blood were his. \n\nIt seemed the stone would give him enough information to work with, but mastering its powers would take time- that was okay; he now had all the time in the world. He wondered what other powers he could discover and how much magic he could harness now that he knew it was real. There was a better time to figure them out, however. Ignatius needed to escape while he still could before half the world descended on him. He looked up at the jagged jade walls, plotting his path out. He tied his makeshift sack of riches to him and secured the stone. He tore scraps of cloth from his ruined pants and wrapped his hands before plunging them into the gold dust. He hoped that would help him grip the sharp walls without shredding his hands too badly. \n\nHe would have to move quickly. His fall had been excruciating; his rise would be even more so. But he would survive, and he would conquer. He smiled and climbed toward his destiny. "
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The message from my inner child"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I woke up agitated. My heart was pounding fast. The image from the dream stayed intact, refusing to fade away. A barefoot girl stood in the middle of a completely dark path, raising her hand and telling me, _ STOP, DON'T GO FURTHER! I approached her slowly and saw her little face bathed in tears. To my surprise, I recognized her. It was me! It was my little girl… I ran to hug her and held her tightly against my chest... When I tried to lift her, the image faded, and I woke up with a scream. I sat in bed, my mind circling around the image of my little girl and the questions that troubled me. _ Why did she say STOP, DON’T GO FURTHER ? What are you trying to tell me, my inner child? What danger are you warning me about?' I looked at the clock; it was half-past five in the morning, and I had to get up because I was traveling that day to the Wichí Mataco community of Chustaj lokwé – the Owl’s Lair. It was the year 2000, and I was working as an anthropologist in a social aid program for indigenous communities located along Route 86, which crossed the rugged Chaco forest. It started in Tartagal and stretched to Misión la Paz, on the border with Paraguay, covering just over a hundred kilometers. It appeared as a 'Route' on national road maps, but in reality, it was just a dirt road, only passable during the dry season, and in the rainy season, it turned into a swamp that only the most experienced locals dared to traverse. Fausto, my assistant, was sick with the flu and couldn’t accompany me. He was a member of the Wichi Mataco community 'Lapacho,' a great knower of these forests where he was born and raised. Traveling with him made me feel confident and secure, not only because he knew the area well but also because speaking his native language made it easier for me to communicate with the people. I could have chosen not to go, but I decided to travel anyway because I didn't want to delay my work since there were many communities I had to attend to. _Don't go alone, wait a few days and we'll go together! _ Fausto had told me, but I decided to travel alone. I admit that I am impatient and sometimes a little impulsive, which in the past got me into more than one problem. _What could happen? I worked in so many communities and never had any problems, why would this time be different? Of course, I would miss the company of Fausto who was not only my assistant but also a lifelong friend. Traveling with him made the trips short and pleasant. In the harsh and gloomy reality that the aborigines lived, being able to laugh at his stories and anecdotes was a relief. A few kilometers away, one entered a landscape of magical realism in the Chaco of Salta. A world where goblins played hide and seek during tropical siestas, healers and witches cured fright, made love spells and for good luck, hunters asked permission with coca and cigarettes from Madremonte. It was the territory of the adventures of the fox and the jaguar, of the escapades of the armadillos, quimileros and the bored iguanas. There were indigenous communities of Wichis, Matacos, Chorotes, Tobas, Chulupies, Chiriguanos, Tapietes and others in the most absolute helplessness and abandonment, just as at the beginning of the 20th century when the colonization of the Chaco began. My work consisted of formulating projects in the vain hope of achieving some solution for their historical and multiple needs. It was November, referred to as “ Yachup” in the Wichí calendar, our springtime, a dry season of intense heat in this region. I set out at dawn, having prepared everything the night before: my battered Peugeot 504, worn down by the dusty and bogged paths of the impenetrable chaco, and my backpack with water the canteen, lighter, flashlight, pocketknife, and a small bag of coca leaves, mate equipment, cookies, some oranges and work elements: notebook, recorder, camera. The clear, fresh morning smelled of tusca breezes, and the uproar of doves and parrots crossing the sky in flocks signaled a day that would get very hot. There I was, kicking up dust in my car and Wichis-matacos hitchhiked along the road. They were pleasant company, telling me news, anecdotes, stories of animals and apparitions, the history behind the names of the places, and even giving me advice on what to do if I encountered Tahyi Wuk, the Owner of the Jungle. In mid-morning, I arrived at Holotaj –Tonono–. I went directly to the house of my friends, the Palomos, a family of criollos from the Chaco region. They pointed me in the right direction, saying, “It’s just right there.” It was my first time heading to the community of Chustaj lokwé –Guarida de la Lechuza–, which was in a highly critical situation. At from that place, I couldn’t continue in my vehicle as I had to cross the sandy banks of the Tonono River. I accepted the horse they offered me, a beautiful bay, large but gentle. They helped me mount it by stepping onto a log, and I headed north, carrying my backpack. I was happy, as riding the horse allowed me to experience the forest more closely, a place that always drew my soul like a goat to the forrest. Without a doubt, some ancestral memory of the wild woman that I once was remained in my genes. I let the horse carry me at its steady, unhurried pace as I filled my lungs with the thick scents of the forest and let the noise of the birds fill my ears. My eyes followed the flight of flocks of parrots and doves in the sky. Nearby was the lagoon Inaj pitaj –Water Long–, where the ruckus of chuñas, charatas, ducks, and other animals echoed, all coming to quench their thirst in this harsh, forgotten land, scorched by torrid summers and once home to tigers and jaguars, and mythological serpents. I arrived at Tonono River and crossed the large sandy area. On the other side I looked for the path that they had told me was “right there” and that would take me “straight to the community”. But, surprise! Before my eyes there was not “one path”, but several _ What now? _ I asked myself, observing the three paths that opened up before me. _ Which one would Fausto take? The one on the left, the right, or perhaps the middle?' I remembered a friend who in similar circumstances, consulted coca leaves to help him decide, but I lacked that ancient wisdom. So, to avoid making a mistake, I steered the horse down the middle path. I must have traveled for an hour, entering a forest that became denser with carob trees, thorny bushes, and ancoches, but there was no sign of Chustaj Lokwé. I had no idea where I was, and in my anxiety, I made the biggest mistake one could make in such circumstances. I left the path and went into the woods, thinking that perhaps I could find the community that way. I continued on with the poor horse, which struggled to dodge the thick branches of the trees and the prickly chaguar plants. I had no notion of the time that had passed and I continued walking without finding the path that would take me to the community. The sweat was running down my feverish forehead, and I realized from the trees that I kept passing the same spot over and over again. Was I going in circles? Everything seemed to indicate that I was. I tried to stay calm, but I was breathing heavily, exhausted, dead tired, hungry, and with a burning thirst consuming me from within. The forest, which had always been a welcoming home, my green refuge, now felt suffocating, threatening, like a wild animal with branches clawing at me with every step. _ 'This can't be happening to me! Where did I go wrong? They told me that once I crossed the river, there would be a path leading straight to the community just a few meters ahead. Why can't I find it? They must have given me the wrong directions, no doubt!' _ I repeated to myself angrily and kept riding the poor horse, who seemed even more lost than I was. _ 'Calm down! Calm down! Breathe... breathe... everything is fine!' _ I kept telling myself, but calm was like a delicate butterfly that landed on my fingers and flew away just as quickly. Then I would hear Fausto’s words again: 'Don’t go alone...' Now, trembling with fear, surrounded by forest spirits and goblins, I recognized my mistake. I should have listened to Fausto’s warning and the message from my dream, my Niña, telling me: _ STOP, DON’T GO ON! _ Overwhelmed and desperate, I finally accepted that I was lost, trapped in that green labyrinth. Terror took hold of me, I trembled with fear, but the worst was the mental suffering. I saw myself arriving at the village, chatting and laughing with the people, drinking cool water from the jar that was under the shade of a carob tree and suddenly I was overwhelmed by negative thoughts. I remembered what Fausto told me about people lost in the woods, how the heat makes them sweat, attracting hundreds of bees and wasps that pounce on their bodies, stabbing them with their stingers, causing painful swellings, and how little by little their minds become lost and their sense of direction becomes unbalanced, and they start running madly, torn by thorns. I dismounted under a leafy guayacán tree. I was completely soaked in sweat and thirsty. I sat down on a log, took out my canteen and, thirsty, took several sips of water. I took an orange out of my backpack and ate it. Becoming aware that I was lost and alone in that wild forest terrified me. I felt totally vulnerable, completely orphaned, and I let out all that fear in a scream that echoed in the forest like a mournful lament. For a long time I screamed for help until my throat hurt. I stopped, I felt dizzy, I was floating in the air as if I were levitating. I thought that the screams had taken all my energy, then my mind began to play tricks on me. Suddenly all the spirits and goblins of the forest that I knew through the stories of the Matacos appeared before me. There were the Wooden Goblins, their bodies were like dry branches, they liked to chase the lost and they watched them camouflaged with the trees and the foliage. Chamin, the “Skeleton of the Mountain” goblin, was the one who impressed me the most. They said he was a terrible entity that the Matacos themselves feared. Sometimes he allowed himself to be seen, but he preferred to be heard by making a noise similar to two branches colliding or the sound of footsteps dragging on dry leaves. I recognized him because he had a white head, large, round, protruding eyes, and terrible fangs protruding from his mouth like those of a jaguar, elongated and pointed. He had no muscles, he was pure bone and his neck was as thin as a finger. He was always wandering through the forest. Suddenly a hoarse song like that of a bird arose from the group. I looked carefully to see who the singer was and to my surprise I discovered Suweletaj, the gardener goblin of the carnations of the air. He lived in them, hanging from them like a nest. In that delirium I saw Etek, the goblin with the head of a sajasta, appear from among the bushes. He had once appeared to me during my siesta when I was playing under a blackberry plant in the yard of my house. He was a short, chubby goblin, with dark skin and boar's nails. He wore a chiripa and was bare-chested and bare-footed. He appeared suddenly and made signs with his hands for me to come closer. But the fear had paralyzed me, and I couldn't move and I was speechless. When my mother found me, I was as pale as a corpse and couldn't speak. They took me to the doctor, but he couldn't tell me what was wrong. I was like that without a voice for a long time, until one day my mother took me to a cuña ipayé, a shaman who had been recommended to her and who lived in the Guaraní community of Yacui. When I grew up, they told me that she cured me of my fright for seven days. At seven in the evening, they say that he called my name loudly three times. That was how he called my soul to return to the body, since it had escaped in fear. Apparently the healing worked because he gave me back my voice and little by little the confidence to play in the yard again. Now an adult woman, I looked at Etek with curiosity. I looked at him straight on, not defiantly but with respect. He looked at me too and smiled. I understood, that time when he appeared to me during my nap, he just wanted to play with me. The others continued to look at me strangely, as if to say: _ And this Sulú, who is she? Sulú in the Wichi Mataco language means, white woman. Luckily, fear paralyzed me so much that I did not run away, which would have been fatal. My heart was beating rapidly, the palpitations were a drum resonating in those lonely places in the woods, I felt that fear was a hairy worm crawling all over my body, so I closed my eyes tightly and repeated out loud: _ This is not true!... It is not true!... It is not true!... When I opened my eyes, the group had disappeared. I began to breathe deeply and calmed down and thought: _ How stupid I was for not listening to my inner child warning in the dream! Why didn't I listen to Faust? How many more times would I have to hit myself in life to learn to see the signs? _ With effort I regained control of the runaway horse in my mind. The heat was pressing hard and thirst dried my mouth, bitter from the taste of fear in my skin. I lit the fire hoping that someone would see the smoke from afar and locate me because I thought that surely at that time they were already looking for me. The Doves, seeing that I didn't return, would realize that I was lost. I waited by the fire for a long time, but I was heartbroken when I realized that no one would come. Every moment I looked at the sky in search of the sun to locate me along its path, but it was completely covered in clouds. I thought it best to get back on my horse and find the way. I tried to get on the horse but it was too tall. I tried swinging one leg, but with such bad luck I fell backwards and hit my head against the ground. I stayed there for I don't know how long. I woke up, slowly opened my eyes and then I saw that the clouds were parting and the sun was visible. I was able to locate myself there, and I realized that instead of going back I was moving away. Then, like in a dream, wrapped in the dust of a whirlwind, a human figure appeared. It was an old Mataco man walking towards me. He was very old, like an ancient carob tree. He was wearing a large, wide-brimmed palm hat, a machete hanging from his waist and a coil of rope across his chest. His large feet caught my attention, with toes sticking out of worn leather flip-flops. The old man came to me and without saying a word he brought the horse to me and helped me mount it, he took the reins and we started walking, I on horseback, he on foot. We made the whole journey in silence without saying a word. We reached the main road from where I saw the Palomos' house. I gave a shout of joy, and I was laughing and crying at the same time and when I turned around to thank the old man I saw him disappear into the woods. That night, already in the safety of my house, I felt a deep joy that invaded me completely. I understood that I had passed another test in my life, a transforming experience that demanded the deepest part of my being. I had faced fear in its purest form, alone in the middle of a threatening I never knew which road we took, I do remember that we never crossed the sandbank of the river, nor did I ever know who the old man was. I investigated, I asked Creoles and Aborigines but no one knew him. mountain, surrounded by spirits and memories, but I had managed to overcome it. I had emerged from the green labyrinth, not only physically, but also emotionally intact. I felt infinite gratitude. I was alive, safe and at peace with my soul, enriched by that powerful experience, because not only had I managed to get out of the mountain, but with me I had taken my Little Girl out of the dark path of loneliness and fear in which she was lost and in which she lived for so many years."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The Book and the Shade"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The lights have just gone out in the restaurant I was passing by. The last waiter left and locked the door. The chairs, taken to the tops of the tables resembled antlers of baby deers. I was almost past the dark window when a long shadow stepped out into the street. It crawled higher and higher, and I had to lift my head to watch the thing grow. Second, third, fourth floor. I see in the shadows something that looks like a head now. A bald head with a fleshy aubergine-like nose, a chewed-up face and maize for the hair. The creature smells like roasted sesame seeds, Aleppo chillies, and barberry. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I wonder if I woke it up by causing a scandal here in the café today, while carrying THAT book in my backpack. The man who handed it to me said that it was filled with ‘Arabic recipes and other interesting records’. But I sensed that something was wrong with it. More important: what does this thing want and what should I do next? Is it just a disembodied spirit that has to remind me of something, or should I start to panic? I crossed the road just in case. Shadows showed me that the Shade followed me. I looked around. Restaurants and barbershops used to make the lane very busy during the day. But now it was the other way round. Not a single residential building. Not a single window is lit, not a single sign, just a few streetlamps. No sound except for the creaking of cars a mile away, and here only the rustling of rubbish from the wind and my own heavy breathing.\n\nAnd I didn't even seem to be running. Or was I? I begin to realize that the shadow of the Shade is constantly growing, and I am continually speeding up my pace. But where was I going? Stop! I'm going deeper into the lane, farther away from the light and echoes of the streets, closer to complete darkness in a dead end.\n\nAnd the stench. It becomes so sharp, irresistible and overpowering. Not only fried oil and spices. The rot of discarded vegetables, the flytrap of stale minced meat and the completely artificial note of some detergent are blended into this stench. It might have been called ‘sea breeze dishwasher’, but it was more like clothes that were worn for a week. Something has to change, otherwise I'll just suffocate. I start to feel pieces of rotten meat in my throat. It has to be stopped! I stopped and turned around to face the Shade . Now it is no longer just an amorphous figure with a head. It is a giant parody of a human made of vegetables and fruits, with arms, legs and neck connected by pieces of meat and grey slime, like the gastric juice of some alien. It's as if someone grew a meter-long zucchini and a half meter-long corn and made a human figure out of them. Then diluted it with vegetables, fruits, meat and fat. And then breathed life into this creature, like Pygmalion into his Galatea. As I supposed, the figure is holding a mop, also made of giant vegetables and herbs on a bamboo handle. Of course, the morning's argument in that café caught up with me in this... incredible way. But screw psychoanalysis! This thing is coming at me. A few more steps, and I'll find out if it's spirit or flesh. But if it's flesh, then this will be the last mystery in my life that I've solved. This thing will just squash me like a cockroach. What the heck do I do? I look around, but I don't see a way out. I can only run into a dead end. Fight? With a creature as big as twenty men? I am still running back. Maybe there is going to be an opening to the next street, some open doors... But there's only a brick wall with no ledges and about four meters high. There's no way I'm going to reach its top. I'm weak. A sickly bookworm who lives behind a computer and in an armchair. Why are you even fighting with anyone, you weakling? If you didn't mess with the cleaner, you wouldn't feel guilty when you passed a café with the Book, you wouldn't smell the spices... Oh, God!\n\nMy backpack off my back, come on! Open, you bloody zipper! The scarf, the book, there they are, rustling! A pack of onion rings for tonight's beer! Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze them. I squeeze the onion rings in the pack and open it. I shove them into my mouth, but don't swallow, I have to taste them. I shove small pieces into my nostrils. First the right, now the left. It burns the mucous membranes! It feels great! The smells of spices and fried food disappear, stop squeezing my throat. I lift my head. The man with the mop is slowly turning into an amorphous Shade . The Shade blurs and eventually dissolves into thin air. I think I realized what had happened just in time. All day long I was tormented by a sense of guilt for that savage scream at the cleaner. He had just hit a set of spices. He was most likely also pushed by someone else. Oh, I went to a meeting smelling like chili, turmeric and barberry. So what? Yes, I was sleep deprived and had just had an unpleasant conversation. But what the hell did the cleaner have to do with it? Or his Jamaican heritage? I'm not some kind of arsehole! Or am I? Am I the right person to get hold of the Book? I put some more onion ring crumbs in my nose: I have to pass the café again. I called a taxi. At home I washed my face and hands with soap and water and then thought about what to do with the Book. To be honest, I should destroy this leather-bound thing written in Arabic script. Who knows what other monsters it can summon. And from whose head but mine.\n\nOn the other hand, I don't have many things left from my father.\n\nOr maybe it's just some kind of perverse curiosity? I have to sign up for Arabic lessons tomorrow. Then we'll see."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The Owl's Nest"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Doctor Antigone ‘Alti’ Foxglove had left the last package delivered to her small but well-appointed manor for last. On the walls hung long-lost antiquities and pieces of puzzles and long-lost languages that she was currently deciphering. She had received several relics from her last trip to Iran wrapped specially for her but the last box was from an address she didn’t recognize. The Dean of Varunkirk University’s Archeology and Antiquities department had set the ancient tablets on one of her many desks next to a few of her reference books on the ancient Elamites and other remnants of their civilization that she had ‘acquired’ during her travels.\n\nIt wasn’t from her chess opponent, either. Alti was worried about him: he usually responded to her chess moves within a week. Her chess board was set up ready for the next move in the far corner of her library. The young and slender archeologist circled the box. It was too light to be an artifact that she had forgotten to catalog - although that hadn’t happened in years. The sun’s final rays were dropping and Dr. Foxglove lit a candle so she could better study the mysterious delivery. Opening the box she made a curious discovery: a wooden fox mask - gilded with orange and white feathers - and a glossy black envelope: An invitation “to an interesting dinner of which it would behoove you to attend.” Alti didn’t like that. Instead of a signature or any sign of who sent the mysterious message, she turned the matte black card over and saw a symbol of a gold-embossed six-fingered hand. Dr. Foxglove’s stomach dropped. Did they know? She ran to the ancient Bolivian mask in her library - above her chess set - tilted it aside, revealing the safe, spun the dial and opened it. She immediately caught her breath as she gazed on the mummified, severed, six-fingered hand. “Good,” she said, feeling the relief washing over her. She checked the invitation again for a date of the “interesting dinner” but only found a series of symbols at the bottom of the back of the fashionable invite. “Eight characters long,” she said to herself. “A date.” With the first, fourth, and fifth characters matching, she figured that that was a ‘one’. “It is October, after all. Musn’t dilly-dally,” she said, hoping she was imitating her mysterious host. “Halloween, then?” She guessed. 10/31/193- She filled in the two blanks for the current year. If it was another year she could wait. No time.\n\n“Address?” She said to herself. “Where are you?” She asked the mysterious host. Alti was fascinated with hidden codes and ciphers and followed her first instinct: holding the card up to the slowly dying fire in her small fireplace. Another code revealed itself. “Ahh,” she said, quickly writing down the symbols. She stopped midway through... Persian Cuneiform. She laboriously deciphered the phonemes of the dead language and read it aloud. It was indeed an address: a manor on the north side of Varunkirk, North Carolina. She wasn’t exactly familiar with it but she had a terrible feeling of what was to come. Thousands of miles away, a pilot named Tex yelled over the noises of a spanner and a few other machines that another man, Sphinx, was using to fix an engine. “Package! SPHINX! PACKAGE!” The young pilot cleaned his grease-stained fingers before standing and running them through his brown hair. “Oh?” “Myrtle said she received this this afternoon,” Tex said, his voice returning to a normal volume as the work stopped. He was carrying a somewhat ornate wooden box. “Kinda heavy, Sphinx. Fancy wood too.” The Texan pilot stomped over to Sphinx and thrust it in his arms. “Open it and give us all a look-see.” The young pilot grunted. “I certainly didn’t order anything from SEARS.” Who would send him such a box? A crazy ex like Rouge? Someone wanting to get his attention? ...A new admirer? He hesitantly opened the box. Within it was a wooden mask embroidered with feathers to make it look like a bobcat and a matte black card.\n\n“What is this kitsch?” Sphinx asked as he went from the mask to the card. \n\nHello mr. Sphinx, it began. Included in this package is a mask befitting your personality I believe. You are invited to an interesting dinner at ... at this point, it gave an address in North Carolina. Well that was certainly strange. And theatrical. The letter continued. I cannot as yet reveal my identity. I hope you do not think it too suspicious. A family mystery and a mystery that envelopes the town might draw your curiosity. We hope to see you on this coming Halloween. Sincerely, Mr. Owl Enclosed with the invitation was fifty dollars. Attend or not, here is a token of our appreciation. “Whatcha think?” Tex asked, his curiosity piqued.\n\n“Probably some rich socialite wanting to spice up their party.” Sphinx replied as he held the mask up to his face. It was a perfect fit.\n\n“You going?” Tex asked.\n\n“With the price of everything these days, yeah. I’m interested in seeing how ‘Agatha Christie’ this party turns out.” \n\nTex sighed. “At least pack an iron, partner. You know your track record.” \n\nHalloween was a couple weeks away, and so - when the date drew near - he got in the PBY with Tex and said goodbye to Amara and the rest of the crew. “Haven’t you ever heard of curiosity killing the cat?” Amara asked, clutching his arm through his open window. She herself was a beastial - a leopard from a mad scientist’s genetic experiment. “Killing cats is nearly impossible my dear,” Sphinx said smiling, leaning down to kiss her wet black nose as Tex began preflight checks. “You sure this is worth it, James?” Tex asked. The devil-may-care pilot rarely used his squadron leader’s first name.\n\nSphinx shrugged as he popped a stick of Beeman’s in his mouth. “We won’t know till we try.”\n\nIt was a long flight, with the two taking turns, each wondered if they should have brought more crew. Finally though they landed by the boatdocks, the fishermen ogled the new arrival. Seaplanes were still a commodity.\n\nIt was a quaint town with a beautiful university and a few well-to-do homes. Finding lodging wasn’t hard, it was the next day that Sphinx was worried about. The bed and breakfast was run by a nice older woman who knew how to make an old fashioned breakfast. It was dark and overcast outside, and the tall trees bent in the foreboding wind. “Nice breakfast,” Tex commented. “Shame about the weather... and the reason for the visit.” “It’s good atmosphere for All-Hallows, or Samhein as the Celts called it.”\n\nTex chuckled. “Always about the folktales. You upset anyone recently, James?” Tex said, sipping his coffee. Sphinx shrugged. “It’s an invite to a party, Tex. Who's to say I upset someone?” “Look just be careful alright? If you’re not back at a good time I’m charging in.”\n\nThe day passed into night as Sphinx set out for the party, pulling on his mask and the best suit he could afford. Following directions given by a little kid near the pool hall, Sphinx and Tex found the address.\n\nThe house itself was between a mansion and a manor. In the suburbs and wet Halloween night it loomed like a Hollywood set. Tex waited at the curb in the shadows while Sphinx pulled the cord at the doorstep, letting rip a shrill bell. A few stomps and a menacing creak of the huge oak door later and Sphinx beheld the butler, looking exactly like Boris Karloff.\n\n“Mr. Bobcat,” he intoned sullenly. “I apologize, but I must search you for... weapons.” “Right - had a feeling,” Sphinx replied as he handed off a Colt 1908. Wasn’t his usual piece, it was just something he wouldn’t mind parting with. The pat-down was quick but heavy-handed as Boris gestured to the front parlor. “You will find your compatriots in the dining room, around the left corner.” Sphinx expected to hear voices or some other sign of life but could only hear the ticking of a nearby grandfather clock. At the head of the table set with food that Sphinx had rarely been treated to, was a man in an owl mask and double-breasted suit. The three other guests were also wearing animal masks: a woman with red hair in a scarlet dress wearing a fox mask, a slightly overweight man in a pinstripe suit wearing a badger mask, and a man in a business suit wearing a rabbit mask. Sphinx suddenly felt underdressed. “Have a seat, Mr. Bobcat,” the owl man said, gesturing to a seat next to Ms. Fox. “Go ahead and converse for a bit. Enjoy the food and wine.” “Sure thing.” Sphinx replied as he looked at the other guests. They were all reluctant to touch the food or wine - possibly for the same reason he was. “March Hare,” he said, nodding to the man in the rabbit mask who looked at him nervously. “...Not a book lover, I take it.”\n\nMs. Fox smiled and offered her hand. “I appreciate your reference, Mr. Bobcat,” she said elegantly. “You have some... grease on your undershirt’s collar. A mechanic?” “No ma’am, I’m a pilot,” he replied. “And you are… a scholar? You still have some chalk on your fingers.” \n\n“Perhaps I mine chalk in my free time,” she said smirking. Sphinx chuckled. “An, interesting profession if that’s true then.”\n\nMs. Fox returned the chuckle warmly. An outburst. “What is this?!” The badger sputtered, slamming his hand on the table and causing the rabbit next to him to cower along with the clatter of silverware. “Tell us what we’re doing here or I’ll call the police!” The owl calmly set down his wine. “I noticed none of you are drinking or eating. I assure you I have no interest in poisoning you. I’ll drink as well if you’re worried about being... off balance. Please, indulge. The night is young.” “I’m just curious why we’re here.” Sphinx grunted, “You sure you didn’t get the wrong address?” The owl took another sip of his wine. “I gave three of you a very good reason to be here, emblazoned on your very invitations. Now the fourth one... why they are here I happen to understand on a deeper level.” Sphinx merely observed. The owl man had a deep voice and crisp tone. He was very calm and reserved. Sphinx looked at the other guests: The badger and hare were avoiding each others’ gaze while ms. Fox smiled at him mischievously. Soon the group returned to hushed conversations. Ms. Fox, her shining red hair a short mane of flame around her face, sniffed her wine. “A pilot? ...I have the feeling that this is a business venture.” “Not a bad guess, hell of a sales pitch.” “May I ask what induced you to appear here, Mr. Pilot?” Ms. Fox asked, taking another sip of wine. “Intrigue, I suppose, and a chunk of dough. How about you, Ms. Fox?” A slight pause. “Intrigue was good enough for me,” she said mysteriously. “Curiouser and curiouser,” Sphinx replied. Ms. Fox chuckled once more. “Are you the Cheshire cat, Mr. Bobcat? Or merely wearing his smile?” “I’m good at disappearing.”\n\n“And how about you, Mr. Badger?” Ms. Fox asked across the table, leaning suggestively. “What brings you here?” “I’m not a badger and you’re not a fox,” Mr. Badger said. “Stop playing this... idiot’s game.” “So who are you then?” Sphinx prodded him. “I’m nobody! Sh-shut up!” Mr. Badger said, gulping down a glass. “Who are you, kitty cat?” He said, pointing back. As mature as Sphinx was, he was still young and he couldn’t resist. “I’m the Cheshire cat of course.” Ms. Fox laughed behind her sleeve as Mr. Badger’s jowls turned red. “You child...” the man grumbled.\n\n“How about you March hare?” Ms. Fox asked. “Wh-what? Wh-me?” He asked, nervously taking a sip of his wine. “I-I’m an open book, heh. Whatdyawanna know?” “How about profession? Or do you have one?” Sphinx asked. “Do you two know each other?” The badger interrupted, pointing a slightly fat, drunken finger at the other side of the table. “You two seem to be thick as thieves.” “I don’t know, we’re wearing masks.” Sphinx replied. Ms. Fox chortled before reigning in her laughter. Mr. Badger, once again defeated, mumbled something and Sphinx caught the word ‘station’. The Hare, nearly forgotten, seemed to relax before Ms. Fox leaned forward again. “Mr. Cat asked you a question, rabbit: what kind of occupation do you hold?” Mr. Hare’s eyes rolled behind his mask in a distracted, fearful fashion. “A pencil pusher is all.” “Bookkeeper perhaps?”\n\nTheir conversation was interrupted by the reverberating clang of silver on glass as Mr. Owl stood, tapping his wine glass with his fork. “All very entertaining, but unfortunately I cannot keep you here... forever.” He looked around at the guests. Sphinx folded his arms. “As I mentioned before, three of you have been invited here... coerced here... by means of your own indiscretions. One of you is here of your own volition: a sense of duty or intrigue.” Again, with a sense of drama, he looked around the table. “One of you has used their family’s ill-gotten wealth, including the death of a scion of the city, to create a highly lucrative international smuggling ring.” The guests all looked at each other. Mr. Badger seemed especially interested, leaning in and examining Sphinx and Ms. Fox. “This really is an Agatha Criste novel,” Sphinx whispered. Ms. Fox lightly giggled and laid her delicate hand on his forearm. “Another of you is a government drone to most... but a talented forger to some. You’ve hidden your talents for a long, long time... it’s time to use your talents for a greater use.” The rabbit-mask wrung his hands. “...And another of you is the head of a large, local law enforcement agency. You’ve gotten your paws very, very dirty indeed, and you will grease our wheels in the endeavor that I am about to propose to you.” The badger man suddenly sat stock still. Sphinx looked from one to the next. Reading reactions, he had one figured already.\n\n“The fourth one, whatever their motive for being here, knows how to disappear in one place and reappear in another. This time, with crates of relics... or perhaps more?” Sphinx leaned back. “So, are you intending to blackmail everyone into working for you or something?”\n\nThe owl man nodded to the bobcat. “If you want to paint it that way,” he said in his smooth tone. “However I believe that this meeting could blossom into something much more lucrative for us all.” The three other guests seemed to slump into their chairs while the hare’s slump was followed by a little, continuous shiver. Alti had thought about everything that had gotten her to that point. She liked Mr. Bobcat but was a little put off by how clever he was. Her life of schemes had come back and now Mr. Owl - whom she suspected was a colleague of hers at the university that she had only heard of - was using her colorful past to build some kind of smuggling empire. But perhaps it could be fun. The owl continued. “You all know that I know you, and now you all know each other’s... if not the specific misdeeds, the broad outline of them. I strongly recommend you do not reveal your identities to each other. However, with my guidance, I believe this new venture could be extremely... interesting.” The badger set his wine roughly on the table. “All right. I’m in.” “M-me too,” the hare said, knowing he was trapped. Ms. Fox was more reticent. She held her wine glass up to her discerning eye before finally speaking. “...I’m in if Mr. Bobcat is.” With that, the other four turned to Sphinx. He had no intention of furthering some criminal agenda, but he wasn’t an idiot. Time to play them. \n\n“Sure, it could be fun.” "
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Splish, Splash, Crash"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Splish, splash. Splish, splash, crash. Splish, splash. Splish, splash, crash... The continuous rhythm and roar of the ocean waves, the tropical light burning through the morning clouds, and the seagulls’ lonely cry, awakened Sandy Harris lying on a desolate beach. Her fingers grasped the wet sand, her feet and legs soaked up the waves, and her eyes opened to the burning sun. She shielded them with her left hand and sat up with her right. The dry sand cascaded from her arms and fingers. “Where am I? Is this the Caribbean?” Sandy scanned the deserted coastline. Just the gulls were her company. She peered out into the clear blue waters. Not a boat or cruise ship around. The Manhattan socialite's long sun-bleached hair draped over most of her naked skin. “Must have been a great party.” Sandy grinned and rubbed her head. “No wonder I have a migraine. Where is Mario?” Just a few feet away, she spotted white linens and three leather straps. She quickly fashioned the raw materials into an adequate sarong, head covering, and sling purse. “It’s not making the cover of Elle, but it will do for now.” Sandy scanned the horizon. “How did I get here? Did Mario whisk me away to paradise?” She caressed her neck and discovered jewelry missing. “Where did my necklace go?” \n\nThe former fashion model expected her newest paramour to step behind a palm tree holding the necklace and bringing her a fruity cocktail with the little umbrella. \n\nHe did not appear.\n\nSandy strolled on the white sand and smiled as she collected pretty shells and odd metal strips. No trash washed ashore or littered the pristine terrain. The air smelled clean and salty. A few seagulls followed her. \n\nShe recalled that her friends, Seravina and Mario, had eaten a fancy brunch. She rode a limo with Mario to Madison Square Garden. They exited the vehicle and walked up to a ‘57 Chevy. He mentioned an exchange. There were two gunshots. Was there an explosion? “Where was he?” She longed for her boyfriend and peered up and down the beach. Mario had his own business and secrets; so did she. He had always been so sweet and generous, even buying her the custom designed jewelry. But would he abandon her now?\n\nSeravina had warned her about the playboy and his unsavory connections to persons of ‘ill repute’. Although Sandy had only known the mysterious Seravina for a few months, they had bonded over Chi lattes, high fashion, and deceased parents. Seravina's second skin was Gucci. With her impeccable wardrobe, witty vocabulary, and British accent, Vina embodied sophistication and class. \n\nExcept at Coney Island. Her refined friend transformed into a thrill-seeking lunatic. Vina conquered every nauseating ride and carnival game.\n\nShe devoured all the deep fried and sugary treats. To top it all, Vina purchased them matching graphic t-shirts; Sisters from different Misters. Vina said, ‘It is just a jest. We shall blend in among the peasants.’ Sandy chuckled thinking of the gaudy novelty gift, but never wore it.\n\nThe fashionista walked for an hour before she rested under a coconut tree. Her stomach grumbled after reminiscing about the theme park food. Sandy rubbed her feet and cleared her dry throat.\n\nShe stood up, picked up a rock, and threw it at the coconuts. On her fourth attempt, she nailed the tropical fruit and it crashed to the sand. She cracked it open on a boulder and drank the coconut water. “Ah, so good.” The coconut separated into two parts and she dug her nails into the raw coconut meat. She scarfed down the white fruit and gagged at first. When she slowed down her eating, the coconut did satisfy her hunger. \n\nIt reminded her of Girl Scout Samoa cookies. She had been in Scout Troop 97. Her den leader was Helen Bleacher. “I loved that crazy witch. She was so much fun.” Sandy tried to recall Ms. Bleacher’s survival advice. Sandy mocked the scout leader’s voice, “Why am I telling twelve-year olds how to survive in the wild? Cause you never know. ” “Ok, Bleacher, let’s see if I was a good scout. Basics: food, shelter, water.” She held up the nearly empty coconut shell and leaned against the tree. “Two out of three.” She ate more coconut and then tossed some on the beach. The seagulls attacked the scraps. “Interesting.” She tossed some in the ocean. Little silver fish swam to the surface and nibbled at the coconut.\n\nSandy removed the remaining meat and placed it inside the other half. She washed out the empty side in the saltwater. She went back to the tiny fish and scoop three into her cup. The girl scout grabbed one by its shimmering tail and lifted it to her mouth. “I’m glad I like sushi.” It wiggled in her mouth and down her throat. “Not bad. A little salty.” She snagged the second and devoured it. “I need some fresh water.” Ms. Bleacher’s voice said, “ You also need a fire. So gather some dry sticks.” Sandy found several dry branches and brown leaves and gathered them near her coconut tree. She picked up some dry grasses and would use them for kindling. For a half hour she rubbed two sticks together, but only hurt her hand and broke a nail. In frustration, she picked up a shell and chucked it at the endless melodic waves. The beauty missed but hit a large boulder. A small spark ignited on impact. “I can’t even hit the...” The southern bell threw another shell and the boulder definitely sparked. She walked to the rock. She withdrew the small metal piece from her purse. As the girl scout scraped it along the rock, a line of sparks burst forth. It was magnesium. “Yeehaw!” Sandy ran back to her camp and grabbed her cup and a shell and darted back to the element. She rubbed the shell against rock and collected the filings in the cup. She securely placed the cup in the sand. The survivalist found a different stone and banged continuously against the boulder until it cracked. With two palm-size pieces and the magnesium filings, the amateur chemist returned to her camp. She poured half the filings on the kindling. She knocked the two pieces of magnesium together but nothing happened. Sandy remembered the metal and sparks flew on impact. Sandy rubbed it across the element and shiny stars flew into the kindling igniting the magnesium filings into smoke and then a flame. “Yahoo! I HAVE MADE FIRE!” The southerner jumped for joy, and nearly extinguished her infant flame. She slowly fed the flame into a roaring campfire.\n\nA proud smile gleaned from her sunburned face. “Roasted coconut and sardines for dinner tonight. Yum. Science Rules! Who said it was unethical to date my chemistry professor?” Ms. Bleacher’s voice replied, “ I did. ” “Oh shut up. He was cute. I wish he had told me about his wife. I didn't know he would become obsessed. I got an A+.”\n\nSandy stored her cup, the flint rock, and the metal filings into her purse. She ate a bit more coconut. “What’s next?” The scout leader said, “ Find a clean water source. Like a small stream entering the ocean.” “I could just boil the seawater to remove the salt.” Sandy replied. “How will you collect the water vapor, science girl?” “Good point. I will search the shore.” “Good girl. ” Ms. Bleacher said. Twenty minutes later, the chemist spotted a colorful stream coming from the tropical trees and entering the sea. Upon further inspection, the rock beneath was a fluorescent green and yellow, but the water was clear. She reached down and touched the water. It was bath-water warm with a slight smell of sulfur. She brought forth her utility cup and filled it up. The survivalist sipped and then downed the entire cup. She followed the stream into the shade. She refilled her cup and gulped the cooler liquid. The girl scout searched the stream’s banks. Red, black and blue berries lined the right side.\n\nShe skipped over the creek. Ms. Bleacher spoke up, “ If you eat a round berry of red, you’ll soon be dead. ” Sandy replied, “But blue or black, keeps you on track.\n\nI got a badge for that.” The dirty blonde picked some large blackberries and several ripe blueberries. “Mmmm.\n\nThese are amazing.\n\nI could stay here forever.” The berry enthusiast picked more of each and stored them away in an extra piece of linen.\n\nAs she scanned the left bank, she noticed strange markings on the trees. It appeared to be letters, but they were upside down and sideways with small dots in between. Weird. \n\nShe devoured another blackberry. When she looked up at the marks again, she could read it. “Blackberry, blueberry, mango, guava, raspberry, ... Where am I?” The linguist followed the signs and the stream until she reached a prickly shrub at least fifteen feet high and two hundred yards long. She could not walk through the thick barrier. Exotic birds chirped around her and cicadas sang their sad song. Large vines draped down from the tropical trees and over the barrier. She pulled on a large vine; it didn’t fall. “Time to climb some rope. Got a badge for that too.” “ You were my best climber.” Ms. Bleacher said. Sandy wrapped the vine around her left leg and pulled herself up slowly. “I really have to,” The girl scout struggled to climb, “do more upper body work.” She rose higher. “No more skipping arm day.” Bleacher announced. Sweat poured from her trim body and face. Sandy gave her aching arms and legs a rest, when she reached the top. The scout master said, “ Get your bearings from a higher vantage point.” The scout groaned and pulled up higher than the barrier and leaned against a tree.\n\nShe could see over the tall shrubs. It was a small village in the rainforest. Four grass huts with palm leaf roofs and a campfire in the center.\n\nShe observed a child’s swing on the left side swaying in the breeze.\n\nShe had to get closer. The adventurer swung on her vine until she reached a vine inside the compound. Sandy tugged on the second vine and then released the first. \n\nAbout halfway sliding down, the second vine twitched and then snapped. The girl scout tumbled out of the sky. “Ohhh!! Shitttt!!” Sandy landed square on her back, which caused her to lose her breath.\n\nAs she struggled to breathe, the den leader's voice echoed in her head. \"You are not going to die. Just relax.\" After several minutes, her regular breathing resumed.\n\nShe checked and felt her legs, arms, and head. “Good, nothing broken. What’s this?” She sensed liquid gushing from her buttocks. “I’m bleeding. I’m gonna die.” Her right hand moved to stop the bleeding.\n\nIt wouldn’t stop.\n\nSandy retrieved her blue-stained hand. “Wait, my blood is red,” Sandy laughed, “I crushed the stupid berries.” “An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.” Ms. Bleacher warned. Sandy dusted herself off and removed the squished fruit. “Now I understand it.” She limped over to the swing. It also had the strange alphabet.\n\nShe held the wooden plank and traced the letters and interpreted them.\n\nA new reality dawned on her. “S, A, N, D, E, L, S, A.” Sandy whispered. “This is my name. This was my swing.\n\nThis was my home.\n\nMy parents are…” Tears formed and fell upon the carved wood.\n\nThe prodigal ran to each hut, but found them empty.\n\nStreams burst forth from her gray eyes. Sandelsa screamed into the forest. “Mama! Papa! MAMA! PAPA!” No reply came. A loud puffing sound echoed outside the compound.\n\nBOOM!\n\nA deafening explosion caused her to cover her ears. \n\nShe witnessed large white and black smoke towering over the tropical island. Ms. Bleacher chimed in, “ Where there is smoke…” “Thanks scout master, I got it from here.”\n\nSandy found the ground exit and sprinted through the jungle toward the volcanic activity. Ash and small bits of debris fell upon her as the sky darkened. It burned her exposed skin. Sandy covered her face with the linen and then crafted a makeshift scarf to cover her nose and mouth. The girl scout coughed and spotted a small cave.\n\nShe darted into it and stumbled to the back before the dark cloud descended further. The heated black smoke encompassed the entrance and destroyed all light. Sandy covered herself with a raggedy blanket just before it went pitch black. \n\nTen minutes later, small beams of light broke through the wall of darkness. \n\nFive more minutes and complete sunshine returned and illuminated the cave. Sandy bolted from the cave and toward the source of the explosion.\n\nA loincloth blur zoomed past her down the mountain. Sandy stopped and watched a muscular bearded man with dirty blonde hair zip toward the beach. “PAPA!” Sandy bellowed. He halted and ran back to his daughter.\n\nTears poured from his eyes as he scooped her up in his arms and sprinted back to the volcano.\n\nAll she could understand was her name. She stared into his gray eyes and kissed his beard. “Papa?” “Yeb, Sandelsa. Benghazi ukuthi uzofika, Sandelsa.\n\nUnyoko ulinde ukufika kwethu.” He kissed her cheek. “Mama?” Sandy cried. “Yeb, Mama.” Her father reached the base of the volcanic crater and made three great leaps at least twenty feet each to her parent’s base camp.\n\nSandy jumped away from him and ran to a white-haired female. Her mother kissed the top of her head. They embraced and wept. “Mama!” “Sandelsa! Sandelsa, uyi-orchid enhle.” Her father said, “Uyi-orchid yensimbi, uSandelesa wadlula esigodini.” Her mother smiled proudly, “Yeb, wadlula esigodini?” Sandy replied, “Yeb.” Her mother scolded her father, “Ngikutshelile ukuthi uzophumelela.” The bearded man shrugged and started filling a bag with their belongings. “Mama,” Sandy whispered, “I don’t know what you are saying.” “Thank goodness.” Her mother whispered back, “I’ve been waiting to speak the common tongue for thirty years.” She hugged Sandy. “I called you a beautiful orchid. He said you were a steel orchid.\n\nWe are so proud you made it past the village.” “How did I get here?” “We don’t know. We found you three days ago on the beach wrapped in linens. Your father thought you were dead and refused to bring you to the village. So we left you at your favorite spot on the beach. I sat with you at night to protect you from night creatures and crabs. Today, we were here, preparing to leave.” “Did you cause that explosion?” “Yes. It was glorious.” Mama grinned, “It opened up a portal away from this prison.” “A what?” “A magical door to another part of our world. We used the energy of the volcano and…” Her father said, “Sekwanele ukukhuluma, kumele sihambe.” “He’s right, we need to leave.” Her mother said, “By the way, what are you wearing? It is so stylish. I love it.” “It’s a sarong.\n\nI made it from the linens.\n\nWhere are we going?” Mama snagged a backpack and slung it on. “To the elves.” “Aren’t you an elf? Didn’t they banish you to this island?” “Yes, but the Empress has returned. She must be warned. The elves will be attacked in four days hence.” “Why can’t we stay here? It is so beautiful.” “This was not only our prison, but a death sentence.\n\nI have the foresight. This volcano will erupt in two days.\n\nWe would have left sooner, but I waited for you. I knew you would return to me.” Her mother caressed her right cheek. “Who is Mario?” “How did you know about him?” “My Orchid, you talk in your sleep.” “Oh.” Sandy blushed. “Mama, this is crazy. I don’t know anything about the elves.” “Sandelsa, my love, I shall teach you.” Mama looked over her shoulder. “Ulungile?” “Llungile.” Papa replied.\n\n“Ready? Ready for what?” Sandy asked. “This is so amazing, you are remembering your Dragon.” “Dragon?” The elf locked eyes with Sandy. “Love, you have forgotten so much, but I will assist you.”\n\n“Mama, how are we getting to the portal?” “Leap of faith.” Her mother pointed to the volcano’s edge. “We have to jump into an active volcano!\n\nAre you insane?” She touched Sandy’s chin. “This is the only way to see your sister.” “What sister?” Her mother ran to the ledge and swan dived.\n\nShe yelled as she descended. “Empress Seravina, your sister!” Before Sandy could speak a word, her father scooped her up and vaulted into the steaming crater. The girl scout screamed as they plunged toward the bubbling lava. “Whaaaaaaaaaa…” The volcano exploded into a pyroclastic cloud. The shock wave shuddered and rumbled the entire isle as pillars of dense smoke blanketed the tropical paradise.\n\nAway from the volcanic eruptions and smoke, a naked body splashed ashore on the pristine beach. The blue waters sloshed on the lifeless figure.\n\nThe ocean current tumbled the human back and forth on the wet sand. \n\nA severe aftershock vibrated the area and a dark haired young man awakened and coughed up seawater.\n\nHis weary eyes scanned his lush surroundings. He strained to crawl from the water to the dry sand. In agony, he crashed face first on shell-covered white linens.\n\nThe man breathed heavily and then smiled at his good fortune. He raised his closed fist and then opened it.\n\nA gold necklace with a jeweled amulet dangled from his wet fingers. Miniature jewels arranged in letters sparkled in the sunshine. The survivor mumbled the name just before exhaustion overcame body and soul. “Sandy.”"
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The Ruby"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The Congolian jungle: Untouched by civilization for millions of years. One of the most dangerous places in the world. And dead in the center of it, lie the most dangerous creatures of them all. \n\npoisonous lizards and exotic birds scamper through the larger-than-life trees. Giant spiders the size of dinner plates set their webs along small clearings in the brush. On the jungle floor, a massive colony of giant ants make their home, millions scurrying along the wooded ground. For 10,000 different species, this was home. Suddenly, breaking the natural silence, a rumble erupted from behind the woods. A small jeep, loaded with supplies, was attempting to navigate through the remote jungle. One man, staying ahead of the jeep, cut at the vines that draped along the jungle paths, letting the jeep drive through unscathed. This man was Jestwick Longbottom. Adventurer and treasure hunter extraordinaire. Hero of the great war, and finder of priceless ancient artifacts of the uncharted world. He’s spent a fair share of his life in unfamiliar and dangerous areas. This jungle is no exception. Behind him is his loyal crew. Dr. Najeep: Indian professor of the ancient world. Ron carter: American pilot, and professional gun-for-hire. And Albert Coup: Zoologist, specializing in the African and South American jungles. As anyone could see, Jestwick Longbottom and his crew were nothing but the best. And the prize they were searching for was just their kind of job. For years, Jestwick had been fascinated by the legendary Sahara Ruby. It took years of study and hardship, but at last he’d tracked it down. Right to the center of the Congolian Jungle. \n\n“I don’t think the jeep’s going to be able to cross this brush lads.” Jestwick said, as they reached a thick line of trees coating the path. “we’re going to have to continue on foot.” \n\n“Alright, bring only the necessities. It’s probably just a couple more miles to the shrine.” Ron stopped the jeep and hopped out. He opened the back of the jeep, revealing his massive collection of guns, smuggled back from the war. He took out a large shotgun and slung it around his shoulder. “This should do,” he said to himself. Coup and Dr. Najeep stepped out of the jeep, grabbed their packs and started heading north, to where the shrine should’ve been. “Let’s go everybody,” Coup said, “We should be able to get there before nightfall.” and so the crew of treasure hunters started on their way to the shrine, unbeknownst that a shadowed figure had been watching them behind the brush, eyeing their every move.\n\nA few hours passed, and Jestwick and his crew were still on their way to the ruby. “Longbottom!”\n\nDr. Najeep called from behind the group, fear in his voice. “We need to leave now.” \n\n“What in god’s name are you talking about Professor?” Jestwick said. “we’re nearly there.” \n\nDr. Najeep pointed to a carving on a nearby tree. “This is the sign of the Tusii, a tribe of cannibals. They’re one the deadliest native tribes in Africa.”\n\n“Cannibals?” Jestwick said with disbelief. “Dr. Najeep, finding this Ruby is my life’s work, and I’m not about to throw it all away because of some blasted cannibals!” Dr. Najeep stared at him in shock. “Fine.” Dr. Najeep said, “But if anything happens to us, it’s all on you.” \n\n“So be it.” Jestwick turned around and continued along through the Tusii’s jungle, the rest of his crew nervously following him, watching the brush for natives. hours passed as they continued their trek. Slowly, they hacked their way through the dense forest. In the back of the group, Albert saw something that caught his eye. \n\n“Hey everybody,” Coup called. “Come check this out.” Coup walked towards an eerie bundle of sticks, tied together to resemble a person. Twisted paintings and feathers covered the figure, getting more disturbing the longer Coup looked at it. Slowly, he reached out to it. Dr. Najeep looked over to him. Instantly he recognized it as the Tusii figure of death. He knew what would happen to Coup if he grabbed it. “NO!” he cried out to Coup, but he had already picked it up. He pulled the doll up to him but to his surprise, a string connected to the doll came up with it. In an instant, the string pulled back into the ground, and as Coup let the doll go, it made a loud click . Coup’s eyes widened as a massive log, covered with spears, came falling from the tree branches above. Coup didn’t run, he just looked up with pure fear, and screamed. The giant spiked log fell right on Coup, impaling every part of his body and forming a crater in the ground.\n\n When the dust cleared, Jestwick, Dr. Najeep and Ron ran over to the spiked log, Coup underneath it. They were speechless for a minute and then Ron abruptly broke the silence.\n\n“Screw This!” he yelled and ran in the opposite direction. “Carter!”\n\nJestwick yelled, raising his rifle at him. “If you leave now, Coup’s death will have been for nothing.” his finger gripped the trigger in anger. “It already was for nothing!” Ron yelled back. “That damn jewel wasn’t worth a life to begin with!” \n\n“If you take one step back, I’ll shoot.” Jestwick cried, loading his rifle. Immediately, Ron cocked his shotgun and aimed it at Jestwick. “It doesn’t have to be this way, Longbottom,” he said. The two men stood off in the jungle, each one’s finger on the trigger. Their hold on it getting tighter each second. Suddenly, Dr. Najeep Jumped in between them. “Stop this!” he cried. Jestwick looked at the Dr. and opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, a feathered dart jammed into his neck. His eyes went wide, and he stumbled backwards. A skinny figure emerged from the brush, covered in war paint and loincloths. He held a blowgun, the barrel aimed right at Jestwick. In an instant, Ron turned and fired his shotgun at the Native.\n\n The bullet hit the warrior and he fell to the ground with a scream. Dr. Najeep and Ron ran to Jestwick, who was on the ground in agony. Carefully, Dr. Najeep pulled the dart from his neck, and sniffed the venom coating it. “It’s puff adder venom.” Dr. Najeep said. “We need to get you to the Jeep now.” “No, no” Jestwick said weakly, “I have to get to it…the Ruby.” Jestwick got up slowly, his eyes had quickly become bloodshot and his skin clammy. Adrenaline coursing through him, Jestwick started to run up a large hill towards the shrine. “Jestwick!” Ron yelled. Dr. Najeep and Ron ran after him, slowly gaining, until Dr. Najeep saw a small wire on the ground. Unable to stop himself in time, he ran right into it. It snapped with a loud twang. Above him, he saw what must have been hundreds of boulders, hurdling down to the ground. “Look out!” he screamed. Ron and Dr. Najeep dived out of the way, as boulders crashed onto the ground. Below them, they heard a loud whooping, and dozens of natives ran at them from behind the brush, surrounding them. “Go!” Ron said to Dr. Najeep as he loaded his shotgun. “Get Jestwick! I’ll hold them off.” \n\nDr. Najeep sprinted to the top of the hill, not looking back. All in a few seconds, he heard the boom of the shotgun, again and again, the whooping of the natives, the throwing of a spear, then a cry of pain, and an abrupt silence. As Dr. Najeep got to the top of the hill. He saw Jestwick. And he saw the shrine. Jestwick called out to him. “Dr. Najeep, I found it!” He looked pale and shriveled, like he was already dead. Dr. Najeep ran to the shrine. “Jestwick!” he screamed. “We need to get out of here now.” but it was like Jestwick couldn’t even hear him. He was dazed at the sight of the Jewel, as if he was in a trance. Screams emerged from the top of the hill, and a group of natives ran down it, throwing spears and shooting arrows at the two explorers. Dr. Najeep snatched Jestwick’s rifle from his shoulder, realizing that Jestwick would be of no help, and began firing at the natives. He fired again and again, a body falling with each shot, until he heard a click from the gun. He turned to Jestwick, still gazing intently at the Ruby, “Jestwick, we need to get out of he-” \n\nDr. Najeep’s voice went hoarse. He tried to scream but no sound came out. He looked down. A spear was lodged in his stomach, impaling him like a skewer. He let out a groan, then slowly collapsed. Only then did Jestwick look. He saw Dr. Najeep’s corpse, and then looked at the hill expecting to see Ron, but only seeing a bloody body lying in the grass, clutching an empty shotgun. Then he remembered Coup, and his grisly demise. Jestwick dropped the jewel from his fingertips. It hit the ground silently and tumbled into the soft jungle grass. Jestwick realized what he’d done. This was his fault. All of it. Jestwick let out a cry of pure rage. He knew what he had to do. Jestwick pulled out his hunting knife, its sharp blade gleaming in the hot sun. He swished it around a few times, preparing for what would come. Fast as lightning, the army of cannibals surrounded him, their sharp wooden spears pointed to his head. Jestwick knew that there was only one way this would end. The famous explorer of the world clutched his knife in his hand and attacked.\n\nThe End "
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Lions In The Woods"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "“I think there’s lions in these woods,” Ko said.\n\n“Lions, Ko?” Robinson nervously scanned the line of trees. He was sitting on the left tire of their overturned vehicle; desolated in a meadow of tall grass. “What do you mean lions ?” The sun was beginning to set, darkening Ko’s face.\n\nIt was impossible to read his eyes, only Ko’s silhouette stood out against the melting sky. A shotgun was strewn around his shoulders, the barrel pointing towards the horizon. Robinson could barely see the glint of Ko’s blade, he was sharpening a piece of tree branch that had lodged itself into the motor.\n\n“Well it is Africa, John.” Ko continued to rigorously cut.\n\nTwelve days earlier, Ko had sent a letter to Robinson, inquiring about an expedition to South Africa. The two had become well acquainted during their time in Vietnam. Robinson’s regiment had stumbled upon the aftermath of an ambush, twenty-seven casualties. Ko was the only survivor. While they were nursing Ko back to health, all he would talk about were elephants. No one understood why. Ko mentioned how he’d read in a book once that elephants had the ability to remember faces. And, he spoke of how valuable their tusks were. Robinson shifted anxiously, “You said we’d be safe on the reserve.”\n\n“Safe? We’re poachers, John. It’s either the scouts or the wildlife that’ll get us.” Ko finished sharpening the stick. He ripped the branch from the motor, sending splinters of wood flying. “Be a dear and grab the matches, would ya?”\n\nThey had been following a herd of elephants for twelve hours now. Their car was equipped with snares and poison dipped darts before it was overturned. Now all they had left were the bullets of Ko’s gun. The men weren’t expecting to kill an adult, but they were keen on attacking the younger bulls. “ The Ivory ,” Ko had told him. That’s all they needed.\n\n“Now is not the time for a smoke,” Robinson said with a ring of skepticism.\n\n“It’s not for cigarettes, it’s for a torch.”\n\n“Won’t the torch just alert the scouts?”\n\n“It’ll help ward off the hyenas.”\n\n“Hyenas!?”\n\nCrack.\n\nThe men fell silent. The grass was still, the sound of crickets reverberating throughout the clearing. Robinson could hear the rattled breaths of Ko beside him. The sun dipped out of sight, leaving lingering hues of indigo.\n\n“Get the matches,” Ko said.\n\nRobinson fished around for the burlap sack, which he had placed on the hood of the car. Unfortunately, it was getting much harder for Robinson to see his hands. He prodded the empty space beside him. Robinson felt his neck hair rise. The bag was gone.\n\n“Ko,” Robinson whispered, “Ko the bag is gone.”\n\n“I can see it.”\n\n“What?”\n\nRobinson felt Ko’s hand on his shoulder, guiding his arm towards a shape, ways away from the car. Robinson strained his eyes to see a lumpy mass planted in the sward. Ko unlatched the shotgun from the strap across his back. He cocked the gun and with an affirming click, he hoisted the weapon to his shoulder.\n\n“How’d the bag get over there?” Robinson asked.\n\n“I don’t know. You probably knocked it over by accident.” Ko was perched beside Robinson, scanning the shrubbery.\n\nRobinson felt the head of a cold cylinder prod his back. He turned, facing Ko, who was pointing his gun at him. He nudged him with the barrel, indicating that Robinson should retrieve the bag.\n\n“What about the hyenas?” Robinson argued.\n\nKo gestured to his gun, “I’ll keep an eye out for you.”\n\nWith a deep sigh, Robinson turned back towards the bag. He realized that if he sprinted he could probably reach it within seconds. He just needed the matches. He climbed down from the overturned belly of the car and a new layer of fear enclosed him. He felt vulnerable on the ground. Ko’s “security” offered no comfort, seeing as there was no light to track hyenas anyway. Without further contemplation, he began to run. He could see the bag clearly now, the moon had traced the outline with a ghoulish glow. He halted right before it, dropping to his knees and furiously digging for the matches. Robinson felt the outline of a box in his grasp. In triumph, he yanked the matches from the compartment. That’s when he heard the rustling.\n\n“JOHN! RUN!” Robinson heard Ko shout.\n\nSix rounds were fired.\n\nRobinson didn’t hesitate. He could hear the rustling of the tall grass following him, licking at his ankles. He didn’t look to check. Reaching the car, Robinson clawed at the metal door beams in desperation. He could not get a proper foot holding. The weeds tangled around his boots as the rustling drew closer.\n\n Robinson felt a hand reach down and yank him up. He scrambled up the side door of the jeep and stood tall on the overturned vehicle. He darted his head around. The gun was missing, so were the bullets. All that they had was the stick Ko had sharpened as well as the matches Robinson just retrieved from the bag. That’s when he heard screaming.\n\nRobinson unbuttoned his shirt and hastily swaddled the branch. He pulled the matches from their box, striking a light. The flame; a single firefly in the night. Using the match, he ignited the branch which became a makeshift torch. Robinson could see the grass now. In the thicket of reeds, the pale faces of lions stared at him. Something was wrong.\n\nThe eyes were hollow and vacant in the light. Their mouths hung dry and their skin sagged. It was when they moved that Robinson felt his stomach twist. They slithered through the grass like centipedes, without making a sound. When Robinson raised the torch closer, he gasped. They weren’t lions at all, they were people. Thin, translucent people.\n\nTheir bodies were masked in the skins of lions. Poised on their toes as dancers would, they hunched over, arms longer than their legs, scraping against the dirt. He saw one of the creatures dragging something through the undergrowth. It was Ko. \n\nRobinson went cold. The hand that had helped him up the car was not his partner. He felt it now, sliding across his back prickling his skin. One by one the fingers pierced into his shoulder.\n\n“You should’ve been faster.” The flame dissipated and the moor went quiet. There are, in fact , lions in these woods. "
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Death Of A Dream"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Rose always wanted to be a musician. She always found herself fascinated by VMA and MTV awards. She’d spend hours envisioning herself with a shiny and polished grammy award. If Rose can travel to the underworld and fight to the death for this dream, maybe it will be hers in waking life. So Rose takes the bait and travels to the depths of the astral realm. Her thoughts blur and her body trembles as her consciousness rises out of her body like zombies re-surging to the earth. Rose arrives at a beige hall where a set of three light brown, wooden doors glisten. The three doors signify significant years in her music career. 10 years old (5th grade), 17 years old (her sophomore year of highschool), and 19 years old (her sophomore year of college). One door leads her to a memory where puberty breaks her voice in and she utilizes new vocal tools like vibrato for the first time. Another leads to her first time performing live. The final door leads to a time where she stops singing for a plethora of reasons, depression being one of the many. Her main fight is not Beyoncé or Taylor Swift, it is her doubt. There’s a secret that will light up her path beyond one of the doors. If she picks the right door, she will succeed.\n\nWhen Rose lands in the beige hall, her eyes are still adjusting to the room. The room fades into a bright yellow as her eyes settle and she gazes around and all there is is a void. There is green, black, and yellow cursive plastered on the walls in arabic. A fair skinned woman floats into the hall. Her feet are barely off the ground and she’s floating with angel wings for arms. The hall where each door is is locked. A blue screen is glowing on each door.\n\n“There is a time where you gave up your dream and that time is behind one of these doors.” A woman with brown long hair, brown tanned skin, and ghostly eyes says. “How do you know this?” Rose asks. “Because I’m one of your angels, your dream didn’t die at one singular point in time. Each time you nurtured them and awakened to your power, you felt fear. You overcame each fear with love but there came a time where the darkness consumed you,” the woman says. “What do you mean?” Rose asks.\n\n“Put simply…you worried that your strength could destroy more than it could heal so you avoided your gifts worrying that you would be nothing without your pain.” she says\n\n“i don’t understand,” rose says “you won’t understand now, it’s all repressed but you will once you watch all three videos we should get started now.”\n\nThe screens turn black and begin buffering with white dashes loading in the center.\n\n“You will watch ten second clips of these memories. They may seem distant because your body stores memories rather than your consciousness, which is why no spirit remembers when they transfer their souls into a new body.\n\n“Are you serious?” Rose asks. \"Where do dreams go?” she asks.\n\n“Well, they flutter into the abyss. They float in the air like oxygen and attach themselves to new bodies every day. That’s why dreams are so random. We breathe dreams like how we breathe oxygen.” She says.\n\n“Now this is very important,” the woman says. “You lost your way in one of these memories, and to acquire your dream once again, you will be required to cultivate enthusiasm, joy, gratitude, and bliss all at the same time. It sounds easy, but you do it more than you think and I’ve seen it often from you.” she says. “I lost my dream?” Rose asks.\n\n“Yes, you threw it away because you felt inadequate. But don’t worry, you can get it back,” the woman says, “but now the universe needs to know that you won’t do it again. The truest test of faith is distance. The universe is giving you a second chance. You’ve already done the work, but now walking through the right door will give it back.\n\nRose turns her head when she hears a chime in the distance. “How long do I have?” she asks. “You have an hour in earth time and 10 minutes in astral time. Which clip would you like to watch first? There’s no order you’re required to watch them in.\n\n“I want to choose number 19,” Rose says nervously. “Good choice,” the woman says. Before it starts, I ask her name. “I’m Ivy. Poise…but ivy.” she says smiling. My eyes held no hope in the clip. The more I learned, the more sorrow I felt. People believed in me less and less. Algorithms favored me less and less. Beauty faded with age and not substantially, either. I wasn’t old either, just unpolished. Insecure. I was just me. Swallowed by life’s conducive surprises. The blue screen turns black and my body trembles as the memory consumes me. The video is playing back a hopeless recall of the aftereffects of antidepressants. My face was plump and my stomach was round beneath my shirt, pulling the top half of it up to my chest. Without delay, this memory resurfaces. I pulled a notebook out of my bin of journals and rubbed dust off of the nape of my acoustic guitar. I peeked out of my window and the sun was setting smoothly. The guitar’s body was icy against my leg. The metal strings elicited pressure into my fingertips. As I pressed down, the guitar hummed in some random alternate tuning open d I believe.\n\nI wrote word upon word, stringing together broken sentences in harmony with c shapes up and down the fret. Scribbles were dancing across the page. After formulating a verse and a chorus, I propped up my phone against my sheets. I stared at my reflection through the phone, looking long and hard, I couldn’t tell who I was anymore, so I shut my phone off. Tears streamed down my face. After watching this clip, I wasn’t sure when I had even left my body. This had to be the death of the dream. The doubt, the insecurity, the fear of judgment, my heart felt heavy and torn.\n\n“You okay?” Ivy asks.\n\n“Yea, I’m alright. I just never thought I’d make it out of that time, i've come so far.” Rose says.\n\n“How so?” Ivy asks.\n\n“Well, I started playing guitar just a few years after I learned how to sing. Life shifted gears. My self image got so bad that I couldn’t even create in the way that felt the most fulfilling.” Rose says. “It all just felt surreal and unfair.” “Listen, Rose,” Ivy begins, “Life is going to throw obstacles at you, but it’s up to you what you’ll catch and what you’ll throw back. It’s not your fault what you went through, but it’s up to you to grow from it and plant seeds of hope in your own life. You get me?” she asks.\n\n“Yea I guess,” Rose says solemnly. I pick the next clip, the first one, number 10. I immediately glided into the hall of my 3rd grade auditorium. The warm lowlights cast a shadow on my chorus teacher’s face. Ms. Jones.\n\n“You remember the lyrics?” she asks softly.\n\n“Yes” I say. “Okay, sing the bridge for me” I sing quietly but my vocal chords tremble in a way they never have before. I cover my mouth in shock.\n\n“What was that?” I asked fearfully.\n\n“Your voice is blossoming,” she says with a wide smile. “That’s good. It’s called vibrato. Just go with it.\n\n“Okay,” I say. My bright burgundy choir robe drags against the dusty tiled floor. I walk up the steps, passing all the proud families and staff smiling in the distance. An applause erupts once we’re all prepped on the stage. My stage fright begins in my hands. They tremble ever so slightly and my heartbeat quickens, and the room begins to spin. I take a deep breath and try to relax. I don’t remember anything until my solo. The spotlight traces my face as I step up to the lead microphone and there I am singing the national anthem. I’m welted into the heart of fear, coldness, and bare emotion. The end of this moment is something I remember clearly. I promised myself that I would never humiliate myself in this way ever again. The love must have been real because I did this, over and over again within the span of a 10 year radius. When I get back to the hall, I find Ivy sitting cross-legged on the ground. Her legs are drifting slightly above the ground. I look down at my feet and all I see is a white skirt draped down my body, but I can’t see the legs. “How much longer do I have?” I ask.\n\n“you to have 5 more minutes,” she says.\n\n“Okay, let’s jump to the last clip, the one in the middle, 17.” I’m hesitant to open the last door. Ivy’s wings glow as she waits “this is it,” I whisper to myself. The door creaks open and there is a nostalgic ambience to the abyss. I walk through the darkness and my feet lead me to a high school talent show that took place during my senior year. My guitar is weightless, strapped across my shoulder. Only a few people make up the audience, and empty chairs are clustered together. A backing track begins and I play along with it. I open my mouth to sing, but I freeze instead and feel claustrophobic. My hands tremble, and eventually, the strumming slows to a stop. Sweat trickles down my forehead. The crowd is silent, confused, and their silence is deafening. I breathe remembering my 5th grade chorus teacher’s words. Whenever you feel scared, imagine you’re the only one on stage. No one else matters. With a deep breath, I clench my guitar and strum, gathering myself. I step closer to the microphone and an applause erupts in the crowd. I gasp the moment I return to the hall with ivy. Everything makes sense. “You didn’t lose your dream” she says “you just forgot that the world isn’t against you”\n\nThe truth pulls me into its suffocating embrace. Each of these moments is proof of my love for music. Love that lifted me, sustained me, and kept me. The vibrato at 10, the freeze at 17, the depression at 19. Each of these moments molded me and told one story. Each time I gave into fear, the dream slipped away. I gave up because I was afraid of myself. I was afraid to grow, to change, I was afraid of being different. There was never a singular path carved out in front of me. There was no step-by-step plan. “Exactly,” Ivy adds. “Your gift was never lost - it was just waiting for you to come back,” Ivy adds. “How do I make sure I don’t lose it this time?” i ask\n\n“By choosing love over fear, always.” She says “if you did it before, you can do it again” ivy smiles a warm smile. “Thankyou” I say.\n\n“Not a problem,” she says “The dream is yours, now go get it.”\n\nI wake up in my bedroom with sunlights engulfing my entire room. My guitar is right across from my bed with a post it note taped onto it. “Go get it :)” I pick it up and harmonize with the birds chirping in the distance. As I play the strings, they sing effortlessly, for the very first time in years. 5 to be exact. I feel whole. The dream never died. It was just waiting for me to believe in it again. "
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The Black Cat and His Book"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The cat, with fur black as the night sky wandered aimlessly down an overgrown path. His lean body winding like a river through the brightly coloured moss and shrubbery, his eyes alight with purpose, and behind him was a girl. Her bottom lip sticking out in the most displeasing way as she used a stick to abuse the shrubbery around her. At first glance one might simply think she is a bad egg, but if an individual were to really look at her they would see she was rather disheveled; much like someone who had recently fallen. She was covered in dirt and leaves that clashed horribly with her neon pink t-shirt, her hair was in tangles, and her hands and knees were bleeding from various small cuts.\n\nDisheveled as she was, she seemed determined to follow the black cat in front of her. If it turned right she turned right, and if it turned left she turned left. If the cat climbed over logs and under hills she followed faithfully, with an annoyed yet determined look on her face. Why might she be so unwavering in her pursuit of the black cat you might ask? Well, it all started six months prior when the girl had rescued an injured black cat from an alleyway, likely having been attacked by stray dogs or cruel people. The girl had begged her mother to let her keep the cat, promising to tend to its every need; and true to her word the girl managed to nurse the cat back to health. However, as time went by she noticed there was something strange about the cat she had named Mr. Merripen. Something peculiar that she couldn’t quite place, like a fond memory that had begun to fade over time. It wasn’t altogether unpleasant, but she couldn’t help but feel that something was amiss each time she gazed into the cat's golden eyes.\n\nSomething about the way his eyes observed her seemed far too human, like he was staring into the depths of her soul and bewitching her thoughts. The girl could sense something was off, and for months she stewed over this knowledge thinking she had gone mad. For months she waited for the cat to do something to validate this feeling of unease, but nothing ever happened. So again she waited, and waited, and waited. Until finally just as the first spring showers began and all the snow had melted the cat did something peculiar. It stole her favourite pink pen and darted out the window of her room.The girl had been so enraged as she chased the lithe cat through the neighborhood. Her cries of “No!” and “Mr. Merripen, give that back!” were ignored by the feline who would stop every now and then to see if she was still following. Its tail twitching back and forth, before sprinting off again; and finally stopping at the beginning of a moss covered pathway leading into the woods. There the cat would drop the pen and look between the woods and the girl expectantly, but the girl only grabbed her pen with a huff and left.\n\nHowever, that was not the peculiar thing that the cat did, the peculiar thing was that it would repeat this game of chase twice every day. Once in the morning and once in the evening, always stealing the girl's favourite pink pen. She did try to stop him many times,\n\nby building barricades, locking her pen in cupboards and hiding it in secret places, but try as she might, he always managed to find it. So often did this game of chase occur that the girl had come to expect it, and she no longer ran after the cat because she knew where it was going. Instead she would walk slowly behind it pouting as she kicked at rocks with her feet and muttered something along the lines of “Stupid black cat!” and “Wait till I get my hand on him, the beast!” Not that she would ever hurt him, but she hoped that she might scare him into stopping his little game of chase. When she would finally arrive at the mossy path the cat's ears would be laying flat on his head and his tail would be swishing back and forth in annoyance, and each time the girl would glare at Mr. Merripen and scold him as she took her pen back with a huff.\n\nWeeks passed like this until finally the girl had had enough. She longed to know just what was so special about that damned path, and why did Mr. Merripen seemed dead-set on bringing her there every day? So when he stole her pen the next time, she was determined to know why and broke off at a sprint behind the small creature. Once more it stopped at the mossy path and stared at her expectantly, an eerily human excitement passing through its eyes as it glanced between the forest path and the girl. Who glared back at him as she took a moment to catch her breath as beads of sweat dripped down her forehead. When Mr.Merripen noticed she had no intention of leaving he picked the pen up once more and wandered into the woods, his tail swishing excitedly and pace brisk. “Now where are you going?” yelled the girl who began to jog after him. In her efforts to keep up to the cat the girl did not pay much attention to the ground beneath her feet. Nor did she notice how the pathway had begun to gradually slant downward, getting more and more uneven the deeper she went into the woods. Her only focus was the cat in front of her, and as result she did not notice the large root stick up in the path as she ran. Having noticed it too late she found herself rolling down the mossy hill. Her neon pink t-shirt and long brown hair caught on branches and dirt alike as she rolled to the bottom, where she landed on her back breathless and bruised.\n\nShe laid there for what felt like an hour, staring at the foliage of the trees dancing in the wind, a stinging sensation coming from cuts on her hands and knees; likely from when she had tried to stop her fall. In her mind she wondered if she had a concussion and how she would explain her current state to her mother, because she couldn’t very well say that she had been chasing Mr.Merripen through the woods. Many suitable excuses she could give her mother passed through her mind as she lay there, her mind whirring like a freight train down a track. Until her thoughts were interrupted by Mr. Merripen’s face looking down at her, an all too human look of worry dancing through his eyes, and her favourite pink pen in his mouth. Seeing him the girl shot up remembering why she was in the forest in the first place, ignoring the pain she looked at the cat with a new fire in her eye “Well lead on, I haven't got all day.” she stated in a strong but slightly shaky voice. Mr. Merripen did just that, but his pace seemed to have slowed into a saunter rather than the dead run as it had been before. The girl couldn’t help but feel that the cat had done this for her sake as she limped behind it with a pout. She watched how his body weaved gracefully through the shrubbery, and how he would look back at her every few steps like a man with a guilty conscience. She also observed how he would stop every so often and shift his attention from side to side, his tail swishing anxiously, almost as though he were considering which path to take. It became clear to the girl that the longer she observed the cat the more it seemed he was blaming himself for her fall, and that bothered her because any other cat she had met never really expressed guilt like this. Then again she also remembered that she had never met a cat that was so peculiar, because although it acted like a cat, she had the sneaking suspicion that it wasn’t. It was well into the afternoon when Mr.Merripen stopped in front of what looked like an abandoned cabin, and turned to the girl with a strange look. His body had become still, and his eyes shone with an odd sort of excitement before he darted into the building leaving the girl staring after him in confusion. With him went her bravery, because as she looked at the forest she realized that she didn’t remember the way back. She berated herself silently for blindly following the cat into the forest as she glanced uneasily at the surrounding woods, a sudden fear emerged in her mind as she imagined that inside the cabin was a wicked witch who eats children. Foolish as the idea seemed she still hesitated to go inside, however after some thought she decided that joining Mr.Merripen inside was better than remaining outside alone.\n\nSo she walked up the creaky old steps and across the old deck that groaned under each step she took, making the hair on the back of her neck stand on end until she reached the front door. There she paused for a moment gathering her wits as she slowly wrapped her hand around the cold rusted mettle of the door handle and pushed the rotting door inward the hinges screaming in protest. Still holding the door handle she found herself staring into a large room filled with rotting furniture, moth-eaten curtains, and moss covered books piled along every wall; and sitting in the middle of the room was Mr.Merripen who seemed quite at home. The girl shuffled across the room and knelt before the cat and began scratching his head to calm her nerves, feeling foolish for being so scared to enter the cabin. Mr. Merripen purred as she pet him for a few minutes, rubbing his head into her hand with vigor, before wandering away from her and jumping up onto the old table and sitting down next to a very large book. The girl laughed at his cheeky behaviour and started to make her way to the table when Mr.Merripen swatted the book off the table. The book landing on the floor with a loud thw-ump and bursting open, revealing beautiful black hand writing on golden pages. At first glance the cover of the book had seemed ordinary sitting on the table, but as the girl looked at the open pages of the book she found herself drawn to it, and before she knew it she had knelt down in front of the book. Wonder filled her mind as she caressed the pages, curious as to who in their right mind would abandon such a beautiful book. Perhaps if the girl had paid more attention she would have noticed how the words on the pages began to vibrate, and how the aged cabin around her began to appear clean and brand new. She would have noticed how the black cat on the table began to get bigger and bigger, his fur shifting into a velvety suit, his legs extending and swinging off the table, and his all too human eyes now accompanied by an all too human face. Although his cat ears and tail remained the same, swishing back and forth as he observed the girl with clear amusement, an excited grin on his face and black fedora in his hand. “Well missus, do you like my book?” he said in a candid voice startling the girl, who just now noticed how her surroundings had changed. She stood tongue tied in the middle of the room as she eyed the stranger before her with unease. “Aw come now missus! Y’can’t have me believin’ that you have nothin’ to say.” He mused a mischievous grin appearing on his face “Unless…” he paused and eyed her playfully, each word sounding like a pur he continued “The cats got your tongue!” he jested and began laughing. The girl remained silent, keeping as much distance between herself and the man as was possible. She did not know who he was, or how he got here, but she was certain that he was crazy. As the man before her laughed she began to make her way towards the door, and make a quick exit when the man's voice stopped her in her tracks “Please don’t leave missus, you won’t be able to return home if you do. For these are not the same woods that you came to this cabin by, and I’d hate for you to get lost. Especially, when I am so fond of you, and am quite indebted to you.” he purred.\n\nThe girl was scared and could only reply “Wh- who are you?” of course there were a great many other things she would have liked to ask such as ‘How do I get home?’ and ‘How are these woods different from before?’ being a few of her main concerns. The man smiled softly at her, his lanky form towering above her as he strided towards. Stopping just in front of her, holding his fedora to his chest with one hand and gently grabbing one of her hands as he kneeled in front of her. “Missus, surely you recognize me” he implored, bending his head downward slightly and looking at her, “I am Matwick the black cat, or as you have come to call me Mr. Merripen!” he purred. The girl gasped as she looked at the man before her, searching his face for any signs of deceit, and as they landed on his eyes she knew at once that he was indeed her Mr. Merripen.\n\n“But… how?” She inquired, shaking her head in disbelief, “Why do you look like a man, you were… you were just a cat? Weren’t you?” She questioned as she touched his ears that were now accompanied by short curly black hair instead of fur. “Well missus, I am a cat and I am a man. Well, more specific I am a Familiar.” He said frankly, his ears twitching slightly against her fingers as his gold eyes observed her. Confused the girl retracted her hands from his ears and contemplated his face, noticing his clear dark skin, and how instead of whiskers he now had a mustache and a goatee. “Familiar?” She questioned her attention moving to his tail as it swished across the floor “ Yes missus, a Familiar. Creatures that pledge themselves to a witch, that are neither human nor animal, but magical all the same.” he clarified, placing his hat on his head and walking to the book he had swatted onto the floor earlier that day and picking it up.\n\nHe flipped through the book till he found a certain page before he spoke again. “That is why I wanted to bring you here missus.” he stated as he looked at her,\n\n“I want to pledge my service to you, to repay you my life dept. For I would surely be dead If you had not saved me. “ he said earnestly. “But I am not a witch, I am just a girl!” said the girl in shock. “All witches were once just girls. Not one of them was born with magic. Afterall, witches don’t become witches until they are chosen by a Familiar who grants them their magic when a contract is signed; and I have chosen you to be my witch.” he paused looking at her with a serious expression “This is my book, every Familiar has one. When a girl signs her name on the front page of a Familiars book, she is signin’ a contract and from that moment forth she becomes a witch; and the Familiar is bound to her for the rest of their life.”\n\nMr. Merripen looked up at the girl with a sincere smile “I will not force you to sign, but know that even if you do not wish to be my witch. I will remain by your side for the rest of my life, because I will not leave the girl that saved my life for as long as I shall breathe.” and with that he handed her the book and her favourite pink pen. The girl looked at the golden page and read over the contract, and thought long and hard about all that Mr. Merripen said. She laughed to herself as she realized she had already made her decision.\n\nSo at the bottom of the page, just below the line that said ‘Familiars signature’ where the name Matwick Merripen was written hastily. The girl smiled, and with her Favourite pink pen and many hopes for the future she signed her name like so; Witches Signature : Abigail Hemlock"
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The Unforgettable Quest for the Lost Relic"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The Unforgettable Quest for the Lost Relic The sun had barely risen over the ancient land of Ardariel, casting a golden hue across the rugged mountains and dense forests. A cool breeze rustled through the trees as Renna adjusted her leather pack, eyes scanning the horizon. She had come a long way, but her journey was far from over. Renna was not a warrior, nor was she a seasoned adventurer. She was a humble healer from the village of Eldara, known more for her ability to mend wounds and cure ailments than for her skill with a blade. But destiny had a way of choosing the unlikeliest of heroes. A few weeks ago, her quiet life had been shattered when a group of raiders descended upon Eldara, pillaging everything in their path. They had left the village in ruin, but what they took from Renna was more personal — her father’s amulet, a family heirloom said to hold magical powers. Stories of its power were whispered in the village for generations, but no one honestly believed them — until now. With the amulet gone, a curse had begun to spread through Eldara, a darkness that twisted plants and animals into monstrous forms. The village elder, wracked with guilt for dismissing the legends, urged Renna to retrieve the amulet. The relic was no mere trinket; it was an object of immense importance, capable of sealing away the ancient evil that now threatened the land. Her quest had begun as a journey of duty, but as she ventured deeper into the untamed wilds, it became clear that she was no longer just trying to retrieve a family heirloom. She was on a mission to save her people — and herself. The weight of this responsibility, the fear of the unknown, and the determination to succeed all warred within her, shaping her into a hero in her own right. Renna’s journey had been fraught with danger. She had crossed the dangerous Spire Wood Forest, its dense foliage hiding predators that stalked her from the shadows. She had navigated the treacherous mountain paths where one wrong step would have sent her plummeting into the abyss. But now, standing at the entrance of the Forgotten Temple, she felt the weight of her quest more than ever. Her body ached, her mind raced with doubts, but she pushed them all aside, focusing on the task at hand. The temple loomed before her, its crumbling stone walls covered in moss and vines. Legends spoke of this place—a sanctuary for the old gods, now long abandoned and cursed. Few dared venture here, but Renna had no choice. This was where the raiders had taken the amulet. Taking a deep breath, Renna stepped inside. The air was cold and damp, the dim light of her torch casting eerie shadows on the walls. The silence was oppressive, broken only by her footsteps echoing through the vast, empty corridors. Every step brought her closer to the heart of the temple, where the amulet — and her fate — awaited, the tension in the air palpable. Deeper into the temple, Renna encountered the first of many trials. The stone floor gave way to a pit spanned by a narrow bridge barely wide enough for her to cross. On the other side, statues of ancient warriors stood in eternal vigil, their eyes glowing with a faint, ominous light. Renna hesitated. Something about those statues felt wrong as if they were watching her and waiting for her to make a mistake. She stepped onto the bridge, her breath catching as the statue’s eyes flared brighter. Her heart raced, but she forced herself to focus. \"Stay calm,\" she whispered to herself. \"You can do this.\" As she inched forward, the statues began to move. Stone scraped against stone as they came to life, drawing swords from their scabbards. Renna’s pulse quickened. She was no fighter, but she could not turn back now. She pulled a dagger from her belt, but the small blade felt inadequate in her hand. But it would have to do. The first statue lunged at her with surprising speed for something made of stone. Renna ducked, rolling to the side as the blade whistled past her. She slashed at its legs, her blade sparking as it struck stone, but it barely made a dent. Desperation clawed at her. How was she supposed to defeat these things? Then she remembered the stories her father used to tell her about the temple. \"The statues,\" he had said, \"are bound by the light of the old gods. In darkness, they are powerless.\" Renna looked at her torch. It was the only source of light in the room. Without it, she would be blind in the dark — but extinguishing the statues might be her only chance if the statues were bound to the light. Without another thought, she hurled the torch into the pit below. The room plunged into darkness, and the statues froze. She could not see them, but she could hear the faint grinding of their stone bodies as they struggled to move in the absence of light. Taking a deep breath, Renna felt her way forward, her fingers brushing against the cold stone walls. It was slow going, but she made it across the bridge, her heart pounding. She dared not light another torch until she was safely out of the statues’ reach. At last, Renna reached the inner sanctum. The chamber was vast, its ceiling lost in shadow. In the centre of the room stood a stone pedestal, the amulet atop it. Its surface glowed faint, ethereal light, casting long shadows across the floor. Renna approached cautiously, her hand trembling as she reached for the amulet. The moment her fingers touched it, a chilly wind swept through the room, and a voice echoed in her mind. You have come far, but the journey is not over. Renna spun around, her heart hammering in her chest. A figure stood in the shadows, cloaked in darkness. His form was indistinct, his features hidden in the folds of his cloak. But his eyes, they glowed with the same faint light as the amulet, piercing the darkness with their intensity. \"Who are you?\" she demanded, her voice steady despite the fear that threatened to overwhelm her. \"I am the Guardian,\" the figure replied, stepping into the light. His eyes glowed with the same faint light as the amulet. \"This relic was sealed away for a reason. If you take it, you must be prepared to face the consequences.\" Renna tightened her grip on the amulet. \"I don’t care about your warnings. My village is dying. I need this to save them.\" The Guardian studied her for a long moment before nodding. \"Very well. The choice is yours. But know this — once the amulet is removed, the darkness will follow you. Are you ready to face it?\" His warning hung heavy in the air, the weight of Renna's decision pressing down on her. Renna did not hesitate. She had come too far to turn back now. \"I’m ready.\" As she lifted the amulet from the pedestal, the chamber shook, and the walls crumbled. But Renna did not falter. With the relic in hand, she raced for the exit, determined to save her village — and to face whatever darkness awaited her. Her journey had only just begun. This quest was unforgettable."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Rock Bottom"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "What compels a human to pursue dangerous adventures – to pursue the unknown and risk mutilation and disability and to die tragic, horrific deaths – all in search of an adrenaline high? Alcohol, surely, would have been the safer option and the man who wedged himself between limestone would agree. He’d go back and tell his past self to forget adventure and hop down to the bar to break open a cold one with the boys instead of getting stuck between, well, a rock and a hard place. Christopher was no ordinary caver nor had this been his first accident on a research expedition, but even two decades of expertise wouldn’t prevent freak accidents. Boulders crushed his legs. Located half a mile off Kentucky I-75, the caving community had been awash in excitement when a hunter stumbled upon an undocumented cave system spanning a hundred miles in any direction. Scientists brought their proposals to the would-be explorers. Offering huge sums of money and recognition for their efforts in prestigious academic journals, a monumental discovery might rocket a lucky explorer’s career to celebrity status and into history’s hall of fame. And so, Christopher, a spelunker whose discoveries awarded him many accolades in the past, assembled a team; the diverse members brought 200 collective years of expertise and practical experience. They had been destined to succeed. Then, the passage caved in. It was cold. Humid. Water trickled down the stalactite above, precious liquid landing on his forehead and wetting his lips. The runoff would be critical as the only source to sate himself and he stretched his neck to catch every tiny droplet in his mouth. His PVC backpack held food, meant to set up a camp as deep as possible, and it would last him a while. Christopher shimmied back and forth, an attempt at freeing his trapped legs, and convulsed. A live wire had been hooked up straight to the nerves and he swore he felt the shock in his eyes and on his tongue and in his neck and he screamed, echoes bouncing down the dark throat of the tunnel. No one answered; there was only him and his greedy lungs taking in stale air as he stared at the formations on the ceiling. “Phillip?” Christopher said. No response. He sobbed. The lamp still worked and he was dressed in thick, insulating layers but eventually the water would seep in and the blackness would encroach. Unless he moved, all sensation had left his leg. It would get infected and sepsis would set in and even if his team managed to rescue him and the limb lived, a blood clot might form and travel to his heart, lungs and brain. He would die instantly. No thoughts, just lights out. Oh God. He was going to die. Not a quick death, either; it would be slow and agonizing over the course of weeks in absolute darkness, withered with fever and dehydration, barely sustained by the moisture from the ceiling, begging for the end. No. No, no, no, no! Christopher would never go caving again. He’d make a career change to a pious man of the cloth. “Phillip!” This time, an answer. “Christopher? Christopher, we’re here, we got you bud, it’s going to be okay! Is there still food? What about water? Please tell me you still have water!” “Yes.” His voice was cracked and hoarse and Phillip sounded pained and a cacophony of pickaxes and drills erupted on the other side of the wall. Saved. He was saved. “Please don’t leave me.” “We won’t.” “You did.” “I promised we’d come back.” “You did.” Christopher admitted. “I don’t want to return, not here and not to caving.” “What? Look, I know this is bad but you aren’t gonna die dude. We’ve gotten through this tons of times before and we’ll do it again.” “Almost didn’t. Still might not.” Crack . There was the boom of collapsing rubble and the bounce of metal tools on stone. Frenzy erupted among the workers, shouts of fear and surprise and Phillip’s voice rang clearest of all: “Wait, wait, wait! Stop!” The tunnel went silent. “The ceiling!” “Phillip? Phillip, what’s going on?” Muttering resumed from beyond. There was the sound of clasps being attached to rope. Things were nailed into the passage walls. Grunts and heaving filled the air. Limestone boulders clattered. Each thump was a countdown; each rock removed brought Christopher closer to salvation. “Let’s try to see to his injuries first.” Shuffling, hushed conversation. More rocks being removed from the pile. “Jesus Christ!” “Son, can ya hear me? The name’s Richard. We’re here to help ya, but we need you to cooperate with us for a moment. We need to ask you some questions to see how you’re doing. Are you able to do that for me?” “Mhm.” “Alright. Tell me about yourself, where’d you grow up?” “Missouri.” “The Cave state?” “Yea. Used to go exploring with my Pa on summer break.” “He trained ya good then.” Christopher laughed and coughed when it irritated the sand in his throat. Richard continued in his Southern drawl. “You’re doing good. You’ll be fine. Try to stay positive, kid. Birthday?” “October 31st, 1990.” “And ya got a birthday on Halloween? Man, I’m kind of jealous.” There was a tug on his lower body and he tensed. Pain seared from the wound on his leg and he heard Richard talking with the others. “No concussion s’far as I can tell. It’s just exhaustion. It’s the gash on his leg I’m concerned about. Looks nasty as hell.” All of the voices dropped to a whisper and Christopher focused on his breathing. In. Hold for four. Out. Repeat. Everyone knew it was bad. The kind of bad that plastered your face all over the morning news with your worst photo ripped off of Facebook while the entire country glued their eyes to the screen to witness the telling and re-telling of his own personal horror story. Rule number one of accidents like this: stay calm. The rescuers were just doing their job, but Christopher knew. He was doomed. They might not even be able to recover his body. “Christopher,” Phillip said, “We got your leg free and did some emergency aid, but I think you’re going to lose it. Good news, the tools we brought were enough to reinforce the ceiling. You’ll be free soon. Just stay calm.” “Not like I can go anywhere,” Christopher said. “Tell me about your puppy?” “Yea. Anything you want man.” Rocks were carted in a line, dozens of search and rescue and paramedics and volunteers playing rubble hot potato until they were able to dump without blocking the passage. Phillip’s voice soothed Christopher into a trance and the sounds of the limestone being carved away weighed heavy on his eyes. Days of passing out and waking up in an endless dream; the stark terror of not knowing if each hour, each minute, would be the last. Entire waking cycles devoted to praying to every god in existence until, at last, they responded and the flashlight poking through the break in the rock was the answer. The work went faster, easier, and soon the faces of Phillip and his rescuers greeted him and cheers erupted and hands clapped. Applause became a reverberating shockwave in the narrow passage and killed his eardrums, but he didn’t care. He was saved. Phillip, brave and kind, held his hand and Richard took the other as they strapped all kinds of braces and harnesses to his limbs and wrapped him in a thermal blanket. “The rest of the team is waiting in the open room. Just a little longer and you’ll be in a hospital bed topside.” They passed him up the boulder line. His team met him on the other side, all smiling faces and applause and cautious hugs. Christopher wasn’t going to die. His head swam. It was safe and warm. And as his friends and colleagues crowded around his lift, it was a relief. They wouldn’t let anything happen to him and Christopher let the wave of exhaustion pull him under. The TV droned. Grit filled his eyes and blurred his vision. HIs mouth felt heavy and sat strange behind his teeth. Bright colors of balloon animals and flowers and chocolates crowded the bed. His miraculous tale of courage and hope played on CNN. News anchors bantered and joked. Beside him, his partner’s head rested on the pile of warmed blankets gone cold and his lower body was elevated with his left leg suspended in a cast-hammock. There was a letter in Alex’s hand. He pried it from their grip. Alex stirred, smacking their lips, but didn’t wake. A note from Richard. Christopher unfolded the paper. It read: Sorry I couldn’t be there when you woke up. Press has been trying to get into your room for days so I had them deliver this letter to you instead. There’s something I gotta say or I won’t be able to sleep. It’s your choice and I’d understand if you never touched a cave again, but I think the community would suffer without you.\n\nThat map you were making? It was critical in the rescue operation and I realized – I’ve seen your handwriting before, on other maps, and I’ve seen your name on popular resources, and those long credit pages at the back of books. I don’t think you realize how many lives you’ve impacted or saved just by mapping these caves and learning all the dangers.\n\nPlease don’t give up. Keep teaching others. Use that talent of yours and good luck on recovery! Richard Christopher ran a hand through his partner’s hair, admiring them and contemplating Richard’s words and put the letter back in the envelope. Let the note rest on the blanket. He hadn’t realized how much people relied on his work and meticulous detail. Maybe the risk was worth it.\n\nHe wiggled his toes – all five of them. One accident wouldn’t conquer him. One prosthetic wouldn’t stop him. Yes. Christopher would map the entire damn cave."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The Bank"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "It must have been at least five minutes now that I had been waiting in the queue, there are seven people in front of me. There are five teller desks, but there are only three tellers. Why do they have five desks but only three tellers? It's not lunchtime, nor morning tea time. Perhaps two tellers are away sick, or on holidays. Perhaps one teller is away on holidays and one teller is sick because they wouldn't allow two tellers to take holidays at the same time, or would they. The lady being served by the right hand side teller looks like she has finished her transaction, yes! she's moving away, but! no, she has turned back towards the teller and they are now talking about the lady's daughter's new home, hmm. Now the young lady at the center tellers desk has completed and is walking away but the man who is the first in line has not moved? He's looking towards the corner where the bank manager's office door has just opened. The teller at the center desk calls, 'Yes please!' but the man is still looking at the now open bank managers office door and does not hear the teller calling him, but fortunately, the person behind the man who is the first in line, has tapped him on the shoulder and then indicated towards the now becoming impatient teller. That other woman is still talking to the right hand side teller but yes! the man at the left hand side tellers desk is now leaving and the person that had tapped the other persons on the shoulder is now at the tellers desk. There are now only three people in front of me, good getting closer now. The woman at the right hand side tellers desk has finally left and the person next in line is about to move forward but the teller is leaving her desk, what? the person next in line shrug's his shoulders as he looks at the people in the queue behind him as if to say 'Why is it that this always happens to me?' There are now only two tellers remaining, did that teller have to go to the rest room? morning tea perhaps, who knows, but why couldn't the teller wait until everyone had been served? Ah, because more people may join the queue. Another person has now joined the queue behind me and there are now five people in front of me. I have just noticed that the person at the front of the queue is carrying a white banking bag, possibly doing business banking. Now I am thinking that is not good as it will be a long transaction and there are only two tellers. Now what! What is happening? The teller on the left hand side has gone to talk to the teller in the center. Hmm, could be a long wait, but wait! the teller from the right hand side desk is returning to her desk and is about to call the next person when she suddenly joins into the conversation with the other two tellers. The first person in line is now looking very unhappy ans has looked at his watch several times within several seconds. All three tellers are now back at their desks and the man carrying the banking bag has finally been called forward. He has taken his deposit book from the bag and has placed it on the tellers desk, he has now emptied the contents of the bag onto the tellers desk and the teller is starting to count the money from the banking bag. The person at the center desk has now left and the next in line has moved up, there are now only two people in front of me. What on earth is happening at the left hand desk? The man is emptying the contents of his wallet onto the tellers desk, why? Hmm, seems he can't find his credit card, he is looking in the back section of his wallet, now he is looking in the front section. Suddenly the person at the center has left and we move up one and there is now only one person in front of me. Which teller will I get called to? The lady in front of me should go to the business banking on the right hand side has almost concluded so she will be called there, the man on the left is still looking in his wallet, but wait! the center desk is again vacant and the woman in front of me is now at the center desk. As I am now close to the teller desks I can now clearly hear the conversations of the tellers with their customers. The business banking was almost complete but was taking time, the man was again looking in the back section of his wallet and both he and the teller were going through the mountain of cards that he produced from his wallet with the promise of many more. The lady at the center desk has presented a cheque that she wishes to deposit. The teller has advised the woman that she can deposit the cheque in the automatic telling machine that is located outside in front of the bank building. The woman has now told the teller that she has no knowledge of how to do that and that she has never made a deposit into an automated telling machine. The teller whilst leaving her desk is saying she will go outside with her and show her how to perform the transaction at the teller machine and they both exit the bank together. The business banking has now concluded and it is finally my turn at the tellers desk. I too have a cheque that I wish to deposit and the teller also gives to me the same advice as the woman at the now closed teller desk next to this teller. I advise the teller that I do not have the knowledge of how to deposit a cheque into an automated telling machine and this teller also leaves the teller desk and escorts me outside to the automated teller machine. There is quite a queue at the three automated teller machines, one is out of service and we join in the queue. It is here that I decide to deposit my cheque into another bank that is located across the street from this bank that I know does not have an automated telling machine and I thank the teller for their time and I leave the queue. I now wonder, this new technological smart era that we live in, do the companies that embrace it consider that not everyone is tech savvy, especially the older ones, should all of this new technology be put aside until all the old people have passed."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Path of the Nomad"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The wind swept across the wastelands, carrying with it a thick layer of dust that clung to Kai’s skin. He wiped the grit from his brow and crouched lower beneath the rusted-out skeleton of a vehicle, his focus on the mess of wires in front of him. The transmitter wasn’t anything special—just a jumbled heap of tech—but to Kai, it was more than just scrap. It was his way of proving himself. The Nomad Enclave had rules, and one of those rules was that you didn’t get respect until you earned it. For the last eighteen years, Kai had been nothing but a kid with a cyber-arm and a knack for fixing things. Now, at twenty, he was determined to prove he could do more—contribute something bigger to the Enclave than spare parts and patched-up tech. He glanced over at the rest of the scouting party in the distance. They were older, veterans of the wasteland. Joran, one of the roamwardens, was there too. Joran had been like a father to him ever since Kai’s parents died in a raid, but the older man had been growing distant lately, burdened by the Enclave’s growing struggles. The wind picked up, and the transmitter crackled to life beneath Kai’s hands. It sputtered and fizzed, but then—clear as day—a voice cut through the static. “We can’t afford any more delays,” a low voice said, sharp and commanding. “The supplies have to come from NeoEden. No more games.” Kai frowned. That wasn’t a signal he was supposed to be receiving. He reached for the dial to shut it down, but then he froze as a voice he recognized answered. “We’re working on it. But the Enclave can’t hold out much longer” Kai’s blood ran cold. It was Joran. “SkyReach has what you need,” the first voice responded. “But they want assurances—control. They’re not in the business of charity.” Kai’s hand slipped from the dial. His heart raced. SkyReach? Control? “You know the deal,” Joran said. “The Enclave can’t survive without their resources. If we don’t agree, we’ll be finished. They’ll crush us.” Crush us. The words rattled through Kai’s mind. He wanted to shut off the transmission, but he couldn’t tear himself away. Joran, the man who had raised him to believe in the freedom and independence of the Nomads, was cutting a deal with SkyReach, the very corporation that had turned the NeoEden City into a prison. No one got out and no one, especially not from the Enclave were allowed to get in. Except if you were one of those important corporats. “You need to give us time,” Joran’s voice continued, his tone strained. “I’ll get the others to agree. We can’t keep this quiet much longer” “That is not our problem Roam warden. You have two days to decide. I propose you choose wisely Mr. Joran.” The line went dead, leaving Kai in stunned silence. The sky had darkened into a deep shade of purple as the sun vanished below the jagged horizon. Kai’s thoughts swirled with the echoes of Joran’s voice, the secret deal with SkyReach still gnawing at his gut. His boots kicked up dust as he trudged along with the scouting group, barely paying attention to the cracked earth beneath his feet. That’s when he heard it—the low, mechanical roar that sent a chill down his spine. “Kai? You hear that?” Reya whispered, her eyes scanning the horizon. She is one of the younger scouts and his closest friend. Her sharp, emerald green eyes could always see what others never could. She always have her long black hair tied back in a loose braid. Reya had grown up with Kai in the Enclave, and they’d always had each other’s backs. She was always there when he needed her the most. She looks worried. Kai stopped, his ears straining. It started as a faint hum, like metal grinding against metal, but it grew louder, rumbling in the distance. The noise sent adrenaline surging through his veins. Before Kai could react, a sharp whistle cut through the air, followed by a deafening explosion. The ground shook violently as a column of fire erupted where one of the scouting vehicles had been moments before. Shrapnel sprayed in every direction, and Kai was thrown to the ground, his ears ringing and his vision spinning. “Get down!” came the frantic shout of one of the Nomad scouts. Chaos erupted around them as the Ironclaw Marauders closed in, their attack vehicles barreling through the wastelands, guns blazing. The dull hum of engines turned into a shrieking howl as the Marauders charged forward, their makeshift war machines kicking up clouds of dust and debris. Kai scrambled to his feet just in time to see the leader of the Marauders, Karn Ironclaw, standing atop a massive, armored vehicle that seemed to have been patched together with scraps of the old world. Karn’s body gleamed with cybernetic enhancements, his hulking figure bathed in the glow of the setting sun. His right arm, a monstrous metallic claw, twitched as he raised it high in the air. “Look at them!” Karn’s voice boomed through a speaker system mounted on his vehicle. “The Enclave rats scatter like insects! Crush them!” More explosions rocked the ground as the Marauders fired their weapons into the Nomads’ ranks. Kai ducked behind a crumbling wall, pulling Reya down with him as gunfire shredded the air above them. “Damn it!” Reya shouted, wiping blood from a shallow cut on her cheek. “We’ve got to move or they’ll tear us apart!” Kai’s heart pounded in his chest, his mind racing. He peered over the wall, watching as the Marauders advanced with terrifying precision, their vehicles outfitted with scavenged tech and heavily armored. The Nomads were outgunned, forced to scatter as the Ironclaws tightened the noose around them. “We can’t outrun them,” Kai muttered, his breath coming in short bursts. His left arm, the cybernetic one, twitched as he activated the energy shield embedded in it. A soft glow enveloped him and Reya just as bullets sprayed in their direction, the shield holding steady against the onslaught. “We’ve got to get to cover,” Reya urged, her voice thick with fear. “If we stay here, we’re dead!” Kai looked out at the battlefield, his gaze locking onto Karn Ironclaw. The hulking brute was grinning, reveling in the carnage his Marauders unleashed. Kai’s blood boiled, but his mind flashed back to Joran’s words. “SkyReach has what we need. If we don’t take this deal, we’re finished.” He clenched his fists, the words burning in his mind. Is this what Joran meant? Was this the future he had foreseen, a future where the Enclave was too weak to defend itself against threats like the Ironclaws? Was that why Joran was willing to submit to SkyReach? Kai’s thoughts scrambled between the chaos of the battlefield and the conversation he’d overheard. Was survival really worth the cost of their freedom? Could they stand against enemies like Karn without the resources SkyReach promised? He didn’t know. All he knew was that the Enclave was falling apart, just like this battlefield. “We need to go now, Kai!” Reya’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Kai nodded, pushing the fear down and gripping her arm. “Follow me!” They sprinted across the open ground, ducking and weaving between the scattered remains of destroyed vehicles. Marauder gunfire trailed after them, bullets whizzing past their heads as they dove for cover behind a twisted metal hull. Kai pressed his back against the makeshift shield, panting. His mind raced with decisions he wasn’t ready to make. We can’t fight them off like this forever. Not without help. Not without supplies. But the idea of giving in, of letting SkyReach dictate their fate, made his stomach turn. A shout drew his attention to a Nomad struggling with an Ironclaw Marauder. The Marauder, a hulking brute with cybernetic legs, had the Nomad pinned, laughing as he raised a spiked club for the final blow. Without thinking, Kai activated the blade attachment on his cybernetic arm, the thin edge glowing blue. He surged forward, slashing through the Marauder’s legs with a clean strike. The brute collapsed with a scream, and the Nomad scrambled to his feet, nodding a quick thanks before running toward the others. Kai stood over the fallen Marauder, breathing heavily, his heart thundering in his chest. He glanced back at Reya, who had crouched behind the cover, staring at him with wide eyes. “This isn’t just about us,” Kai muttered, more to himself than to her. “The Enclave… it’s not ready for this.” “Kai, what are you talking about?” Reya asked, panting, eyes darting to the battlefield. Kai hesitated. He couldn’t tell her here. Not now. But the weight of what he’d overheard was growing heavier by the second. He looked at the Marauder writhing on the ground, the Nomads struggling to hold their line against Karn’s overwhelming force. Was there any way out of this without losing everything? “We have to regroup,” Kai said, making up his mind. “We’ll deal with this later.” “Okay brothers! We are done here. Grab all the loot that you can leave the weaklings behind. We have places to be.” Karn shouted with a gleeful smile. By the time the Ironclaw Marauders finally retreated, the wastelands were littered with debris and the wounded groans of Nomads scattered across the battlefield. The sky had darkened to a deep purple, the air thick with the acrid scent of smoke and blood. Kai stood among the wreckage, his cybernetic arm sparking faintly from overuse. The Nomads had survived, but barely. The attack had left them shaken, their numbers thinned and their resources nearly exhausted. Kai’s body ached, but the deeper pain gnawed at his mind. By the time Kai returned to camp, the sun was dipping low again, casting long shadows across the Nomad Enclave. The mobile city creaked and groaned as the wheels of its massive platforms rolled slowly over the cracked earth, carrying the Nomads to their next destination. Kai could see the figures of his fellow Nomads going about their business—children running between the trailers, traders haggling over the price of scrap, mechanics repairing broken-down vehicles. “Kai?” Reya approached him, her expression tight. “We made it, but… I’ve never seen the Marauders hit us that hard.” Kai didn’t answer immediately. His thoughts were spinning. He knew Reya was right—the Enclave had been pushed to the brink, and this wouldn’t be the last time the Marauders came for them. His heart clenched as he remembered Joran’s words. “What if…” Kai started, his voice low. “What if Joran’s right?” Reya frowned. “What are you talking about?” “SkyReach,” Kai muttered. “Joran’s talking about making a deal with them. For supplies. For protection.” Reya’s eyes widened in shock. “SkyReach? Are you serious? They’ll turn us into slaves, Kai. We’ll be no better than the people in NeoEden.” Kai swallowed hard, his fists clenched at his sides. “But after what just happened… how are we supposed to keep fighting? We can’t keep losing people like this.” Reya stared at him, her face a mixture of disbelief and fear. “So what? You think we should give up everything we’ve stood for? Hand our freedom over to a corporation?” “I don’t know,” Kai whispered, his voice strained. “But if we don’t… I don’t know how we survive.” Kai clenched his fists, trying to calm the turmoil swirling in his chest. Joran had always told him that the Enclave would never bow to the corporations. They survived on their own terms. That’s why they roamed the wastelands, free from NeoEden’s iron grip. But now, everything he’d believed in was a lie. A loud announcement came over the city “Listen up everyone. We have something important to tell all of you.” A lot of people stopped what they were doing and started wandering towards wherever the meeting would take place. He turned and headed toward the leaders, Reya followed him from a distance. His heart pounding in his chest. He wasn’t fine. Not even close. Joran’s voice cut through the campfire’s crackle, addressing the gathered Nomads with an air of authority. It was a rare sight to see the entire Enclave gathered like this—hundreds of Nomads, young and old, sitting in a wide circle, waiting for Joran’s words. Kai stood at the edge of the group, hidden in the shadows, his heart thudding in his chest. Reya sat nearby, her brow furrowed in concern. She had noticed his distance all evening. But Kai hadn’t been able to tell her the truth. Not yet. Joran cleared his throat, his voice heavy. “We’ve been through hard times before. But this… this is different. The Enclave is running low on supplies. Our water sources are drying up, and our access to medical gear is nearly gone. We’re even struggling to keep those menacing Ironclaw Marauders away. If we don’t find a solution soon, we won’t make it through the next season. A murmur spread through the crowd. Kai clenched his fists. He knew what was coming. “We’ve made contact with… outside sources,” Joran continued, his voice tight. “SkyReach has offered us a lifeline. In exchange for certain.. agreements, we’ll be guaranteed resources. The kind of resources and protection we need to survive.” Gasps and shocked whispers erupted around the circle. Kai felt his stomach churn. This wasn’t just survival—it was submission. Submission to everything they’d fought against. “I won’t lie to you,” Joran said. “It’s not an easy choice. But it’s the only one we have.” Kai’s blood boiled. He couldn’t stay silent any longer. He stepped forward, his voice shaking but loud enough for everyone to hear. “No.” All eyes turned to him. Joran’s face went pale. “Kai…” Joran started, his voice wary. “You’re selling us out,” Kai said, his voice rising. “You told us we’d never bow to SkyReach. That we’d survive on our own terms. But now, you’re giving them control over all of us.” “It’s not that simple,” Joran replied, his tone firm. “We’re out of options.” “No,” Kai shot back, taking another step forward. “We’ve always had options. You just don’t want to fight anymore.” The crowd went silent. Joran’s eyes narrowed, the air between them tense. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Kai. This isn’t a game. It’s survival.” “Survival isn’t worth giving up our freedom,” Kai said, his voice shaking with emotion. “We’ve made it this far without their help. We can make it further.” Joran’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond. For a long moment, the camp was silent, the weight of Kai’s words hanging in the air. Reya’s eyes were on him, wide with shock. But there was something else there too—something like hope. “I believe in the Enclave,” Kai said, turning to face the crowd. “I believe in all of us. And I’m not going to let SkyReach take that away from us. We can find another way.” The crowd murmured in agreement, but the decision wasn’t unanimous. Joran’s face was a mask of conflict. He glanced at the other Roamwardens, then back at Kai. “You’re making a mistake.” “No,” Kai replied, his voice steady. “You are. We can still find what we need. We’re even working on a machine that can help us with finding the water that we need.” “You don’t know that it will work. Even if you did know, it’s too late.” He sighs. “We told you this now to let you know that we’ve already agreed to their terms.” “You did what? You did it without talking with us? Are you really this desperate?” Even more murmur erupts within the crowd. Joran glared at Kai now. Clearly frustrated with him questioning everything he says. “Kai.. Can we please talk somewhere else?” Kai nodded as both of them went to the West Edge of the moving city. Both of them always loved looking over the horizon during the sunset. It always seemed somewhat peaceful. “Kai, I really need you, you of all people to understand how dire this situation really is.” He takes a deep breath. “So—” “Who contacted who first?” “Kai.. please, listen.. it’s not that simple.” “It is. Either we fight for what’s ours, or we surrender our rights and probably start working as slaves in whatever project they’ve set up for us.” Kai’s voice was tired now. He was weary after a few long days. “It’s too late for that.” Joran sighs. “They’re already on their way. They’ll be here by tomorrow morning.” “Then I guess we’re done here. I have a theory on where to go. There should be a livable place a bit east of here, I’m sure of it.” Kai cracks a small little smile. “If that’s what you think is for the best, then by all means you have my blessing.” “Really? You will let me go?” Joran starts belly laughing. “I may be harsh, but I’m not a tyrant.” Kai’s face brightens up. “I will give you a call if I find anything. I have your frequency.” They give a good long hug until Kai leaves to tell the others of his plans. By morning, the Enclave was divided. A faction, led by Joran, prepared to meet with SkyReach and welcome them to their city. But Kai and those who stood with him packed up their gear and broke away from the main group, determined to find another path. As the sun rose over the wastelands, Kai led the smaller group toward the horizon. Reya walked beside him, her face set with determination. The path ahead was uncertain, and the risks were great. But for the first time, Kai felt something he hadn’t in a long time—purpose. Whatever came next, they would face it together. End."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Show No Fear"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The air was heavy and smelled of iron.\n\nEdward took a deep breath to steady his hands. Henry’s words drifted into his mind, as clear as when he first heard them. A good captain never shows fear. The men see fear as weakness. The shaking continued, and he tucked his hands deep into his coat pockets. Emily’s handkerchief greeted his skin with a soft caress. The delicate strands of silk caught in the calluses of his hands, like a lamb’s wool in a brush. His fingers traced the embroidery in the corner, her name, sewn in golden thread. It was the first gift he gave her, now returned to him in a fit of anger and tears. She had thought that she could be enough, and she almost was. They will never understand, Ed. They think that safety is a prize. You and me? We know better. The sea will always call us back, and it will never let us go. He looked out the windows of his quarters to the vanishing horizon behind them. A thin, green stretch of land was barely visible in the distance. Barbados, his former home, his perfect life. A life that he had dreamed of every day on Henry’s ship. And after three months of paradise, he’d thrown it all away. For reasons he still didn’t fully know. Maybe Henry was right, perhaps he was cursed to a life at sea, unable to enjoy comfort and safety. Unable to accept happiness. Believing he didn’t deserve it. He watched a flock of gulls, coasting on a tailwind, as they past the ship towards the island. The birds know better than I do. He smiled to himself and pulled his hands out of his pockets. They were mercifully still. He took one last look at Barbados in the distance, set his face with determination, and strode through the door onto the deck. The ship was a mess of activity in preparation for the storm. Men rushed around him carrying pitch and material to cover any openings. Several of them crawled about the rigging, tying the sails tight to their masts. A deep voice carried like thunder above him and he turned to see Jacob, his first mate, gripping the helm tight and roaring orders. Jacob was never known to be a smart man but he was a loud one. Which was exactly why Edward had chosen him. Edward made the plans and Jacob yelled them. He walked up the stairs to the helm and stood by Jacob, watching the men mill about the ship. It was impressive, the way they worked. They had no questions, no hesitation, and no fear. A few of them smiled wide and saluted in his direction. He just nodded and kept his face still, staring ahead. Your crew will save your life, Edward. But they will never be your friends. Their lives are ruled by money and power. You are just a means to an end and they will cast you into the sea if you are no longer useful. The first drops of rain began to fall around them and the crew’s pace quickened. A loose sail in a storm like this would mean death. The light was sucked from the sky as dark grey clouds overtook the sun. A flash of lightning illuminated the horizon and the thunder shook Edward’s bones soon after. He felt a knot in his stomach and he forced it down. His chest tightened and he struggled to catch his breath. The face of the storm towered above them, roiling and rumbling like the jaws of some hungry beast, threatening to swallow them whole. The gravity of their situation struck him at once and he stumbled back, clutching onto the railing in front of him to keep from toppling off the stern. He frantically searched for the lifeboats, small canoes that were currently strapped side to the sides of the vessel. Could he row beyond the storm? The men would be fine without him. They had Jacob, he was much more beloved than Edward. Something was ringing, a loud ringing that filled his ears and drowned out everything else. He could see the men silently shouting and feel the rush of wind that had picked up into a gale. We’re going to die. We’re going to die. I’m going to die. A heavy impact struck his shoulder and the sounds of yelling, waves, and wind rushed back in. He turned to see Jacob staring at him, with one massive hand gripping the helm and the other holding Edward in place. His eyes were alight with a joy that Edward had never seen before. “Are you okay, Captain?” Edward froze. A Captain shows no fear, Edward. “No,” Edward squeaked. “What?” “No!” He yelled above the din. “I’m scared, Jacob. I don’t know why I’m here. I was happy in Barbados. It was safe and comfortable and I wasn’t going to drown in a fucking storm!” Jacob yanked Edward towards him and forced his hands to the helm. They both stood side by side, gripping the massive ship’s wheel. The waves battered the rudder and they both strained to hold the wheel straight. Edward’s body was buzzing, he couldn’t feel his hands or feet. Jacob roared into his ear, so close that he could feel the vibrations. “Of course you’re scared, you dumb bastard! We all are. This storm could kill us in a blink. But at least it’s bloody exciting!” The ship plowed forward up the back of a wave as tall as the mast. They crested the top and Edward felt his stomach drop along with the ship as they rushed into the valley of waves. Jacob cackled loudly into the air and howled as they went. “All that bullshit about “happy” ain’t true and you know it! Else you wouldn’t be here. You’re as crazy as the rest of us. Stop trying to run from it and use it. Be afraid! It’ll make you stronger. You can rot away on a beach for no reason or you can live right now.” The memory came to Edward in a flash but he could see it clear as day. Captain Henry Blake was standing next to him, gazing out to the horizon. His blue coat shone in the sun, a coat that Edward would soon wear himself. “A captain shows no fear, Edward. One day you will stand here in my place and you will need to prove that.” “What if I’m not ready?” Henry looked over and smiled at Edward. He placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it tight. “No one ever is, Ed. But if your first mate is as fine a lad as yourself. Then you’ll be just fine.” The wind rushed back in and lightning lit up the horizon, revealing an endless rolling sea ahead of them. Jacob raised a hand, shouting an order to some men by a loose tie-line and Edward saw it for the first time. His first mate's hands were shaking. He could still feel the knot in his stomach, eating away at him. He took a breath and let it free. The knot traveled up and up, past his chest, into his throat, and erupted out as a scream. A primal, joyful scream. Jacob joined him and they both leaned back with the wind as they dropped into another valley. Side by side and truly alive."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Of Doomsday and fortunate despair"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Life on Earth ended on a Thursday. Deities met not long after to discuss the Doomsday properly, choosing a crater of the Earth's only moon - The Moon. From over here they could still see the burning planet, blown up, in hundreds of pieces, floating in space and disturbing the otherwise peaceful area. Their vantage point allowed them to observe and evaluate the level of destruction, each of them judging on their own, moods ranging from boredom and disinterest to utter sorrow and satisfaction. Some said it was long due, others wondered what could be done differently at their fourth try, more than one sighed in relief. Humans lately were becoming needlesome, picky and ungrateful. They were becoming a tiresome project, one that most of them abandoned long before. After a long moment of silence, Fortuna's focus shifted from the inferno that once was the third planet from The Sun, to the center of their gathering. Deities did not meet like this often. Usually each kept to their own believers, miracles and catastrophes, so a meeting like this one was quite a social event all on its own. But with the unexpected end of the human race, their once busy schedules swiftly became gnawingly empty. Noone had a good enough excuse to excuse themselves from The Council now. Crowd generated murmurs, gossip flew all around, the Universe itself was vibrating with the question of utmost importance - who did this?\n\nFor it was impossible for humans - with all their misplaced conceit and efforts - to end the world all on their own. They were obviously close to doing so on more than one occasion and believed they'd encountered the end of the times approximately once in a hundred years, but an accident of this caliber was completely out of their realm. Only one explanation was possible - these were not humans who caused the premature ending of their project, but one of them. Fortuna was almost a retired deity lately and having no believers and hardly any prayers or wishes to tend to, she spent her days wandering between the few worlds they created, often stopping on Earth. She would blend into the throngs of people passing through a metro station and listen to singers performing underground. Or sometimes she would lie down on a field in the scorching sun, far away from cities and people and let the dry soil slip through her fingers. Once she stepped into a small apartment and spent a good part of the day watching somebody’s tv and playing with their dog as they were at work. These trivial pursuits that lately seemed to fill her time, made her especially sorrowful as she looked at Earth, a long sigh leaving her. Yes, they were tiresome and petty and ungrateful, but she quite liked their songs and shows and food. Looking around The Council she came to a sudden conclusion. Whoever did this must have been not only disappointed and resentful towards humans but also recently abandoned by their believers - otherwise they would not have stooped so low.\n\nThere were of course those long forgotten gods of prehistoric and ancient times, ones who have lost all of their believers long ago. They have been humanised and died thousands years past, of petty human ailments. Like her long lost family. Then there were those who had a strong position and countless believers and were far too busy to do this. Yes, they were possibly frustrated and angry and disappointed with those they favored, but would it be enough to finish them all - just to rest? Fortuna was quite sure it was not. Those were loved and respected and worshiped and as much as they could have been tempten to do it, they wouldn’t.\n\nAnd so, it must have been someone who only recently learned the bitter taste of being abandoned by those they favored. Someone who has spent a better part of time being content with their position and only recently did something that had the power to endanger their deity status. Fortuna herself still remembered the sharp pain of realizing that one wasn’t as useful, as important as before. When prayers and wishes and begging and cries seemed to only come once in a while from those desperate souls who had no one else to turn to, no other deity to ask now. And the frustration when she could not grant them anything because her power was determined by their very faith and they did not believe her, believe in her or trust her. Just like those before them didn’t. Until now she was a step away from becoming human. But not everyone was sorrowful. Someone among them was in fact smug. It also so happened to be the one and only who could have been foolish and presumptuous enough to finish the human race. As Fortuna took in the way he presented himself, aloof and distant, standing far away from their crater and taking in - undoubtedly - his work, she was becoming more and more sure that she was right. After all, if someone was going to act petulant the moment humans turned away from them, it was none other than the deity of all that is wrong and bad and hurtful - Ahriman.\n\nShe heard about him countless times before whenever he acted out, but being the antithesis of goodness probably had that effect on a deity. Especially so when one’s believers were scarce in numbers and one was on the verge of being sent to Earth and humanised. In fact, he was in a much similar position to Fortuna herself, though his strategy seemed to be fundamentally different. While she did her best to attract what little faith and trust she could, at the same time immersing herself into the human world to try and learn to like it, Ahriman… Ahriman decided to destroy it. Just in case he was ever forced to become a part of it. Fortuna raised from her seat and walked over to the lonesome deity, stopping a few steps behind. She tried to look at this tarnished side of the Universe from his perspective and understand whatever it was about this scornful view that made him so happy with himself.\n\nShe could not. “Admiring your work, are you?” she asked him finally, her tone more bitter than she would have expected.\n\nAhriman only sent her a disinterested look over his shoulder and mindlessly kicked a rock. As it flew up in ether, Fortuna was once more reminded that they were not on Earth. “It could be yours all the same, lucky girl.” His words were spoken in a quiet, taunting way and she knew damn well he was playing with her. It was his nature, after all. And yet, it worked. “Ha! As if I would ever wish so badly on humans. You’re the god of destroyment and extremity and all that is bad and wrong in their world.” “Was. All that was bad and wrong.” “Well, you should know that the rest is not going to let it slip.” she informed him confidently “You’ll be punished on a new Earth, Ahriman. Or maybe they’ll even send you to some other project and you will wish you were a human after all.” “Like you did?” “I did not! I simply took time to become more acquainted with the ones we favor… Favored.” “If I remember correctly you were on the brink of humanism yourself.” Ahriman taunted, turning towards her.\n\nThis situated him right in the middle of this post-apocalyptic scenery and Fortuna had to admit that it was a fitting backdrop for a creature of his sort - set on bringing destruction and suffering, even her own. True, she might have been in a slightly dire situation before but she was not going to admit it now. “That was you, I think. I still had some believers, if you must know. Very faithful ones.” “Please… They put you on those tarot cards or whatever and that was the only thing still keeping you in this realm.” he told her with a bitter laugh, aiming right where it hurt the most “My believers were at least aware of who and what I truly am. It seems you were far more desperate than me, lucky girl. Trying to push the suspicions on me?” As Ahriman moved towards the gathering to take a seat without waiting for her answer, Fortuna barely stopped herself from throwing some of the dirt at him. Instead, she forced herself to follow him and speak up in as much of a composed tone as she could muster. “How dare you? If it all came down to being humanised I would have accepted it with grace and servitude towards The Council. I certainly would not have blown up a whole world like some!” her last words were spoken in a hushed cry, drawing eyes of the deities they passed and followed by whispers. Ahriman sent her a furious look and grabbing her arm, pushed her in front of him. “Shut up or we’re gonna end up massacred before they even take their seats!” *** They did not end up massacred before everyone took their seats, but it seemed it could actually happen before the end of the Council gathering. “The two of you were the closest to humanism before it happened, Fortuna. You must admit it puts you both in a rather suspicious position.” Shiva was speaking now and while Fortuna always quite liked him, she felt her opinion on him was about to drastically change. “I do not think the prospect of humanism had the potential of being the crucial motive behind this accident.” Fortuna countered, getting dubious looks from all around and feeling herself grow more and more anxious “And even if it was… Ahriman was far closer to it than I was!” “That’s your strategy for getting us out of it, lucky girl? Throwing your only ally to the wolves?” Ahriman’s voice sounded dangerously close to her ear. “You are not my ally. And you deserve the punishment for what you did to those poor creatures and everyone who worked so hard on keeping them alive these past few millennia.” the last part she spoke a bit louder and judging from the faces of Navajo gods and goddesses seated nearby she was making her point. “Now, Fortuna, we should not throw this type of accusations without some kind of serious evidence to back it up.” it was God speaking now or Jahwe as they sometimes called him during these meetings “While we are all deeply shaken by this accident, we must also remember that things like this happen. Only speaking freely with no fear of repercussions can give us the answers.” “Noone is going to simply speak up if they caused an incident this bad.” goddess Ayao countered, the dust around her gently flowing in ether and falling on the ground as she spoke “And there will be repercussions. Of that, have no doubt.” Fortuna felt herself get hotter and colder in a sequence of moments. Everyone seemed set on believing that they were guilty. What’s even worse, they seemed to think Ahriman and herself executed it somehow together. No one wanted to listen to her arguments, let alone believe in her words when she said she was quite fine with becoming human if it all came down to it before that Thursday Doomsday. The Council all believed that while serving humans was a pretty noble pursuit, being one of them was stooping so low for a deity it would be a punishment, degradation or utter sacrifice. Being humanised was after all the final step in admitting defeat. “Repercussions are fair and square as long as they meet the one who’s actually responsible for this. And we do not know who it was yet. Unless of course anyone would like to speak up as a witness or offer evidence.” After almost everyone spoke up and nothing was decided still, Fortuna realized the gathering was turning into a vicious cycle - while some wanted to punish them simply to put an end to this issue, others were set on conducting an investigation and finding the answers. Some did not care much about the end of Earth and the human race, others shed tears and looked away from the shambles.\n\nAnd Ahriman - the one who should have been fighting along her side and doing anything possible to prove their innocence - only spoke up once. To ask how much longer deciding their fate was going to take. It was a good thing deities were immortal or he would have been dead by her hands. *** “Calm down, lucky girl. Worst case scenario you’ll be with your precious humans in no time.” For the final part of discussion - or judgment really - both Fortuna and Ahriman were asked to leave the gathering. She did not like this at all and his constant lack of support was starting to make her truly mad. They stood facing the fiasco that was once Earth III - Ahriman squinting his eyes as if he tried to distinguish particular human tragedy from the general chaos and herself, with a gnawing feeling of dread towards their fate and disdain towards him. “Have you ever even been on Earth? Or among humans?” “What for? I heard them just fine from my realm.” “You would have liked it. The Earth. There were a lot of bad people there.” she told him in an accusatory tone. “And why would I like bad people?” he asked mockingly, grabbing a floating, miniscule piece of Earth from somewhere above her and holding it in his hand. “You’d get along with them, of course.” “Ah, yes. Because I am bad and awful and must love it when people are bad and awful.” “Don’t you? It’s your whole meaning after all.” she reminded him, taking a step back as he suddenly started to move closer. He only followed, still playing with that piece of her beloved planet. “Humans, Fortuna, have… had one great advantage on us.” Ahriman told her, speaking so low she had to focus to understand, oddly curious of his next words “Choice. They could choose if they wanted to be bad and awful like me or compassionate and good like you. Unlike us, made to cater to their dreams and fears and set on this path long before they even found us, already fixed in our nature and meaning when they did… Humans in all their fragility had and will have the right to become whatever they wish.” “You wanted to be one of them.” “Not at all.” he told her with a bitter laugh “I am quite content with being the bad and awful god of destruction and hurt. It does not mean I would have liked humans acting like me. I would have welcomed perhaps having a choice but to be a creature so easily dead, slayed by a speck of dust? No, thank you.” “They called it bacterias and viruses lately.” “You would know.” Before she had a chance to ponder on the meaning of his words, they were called upon and asked to join the gathering once again. Fortuna walked a few steps behind Ahriman now, judging him on her own, her certainty that he was guilty wavering now. As he stopped in the middle of the crater, she also refrained from going back to her seat and took in the grave expressions of those who were going to deliver their sentence. “Fortuna, Ahriman…” there was either a heavy pause or she had a problem hearing ”We have come to an agreement and believe it is the best we can do right now - for you, for others and especially for those we’ve favored and lost.” “The decision we’ve made is one where we’ve decided to put our trust in you… We are willing to temporarily assume that you did not commit this grave crime…” Fortuna felt herself soar, hope making her lighter than the ether. Ahriman seemed far less happy, suspicious somehow but he was probably always suspicious and never happy so why should she care? As she started to take a step forward to thank The Council, he grabbed her and brought back to his side.\n\nAnd then they spoke up again. “Therefore we will give you ninety human days to find the real culprit and bring them to our next gathering.” “What?” Fortuna couldn't believe it. “Why should we be burdened with finding them?” “Well, frankly, Ahriman, you have the least believers and duties out of all of us. The other projects won’t fail if you take a break from them and seeing how you are still the main suspects it should serve as a rather strong motivation to act.” “But… I…” Fortuna found herself at a loss of words. Not that anyone noticed with Ahriman’s furious mocking question. “And what if we don’t succeed? I’m sure you have a grand plan for us.” “No need for such theatricals. If you don’t succeed we will simply continue with the usual proceedings. You will be humanised, but only for a thousand years. After that we’ll welcome you into our realm again. This truly is the most leniency we can show you.” Fortuna was quite sure she heard them wrong. Being a human for a thousand years and coming back to be part of The Council was… an interesting offer. And it was the punishment. “And if we find the culprit? What shall happen to us then?” “On the new Earth we will make you to be far more powerful.” “How powerful?” she asked carefully, her eyes taking in the burning planet. “Very.” Fortuna then made her decision. As she took a step towards their judges, Ahriman held her back once again, his expression deep in thought, his move apparently involuntary. But this time she didn’t let him stop her.\n\nShe was going to save the human race.\n\nOr become a part of it. "
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Minong's Call: A Journey of Transformation"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Chapter 1: The Call of the Wild The tranquil morning in Grand Marais was a symphony of natural beauty, a stark contrast to the impending danger Kai was about to face. The air was perfumed with the scent of pine, the invigorating chill of Lake Superior, and the tantalizing aroma of freshly baked donuts from the nearby bakery. Kai, known as 'Iron Kai ', stood on the rocky beach, his kayak a silent companion. He was irresistibly drawn to the untamed wilderness, where he felt most alive and in control. Kai had meticulously planned his journey across Lake Superior to Pukaskwa National Park in Thunder Bay, Canada. Despite warnings about the lake's sudden storms and treacherous currents, Kai was confident in his abilities and equipment. As he loaded his supplies, determination filled him. This journey tested his belief that a man could conquer anything with enough strength, skill, and determination. The water lapped gently at the shore as Kai pushed his kayak into the water. For the first few miles, the paddle was easy and meditative. Hours passed, and the shoreline became a distant memory. As the day wore on, the wind shifted, growing stronger. The waves that had been gentle now started to grow, lifting the kayak with each swell. Kai noticed the first signs of change in the sky. Dark clouds gathered on the horizon, moving quickly. The weather shifted abruptly, but it was too late to turn back. As the storm descended upon him, Kai paddled harder and faster, but the lake had already decided. He realized he was not the master here—the lake was. As the storm unleashed its fury, Kai's thoughts were a chaotic whirlwind of fear and frustration. He had always prided himself on overcoming any obstacle, but now, faced with the unbridled power of nature, he realized how small and insignificant he truly was. The wind lashed at his face, the waves crashed over him, and the lake seemed to mock his arrogance. Just as suddenly as it had begun, the storm began to subside. When Kai finally opened his eyes, he drifted toward a dark, rocky shore. As his kayak touched the shore, a woman stepped forward. \"Boozhoo, nindawemaagan. Ningoding giga-mino-ayaa,\" she said softly. \"Greetings, my relative. You will be alright now.\" \"Niin dash Morning Dew ndizhinikaaz. Gidoodaabininim omaa zaaga'iganing,\" she continued. \"My name is Morning Dew. I welcome you to this land by the lake.\" Chapter 2: The Spirit of the Island Days passed in a blur of recovery and discovery. Morning Dew's presence was a constant comfort, offering guidance without imposing. One evening, she led Kai to a spot overlooking the lake. \"This place, known as the Island of the Spirits, has always been special,\" Morning Dew said. \"Long before the lighthouse was built, my ancestors would come here to find guidance and strength.\" The island, with its thin veil between the physical and spiritual worlds, was a place of great significance to the Anishinaabe people. She explained that the island was a place where the veil between the physical and spiritual worlds was thin. The Anishinaabe people believed that the spirits of the land, water, and sky could be heard more clearly here. Morning Dew performed a ritual, offering tobacco to the fire to show respect for the spirits. She explained to Kai that everything is connected—the trees, animals, water, sky, and humans are all part of a larger web of life. The ritual was a way of acknowledging and honoring this interconnectedness. \"You are here because the lake brought you here,\" Morning Dew said. \"It saw your struggle, your need for something more, and it answered.\" She told Kai about a place deep within the forest where the spirits speak most clearly. \"Perhaps there, you will find what you are looking for,\" she said. That night, as Kai lay by the fire in the lighthouse, he realized he had been given a second chance to survive and truly live. The island was calling to him, and he knew he was meant to find whatever lay in the forest's depths. Chapter 3: The Seven Fires The night air was cool as Kai and Morning Dew sat beside the fire outside the lighthouse. Morning Dew began to tell Kai about the Seven Fires Prophecy, an ancient story that had guided the Anishinaabe people for centuries. \"The Seven Fires Prophecy was passed down through our elders,\" Morning Dew began. \"Each Fire represents a stage in the journey of the Anishinaabe people, and it speaks not just to our past, but to the challenges we face today.\" She offered tobacco to the fire, explaining it was their way of calling the spirits to witness. Then, she began the story: \"The First Fire foretold that the Anishinaabe would leave their homes by the sea and follow the magic westward to a turtle-shaped island. The Second Fire predicted many would lose their way, facing great suffering. The Third Fire spoke of finding our way to our chosen ground—the land where food grows on water. The Fourth Fire foretold the coming of the light-skinned race, warning of great change or suffering. The Fifth Fire warned of a time of great struggle, with disease and death for our people. The Sixth Fire predicted that the children of the Anishinaabe would turn away from traditional ways but also foretold the birth of a boy who would lead them back to the traditional path. The Seventh Fire is where we are now. It speaks of a time when the Oshkibimadizeeg—the New People—will retrace their steps to find what was left by the trail. It is a time of choice, when humanity must decide which path to follow—the path of the natural, spiritual way of life, or the path of destruction.\" Kai felt a deep stirring inside him. The prophecy wasn't just about the Anishinaabe people. It was speaking to all of humanity, to the choices that lay before them now. \"What can I do?\" Kai asked quietly. Morning Dew's smile was a gentle reassurance. \"You are already on the path, Kai. By being here, by listening, by opening yourself to the teachings of this land, you are taking the first steps. The path of the Seventh Fire is not about grand gestures—it is about small, meaningful actions. It is about living in harmony with the earth, with each other, and with the spirits that guide us.\" As the fire burned low and the night deepened around them, Kai felt a profound connection to the island, its history, and the future ahead. The path was uncertain, but with Morning Dew's guidance and the wisdom of the Seven Fires, he knew he was ready to walk it. Chapter 4: The Journey Inward The following morning, Kai awoke with a sense of purpose. The Seven Fires Prophecy echoed in his mind, reminding him of the choices ahead—not just for him but all of humanity. As he exited the lighthouse, he found Morning Dew waiting for him. \"Today, you begin your journey into the heart of Minong,\" she said, her eyes reflecting the early morning light. \"Are you ready?\" Kai nodded, feeling a mix of anticipation and nervousness. This wasn't like any journey he had undertaken before. It wasn't about conquering nature or proving his strength. It was about understanding, connecting, and finding his place within the greater web of life. They set off into the dense forest, soft ground beneath their feet. Good morning. Dew moved with quiet grace, her steps sure and light. Kai mimicked her movements, learning to walk harmoniously with the forest rather than trampling through it. As they walked, Morning Dew shared stories of the land—of the plants and their medicinal properties, of the animals and their spirits, and of the rocks that held millennia's memories. Kai listened intently, beginning to see the forest not as an obstacle to overcome but as a living, breathing entity filled with wisdom and life. They came to a small clearing where a stream bubbled over smooth stones. Morning Dew gestured for Kai to sit. \"This is a place of reflection,\" she said. \"The water carries the memories of all it has touched. Listen to it, and you may hear what it has to say.\" Kai closed his eyes, focusing on the sound of the water. At first, all he heard was the stream's babbling. But as he listened deeper, he began to hear whispers—fragments of stories, echoes of laughter, the quiet sorrow of tears long shed. He realized that the water was indeed carrying memories, not just of the forest but of all those who had come before. Opening his eyes, he saw Morning Dew watching him with a gentle smile. \"What did you hear?\" she asked. Kai struggled to put it into words. \"I heard... life,\" he said finally. \"Joy and sorrow, beginnings and endings. It's all connected, isn't it?\" Morning Dew nodded. \"That is the teaching of the Seventh Fire. We are all part of this great cycle of life. The choices we make ripple out, affecting everything around us.\" As they continued their journey, Kai felt a shift within himself. The drive to conquer and achieve that had always pushed him was being replaced by something else—a desire to understand, connect, and be part of something greater than himself. They traveled deeper into the forest, the trees growing older and more gnarled. The air became thick with the scent of moss and damp earth. Finally, they came to a massive, ancient cedar tree. Its trunk was wider than Kai could have wrapped his arms around, and its branches reached high into the sky. \"This is the heart of Minong,\" Morning Dew said softly. \"This tree has stood here for over a thousand years. It has witnessed the passage of time, the changes in the land, the coming and going of people. It holds the wisdom of ages.\" Kai approached the tree, feeling awe. He placed his hand on the rough bark, closing his eyes. He could feel the life pulsing within it, slow and steady. At that moment, he felt more connected to the earth than he had ever felt before. \"What do I do now?\" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. \"Listen,\" Morning Dew replied. \"Open your heart and your mind. The tree will show you what you need to see.\" Kai took a deep breath, letting go of his thoughts, expectations, and sense of self. He felt like sinking into the earth, becoming one with the forest around him. Images flashed through his mind—of ancient people walking these lands, of storms and calm, of birth and death and rebirth. And then, he saw himself—not as he was now, but as he could be. He saw a man at peace with himself and the world around him, who understood his place in the great web of life. He saw the choices before him—to continue on the path of conquest and achievement or to embrace a new way of living in harmony with the earth and all its inhabitants. When Kai opened his eyes, tears were streaming down his face. He looked at Morning Dew, who was watching him with understanding and compassion. \"I know what I need to do,\" he said, his voice thick with emotion. Morning Dew nodded. \"The path of the Seventh Fire is not an easy one,\" she said. \"It requires us to question everything we have been taught, to look beyond our own desires and see the needs of the whole. But it is the path that will lead us to healing—for ourselves, for our communities, and for the earth.\" Kai saw the world through new eyes as they returned to the lighthouse. The forest was no longer something to be conquered but a community to be part of. The lake was not a challenge to overcome but a teacher to learn from. He knew that when he left Minong, he would be a different man. The journey that had brought him here—the storm, the near-death experience, the teachings of Morning Dew and the island—had transformed him. He was no longer just Iron Kai, who could conquer any challenge. He was Kai, a part of the great web of life, responsible for caring for the earth and its inhabitants. As the lighthouse came into view, Kai turned to Morning Dew. \"Thank you,\" he said simply, knowing that words could never fully express his gratitude. Morning Dew smiled. \"Remember, Kai, the journey doesn't end here. The teachings of the Seven Fires are meant to be lived, to be shared. You carry them with you now, wherever you go.\" Kai nodded, feeling the weight of this new responsibility. But he welcomed it, and it was a purpose that filled him with hope and determination. As the sun set over Lake Superior, painting the sky in brilliant hues of orange and pink, Kai stood on the shore, looking out at the water that had nearly claimed his life. But now, he saw it differently. It wasn't an adversary to be conquered but a powerful force of nature to be respected and learned from. He knew that he would begin his journey back to the world he had left behind tomorrow. But he would return as a changed man, carrying with him Minong's wisdom, the Seven Fires' teachings, and a new understanding of his place in the world. The Call of the Wild had brought him here, to this island, to this moment of transformation. And now, he was ready to answer a new call—the call to live in harmony with the earth, to make choices that would ripple out and touch the lives of others, to be part of the healing that the world so desperately needed. As the last light faded from the sky, Kai smiled. The journey ahead would be challenging, but he was ready for it. For he had found something on this island that he had never truly had before—a sense of purpose, a connection to something greater than himself, and a path forward that filled him with hope. The wild had called, and Kai had answered. And in doing so, he had found not just himself but his place in the great web of life. The Seventh Fire was burning bright, and Kai was ready to carry its light into the world."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Second Draft"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "“Jake? Is that you Jake?” The weathered bartender of Kill Your Darlings, s aid through squinted eyes as he welcomed who he thought was his regular Jake Mathist, into the bar.\n\n“Onix. Onix Rock Harden, now my friend.” “I’ll get you a tall one. Maybe two,” “Sounds great,” Onix said, because it was the only thing to say. Onix didn’t know if he would like the coming stout beer. Once Jake, Onix, came in to have a draft of his favorite light beer only to unearth a new gluten intolerance. “Who writes allergies into a character?” Onix asked, not daring to look into his gold pouch. Did he have the coin for the drinks? Maybe, but Onix would accept them all the same. This was a treat to himself. After a long day on the cutting room floor this place was his tradition and escape.\n\n“Onix, are you doing okay today?” Delilah, the prodigy witch with perfectly blonde hair and barbie like proportions, said to her friend.\n\n“Late night at Kill Your Darlings,” Onix answered.\n\n“I told you to stop drinking so much.” “I agree.” “Really?” Delilah asked with a furrowed brow.\n\n“Of course, I’m gluten intolerant and broke.” “How? The Rinseworth dragon bounty was a small fortune?” “Ah yes, my rousing success with the dragon. I picked up the Jankro’s sword from our fallen team member, then weaved and bobbed through jaws and fire to deliver the penultimate strike. It really was something. Unfortunately, our beloved creator rewrote glorious moment around two in the morning. I haven’t checked the rewrites completely, but I was mucking out stables in Rinseworth as collateral in case we didn’t return from the bounty.” “Ouch… That really bites,” Delilah quickly turned back to the road, unable to offer much more than that half hearted condolence.\n\nShe’s trying to be understanding, but Delilah knows where she’s going. Despite her humble beginnings, she was always going to come out on top. The surprise heroine whom everyone thought was a sidekick. This is her story. Her book.\n\n“Calm down everyone… Settle… Settle. I know the past few chapters have been a little slow, but that doesn’t mean we can slack. What do I always say?” “Meat and dessert make for a tasty but unsatisfying meal,” the group parroted back to a speaker who had clambered onto a rock in front of the assembled cast. “Exactly. Today isn’t a dungeon, but it is what will make our next payoff even better. Today is veggies and I only have a few notes here. Jake.. Jake… Did he oversleep again?” “Right here, Voice,” Onix said to the director. “Vision changed the name. It’s Onix now, I’m sure they sent you-” “-AH yes… I see that now. Onix Rock Harden,” Chuckles fill the air as Onix and Voice cringe. “Oh… sorry about… People say that typewriters are old-fashioned, but at least they didn’t have find and replace. Well, let’s get onto today’s scene.” Voice moved on. Onix forced a smile, knowing this could only last so long.\n\nOnix’s name didn’t change that week. His occupation did twice. For a short-lived moment, Vision bumped Onix from sidekick to a secondary protagonist. That lasted ten minutes before the story morphed and Onix went from poor to dirt poor. Onix lost all his coin in a game of cards. That was the right direction for the story.\n\n“Onix, why don’t you clean this for me,” Perry said, throwing his armor at Onix’s feet after their final day on set. \n\n“Why don’t you do it yourself?” Onix said. “Or are you too busy?” “Believe it or not, I am. Just because I turn on Delilah doesn’t mean an off page romance can’t flourish.” With clenched fists, a red face and swollen cheeks, Onix stood and marched over to the smug traitor prince and slugged him as the perfect outlet for his anger and frustration. Or at least that’s what Onix did in his mental fantasy. “Come on, Rock Harden was it? I have better things to do. You don’t.” Perry’s posy laughed.\n\n“Perry, we all get paid.” “Yes, but you could use some extra coin,” Perry said as the sun reflected off his perfectly polished smile.\n\n“We are off the clock. Shine your own armor.” “I’d rather not,” Perry said before leaning closer. “And I’d appreciate it if the background characters knew their place. Just because you think you are the star doesn’t mean you are. I know Voice, I know Narrator, and most importantly I have met Vision. It may not be easy, but we all know this project will be at least what, three, maybe four books? Mess with me and I’ll make sure you have a fate worse than death.” In school, they tell you to stand up to bullies. Hollywood sells you tall tales to stand your ground or get help. They say bullies are insecure and pick on the weak because they feel threatened. Realistically, you pick up the dirty armor and start polishing, because the last thing you want is to be cut entirely.\n\n“Onix?” the weathered barkeep asked as Onix entered the establishment late. “Today? Yes… How are you doing Otis?” “Making a living,” Otis said as he polished a glass. “But maybe I should ask you that question. Or maybe how are you making a living if you are here?” It was a fair question. The bar was mostly empty at three p.m. on a Tuesday.\n\n“First, I actually won some of my wage back, so I have my tab, and the project is going well. We have a few days off so I figured I’d come in.” “Ahh… So you were polishing that armor for two days, slept in, and came here because you had nothing better to do,” Otis said as he slid over a glass of water.\n\nOnix fell. “Three days, but if you already know, why did you ask?” Otis shrugged. “Thought you could use the chat.” “Thanks.” The water cooled Onix’s parched throat, chilling his entire body like a brisk fall breeze. The refreshing drink was exactly what Onix needed and as his body fell in despair.\n\nHow far have I fallen? When I was younger, I had a dream. I was going to be the protagonist. Maybe a knight who saves the damsel. Maybe an outlaw cowboy who steals from the corrupt politicians. Now… I’m a comedic relief character holding on for dear life. Doing grunt work to eek out a living and make the cut.\n\n“You know you could quit,” Otis whispered in Onix’s ear.\n\n“What?!?” Onix dropped the thick glass mug and it bounced on the bar, spilling instead of shattering.\n\n“This newest project you have been a court jester, a noble man twice, a princess once, a pirate, outlaw, ferret, wizard’s assistant, page, poor page, rich page, and now dirt poor page?” “Sounds about right, but I am a sidekick,” Onix said after mentally checking Otis’s list. “It’s supposed to be a trilogy and we have all seen the ending of book one, I make it. If I can just pull through, maybe we can sow some seeds in book two for a branching storyline. Maybe even a quest of my own, that will be realized in book three.” Despair and delusion were as much Otis’s business as restocking and taxes, right now Onix was stretching the realms of hope beyond what Otis could take. Otis grabbed a bottle of brandy and took a shot.\n\n“You really think you are going to get your own quest?”\n\nOnix folded. “No.” “Exactly. Look, I know it’s not the easiest thing in the world, but even though Vision Board is a sparse little town, there are plenty of jobs to do. Get a job in town, become a filler character. You won’t earn as much, but you can make a life for yourself. Risk is minimal and Narrative and Voice mostly ignore you.” The run down bar was a solid structure. The old oak bar was sturdy and the shelves well stocked. If he became an extra Onix could probably get in on some of the short stories, maybe the western series they are working on. Onix wouldn’t be rich, but Otis was right, it would be a life. No more days spent away on adventures, only to be written into mucking stables. No more career changes on a whim. No more polishing Perry’s armor.\n\n“I… I… Just can’t,” Onix said. “I don’t love all the job and name changes. The memories of my past glories are exhausting, but while I don’t have the biggest role Otis, I have one.” Onix left out the real reason. No matter what a life in town offered, it wasn’t his dream. Even if he spent his the rest of his days fighting dragons only to be rewritten cleaning latrines, Onix would take that existence, the chance for glory was better than just being a baker or something else in a small town.\n\nOtis gave Onix an appraising glare. Walking around the bar to take Onix in once before returning to his spot and grabbing a shot glass and pouring Onix some brandy.\n\n“You got spunk at least,” Otis huffed as he poured and took another shot. “And you didn’t hear this from me, but the little break you’re on isn’t a vacation, but a block. Apparently Voice and Narrative are in the dog house. Vision seems to think the story is getting a little dark.” “Sir Perry, are you sure that this is the way we need to go?” Delilah asked from her mount.\n\n“Delilah, I would not steer you wrong. Mr. Harden, do you think it will be hard to scale those rocky cliffs?” “Sir, I sure hope not. I know we have run the horses rough.” “Worry not about that. I will take care of us,” Perry answered dismissively.\n\nThe sun was high, the trail barren, the dialogue was slow and meandering. After two weeks off, Onix wasn’t surprised. Otis had been right. This was a block and now they were plodding through with pacing that would get their creator’s grandmother to put the book down.\n\nThis was their job. Narrator was spinning some background nonsense meant to move along the plot and the red herring romance between Perry and Delilah. Boredom engulfed the party waiting for their next lines as the exposition dragged. “That’s going to be lunch, everyone. Take fifteen, then we will be back at it. Onix, can you come here real quick and help me with the horses?” It had been a terrible morning. There was no way around it, but disembarking his horse, Onix skipped to Voice, whose thinning hair and dark eyes told the story of a man in distress.\n\n“You doing okay?” Onix asked. “Not the most stimulating dialogue, but we all need our veggies,” Onix offered as he helped water the horses.\n\n“Yeah… Yeah… I wish I could say I agree, but…” Voice trailed off. Shaking, bouncing, Voice’s eyes ricocheted in their sockets as he teemed to get something off of his chest.\n\n“What is -”\n\n“-Can I level with you?” Voice interrupted. “Life has been hell. Narrator and I have been up for days trying to make Vision’s, well… vision come to life. But nothing is good enough. The tone is wrong. It’s too heavy, too serious. But then we try to add in some jokes and all Vision says is “you must be blind.” I mean, it is Vision’s job to give us direction and Outline who is as stubborn as ever. Mr. I gave you guide posts. I’m Outline, it’s not my job to write the story, before going back to that stupid cup of earl gray. I mean, I get it. New projects need an outline, but what about this one? The one in production? How can he be so inflexible when he writes in pencil?” It took a minute of rambling before Voice made his point. “Look, do you have any ideas?” Voice finally asked. “I know it isn’t your job, but Narrator and I are at a wall. The editors are breathing down our neck, and we need something to break and give us some life. I know you haven’t been in this whole comic relief role for long, but do you have any ideas?” Onix looked at Voice thoughtfully. The chaotic mess who somehow tamed the demands of Outline and Vision to create a consistent, complete story looked ragged, lost, and without hope.\n\n“I have an idea. I need you to write in a hedgehog, some mud, and a spooked horse.” “Should we really keep riding, Sir Perry? It looks like a storm is coming,” Delilah said as her eyes took in the foreboding sky.\n\n“There is no better time. The path may be a little wet, but it is the best way for us to lose our tail. We will ride and then the storm will wash away the trails.” Without his helmet, Perry’s smile somehow still blazed in the overcast sky. His smile hiding the evil sneer as he rode Delilah into his waiting trap.\n\n“If you… Oh no, what is that?” A small hedgehog slowly ambled across the path. A trap of spikes and spines that could cripple even the sturdiest steed.\n\n“It is but a hedgehog, Delilah. Dangerous, yes, but if Onix will just bring me my bow, I can take care of it and we can continue. Boy.” Onix rode up next to Perry to hand him the bow, but as he did, Perry’s trusty steed reared back with a loud growl and neigh. Did the hedgehog, who had taken an aggressive posture, spook the horse? Could it have been a flash from the arrow or something more dangerous waiting in the wings? Or was it the discrete slap on the hindquarter’s and Voice’s help? No one would know, but everyone would remember what happened next.\n\nSilver Wind bucked, shooting forward before pulling up short to avoid the hog’s sharp spines. Sir Perry, whose hands were full of a bow, was thrown cleanly from Silver Wind’s saddle. Perry arced through the air. The most beautiful silver cannonball, he gleamed in the midday sun that poked out from the clouds for this glorious moment. Time froze. Onix grinned as Perry acknowledged the fact that there was no way to reorient his path away from the mud. Perry splattered gracefully, the hog ran, and Perry came up with a face full of mud.\n\n“Is… Is... This horse shit…” Perry spat out a mouthful of muck. Delilah, Voice, and Narrator broke into roaring laughter as a weight faded from the tense group.\n\nIt took River Pebble Stone three days to shine Perry’s armor. And while the story had been changed in that time to River being the fateful one who got the face full of mud, falling off her horse as they ran from raiders who discovered their party, allowing Perry to save all of them and set the trap of his future betrayal deeper. It didn’t matter.\n\nRiver knew what happened. So did Perry, Voice, and Delilah. The Mudpie incident had cleared the block and chapters had been flowing since. River was on better terms with Narrator and Voice and even though Perry was a self righteous, double crossing, swindler, a-hole, he was still a knight. He couldn’t retaliate. Perry’s chivalrous nature didn’t let him hurt the princess’s hand maiden.\n\nRiver Pebble Brooke was as safe as she could be. And if nothing else, maybe she had a future in production if this whole sidekick thing didn’t pan out. "
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Mysteries in Starry Skies Above the Ship Destiny's Dreams"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The Querida, whose name meant “dear,\" struggled where she was caught on the ocean reef. Her square, clipper ship sails were ragged. Her three masts leaned to the side. Nearby, the jagged shore threatened her. A mile away, high above the sea. sixteen-year-old Maria Bibiana walked over the rocks near the rim of the dormant volcano in the brightening dawn. She turned her face toward the sea and their wrecked ship. The island exploration voyage and passage to Rio de Janeiro had ended with disaster. It was the late 1800s. They were stranded on a barren, stony island off the east coast of South America. “Bento, see the sailors rowing out to the ship to bring in more supplies.” Maria Bibiana turned to her twenty-year-old brother. “We need to get everything off the ship before it sinks.” Bento squinted across the island. “When are we going to leave here? Is someone going to find us?” Their eight-year-old brother, Luciano, gazed up with wide eyes. “When our ship does not arrive in Rio de Janeiro, grandmother and grandfather will tell the harbormasters and our parents. They will telegraph ships to look for us.” Bento leaned down and gave Luciano a reassuring hug. “It is too bad our ship’s telegraph doesn't work. No one knows where we are.” Maria Bibiana’s voice seemed oddly tranquil, almost as if she did not care. She had a secret. She must keep up pretending. “I’m so glad we climbed the volcano yesterday. Even though we had to carry supplies and camp here at night.” Maria Bibiana’s eyes roamed the horizon in all directions. Teodoro, the ship’s navigator, held his telescope to one eye and turned, studying the island and the sea. Captain Paulo of the Querida, peered through his own telescope. “There are other islands out there. This must be an archipelago.” “I can see our people down on the beach. They are coming out of the shelters made from wood we brought in from the ship. “Do you think there is any way we can drag the ship to shore and repair it?” “I don’t see any other signs of other human life here. It’s a volcanic island. There are penguins, sea lions, huge seals with long snouts almost like an elephant, and lots of dolphins leaping in the ocean.” “Yes. Rocky and barren. No forests. Few animals and only scrubby grasses on the stony ground.” Maria Bibiana scanned the faces of the speakers and listened closely. How could she explain to them she had found a beauty here in the isolated, remote, rocky world surrounded by endless seas and skies? Her other secrets almost spilled out, too. The voice of the ship’s navigator, Teodoro, came to them in the clear morning air. “We are about 300 miles east of Buenos Aires, near the Islas Malvinas, according to the star charts from the ship. This archepelago was discovered in the 1700s. We have climbed several thousand feet above sea level here at this volcano.” “Can we build another ship from the wreck? Maybe a smaller sloop to sail to Buenos Aires and bring help?” One of the sailors spoke. “Too bad we don’t have enough fuel for signal fires up on this volcano. Ships could see fire and smoke for miles.” Teodoro’s mind kept searching for solutions. Over a mile away, the wrecked Querida swayed back and forth on the reef with the ocean swells. Captain Paulo saw her shredded sails dangling in the breezes. Her slender body, built for speed, still showed the beauty of clipper ship design. But now she reminded him of a woman in a once lovely gown who drooped in torn rags. Maria Bibiana and her brothers, Bento and Luciano, decided to spend the day exploring the caves around the volcano. All day Maria Bibiana smiled and pointed excitedly at discoveries. She forgot about the rigid roles and social expectations for women on the mainland. There they followed sets of limited behaviors and had few choices. It was so different from being out exploring wild islands. Maria Bibiana felt she was emerging from a cave of her own. Each morning on the island she could explore to her heart’s content. She was free. The day passed peacefully for the group on the volcano rim. When the sky was darkening, Teodoro the ship's navigator, got out his telescope to view the stars. Maria Bibiana hovered at this shoulder. “Can I see that? Are those the charts for the constellations above us now?” “Yes. See. There.” Teodoro pointed at the chart and then the sky. “Here. Use the telescope.” He handed it to her. Maria Bibiana gasped. “How far does the sky go? And the stars?” “No one knows.” Teodoro raised his eyebrows. “Will you teach me about these charts and the stars?” Maria Bibiana looked at him. “I can show you some of it.\" “I want to know more.” Teodoro laughed. “That’s why I became a navigator and a star chart expert.” “I want to be one too.” Teodoro laughed again when he heard Maria Bibiana’s words. From that night onward, when the sun began to fall beyond the horizon, Teodoro had an eager student trailing behind him. Miles away a ship sailed closer to the islands. The clipper ship, Destiny’s Dreams, spread her white sails, like a woman who is ready to glide into a dance and whirl. Under the full moon, her sails reflected light, and her three masts pointed at the stars. Captain Alfonse Belanger, stood with Adelberto on the deck. Nearby a woman and a man took turns putting their eyes to the lens of a telescope aimed at the distant galaxies.\n\n“Do you think we will find them?” Adelberto carried the telegram that arrived on the Destiny’s Dreams. “Their ship may have gone down. Or they could be shipwrecked on one of these islands.” Alfonse’s face looked thoughtful. Captain Alfonse's colorful parrot crawled up and down his shoulder and arm. Nearby, his rescued monkey swung from the thick rope halyards hanging from the cleats on the mast. Rescuing animals and people was in Alfonse's blood. He felt a special empathy and compassion for living things. “There are some barren, rocky islands around 300 miles east of Buenos Aires,\" he said. \"I want to check there in case they went exploring, and crashed on the volcanic reefs or the basalt stone sea stacks.” “I’m glad the passengers don’t seem to mind this detour from their passage between Buenos Aires and Rio de Janeiro.\" \"Having the musicians, entertainers, and our storyteller with her blue lantern on board the ship helps keep everyone calm and happy.” Alfonse looked at Edelberto, who nodded enthusiastically.\n\n“Yes. We’ve had some great opportunities. Very lucky.” Edelberto looked at the sea charts he held. “We are around a day away from the islands if this wind keeps up.” “Good. That tailwind is driving the ship well.” Captain Alfonse tilted his head to check the three masts carrying square, white , oiled canvas sails. “If the Querida and her passengers are there, we’ll find them.” Edelberto nodded. “We’re lucky those astronomers were traveling on board to Rio de Janeiro when we got the telegram. I’m learning more about the star charts from them.” Captain Alfonse smiled and nodded at Edelberto’s words. “Yes. I am too. Useful.” Another day and a half passed on board the Destiny’s Dreams.\n\n Out on the barren island, the people from the shipwrecked Querida began taking the ship apart. They had a plan to build a smaller sailing boat, like a schooner. Then part of the crew could sail to the mainland for help. Maria Bibiana and her brothers, Luciano and Bento, stayed with Captain Paulo and Teodoro, the navigator and star chart expert, on the rim of the volcano. “I like it up here. We are thousands of feet above the beach and ocean. You can see far away, even to those other islands. At night the sky is so clear the stars seem close.\" Maria Bibiana’s face lit up with enthusiasm. Her oldest brother, Bento, spoke. “If we were not shipwrecked here, I would think you are enjoying this.” She smiled at him and kept her secrets. The voices inside of her mind said, I love it here. The stars. The endless universe. Learning the constellations. I don’t ever want to go back to my old life. Trapped in old-fashioned rigid roles. I’m free here to do things and learn things. Opportunities. She knew her brothers would not understand. She must never tell them. \n\nMy name means full of life. Her parents believed in giving the children inspiring names. Bento’s name meant blessed. Luciano’s name meant light. Maria Bibiana felt a rush of love for her brothers. This is the happiest I have ever been, despite a shipwreck and being stranded on a barren island. Why is that?\n\n In the middle of the day Maria Bibiana and Teodoro squinted through telescopes at the ocean rippling beneath approaching gusts. “ Over there.” Teodoro pulled Maria Bibiana’s telescope over to point in the distance. “See that.” She closed one eye, put her other eye up to the lens, and drew in a deep breath. Her skin shivered and her mouth dropped open. “There is something out there. I can’t see it very well.” She spoke fast. “It is getting closer.” Teodoro spoke. “Could it be…” Maria Bibiana’s voice trailed off. They held their breath, steadied the telescopes, and watched the white blur coming closer over the ocean. “Birds? White gulls?” Teodoro said, not daring to hope. Several minutes passed. “Sails.” His voice shook. Maria Bibiana’s eyebrows drew together. She felt a surge of excitement. But it was followed by a twinge of dread. Was she going back to her old life? The rigid, social structures and expectations? “A ship.” “Everyone, get ready to yell and wave. A ship is out there.” Teodoro said to the others on top of the volcano rim. Out on the deck of the Destiny’s Dreams, Captain Alfonse and Adelberto peered through telescopes. “You were right. These are the islands we saw on the sea charts. Let’s sail closer so we can see better.” Alfonse’s voice was excited. The white sails billowed out with wind over their heads. The ship cut through the gentle waves in the light breeze under the clear, sunny sky. Passengers were listening to the ship’s musicians play stringed instruments and flutes on the deck. The storyteller with her blue lantern was entertaining them with tales. They hoped their ship would find the missing clipper, the Querida. The Destiny’s Dreams was a different kind of ship. It broke with traditions and sailed merrily over the seas with a captain and his rescued parrot and monkey, dancers and musicians, and storytelling. There was an atmosphere of enjoying life. It was so different from many of the ships where grim captains drove a crew hard and passengers wore solemn faces. Now the ship also had the two astronomers doing research with high powered telescopes on the deck of the ship each night. Under the black velvet sky, lit with stars like gemstones sparkling, the astronomers always had a group of curious sailors and passengers gathered around them. Questions and discussions were lively and imaginative. “What is beyond the stars?\" “How far away is the moon?” “Is anyone living there?” The freedom of life at sea was contagious. Everyone felt their curiosity rise. The nights under the stars over the sea filled them with a joy. “Captain.” Adelberto’s voice was urgent. “Look. There. On that volcano. Near the top.” Alfonse stepped over to the high powered telescope of the astronomers. He hunched over it, closed one eye, adjusted the lens, and stared. “There’s someone on top of that volcano.” He turned the telescope to scan the island and its shores. “There’s a ship wrecked near that jagged peninsula. It’s them. We’ve found the missing Querida.” Alfonse’s voice was low. Adelberto repeated what he said to those around them. The sailors and passengers spread the word. “We found the missing ship. We see the people on the island.” “Hurray.” On top of the volcano, Teodoro and the rest of their group waved, jumped, and shouted. The clouds of white sails floated closer, and the ship anchored a mile off the rocky shore. Through their telescopes, Teodora and Maria Bibiana saw a surfboat rising and falling on the ocean swells. It was heading from the ship to the shore. Down on the beach, people leaped, hollered and waved their arms. Maria Bibiana and the others on top of the volcano gathered their gear and began to climb down the rocky slopes. Her body shivered with excitement. They were rescued. But what awaited her back on the mainland? “We will take a load of passengers and row back to the ship. Do not worry, everyone. We will get all of you on board the Destiny’s Dreams today. It might be a little crowded but we can manage. The weather is good. Some people can camp on the deck or in the dining room, because we will run out of cabin space.” Captain Alfonse’s words met with cheers. In the afternoon Maria Bibiana, Teodora, Bento, Luciano, and Captain Paulo were in the last trip the surfboat made out to the ship. “We are only a few days sailing away from Buenos Aires. When we get there you can book passages to wherever you wish to go,” said Adelberto, the first mate of the Destiny’s Dreams, to the new arrivals. That night Maria Bibiana, Teodoro, and the others from the camp on the volcano volunteered to camp out on the deck. The dining room was crowded with people from the Querida. When the stars came out, Maria Bibiana and Teodoro got their telescopes out. They saw several other people also studying the stars. and they walked over to meet them. “Hello. I’m Jorge,” said a man next to a large, high-powered telescope on a tripod. “How do you do.” He bowed politely and they shook hands.\n\n“I’m Cloe,” said the woman. “Welcome to the ship Destiny’s Dreams. We are so glad you were found. Tell us about your time on the island.” “We studied the stars and moon from the top of the volcano.” Maria Bibiana burst out. “It was wonderful.” Jorge and Cloe laughed. “We love studying the constellations and planets too. It has been our life. We are astronomers.” At Cloe’s words Maria Bibiana felt something burst and flow through her whole being. “You spend your life doing what you love.” She spoke with a tone of wonder. “And you are a woman astronomer.” Her voice shook with excitement. “Yes, dear. And you can be one too if you wish.” Cloe looked closely at Maria Bibiana. “We used to teach but now we mostly travel and do research on ships. That way we can study the night sky from many locations. We study geography and the ocean too. Science fascinates us.” Maria Bibiana’s eyes were wide and her face glowed. Cloe saw this and said, “Would you like to look through our strong telescope at tonight’s stars and moon?” The next few hours went by as if they were minutes. By the time the group said good night they already had plans for the next night. During the day Cloe and Maria Bibiana walked the ship’s deck, talking, and looking at star charts. They were often joined by Teodoro, the navigator from the shipwrecked Querida.\n\nCaptain Alfonse also joined the discussions and each night’s astronomy sessions. “I’m sailing up to Rio de Janeiro after this. Would you like to continue on the Destiny’s Dreams to there? Someday I hope to sail clear around the planet on all the seas.” He felt a shared sense of exploration with the two expert astronomy researchers. “Maybe you would even like to do that.” “Yes. Of course. We would love it.” Cleo and Jorge spoke at once. “We could use an apprentice too. Maria Bibiana, would you like to be an astronomy intern and study with us? We can use a third person who is eager to learn.” The night sky full of clear, close stars seemed to reach down and enfold Maria Bibiana. She stared. “It would be my dream come true.” Alfonse spoke to Teodora. “I can use a second navigator, too. I know your captain will get another ship.But you are welcome to join ours.” Weeks later, the Destiny’s Dreams full, white sails were filled with a light breeze under a twilight sky on the way to Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, around 1,000 miles north of Buenos Aires, Argentina. On the deck the muscians played stringed instruments. The storyteller wove tales of wonder. Captain Alfonse walked the deck with his colorful parrot climbing on his shoulder and arm. Rio. his rescued monkey, played in the thick rope halyards hanging from the mast. A telescope on a tripod sat on the deck. The newly formed Destiny’s Dreams Astronomers gathered there under the stars."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Myrrh, Earth, and Red Wine"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "In some forgotten corner of the world, squeezed between bakeries, bookshops, and premium cafes, lies Bill’s auto mechanic shop. Across the cobblestone road from Bill’s is a peculiar floral shop owned by Leena. Her dark licorice hair and wine-colored lips demand a second glance. Leena’s voice is melancholy when she speaks, hiding her secrets behind gentle smiles. The townspeople often spoke of her enigmatic beauty and her strangely eternal blooms. Roses were by far Leena’s favorite flower. The soft petals and sharp stems reminded Leena of herself—lovely yet dangerous. She pruned each rose with affection, often pricking her fingers on their thorns as she placed them in crystal vases. Lately, she found herself delightfully distracted by Jack, a youthful, hardy man in Bill’s employ. The care with which Jack turned his silver wrenches under old Cadillacs reminded Leena of her younger self, in a different world, in a different place. As she pruned the newest batch of heart roses, Leena wondered why Jack’s lunch was always a single slice of bread with cheese, unlike his colleagues, whose wives brought them homemade meals. She smiled as she noticed the way Jack laughed, the way his shoulders quaked with each chuckle—until she looked down at the blood trickling from her fingers. Darn it. Not again, Leena thought as she put her fingers to her lips, deciding it was time for lunch. She turned to grab the towel from her counter when the little bell above her door rang. A speechless Jack stood in her doorway, sunlight highlighting his awed expression. \"Hello, what can I do for you today?\" Leena asked, feeling heat blossom under Jack’s lingering gaze. Jack couldn’t seem to speak. His heart was caught somewhere in his throat. \"H-Hi. I’m Jack, from across the street. I’m looking for lilies,\" he said when words found him again. \"Oh, perfect! We’ve just got fresh ones. Which kind would you like?\" \"There are different kinds?\" Jack asked, perplexed. With a smile on her lips, Leena began to ramble on about the varieties of lilies, knowing Jack hadn’t a clue. \"My favorites are the Asiatic ones,\" Leena offered, seeing Jack's furrowed brows. He swallowed. \"Then I’ll take those. You look like someone with great taste,\" Jack replied. Heat bloomed on Leena’s cheeks, something she hadn’t felt in some time. Leena took the Asiatic lilies and arranged them for Jack, winding pink tissue paper around the bouquet. \"They’re for a blind date my sister set up for me,\" Jack said as he placed the money in Leena’s palm. \"Well, I’m sure she’ll love these,\" Leena assured him. As Jack made his way to the door, wrapped lilies in hand, he paused to glance at her once more. \"Thank you, Leena,\" Jack said, then exited the little flower shop. The next day, Jack flew into the shop bearing a look of bewilderment. He placed both hands on the counter, his forwardness making Leena grip the recently plucked carnations tightly. \"Is everything alright? Did she like them?\" Leena asked, worried something was wrong with the last batch. A dashing smile parted Jack’s lips. \"I came to say thank you. She loved them. I’ll need more for our second date. I’m thinking Tiger lilies this time?\" Leena laughed. So did Jack. So began a weekly exchange of lilies, jokes, wit, and glances. Leena found each interaction with Jack to be the jewel of her day, though she couldn’t fully understand why. He was buying flowers for another woman, yet she found his happiness infectious. Perhaps it was because Leena had long forgotten her own happiness—in another time, with another man. On the day Jack came in for the trumpet lilies, he wore a tuxedo and was ready to propose. Leena arranged the last bouquet with care and handed it off to him, accidentally brushing her hand against his arm. The electricity between them was palpable. Leena quelled her heart, knowing the next time she saw Jack, he would be with his fiancée, and she’d be arranging their wedding florals. \"Thank you, Leena. You’ve been a great friend,\" he said. A bittersweet farewell flickered in Jack’s eyes, silently questioning why such an enchanting woman was alone. A knot built in Leena's stomach as she watched Jack disappear out of the shop. Despite her initial attraction to Jack, she hoped happiness would find him. Leena prepared to close as dusk approached. Her routine of disposing of garbage, composting, and refilling vases kept her grounded in time. Another ding on the bell alluded to one last patron. Or, in this case, three. Before her stood three women—blonde, brunette, and crimson-haired. Fear trickled down Leena's spine at their unnatural beauty. \"Hello, ladies. What brings you in tonight?\" Leena asked, despite her unease. The brunette looked at Leena, a terrible smile parting her sharp, ivory teeth. \"You, my dear,\" answered the blonde before licking her lips. In the blink of an eye, the three women surrounded Leena—fangs bared, talons drawn, eyes bloodshot. \"Who are you? What do you want from me?\" Leena barked, feeling her own secret emerging between her teeth. Leena couldn’t remember the last time she felt them—her fangs. \"Oh! A fighter! How fun!\" exclaimed the blonde, slicing her claws at Leena's face. Hot blood poured from the gash on Leena’s cheek. \"Wait, Ysenia!\" yelled the redhead. \"We aren’t rabid dogs, sisters.\" The older woman reached for Leena’s cheek and dabbed her finger in the blood gushing from the wound. \"Who are you?\" Leena demanded, both fearful and curious. Leena had never met another like herself, besides the Count. The redhead shot Leena a frigid glance. She seemed older than the others. \"I am called Sigrid. I believe you know my husband.\" Sigrid put her scarlet fingertip to her lips. \"Mmm. You are exquisite. He’s always had great taste.\" \"I don’t know who your husband is,\" answered Leena, sure this was a misunderstanding. She noticed her pruning scissors by the roses. \"Don’t be dense, girl. He made you,\" Sigrid stated. A memory, long locked away, flickered in Leena’s mind—soft amber eyes, porcelain skin, a captivating smile, a searing pain, a taste of blood, a broken heart, and two centuries of longing. \"The Count,\" Leena whispered, snatching the scissors behind her back. \"Your jealousy is misplaced. I haven't seen the Count in two hundred years.\" Bloodshot eyes widened as a cacophony of laughter escaped their cavernous mouths. \"Jealousy?\" Sigrid laughed. \"No, stupid girl. You have our immortality. We cannot die, but we can age,\" she hissed. \"The more of you peasants he turns, the older and uglier we become,\" Aleana seethed. \"You are quite beautiful. Perhaps your flesh will work better than the others. Now, be a doll and just die. Haven't you had enough of this lonely existence? I’m sure he’s already forgotten you.\" Leena backed away, her fangs still pointed. \"How did you find me?\" \"My father was the sultan’s tracker. I followed the last unfortunate little bird he turned. She sang about your shop. Then I came here and found a tasty mechanic. The lilies went great with supper. Thank you,\" Ysenia answered, smiling. In a flash, in an instant, in the second it takes lightning to hit the ocean and kill sea life, Leena drove the tips of her pruning scissors into Ysenia’s chest. Her smile turned to cold shock as she disintegrated into ash. A morbid sound escaped Aleana and Sigrid as Leena bolted for the back door, toward Bill, who sat atop his toolbox, blowing cigarette smoke into the night. Leena’s ancient heartbeat against her chest as she begged Bill for Jack’s location. \"Please, Bill. Jack is in danger,\" Leena cried. Bill looked confused. \"Jack’s a good man. He’s with his new fiancée and her sisters. But if you must, his house is the blue door on the left on Merry Lane.\" With that, Leena flew to Merry Lane, finding Jack’s blue door ajar, candlelight flickering within. She called Jack’s name, but her only reply was the coppery smell of blood and the hammering of her pulse. Leena feared an innocent had to pay the price for her immortality—a burden she thought was her own. She called Jack a second time, yet no response. She could hear the creatures’ screams drawing near. Leena desperately called for Jack once more. Silence. Her heart sank. Suddenly, a thud and a groan echoed from the stairs, and Leena raced toward the sound. Jack’s body lay twisted like a driftwood branch, puncture wounds like freckles on his skin. \"Lee-nah?\" he grunted breathlessly, his cracked, white lips barely moving. \"Jack. I’m so sorry,\" Leena wept, holding onto his fading warmth. “No. Leena,” Jack gasps, “she... loved them. Her sisters loved them too...” Jack's death was certain. An idea, wild like roadside poppies, sprung in Leena. Teeth against skin, palm pooling blood, a gulping sound and Jack is clutching Leena's hand as he devoured her blood hungrily Suddenly, his body erupted in violent trembles. Leena anchored Jack as she remembered her own metamorphosis. Jack’s eyes fluttered when the shaking stopped, a crimson smile on his lips. “Leena,” he whispered, “you’re so beautiful from this angle.” Leena laughed. So did Jack. A darkness flashed in the room. A man of eternal youth stood there. Onyx hair slicked back, a petticoat over his vest, a chained watch in his front pocket. Leena’s chest tightened at the sight of her lost love of two centuries. “My Leena,” his voice like trickling water, “ever the sweetest rose.” Leena froze at the Count’s embrace, yet her body weakened, remembering the smell of myrrh, earth, and red wine. “Count,” she said breathlessly. The Count’s eyes softened, a gleaming smile parting his velvet lips, holding both passion and peril. “I must admit, I’m surprised. I did not think you a killer,” he replied. “I had to defend myself,” protested Leena. The Count laid a hand on Leena’s shoulders, another on her cheek, his movements graceful and fluid. \"The blame is mine alone,” he said, towering over her. The cocking of a gun drew their attention as they turned to face a terrified Jack. “Put the weapon down, changeling. It will not kill me,” the Count asserted. Jack’s body obeyed. The Count’s amber eyes were on Leena again, growing seemingly darker with passing time. “Be my bride, Leena,” he said tenderly, leaning closer. Leena could feel the Count's magnetic pull intensify once more. It had faded in his absence, but now its power was undeniable again. “Be one of my wives. You’ll see the world through my eyes. You’ll topple kingdoms by my side.” He looked at Leena like she was the only woman he’d ever known. “Regardless of what Sigrid said, I could never forget you, Leena.” “That’s news to me,” Leena shot back incredulously. “Two hundred years is a long time to be gone.” The Count smiled, his eyes drawing her in like before. “Time is lost to me, and I apologize for leaving you. Come with me now. You will be able to call me to your side whenever your heart desires.” Leena pondered the Count’s proposal. Could she spend eternity with the man who had captured her heart for the last two centuries? He was her maker; he would always have her love. “What about Jack?” Leena questioned. “He could cease to exist with the snap of my finger,” the Count replied coolly. Leena reeled. She couldn’t lose Jack again. She loved the fleeting moments of happiness he gave her. Their mundanity was magical, even freeing. Leena couldn’t lose that. “I can’t be your wife. I want to be free. I want to live. And I want to love and be loved, unlike those creatures clinging to the memory of a youth squandered by the pursuit of it,” Leena said. Something glinted in his ancient honey eyes that resembled sadness. “That wounds me, Leena,” he dropped his hand from Leena’s cheek, “but if you wish to fly,” he whispered, “then be free, my little bird.” The Count teleported backward with a snap—his body suspended in the air. “We will meet again. Our souls are tethered,” the Count said, a timeless smile on his regal face. “I will keep my wives away as long as I can, but immortality has its limitations. Do not linger anywhere.” Another snap—and Jack’s house was spotless once more. Leena could smell chicken and beets on the dining room table. Nothing was out of place save for the blood on Jack and Leena. The Count was gone, returning to the realm of dreams and nightmares. Jack looked at Leena. “What happened?” Jack asked, his shirt a canvas of red flowers. “I’ll explain when we get out of here,” Leena replied. ### On the road somewhere in the Mediterranean, where sunshine warms the ocean, there exists a mobile flower shop run by a peculiar couple named Jack and Leena. They spend their days selling roses by the ocean and renovating their RV. Their futures are unknown. Their past, a mystery."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Detour"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Feeling free, Winston jumped into his new Ferrari and barely pausing at the guard gate, revved out of the studio lot. He’d always been free. But today, the first time ever, he had no responsibilities, no restrictions, and no demands on his time. He could go anywhere, answering to no one. ‘From now on, only doing what I want to do…’ Many said he was ‘movie star handsome,’ but Winston didn’t see it. Dressed in jeans, a t-shirt, and with minimal bling, he could be any young man. Except for his driving this bright yellow Ferrari, no one would think of him as the star of the next big superhero flick, ‘The Salamander.’ Production had wrapped. The PR team was gearing up the campaign. Winston was at liberty until his manager, Stella, tapped him in a few weeks. \n\nWinston had a full wallet, a full tank of gas, and an empty schedule. Being the ripe age of twenty-one, no destination but the open road beckoned. It felt great. Heading north on the I-5, Winston left the city and hit the gas on the long grade down toward Bakersfield. Hitting 100mph took nothing. He imagined going airborne as he passed cars right and left. ‘Never stop’ became his mantra. He sang until hoarse. Giddy at the wind whipping his hair, he yelled, “Sky’s the limit.” Shortly after the highway straightened, he hit a detour. A recent flurry of earthquakes had closed a bridge and diverted traffic. Winston didn’t care. He’d go wherever the road led him. He geared down and followed the detour signs onto a narrow, two-lane road that veered onto a rutted dirt track. He wasn’t concerned. His time was his own. The majestic desert was in bloom. This jaunt would provide him with stories to tell on the set. Ruts and jutting rocks forced him to slow to a crawl. He didn’t want to bottom out the low-slung chassis. ‘Has anyone ever graded this? Sr. Ferrari never designed an off roader…’ It was all part of the adventure until his dash light warned him of low tire pressure. ‘Gotta be a gas station soon. Always is.’ He hadn’t seen another car for quite a while. When the dashboard light flashed red Winston pulled into the weeds. Getting out he saw three of his tires dangerously low. A dozen cows watched indifferently. Grabbing his phone, Winston tried calling AAA. A robot responded that ‘service is not available blah, blah, blah...’ He called other numbers with similar results. It was hot. As the sun approached the horizon the late hour worried him. ‘Where is everyone? What do I do when it gets dark?’ Hunger and thirst began gnawing at him. He looked at the cows and shook his head. ‘ Where are my superpowers when I need them?’ he thought wryly. ‘ I’ll get through this.’ In the twilight, a vehicle lumbered toward him, its engine revving. Its lights moved crazily as it maneuvered over the rough road. When Winston saw it was a flatbed truck, he fist punched the air. “Yes!” Though it could only be headed toward him, he waved to flag it down. The driver idled to a stop and dismounted. Winston couldn’t believe the size of him. ‘How does he fit behind the wheel? They call you Tiny? Or Mountain?’ The driver said, “Lucky I spotted you from the main road. Mine’s the only truck you’ll see out here.” He looked at Winston’s car. “This yours?” Winston nodded. “Where am I? I took the detour but ended up here.” “Missed the sign. The detour went back to the main road about two miles back.” Winston didn’t say anything. The driver examined the tires. “Yeah, they’re finished. My shop’s close by. Want me to load her up?” “Not much choice, is there?” The driver chuckled. “Call me Gus.” He offered a massive hand to shake. He pulled the truck forward and tilted the bed to winch the car onto it. Winston stood in awe of the whole process. Once the car was secure, Gus signaled to get in. Fastening his seat belt, Winston asked, “Going to Bakersfield?” “Naw… unless you know a mechanic. But that’ll cost you. My shop’s closer.” Both of them braced against the lurching truck. Winston paused. “You rescued me. I’ll throw you the business.” Gus nodded. “Where are you?” Over the roar of the truck engine, Gus said, “You wouldn’t know it. Should change the name to ‘Dustville.’ The geniuses building the interstate didn’t bother to provide us an exit. Been a slow bleed ever since.” They made it back to paved road and soon after, pulled into a modern-day ghost town. Gus pulled into the sole gas station and backed up to the garage. Emma’s Café shared a wall with Gus’s shop. It was the only place with lights on. A few cars had parked in front of it. A grain elevator stood across the street, the largest building in town. The adjacent feed store was dark. Other buildings looked abandoned. A small water tower stood beyond them. The few houses faced this way and that with weed filled yards. What looked like a warehouse stood about a hundred yards distant. There were no trees. The single streetlight flickered on. Several crows stood sentry. Gus opened the office and went in. Winston followed and watched Gus type on a computer keyboard. Gus looked up. “Everything is closed. Tires and parts will take at least a day to get here. Need to make a call?” “No. I’m not expected anywhere. I’ll just get a room.” “Not here. No motels for miles. Can call Uber. Come back when the car’s ready.” Winston looked at the worn couch in the office. “I could stretch out there…” Gus smiled doubtfully. “The pool table next door would be more comfortable…” Winston laughed. He wasn’t sure where he’d sleep but had no worries. Gus said, “Not much night life ‘round here. Assume you have no plans. Emma’s is where it’s happening… Go on. You must be hungry. I’ll handle your car.” Winston walked over to the café while Gus attended to his Ferrari. The brightly lit café was almost empty. But voices and music from beyond the double saloon doors drew him. The small room held a bar, a pool table and the dozen men and women watching two men play. It felt like a party. His walking in was met with a warm greeting from most of them. The bartender called out, “Whatcha drinking?” “Whatever’s on tap,” answered Winston, miming filling a glass at a spigot. One of the players made his final shot and the group cheered. Another stepped up to play the winner. They racked the balls. Lively chatter rose above the music. Winston got his beer, took a seat and noticed a gap in the rack. He mentioned it to the man sitting next to him. “One of the balls is missing.” He said, “Yeah… the eight ball. Some kid filched it a while back.” Obviously common knowledge, it was also the source of humor. The player asked his challenger, “Why don’t you use one of yours, Gil? You’re not using them for anything.” The whole group burst into back slapping and laughter. Gus entered and nodded at Winston as he approached the bar. Winston realized no one recognized him. In Los Angeles, strangers already approached him despite the fact his film had hardly any buzz. Once his movie came out, his movements would be more constricted. Knowing what lay in store, he savored this anonymity. Lack of privacy unnerved Winston. His fellow actors craved the attention. Gus joined Winston and introduced him as a guy whose car Gus had towed. One guy asked, “What’re you driving? You know, so I don’t buy that brand…” “Uhm, a Ferrari.” “You’re kidding! You could buy half this town with that kind of money.” “I doubt that.” “Check it out. Ask anyone… Of course, I’m not saying it would be a smart buy… Be chasing your tail all the way down. Cheaper by the minute…” Winston didn’t get it. “But why? What’s wrong with the town? Everyone seems nice.” The man scanned the room. “It’s dying. About three-quarters of the population is here tonight. The last hold outs.” He offered his hand. “I’m Jesse, by the way.” They shook. Another man joined in. “Hi. I’m Walter. Yours?” “Winston. Winston Smith… Here ‘til Gus gets my new tires.” “That’s what I understood… Pretty nice car you’ve got. Hope you don’t mind my saying, but you’re just a kid. How’d you get wheels like that?” Winston looked around. “I’m… uhm… Hollywood. Finished a movie yesterday.” His eyes bugged out. “You mean I just shook hands with a real movie star?” “Uhm… yeah. I guess.” Before Winston could stop him, Walter shouted. “Hey! Everybody… We’ve got a damn movie star sitting here tonight.” All talk stopped. Everyone looked at Winston. The juke box went silent. He nodded. Several people shrugged. Someone said, “I’ve never seen him…” They returned to their conversations. The music began again. Winston realized he’d stopped breathing. He relaxed. Jesse said, “Yeah, half of us have retired. The rest are biding their time ‘til the kids are out… Once they turn eighteen… nothing to keep ‘em here.” He leaned in, “You going back to LA? My kid would catch a ride with you if he could.” “I’m not going that way.” “Which way are you headed?” “Not sure. North… east… Maybe up the coast. No way. Parts unknown.” Gus said, “Never thought I’d own a monopoly.” He laughed. “My shop and Emma’s are about the only going concerns…” Jesse added, “Feed store’s only by appointment… We’re waiting out the clock. This is God’s waiting room.” “No. That can’t be. This is a great place.” Winston looked at the people he had barely met, but with whom he felt a kinship. “I don’t live here. I don’t know anything. But…” Gus said, “It is… or was a great place. But all the air’s leaked out. Nothing’s left.” “But why is everyone leaving?” “The farms keep us limping along. But… well you know. The city calls to the kids. Go to college and don’t come back. Can’t compete…” “What if…?” Gus raised his beer. “Here’s to the good times. Those we had, have and may still have.” Everyone toasted to that. Someone made a shot and people cheered. Winston said, “Should build a casino or something. Develop something. Build something. Bring in new blood…” Some people turned away. Jesse said, “Yeah, I’m not much for gambling…” “Or rent it out for movie locations…” Gus cocked his head. “Ah, the movies. You know about that?” “A little. They’re always out for a new look…” A smiling woman sidled up to Winston and put out her hand. “I’m Denise. What were you in? Maybe I saw it.” “Not out yet. They’re calling it, ‘The Salamander.’” “Ahh… Fire! The elementals… Finally! Can’t wait…” Jesse said, “We don’t have a theater. Have to drive an hour to see a good old-fashioned movie anymore. Nothing but a bunch of superhero flicks…” Winston nodded but said nothing. Gus held up his empty bottle to Winston. “’Nother?” He nodded. Jesse said, “All the kids leave as soon as they’re eighteen. Theater wouldn’t survive with only us…” Gus handed Winston another beer. Denise clinked glasses with Winston. “You like our little town?” “Sure… People are nice. Sorry it’s…” “What?” “…Struggling…” “It’ll come back…” ~ The next morning, Winston’s manager, Stella, rolled to a stop in front of Emma’s Café. The gravel crunched beneath the tires of her late model Mercedes. Winston had called and told her about being stranded. He wanted her to see his discovery. She stepped out and took in the fresh air and the morning light. ‘I get it… Not as bleak as I feared.’ She found Winston inside eating breakfast. They went outside to talk in private. “Thanks, Stell, for coming up here on such short notice.” “So, you’re leaving the car as collateral for…?” He pointed to the distant warehouse and acreage with a house, he’d pledged to buy. “Very forward thinking, Wins. I see possibilities… An investment, not too far from the city. A stable place you can escape the madding crowd.” “And get away,” he added. She said, “But tell me, is this is a sly way to leave Hollywood? ‘Cause, you’ve got work waiting…” “Like what?” “Ever do comedy?” “Don’t know… Can try…” “Never mind.” “What?” \n\n“With comedy, you know. If you don’t know by now…” Winston gave her a look and refocused. “Back to your question, Stell…” He nodded toward the property he planned to buy. “I want to do this. I’ve heard of burnout. I can recharge here. And maybe bring work here too, sometimes.” “It could make a location. But you know, producers are fickle. No one uses the same location over and over.” “A series would… The realtor, Denise, said the market is slow. Buying now, I’m getting a good price. And I’m not forcing anyone out. The place is empty. Needs work, but… doable.” She nodded. “That’s all good. But are you sure you want to run for mayor? We’re looking at a stack of projects back home. You’re going to be very busy down in LA, Winston.” “It was their idea, Stell. They said if the election was last night, I’d have won in a landslide. They’ll know I’m not some fly-by-night, throwing cash around for a quick profit.” “Right. But do you know these people? They trying to profit off you?” Winston hadn’t looked at it that way. He shook his head. “The place has potential. Either for production, an art colony, or a getaway, close to Lake Isabella and the mountains. I get in now, I can help rebuild. Pick up some used equipment. Rent it out…” “Any paperwork to look at? To show the attorney…?” “All here.” He patted his satchel. “I’ll buy you a coffee and head back.” She said, “I’m good. Got my thermos. Need to go.” Winston said, “Alright… Let’s hit it.” They got into Stella’s Mercedes and pulled out. The car drove over by the warehouse and circled back. A light breeze cleared the dust from the lot. As they drove back by Emma’s, toward the freeway, Denise stepped out of the café and waved goodbye."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Riders of the Storms"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Riders of the Storms “Now another urgent warning for the communities on the Frisian North Sea coast line: the storm front approaching is still increasing in strength. The coast watch team and all emergency teams urge everybody to keep away from the coast line and the beaches from now until the storm has passed and subsided. Don’t get back on the road until the warnings have been rescinded or downgraded and expect extensive flooding following the storm.” Anna had jumped up from her lunch to turn up the volume of the radio not to miss anything. This was getting worse than she expected but she was not surprised.\n\nEverybody knew a mega storm would hit one day again even if nobody with living memories could recall any major storm tide since the 60s, when many lives were lost due to late warnings and late reaction of residents and helpers at the time.\n\nFor sure nothing like that could ever happen again, not with modern science and technology, not with constantly improved storm and flood defences, not with all information available on the internet to warn and prepare people living in storm areas? History had taught a different lesson though to the coast line and island communities: the North Sea was relentless and ruthless, water even more dangerous than fire when unleashed. The water demons would take what they demanded and what they were owed and they had been ignored for too long.\n\nSuperstitious nonsense her children called her dreams but she knew better. With every storm warning her dreams and fears increased and her face bore witness of the sleepless nights when she didn’t even dare to close her eyes, not to wake up crying and shouting her children’s names and fleeing the waterfront nearing the dykes with a vengeance, determined to claim back the lands stolen from the sea. When she woke up, she could remember every little detail and threat of the dream, while struggling to remember who she was and where she was. She knew this was a sign that the dreams would become reality very soon and her anxiety grew night by night. Even more so since she had seen him every night now, looking at her with deep sadness, pity, pain and guilt, what had killed him hundreds of years ago in the worst ever storm tide in the history of the Frisian coast. He was riding his white horse, the ghost horse as it was known, visible only for some and only some survived having encountered the Rider of the White Horse.\n\nWhen she closed her eyes, she could still hear the roaring storm, smell the see water encroaching the defence lines, man-built, and rushing through any nook and cranny it could find to get through any way possible until finally all man-built walls crumbled and the water overpowered and covered anything and everybody in its path, a bad omen for the storm approaching now the shores of her homelands. At some stages she couldn’t distinguish anymore what had been there first, the dreams, the stories or the knowledge but by now it all emerged together in one big outcry of fear, despair and warning. Recently her dreams had become more vivid, colourful but darker, more realistic and frightening each night. All she ever heard or learned about storm tides invaded her dreams and the night mares became night terrors. The few who survived the major storm tides would never forget what they witnessed and the memories were carried on from generation to generation, until they became bed time stories to warn children not to wander into the dunes and onto the beaches during the winter storms until they were just diminished to fairy tales. For that reason Anna had become more and more desperate to remind people of the memories of storms gone by, which should have never been forgotten but kept alive forever. Anna had relived those memories through her great grandparents and grandparents, her family having lived in the coastal areas for centuries. No wonder she’d become a coast watcher at a young age and studied the phenomena of the coastal areas, their history and geological changes, the impact of storms on lives and livelihoods, the impact of coastal erosion and destruction by overdeveloping the land and the dangers of cultivating land from the seas at any cost for an ever-growing population. With the renewed vigour of warnings about global climate change, the demand for climate action and the growing knowledge of the impact of any development on nature’s habitat and the cause and effect of the imbalance of the power between nature and human determination for constant growth, Anna had had high hopes of some actions to reverse damages already done and reclaiming land and wild life to the benefit of all.\n\nIt was too late though to stop the storm damages looming just now, they had ignored the warning signs for too long and downplayed the possible impact. Now they could only try and keep the damage as low as possible and hopefully avoid any loss of lives. Anna spent the remainder of the day trying to convince the residents of her area to move to grounds further away from the storm and flood defences, to move the live stock from the fertile grounds inside the defences to grass areas further inland. But North Sea folks could be stubborn and fatalistic, she had run into a lot of brick walls until at least most families agreed to get the children and elderly residents transported to community halls inland. All the time the wind was increasing, slowly but steadily, the sky was darkening much earlier than usual for the time of year and the tide was coming in fast and early. Very few boats were still out chancing the last lights but Anna knew the scenery would change very fast until the point of no return. There was no rain at all, just the eery feeling of some electricity building up in the air, the last attempt of the storm to dupe its victims into the false sense of security, the sense that this was only another storm front, one of many coming and going, luring folks to the beach and dunes for pictures, dares of swimming in the churning sea and even a few surfers had pulled their boards out, disappointed that the power pulled them inland again, nowhere near the huge waves looming still further away from the shore. Most of them were clearly no locals, this wasn’t the shores of Hawaii or Australia, this wasn’t the Atlantic either, just the North Sea, more vicious and powerful when angry and upset, and this Sea was visibly in uproar. This could only end in disaster and the North Sea would regain it's power. Anna was getting more and more antsy, not only did the campaign of helping people prepare for the storm not go as planned and she and the teams were racing against the time now. The local radio station was now repeating warnings and instructions every half an hour but that seems to only lure more people to the shore and the beach, following the local TV crew in. Most still stayed outside of the defences but that wouldn’t save them if the storm turned out as bad as forecasted. The TV stations had played video and film clips of older storms and the damages caused, people being swept to sea while taking pictures or walking along the shores, people cut off by the tide and caught within the pots and pitfalls of sand and water pools cutting them off from safety and threatening drowning in some cases. Even cars had been shown being swept into the see off the coastal roads at times but nothing seem to deter the spectators and fame hungry. There had been injuries and even lives lost in previous storms over the last decades, but most due to people ignoring dangers and not heading any warnings but this would be off the scale and only hindsight would prove her and the old folk’s tales right. Anna desperately tried to find her children in the crowds while redirecting children and teenagers with the elderly to the shelters. They weren’t with the teens on the beaches and the stone coast either as it seemed but Anna knew, they would be there at some stage, just kept hidden for now. She had warned them, threatened them, grounded them from nearing the shoreline during the storm, but she knew there’d be little chance they head her demands. She couldn’t tell them about the dreams, the water threatening to overcome the defences, the rider showing her the future doom. They already believed her to be crazy, not a messenger from the past or future. She could hear the water again roaring behind her, she could hear the demons laugh while stretching their fingers to touch her and the kids and pull them into their caves, she could see the sky go dark before turning to purple as even the sun disappeared in the sight of danger much earlier than on the calendar. She didn’t dare to turn around, terrified to see the danger already engulfing the crowds on the beaches, but she knew the water was still out, the sea by far not as strong as it would be in a short couple of hours, the white waves taunting but not threatening yet. She could hear the voice of people on the beach and in the dunes shouting and pointing, unpacking food and beverages to celebrate a once off nature’s spectacle and already celebrating their videos of humans rejecting nature’s power and surviving as the stronger power. Fools for sure, risking their lives and not even understanding the anger and desperation of nature. She could hear the seagulls screeching and the sun was still just above the horizon, giving them a last peaceful light before they were left alone with the darkness and the disaster. She could finally see her children, laughing and dancing at the beach, their phones all pointed to the sea now coming in ever faster. Most people had already abandoned their prime seats directly at the shore not to get caught or overwhelmed by the tide but were still within the danger zone. Some seem to be disappointed about the seemingly still calm strength of the waves coming in, not worthy enough for sure for pictures, they wanted and needed more drama. Well, they’d get it much sooner than appreciated, most phones won’t even survive the watery onslaught when their owners would abandon them running for their lives. Anna was relieved to see that Katie and Peter had finally moved back inland in front of the dykes and when she approached them to urge them further away from the water front she saw the rider again. Nothing in her dreams and anxiety attacks had prepared her for what she saw now: She had heard the cries of fear from people running from the water, she saw the towers of the water looming over the dykes and starting breaking through the defences and there was the rider patrolling the dyke. Time was finally up, the storm tide now approaching with terrifying speed and power.\n\nThe mood had changed within seconds and people had started running finally gripping the earnest and the danger of the situation they were in. The rider on his white horse, all covered in black cloak, was only visible to her she was sure but his message was felt by all. The dyke could break at any minute now and the water would swallow all in its path, humans, livestock, land and earth, all could be gone in minutes. He was the messenger doomed to ride the earth still to warn and remind them what needed to be done, that was his penance, his punishment and his redemption for what he’d done. He had been the embodiment of the arrogant and ignorant human race, not taking seriously the dangers he knew so much about. He had constructed the storm and flood defences hundreds of years before, a licensed surveyor, a man of science (mathematician and astronomer), and when he was tasked to rebuild the old storm and water defences he had used his scientific knowledge to overturn old understandings and traditions against the old folks’ warnings and the stubborn rejection of the changes by the local folks. So convinced was he by his construction and predictions that when the storm of the century approached, he’d neglected to act early enough when the constructions showed signs of failings as deterioration had been overlooked and repairs had been pushed out too long.\n\nOnly after his wife and daughter were swept to sea in their buggy due a part of the dyke breaking, he urged the helpers and builders to strengthen and repair the damages but it was a doomed task. Parts of the new dyke had been near breaking through and the old parts of the dykes had been already lost, threatening the biggest catastrophe the community had ever faced, threatening the devastating loss of lives they had ever have to fear. In a last act of desperation and sacrifice the Rider of the White horse followed his wife and daughter into the churning, raging see and disappeared out of sight like a ghost. To the disbelief of all witnessing what happened while fighting the forces of nature with little of no avail the storm calmed down without any reason and the water’s speed and strength reduced and the water demons returned to their sea coves far beyond the ocean. For now, the powers were appeased and catastrophe averted, for the story to be told for centuries. The dykes built by the Rider of the White Horse had never completely broken since, of course improved and upgraded as per science and technical knowledge developing even more. Anna looked at the rider in fear and hopelessness as last resort, when he turned his horse around and disappeared in the waves of the ocean once again, taking the storm and the imminent danger with him just as centuries before. No lives or lands were lost this time, leaving a lot of people shaken but alive, understanding how near the disaster had been.\n\nAnd the rider still appears to some at times to keep warning and reminding people of the dangers. Unheard, unacknowledged, but he will never give up unless there will be peace between nature and the stubborn human mind."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The Desert Takes"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "You shake the waterskin. Only a sip or two left. You pass it to Mel. She shakes it, passes it back to you. Your mouth is sandpaper, your throat like you’ve swallowed shards of glass. You shake the waterskin, pass it back to her. You make a game of it, sisters stumbling through the desert. Heat boils your insides. Sand billows up to form mini-tornadoes over dunes far and close, a prelude to a storm. Mirages speckle the horizon with pockets of oases. You know better than to trust them. As you keep passing the waterskin between you, there is galloping, first in your feet, then against your eardrums. You turn. Dark dots approach. They hold rifles poised. The black duffel bag dangles from your arm like a dislodged bone, weighty with hundred-dollar bills tucked snug in their elastic bands. It’s for one of your uncle’s ‘clients’. You should never have taken the job. The rifles grow larger. The horses jig their heads up and down with anticipation. Their riders wear masks over their pale faces. You stop, drop the duffel bag, and take the waterskin. You hold it to the sky. This is what is most valuable to you in this moment, you whisper. You pray for protection. The first shot is fired. It blasts up some sand from the ground a meter away. You hold yourself from flinching, and close your eyes. Something whispers back through the heat. You open them, give the waterskin a shake. It’s empty. Your offering has been accepted. As the assailants draw closer, the sand before them stabs up in jagged branches. It pierces the horses’ chests and skewers the gunmen bum to scalp. Shots go flying up and down and everywhere, booming over the empty desert. But they are dead. Impaled where they sit. Blood drips like glasses of wine overpoured. You smile. Mel grunts. You turn, and look down. She is clutching her side. Her ragged shirt pools crimson. You drop the smile, and rush to catch her as she falls. She says she’s fine. You insist she sit anyway, as you rummage through her backpack, and yank out the roll of plaster cloth bandage. You cut off a sliver, bundle it up, and press it to the wound. Already it is red. She hisses, spittle flying from her teeth. You take her hand, soft and warm, and place it to the bundle. Keep applying pressure. You take the bandage roll and wrap multiple rings around her midsection, more than is necessary, to keep the bundle secure. Mel takes her hand from the wound. Just our luck, she says, and laughs. You don’t find it in yourself to laugh alongside her. You snip the plaster, and knot the loose ends. You look around, past the skewered assailants. There is no one else. You propose you set up camp here tonight. She points out that would mean not making it to your uncle on time. He can get chowed to death by his rotten little pitbull, you say. Mel doesn’t argue anymore. That means she’s already lost too much blood. The sun settles into the horizon, merging with the mirages to form a kaleidoscope of deep orange blurs. You prepare the tent, against a nearby dune so it is at least protected from the wind in one direction. You secure the grounding pegs deep in the earth. Your sister is lying down. You tug her inside, carefully. She grunts at you. That’s good. It’s a sign of life. The wind is picking up, making the polyester of the cramped tent flap, slapping your head. You bring your things inside, including the duffel bag that sits like an overweight pug, and zip the entrance shut. You set up the electric heater in one corner. Once the sun fully submerges, the world will turn cold. The heat that the desert pushes on you freely in the day, it takes in its entirety once it realises you are ungrateful. You sit, and you dig your dirty nails into your palms, and you stare. There’s no point in offering anything so soon. She could heal. But look at her. You’re kidding yourself. You need to think of what your next most valuable thing is. But that was the last of your water; it’ll be time to start glugging down piss soon. Your rations have run out. The tent you need to survive, the bandages you need in case of further injury. This is the heart of balancing offerings: they must be valuable, but not essential to your immediate future. Your mother knew this well. She gave the wedding ring of her deceased first husband in exchange for your life once. She gave her own life for your uncle’s. (And what has your uncle gifted you? A crumbling roof under which to scrape out an existence, as if you were mould permitted one strawberry in the back corner of the fridge, so long as you do his dirty work.) But your mother was more skilled than you are. If she had asked for protection in exchange for the last of her water, all stray bullets would only hit other assailants. The three of you would walk free. You wipe the wet heat from your cheek, and blink your eyes clear; there’s no use in crying. You glance at the duffel bag. No, this is what it’s all for. You’d be an idiot to have come all this way to show up empty-handed. Is it so idiotic to save a life? You turn to Mel. She muttered something. You ask that she repeat herself. She mumbles it again. You catch a few words here and there, about your childhood, about the swing she fell off because you pushed too hard. She titters, then. You don’t fully understand, but you force a laugh. Darkness descends, and the cold follows. You switch on the heater. It thrums to life, giving off a sickly orange glow through its rusted visor. You could always offer that, but it doesn’t strike the balance either. You’d freeze to death. These powers weren’t meant for live-or-die scenarios. But here you are, because you’re thick in the head. Sand buffets the tent, a sound like polystyrene against polystyrene, and you hear a grounding peg shift in the earth. Your uncle bought this. You don’t trust its structural integrity. You hold your hands to the heater. You shiver. When the peg dislodges it yanks up the one next to it, and sand floods into the gap between wall and floor. It’s like grated ice slams into your face. It tastes dry and gets lodged in your teeth. You lunge over Mel, and grab at the pegs. Your fingers find grip, and you plunge them back in the earth. Yellow grains settle on you and your sister, unmoving. You pant. The storm isn’t finished. It yanks up two more behind you. By the time you’ve secured those, the original pair are flying again. You ground them. Mel laughs under you. She’s delirious. This needs to stop. So what about your uncle’s money? You look to the duffel bag, and close your eyes, and pause, and open them again. Perhaps for that much cash, you could ask for teleportation, to a hospital maybe. It’s worth a try. You close your eyes and whisper your prayers. Only the howling wind answers, however. Two more tent pegs come loose. You bolt them back in the ground. The duffel bag is still present. The heater is spluttering, struggling. Whatever. If Mel becomes healthy again, this task will be much more manageable. You offer the duffel bag again, for stitching her wounds, replenishing her blood. Yet it remains, and your sister continues to giggle. Her bandages are no less crimson. You barely have time to think as you dash back and forth in the tent. Of course. Of course money wouldn’t work. Your uncle could buy back an orphan’s parents for it, if he cared to nurture the ability you have, but you don’t care about it. What are you to do? What would your mother do? She’d tune out that the tent was about to be ripped clean off her head, keep her cool. Okay, now you’re chill, you’re a relaxed breeze, baby. What do you do? What else could get you a teleportation. The tent, the bandages, and the heater can’t be offered for the opposite reasons to before; being out of this desert would nullify their value, so you wouldn’t care enough for their loss. A limb perhaps? Which one? Arm is easiest. You close your eyes, offer it up. But you offer it too easily. They smell your desperation. Nothing happens. Have a break, Mel mutters. I want a KitKat, she says. The storm yanks away all six pegs at once, and the tent hurtles away. You clutch your sister instinctively as sand batters you, getting caught in your hair, ripping into your trousers. You close your eyes. Take all my limbs, you think. It’s not as graceful a prayer as your mother, as your teachers, were capable of, but you give it anyway. Take as many as you need, as you desire. Just get us to that hospital. And then someone screams. The air is still. The only sand is the grains trapped in the crevices of your person. The floor is cold and smooth, and smells of cleaning fluid. You blink open your eyes. A nurse is running away. Mel splutters under you. You clamber off her, and you fall on your back, spine aching. You grunt. You get your hands under you, and try to stand. But you can’t. Your legs are gone. You look down. They’re not bleeding, at least You smile, in spite of everything. It makes some sick poetic sense. One last journey made without your legs, in return you never have another journey on them again. You look around. That bulging duffel bag sits a meter away. It looks at you like a pet that’s never moved a day in its life. You crawl over to it, and clutch it. The doctors arrive, and they lift you two on a stretcher. One doctor comments that you have no wounds, another says the legs must predate what’s happened here. They give you a room together, but take her away to surgery, leaving one half of it barren. You keep a hold of the duffel bag until they’ve left. You’re alone. You stare at it. The legs you’re missing itch, but you’re still too pumped on adrenaline to care for the moment. You open the bag. The cash sits inside in heaped rolls. A KitKat, your sister mentioned. A couple million could buy you a KitKat, right? Maybe more. When Mel returns she’s on life support. It’s a few days before her eyes blink open. Your uncle hasn’t visited yet; it took ages for the doctors to ID you both, as you’ve been purposely uncooperative. You hand her one of the two KitKats, but she’s staring at your legs. What happened? she says. I made the trade I needed to, you say. I- How are you going to— Just say thank you, you say. She absently opens the KitKat, takes a bite out of it. Thank you, she says. Her skin glows in the morning’s sunlight. You’re alive, you think. You’re alive. And where’s the money? she asks. This time it’s your turn to laugh, and hers to be too confused and dazed to ask why."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "PEN POWER"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The strange phenomenon started for Karley one day as she sat in her favorite spot in her garden with her journal in her lap contemplating what to write or draw. She loved this garden and cottage which she had called home for ten years now since her retirement decision to leave the city and move to a much more bucolic environment. It was an overcast day. She wished the sun would break through. It wasn’t exactly gloomy, just overcast, foretelling the coming of rain with thick clouds blocking the sun. The roses about her in the garden seemed downcast because of the lack of sunshine to spur their blooms into opening so they could spread their perfume into the air as was their job. She was contemplating all this when the opening for a story flitted through her mind once, twice, thrice as if to say, “Write me down.” So, Karley clicked open her trusty liquid gel ink pen and wrote: “Once upon a time in a gloomy land where roses could not thrive, a fairy maiden took pity on these magnificent flowers and called upon the sun to shine upon them that they might bloom.” She felt an unfamiliar tingle in her hands as the words flowed forth upon the page. It startled her and she dropped her pen into her lap. She looked up from her journal and blinked. She shifted her gaze to the sky. Rain-filled clouds were dissolving. Sunshine was filling the garden around her. Roses were opening up. The air was quickly becoming suffused with rose perfume and rainbow- colored butterflies were flitting about. She blinked again and saw more clearly. What she had thought were butterflies at first glance now showed themselves to be rainbow winged beings distinctly akin to fairies from stories of old. An unmistakable vibration of magic shook her. Was this happening a coincidence? She retrieved her pen and wrote more. “The rainbow winged beings transformed into butterflies.” She looked up again. The rainbow winged beings she had seen only moments before now were clearly butterflies. Karley gasped. She was excited, puzzled, and a bit unnerved by what she had just observed. She had no clue what was happening or why, but she was also intensely curious. Curiosity had been a key aspect of her life as a child and had remained so all seventy-five years up to this moment. She wrote: “A cat entered the garden and stretched itself out lolling upon bench where a young maiden sat writing in her journal.” That same and now less unfamiliar tingle struck her hands again. She looked at her hands and saw the tell-tale age lines fade from them. Then, she felt a purring presence sharing the bench with her. She stroked the cat and its purr rumbled with pleasure. She wrote: “The young maiden welcomed the cat’s company. It was a beautiful tortoise shell calico cat.” She looked down at the cat lolling beside her and its perfect tortoise shell markings came into focus. She clicked her pen closed. The cat did not disappear. Karley rose and went into her cottage. The cat followed her as she walked into her kitchen. Karley offered the cat a bowl of milk and pondered all that had just happened. If this magic of her written words becoming solidly real was a lasting gift, she needed to think deeply about the meaning and purpose of this gift coming to her here and now. She left her journal and pen on her kitchen table, went to her bathroom and drew herself a hot bath. The cat followed her, making himself at home, even giving himself a thorough licking as she stepped into her relaxing bath. “You need a name,” she said talking to the cat. “I know! I am going to call you Geni cause in the Aladdin story, a Genie appeared like magic when Aladdin rubbed an old lamp. My pen was rubbing the paper when I was writing and you appeared.” “Meow…purr…purr,” Geni responded. He left the bathroom and jumped up on Karley’s bed awaiting her to join him for a good sleep. Karley chuckled and said, “You are right, Geni, a good nap is exactly what I need now.” She fell asleep quickly and dreamed. Her dreams were filled with images showing her different scenarios of what having this strange power might mean, of what she could bring into being. She awoke more befuddled than ever. What she knew without a doubt was that whatever she wrote in her journal would come true, and so she knew that her writing would have consequences beyond here and now. It was a realization of an overwhelming responsibility, and she wasn’t sure she was ready for that. Before the events in the garden, her writing had mostly been for her own pleasure or a way to process her own pain. For the next three days she pondered and prayed for guidance without writing a word. On the fourth day, she opened her journal and wrote: “I accept this is happening. I ask for divine guidance.” She waited in meditative silence. Then, like a telegram word by word in her mind she read, “Follow your heart one word at a time.” She nodded and wrote in her journal: “I know my childhood friend Cecelia has been ill, but now she will begin to heal from the inside out.” She closed her journal. Cecelia lived about an hour’s drive from her cottage. They usually communicated every few days by phone. Sometimes Karley would drive to Cecelia’s house and visit with her for an hour or so and then return home. After writing the entry in her journal about Cecelia, Karley made herself some coffee and an English muffin. She had no sooner finished this light breakfast when the phone rang. “Hello,” Karley answered. “Karley, it’s me,” Cecelia knew Karley would recognize her voice. “Yes, Celie, how are you this fine morning?” Karley asked using the nickname Celie she had given her friend when they were children. Cecelia giggled and poured out her news that she had never awakened that morning feeling so good. She invited Karley to come over and Karley happily agreed to do so in a day or two. “Take care of yourself,” Karley ended the call, “Love you.” “Me love you too,” Cecelia gave her regular response, and hung up. Karley waited a day and then drove to Celie’s house hoping to find her increasingly better, and she did. They had a lovely visit. About ten days later Celie called to tell Karley that her doctor had pronounced her cured. He didn’t know why or how, but all the tests that had previously showed malignancy had come back benign. Karley told her that she was so happy for her and they would see each other soon. Karley went into the garden and sat with her journal in her lap and her pen at the ready. She knew from experiences with the Guardians, invisible forces of the cosmos, which she began knowing in childhood that this gift of pen power as she called it had not been given lightly. She also knew that she absolutely couldn’t abuse it or seek to profit from it. She was being trusted to use it to make life better. She decided to start typing her words to see if the power remained as when she wrote by hand. She decided to start small with a local situation. Many people in her village wanted curbside pick-up of recyclables. However, there had been a faction on the village council who thought it wouldn’t work and so had not passed a resolution to even put a pilot program into place. Karley secretly thought the reticence came from those who wanted to profit personally from such a program and hadn’t yet figured out how to best work that out. She sat down at her computer and typed: “At the next village council meeting a resolution will be passed that starts a nonprofit, member supported, curbside pick-up program in our village. The members will pay a reasonable membership fee. Any villager may join. The members will meet and peacefully work out the practical details for the common good of the village.” She saved the piece in a folder on her hard drive. She picked up her journal and trusty pen and with a cup of coffee went out into the garden to enjoy the beauty. The next village council meeting was a few days hence. She would attend and see what happened. She drank her coffee and drew sketches of the flowers gracing her garden. The village council meeting was well attended. Their agenda was posted and the item of curb-side recycling was on that agenda. There was much discussion about that item and to Karley’s delight, a resolution for curb-side pick-up of recyclables was written, voted on, and passed with a majority of the council. Karley walked home that night with her mind buzzing about items she could quietly tackle where her words meant to serve the common good would come to life. She kept thinking about what she had been told about following her heart one word at a time. She thought about the imbalance she felt in the world beyond the borders of her village. Imbalance that had materialized in greed, lust for power, and tyrants who had not an ounce of concern about the common good. She thought about the need for more empathy, selflessness, cooperation, courage, and understanding among her fellow humans around the world. That night, all those thoughts were swirling relentlessly in her mind. She sat down at her computer, but couldn’t type. She dug in a drawer where she kept a supply of journals. She pulled them out and laid them down on the kitchen table. She sat down and meditated calming her heart and mind. Then, she stood and ran her hands in the air above the journals saying: “Choose, oh Divine Guardians, place my hand on the journal where I will use the gift of pen power you have granted me to write into being a better world to help the people of the world and enhance the common good for all.” She stood with eyes closed and waited. The vibrational tingling started in her toes and moved up through her whole body even unto her crown chakra and then ended in her hands. She opened her eyes and saw that she was touching a beautiful red leather journal she had been saving for years knowing it would be special. She smiled, picked it up and thanked the Divine Guardians. Again, like a telegram a message came into her mind. “Use this well. Always follow your heart and keep the common good of all the people everywhere in mind as you write. You will have time to do all that must be done using Pen Power in this journal. But the changes you write will not all happen at once. However, they will all happen. The timeline is beyond your life time. Have courage, be love, and be the change you wish to see in the world. Do you remember who said this?” “Do you mean about being the change I wish to see?” Karley asked mentally. “Yes,” came the answer. “I’ve always thought it was Mahatma Ghandi,” Karley answered. “Yes, perhaps some others also, but Ghandi got the most press about it, so we Guardians are happy to give him credit.” The Guardian paused and then continued, “Are you ready?” Karley nodded her assent. “Start small and work upward,” the Guardian advised and left. He was no longer connected up in her mind. That very night Karley began her work, writing in that beautiful red leather journal. She wrote: “Let the people of the world start listening to each other in order to understand each other’s needs and work toward making opportunities for those needs to be met peacefully.” About a month later she heard on the news that a peace accord was finally being successfully being worked out in the Middle East where wars had ravaged for centuries. It was called a miracle. Karley knew it was just a beginning of her work with Pen Power. Karley lived and wrote in that beautiful red journal and two others many years before her death. She had received a communication from the Guardians shortly before her death that the journals were to be ceremonially burned. Their writings were preserved in the great cosmic Akashic Library and their truths would continue working themselves out until all had become reality and balance amongst living beings was restored and planet earth healed and made whole again. She did as she was instructed. She knew only time would tell the when, where, and how the full reality would come to be. She died peacefully surrounded by the invisible Guardians who welcomed her Spirit and left the perfume of roses suffusing the air where her body lay. When her cottage was visited a few days later, the perfume of roses still lingered, but her body had vanished and was never found. She passed into the realm of legend."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The Man in the Ocean"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The man stood trembling on a pale bank. A good twenty yards from where the tide lapped upon a steep wasted shore. He shook and shivered in a steady rhythm, squinting at the breakers beneath the grey overcast. Specks rained sideways, cutting at his forehead like needles. A light mist settled in. His stomach contorted and inverted inside. A pointless phrase from a pointless memory repeated in his head in step with each breath. A sudden thought offbeat had him choking his spit. His oversize boots laboured through the fine soft sand, that squelched like a banshee underfoot. The wind sang like his wife, tuneless and without measure. His arms were wrapped tight against his body like a gunshot victim. He thought of the dreadnaught he left behind. His saturated woolen pullover had gained an extra kilo. He was lamenting the arduous task to take it off. The dunes behind him were shallow, providing little consolation from the chasing squall. The wind was thin yet obstinate and his ear curls ached. The aerobic sand flew up against him, slicing at his bare shins unforgiving. He huddled his shoulders inward, turning his back to cheat the gale, as he would protecting an infant cuddled warm in his breast. Sand had collected below his tear ducts. He fingered at them with precision, then gave in and rubbed broadly as a toddler would sleep. His lips were chapped despite the spitting rain. He replenished them with his tongue, catching on the flakes, tasting the thin film of bitter salt. Seaweed had washed ashore overnight and stank high of beached cuttlefish. What he would give for a scrap of petroleum jelly, the kind that sat forever on his beside, lasting years and never failing to supply a small swab on his index finger to apply on his cherished wife’s supple lips for each night’s ritual. His ears stung still, as the relentless chilled air shrilled past. His sight had not shifted from the breaks, though his thoughts had wandered. He pictured the mud hearth from his bark shack. It was still glowing when he left. It was not a day ago, the fire crackling and snapping had filled him with comfort, though the foreboding wind whistling the top of the chimney was heard echoing down the flue and had blotted baby black pockets of dread in his chest. His guts sank at the seaside, recalling why he had left, why he stood on the beach waiting. ‘Just a moment though- just this one last moment before the plunge’ he thought. He took a moment to indulge. A moment’s respite, like busying oneself in a kitchen, saving as many breaths possible, sparing precious seconds for rest disguised as business, waiting anxiously for it to dissipate, before the courage emerged and served to lumber him stiffly forward a few steps more. His head tilted backward, inhaling deeply through his nose, and out softly from the mouth. “First thing’s first,” he whispered softly under breath. He sat down like a schoolboy and began unraveling his bootlaces and prying his boots off with his palms, sparing his anesthetized frozen fingers. He plonked them neatly beside him, feeding them his stubborn damp socks after a frustrating negotiation. He stood with a sigh clenching his toes and fed his arms out of his jumper’s sleeves before lifting the hem overhead. “Ha!” He fashioned with a huff. “Was rather painless.” He stood steadfastly, refusing to shiver. The nerves inside his sinus began to chill in a bazaar pang he could register at the top of his brain. The weightless air consumed his cavernous nostrils quickfast, like fluting breeze through barren cavities that dripped clear fluid and chilled his nose numb all the more. “Bloody hell,” he said in a gentle guff, smearing his running snot down and across his upper lip in a quick swipe and sniff. “Damn bloody hell.” The time had come. ‘Enough dilly-dally’, he thought. He made for the water. There was little calm in the whitewash by the shore. No reprieve for the thundering calamity of waves just forty yards beyond. Their impact grew louder with each step. Past the breakers were white caps cruising diagonally down the coast. This journey would be unforgiving from the get-go. The rain had not let up. ‘Such an ordeal’, he thought, ‘but what of it?’ He reached the hard sand. The first bubbling wash hurried his bare feet with the weight of a cold anvil. The frigid water rushed his system. “You—bastard!” he protested through his clenched teeth. The white froth hissed back retreating. He took a moment and found his resolve. He made for the water again, dredging through the whitewash, rendering his long legs lifeless. The first wave hit his waste. His soaked shirt stuck to his torso. He collapsed in begrudgingly to his shoulders, creating an annoying air bubble in the dryish top of his shirt clogging his sight. The icy surf hit again in a humbling charge. He heaved repeatedly. He dunked his head under. Submerged, he held his eyes closed tight in a fitful panic. His head was in a bench vice. His hearing blurred for the ferocious tide above. His lungs failed him, shrinking from the subzero shock. The ocean swell stirred him over and under, with a thousand razor blades pressed against him in suspense. He surfaced with an almighty gasp and struggled forward flailing his limbs about helplessly in and out of the dead water that sucked him out for another spell. His body consumed the hard cold, crushing him tightly like carbon to a diamond. The tide sucked dry; he was now ankle deep facing an indifferent 10-foot wall. He was hammered into the sand bar and dragged underneath against the coarse sand leaving the pink grazes you might find on a baby’s dank behind at the end of pitiful day filled with broken plans, spent loose change and shameful neglect. He wound up back in the whitewash on his hands and knees like playing ‘dogs and cats’. He started again. This time he dove through the waves before they broke. He paddled forward like a sprog until his feet could touch the floor no more. Now he was truly in the ocean’s hands; alone. He thought of fire, and then a lame joke once told to him. ‘Let me not die with such a stupid thought’, he prayed. ‘Let my last thoughts be of some kind of honour, or heroism or delight - delight for tragedy like a stoic or happy Sisyphus’. He swam on. He duck-dived the breakers and found the surface for air with thankful relief each time, re-emerging with eyes closed in a spiritual grace. The waves did not yield. He turned briefly to check his progress and was immediately disheartened. Do not do that again, he thought emphatically. He dived another break and emerged, and without a moments respite, was smacked square in the face with another set. He pegged his nose for a moment in comfort, as his spiralling legs tread the water ardently. The waves did not yield. He swam on with his head above the ocean’s glassy blue-green veneer. ‘Make it passed the breakers first’, he thought, ‘then for the easier water beyond’. Another. And another. And another."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Coffee riot cafe"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Out side the most quiet street as once had been a few years back.ànd night time walking was safe . especially for homeless begging make in that now suburb turned gang members violence eruption of loud people who have al preferences to sitting around a cafe first in morning and let them know that police are on the lookout for the public gang of a shooting and a drug release and burglary heavy night of shooting coffee consumption and drinking in the local community pub.all the full schooners they were able to having half of price that one off cost of living night and after all that gang members lined up a take away food van for gathering of burgers and chip and while they were already filled with coffee and still wanted coke bottle s to buy ti mix back at the local community hotel but then a car speed through the night and an eruption of the shooting the gang members and all ran out of the public domain into cars and driving off and two of gang members while been shot dead out at the table of the hotel, alongside there burgers and chips .and empty coke bottle filled with a bottles of bourbon mixed with the following crowds and the police collection of the bodies into a paramedic and the rest of the gang members wike driving had head on collision of drunk driving through the night and police wonder why all to be there soon there would be a part of the public domain to be done by.and the guns went off I to the night of two escaped Gang members and while shooting a woman who had been found dead first screaming help me someone and dropped dead of several gun shots .. As the young homeless man in that area who was once safe to sleep outside and IGA store and then scraping money at night now he seemed to have disappeared off the street of that wild gang members of the future and wondered why the homeless guy suddenly missing and a while later maybe a few weeks later or months ago gone by the homeless man of that small town had been found mutilated and stabbed dead outside of a Coles supermarket.a d police and funeral had mentioned in all public papes he will be living in the memory of further assistance.and a story book on that homeless man and the btto be turned into a publishing story titled such is life as why the government would do that book on that homeless beyond far story of a mess up with the following crowds that the evidence of the public domain shooting had been detected as coffee consumption and drug administration FDA related.and tv ended up with the manuscript yet of the homeless man why he ended on the street in that suburb and his horrific death of stabbed.ans welk the story unfortunately never gotten past the release of published articles by the end of the time of the future and past experience of working with the following crowds and the organisation of the public domain and hosting the public take care of the public in the morning cafe and noticed that night the street from the local community and police wonder why all the scenarios that the evidence of the public gang members of the world today and the triggered by the way.and while the coffee morning started on another day and night and police were called and left with another accident and rape of there hoard of women all mutilated of gang rapes over drug and high coffee consumption and through another night the police started raising a shooting of there own if killing most of the public gang members who did all the killing and rape of innocence children and all adults and the stabbed of that poor homeless man outside a coles super market who didn't deserve that situation as he was only trying to make a living out of scrape up money for food. And since the police had started there own shooting to rid of all the gang members and hopefully the town there would be free of violence and the other neighbours to be turned into a quiet little town like it had been once long time ago which the police and the organisation still are actually going anywhere in the morning and night any Think this whole process of gang related scenario will go on a far longer time than any other neighbours around the world today as well as the other day and night and police wonder why all the scenarios of gang's would somehow and one day to be done by. And the rest of the future and past experience of working this weekend but will keep going on in the morning cast session doesn't match the public domain in the morning and nights of that takeaway food can get a chance to be moving elsewhere.in distance of the hungry staeced members of coffee shops considered for the sake of the public domain would be great to hear that from the public domain and police wonder too many times after time.a d some of the future and past work details company information and the police organisation of the van and no riddance if the take away food was the working there refused to move forward along elsewhere.even though the van of burgers and fries and bringing of more gang related scenarios and well as for the homeless man s book which never gotten to the publishing field of the public domain in the future.and well it would be a good book ideal if found suitable position of published company to who to take up the contract and send out the title book. Such is the public domain in the city.cand tvw triggered warning if this long story prompt should not be read after dark as it may disrupt sleep in some cases the end"
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The short cut"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The Short Cut. A small crowd gathered on the bridge to watch the scene develop below. I wandered over, pretending not to care. KBC News, a local Television studio, were giving live updates, \"Looks like a walker found something earlier today... a body down there, in the trash. Seems like the Victim had been dead for a while, but the site was disturbed this morning. Police are looking into this tragic accident...” Site disturbed, was that me? No, I just got here.\n\nVictim? was it a murder then? I turned back toward work, I had no business there, or that is what I needed to show. Yes, get back to work, relax, you’ve done nothing wrong. You just kicked a can of paint over the bridge, and it landed, yes, it landed on a dead body! Wow. Wonder who it was? what about the paint? I was the one who kicked the can, sent it cascading down and splattering all-over a murder site. I looked down at my shoes, spatters of black Paint. I’m not involved, am I? Four hours earlier. Leaping over that crooked wall always brought a smile to my face. I was late for work again, but this neat little beeline would put me right back on time, and tumbling into the mini adventure I craved. scrambling up the embankment, BlackBerry thorns sunk their talons into me as I struggled on. A few scratches endured, but totally worth the minutes saved by crossing here. Ambling the last few feet over the rusty steel, there, on the girders, that old paint can. I had taken this route often and always passed it by, but this morning was different. Times up buddy, you’re going down! I swung my foot out and booted the can up and over the bridge edge. As it went skyward, the lid came off, and black oily mess flew out into the frosty air. I peered down through the bars to the disused track below, my breath catching as I searched for the paints landing spot. It seemed fine at first, just a pile of trash -old clothes, rags, a broken bottle, a hand? Wait. Is that a hand? I tried to look closer through the paint. Was it?\n\nA faint whirring was in my ear, what was that, oh, another drone strike! It was time to get indoors. I scrambled off the bridge and made my way up the viaduct steps to Coopers. What about that hand? What the hell had I just seen? It looked like a human hand in that trash pile.\n\nWait, maybe it was a manikin hand? covered in paint anyway. Yeah, that’s it, just a stupid, plastic hand. Was it? My leather look slip-ons creased against the swelling door to number 58. Tring! \"Oh, let me help you with that!\" said Libby, our office manager pulling on the rain-soaked timber, she flashed a smile and floated down the hall. “Your late!” Boomed Mr. Cooper, my boss. I looked at my watch, 9.03.am. Damn it, should have left that can alone. ” Sorry Mr. Cooper, there was another drone strike just now, did you hear it Sir?\" I cringed inside with my lame apology. Crickets, I heard crickets. I got to work. Looking busy at Coopers Print Company, was mandatory, especially when there was nothing to do. And boy, was there nothing to do. They say Cooper still has the first Buck he ever earned. I would not be surprised. That hand, was it plastic? I'm not convinced. I should go back and be sure, it's on the way home.\n\nHang on, I’ve got that Scout camping trip tonight, the last camp before Halloween. I was supposed to leave straight from work, can't miss that. Here’s the thing, I could go there and back at lunch. Yeah, nobody around, nip back, up the embankment, and go see that trash pile up close, maybe clean that paint up. Someone might get curious as how paint got splattered everywhere.\n\nLunch at twelve, what's the clock say? 11.39am, I got this. 12.01pm and I'm already moving toward the rail embankment, at least it stopped raining. A blue haze in the air, flashing, It’s the cops. I stopped in my tracks and looked toward the railway. A police cordon had been placed around the area underneath the bridge, right where that trash piled up. Now what? Case closed? I guess the cops will figure it out. Well, Cooper had my week, but The Eagle Scouts had my weekends, and it was finally Friday! We met as arranged at 6.pm at the hut to check the gear and start the camp weekend. I was relieved to get out of work, and away from that railway. This was the last camp before Halloween. Friday October 26th. Kit bag’s here, bedroll's there, blah blah. I hated this part; I just wanted to get on the road. Once everything was set. Mr. Wells, our scout captain, drove the bus to camp. All aboard! We reached Middle wood in less than twenty minutes. “Good work Wells”, we all cheered!\n\nIf I sound impatient, sorry, but you know that feeling when you're going on vacation, and just want to get there already? The best thing about camp is when all the kids are settled in their tents, the campfire is blazing and everyone's eating supper. Good times. This was a big camp, with all the district troupes. After supper we gathered around the fire in the center of our clearing. It was almost Halloween, and the scout leader usually had some cheesy ghost story for bedtime. Tonight, was no different, except that Mr. wells, our very own Mr. wells, was the speaker. First time he’s done this. I secretly hated Wells, he always seemed to get kicks from shouting kids out for no reason. He was the scout master, but he made sure you knew it. His smarmy face lunged into the camp light and began. “Many of you may know about the curse of the white lady. I will re tell this story for the uneducated.” What a Pompous turd. I joined the yawns, spreading out like a Mexican wave around the fire. \"Please do not venture into Middle wood tonight”. Too late, we are in Middle-wood, dumbass!” An unknown but welcome heckler blurted out. “Good work from the back! I snickered inside”; this was getting embarrassing. “The ghost of the white lady is amongst us. Her only role is to set mischief and upset.” Give it a rest Wells. We all knew this tale. Allegedly, the white lady lived and died over 70 years ago in Middle wood, on the Bridgeton estate. She hung herself after her children disappeared, after she left them alone in the house one night. They were never found. The legend says her spirit haunts the woods, always wearing a white shawl, so that her lost children could see her in the dark, out looking for them.\n\nThat’s the story, pretty creepy, but just a story. “Please be aware of her disturbed state, this is not a friendly spirit!” Wells going for the Oscar. “Her grave sits out there, near the lake. We must go pull up the headstone, release the spirit inside. It's the only way to stop the haunting.” Get a rope from the quartermaster, take flashlights, and a spade. Go into the woods, find the grave, and pull up the headstone.”\n\nNow that was never in the tale. Wait, this was wrong. But it's just a story, isn't it Mr. Wells? The heckling stopped. I looked at Wells, he was enjoying this, the kids were really scared. I was scared. “This is no story; we must kill the white Lady’s ghost!” He was on a roll. Ok, Wells no more. I had to say something. “Hey Mr. Wells, this is Halloween, right? Aha!\n\nGood job sir! you had us all there!\" I was shaking. “Somebody gets me a rope” growled Wells undeterred. Are you kidding me? a small group of scouts assembled, ropes, spades, flashlights, all ready, that’s us, be prepared! I can't believe it's almost Halloween and were going ghost hunting. Wells was crazy, but, as if in some kind of frightening collective trance, we were all behind him. He led us out, across the meadow, into the dark. Scurrying past the moon caves, through damp weeds, almost within twenty feet of middle wood lake, we halted. There in the rising mist, what looked like, a headstone, picked out by one of our marauding flashlight beams. A Gray slab of something, jutted out from the marsh grass. “That’s it” shouted Wells, “get the rope”. Are you sure? What the hell was happening, this was at best, grave robbing, at worst I don’t know, interfering with the dead, releasing evil spirits, like, who would want to do that shit? I don’t know, but we were all with him. Trembling, we looped the rope over the headstone, covered in moss and dirt. Together, we took up the slack and pulled on the twisted hemp. Heave Ho! 2, Six, 2, six, an adopted old navy chant, Let the spirit go! This was insane, yet we pulled and pulled until the stone uprooted and lay on the sodden ground. Our terrified group yelled in relief.” Yah! the ghost of the white lady is dead; the spirit is gone.” Wells shouted, “well done lads let's get back to camp, well done.” “We let the evil spirit go!” he cheered. What a creep, I sneered, beneath my neckerchief. What about that headstone? can't just leave it like that, put it back. Its sacrilege what we just did in that frenzy. Was it even a real grave? I took a deeper breath, \"Mr. Wells, permission to put the headstone back, mark of respect sir, won't take a minute,” “Very well clean up that old witch's grave if you want, but take a flashlight, we are not waiting for you, Howay lads, let's get back to camp”. Out of earshot, I mumbled, as they disappeared into the mist. “Thanks, Well’s, you’re a real human being!” I hooked the rope off the headstone and pushed the slab toward the hole, clearing off the mud and moss as I went. This was a spendy headstone, or it was once. Polished Gray marble, with, looked like gold inlay lettering. Kind of expensive for some old lady who lived in the woods. I started to read the inscription. Br, Bru, Brun, Bruno! Here lies Bruno? Bruno, wasn’t that old man Bridgeton’s dog.\n\nWho? Old man Bridgeton, the original owner of the estate. He grew up here. As a boy, he owned a saint Bernard puppy. I think he picked it up at the humane society. Anyway, he loved that dog more than anything. It saved the old man's life one day. Out hiking alone, for once, he tripped, breaking his ankle. Unable to move and with snow coming down, he would have perished, but Bruno found him deep in the woods. He comforted the old man, then snuggled up, keeping him warm until help arrived. Almost from that day until Bruno passed, that dog never left his side. That’s how you knew it was Bridgeton, Great big Bruno, always at his side. He knew the dog would have to be put down one day and so he promised when it was time, that he would bestow Bruno a proper send-off, A nice grave with a real headstone, to honor his lifelong friend. This was Bruno’s grave. I'm glad it wasn’t the white lady, but I bet come tomorrow, old man Bridgeton is going to raise hell with whoever dug up his beloved Bruno’s resting place. I cleaned off the rest of the mud and read the whole inscription,\n\nFrom Commander James Bridgeton. To Bruno, my dear St Bernard. You saved my life my friend, And my companion till the end. With this stone I honor yours, Until we meet again. Sleep well, good buddy. Amen. I reset the stone as best I could and tried to tidy up the area, I even found a daffodil and placed it softly at the foot of the headstone. Signing the cross, whispering a hail Mary, gave me comfort and well, you can never be too careful. Wandering my way back to camp, I looked back over my shoulder thinking about the gravesite. it was getting light. I wondered, if he loved that dog so much, why was it buried way out there? and not at his home. Maybe it was that old city ruling. In those days you could only bury an animal outside the city limits, as the grave would attract local predators. I guess. My feet were now icy cold, I stumbled over a fallen branch, it cracked, frozen solid, this was weird. Hang on, what the? Where's Camp? Where's it gone.? I spun around. What the hell. There was no trash, no tents, no Scout bus, no scouts, nothing. That asshole Wells had left me flat! I couldn’t believe it. They had struck tents and left the site. Had they? Was I in the right spot? I looked around; my heart was racing.\n\nNo trace of the site, no disturbed earth from the latrines, no black pit from the fire. I must be in the wrong spot, The mist continued to rise over the lake, gently dispersing in the morning sunlight. For the first time my breath came out as fog' I need to get home; this doesn’t make any sense. I hope all the scouts got back safe. They must have taken my kit with them. I got to the lane end and half running through the last of the icy fog. Abus, a bus in sight! Bus 39, struggling with the incline, slowed and allowed me to hop on. This would take me right back into town! The mist dissolved, we slowed, and I stepped off onto, mm, High Street? Cold rain replaced the lingering frost. I looked at my watch, 9,14am, what? Across the street, number 58, was that Coopers? Shit I was in trouble. “You’re late” boomed Mr. Cooper, as I stepped through the door. “Ok I heard you already,” under my breath obviously.\n\n“What was it this time, bus ran out of gas? driver got lost? don't tell me, you took a stupid shortcut over that Pipe bridge again?” I shuddered, “Well I guess that drone scared the driver into taking a safer route.’ Want to thank that driver.” is that right?”\n\nThat’s bullshit”, Wow Cooper, language! “We haven't had a drone strike in almost 2 weeks now!” Wow he was pissed, but hang on, what about this morning? “Ok get to work, I need those invoices by noon,” Coopers anger fizzled up his nose, and out his left ear, he tracked it with inky fingers. Moments later at my desk. I needed to sit down and chill, get online, check that camp reservation for tonight. Libby breezed by with the day's newspaper. Libby was the most likeable person at Coopers Print. As office manager, handing out the paychecks was a weekly treat for all of us.! Hey Corrigan, there's a story about the scouts...she dropped the print in my lap I could barely register the headline, \"Local Scout Leader found dead.\" \"Popular Scout leader Mr. Arnold Wells' body was discovered this morning, on the abandoned railway, off High Street, in what Police are saying, suspicious circumstances. Apparently, Mr. Wells, had been missing for days. The gruesome remains discovered earlier today by a local walker.” I looked up over my monitor, I needed some sanity. “Hey Libby, Maybe I'm going crazy, but what day is this?” She turned and flicked the auburn bangs out of her eyes,\n\n“Corrigan! it's Friday stupid, best day of the week!” Are you going camping tonight? last Scout camp before Halloween, right? You and your scout camps! “ “That’s right, Friday the 26th.just checking,” I mumbled. Wait, “Well, you're going right to camp?” she whispered.\n\n“Mm, Mr. Wells was found dead. \" I barely understood what I just said.\n\n“Huh? I will not miss that creep, one bit. I'm sorry but he was nasty,” What happened to him anyway?” Libby pouted so well.\n\nI read the rest, “Well, he was pretty chewed up, but they think a wolf, or some wild animal got him, out near Middle-wood. Somehow, he managed to crawl back along the railway, and took shelter underneath that old pipe bridge, they found him this morning.” “Wow that’s some story” Libby’s velvet tones a delight to my ears. “So how come you know so much about this?” “Wasn’t it on the news, I mean, I don’t know how,” “So, a dog just killed him for no reason? Sounds weird, that's not what I heard anyway. \" She was pouting again! “Oh, tell me more?” I quizzed her giddily. Everyone was always happy to see Libby, and Libby was always eager to hear the latest gossip from everyone and run with it.\n\n“Well,”, she began, I was hooked, “Wells was a crooked realtor, He’d been squeezing retirement folks into shabby assisted living for years, His latest con was trying to swindle old man Bridgeton out of some disused land near middle wood lake. Wells had a plan to scare the locals, making out it was haunted. with some ghost story. The land would drop in value, forcing the old man to sell at a loss. Seems like those plans died with him.” “Libby, you’re a genius!” What else could I say. “What are you doing for lunch Corrigan?” what a smile she handed me. “Call me Joe!” I smirked back through yellowing teeth, swiveling in my chair, trying to look cool,\n\n“So, where shall We go Libby?” She pondered, “How about you go see a dentist!”, Ouch! Sheepishly, I stared at my shoes, Oh shit, black paint. We really don’t see many wolves in these parts. No nothing like that. There are big dogs out there. In the woods? Maybe. Bruno is dead though, right?\n\nI must go visit with flowers; old man Bridgeton would appreciate that; I know where it is. "
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Lofty Adventure"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Pale light flashed beyond the clouded windows. One... two... three... four... The crack that followed echoed across the roof line and faded into the trees surrounding the property. Lilah tightened her fingers around the corded rope and pulled. The attic stairs swung down with a metallic chorus as the ancient springs woke from a long sleep. She reached overhead and drew the lower portion of the staircase to meet the floor, settling it before glancing into the dark chasm overhead. Lightning lit the upstairs hall and stairs to the main floor below. Shadows swept in second-floor corridor like searching fingers, flickering beneath the line of closed doors. Lilah shivered with a mixture of fear and anticipation then witched on her flashlight and surveyed the upper floor. Dust covered the worn carpet and and knobby banister. The mustard-colored wallpaper curled along each seam. A chandelier of cobwebs decorated every corner of the high ceiling and hung like garland over the mantle of each locked door. Ever since her mother and she had moved into her grandmother's old farm house, the upstairs and attic had been left dormant--a trove of mystery and hidden gems to a ten-year-old girl with an active imagination. \"Keepsakes\" was what grandma said lay within each locked room. Mama called it \"junk.\" Thunder boomed outside the old house and made the walls shake. Rain began to pelt the wooden shingles like hungry woodpeckers. They beat a rhythm that drowned out the normal sounds of the aging structure. Lilah inhaled to steady her pounding heart. Her grandmother had told her that a chest of her personal treasures lay buried in the attic. Ever since then Lilah had made it her mission to find it, but getting away unnoticed was hard to do in a house that creaked with each step. The storm that raged outside, however, was a perfect cover--and it made the journey both eerie and exciting. She pinched her flashlight between two fingers and gripped the first rung of the ladder. The rivets squeaked and the wood groaned. The old keys she had taken from the key drawer jangled in her pocket. Just don't look down , she told herself. Think of something else. Her head poked through the opening in floor and a waft of history met her with an oppressive heat. \"The daring explorer entered the dark cavern,\" she said in hushed voice. Lilah swung her flashlight from one end of the attic to the other. White mounds dotted the scenery like ghostly mountains against a black sky. Cardboard stacks littered the powdery floor in disjointed patches between garbage bags and loose lumber. With a final creak of the stressed wood, Lilah mounted the last step and entered the triangular loft. The smell of old wood mixed with the musty scent of canvas and rust. Particles drifted through the beam of her light as if a cloud of insects. She exhaled the warmth while trying not to cough on the disturbed dust. The age of the space made her heart race even as another flash filled the hall below. The accompanying clap of thunder made her shake with the trembling walls. \"All the clues said the treasure would be here, hidden away and kept safe by a magic spell placed by a local tribe,\" she continued. Her pulse quickened as she moved deeper into the gloom. Between the exposed rafters hung thick webs, their strands glinting in the light of her torch. \"The explorer came with the blessing of the tribe and their knowledge of what lay ahead.\" Lilah let her light drift along the roof and off the left side. \"Poison darts were embedded in the walls and ceiling. One false move and it would all be over.\" She stepped over a pile of loose chair rungs. Rain pounded the cedar roof as another boom of thunder shook the frame. Lilah gasped as the beat in her chest sped up. \"The explosion rocked the cavern as the pirates tracking the explorer found the hidden entrance. Soon they would make their way inside and try to claim to the treasure.\" She swung her flashlight around then wiggled behind a shrouded piece of furniture. \"But they couldn't be the ones to find it first. It could be dangerous in the wrong hands.\" Boxes gray with disuse were shoved into a side an alcove with a boarded window. Behind them--just lit by the beam of her light--sat a cedar chest. Lilah maneuvered around a wicker chair whose seat was missing and crawled into the cavity. She swiped a finger across the top of the nearest cardboard column and examined the accumulation of dust with her flashlight. \"The key was to unlock the protective barrier holding the treasure chest without setting off any traps. But had the explorer been given the right combination?\" Lilah moved her flashlight along each side of the boxes then trapped her chin. She rotated the top one to the right, then left, then right again. Thunder roared outside the house as rain drummed against the walls and roof. The sharp taps rattled the window frame as if fists pounded it from the other side. She held her breath. More thunder. More rain. The groaning snap of a large tree branch echoed outside the house. Its whine ended with a grating scrape against the wall that made Lilah clutch her flashlight with both hands. She pinched her eyes shut trying not to let fear destroy her adventure. The crash of the downed limb battled the rain and continual thunder. Lilah suppressed a squeak as voices echoed from far below. \"The pirates are close,\" she whispered. Lilah pealed her eyes open and stared at the boxes. She set the flashlight aside with trembling hands and yanked until she had moved the stack away from the hidden chest. Scooping up her torch, she crept forward on her hands and knees. \"The explorer drew near the chest, mindful that another trap may lay inside.\" She drew first her light and then her fingers along the seam of the lid before tracing the keyhole. Upon the dusty surface she traced the name engraved there: J-A-N-E-E-N. \"This was it--the queen's hidden treasure.\" She blew the dust away and coughed in its cloud. Thunder rumbled amidst the howl of wind. Lilah ignored the creaks coming from the floor below and the sound of her name muffled in the folds of the storm. She dug in her pocket for the keys. Surely, one of these has to work. \"Lilah?\" The first key Lilah tried was bronze with a long neck worn from use. Nothing. \"Lilah!\" The second key was black from age and heavier. No change. \"Lilah, if I have to call for you one more time...\" Lilah stared at the six keys she still held. It was too soon! The pirates were here. There's not enough time to recover the queen's treasure! But could it be re-hidden and sealed away for a later time? Could the pirates be distracted from their quest? Lilah pocketed the keys and shoved the boxes back in front of the chest. She crawled out from behind the white blankets and flickered her flashlight off as another bean bounced across the ceiling. \"Lilah, I swear...\" Her mother's voice cut off as her head popped through the opening. Lilah stepped into view. \"I've been calling for you,\" her mother said with an edge of anger. \"It's storming out and I've been looking all over the house for you. Didn't you hear me?\" \"I'm sorry.\" \"Why didn't you answer? Do you want me to have a heart attack?\" \"No, mama.\" The flashlight in her mother's hand lit Lilah's face. \"You get down here right now and go to your room.\" \"Yes, mama.\" Thunder and lightning cracked around them. Lilah could feel her mother's dark eyes bore into her even though she could not see them. \"You know I'm upset because I love you,\" she said after a sigh. \"Yes, mama.\" \"Good, now let's get out of here before the whole roof comes off. There's already one tree busted and I can't imagine how many more will be by morning.\" The rain beat a rhythm that made it hard to hear her descend the steps. \"Land sakes,\" she said as she reached the floor, \"it sounds like the storm's right overhead up there.\" Lilah glanced behind her at the path she has taken to the cedar chest. She did not want to upset her mother any more than she already had, but neither was she ready to leave. She twisted the flashlight around in her hands then jumped as another thunder cloud roiled overhead. At least the treasure was still secure. It had not been found by the pirates so there was a chance it could still be recovered. Lilah brushed her hair back over her shoulders then grinned as her fingers gripped the keys in her pocket. She would be back. The explorer would return. Then the queen's treasure will be uncovered and returned to protective care."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Turbulent Truths"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Nothing was ever simple. Not for me. Maybe it was some extra quirk in my DNA, something to make me different from everyone else. My Air Talent, as Pyron had frequently told me, was your run of the mill, everyday Talent. His Fire Talent was unique. A rarity he frequently boasted. Human evolution, driven by old-world pollutants created additional chromosomes that allowed mankind to not only touch but manipulate the elements. Mother Nature's goodwill gesture allowed some humans a chance to adapt and survive. However, Mother Nature wasn't to blame for my constant muck ups. That was a skill all my own. It was supposed to be a simple task. Clean the hardened dust on the mills at the old wind farm. Dust storms were a common occurrence, that was expected. What I didn't expect was for the farm to be entirely overtaken by nature in the year it's been left alone. Grass reached high towards the sky. My trudge through the thicket of weeds left a trail of burrs up my legs. Patches of decayed dandelions and wildflowers grew wild and unchecked. The Earth Talents would have to get their hands dirty to get this place up and running again. I plucked a nearby dandelion. The head was a cloud full of seeds ready for a wisp of wind to release it. In that moment, I felt nostalgic for my childhood days when I didn't have cares or worries. A steady release of air flowed out, deep from my lungs, in one long sigh. Seeds from dozens of dandelions danced through the air, releasing my worries into hopeful wishes. The center mills were simple enough to clean. My focus was on the hub just behind the blades. With zeroed in focus and a twist of my fingers, I sent jolts of air through the motor, clearing any debris from within. A piercing shriek caught my attention as it and a bird faded into the distance. My heart crumpled at the fallen twigs and twine laid in heaps of yolk and broken shells on the ground. The replay quick in my mind. The flick of my hand. The gust of wind. The sailing screech of the bird. The breakage of the nest and my heart. There wasn’t time to wallow in my grief. Mama bird came back fast with vengeance, diving straight for my head. \"I'm sorry,\" I yelled. My arms flailed around my face for protection. The call of my power could have sent the bird back into the sky with a burst of wind. I could only do what was right. I crouched to the ground and covered myself the best I could with my arms. The sting of each peck, the pierced bits of my flesh was nothing compared to the regret I felt within. My good intentions always seemed to blow up in my face. \"I'm so sorry! I didn't know,\" I cried, but my pleas made no difference. A hiss. The roar of a engulfed flame. A final, agonizing screech. The flambèed shape of the bird plopped to the ground with a thud. I suppressed a gurgle of nausea. The bird didn't deserve that. No one did. \"Better to put it out of its misery,\" Pyron's reached down and hauled me up without asking. The part of my arm he gripped tinged with an ache that was nothing compared to the ache in my chest. \"What are you doing here?\" I asked him. I tried to hide my annoyance. His visits were never helpful or a joyful experience. \"I knew you'd mess up. That you'd need me to bail you out…again,\" his arrogant tone didn't hold its typical hint of mockery. To him, my messing up was a matter of fact. \"I didn't ask for your help,\" I rubbed my arms, inspecting the damage. A little blood, several gashes, and a few scrapes. I would heal. The nest and the bird would not. In the year since my talent emerged, I still hadn't quite grasped control of it. Everyone knew I was a walking vortex of chaos whenever I used my Air Talent. Unlike Pyron, they were kind enough not to point it out. \"And yet you always need it. You shouldn't have come out here alone.\" He scolded me –treating me like a child– as if I wasn't capable. The memory of carrying pollen on a gentle breeze from one flower to another flashed in my mind. One tiny sneeze sent a gale of pollen through the air, covering my Base Mates and myself in a sticky, sneeze-inducing mess. \"I thought I could handle it,\" I said defensively. I needed to practice controlling my talent without an audience filled with critical stares laced with bouts of pity. \"I was just trying to be useful,\" I murmured, wrapping my arms around myself. \"You try too hard,\" his words cut deeper than the bird's beak. My dad would say I wasn't trying hard enough. \"Make yourself useful,\" my dad's words rang in my head. I try too hard or I don't try enough. One day I wish for things I do to be enough. \"I didn't ask you for your help. I didn't ask you to come out here and I certainly didn't ask for your opinion!\" I finally snapped. I was sick of hearing his unsolicited advice. \"Well... I have to help you. My opinions, however, I give willingly. For instance, I'm glad you're starting to stick up for yourself.\" Pyron tilted his head with approval at my outburst. Before I could ask why, he said, \"I'm your mentor.\" My jaw dropped with the realization that he was supposed to guide, provide advice, and support me. He never hesitated to rub my failures in my face and remind me that I was just a typical Air Talent. \"For how long?\" I finally managed to ask. He made a slight grimace with the words, \"Since you arrived,\" softly spoken. I've been living and working here for a year. I scoffed at his words in disbelief. If his version of being a mentor is with criticism and snarky remarks, I'd rather do without. \"What changed?\" I asked, feeling curious. He came out here. He finally told me the truth. \"It's just…I don’t… you're like the kid sister I never wanted and somehow got stuck being responsible for,\" Pryon half laughed while he struggled to come up with an answer. He shrugged his shoulders as if that was enough of an explanation. A soft breeze tickled my nose with the dampness of the earth. I looked towards the sky as I inhaled a silvery scent. \"Rain is coming. We should head back to base.\" I told him. The conversation about his sudden desire to embrace his role of mentor was far from over. \"What? It's a bright blue day. Blue days are no rain days.\" He looked at me incredulously. Could he not smell the sweet freshness in the air? I breathed deeply for a better taste. The sweetness had a subtle bitter tang. \"We need to go!\" I spoke urgently. I grabbed his hand before he could protest and ran. The twenty minute walk back to base took ten with my wind gently pushing us forward. \"April, calm down! There's not a cloud in sight,\" he dropped to his knees, breathing heavily. He couldn't see behind him. The once clear blue sky had gathered a crowd of dark clouds in the skyline. Mankind wasn't the only entity to get a power boost from Mother Nature. \"Look,\" I pointed behind him as a rumbling sound of drums roared over us. The silent curse that fell from his mouth was deafening before he hustled the remaining distance back to base. In minutes, Pyron had our Base Mates locking down the base for the impending storm. It was the first storm of the season. We were not prepared. Fortunately, this wasn’t the first time we had to secure the base at a moment's notice. Animals were secured and sheltered. The energy cores produced by the wind farm were safe underground. Almost everyone was accounted for. \"There are five Earth Talents on the other side of the lake. We won't be able to reach them in time,\" Pyron's eyes were on the horizon. Wind whipped through the air. Dust pelted us like tiny bullets. \"They’ll be fine,\" he said, but he sounded unconvinced. In the chaos of getting ready for the storm, I hadn't seen my best friend, Geo. He was the reason I came to work here. \"Where's Geo?\" I asked frantically. I spun in every direction. My heart sank with the reality that he was across the lake. The charge of the storm crawled up my skin. I could feel it palpitating. The trail rippled all around me, humming with energy. The ripples were a never ending band of curls and coils. Stretched long and far. Reaching high into the clouds. \"He'll be fine. We need to take shelter,\" Pyron pulled me in the direction of the pavilion. I kept stumbling over my feet. I couldn't keep my eyes off the sky. The bands began to bend and pull towards the lake. I could feel it pulsating out of control. I tore off toward the lake. Pyron shouting behind me. Warm air rose up from the ground. Downdrafts of cool air raced from the clouds. Warm and cool air swirled, grew, and stretched until it hovered over the water. The funnel wasn't much at first. Thin, lanky with the base leaning towards the right. The bands of energy fed directly into the funnel, growing in size. Lightning crackled, sending a tickling chill of energy down my spine. My right hand reached out and touched the bands nearest to me. I tugged, pulling hard to smooth them out. They bounced back tighter, curling in on itself. The rain beat down harder, making it impossible to see. I tried again. This time, I pulled gently and caressed the kinetic bands. I rolled them between my hands into smooth, loose squiggles. The rain stopped, revealing a fully formed tornado. The base of it moved with a staggering intensity, coming right for me. I threw my hands into the air, reaching for the bands that fed into the tornado. Carefully smoothing and tugging as I went. Pull too hard the energy feedback would worsen. Energy cannot be created or destroyed, but it could be manipulated. I worked soothing layer after layer of the tightly coiled bands until it was no more than a wisp leading up into the sky. There was nothing left to smooth. The tornado was gone. \"What in the actual…\" Pyron's voice trailed off. I spun around to see him and our Base Mates staring at me with their mouths dropped in wonder. What had I just done? I didn't even know. How did I manage to not have my meddling backfire? It felt natural. Like smoothing the lines were the simplest thing in the world. I shouldn't have been able to manipulate the storm. After all, I was just a regular Air Talent. Wasn't I?"
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Racing the Storm"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "There was absolutely no need for me to go, I would be of no help, but I was invited, and glad for the excuse to have a few days off work. It was Memorial Day weekend, Dad and I drove the seven hours to Kansas, with Grandma and Grandpa, to help them on the farm, removing brush out of the waterways in the corn fields. However the weather had turned for the worse, but Dad and I had already arranged for the time off work, So Grandpa didn’t want to cancel, and the work needed done regardless. We checked into the hotel, and met up with some family still living in the area for dinner. I wished we could have stayed at the old farmhouse, I remembered staying there years ago, when I was about five or six, but it had since been rented out to the man, who took care of the property, since my Grandparents lived in Missouri. There wasn’t much to look at in Kansas, at least not in the small town my Grandparents had called home. I was anxious to drive the four-wheeler, it was the main reason I had been so excited to go, but Grandma kept me busy with stories of how she had grown up here, and my ancestors, of German, Check, and Indian descent, while we played Canasta till bedtime. I don’t remember if it had rained that night, but it had rained just days prior, and the dirt roads leading up to the farm land looked like thick brownie batter, We made it to the barn where the four-wheeler was kept, and Dad and I hopped on to drive it behind Grandpa’s van, which scarcely made it up the hill, the tires heavily caked in several inches of mud. The sky was quite overcast, So Dad and Grandpa worked as quickly as they could with the mower attached to the four-wheeler, while I sat with Grandma in the van waiting for them to finish, so I could have a turn driving the ATV around. Grandma was worried about the oncoming storm, understandably so, people took storms in Kansas seriously, Tornadoes, or Twisters as some call them, were quite common, even I had seen them in the few times I had visited the farm over the years. I don’t think we were there for a half hour, before the sky opened up, Dad and Grandpa got back to the van, now was the only chance I had to ride the ATV, there was no escaping the rain, but we had to still put the ATV back. Grandma urged me to jump in the back seat of the safe and dry van. I can still hear her voice, “Get in the van! You don’t need to get wet, that’s crazy! You’ll be sick!” But I wanted that ride, so badly the rain was not an obstacle, just a fun adventure, I merely shook my head “I’m good Grandma, it’ll be fun and its a short drive” I didn’t even have to ask, Dad knew what I wanted, I had waited all day for this I wasn’t about to lose the rare opportunity, so He grabbed two ponchos out of the trunk, and we both donned them, and sped off down the road, racing to shelter. That short trip, felt like forever, as we got pelted by the heavy rain, my straw hat was smashed, and I nearly lost it as the wind tried to take it from my head, I couldn’t even really see, and I was thoroughly drenched, the poncho was worthless, but all the while I was laughing, thinking it nothing more than a grand adventure, Grandma thinking I was crazy, made it all the more funny, because I knew I had made the crazy choice, but I, to this day would not trade it for anything. This was the closest I ever got to being a storm chaser, a personal pipe dream of mine. Dad and I sped into the barn, and jumped off ready to get in the van, and ride back to our rooms. As the door slid open sure enough Grandma scolded me “You are sopping wet, and covered in mud! Get in, you are going to be so sick!” I did as I was told, smiling ear to ear, Grandma shaking her head, not only was I soaked to the bone, but I was now also covered in mud, from the splash back, my white shoes were not even visible, and lifting my feet was a little difficult. At this point no-one cared about keeping the seats clean, we were well beyond that. After Dad got the ATV stowed away and the barn shut, he got in his seat, next to me, He too was laughing, “Did you get a little wet? That rain was painful\" Finally in a dry safe place Grandpa started driving back to the hotel, The windshield wipers in full swing, but doing little to help clear the view. Thunder rumbled loudly overhead, and I counted the seconds till lighting struck, to determine the distance, till one moment I didn’t even count to one, lighting had struck the field not twenty feet from the car. It was the most interesting thing I had ever seen, I still wish I could have captured it with my camera. The ground cracked all the way up to the road, where our van sat. Roughly twenty minutes later, we arrived at the hotel, the automatic doors opened, and I stepped in, but was quickly stopped by the front desk clerk. She asked me to remove my shoes before going any farther, I could feel Grandma still shaking her head behind me, as I plopped down on the floor and commenced the removal of my shoes, they were the only ones I had brought, and I could not wear them anywhere, so I was a little unsure what to do next, I couldn’t just leave my shoes at the entrance, so I asked “Where should I put them?” The lady told me she would take care of it, and I somewhat reluctantly gave them up, and dragged my soaking stocking foot form to the elevator, looking forward to a hot bath and a cup of cocoa, and when I came back down for dinner I was surprised to find my shoes, completely clean and dry.\n\nThe following morning, Memorial Day, we were to head back home to Missouri, but we took our time, Grandma and Grandpa wanted to visit the area and reminisce, so we drove around as they pointed out areas, and visited several grave sites, which got me to thinking more about my heritage, and what those before me had done and sacrificed, so I could have the things I enjoy today, and made me very grateful and proud to be who I am, and it’s a good reminder still, that the legacy of our forefathers is something to be treasured and cherished not to be squandered or taken for granted. And though the events of that weekend ten plus years ago, were simple pleasures, and small adventures, I don’t think I can forget the profoundness of what I discovered in the middle of a Kansas storm."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Ardent Cosmonaut"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I distinctly remember mining for gold on Mars at the young age of 8 when an uproar blasted throughout the cave walls. Or maybe I was cleaning the toilets at Grand Central Space Station… No, I was definitely mining for silver. Gold, I mean. The year was 2256. Somebody shouted, “It’s happening! It’s happening!” The next thing I knew, a stampede of men, women, and children - most of the children were older than me - flew out of the tunnels in droves. I was downright perplexed at this strange sight because mass exodus on this scale only took place at quitting time or during dust storms. Even then, running seldom occured. Not only were hasty departures from worksites rare, they were forbidden unless there was an immediate threat to the community’s wellbeing. Anybody who did cause a commotion without warrant, or at least was found that their actions had the “potential” to cause commotion - that interpretation depended on what side of the sleeping pod the colony elders woke up on, was exiled to Venus with nothing but a thermal resistant suit. Me being the curious child I was, though, I lowered my pick and walked, then ran as if to mimic their behavior, after them. The elders couldn’t exile us all. Emerging from that dark, cold hell was disorienting at first. It took my eyes a few seconds to readjust. When they did, I noticed my comrades piling into the Recreation Hub. I stumbled across the colony like a fish out of water and made my way into the circular building. Inside, glass walls divided the rooms. Huddled in front of our giant Holoset in the ‘screen room’ were, from my estimates, at least 100 people - half our colony. I headed inside, not even considering what my plan of action was once I got to the room. Even as a kid, I was short for my age. The other cadets at the academy thought I was an easy target due to my size, and they were right. I was Martian in the Middle more times than I care to count. So, the only thing I was able to see when I entered the room were the backs of my comrades. I tried to push forward, saying, “Excuse me! Excuse me! I can’t see,” but nobody budged. I was so angry at every single person in that room at that moment. If I had laser vision like the sea monsters on Europa, I would chop everyone in half… yes, I was that angry. Imagine how you’d feel if you were shorter than your 6-year-old bunkmate and constantly became the object of jokes about it? Mistreatment was bad enough, but it was times like that when I couldn’t see what everyone else could, that hurt the most. I started to cry as many kids do when they don’t get their way to signal to whoever was listening - maybe the flying spaghetti monster or the God-queen of Triton - that I was upset. Being the tallest person in the room, no, shortest, was hard. I think the crying worked because I felt myself being lifted off the ground with a familiar set of cold hands under my armpits. “Master Mason, it appears you could use some assistance.” Mars Colony 108 Helper Unit 003, or Norman as he was called - no, his name was Eugene. Or was it Fred? Maybe it was Lyle. Oh, I remember! It was Gary… I think. You know what, maybe his name was Dexter? Actually, Dexter sounds too cool for a robot. At the same time, maybe a robot is supposed to have a cool name. Oh, great flying spaghetti monster! Why can’t I think of it’s blasted name?! Oh well, I’ll just call him Albert. Albert sounds cool enough. Anyway, Albert, the tall robot helper stationed in the Recreation Hub, picks me up and gently sets me down on his shoulders. He pushed forward through the crowd, physically moving them out of his path as he repeated, “Please move. Please move. Please move.” in a synthetic voice. When we got to the front row, he put me down. “Better, Master Mason?” he asked. I could finally see the screen. A bodycamera followed a crew of eight astronauts around as they mucked about inside of a spaceship. I grinned from ear to ear. In fact, my grin was so intense that if I grinned any more intensely. Albert would have to escort me to the infirmary so the medical unit could realign my jaw. I turned back to Albert, who was no longer a robot. Albert was replaced with the colony elder. I said, “Uhh, thank you, Elder Corvyx.” He leaned over and patted me on my shoulder and said, “Don’t mention it, Cadet Samantha.” He smiled and walked back through the crowd. Samantha? Why would he call me Samantha, did he forget my name? What a strange thing to do. I felt an odd sense of dread all of a sudden but thought nothing of it. My eyes landed on the Holoset once again. At that moment, everything else became irrelevant. The ship was inside of Pluto’s atmosphere. A chorus of applause and hollering erupted inside of the room. I joined in. As the view from the ship got closer and closer to the dwarf planet’s surface, the cheering grew louder and louder. From that fateful day until now, my dream has been to command Sol’s first mission to explore an exoplanet. I could see it in the Holopads - Samantha Fern, first sentient being to set foot on an exoplanet. That day, I learned my purpose in life was for much more than digging up gold. I was meant for the stars. I learned that I wanted to be an astronaut. I also learned that day what it’s like to swap genitals for no apparent reason. The conversation with my elders on my life’s ambitions were more challenging than I imagined. Elder Corvyx started, “Many children want to become galactic cargo haulers-” Excuse me; That’s not right, “Many children want to become bounty hunters-” No, now I remember what I wanted to do, “Many children want to be astronauts when they grow up, Miss. Fern. Lord Putin seeks the best of the best, and you’re just a miner!” The other elders in the room - Elder Drocker, Elder Young, and Elder Phoenix - laughed in unison. Elder Phoenix spoke in her condescending, nails-on-chalk-like voice, “Silly little girl! You’ll never be a royal guard-” wait, no. She said, “Silly little girl! You’ll never be an astronaut!” The elders repeated their haunting chorus of laughter. As I hung my head in shame and almost started crying, I saw something out of the corner of my eye. Whatever it was had a gleam of silver, and it grew in size until it was no longer a speck in my periphery but a helper unit holding Elder Young by the neck. The other two elders fumbled for their blasters as the unit squeezed him tightly, breaking every bone almost all at once. By the time they retrieved them, Elder Young’s head was a reddish-pink pulp of blood and brain matter, and the Unit was using his body as a melee weapon on Elder Drocker, hitting him so hard that he flew off of his feet and crashed through the bulletproof walls. Elder Phoenix tried to flee. The Unit turned toward the running woman. She looked over her shoulder when she was one step from leaving the room. The Unit emitted flames from its wrists, engulfing the elder. She frantically screamed as she fell to the ground and rolled. The last thing she saw, at least I hope for her sake, was the unit’s massive metallic foot above her head. It slammed down, creating a cacophony of splattering. Thusqshh! The metal behemoth then turned towards me and said, “You’re safe, Miss. Fern. Miss. Fern. Miss. Fern. Captain Fern. Captain Fern. Captain Fern.” I woke up with my head propped up on my arm and felt a light push on my opposite shoulder. I rolled over and groggily opened my eyes as I groaned. I saw the youthful, innocent face of one of the ship’s twelve orderlies staring back at me. This was the only Orderly I knew by name, Logan Turner. “Captain Fern,” he said in his thick southern accent, “We’re on approach.” The humiliating conversation with my elders still happened, be sure of it; it broke my heart. Alas, there was no killer robot to save me. I was taunted every day at school and made fun of at the mine once word got out of my dream for something greater. An unspoken rule for mine workers was that you aren’t allowed to dream. Mining is like a curse spoken upon you by an evil sorceress thousands of years ago; if the previous generation of your family mined, so would the generation after you. To even think of leaving a life of mining was a call for concern that something in your mind had gone haywire. Hence, you might be starting to comprehend why I was considered a lunatic for wanting out. There was no getting out. Except I did. I worked hard to show people that I was meant for so much more. I was the site supervisor by the time I was 18. During a tri-annual colony inspection from the capital, one of the supreme elders noticed me. He said he liked my leadership abilities and that he was told by someone who preferred to remain anonymous that my dream was to be an astronaut. He explained that there was an opening for a training program and wanted to know if I was interested. From that day forward, I trained every day at the academy in the capital to become an astronaut. Logan stepped back with his hands clasped behind his back as if I was contagious with some highly infectious disease asking, “What should I tell the others?” I sat up and yawned. I grabbed my water bottle from my nightstand and said, “I’ll be right out there.” I then closed my eyes and rolled my neck. I opened my eyes again and almost screamed. No longer was I looking out into a bedroom on a spaceship, and the orderly standing in front of me was replaced with a pinkish-blue bipedal creature staring at me as it jotted something down on a Holopad. I tried screaming but nothing came out, and that’s when this peculiar dream became even more real; I tried to touch my neck to feel for my larynx, but I had no arms. I tried to kick and discovered that I had no legs. Those first two failures were terrifying revelations, make no bones about it. What happened next, however, added fuel to the flames of my terror. I attempted to crane my neck downwards. I couldn’t. The only thing I was able to do was stare at the alien and the naked body suspended in a gooey substance contained within a glass pod directly in front of me. Was I the head suspended in the adjacent pod? No. That was impossible. It couldn’t have been my body because there were no breasts Instead, it had male genitals. The strange creature noticed me widening my eyes, and it dropped its Holopad as it briskly walked out of the room, screaming something in a language I had never heard. I couldn’t stop looking at that headless body. If that wasn’t my body, where was mine? Were these alien creatures planning on connecting me to that body? If not, why would they decapitate me? How was I alive in the first place? Who was I, anyway? The creature came back along with half a dozen more creatures that looked just like it. When I tried to scream, “Let me out! What have you done with my body? Let me out now! Do you know who I am? I’m a Commander with Sol’s Space Exploration Program. You will all die if you don’t let me go right this instant, I swear!” nothing came out. As I was saying that, however, the pinkish-blue creatures stared at me. They then said some more things in their alien language. They then nodded and looked at one of the creatures who wore a purple sash and a tall, brimless hat. It stepped forward, staring at me intently. It’s face was wrinkly, although I couldn’t discern if that was indicative of its age or a typical appearance for its species. It spoke to me without moving its lips, yet its voice was as loud and audible as if I was sitting across the table with a friend, chatting about the latest gossip. It said, “Logan Taylor, you have been asleep for quite some time.” Logan Taylor, I thought, My name’s not Logan Taylor, you fucking alien scum- wait how can it hear me? How can it talk to me without opening its mouth? It must be using telepathic communication… but how? I’m dead, or at least, I’m not alive. It spoke again, “Logan Taylor, human resident of Mars in the Sol system, you are correct. Our species is a great deal further advanced than you, shall we say, pathetic, humans. We have developed the ability to read minds. We do not appreciate your harsh language, human. Please refrain from calling us such a vile slur. Now, about the state of your existance. For starters, we are the inhabitants of GLZBIGGLFIRT , or as your kind calls it, Kepler-186B. We are working closely with your god. He has ordered us to decapitate you and torture you by forcing you to live the rest of your existance as nothing but a head, staring at your body as a constant reminder of your helplessness.” Why? And no, I am Samantha Fern. “Why, because we can. And, your god wanted you this way. You may have been Samantha, but you are now Logan. These are orders from your god.” What? What god? There is no god. We’ve known that since 2120. “Oh, you’re such a feeble-minded creature. You have a god, and he is a sick god who wants you to suffer. We are helping him with that task.” I started to panic when I started to feel an odd tingling sensation. Before I knew it, I was outside looking at both the alien and a head. I figured for a moment that I was having an out-of-body experience. The kind you have right before you die or when you go through a traumatic experience. At that moment, however, there was no such thing as miracles because I tried to look down at my hands and arms as soon as I thought of it. What I saw was both mesmerizing and terrifying. I painted the walls a neon blue with what I assumed was Keplerean blood within moments of realizing that I was a Unit. I ripped the alien with the purple sash in two, mortifying the other creatures in the room. They shot at me and then ran for the exit once they realized their plasma rifles did not damage my metal shell. They were not fast enough to outpace my reach, and I grabbed them tight, raising them up to my eyes. That was the last thing they saw before I hurdled them repeatedly into the ground until they were unresponsive. There was only one alien left, a child. It cowered behind a desk, pleading me to have mercy. It spoke in broken English. This time, it spoke out of its mouth. “Please don’t hurt me! I’m a slave.”, it said with the voice of a young girl, “I’ll do anything you want.” I looked at the girl, then at myself, then at the room, then back at the girl. My metallic frame was covered in blood. I thought I must be terrifying to the creature. I approached the girl, who watched my every move like I was a cartoon character. She cried as I approached her, screaming, \t\t\t\t\t“Please don’t hurt me!” I stopped and said, “I’m not going to hurt you. Come with me and I will help you escape.” My voice boomed with a low, almost music-like rhythm. I offered her my hand as alarms went off overhead. Subsequently, shouting in an alien language came from outside. “Come on!”, I yelled. She finally grabbed my hand. We ran outside onto a catwalk connecting a few different wings of the base. On the horizon, as we looked out at the right side of the walkway, was a rocky crevasse that tapered into a steep drop-off. At the bottom of the drop-off was a lake of lava. Our attention turned to the other end of the walkway as seven of the creatures opened fire on us. I immediately stepped in front of the alien girl, letting my indestructible frame absorb the frenzy of hits. That was when everything in my field of vision went pure white, and the bolts stopped flying. I reflexively transformed into a nuclear fallout shelter over the girl. From that moment onward, I protected her as she journeyed across the wasteland."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "A Light in the Night"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I collapse to my knees soggily in the mud on a steep incline in the middle of a dark and expansive forest. I can’t see much in front of me due to how dark it’s gotten, and as water rushes down the incline around me, my knees sink further into the mud with a squelch. The short dark hair atop my head drapes itself across my cheekbones, as I tilt my head down to shield my face from the army of droplets racing to the ground. The water, instead, runs from my dirty hair down my face, and collects in my beard, before dropping to the ground. The tremendous downpour of rain is loudly crashing through the limbs of the trees surrounding me, pelting me like bullets. At this elevation, it’s cold and sharp, but I need to get higher. Flipping my soggy hair back, I tug my knees from the thick mud with a slosh and trudge on slowly through it, now with the additional weight.\n\nI can’t seem to hear anything over the torrential rain and thunder. Not that I would, over the sticky mud on my pant legs and leather work boots getting loudly sucked into the embankment I’ve foolishly decided to climb.\n\nMy clothes are completely soaked through. The layers of jackets and shirts I’d thrown on had quickly gotten drenched after only a few minutes in the wilderness. I’d slipped a few of them off after the weight had slowed me down: a thicker, fur-lined jacket and long sleeved shirt. I knew I’d begin to regret the decision the higher I climbed, but it’s dangerous to be alone in the wilderness when such a storm graces your residence. Only days ago, I’d decided to take a camping trip alone to rid my head of the stress from my office job. There had been no record of bad weather in the area in the upcoming week, so I’d leapt with the opportunity. I’d never imagined that I’d be fighting for my life in the dead of night, searching for any form of shelter or life. I’d been prepping for nightfall, when I heard the thunder from far off, and thought I had a chance to get out of the forest before it reached the camp I’d spent an entire day hiking to, but I’d been sorely mistaken. Throwing on the few layers I’d brought, in preparation for the trek in the rain, had been my second mistake. Now, I’m scaling the side of a small mountain to get to high ground so I can search for civilization of any sort. I glance around me but can’t see anything except for the few dark shapes and shadows of branches and logs. Right above me, the air releases its charge with resonance. The crack right after the reverberation hits a tree twenty yards to my left, engulfing it in flames. The lush forest lights up in a brilliant orange glow, and I take the opportunity to look for an easier path to high ground. To my right is a more level path, but the water rushing across the top of it has a daring strength to it. I decide I don’t have much of an option, and begin my ascent, but this time angling to the right.\n\nOnce to the level slope, I take hold of branches as I make my way slowly to the top. The mud washing off my pants and boots are making the ground slicker with every step I take.\n\nCatching one foot on some dark moss disguised in the water, I lose my footing and both knees collapse to the ground hard. The branch I’m holding onto drops and I fear it will break, but to my surprise, it doesn’t. And I use it to haul myself back up out of the water. Wiping the muddy water from my face, I continue my trek up the hill. Once at the top, I release the breath I’m unknowingly holding as thunder rolls above me again. I cover my ears at the sound, then hold a hand up to my brows to view the sarea. The top of the incline is bleak aside from a few smaller trees scattered about. I drop down to my knees out of pure exhaustion and crawl to the far edge to look down. All I can see is a dark mass of foliage. The air rushes out of my lungs in disbelief. There’s nothing. Not a single light from a town, or streetlight, or even a car. Staring into the dark void, I raise my eyes to the heavens and angrily curse at any deities who could be observing me.\n\nHearing a loud cracking sound from behind me, I turn around on my hands and knees to look for any life, believing for a moment that I’d only gotten turned around. But I’m met with a dreadful sight.\n\nThe forest rages in red and orange. Fire has engulfed the foliage for miles somehow, even in the downpour. I watch as it hungrily licks up tree after tree, devouring anything in its path. Overcome with immediate terror, I begin to violently sob. My tears blending with the chilly rain rolling down my face, I flip onto my back on the drenched ground. Then I surrender myself to the same potentially observing deities that I so foully cursed prior to seeing the wildfire.\n\nAfter a moment, the downpour slows slightly, and I prop up onto my elbows, feeling heard as I attempt to wipe the cold rain from my face. I stare into the sky, watching dancing shadows of fire and ash cascade above me. Reaching a hand into the sky as thunder crashes behind me again, I see white light bounce from cloud to cloud as if it were the partner of the shadows dancing above me. Then they disappear.\n\nMy hand still outstretched in the beautiful sky, I start to regain hope of escape. When I feel the air charge around me, and watch as lightning envelops my hand and arm."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "This Face"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "You’re stuck. The baby cliff face has a few steady holds, but you don’t know where to go from there. You look up. Picture perfect blue. Then straight ahead, centimeters from your nose. Brown, gray, pink rock blurs in front of you. Your breath is shaky, fragile against the rough earth. Gray clouds hang low nearby, and it smells like it’s going to rain. But the sun is on your side. You feel its rays beating down on your shoulders.\n\nAs you were setting up earlier, Matt asked you to “bring down the rope while I check the weather.” He’s pragmatic – that’s why you trust him with your life after meeting only a couple of weeks ago. “You mean look over there?” you asked him smugly, gesturing to the gray clouds hanging low in the horizon.\n\n“Yeah.” He responded, gazing at the picturesque billows of silver over the spherical pink brown rocks on the other side of the highway. There’s a postcard , you thought to yourself. Back to the task at hand. Literally. You’re halfway up the route, from what you can tell. Your feet are on some precarious holds, and there’s nowhere for them to go that’s not above your waist. You’re too short to reach for the hold up on your right side. You shift your leg muscles, trying to find rest in that position. You’re a crippled Vitruvian marionette, with legs splayed out widely and arms slightly higher than your head. Plunk. You feel a fat drop of rain on your left arm. It’s your second time on the crag, but everybody knows wet rock gets slippery. You reach around your left side, dipping your hand into the bag of chalk. Strain your neck to look down at Matt, maybe 30 feet below you. He probably has a great view of my butt , you think to yourself. But Matt is harmless – another reason to trust. “I can get it, the rock isn’t slippery yet!” you yell down at him, as thunder rumbles in the distance.\n\nHe says nothing, holding onto the tense red rope as you hang on by your fingertips and tippy-toes. Two people, suspended on earth as the air starts to swirl. You are the postcard. Deep breath. You reach up with your right hand, reaching for a steady hold. You scramble for a space in the rock – a chip in the face. If you can find it, all will be well. For that moment in time, everything will be as it should be. That’s what you’re craving. The feeling of a piece falling into place within you. Something inside you, shifting, as if when your fingers set themselves into that pocket of stone, your body and the rock fit into each other. You’ll lock into place, and for that instant, the universe will have arranged itself perfectly. You don’t reach the hold . Your feet slip, and you slam against the face of rock. The earth wall you dangle off of, as water starts to patter down more steadily onto your skin. Pain courses through you – you hit your right elbow, hard , on the way down. And you remember where you are. Grey all around you. You scramble to get back in position. Inhale. Exhale. “Do you think I should come down now?” You yell down to Matt, your strained voice high over the low rumble of thunder approaching. “Yeah, I would say so.” He responds, unbothered, with his signature matter-of-fact cadence. All of a sudden the clouds rupture. Rain rushes down. Matt rappels you down quickly, the rope getting heavier and darker. Bam. You’re back on the ground. Colder air. Water seeping through skin-tight clothes. Everything is different. Harsher. To think, just moments ago the sun was beating down on you and the rock. “Take the rope down!” Matt tells you over the rising pattering. He brings the blue tarp over you both, and you hoist the rope down as quickly as you can. Hands up. Grab. Pull. Down. Hands up. Grab. Pull. Down. “Sing me a sea shanty!” You tell him, with a playful smile on your face. He complies, without batting an eye. “What shall we do with the drunken sailor, what shall we do with the drunken sailor, what shall we do with the drunken sailor,” He starts, no expression on him. “Early in the mornin’!” You join in, as you heave the last bit of rope through the anchors at the top of the rock. You’re a pirate on a ship. Nevermind it’s almost dinnertime, and you’ve just come off a rock, onto more rock, in the high desert. Quickly, quickly, quickly. You grab the pastries you exchanged just a few hours before, when it was sunny. The pie remnants are on a soggy paper plate, which you cover with the well packaged strawberry rhubarb tart he made you. The one you’ll throw away days later, after having forgotten about it. There’s no time. You stuff everything else into your backpack. Harness still on, chalk bag hanging off of you, shoes still on. Matt throws the gear into his pack, and takes the rope from you, folding up the tarp. You pick up his beret before it floats away on a new stream. You clamp onto it with two fingers, under the short stack of pastries. Quickly quickly, quickly. You make your way down, following. The crevices are now gushing with water, and small waterfalls, at least triple your height, have erupted all around the face of the rock. The scene is transformed. Light beige rock with grey-blue flowing. Water rushing all around you, and a cacophony of sounds. Pattering. Thunder. A flash of light.\n\nYou pray not to get struck by lightning. It’s too far away anyways, you reason.\n\nQuickly, quickly, quickly. You splash through the rising water in your climbing shoes. You’re in a high canyon, and fatal flash floods cross your mind. “Will this ruin my shoes?” You yell at him over the surging storm.\n\n“You’re not supposed to get them wet, but once should be okay.” He’s a walking encyclopedia on all things climbing.\n\nQuickly, quickly, quickly. Everything is soaked. He may end up throwing away the remnants of the pie you made. You wouldn’t blame him.\n\n“Huh, I guess climbing shoes are not bad for hiking! I just didn’t want to slip in my Birks,” you tell him. You wish you had changed shoes.\n\nQuickly, quickly, quickly. You carefully step on the spherical rocks, toes squished in your blue ballerina-esque shoes. Finger knuckles white from grabbing onto the things. You see the dirt lot. Squish through new mud with Matt.\n\n“Crazy how it was just sunny like thirty minutes ago!” you marvel, and wait for his non-reaction, raindrops clinging onto you. You daydream about hiking with him in the rain, for hours.\n\nHe looks at you. Smiles. Huh. You notice some red on his face. “Yeah, I’ve never been out here in the rain!” You try to picture the scene from his perspective. You’re both grinning.\n\nFinally, you make it back to your car. You hand him what’s left of the pie. Sopping wet, you painstakingly peel off your harness and shoes. Your feet are blue – dye from the shoes. Put on the Birks. Quickly! Throw your backpack onto the floor of the passenger’s seat. Place the tart – still in its tray – in the passenger’s seat. Quickly, you turn the car on. Blast the heat. Matt is approaching his car on the other side of the dirt lot.\n\nShoot! You still have his gear on your harness. Shivering, you unclip the carabiners from your harness loops. Quickly, you gather his items. Gravel crunching. You look up. Matt is faster than you – he’s already in his car, window rolled down, in front of you.\n\n“Wait!” You hand him the gear through the window. Water sloshes around you. Sandals soaking. “Would you like to climb again next week?” Rain falls down all around you. Oh, he likes you.\n\n“Yeah that would be lovely!” You respond enthusiastically. He was supposed to kiss you in the rain, like in the movies. But this isn’t a movie.\n\n“Great!” He’s actually smiling. Okay, quickly, get moving. You’re shivering.\n\nHe drives off. You clamber into your car, hastily throwing a jacket onto the driver’s seat. Plop. Sit down. You bring down the mirror.\n\nShit! All the tinted sunscreen has worn off. Your lashes have uncurled. You look raw. Pink nose, pink cheeks. Your hair is messy – like a wild woman’s. Oh, this face. You think to yourself. This is the face he was looking at? What shall we do with you?"
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Sinew and Silence"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I drop the pen, its tip scraping across the paper as I step back, paralyzed by a vast nothingness that grips my being. The emptiness is turbulent and numbing. It takes my breath away while keeping it flowing through my mouth and nose. I must break free. I must find the muse who waits for me on the mountain. She must call my name, and I must call in response. I must go. Go up the mountain. --- The mountain beckons. Its silhouette falls upon itself under the full moon’s gaze. Light shines onto the valley floor below, reflecting the snow that’s crouched low upon long-buried bushes and desperately clinging to the branches of shadowed evergreens. Snow-laden peaks glisten above, unreachable pieces of truth in the isolating grip of winter. The night weaves these deep shadows and bright lights into illusions of perception, making my path upward a treacherous dance of trust and ability. The moonlight fails to penetrate the depths of the mountain's shadow, leaving me reliant upon the sweeping beam of my headlamp. I look side to side for each move upward, exposing deep depths of darkness to be shallow undulations of blue-glazed ice. Swing, swing; step, step. Each swing of my ice tools slices through the sky, the resulting impact keeping my arms above me as I hang off the cliff face. My toes point my feet upwards as I kick my crampons into the wall, securing the rest of my body to the ice. Every ice climber knows it only takes three points of contact to move comfortably up a cliff. It only takes two points of contact to climb, and one point of contact to stay on the ice. Even if a climber does not know this, their body does. It only takes one climb to know. Swing, swing; step, step. Step. A snow-covered ledge gives me the space to put my arms by my side, turning to see the world of contrasts behind and below. I turn off my headlamp and lose myself fully in opposites united so peacefully in the breeze-filled night. The metal of my tools lays against my legs, stirring back and forth as I stand, shivering, clinging to the cold as it clings to me. My hands are white where they’re wrapped around my tools and red everywhere else. Despite the cold, I am not wearing gloves. I only need gloves if my hands turn fully white – dead man’s hands. Otherwise, blood pulses life into my fingertips and lets me feel the full power of my swings through the cold. The sound of water echoes under the ice as I turn back to the climb. My mind undulates with it as I slowly move upward. Swing, swing – A splintered crack protrudes from the metal of the tool in my right hand and runs downward, creating a crescent that reaches for itself until a full ellipse of ice is sectioned off by the crack. It breaks free, falling. Falling past my body and into the darkness below. My other tool is still above me, while my right arm dangles in the air. The ice is white where it’s embedded. Whiter than what is safe. It’s too cold to hold much force when it’s this white, this brittle. My blood turns white with it, my hands, too. Dead man’s hands. Every climber knows that it only takes three points of contact to move comfortably up the ice. Crack, cracking. A vertical string races from the impression the fallen ice left in its absence. The line follows a white mark in the ice, flowing like a tear pulled by gravity down the face of the cliff. The column pulls away, tearing my right foot off from the wall with it. Hold, hold. It only takes two points of contact to climb. Silence. I can feel the ice under my left foot failing with the new weight it’s under. I don’t look down at it or the ground below. I wouldn’t be able to see anything in the darkness even if I looked. And I can’t look. Looking down is a step closer to falling. Look up. Look at my hand. Look at the tool in the ice. It’s the only thing holding me onto this cliff. Breathe. Inhale, exhale – Just as I breathe out, she appears. Her face hovers between the ice and my lips. The wind whips around her, billowing her hair dark, raven across her figure. It seems to sway the most with each inhale and exhale of my own breath. The lady is startling, just like the cold of the ice and the brightness of the moonlight on the snow. Deep, brown skin holds large, somber eyes that wrap around my bones unlike any chill ever could. She is unnerving yet she is comfortable. Like knowing that ice brings nutrients from the cliff face into the rushing mountain streams of springtime. Like the warmth the snow harbors in the ground for creatures that wiggle, crawl, and scurry. Like the cold that kills infestations of pine beetles within the bark of sleeping evergreens. Like the knowledge that life undulates in imperfect cycles. She knows that nature shows no partiality. And with that, she is content. She is comfortable. Hers are the eyes that give me breath. Inhale, exhale. These are the breaths I have, precious even if I only have a few left. The lady does not speak yet she calls my name with her presence, and my own call reverberates through my being. She reminds me that I am whole. I will be whole until the end. Swing, swing –\n\nMy hand still grips the shaft of the tool rooted in the ice, now with its partner holding my other arm next to it. My feet still hang above the evergreens. I know the lady won’t help me. She already has, in her own way. Now, my own sinew must get me through the moment. Even if it’s not enough, each breath has been worth it. I know that now. I’ve been reminded. Breathe. Swing, swing; step, step.\n\nI climb until I reach another ledge, stepping into the safety of the mountain’s cold embrace. Blood flows back to the white parts of my hands as I let gravity hold them. It has been stuck in my shoulders and neck as I climbed. Blood flows back. Life is coming back. I have not felt this in a while. It makes me gag. My hands hold my knees as I endure the flow of life. Fear, love, and grief exist at the peripheries of my senses without the wind of numbness surrounding them. They exist fully now, but I keep them from overwhelming my brain and body. Instead, I acknowledge the feelings and breathe. It’s the only way to hold on, hold onto myself. --- The journey down from the mountain is quiet. I didn’t see her once my body rejoined the ice. That’s the way it always goes. Maybe she only exists in those moments of peril. Maybe she’s always one breath in front of me, her long hair whipping around us both, reminding me to breathe even when I can’t see her. But now I know I’m alive. And that’s all I need. I pick up my pen. I write: I breathe again. And I exhale words onto the page."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Deja Vu"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "This story is set in a war zone. There's some swearing and a brief episode of gore. I crouch low behind a pile of rubble barely big enough to protect my ass, let alone the rest of me. I aim to get all the vital bits tucked in and lay low—trying to make it damn near impossible for the sniper to get me with a one-and-done shot. Where the hell is he sitting? I scan the decimated buildings around me for any sign of my nemesis. A flash of sunlight off metal, a shadow that doesn’t quite fit in—but the rubble, the dark empty holes in the walls and the oven-like heat causing mirages before my eyes means that I can’t see an f’n thing. “Where are you?” I whisper to myself. “Come out, come out wherever you are…” I quietly singsong, still scanning. I can only hear the thudding of my heart and my raspy breathing, still trying to recover from my frantic, dodging run here escorted by a too-close-for-comfort hail of bullets nipping at my heels. At least I am closer to my pick-up point by three blocks, but I might as well be three miles away if I can’t figure out where this crack shot is perched. This is the closest thing to dead I’ve achieved in a long time, and I can’t say I’m enjoying the sensation. I’ve been in plenty of tight spots during this war, but this sniper is good, and I realize only sheer luck and God's good grace got me to this rather unsatisfactory refuge. I glance around my area, wondering if there is anything that could save my bacon in the next few minutes. An army jeep lies in a contorted heap, probably from an IED. The jeep’s too far down the road to do me any good, but its door got blasted off and is lying only ten feet behind me in the dirt of the large plaza. It’s a risk, but it’s probably all I have right now. The door will be reinforced and should provide a decent enough shield to get me out of this open space and back to the relative safety of the ruined buildings. The limestone explodes near my head, pieces of rock spitting off. Luckily, my head was turned as I looked behind me, so the few pieces that hit me smashed into the back of my helmet. Most shrapnel zips harmlessly past me. I instinctively kiss the ground, waiting for a second shot, feeling the sting of multiple minor cuts on my neck and shoulders where I got hit. A trickle of blood oozes across my skin, but I’ve had enough injuries to know none of these wounds were going to slow me down. I also knew the sniper was getting bored and trying to get me to do something stupid. That is, something stupider than landing myself in this current predicament. I try to estimate where the shot came from based on the trajectory of the shrapnel. It’s inaccurate, but at least it gives me a hint of direction. I stare to my right. There’s only one ragged building in that direction, and I’m pretty sure that was where the bullet came calling from. I squint through the wavering air, trying desperately to detect where that scary-ass gunslinger is hiding. There! Finally, I see the tiniest bit of motion, third floor, middle opening where a window once was. I feel slightly more hopeful with a clear idea of where the danger was coming from. I can work with this. I shift a fraction to bring my gun up and check the bullets—yep, still plenty of ammo. I’d been doing more running than shooting. Now, I could do both. I corral whatever bravado I still have and prepare to leave this death trap. Poking the barrel of my gun over the rock in front of me, I line up the edge of the window in my sights and wait. I doubt I have a chance of a kill shot, but I want him to know I am onto him and hopefully buy me a few precious seconds. As soon as I see him peer around the edge again, I pull the trigger three times in quick succession; then I’m up and fleeing. I fire behind me as I run, hoping I’m at least vaguely pointing in the right direction. I’m halfway to the jeep door when the mother of all hornets stings me on the side of my thigh. It hurts like a mother fucker, but I keep going, ignoring the bite. I try to make my path sporadic without wasting too much time dodging and weaving. Now bullets are zipping past—too close for comfort. Five feet. Four. Three. OUCH! Now it’s my freaking shoulder on fire. But I’m there. With a last desperate effort, I hurl myself at the jeep door, grabbing the handle as I leap over it, pulling it upright behind me, and I’m shielded. Look out, James Bond, you ain’t got nothing on me. There’s a rapid succession of three loud metal pings, and the door shudders against me as it takes the bullets meant to kill me. So far, so good; now I must make it to a more substantial shelter. I evaluate the situation and see a side street that will hopefully take me to freedom if the team is where it’s supposed to be. The distance between me and it seems like infinity times five, but this door isn’t perfect, and one of those shots could finish things real fast. I holster my gun; I won’t be able to fire it while carrying this rhino of a door. I get a firm grip on the handle with my good arm, then reach up with my other arm and hook my fingers over the window’s edge to hold the door upright when I start moving. I feel a scream wanting to rip my throat apart as the pain shoots through me from my injured shoulder, but I hang on. There’ll be time to bitch about it when I’m safe. Hefting the door enough to clear the ground, I start a shuffling, awkward run toward the side street. I’m hunched over in an uncomfortable contortion, trying to keep all of me away from all of the bullets that keep chasing me. My leg sends a fresh wave of hell through my body with each jarring movement, but I am determined to live. The darkness between the two buildings beckons to me as I hobble trot nearer. Just a little bit more… Suddenly, I notice the buildings furthest from me start to go hazy and then fade away. Then, the ones next to those shimmer and disappear. At first, I think I’ve lost more blood than I realized, and this is the end coming to claim my sorry ass. But as the periphery of my world continues to erode and the gunfire ceases behind me, I realize what is really happening. No! Not again. She can’t be doing this to me again! I am almost there, just a few more… *** I crouch low behind a pile of rubble barely big enough to protect my ass, let alone the rest of me. I aim to get all the vital bits tucked in and lay low—trying to make it damn near impossible for the sniper to get me with a one-and-done shot. Where the hell is he sitting? I scan the decimated buildings around me for any sign of my nemesis. A flash of sunlight off metal, a shadow that doesn’t quite fit in—but the rubble, the dark empty holes in the walls and the oven-like heat causing mirages before my eyes means that I can’t see an f’n thing. I’m breathing hard from my run here. I lost Johnny somewhere in the cluster fuck we just went through. We were getting pummelled from all sides. I don’t know if he made it. Damm it! We are so close to our extraction point. What the hell am I supposed to do now? I know I’ve only got seconds to make up my mind. Do I go back and try to find Johnny, or do I hope he’ll make his way to the pick-up point? And quite honestly, do I even have a choice? My own ass is currently on the line, and I better sort this out fast. Mr. Triggerfinger is in one of those buildings, and my future beyond the next few seconds is still highly in doubt. Scanning the ruins, I search for the sniper. As he escorted me with a trail of bullets to my current location, I was able to figure out he was firing from a building directly across the plaza from me. I peer at it, looking for the death dealer and wish I had a scope or nocs—no such luck. We’d had to hightail it out of our observation post minutes ago—there’d been no time to grab our gear with the sound of bombs exploding all around our site. I only have my handgun on me. Johnny had the AKA, but neither of those is with me now. Just as I am about to decide between crappy choice A or crappy choice B—both of which are likely to get me killed—I hear the throaty growl of an engine coming from my left. This could be a good sign as that’s the direction of my pickup point; maybe it’s my unit. It could also be bad news if it’s the enemy, as that would mean my pickup is nothing but a letdown now—my crew has probably been taken out. Careful not to get too excited and expose any vital bits, I crane my head to the side and watch to see what emerges into the plaza. Will it be friend or foe? I also keep checking the building across from me; now would be when the sniper might make a move, positioning himself to take out the approaching vehicle and remove my chance of escape. With a roar, the High Mobility Multipurpose Wheeled Vehicle aka Humvee comes into sight, engine gunning and tires spewing up dust. My relief is profound upon seeing it’s one of ours. Risking a shot, I raise my arm, giving the hand signal for ‘ sniper ’ and pointing at the building. The gunner in the roof turret immediately swings his gun and starts hammering rounds into the building, providing cover while the driver zooms to my side. The door opening and Johnny grinning down at me are the best things I’ve seen in a helluva long time. “Hey, buddy, need a lift?” Johnny quips. Rising, I start towards them, crouched low behind the vehicle's protection. I’m focused on the Humvee, not on my surroundings, so it’s a complete slap in the face when I finally realize the scenery has almost vanished again; it goes fast. She must be deleting fucking paragraphs. The last thing I see is Johnny’s grin. Just the grin, like a Cheshire cat. *** I crouch low behind a pile of rubble barely big enough to protect my ass, let alone the rest of me. I aim to get all the vital bits tucked in and lay low—trying to make it damn near impossible for the sniper to get me with a one-and-done shot. Where the hell is he sitting? I scan the decimated buildings around me for any sign of my nemesis. A flash of sunlight off metal, a shadow that doesn’t quite fit in—but the rubble, the dark empty holes in the walls and the oven-like heat causing mirages before my eyes means that I can’t see an f’n thing. Luckily, he isn’t that good or I wouldn’t be sitting here cursing him right now. It was a tight race across the plaza to this meager bit of protection—his bullets vs. me trying my best Usain Bolt impression. What Wild Bill over there doesn’t realize is that I, too, am trained in the fine art of long-distance bullet placement. If I can get him in my sights, it’ll be lights out, and I can finally complete this mission from hell. I lay quietly, using all the skills ingrained in me to slow my breathing, relax my body, and find the calmness I need in the eye of the storm. I can do this. Yes, I am scared as hell, but I will survive. I slowly work my gun up so it’s in position. I look through the scope and patiently wait. If patience is a virtue, I’m a bloody saint. I enter the zone, and everything in me quiets. I am the panther in the tree, the coiled viper, the croc in the Nile. I will wait. I will kill. A grim smile breaks out on my face when I finally see him. I’m just about to crest the trigger weight and send him a special love note when he reaches back and drags another person into the opening. A woman. She must be one of the personnel from the hospital that was attacked two weeks ago—they’d killed a dozen, and five were MIA. She is dirty and disheveled. Tracks through the dirt on her cheeks show she’s been crying. She looks utterly terrified. The asshole has a handful of her hair, and he shakes her, making her yell out in pain and grab for his hand to relieve the pressure on her scalp. He smacks her hand hard with his rifle. Another scream comes from her, and she cradles her wounded hand with the other. He keeps the gun pointed at her and looks across the plaza with a smug smile on his face. As if to say, ‘ Now what are you going to do? ’ Challenge accepted. I’m glad he’s made this game more interesting. I now have to make sure it’s a headshot so no harm comes to his hostage. No time for him to react, no time for a message to go from brain to finger. Now that I know he’s one of the vile demons that attacked a hospital, I would like to make him suffer, but I can’t risk the woman, so it’s gonna be short but sweet. Not wanting to give him any time to develop a nervous tic, I focus through my scope and breathe in, then out, then squeeze. The top half of his head vaporizes. The woman lets out another scream and drops from sight. I’m already up and running, worried in case he wasn’t alone in the building. I cross to the building in record time and zip up the three flights of stairs as quickly as possible. The debris and missing steps slow me down a bit. I finally reach the landing where she should be and hear sobbing from my left. I head in that direction, relieved to find it is only her and I. I rush over. “Hey, it’s okay, it’s alright, you’re safe now.” Maybe a bit of an exaggeration, but she doesn’t need that added stress right now. I crouch down before her, and at first, she cringes away from me with a startled whimper. “Hey lady, it’s okay,” I repeat, “I’m with the US Army; I’m going to get you out of here.” My calmness and the fact I’m speaking English to her finally cuts through her terror. I see in her eyes when she realizes she’s no longer in immediate danger. She stares at me, her sobbing halted. Damn, but she is one beautiful lady. Even as messed up as she is right now, I can tell she’s stunning under all that dirt and tangled hair. “Hi,” I say softly and smile at her. With a sob of relief, she throws herself at me, wrapping her arms around my neck and practically choking me. I clasp her securely and stand, holding her against me. I can feel her body shake with tears or relief; I’m unsure. I rub her back, soothing her with quiet reassurance. Slowly, her fear abates, and I can feel her relaxing in my arms. “It’s okay; I’m going to help you get out of here. There’s a scheduled pickup point close by. We’ll have you home in no time.” Finally, this voluptuous beauty eases away from me slightly and looks up at me with the most incredible emerald green eyes. They still glitter with residual tears, but she smiles up at me with gratitude. “Thank you,” she says before she places a hand behind my head and pulls me towards her. Our lips meet, and suddenly, an inferno erupts. We’re both jacked up on adrenaline and relief—the greatest aphrodisiac, not in a pill form. Her hands are all over me, her front pressed to mine, all the right parts melding together. Sweet Lord, when is the last time I’ve held a woman? Far too long from the way my body is responding to hers. ‘ I should stop this ,’ I think to myself. ‘ She’s been through a trauma and isn’t thinking straight. ’ But my morals and my lust are going toe to toe, and she’s not making it any easier with her throaty little moans. I groan in frustration and desire. My hand goes around her hip, pulling her tight against the growing situation in my pants. Her ass is amazing, so firm, so…not firm? My hand moves forward; there’s no resistance. My eyes pop open, and I’m left speechless as I realize the building has dissolved around us. She is nothing but some hazy pixels floating in space. Fading, fading, Fu…"
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Alone with Ian"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Being a competent woman in a high-powered corporation where men dismissed her expertise had drained Elizabeth. She had been consumed with snide remarks and sarcasm to the point that self-doubt was creeping inside her. In need of a getaway to clear her mind, Elizabeth rented a beautiful four-bedroom home on an inlet of the Atlanta Ocean in Virginia Beach. Calling friends and family to join her for a 4-day retreat proved fruitless. Everyone was busy with their lives and had no time to help Elizabeth escape hers. The impending hurricane named Ian seemed to be on everyone’s mind. Deciding to make the most of her holiday of solitude, Elizabeth ignored the weather forecasts, taking long morning walks along the tranquil beach while sipping coffee, taking naps while reading Nora Roberts romance novels, wishing she were the protagonist, and preparing gourmet dishes such as roasted salmon with fennel or stuffed shells with portobello mushroom and spinach.\n\nWith a quaint seafood restaurant, Oceanside, only minutes from the house, Elizabeth decided to dine there for dinner one evening. As she approached the door to Oceanside, Elizabeth's eyes were drawn to a stunning Persian cat napping. Its coat was a mesmerizing shade of orange, reminiscent of the sunset glowing over the calm Atlantic. Later, she discovered its name was Scallops.\n\nThe hostess, in an Oceanside T-shirt, led Elizabeth to the patio, where she could enjoy the beauty of the sunset. Her server, Justin, handed her a menu and a small chalkboard with the day's special.\n\n“ I’ll have the broiled seafood platter with a baked potato and salad. “ Anything else to drink besides water?” “ Yes,\n\na glass of your house chardonnay.” “ Anything else? Maybe an appetizer?” “That’s all for now, thank you.” The soft music of the waves coming in and going out lulled Elizabeth into a dreamlike state. As Justin placed her wine on the table, she knew it would only relax her more. Her broiled platter with flounder, shrimp, oysters, and clams was sheer perfection. For dessert, she decided on a slice of key lime pie, which was delicious. Just as Justin placed the check in front of her, she noticed that the wind had picked up quite a bit and was glad she had brought her sweater. After paying the check, she heard the weather forecast on the television in the bar area. “Hurricane Ian is gaining strength in the panhandle of Florida with winds of 80 mph. It is a Category 1 storm barreling its way to Georgia. Those Georiga folks should prepare for heavy rains and strong winds in 24 hours. You should also be prepared if you live in the Carolinas and Virginia coastal areas.\n\nIan is coming your way, too, and tracking maps say it could be a Category 2 by then. ” Hearing the forecast, Elizabeth thought of her childhood in the Caribbean. She remembered writing in her journal about the experience. Elizabeth found happiness by creating stories centered around her feelings. When Hurricane Gilbert hit the Caribbean Islands, Elizabeth was 10 years old. Mother told us to huddle together in our small yellow house, which was now boarded up. Living in Jamaica, you had to always be in fear of the hurricane season, for the winds could tear down our house. Hurricane Gilbert was on top of us, and my brother, little sister, and I were afraid. Our father boarded all the windows and the front and back doors. He had a large box of flashlights and batteries for us, knowing we would be without power for a while. \n\nPlastic jugs of water were in the closet where we were hiding from Gilbert. My five-year-old sister was in my mother’s arms, crying. Inside, I was crying too, but my brother Jermey was putting on a brave face. The wind was hollowing like a pack of hungry wolves, and loud thumping was heard against the windows. As the house began to shake, I thought it would break apart.\n\nAll of a sudden, there was a loud cracking sound. Mom and Dad looked worried. We all sat in silence as Mom prayed. Then, there was complete silence. Dad opened the closet door to find our house still standing. A couple of boards were off, widows cracked, and thankful for Mother's prayers. That childhood experience left Elizabeth terrified of storms of any magnitude, preferring not to be alone in one if she could help it. But now, here she was alone with an approaching hurricane. As Elizabeth left the restaurant, she needed to ensure she was prepared as her Dad would want her to be. The house she was renting was huge, with floor-to-ceiling windows everywhere. With only one flashlight in the car, she hadn’t taken inventory at the house, so she decided to stop at a Home Depot 15 minutes away. Busy shoppers buzzing around like bees were found in every aisle. Elizabeth got the last few packs of triple-A batteries, D batteries, and a battery-powered lantern. At the check-out area were large jugs of water. Thinking of her dad during Hurricane Gilbert, she grabbed a couple. Two shoppers said Ian had intensified and should be hitting the Virginia coast by the next morning. Anxiety was lurking. After making her purchases, she quickly went to her car as her phone rang. “ Liz, it’s your Mom. Where are you? “ Hi, Mom, I’m in Virginia Beach.” “ I knew you mentioned getting away for a few days. Hurricane Ian is headed your way. Don’t mind me asking, but are you alone?” “Yes, Mom, I am alone.” “ Well, get supplies and snacks in case you lose power.” “ I’m leaving the store with everything I need, Mom. Let me get to the house. It’s getting late. Will call you in the morning.” “ Alright, dear, and be safe…I love you.” “ I love you too, Mom.” It was 9 PM when Elizabeth got to the house, and the wind was beginning to pick up. Several people on the inlet who owned boats had put them on lifts to avoid wave damage. Seeing the boats hoisted out of the water was strange to Elizabeth. She gathered her flashlight, water, snacks, pillows, and a quilt, moving to the lower level of the house. Trees began swaying along with the boats, and the house shook slightly. As the wind began to get stronger, rattling the windows, Elizabeth decided to hunker down in a closet. Scenes from her childhood during Hurricane Gilbert entered her mind.\n\nHeavy rains were pounding the house along with winds as Elizabeth wrapped herself in the heavy quilt. The storm knocked on the exterior doors as if coming for a visit. Thankful that her cell phone was still charged,\n\nIan was on the Virginia coast, a Category 2 with 105 mph winds. Petrified, Elizabeth did what her mother did what her mother would do: she prayed. Exhausted, Elizabeth couldn’t keep her eyes open. Drifting in and out of sleep she realized a stillness on the other side of the closet door. Her phone was only 10% charged at 6:15. It was morning. Cautiously opening the door, she knew the power was out. With the quilt cloaked around her, she gingerly went to the sunroom door, which overlooked the inlet. Amazed by what she didn’t see startled her. All the water from the inlet was gone! Where there had been water was now sand. Ian had sucked the water out of the inlet and taken it to the ocean. Elizabeth couldn’t help comparing this to the Biblical story in the Book of Exodus when Moses parted the Red Sea to lead the Israelites to safety from the Egyptians. She was in a state of wonderment by it all. Gradually, people in the neighborhood cautiously left their homes to examine the aftermath of Hurricane Ian. With no power, being outside was the only relief from the stuffy, humid indoor environments. Elizabeth saw a few roof shingles, tree limbs, and uprooted bushes in the yard. A row of Rose of Sharon bushes had been transformed into curved bowels. But to see people standing and walking in the inlet where there should be water was truly amazing. Elizabeth decided to join them. An elderly couple was taking pictures with a Polaroid camera; this event was a piece of history.\n\n“ Young lady, would you please take a picture of us? We have lived here for thirty years and we have never seen the inlet completely drained like a bathtub.” “ Sure, I would be happy to.” Elizabeth took their picture, and then the woman took a picture of Elizabeth to share with her family. “ Our children are out of the country and worried about us. Is your family here?” “ No, I am renting the gray house on the corner for a few days.” The management company checked in with me yesterday afternoon to see if I needed anything.” “ Well, if you do, just come by to see us. We’re the bungalow with the red shutters. Never seen anything like this in all my days.” Just then, a little girl from the house in front of us screamed, \"The lights are back on!\" Elizabeth thanked the couple for the picture and the invite as they said goodbye. Once back inside the house, the microwave and stove displays were blinking. She charged her phone, and she could set the clocks. It was 1:00 PM and time to eat something, but not before texting her Mom. Elizabeth said to herself,” I think I’ll have the leftover Thai food I brought with me. I hope it's still good.”\n\nSo, she had a bite to eat before packing for her morning drive home to New York. Reflecting on her experience, Elizabeth realized preparing, praying, and having faith assuaged her fears. Dusk was now settling in while she threw things into her old backpack. With her luggage already at the door, she threw her backpack over her shoulder and quickly ran down the stairs. All of a sudden, she heard something drop. As she looked down, Elizabeth saw a heart key chain.\n\nPicking it up, she stared in disbelief. The keychain was a high school graduation gift from her parents. It fell out of a hidden pocket in her backpack. The backpack was the one she used some twenty years ago when she was in college. Elizabeth had forgotten about the gift. On the back of the key chain was an inscription: Be Prepared, Have Faith, Pray. Reading it, she began to cry. What a coincidence that it’s appearing now. She fell asleep clutching the keychain. Morning brought sunshine and an astonishing sight. In the stillness of the night, the ocean had refilled the inlet with water. Picking up the photo of herself taken by the couple the day before, standing in the barren inlet and now looking at the inlet full of water, Elizbeth felt she had been part of a spiritual event. Heading home with her fear of storms lessened, she truly felt blessed for the strength she had found in herself because of Hurricane Ian."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Hero's Mission"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "You know that old mop that sits in the corner of a small ass supply closet in every restaurant or school? Yeah, well that's me right now. I am the mop and my supply closet is actually a cardboard box. I know on a regular day I don't exactly smell like roses but when it rains, I start smelling like a load of clothes left and forgotten for too long in the washer. Although, even that would smell better than me because when you wash clothes you add those good-smelly things in there. I usually get clean by taking a dip into the lake or running through someone sprinklers. I love sprinklers but the rain, not even a little. You see, with sprinklers you can come and go as you please. You can choose to go back into them or walk away. With rain comes constant wetness, shivering coldness, and worst of all.. thunder. Most of you guys get to cuddle up in some blankets and throw on a movie to get you through, all I got is short hair and a bad attitude. Y'know, it wasn't always like this. I used to have a loving family, a great mom who would go on walks with me, feed me whatever I wanted, she'd even let me sleep in her bed even though I wasn't small anymore. We'd cuddle up on the couch watching all sorts of stuff, she'd wrap the blankets around me, kiss me on the forehead and everything. It was a good life. I had lived with her for about 3 years until some strange things started to happen. All of a sudden there was this guy who kept coming by, taking my spot on the couch with my mom. Then he started getting all the kisses I was supposed to get. I swear to you, I used to get borderline pampered in that house but as soon as this bozo came along, I was damn near forgotten. I wish you could've seen him, you know the type. The guys that wear gold chains, leather jackets, obnoxiously loud motorcycles. My mom didn't like when I was loud so how was she letting this guy, of all people, into her bed? Of course, with time I sort of adjusted. I figured if mom seemed happy, I was happy. I just wished she'd included me a little more, that's all. To this day, I s till can't figure out what that guy's name was. She kept calling him \"babe\" or \"honey\" or even \"sweetheart\". How many names did he have? For Pete's sake, just pick one. By the way, I never understood that saying. Who's Pete and why do we care so much about him? Anyways, after about a month or so, mom was gone a lot more often. I'd be left alone in my house with my toys just trying to self entertain. I'd lay on the couch, eat some food, chew on a pillow every now and then, but geez I would still be so bored. One time, I peed on that guys shirt out of spite. He left it under the bed and initially I wanted to tear it up but instead, I peed on it and left it where I found it in hoped he'd pick it up and wear it. Mom found the shirt before he did, though. She was very upset. I didn't get any good privileges for a whole day. Not that I was getting any special treatment anymore anyways like was used to but, y'know, it still sucked. At least I got some sort of attention with that though, I mean, a swat on the butt is better than nothing at all right? Another month or two went by and mom started staying home more often but she didn't seem herself. She would just mindlessly stare at the walls for a while and she'd barely eat. One time I had got into our snack drawer and brought her a bag of chips but I got scolded and shoo'd away. I tried bringing her blankets, shoes, toys, everything and nothing seemed to work. I heard her on the phone one time, crying, talking to someone about how sad she was and how alone she felt. Uh, hello? I'm here. I don't see anyone else bringing you all kinds of your favorite things to make you feel any better. Speaking of, where's that Honey guy at? He made her kinda happy, how come he doesn't come around anymore? Maybe that's why mom's sad. Maybe she was gone so often to look for him, maybe he's lost! That's when I had my bright idea. I will go off into the world and look for him, for my mom. I had it all planned out. I would wait until she fell asleep and I'd squeeze through the door, dig a hole in the yard, and escape. I would've tried going over the fence but I'm way to small to jump that thing. When the time came and I made my grand exit, I was immediately greeted by all these bright lights along the street! I don't think I had ever been outside when it was nighttime. I'm pretty sure mom only let me out during the day because she said it was safer for the both of us. Well, look at me now mom, I'm breaking the rules. I gotta say, when I first left, I felt so amazing. I was boppin' around like a crazy person. I was taking in everything I could, I felt so free! I knew I had a mission though so I tried my best to reign myself in. \" Okay. If I was a tall, leather jacket wearin' guy named Babe or Sweetheart or whatever it was, where would I end up?\" I had THE best idea. He liked food about as much as I did so maybe he got hungry! I followed all kinds of good smells until I finally reached this awesome place where there was tons of food just laying around in these weird smelling bins. Granted, the food wasn't as good as mom's was but it was food nonetheless. I grabbed a bite or two and made a lap around the block. There were only a couple people out at this time and not to be rude but those people we weird. Instead of being in their homes where they should be, they were sleeping on the sidewalk! There's no way I'd ever be caught sleeping on a sidewalk. Anyways, fast forward a couple of hours when I had walked about 10 miles and my lil toes were just screaming for relief. I decided to sit for a second to catch my breath and BOOM. There it was... I felt a sprinkle at first but then it started comin' down pretty heavy. I found my way over to a box eventually and that's where I've been for the last hour and a half. Now that we're all caught up, all there's left to do is wait for the rain to clear. If you hadn't guessed by now, I should probably mention that I'm not really anything like my mom or the other people walking around. You see, they all have two legs to stand on and two arms with hands and those gosh darned thumb things. Boy what I would do to get me some of those. No, I have four legs, no arms, and hair all over my body. No thumbs, just useless paws. I mean they're good for walkin' but I can't open anything myself. So as you can see, I'm just a small lil thing lookin' for a big guy and nothing to help me find him except for the fact that he likes food. I knew that I had to really get it together if I was going to find him before mom woke up. Although, all that walkin' and that weird smelling bin food made me really tired. Maybe if I just took a little nap real quick I could start looking again. So, I swallow my pride and resort to sleeping in this wet, droopy box. Damn. I'm just like those guys I judged earlier. This is real humbling. Oh well, gotta do what you've gotta do, right? As I was chasing a cat in the land of dreams, I felt my body being pulled up as if I was being abducted by aliens so I woke myself abruptly. Hey! Somebody closed my box! Am I being carried? Who the heck just picks up somebody's temporary house like that while they're still in it? I started barking up a storm meaner than the one outside, I tell ya. I mean I really just went crazy in here as I'm sliding around God knows where. We must've got to where we were going quick because there that feeling was again, I was being lifted up. I heard jingle bells and a woman's voice say, \"Hi there! Is this the little angel in here?\". I knew it wasn't my mom but hey, if I'm the angel then I don't care, I'll take all the compliments I can get. I stood very very still as I watched the box slowly start to open. I'm not going to lie, with a voice as sweet as hers, I was expecting a beautiful lady. She was more like a wrinkly lady. Not so bad looking, but wrinkly. I let her pick me up in hopes she'd give me a little forehead kiss like mom used to do but instead, she took off my collar and put me in a cage. How rude is that? You guys just plucked me out of my hero's mission and then you put me in jail? Geez, note to self, not all humans are cool. I sat in this cage just chewing my paws, trying to figure out how to get out of here when all of a sudden I heard footsteps. I was just about ready to run past whoever was comin' to let me out but then I thought, \" Wait.. I know these footsteps..\" Sure enough, my mom came rushing up to my rescue! I started waggin' my tail like crazy, whining obnoxiously til' she got the dang door open, and then I leapt into her arms because I felt like I had't seen her in ages. She gave me the first forehead kiss I got in what felt like a year and I was so happy. She told me we were going home and I was sort of upset because I was going to find that guy for her. I thought bringing him back would have made her happy. Once we got home though, she sat on the couch and patted the cushion for me to join her. I hesitated at first since she hadn't snuggled with me in a while but there went, patting again and smiling. I jumped up, gave her a lick, and she wrapped a blanket around both of us. She squeezed me tight and said, \"Please don't ever run off like that again, I was terrified something had happened to you, you're lucky somebody had found you with my number on your collar\". Just like that, I decided no guy in a leather jacket would ever come between me and my mom. As long as she's happy, I'm happy. Besides, I figure that guy has someone's number on his chain so if he's lost, someone will call his mom to come get em'."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "I wanted a rom-com but life gave me just half of it"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "It was a chilly Saturday in January. Hong Kong was in its most brutal wintertime. The temperature was around 50 degrees with no snow. But the wind would sneak into the slightest gap between layers of clothes and the skin. I rushed to the theatre after getting out of bed and ready to leave my place before 10 in the morning.\n\nWho would watch a romcom on a Saturday morning? Well, I do. I had been waiting for the movie Anyone but You and got hyped by its box office record. So on that frigid winter morning, I sat in the middle of the theater with a small caramel and cheese popcorn and a cup of icy coke. That was my breakfast of the day. Another senior couple and a few other people were in the dark theater too. The light was out. The show was on. No spoiler of the movie itself but I would say it is a very classic romantic comedy that I once fantasized about in my teenage years. I walked out of the theater feeling extremely satisfied and its box office should say something about how good it is. I have no shame about being a huge fan of this type of movie. I love watching romcoms. Life is already complicated. Why try stuffing the already-spinning thoughts with even more obscure movies? I could not remember the last time I watched a rom-com in a movie theater. Anyone But You definitely lived the praise of being the renaissance of rom-com movies. Still savoring the cheesy moments between the leading characters Ben and Bea and the supporting roles, I walked into the now busy streets in central Hong Kong. It was lunchtime. What should I get? I was familiar with the area enough to know where my favorite gelato shop was. But I did not know it well enough to find out Fiata, the now fourth-best pizzeria in Asia-Pacific, was just a short walk from the gelateria. Pizza for lunch it is. It was located on a hill, and I would not mind a short hike if the pizza was this good. As I approached the storefront, I found other hungry people crowding in front of the store. Yikes. The server seemed too occupied to spare a few seconds to answer the same question from different people for a table to fit a group of diners. I was on the fine line between walking away and waiting for my turn to ask the question after she told a group of four that they could not take more orders for the remaining lunch hour. I caught a quick eye contact with her and shot my question, “Do you have a table for one?” The size was small enough for her to look around the packed dining area and calculate the possibility. “You can share a table with me if you don’t mind.” It was a guy sitting on a makeshift table right at the door. He was alone with two other empty stools. “Sure! That would be great!” I answered him and the server before she could finish asking me if it would work for me. Of course yes! It was another round of waiting for the menu after the server gave me a glass of water while already in the direction of another table. A few moments later, another server delivered his pizza order. It was the signature dish of Fiata, the Diavola Pizza. I could smell the spicy salami mixed with a hint of tomato sauce. I could even feel the heat from the dough fresh out of the oven, or maybe from the patio heater next to the table. “We can share this if you would like to. I cannot eat a whole pie. And the wait time seems long if you place your order now.” “Can I?!” I asked. It was more of a yes feign as a question. With no mirror in front of me, I was 100% sure I looked very surprised and happy. The past few minutes were almost the same as the opening of Anyone But You except that I was looking for food and Bea was desperate about a key to the bathroom. At that point in my life, I had lived a quite dramatic life that I always enjoyed writing and talking about. Sitting among people coming with a craving for pizza and leaving with varying levels of disappointment, I was still trying to process everything that had happened to me. The pizza was in full exposure to the chilling breeze. I better spare no time to savor it. The tomato sauce spread on the bottom brought out its always bright and tangy flavor yet the short stay in the oven gave a deeper layer of fragrance. Though I was sitting outdoors in January, the spicy salami felt like the sunshine in the Mediterranean to bathe myself in while relaxing on the soft fior di latte di Napoli and buffalo cream. There was a light breeze across the tastebuds by the fresh basil sauce. As I chewed through the dough, the fluffy and moist texture was right on the spot. The first slice was a real treat and a bonus for this trip to the unknown destination. We chatted a bit over the remaining slices of pizza. He also came to Hong Kong alone for a concert later in the evening. He also heard about this place and came for its fame. He is STILL in his undergraduate years, studying math at the University of Oxford. As we finished the pizza, he suggested to Airdrop the photos to me. My phone buzzed with the Airdrop notification. On the screen, it was his iPhone ID, “Any top?” I grabbed the glass and drank it bottom up. I was not sure if I was trying to quench my thirst because the pizza was a bit too salty. Or I was trying to swallow down the funny chocolate that my life tried to give me."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Make Up Your Mind"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "“Young man, destiny has chosen you for greatness!” Llwyd looked up from his mug to see an old man with the longest beard and the bushiest eyebrows he had ever seen was looking at him. “Are…are you talking to me?” Llwyd asked hesitantly, looking around the tavern. \tThere must be a mistake. Why would anyone talk to him? He was just a humble farmhand from the backwater village of Burr, the smallest village in the land of Made-Upia. “Yes,” the old man crowed, “my boy, our kingdom is in danger! The princess has been kidnapped by the Evil Lord of Evil, who plans to feed her to his pet Minotaur. Only the chosen hero, wielder of the Macguffin Sword can save her. Will you do it?” “Yes,” Llwyd answered, jumping to his feet. He’d always felt like he should be doing something more, now he had the chance to become a hero! “Excellent!” The old man plopped a jeweled blade on the table, “gather what supplies and allies you need and go forth adventurer!” … Llwyd charged out of the tavern onto the dockyards…wait, that wasn’t right. There wasn’t so much as a pond within miles of Burr, so why was he suddenly staring out at the ocean? “Hey, Llwyd!” Llwyd turned to see a ginger-haired youth with a freckled face running towards him, “I’ve been searching all through Salmonella for you!” “Salmonella?” Llwyd responded, confused, “this is Burrow..I think. Who are you?”\n\nThe ginger giggled. “Nice one Llwyd, pretending to forget your childhood friend Billy Bob. No hero can go on a quest without a goofy sidekick tagging along. Not only do I bring comedic relief but I also make you look cooler by comparison, like when you saved me from bullies when we were in the orphanage.” “Orphanage?” Llwyd blurted out, “My parents are alive!” “No they’re not,” A nearby fishmonger spoke up, “they were eaten by the pirate king’s sea serpent right after you were born. It’s your personal vendetta against him that drives you to complete your quest.”\n\n“Okay,” Llwyd said softly, a void opening up in his soul, “I guess I’m an orphan now.” “Enough about dead parents,” Billy Bob said with a laugh, “the wizard says we must begin our voyage if we’re to find the pieces of the ancient map.” “Map?” “Yes,” Billy-Bob answered impatiently, “it will lead us to the Sword of Macguffin!” “I already have the sword,” Llwyd protested, pointing down to his belt, only to find that the jeweled blade was gone.\n\n“You can’t have a magical sword right at the beginning of a quest,” the fishmonger said, beheading a trout, “that would be too easy. ” Sighing, Llwyd made his way to the nearest boat with Billy Bob to begin his adventure…hopefully. … “You think you’re ready to go on a quest? Fat chance! First, you have to prove yourself in the ring!” Llwyd, whose seafaring outfit had been replaced with a pair of shorts and boxing gloves, winced as his trainer (a particularly grumpy dwarf) shouted in his ear.\n\n“The prize is the first piece of the Macguffin Map!” The trainer bellowed, “Now show me what I’ve been teaching you all these years!” “I literally met you ten minutes ago,” Llwyd pointed out, “hold on, who am I supposed to be fighting?” The dwarf pointed to the figure that hopped into the ring, and Llwyd’s eyes widened. “Billy-Bob?” “Don’t call me that!” The ginger growled, flexing his muscles, “My name is William Bobicus, the real hero of our hometown, Swollsville. Just because we grew up in the same orphanage don’t think I’m going to take it easy on you. Once I’ve found the Sword of Macguffin, I’ll prove that the wizard was totally wrong choosing you!” “What’s his deal?” Llwyd questioned, glancing at his trainer. “Silly sidekicks are old news,” the dwarf gruffly explained, “childhood rivals are all the rage. Haven’t you watched any anime?” Rolling his eyes, Llwyd put up his dukes as Billy Bob charged towards him. I just wanted to save a princess. … Where else could the third part of the map be located but the temple of death? And where else in the Temple of Death but a platform surrounded by a pit filled with giant, man-eating toads. Why did it have to be toads? Llwyd groaned, trying not to look down as he crossed the rope bridge. At least with this latest change he got a cool fedora. “Hey Llwyd! What do you get when you cross a dog and a toad? A croaker spaniel!” Llwyd glared back at Billy Bob. “So you’re back to being the goofy sidekick?” “The third Deadpool just came out,” Billy Bob replied, “irreverent, fourth wall breakers are all the rage.”\n\n“Whatever,” Llwyd grumbled, “let’s just get this map piece…” His eyes fastened on the bridge. One of the ropes was starting to fray. In a couple of seconds it would snap! “Hang on Billy!” Llwyd cried, pulling out his whip and swinging it. The lash coiled around the bridge’s support post just as the rope gave way. Holding onto the whip for dear life, Llwyd swung towards the platform, hitting its side painfully. Groaning, the wannabe hero made the mistake of looking down. The toads they were dangling above were a LOT closer now, staring up at the two young men hungrily. “We gotta climb!” Llwyd gasped. “No,” Billy Bob said, his arms wrapped around Llwyd’s waist, “I’m too heavy! I’ll only drag you down! I’m…I’m going to let go.” “What!?” Llwyd bellowed, “No, no, you can’t do that Billy, you’re my…” Now that he thought about it, Llwyd didn’t really know Billy very well (he’d met this “childhood friend” a couple hours ago). And his eye was still smarting from that boxing match earlier. Those jokes Billy made were pretty terrible, too. Maybe it would be better if the sidekick let go. “I respect your decision,” Llwyd said, “you better be quick before I change my mind.” “Wait a sec,” Billy said, “there is one final thing I have to tell you. It’s a secret I’ve been keeping from you. I should have told you before. I’m sorry!” “I forgive you,” Llwyd said quickly, trying to shake the sidekick off, “now let go.” “It’s about the princess!” Billy said, as he slipped down, “She’s your younger sister!” “How does that work?” Llwyd wondered, “Weren’t my parents eaten right after I was born?” “And…she’s evil!” Billy Bob continued, “She’s pretending to be imprisoned by the evil lord of evilness when in actuality she has kidnapped the kind lord of kindness! The only way to stop her is to release his benevolent unicorn with the magical key of Macguffin.”\n\n“Why!?” Llwyd shouted, having officially run out of patience, “Just…why!?” “It’s…called…a rugpull!” Billy-Bob cried as he finally lost his grip and tumbled down to the toads below.\n\nBilly, Llwyd thought, I will always remember…oh forget it. … Sitting with his feet dangling over the edge of the canyon, Llwyd took a swig of the bitter drink in his flask. Grimacing, he looked down at the streets of his hometown of…what were they calling it again? It changed so much it was hard to keep track. Metalopolis? Iron City? Gear Town! That was it! The place looked like it had been put together by some crazy tinkerer. Steampunk, one of the residents had called it. Everyone had a mechanical limb or two now, which Llwyd couldn’t fault them for since he now possessed a prosthetic eye and claw for a hand. Turning to his only companion, a dog automaton named Fido, Llwyd let out a weary sigh. “I don’t know who’s in charge of all of…this,” He said, waving his hand at their surroundings, “but I really wish they would make up their minds.” “ BOW…WOW…” Fido answered mechanically. “I don’t even remember what I’m supposed to be doing. Was I supposed to find a magic compass that would lead me to the legendary jewel? Or was the legendary jewel supposed to lead me to the laser sword? Am I saving or destroying the alien queen? I don’t mind going on a quest, as long as I know WHAT THAT QUEST IS SUPPOSED TO BE! Whoever’s calling the shots needs to make up their mind!”\n\n“You make a fair point lad.” Twisting around, Llwyd was shocked to see that it was the old man, the one who had approached him in the tavern all those years ago. “It’s not a bad thing to change one’s mind. In fact, many times it’s necessary. However, if one does not have confidence in themselves, they can become trapped, cycling through idea after idea without having the courage to settle on one. Ultimately, for any progress to be made, one must swallow their fear, choose an idea and stick with it. It’s the only way to move forward. So…” The old man drew out a jeweled sword from his robe and extended it to Llwyd. “Are you ready to save that princess?” Llwyd cast a glance back at his hometown, which was the plain, simple hamlet of Burrow once more. Smiling, the chosen Hero turned to the old man and grasped the sword in his two, whole hands. “I was born ready. Isn’t that right, Fido…” Llwyd’s voice trailed off when he saw that his robo-pooch was gone and a baby dragon was sitting in his place. He looked at the wizard with a raised eyebrow. “What?” The old man said with a shrug, “Don’t you know how popular dragons are right now?”"
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The Chase"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "The Chase Sadness had always aspired to be as content as his brother - Happiness - so much so, in fact, that he envied the brutal severance rifting them apart. Alas, as with most aspirations, Sadness befell the usual disappointment of our meandering pursuit for something grander than what we have abreast. From when dawn first scintillated across the grassy verdure, Sadness awoke to a rheum encrusted around his whole aurora. When the sun guttered its candlelit flames atop the horizon, Sadness slumbered in turmoil of his irreversible reality. His heart beat, like a harp unstrung, and never did he feel anything save gloom. Those eyes were blinded from being full of somniferous tears. The blithe talk of those whom he had failed to befriend garbled to cacophonous illusions. In the dark, laughter deafened him. The palette of Sadness was apt to slake off kingly banquets, however, taste mildewed like the fungous white on unwitting leaves. He had a tongue, but would dawdle his speech to frivolity; or so believed his irrational mind.\n\nHappiness polarised as his exemplary opposite, for Sadness’s brother was sociable and conversant with his emotional others. Happiness disinflamed Wrath from his infernal temperament; subdued the unruly beast of primal, childish Mischief; rested Anxiety asleep when tremulous upon the prickly hairs on one’s skin; reconciled Good and Evil; disinclined Solitude from its alienable persona; embraved Cowardice to be stalwart; amended widowed Grief by allowing her to forelook at more prosperous futures ahead; quelled the rash Vengeance from wreaking upon those who have wronged; unbigoted Hatred and Spite from their livid malice; and danced through the earthly doldrums with Love. Sadness could never vie with his brother. To him, these were worldly elements he sought an education on - a sentimental education, as a Frenchman once wrote. They were ponderous to carry along with him in his daily affairs, and weighed him as a cumbrous anchor. Happiness would frolic through the meadows, blasé as can be, whilst he, Sadness, seethed in envious confusion of why he was so inept at such mirths. Their mother - Naivety - would complain to their father - Stoicism - of how twilit Sadness appeared, though neither dared query why his frown drowned all that had power enough to joy. They feared having to plumb the profound of, indeed, how woeful Sadness was. Most stagger at travelling slantwise the tightrope of broaching that which is desolating.\n\nAt an age indeterminable, Sadness attempted to distract himself from what tyrannised him, by adventuring through the cities near to their home. In a boisterous tavern, he trialled the delusive wile of intoxicating oneself to evade nauseous sorrow; in vain. Gazing at the skies brought but faults in them, where the varicose web illuminating the cosmos dimmed Sadness. Birds howled at plaintive infrequencies; the insects droned at horrid length; and the clouds mocked him with their misshapen fancies. Rain would gratify Sadness awhile, before being subverted by a puddle glassing his pitiable within.\n\nOne fateful noon, his uncle - Deceit - paid a visit to their home. He noticed how stifled Sadness was, and, after all had quieted down, he accosted his nephew: “Have you tried your mettle at Eros, in the centre of London?”\n\nPerplexed, Sadness stuttered out that he was not apprised of this establishment. Deceit enhaloed with that fervour of perversity. He wheedled to his nephew, and used garrulous persuasion to seduce him into checking Eros out.\n\n“I am certain it shall cater to your favour,” gulled Deceit.\n\nBeing the fool of credulous trust, Sadness ambled to Eros, where he found the extent of how fouled his uncle was. The neon kaleidoscope shone in fluctuant hues of red: from carmine, vermeil, scarlet, crimson, and plenteous more. These lights were no deterrent for Sadness; what he was averse to revolved around gratuitous exploitation. All around him, Sadness saw the dulling twinkle of virtue being pawned by avaricious cruelty.\n\nAs Sadness turned to depart, a waxen figure propped her lissom arm on his shoulder, reeling him into her boudoir. Resistless, he entered and lay abed with this mistress. She was all the more disheartening to view, for O’ how Innocence personified from her radiant face. Comely was the way her flaxen hair ruffled, and when shaking her head, its gloss mizzled as the ingots of golden embers from the backdrop of a bonfire. Sadness relented, and they spent the night together.\n\nIn the morning, however, Sadness retched with disgust at what he regarded to be arrant defilement. Not from a perspective of considering the nameless mistress as hideous, but from how he so loathed himself. Sadness felt he was desertless to have enjoyed a calmative sleep, with one so gracious. He stole out of the boudoir, whilst the mistress was supine and snoring of a dreamful memory they had shared together. Nevermore did Sadness see his nameless mistress. She was but a willowy mirage that summoned him to lament in disgrace irreconcilable.\n\nHenceforth, when Deceit next visited their home, Sadness shirked having to see his devious uncle that had so shamed him. Lust was thus incompatible with Sadness, and Sadness jilted Love from his self-reproach. His successive task deviated, and was more studious. Delving into literature seemed a veritable way of escapism. O’ how the hood of such hope winked him: what Sadness uncovered was that, the avider he scoured, the more these tales chronicling the glum sides of humanity thawed. From Young Werther suiciding, the Requiem for a Dream alike his own, Greek Tragedy ill influencing his affectable humour, and the unsparing depictions of Maupassant. These Flowers were not for our sad Algernon. He renunciated literature, and denounced it as an odium which he swore never to return to.\n\nFor Sadness, in the glamour of every glimmer there was an ominous shadow of doubt. Thus what besides could Sadness do to disentwine?\n\nHe soon alloted his flexuous series of misfortunes to his native land, and, as brotherly Happiness excelled at everything he touched, Sadness decided it best to embark abroad. Flee somewhere afar in the continental offings. When relating this to his parents, Sadness realised that they comported gay smiles, as if his riddance had long been pined for; as if, through Sadness leaving his parents and those shores which were familiar to him, they were all disburdened of what worries Sadness had inflicted upon them. Blame was yet another component tallied to his growing list.\n\nUpon a ship sailed Sadness, with his maritime brethren swabbing the deck in incessant routine. The wind would flit between voracious squalls, plummeting deluges, foamy waves which crested in monstrous shapes, and the constant brine salting the nautical air. Captain Courage had agreed to let Sadness stow with them, as they wended the fearsome ire of the sea. Sadness knew not where he wished to be delivered to, nor had he demanded Captain Courage take him anywhere in specific - Sadness was at the complete mercy of where they spirited him to.\n\nIn the meantime, Sadness engaged in duties aboard the ship, petitioning that they may relieve him. To a degree they did, though as he was inured to the repetitious cycle of life at sea, he wearied yet again from his melancholy delights. Great billows plashed against the port and starboard of the ship, lurching them askew, sickening their stomachs to troublesome indigestion. His feet, encased in irrespirable boots all day, festered of what algal growth multiplied from it being an expedient habitat for such germs. The rigidity of conforming to the implicit laws on Captain Courage’s ship all the more misgave Sadness.\n\nThe members of the crew, roistering when the moon peeked and pearled its milky drapery, were unfond of Sadness for similar reasons that had so dogged him when ashore. They despised how Sadness secluded himself to avoid their drunken merriment. To the crew, Sadness misjudged them through his captious reservations; when, in fact, Sadness shied away out of humility to not irk them. The ironic Pathos of our poor wanderer!\n\nAfter interminable days, they moored in Asia, at a Japanese port called Serendipity. Disembarking surged Sadness with the smother of colours, electrifying the thoroughfares, streets, and alleyways with inconceivable polychromos. His scent grasped the toxicity of odiferous culture, bodily perspiration, acquisitive chatter, and an acute sense of being beyond one’s faculty for bobbing afloat in a foreign land. Indeed, sighting these curios muddled Sadness, and caused him to look elsewhere for a sojourn. From this metropolis, Sadness, on his lonesome, scaled the acclivity of Japan: passing through Sendai where the Trees predominate the city, Aomori where he idled in the natural springs of bubbling heat, and, by the time he had arrived at Sapporo, he indulged in the hoary winterland where tiny men were rimed and fashioned of stout snow. Then Sadness dismounted to the declivity of Japan, where he studied the increase in temples, shrines, and pantheons for their emperors of old. At Nagoya, he saw the Castle with its aurous statues of Shachihoko erected atop its roof. Osaka both unravelled the winnowing Cherry Blossoms shimmering their roseate sparkles, and the ancient Shitennoji Temple with its fived-storied chapeau, outspreading at each level like the plumy wings of a red-crowned crane. He hurried along the frightful vertigo steeping him to Hiroshima, where cadaverous voices echoed throughout him. Hiroshima dismayed Sadness to wilt from the empathy he felt; he could smell, breathe, and taste the sweat of that pernicious, atomic catastrophe. His final stop, before heading toward the rest of Asia, was Mount Aso, in Kumamoto. Here, Sadness gazed at the craterous caldera, where once the still sentient volcano had erupted and collapsed; he wished he could leap off into its caldera and be engorged in molten, scalding waves. Be effaced from this Earth in a pit of combustive glory. It would bode well to attribute one’s exploration in Japan as gladsome, alas, this was far from the case for Sadness.\n\nOnward through Asia his malcontent persisted, and sullied everything he glimpsed at. In Thailand, at the hallowed Temple of the Emerald Buddha, he could glean but mere fractions of what meditative splendour he ought to perceive. Those locks of luscious gold were, to Sadness, gilding insipid, humdrum, and superficial tawdries of a piety he could never attain. In Cambodia, in the village of Choeung Ek - known as The Killing Fields - Sadness had a morbid infatuation propel him to inspect the egregious genocide that devestated. Needless to say, Sadness soon repented at having devised of the idea, for Death menaced back at him with ghastly irreverence. In Vietnam, a similar phenomenon concurred with the immemorial pungency from the ghostly Napalm, still haunting the country. It stank of arid detergent, petroleum, and gasoline all concocted into one noisome potion for destruction.\n\n“Why must we slay our sistren and brethren, neighbours and strangers, friends and foes?” posed Sadness. “Is it cognate to our blood that we must incinerate all that is beautiful? Do we quantify Beauty with what Gore can Gain for us?”\n\nSadness was aware of these questions being irresolvable, and so moved on with the continuum of our Complacency.\n\nThereafter was the stoney anfractuosity of the Great Wall of China, weaving as a Gordian serpent, blushed by the virid forestry and downy clouds surrounding it. They had no effect save bemusing Sadness, and inciting him once more to philosophise:\n\n“Why would we mar Nature and Earth with such a construction? It has merit, but some Wilds are best left untrodden.”\n\nThroughout India, Sadness honed in on these quandaries, and discerned the disparity between what was naturalised and what had been entrenched. The skies were obstructed from the metalliferous buildings soaring upward. The streets teethed and teemed with a populous rampage. The distinction between Wealth and Poverty scowled at Sadness, as he remarked upon derelicts, mendicants, unfortunates, and hustlers eke for dear sustenance. Yes, the Taj Mahal was magnificent and regal, the domal red balloons aloft Mysore Palace were astounding, the gigantic Amber Fort was incredible, the millions of insectile eyes on the Hawa Mahal were fascinating - but they all flew awry on Sadness.\n\nEven the miscellaneous vasts of Russia could not slake what plagued Sadness. His heart was quenchless in how ill it jaded from what should have overawed. Something forbade Sadness from disembroiling his weariless dearth of cheer. Perhaps, contrary to what he had believed, Sadness had too sentimental of an education, and so noted then dissected all the errors in humanity. Too receptive to how violated our peculiar world is.\n\nSome pupae, when eclosing from their chrysalids, are accursed to suffer by having been lent the compass of differentiating North from South, Good from Evil, Beauty from Grotesquerie, and Innocence from Iniquity. An adulterant defect in their metabolism, cardiovascular system, or brain - who knows where or what, save that it is infelicitous and unjust.\n\nThere comes a time when this defect enervates its wandering host, and thins them into being susceptible to the malignant. This is plumb what happened to Sadness. His pursuit across the continents did not rest till he had viewed all seven of them. During that time, a mildew of the mind forked out, like gloomy boughs at twilight, and progressed to a more heinous, debilitating condition. First, what afflicted him externalised upon his facial features, with ashen fatigue freaked left and right, then his eyes sank to bulbous bags, and soon his skin deteriorated to a charnel pallor. Before long his entirety was dampened by these symptoms of a predacious malady. So ailed was Sadness, that he returned homeward and shoreward, where he dreaded to think whether his parents, and Happiness, had missed him at all. Had he drifted into a phantasmal image of their past? A vague, tenuous, and fleetful nobody that, upon arriving, would but deject them anew.\n\n“So be it,” said Sadness, “what choice besides do I have?” And thus he ventured to his native land.\n\nReuniting with his parents, they were petrified by how different he looked; Sadness had matured by incarnating onerous Wisdom. Happiness lumbered when greeting his brother, and retained his weeps from how he surmised Sadness to have fared ill during his vagabonding. Fatherly Stoicism, motherly Naivety, and brotherly Happiness diagnosed an immedicable Pestilence to have taken hold over Sadness. This was substantiated by Remedy, the doctor whom they had called to aid them in their quest to reverse the malady. After much scrutiny, Remedy affirmed that Sadness was, indeed, possessed by pathogens immune to medicine, or herbaceous panaceas. He could not classify the peccant matter within Sadness, for it was capricious in how often it metamorphosed. Remedy would waver over it as being akin to a malarious delirium, or a tuberculous fever which proliferated off all that was dolorous in Sadness. The disease feasted off what was negative.\n\nAt length the parents disputed with Remedy about Sadness’s rate of survival, and were inexorable on being told that their sad son had little chance of reconquering himself.\n\n“In my professional opinion,” stated Remedy, “the tissue binding Sadness seems to have long forfeited its care for existing. Under the microscope, I see atoms shifting and sifting in listless despair. It is undispellable, I am afraid.”\n\nSadness was nonchalant on whether he would be vanquished by what wasted him. In an ironic sense, he joyed at being stamped with a label of when he may expire. It felt behoveful that he would swoon after having foundered to find what he so sought - albeit what jewel had he craved?\n\nFor the following days, Sadness was witnessed by his family. Stoicism would lay beside him, assure that Sadness dozed - which he pretended to do - and unbosomed his regrets for having been implacable. He rued at having been inexpressive and unsympathetic: a hollow, blank painting where the faces have been gnawed off. On the other hand, Naivety relinquished what vault had so enfettered her from comforting her sad son, and felt a guilt incomparable to that of Stoicism. Hers was attributable to being remiss, and ignorant of the duties she ought to have done so as to quell Sadness. What both Naivety and Stoicism did share, was the onus of their selfish desire to preclude the conversation of emotions with Sadness. They had so quailed at the slightest hint of having to speak on such matters, that they now misappropriated the series of events upon their shoulders. Guilt can pervert the most imperturbable of creatures.\n\nDeprecated at intervals, the gleeful visage, indomitable passivity, and tender generosity of Happiness maimed from how harried he was. In the late hours of night, he would arch upon an undulant chair, warding over his invalid brother. Juxtaposing the occasional movement from his chair were creaks from the wooden floor, quarrelling or keening from downstairs, and the wind whistling its remorseful requiem.\n\nThese visitations habituated till a faerie sheened upon Sadness, alarming sleepless, devout Happiness, presiding over the nightly welfare of his brother. Rushing over to Sadness, Happiness saw a pearly kiss be japanned on his skeletal cheek. The rhythms, of which the heart of Sadness palpitated, were so irregular and murmurous that Happiness fretted. He widened his mouth agape, prepared to bellow out for his parents, but Sadness reeled him in.\n\n“No, let my final minutes be at ease.”\n\nHappiness nodded. \n\n“Before I perish, I wish to endow you with the lesson I learnt on my journeys.”\n\nSadness beckoned Happiness closer.\n\n“We all seek idyllic Greed - one unachievable to us, yet so captivating. Do not be deceived into throbbing or sobbing for that which is ostensible. Suffice in what you own, or risk embittering yourself. My whole life I chased what I was deprived of and,” Sadness pointed to Happiness, “envied. The tragicomedy being that my chasing was me running away.”\n\nThe ultimate breath sighed from Sadness, and a gangrenous air encapsulated the room.\n\nHappiness hastened to the nearest bathroom, where he could bathe his sorrows. Luckless was he, however, for when dabbing his face in the mirror, it showed him to have warped to Unhappiness. "
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Tortle Mon"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "My column in the local magazine, Islands Chronicle, stirred controversy and by some was thought to be demeaning to those who had lost their lives in deep blue seas to bring home the bread in the many ways the oceans provided. It was one of those columns that quoted locals and generally went- they went out to do a little fishing but my cousin, brother, father lost his life out in devastating storms or from weapons in hostile hands. Strangely, that kind of talk died out quickly and I became a sort of hero, backed by mothers and wives, to a promotion of the hidden mariner women folk of the San Sebastian Islands. A short time after my celebrity status died down I found myself looking for something else to equal it and came upon the concept of a series of stories about rites of passages for some of the most dangerous of their occupations, turtling. Harrold, a good buddy of mine had referred me to what he called a really good rite of passage story. He even arranged a meeting and I marched the wrong route to the little mystery village of Redfoot Town. After hiking through a swampy mosquito infested mangrove forest I arrived at Redfoot Town. Dixie stood in front of me, a bushy-headed, freaky sort of person. A powerful tall frame with a cafe au lait complexion and hazel eyes. He looked me up and down for a bit before he picked up a a thick splif of Jamaican ganja from the rail of a blue dinghy, lit it, inhaled deeply and smiled. Dixie smiled a lot. We sat on the rail of the eighteen-foot long dinghy and looked at each other for a while. I produced my tape recorder and nodded a question of acceptance toward being recorded to which Dixie smiled a yes. In typical Sebastian Island fashion the story started and I had to catch up. Dixie just got going, ‘The wind started to go all wrong and Cop’n had to order a reef in the main soon after the cutting. Then he had to order the jib topsail down, then another reef. The seas were kicking up with the wind against the current and the confusion from the reefs way behind us they said. We pulled down the foresail and the outer jib and charged through with just the main, foresail and inner jib. It was wet sailing on a dry boat as they say. But it didn’t stop there, no. Soon, under it was wet from above and decks awash, and a howling that pushed the schooner steadily sideways. We found it tiring just to sit on that bumping, slanting deck. We had to pull all sail down, and off, and stowed, as best we could, below decks. We were now just hove-to with the handkerchief of a heavy staysail stropped to the main mast and pulled tight amidships to keep our head on and slanted to some monstrous waves.\n\n‘The bowsprit stuck into the seas and put our decks completely awash with us hanging on to anything we could. Cop’n and Uncle Tubby were at the helm struggling to keep her at the right angles to the seas as we would go up and up into bright turquoise, then race down into a valley of dark green. We could see fish and even sharks and tortle in the waves turning over and over. The deck was cleaned awashed. A Nor’wester was what it was or a hurricane was what I was later told since it was the wrong time of year for a Nor’wester. ‘Cop’n changed course as we went down a wave and put us on a beam reach with the waves surfing us but the bowsprit was out of the water and we almost stayed still but we were pointing away from our destination and toward the reefs again. ‘I have to say though… that I liked it. No, I loved it. The wind and seas flying, the taste of salt something close to being really free, you know. With the wind on the beam you could stand up again and I remember standing there in the waist by the lee rail. That storm jib was strained and wet and shiny. The seas were foaming by us, aside us, under us. They had to be at least twenty foot and we just went up and up, then down, then up. The sky cleared and the rain stopped and the wind lessened a bit but Cop’n did not turn back the course at all. ‘I volunteered to take the helm, some of the boys were below and I think scared but I was almost in heaven in that storm and wanted the feel of control the wheel gives. There were always two of us throughout that day and we were not going forward much just enough to keep the vessel controlled, you know. The teeth of those reefs were still where they were and we did not want to be near them, so no more sail went up until evening fell. Cop’n made the boys come up on deck and set the forestaysail, but kept the storm staysail up, as he turned us back toward Key West since the waves were lesser now. I was sure we were out of it now and was even joking about being in a real storm at sea. Uncle Tubby heard me and said we were not in the storm yet. That there was a hurricane coming up and Cop’n wanted to get us as far away from the reefs as is possible before it hits. ‘I saw him tying two axes and a couple of machets to the main mast and an axe to the foremast. Tote told me we might have to cut the masts out. I had heard of that but when you are there it doesn’t make much sense and it too unreal, you know? When Uncle Tubby passed I called to him and asked if we would be cutting out the masts. He said if we have to but this hurricane was coming and Cop’n wanted to keep trudging toward Isla Pinos so we might have to cut them out. Uncle Tubby was of the opinion that we should reach over to Rio Largatos and hide in the mangos over West in the Yucatan, in Mexico. But he knew it was not to be. Cop’n was a hard man to change his thoughts and was going to try for Isla Pinos and the reefs off there. Cop’n thought the reefs would protect us since they would give us a windward shore. Thing was, Uncle Tubby said, hurricanes travel in a circle which could also make the reefs a leeward shore. It was too much of a gamble, he thought. ‘Part of Cop’n’s reasoning was that we had already lost all the tortle on the deck and would have to try and get some at Isla Mujeres after the storm but Uncle Tubby felt that we might lose some time at Lagartos but still be alive. This was all exciting to me. The seas grew again. Their power was truly grand, no, not just grand, more than that. It was threatening, menacing like it was alive and completely focussing on us. The seas pulled the sky down until you could not tell the difference. The seas were in command and made everything loud and black. The hissing and howling made me scream. I was scared. I was scared. I had to pee but couldn’t move. I couldn’t see anybody though some were right next to me pulling on me to get down. Life was a screaming blur, man.’ Dixie stopped and looked around. He drained some rum from a plastic cup and looked around again, then down to his hands that were shaking. He looked at me and shook his head with his mouth open, then smiled. ‘Whoa, that was something, man. That was a true memory there, Rod. Man, I was there again. They say you can’t really remember a hurt or a fear but that is definitely not true because I just went through both. I was there and a tortle log flew at me and hit me in the arm. Uncle Tubby was yelling at me. I looked around at blackness and felt the cabin top, trying to raise myself up but being pushed down by wind. Wind. Wind pushing me like I was a piece of paper. I just felt it all, man. ‘I don’t know how long I was laying on the deck holding on to the foremast. This hand of wind just pushing me straight along the deck with my legs streaming aft. I don’t remember us going up and down waves, maybe because I couldn’t see through the water and wind in my eyes. But the morning came in as the wind increased, then dropped to nothing. The seas ran this way and that and Celia just jumped around like a football being kicked. Big old vessel she was, she was still just a football being kicked around. I had to hold on to even get to a sitting position. I only saw a couple of the crew’s heads just above the cabin top forward. The Cop’n and Jamie were aft at the helm. Their waists were lashed to the wheel box and their heads were hatless and tilted forward studying in the compass, steering by the compass. Jamie looked up. I think he had just noticed the lack of wind. He spoke to Cop’n, who looked up and around and slowly shook his head. It was so hot that my eyes were sweating in the stillness with wavelets jumping all around and Celia bouncing up and down. Then, she settled and the seas lay flat. Uncle Tubby yelled to get the tortle from out of the hold. He was yelling and yelling and saying we didn’t have much time. Get that weight out of the vessel was what he was yelling to us. I ran to the hold and jumped in. We were lifting two and three hundred pound snapping and scared tortle up to hands above us. ‘Then the breeze started up and relieved the heat a bit as we hauled and hefted up by their flippers those shelled reptiles. I was glad that they were going back to the sea. Strange at that time to be remembering that I was glad that all of our work and time and pains of mosquitos, no-seeums, loneliness, homesickness was for nothing. I was really glad, man, deeply glad they were going overboard. Maybe I just had to think of something else other then this crap that I found myself in. ‘The seas started rolling with a rhythm again, they started growing tall as the breeze became a wind, became a gale. We got all the tortle out and could barely gain the deck again my arms were useless and my weight was much more then I remembered. Some hands pulled me out and I looked up at seas as high as the masts charging toward us. Celia rose and rose and rose with us tilted backward. I was holding onto the foremast again and feeling like I was laying against a wall with no bottom for my feet. We started going down the other side and I wrapped my legs around the mast. Things and people rolled, bounced, flew by me. The wind hit hard like a fist against my back and Celia was climbing again. ‘The wind had a soft whistling tune that I remember thinking of some song but could not remember what song. Maybe it wasn’t a song but a train whistle like in the movies. It was a train whistle but with deeper notes, then high pitched notes. It was a wind train charging at us pushing us up and pulling us down. When I looked I could see three men at the helm but did not recognise them because of the water spread across my vision. Then, trying to clear my eyes, I saw it coming from the stern with a clear blue sky above and perfectly outlined by that blue was a white mass of wave top, curling teeth-like, moving much faster then we were and we were not rising. I lashed the loose end of a water barrel line that was tied to an eye on the cabin side around my waist and waited. The wall of water sucked up the stern, lifting it and I could see Cop’n, Uncle Tubby and Jamie at the wheel all three of them with turned heads looking up at the sea. ‘That was the picture that remains to this day in my head. That was the last I saw of them. I can still see the Cop’n’s white shirt with blood stains on them, Jamie’s chequered shirt buttoned to his chin and Uncle Tubby shaking his head with a corner of a smile showing on half of his face. I think he was just accepting the fact that he was going the way of his father and his father’s father. I want to go that way too, you know.’ Dixie paused after saying that to turn his head and wipe a few tears away that wouldn’t stop flowing. He got up and walked over to the bush and cried up his sorrow at that loss and memory. His back was shaking as he let it out with a moan of deep hurt. After a while Dixie went over to the little shack and came out with two more drinks, this time in cups with ice tinkling. ‘Yeah. Well, after that wave the seas got up bad and poor Celia was suffering. Somebody, on their sides so I could only hear them, were chopping at the main mast. Another big wave came and washed over us. When it finished there was no main mast and the rigging had crashed across the cabin caving in a long streak of torn and splintered wood. Celia had turned to have the waves on her beam because of the mast dragging still connected to her by the rigging on her port side. ‘The next big wave came and we turned sideways and leaned and she was going down. I pulled my knife out and cut the barrel loose from the cabin side. The barrel was basically empty and we bobbed up to the top of the seas. There was wreckage and the foremast top sticking up with a few men clambering on to pieces of board and anything floating. Another wave came and another and another until the big ones all stopped and I was alone, drifting with the barrel. ‘I saw a half of the cabin top and kicked my way over to it, hauling myself up onto the top. There was still wind and a lot of sea but the big waves were only forming at one spot and Celia’ s foremast with her wind pennant blowing sweetly was still sticking up there.There was nobody around that I could see but there was a dinghy upended floating a little way off. I tore off a part of the cabin top and used it as a paddle to get over to it. I got it upright and baled most of the water out with the scupper that was tied to the after thwart. Fishing lines were in a tangle but hooks and line were still aboard. A water cask held a little water in the bottom so I felt I could make due for a while. I broke up more of the cabin top to make paddles and the whole thing fell apart and mostly sank. The wind moderated and I went to sleep in the water in the bilge. ‘When I woke up it was night again but the wind was gentle and the seas were calm. The half moon stood out like the world was a nice place and I kept trying to piece it all together but couldn’t. When I moved my arms and legs were a source of sharp pain so I just lay there and fell asleep again. The day woke me with heat. I saw that I had cuts on my body and my left shoulder was really hurting. I could barely move my arm. I saw where the sun moved and knew that West would be Mexico. I baled water out of the dinghy as best as I could and got up into the bow and paddled. Later I tied pieces of wood from the wood I had saved for paddles and made a short mast then tied my shirt and trousers like a sail and the dinghy responded and moved forward. I used another piece of my cabin top wood and rigged a rudder and very slowly started reaching toward Mexico.\n\n‘I would stop every so often to check the fishing line I was trolling with some of my blood soaked onto a strip of shirt. I caught a bonito and ate it too quickly. I vomited in the bilge while I was eating. I used part of that fish as bait and caught a small dorado. I ate a few chunks out of that and cut the rest into strips and laid them on the middle thwart to dry cook like we did at home. ‘I could see land or a haze that meant land and was encouraged. I made it to a reef and found a small cut to get the dinghy through. On the shore were people sun bathing and some of the women were topless. ‘So,’ Dixie had concluded, ‘that’s the story. And, as you can see I am here to tell it.’ ‘You went back turtling for years though, didn’t you?’ ‘Yeah, man. I am a Tortle Mon.’"
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "I Don't Know"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Dan woke up to the first rays of sunshine poking through the cheep blinds in his bedroom. He stared at the kinked, worn plastic blinds and let his mind wander over his plans for the day. Maybe he would start by going out and challenging the Gym Leader in the neighboring town. But the lines of his blinds reminded him of the steps leading to the ancient shrine he'd found the day before. He yawned, still gazing at the blinds, then wondered aloud, \"didn't I have curtains when I went to bed?\" *** Dan's eyes flittered opened, a faint red light spilling out from behind his habitat's familiar blackout curtains. He got up and made his way to the window, nearly tripping as he overestimated the amount of force he'd need to fight the weaker gravity of the alien planet. He peeled back the curtains. He still wasn't used to the sun looking so puny as it rose of over the barren red landscape of this remote world. \"Mars?\" he gasped, suddenly gripped with unfounded panic. He whirled around and stared at the empty bed. \"Where's my wife?\" he cried, curdled fear boiling up in his chest. He reared for the door, still in nothing but his boxers, and stumbled, once again having misjudged the way the lower gravity would affect his ability to move across the room. Just as Dan reached the doorway to the bedroom, the door cracked and his beautiful wife Sandra walked in. \"Amanda!\" he sighed with overwhelming relief. Amanda smiled, her cherubic cheeks tugging playfully at the corners of her soft lips. \"Good morning,\" she said, holding up a plate with bacon and eggs. Her sleek golden hair spilled like honey over her shoulders as Dan accepted the plate. He stared down at his dark, weathered hands as he held the breakfast, his mind a cyclone of uncertainty. \"How long have we been on Mars?\" he asked, looking up again and flexing his powerful muscles. Amanda was pulling her jet black hair into a ponytail, walking casually over to the bedroom window to gaze out at the red rocks. \"It feels like an eternity,\" she said dreamily with a thick eastern European accent. He approached the window as well and stared at his own reflection in the triple paned composite glass. His pale, supple skin was a testament to the important cerebral work he was so arduously engaged in. He stared, confused, at his skinny, bony arms. She reached over and took one of his free hands, gently caressing his slender, soft fingers. \"What do I do here?\" he asked, leaning over to look deeply into her eyes. \"Am I some kind of construction worker, or an administrative type? Why does everything seem to be cha...\" \"Shhh,\" Sandra hushed him, putting a finger to his lips. \"You seem stressed.\" She smiled and slid her hand along his plump, bearded cheek. \"I think you need to unwind.\" Slowly, she pulled his face down to hers and he could feel her hot breath as she brushed her firm lips against his freshly shaven, sharp jaw. Dan jerked back, his eyes wide. \"What is going on?\" he demanded. Sandr... Amanda furrowed her brow and regarded him stiffly. \"What is going on with you?\" she shot back in her tonal, Asian accent. \"Are you too stressed to love me?\" She grabbed his strong, hairy forearm and pulled his large palm in to her chest. \"Come, make love to me,\" she said passionately. The sensation of his hand on her breast tightened a knot in his stomach. Suddenly the thought of being intimate with this woman was too much. He jerked away and stood a few steps back from the window. \"Dave,\" he whispered, suddenly remembering the name of his true love. He looked at Amanda with horror in his eyes. \"What have you done with Dave?\" Mandy raised an eyebrow and cocked her head. \"Dave? Who is Dave?\" She reached out a trembling hand. \"Dan, you're scaring me. What are you talking about?\" Dan shook his head and reached up to push his glasses up as they slid down his sweaty nose. \"Nothing is right,\" he said, looking over his shoulder at the door. \"I don't know who you are or what you're doing, but...\" he tripped, falling crisply to the apartment's hardwood floor. The clouds outside began sprinkling as Sandra's first tears trembled in the corners of her eyes. \"Why don't you want me?\" she asked. Her lower lip trembled and she took a step toward him. Dan scrambled to his feet and ran to the door, leaving his prosthetic arm on the floor where it had fallen moments earlier. With his good arm he clawed desperately at his face, pulling strands of his long brown hair out of his eyes and mouth. Finally he managed to open the door and tumble out into the hall where his neighbor stood in a bathrobe scanning the still-rolled-up newspaper he'd just retrieved. \"Morning Kev,\" his neighbor said, nodding politely. Kevi... Dave stared at his neighbor for a beat with wide eyes and a loudly thumping heart. Sandy's wailing tears snapped him out of it and he dashed down the hall, tripping and cursing as he worked to keep his loose boxers from falling down around his ankles. \"Come back!\" his wife cried, but her voice faded into the distance as he found his way into a stairwell and began descending, his shoes clapping loudly on the cold metal steps. The ringing metal echoed up and down the deep shaft, filling his ears and drowning out his racing thoughts. The stairwell grew dim and musty as he passed a flickering lightbulb barely hanging on to its final moments of burning life. He whirled around corner after corner, throwing himself down two, three steps at a time, barely breaking a sweat. All those years as an Olympic athlete were paying off now as he plunged into the darkness, pursued by nothing but his own nightmares. Finally one of his bare feet splashed into an icy cold puddle at the bottom of the stairs. He'd lost track of how many floors he'd descended, but the thick, musty air made him feel as though he were deep underground. He tightened his grip on the sword in his hand and cautiously started off down the long tunnel at the base of the stairwell, holding up his shield and looking out over it. A flickering torch danced in the distance, casting a weak light for him to follow. The haunting sounds of moans and whispers rushed quietly in and out of the stone tunnel, as though hell itself was breathing beyond the flames. His leather boots swished around in the sewage with each step, some landing with more squish than others. As the light grew closer he could finally make out a doorway in the walls of the narrow corridor. He approached it with light steps, tensing his bulging muscles, ready for action. He stopped just next to the door, flattened his back against the wall, and took a deep breath, closing his eyes and calming his mind. He focused, emptying his head of all the fractured thoughts that had been racing around like frantic, spooked cats. Mars, Dave, Sandy, bacon, sunrise, prosthetics, swords... all of it settled like sediment in the waters of his calmness. At last, when he was ready, he rounded the corner of the doorway and flung himself into a small, brightly lit library. The dusty smell of old books filled his nostrils and stung his eyes. He wiped his eyes with both of his palms and looked around at the walls that were covered in books. Paperbacks, leather tomes, scrolls of parchment, and stacks of clay tablets were just a few of the types of materials filling the tall walls of shelves. In the center of the room Dan saw a desk, and seated at the desk, staring at an ancient typewriter, there was a young man. The young man looked up at Dan with huge, wide eyes. His lips parted and he gasped, then he gasped again as though hit twice with the same sudden revelation. \"You...\" he muttered, glancing twice between the typewriter and Dan in quick succession, his eyes darting back and forth without blinking. Dan cocked an eyebrow and pursed his lips, taking in this scrawny kid without a hint of enlightenment in his eyes. He took a few steps forward, staring down at the boy with wonder. Without taking his eyes off Dan, the young man reached for the typewriter and tapped a few keys. Dan found himself looking up at the boy, jumped with fright, and looked down at his hairy hobbit toes. \"Hey!\" he exclaimed, his balled fist wagging in the air. \"What's the big idea? What are you doing?\" \"I...\" the boy began. \"I don't know. I thought I'd sit down to write a story, but...\" his voice trailed off and he gazed back at the paper sticking out of the typewriter. \"So it's been you the whole time?\" Dan asked, his chest empty. He was lightheaded and starting to feel dizzy. \"I... guess?\" The boy shrugged, staring down at Dan. \"Well...\" Dan began, firmly intending to give the boy a piece of his mind. But he stopped and stared at the typewriter with the boy, slowly shuffling toward the desk and standing on his tip toes for a better view. The boy rested his chin in his hands and scanned the last few lines he'd written, his eyebrows rising a little with each word he read. \"Huh,\" he mused, finally turning to face the hobbit with his whole body. Dan gazed up at him, his mind racing once again. He couldn't even begin to piece together the meaning of it all. So with a slack jaw and glossy eyes, he stared up at the boy blankly, with just one question on his mind. Eventually he let it fall from his parted lips. \"What next?\" \"I... I don't know,\" said the boy with an embarrassed smirk. \"I've never been very good at making up my mind.\""
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Seeking the Wild Muse"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "My legs are sorer than I ever recall them having been and my skin is marred with no less than nine mosquito bites. I counted them last night while trying to fall asleep under a scratchy quilt in a cabin without adequate air conditioning. If I had been in a rational state of mind, I might have asked myself why I would possibly think that spending a couple weeks in the middle of nowhere with little more modern amenities than a working bathroom and a place to plug in my phone, which is mostly just serving as a glorified notebook at this point, would be a good idea. Not that I have anything to write in said notebook. Not that I've had anything to write at all for the past month and a half, hence the so-far desperate attempt at forcing myself to find inspiration now by going on this \"writing retreat,\" which I'm starting to think was just how Thalia described this excursion because she knew I never would have agreed to join her if she called it a \"vacation.\" \"It isn't far now,\" she insists as I bat a low-hanging branch out of my path before I get a mouthful of pine needles. There isn't a single drop of sweat forming on the back of her neck or slicking down her long blonde ponytail. I almost hate how effortless she is with everything from writing brilliant sci-fi short stories to venturing along this hiking trail as though it's her natural habitat, but Thalia isn't the kind of person too many people are capable of hating. She's vibrant and extroverted, and, somehow, she decided by the end of our first class together, Creative Short Fiction, that we should be the best of friends. I don't even know why. Maybe she thought she needed an \"emotional support boring girl\" to tell about all the wild parties and concerts and other sorts of gatherings she could never drag me to. She's a throwback to when authors were meant to be bombastic, larger than life eccentrics who went on archaeological digs and hosted lavish parties for everyone in their social circle, resulting in the creation of several stories that weren't solely the kind to be written down and hailed as classics for centuries to come. She's the kind of writer people would want to buy a memoir from. Nobody wants to read the inner workings of a mind that's content to spend an indefinite amount of quiet evenings at home with freshly brewed tea and no sense of longing to venture outside of that cozy little bubble, a mind that made it through four years each of high school and college without ever going to a party or getting drunk, much less accomplishing anything worth writing a book about. That's what fiction is for. I guess things always come easy to you when you're Thalia. She's probably had at least fifty new story ideas from the moment we started driving, just like how she immediately knew exactly what she was going to write the second we got our assignments. It wasn't worth comparing ourselves, really, because we were just such different types of writers, from our writing styles to our grade point averages, but I'd be lying if I said I never envied how quick she always has been to find inspiration, especially now with how elusive it's been to me. She's probably never spent a single moment since our graduation worrying about who she even is without the academic life she left behind, never based her entire sense of self worth on the grades she got in class. \"Can we take a protein bar break or something?\" I ask as my footfalls start to feel especially heavy against the hardened dirt of the trail. \"Everyone knows you can't eat right before swimming, silly.\" She turns around and takes a seat at the side of the path, to my relief. I immediately join her. \"Have some water.\" As I take my first sip of water, I desperately search my surroundings for something, anything really, that stands out as something I can write about. I want the trees to be metaphors, something reaching up towards the clouds but always bound by their roots to the dirt below them. There must be something poetic in that, but my brain refuses to make any connections. I'm not sure why I thought that would work when nothing else on my grand “anti-writer’s block agenda” had seemed to make this “retreat” seem worth the trouble. Spending hours dedicated to staring up at the sprawling night sky, seeing the constellations more clearly than I ever had before out in this vast wilderness instead of an empty screen for once, hadn't done anything to evoke anything more than an awestruck incapacity to describe such an overwhelmingly beautiful sight. Neither had more-or-less forcing myself to partake in the bonfires, or hearing the clamor of the bonfire parties going on long past the time I had returned to our cabin to try to sleep. Every single pointless \"arts and crafts\" activity Thalia had signed us up for, insisting that it would “open up the creative side” of my clearly uncooperative brain, had proven equally futile. Not even watching the spider spinning its web in the far corner of our cabin's hallway for several minutes on end had sparked anything beyond a concern as to whether or not it was venomous. Failing that self-imposed assignment, I mentally mark down a firm cursive \"needs improvement\" to myself in imaginary red ink. No marshmallow-scented sticker emblazoned with a s'mores pun my brain isn't feeling clever enough to think up right now for me, I guess. Wow, I really am hungry. Thalia's typing out something as I take another sip, and I know we don't have the connection for it to be a search for directions. Besides, she's already memorized the map and all the fastest routes to find help if one of us gets hurt. Knowing Thalia's creativity, she's probably written no less than three scenarios in which that knowledge factors into the primary plot by now. I pause a little longer than I intended to let her finish typing. And maybe because a part of me wants to delay the inevitable conclusion of our hike, even if another part of my mind feels like staying still too long leaves us liable to get mauled by a wolverine, which Thalia insists isn't native to this area, or else trampled by whatever kind of deer actually is native to this region. After another half-hour of hiking, we arrive at the lake. I must look terrified, because Thalia assures me once again just how safe this is. The statistics and the presence of a lifeguard on duty don't do much to quell the way my stomach is turning ever more violently with each step we take to ascend the nearby cliff, though. \"It's going to be fun,\" Thalia insists as she peels off the outer layers of her clothes to reveal a fuchsia one-piece swimsuit. I follow her movements with much less enthusiasm. \"You'll be glad you had this experience to write about.\" I want to reply that it's easy for her to say, because she always seems “glad” to have experiences that couldn't sound even remotely appealing to my own interests, but she knows how badly I want the inspiration to write something by the end of this torturous multi-week excursion and knew exactly how to draw upon that anxiety when she said that. \"You've got this, girl!\" Thalia encourages as I step up to the ledge of the cliff. I wish I believed her. This has got to be the dumbest thing I've ever done, even worse than that one time Thalia had to come get me after I locked myself out of her apartment when she let me crash on her couch while she stayed out late at a party. How would Thalia do this? Thalia of the reckless sense of adventure, the enthusiasm, the joie de vivre, as the French call it. I keep my arms outstretched at my sides, then close my eyes, feeling the wind rushing around me. I want to pretend that this is what flying would feel like, how fledglings feel right as they're about to take that first step out of the nest, having to put their trust in their wings for the first time in their lives. I take a deep breath and find myself surprisingly calm in the face of what feels like the worst decision of my life. My moment of zen is interrupted, though, by a sound that could only generously be compared to a bicycle horn playing through a kazoo blaring out from above. Even though I know I'm not going to like what I see, I open my eyes and look up anyway. Geese. Feathery harbingers of doom. Wait. That's kind of good. Maybe not the most highbrow literary metaphor I've ever thought up, but certainly the idea of geese as \"harbingers\" has got to count for something. Why should ravens and vultures get all the morbid fun in the avian omen realm? \"You go ahead,\" I tell Thalia, stepping back to where our bags are tucked aside. \"I've got something I need to write down.\" \"See? I told you this writing retreat was going to help you.\" I shake my head, wondering whether she really did have this all planned - if she knew that between the hunger and the sleep deprivation, I'd inevitably get so frustrated that my mind would have to push out something vaguely inspired eventually - as she fearlessly dives into the water. After everything I checked off my perfectly premeditated agenda, the one thing that got my mind un-blocked had to be these annoying fuckin’ geese."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Building A Dream Upon Words"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I was exhausted that first night. You know, the kind of tired that’s almost painful? Your body screaming for you to close your eyes and your mind begging you for silence, yet still you fight to your last breath for that extra minute of consciousness. I was hanging on by a desperate thread because I needed to erupt my thoughts onto the page, terrified they would all be lost by morning. I had finally broken it you see, my streak of melancholy that put a wall up between me and the craft. For so long the act of putting words to paper had seemed so unimportant, so thankless and so trivial…until that afternoon, when I had found it. A leather wrapped tome, ancient looking and buckled closed with thick, riveted straps; a mysterious wonder that you would only ever think to find held firmly by an elderly wizard on a fantasy adventure. It had remained on the antique store shelf only for as long as it took my hands to catch up to my eyes and rip it into my possession. The icing on the cake…it was filled with blank pages. I sat at my home desk and wrote long into the night, a grand story of heroes journeying through danger to find a greater meaning, until my body eventually took control and forced my head down onto my new inanimate muse and forced me to sleep. The ocean. Its relentlessly gentle rhythm had always soothed me. Rocking back and forth. Swaying in the salty air. The smell of sweat…the fist against my chest… I was hauled forward to wakening by a thick, hairy arm that had grabbed hold of my collar, wrenching me from where I had slept leaning backward in my chair, clearly yearning to be horizontal. The glaring sunlight burned my eyes as I flickered them open, the world coming into view for the barest moment, only to be immediately stolen again when a torrent of salt water slapped me in the face. Before I could recover I was thumped on the back of the head by a hand that felt five times the size of my own. “Wake up geit ! Break times over, get rowing, we’re coming into shore!” My senses allowed to recover, I looked around to find myself no longer at my bedroom desk, but on the hard bench of a long ship, oar handle resting across my lap. To my right was a blonde bearded brute, armoured in leathers with a hefty war axe at his hip. I looked down to see a similar outfit adorning my foreign body. I had somehow grown a huge bushy beard myself and had arms as thick as tree trunks. I wore the same armour and found the hilt of broadsword sticking into my waist. “ROW YOU ARGR SWINE!” A terrifyingly deep voice bellowed from the stern of the ship behind. I grabbed the handle and pulled, not willing to risk the wrath of the man behind such an utterance. Physical labour having never graced my normally slender build, I was pleasantly surprised to find how easily I could now drag the heavy pole through the raging waters. Graced with an effortless job, I took the chance to look around and rather than feel any fear, was comforted. I knew this place…had spent all night creating it in my mind. I was sitting amongst Ragnor’s raiding party, about to carve a wedge into the eastern shores of Anglo-Saxon England. It was just a dream! The crunch of sand under the bow of the ship and the pouring of bodies from its sides was exhilarating. It was one of those dreams so vivid it almost felt like a new life, having also managed to gain lucidity, I was not going to waste this chance. I launched myself over the timber wall of the vessel and planted my huge feet into the shallow waters. Drawing my sword I roared an excited battle cry toward the army of men, who stood fast, pulling back longbows at the top of the beach. I saw the red swirling into the still waters at my feet before I noticed any pain, felt the warmth of the blood on my cheek and finally processed the image of the arrow that had come directly toward me an instant before. Confused I raised my hand to my face and felt the shallow gash that graced my jawline, painting my fingers crimson. Why didn’t that wake me? Why am I still here? Oh god… I threw myself in an awkward roll over into the boat, and laid prone below its protective walls, tremors running through my limbs at every thud those longbows slammed into the timber. I could hear screams, more angry than afraid, and I could smell the blood vaporising into the air. “Erm…what the hell kind of dream is this!?” I cried to myself “This is my tale, I’m not supposed to get hurt ” It was my story and that’s how I knew deep down, every Norseman was supposed to die. Apparently that now included me. My eyes darted around the floor of the ship, desperately looking for an answer I couldn’t possibly find in the grain of the wood. Until my view fell upon a satchel, stored underneath my own seat. I commando crawled forward and pulled it out, tearing open the bag and finding my new writing book, complete with pen. I had heard enough fantasy stories to know there was only one logical thing to do next and so I flipped it open to a new page and began to write. I sped through the most basic, safe and comforting prose I could generate and stopped only when men stormed my safe haven and smashed me over the head, rendering the world black. I awoke gently, to the sound of placid string instruments and children’s joyous laughter. The pillow behind my head was soft and the wall of book shelves that stretched beyond the red fabric of the couch I laid upon was a comforting sight. Had it really worked? I sat up and gazed across the huge sitting room, panelled with dark wood and littered with comfortable seating and hardwood furniture. The music playing was from a trio of actual live musicians, ignored in the corner of the room. I could see children playing in the expansive and perfectly manicured gardens outside the immense windows that allowed filtered sunlight to bathe my face. “Ah Mr Rogers, I trust you enjoyed your nap?” A female voice asked in high class English. I looked to my side to see a regal woman, wearing a beautiful flowing gown, hair tied into a tight bun and hands clasped in front of her waist. “As our honoured guest, please do make yourself at home” She said, absolutely dripping with sarcasm before she walked out of the room. I stood and raised a hand to the back of my head, where I found only a tender bruise and when I pressed my hand to my cheek, I felt the crusty healing of the arrows slice. What had been terror in the midst of battle turned to curiosity in the safety of this stately home. A home which belonged to Lord Winterbury and his family, whom I was visiting on some mundane pleasantry and where nothing worse could happen than some harsh words from the aristocracy. “It must be the book.” I muttered out loud. “I’ve been writing for years and this has never happened. So it has to be the book…” I looked around then, wondering if it had appeared with me in a similar way to before. I turned up the couch cushions, pulled novels from the shelves and scattered papers from a nearby desk. I scoured the place until I realised in my panic, it had been right in front of me, sat neatly on a coffee table in front of the largest fireplace I had ever seen in my life. “Ahem.” A man dressed in livery cleared his throat from the doorway “Dinner is served Mr Rogers. If you would please follow me, Lord Winterbury and his ladyship await. The housekeeping staff will take care of this…ahem…mess.” I followed what must have been the butler to the dining room and had you been waiting for me in that lounge, you would have seen me come bursting back through that door, sporting glistening eyes within an hour. You would have watched me claw my book open and scratch a tale into it with rapid abandon. To think I had imagined to be safe in such a toxic environment! The next few weeks I began to gain some level of control, learning to act more convincingly as my written character from each story and spending more time exploring each world of my own imagining. I ran down metal hallways, firing a laser gun backward at the deadly and acidic alien creatures in pursuit. I took down terrorists, outnumbered in a locked down skyscraper. I was a male nanny to three beautiful but troublesome children. I flew fighter jets for the military and I landed on one knee with a cape billowing out behind me, arriving just in time to rescue helpless citizens. I did everything. My imagination never seemed to grow dry and the words poured from my hands into ink. I felt more alive than I had in years and reignited in my passion for the power of the written word. I never wanted it to end, but the dwindling pages of my favourite tome were beginning to concern me. I didn’t know what would happen when they ran out, but I figured I should return home before they did, for fear of remaining stuck forever in the musings of my own mind.\n\nIt was such that after I had solved the murders of several young women and put their serial killer boyfriend behind bars (it was easy when you had already written the ending) I found myself with only two pages left. I considered what to construct as my final magnum opus. Logic would dictate I write myself back into my own life…but what fun would that be? Instead I daydreamed of living forever within a tale that described laying on a sun kissed beach, wealthy beyond imagining and serviced exclusively by bikini clad models. However remembering my teenage years of excess I knew such indulgence left the soul eventually wanting more. There was nothing sadder than becoming tired of pleasure through lack of hardship. I considered instead a life of fame, where I was held in high regard for my art but again thought back to all the celebrity warnings of such a trapping. Perhaps a fantasy world? One full of strange creatures and magic or maybe even, dare I think it, a romantasy where I could fall in explicit love with one such mythical being… I spent a considerable time remaining in the dingy, liquor smelling detectives office of my current imagined world, ignoring every knock on the door and the rumbling of my own stomach. I went back and forth, considering every option from every angle before finally, after what felt like an eternity, I began to write. I squeezed through tiny lettering as much detail as I could fit on those final pages, then laid down on the cold leather of the office couch and slept. “Good morning sweetheart.” Her melodic voice whispered “I know its Sunday but it’s time to get up, we have a big day planned” A smile graced my lips before I opened my eyes to the new day and the rest of my life. I rolled over in the billowing clouds that were my linen bed sheets and looked into the eyes of the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. My wife. Before I could form a single word the door to our townhouse bedroom burst open and our two children, an older boy and younger girl bundled on top of me in the best way. “Good morning PaPa! We love you!” They giggled before being ushered back out of the room by my gentle partner. “I’ll get them settled and jump in the bath. You just get yourself up and ready and we will head out, okay sweetie?” She said. “Okay, I’ll be right there” I replied, beaming. Once the door had closed once more, I dropped down onto my back and chuckled at the ceiling. Good choice. This was the one. I slowly dragged myself up and did a quick search for my leather clad tome, not expecting to find it and almost glad when I didn’t. I pulled open my drawers and dressed in the expensive clothes within, choosing a watch for the day from a selection in the pull out case in the top drawer. I was halfway across the spacious, but not too luxurious bedroom and about to reach for the door handle when I heard her voice echoing from the adjoining bathroom, that must have had another entrance. “Honey, could you help me dry off? She asked. I turned and excitedly made for the en suite door, entering to a steamy parlour where my new love bathed. I grabbed a towel from the rail and stepped closer, where peering in between the bubbles I laid eyes upon the iridescent scales of her tail, glinting in the misty light. “Come on now handsome. If you don’t get me dry I’ll never get my legs back and I’ll be stuck here at your mercy forever…or is that what you would prefer?” She winked. Definitely the best choice I thought as I climbed and half fell into the bath."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The Phantom Storyteller of the Ship Destiny's Dreams"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Below the clipper ship's deck, deep in the darkness of the steerage, Ana turned up the flame on the wick of her lantern. Light shined through the blue etched glass. In the indigo glow, Ana felt the ancient stories begin to awaken within her. Characters seemed to waver and dance in the shadows. Patterns flickered on the walls from the light of the blue lantern. The ship's passengers gathered there turned toward Ana and the source of the blue light. A girl named Liliana and her younger brother called Juan crawled closer to see Ana and her blue lantern. Juan's eyes were wide and frightened every time the ship slammed into another big wave. The Destiny's Dreams tossed and pitched. Liliana and Juan felt the blue glow from the lantern was comforting. Ana sensed a stirring inside and instinctively knew a story was rising like a bubble from the depths of her mind. Soon it would float to the surface and Ana would share it with listeners, speaking it in the ancient oral tradition. She was blessed with a voice that was soft but with resonant tones. Up on the deck, the crew of the Destiny's Dreams struggled in the stormy seas of Cape Horn, the southern tip of South America. “I hear that mast groaning like it is telling us something,” said one of the deckhands. “Do you think it could give way and fall?” The other sailor’s face was wet from the seas. “If it does, get out of the way.” “How many ships are in the bottom of the ocean here?” “Stop it. Don’t talk that way.” On the deck of the sleek clipper ship Destiny’s Dreams in 1898, sailors were soaking wet in the windy gales and tall waves of the treacherous Cape Horn at the tip of South America. The day was gray, with a cloudy sky, and the air was cold. Not far away they saw a shoreline of jagged, rocky cliffs. In the other direction, farther out to sea, were several stony, bare, saw-toothed island shores. “It is like threading a needle to get through this passage.” Captain Alfonse spoke to his navigator. If they ran into the coast or the islands, the ship would be dashed to pieces. There was nowhere to put into a sheltered bay. The coast was desolate and without villages or ports. They were on their own to survive. Captain Alfonse vowed not to let his ship wind up wrecked on the rocky coast. The Destiny's Dreams needed to reach a small port near Lima, Peru, on the west coast of South America. Captain Alfonse's wife and children waited for him there. An image of them at their little white stucco cottage, with its red tiled roof, flashed through Alfonse's mind. Home and his family beckoned to him. He could not wait to see them again. Now the sails were trimmed tight on the Destiny's Dreams. The ship was tacking upwind in a zig-zag pattern, almost sailing straight into the wind, called beating upwind. The downwind side of the deck’s railing was buried in the waves. The wind carried water from the tops of the waves up into the air. “See how high that spindrift is flying, Adelberto?\" Captain Alfonse respected the ocean’s power, sometimes fearing it, although he hid his feelings. But he also admired the beauty of it. His home was on the sea.\n\nEven now, Alfonse wanted to sail clear around the world, through the stormiest seas as well as the peaceful waters. “Adelberto.” Captain Alfonse Belanger’s voice carried over the shrieking of the wind. “We need to check the main mast. I don’t like the sounds it is making.” “Let’s reduce the pressure on the main spar before it snaps in the wind.” Adelberto studied the tight, square sails. “Alright. You’ll need to climb up the rigging. Drop some of the sails and furl them around the booms.” The captain’s voice rose and the wind whistled through the halyards holding the sails up. Another gust hit and the wind sounded like wild animals howling. Alfonse’s long beard was tucked into the high collar of his dark coat. His bushy hair was held down by a knit cap. Everyone on the deck was wet and cold. Salty water dripped down their faces. Adelberto got ready to scramble up the thick, woven ropes that created ladders upward toward the square-rigged sails of the clipper ship. Right before he started, the main mast gave a louder moan than before. There was a long whine from the wood, as it seemed to cry out. A split appeared in the tall wooden spar that held up the sails. The other smaller two masts and their sails held. But the top of the main mast broke off. It fell onto the wheelhouse and the deck. The square, white canvases of its sails came down with it. The Destiny’s Dreams slowed to a crawl. The ship made a sound like a groan of her own. The leeward side of the ship, away from the wind, came back up out of the water. The ship stopped leaning. A huge wave whacked the ship from one side of the bow. “Tighten the other sails. We’ll keep going with what we have left on the other two masts.” Captain Alfonse's voice bellowed out, deep and loud. The Destiny’s Dreams kept pulling forward. She fought her way against the waves. The remaining sails strained, but their shorter, stout masts held strong.\n\nWhen it fell, the loud crash of the main mast was part of the booming symphony of wind screeching and waves pounding the wooden ship. The passengers below the deck felt the ship shake and heard the sounds. But they thought it was part of the storm. Deep down in the bottom of the ship, the passengers sat shivering and shaking. They watched the woman with her blue lantern, sitting in the center of the group. She was by herself. “Hello. I’m Ana.” She introduced herself with a friendly nod. as if they were cruising quietly on a pleasant day. Her face had a look of serenity. This attracted the panicking passengers and they clustered around her. No one had noticed her boarding the ship, yet here she was now. She was alone and traveling that way was unusual. But she did not seem upset about it. She was holding the old lantern that glowed with a blue light. The blue light from it had a calming effect, like watching gentle blue seas on a summer day. “Mama. Mama.” A small child was crying. Ana listened to the group. “Here.” They heard Ana's flute like voice pierce the air. “Gather round. Get closer.” Ana opened her arms, and waved her hands. The passengers felt as if a welcoming connection was made. “We’ll be alright. Come and hear this.” With hopeful faces, they came closer. Ana paused. She heard the voices of her ancient ancestors, like muses sending her inspiration. She could almost hear her grandmother’s voice next to her whispering into her ear. It seemed to say “The Secrets of Natia.” Yes. Ana remembered that story well. “On an island thousands of miles away, there was a little girl named Natia. She was nine years old and she loved to explore.\" \"Sometimes her curiosity got her into trouble. But she always survived and came out of things fine. Her name meant treasure or secret.” “One morning Natia and her family got onto a wide raft with goods to trade. They began to paddle across quiet seas to a distant island. Somehow they lost sight of them. By noon they did not know where they were.” Ana’s voice had a melodic quality. “Everywhere she looked, Natia saw blue. The ocean. The sky. A blue world. It was peaceful and serene. The raft made of logs lashed together rose and fell with the waves.” Ana turned the flame up on the blue lantern so it flashed and then turned it back down. “At last an island came into view. The raft floated closer. On the beach they saw something moving.” A child’s voice rose, “wild monkeys!” Another young voice called out, “giant turtles.” Then another, “lizards.” The panic and the storm seemed to be forgotten. Ana listened again for her grandmother’s whispers. She imagined her grandmother sitting in the ship next to her. Everyone became quiet. Waiting. “What happened next?” A small voice came through the darkness. “Natia’s raft got closer to the beach. Sounds from something in the forest behind the beach floated through the air.”\n\nAna’s memories of the old stories flowed through her. The tales were not written in books or on parchments anywhere. Ana's grandmother had not known how to read or write. Like her grandmother, Ana knew how to tell tales using the spoken word and she could not read or write either. “Listen closely, my dear, and let these stories come to rest in the depths of your mind.” She could hear her grandmother’s voice as if it was yesterday. While they listened to Ana, Liliana and the other passengers felt their pounding hearts slowing and their bodies relaxing. “Something or someone in the forest was singing.” From the back of the group came a voice. “Parrots.” Another voice offered, “Shipwrecked sailors.” Then another spoke, “With treasures.” “It is like a cave down here.” Liliana whispered to her brother, Juan. They felt the ship leaning over on its side and they held onto the hull’s structures and swayed with it. Several people lost their grasp and slid across the bottom of the ship. The blue light from the lantern bobbed around and shadows bounced. Someone groaned. A small child whimpered. Ana’s voice was calm. There was a slow cadence to it and the tone was low. Then she turned the flame way up for a moment on the wick so the lantern grew brighter. Everyone looked around at their blue faces. Liliana looked at Ana and saw a youthful, tan face with shining dark eyes, attractive with an elusive magnetic expression. “She’s very young. Our age.” Ana turned the flame on the lantern wick back down again. On the deck Adelberto and the deckhands looked upward. The next wave seemed to touch the sky. Shouts erupted. “Hang on.” “Look out.” “Grab this.” Captain Alfonse gripped the ship’s wheel and spun it to meet the wave. Sheets of water exploded over the deck. Down below, the group sitting in the blue light of the lantern, tumbled against each other across the bottom of the ship. Ana held tightly onto the ribs of the hull, holding the lantern. “Blue lantern,” she thought, “Please bring me muses with stories.” Once again Ana turned up the flame on the wick again and the light brightened. “Look at Ana.” Liliana’s voice was urgent and Juan looked up. “She’s glowing like the lantern.” His whisper came to Liliana’s ear. Up on the deck the waves began to seem to be less angry. “Soon we will be past the worst of it.” Captain Alfonse encouraged the crew. Below in the steerage Ana’s voice caressed the ears of the travelers huddled together. On the deck, Captain Alfonse bowed under another strong gust of wind. The ship leaned over on its side. \"Would you check on the passengers down in steerage?\" Alfonse's voice carried over the wind and Edelberto nodded. Downstairs in the steerage he saw the group sitting around Ana with her lantern. He listened for a moment. Ana spoke to the listeners, “Natia and her brother began paddling the raft toward the island. The creatures on the beach ran into the trees.\" \"When they got close, Natia could not control her curiosity. She jumped off the raft and began swimming into shore. On the raft they called out to her. But she was too headstrong and impulsive to stop.” Adelberto felt a sense of peace coming from the group gathered around the blue lantern. He waved to them and left.\n\n“Captain,” Adelberto hollered on the deck, “they’re fine.” He came closer to Alfonse. “That storyteller named Ana has everyone in steerage caught in a spell. Her lantern with the blue light is almost magical.” Captain Alfonse made a puzzled face. “Ana?” He thought. “I don’t remember a passenger named that. I must have missed her. I haven’t seen any blue lanterns either.”\n\nAlfonse looked at Adelberto and Raul. Then he shrugged. \"Maybe she is a phantom storyteller of the seas. I have heard of those before.\" Adelberto and Raul looked closely at Captain Alfonse. “The storm seems to be calming down now.” Alfonse sounded like his usual self. Adelberto felt his chest relax and he took a deep breath. In the dark bottom of the ship’s hull the group sat entranced with Ana’s story. Liliana nudged her brother. “The ship is not pitching as much. We must be coming out of the Cape Horn storms.” The group was lounging in a relaxed way by now. Ana turned down the flames in the wick of the blue lantern. Later, Adelberto went down to the steerage. “The worst of the gale force winds and tall waves are past. You can come up on the deck now.” The passengers smiled at his announcement.\n\nLiliana and her brother stood and joined the others streaming through the door. Soon the whole group was gulping in the fresh sea air that was so different from the stuffy, airless steerage in the bottom of the ship. “Where is Ana?” Liliana looked around. “Does anyone see her?” The children and adults spread out over the ship’s deck but they did not find any sightings of Ana. “I checked the hold. There is no one there. And there is no blue lantern there either.” Raul passed the news to Captain Alfonse. Then he saw Alfonse go into his trance like face, looking across the ocean. Raul knew no one would ever know what passed through the captain’s mind when he did this.\n\nAlfonse not surprised when unexplained things happened. He had a theory about Ana. \"The storyteller with her blue lantern seems to have vanished.\" Adelberto looked at the captain. \"Like a phantom.\" Alfonse smiled at Adelberto. Then he spoke. “There are many tales of such phantoms appearing on the ships when they are needed. The seas are full of the unknown. I am sure Ana is fine, wherever she is now.” Adelberto and Raul tilted their heads and raised their eyebrows at Alfonse. They left the storm behind and ahead there was a soothing blue sky blending into the sea on the horizon. Wisps of mist made designs in the sky over the ocean. It reminded Adelberto of the glow from the lantern with the blue light. A light breeze blew through the rigging with a sound like a flute or a musical voice. The Destiny’s Dreams glided forward quietly over the water under the brightening sky. Adelberto thought for a moment he heard a melodious voice whispering, but he knew it was only the wind.\n\nThen the door below the wheelhouse that led down to the steerage opened and a woman's figure emerged. Passengers clustered around her. When they parted Captain Alfonse saw Ana holding her blue lantern. \"So the phantom storyteller is real after all.\" Alfonse spoke to Adelberto. That night after the evening meal, the crew and passengers gathered on the deck under the stars and crescent moon. The ocean stretched out with gentle swells. In the tranquil night they sat in the indigo glow of the blue lantern. Ana continued the tale of Natia traveling thousands of miles across the sea on a raft made of logs. Only Ana could see the old woman sitting next to her, whispering stories into her ear. Grandmother was the real phantom storyteller."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The Unrequired Summoning"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Life is short - you know how I know? Been twice on the cold metal table of surgeries.\n\nBeen open up straight like a body for autopsy, not in Y but in a straight line, by a cold scalpel pressed down the skin, so sharp that it can cut your muscles just like a sharp knife would cut down easily a cheese.\n\nLesson learned, you might die on table today, so please sign your Informed Consent Form before we head in to the controlled slaughterhouse. The anxiety that kicks in it's so bad that you almost faint, but not really, you're barely breathing, even with the asthma inhaler, but not really, the fear of undergoing surgeries and not dying on the table it's so overwhelming that you can taste the soil's gritty texture and bitterness as you get swallowed in by the ten-feet hole. I can barely distinguish the shadows from the darkness, but at least the creppy stuff it's still quite clear, like the tombstones, the angels overseeing the graves, and the dime orange light from the far away street lamps. And that's why I'm about to do, what I'm about to do. In the middle of the night, in the fucking cemetery. In the middle of the god damn, stupid April. I'm pouring coarse salt, grain by grain, with the plastic bag, bent over the dark muddy ground while forming a big circle around me, enough to fit in, enough to keep away the undesired. According to the instructions now I should also form a so named triangle and add in objects of the person who's spirit I want to summon. I can't hear anything else except for my heavy breathing with this spring shower, and whilst the running water is quite lukewarm, my fingertips got all pruney and my teeth hurt from the shivering. My breathing's so noisy that I can't hear anything else around. I know my anxiety went through the sky now, but damn, I swear I just saw something moving in front of me. Out of fear, of desperation I pour fast what's left from the bag to finish the circle, I run in and I'm following with my flashlight the shadows that flicker in it’s light. Fuck's sake, such a moron, such an idiot, what the fuck am I doing here?! I swear I feel my heart in my mouth and I’m dizy from the panting. If I'm not dying from whatever the fuck's in there imma die 'bout now from a heart attack. I'm gripping the scout's knife wood handle, that my nails dig in to it. I've only brought it in case of something. Fuck's sake June, what the fuck was in your head?! Swear you only got dumber after the surgeries. Braver, but dumber. I'm casting lights over every little centimeter, one by one, and hold the light in every spot, carefully checking for movement. Nothing at all.\n\nMy imagination is only good at this shit. The rain got louder and my breath has slowed down a bit, checking again, scanning every tree, every leaf, every tombstone, every flower pot and every picture of the deceased, nothing.\n\nThe musky, earthy smell brings me back to reality. Ok, that's good. I grab the backpack, pull out another bag of salt, and cautiously, lingering, not moving, checking the surroundings again. The graveyard seems awfully quiet. The loneliness it's too damn quiet. I bite the bag's plastic corner and pull strongly with my teeth until I make a small incision. The salty sea taste is so strong that I instantlly spit it out in to the muddy small pond next to me. Bent over the circle, I draw another triangle in front of it and then retouch my circle with clumsy hands. Ain't much, but I've bought quills, pergaments, drawing books, chisels, charchoals, hell, even a cold bowl of minestrone and some Chianti wine. At leasts this is according to the holy internet's ways of summonning a spirit. Bring things that the person used to love. Carefully adding the objects one by one in the triangle over the plastic bags where the salt was.\n\nI rummage in my bag for the candles and take them out to light them, placing each of them in the corners of the salty triangle. I pull out the phone to read the instructions. Clear your mind and focus on the person, visualise them clearly, feel their presence. I closed my eyes and focused on the silence, on the raindrops falling one by one, dripping all over the still cemetery, with soaked skin, cold, tremebling like a wet puppy ready to go home. \"I call upon the spirit of Leonardo, with respect and love, to guide and inspire me as my muse. I ask for your presence and your wisdom.\" Nothing. Drip, drip, drip, drop. The raindrops fell louder.\n\nI scrutinize the area and nothing, everything sounds the same like before, no devil with red eyes in front of me, no howling, no smell of sulfur, rotten eggs, no-thing, not a single hair string of the old Leonardo, with the big nose in sight. I didn’t worked. The instructions said that I need to wait a bit and if there's nothing, to check how I feel, if anything seems different. Yet all the same! Nah, it didn't work. I feel the same, odd. I grab my things as fast as I can, shove them in the bag and start running toward the car down the narrow alley. There’s only have fragments of that night in my head, can't recall a lot, just flashes of the lit candles, circle, the run to the car. And that was only yesterday! -Hewo sis, you look white, ar you feelin 'alight? The blond baby boy, was chewing on a banana and all the bits from it went all over his tiny round face. -Hello Matt, sis is ok, where's mom? -Mamma went car. -Where's dad? -Wolk. I've left the cheesy oily pizza on the table and took Matt in my arms to move in the living room, turned on the TV cartoons, dropped him on the couch and set down next to the coffee table to draw while he was fascinated by the big screen. -June, I'm going out to run some errands, can you keep an eye on Matt please? -Yeah mom, when're coming back? -Later on, can you put him to bed please, we're going to be late. She left us all alone again, I'm sick of babysitting. And I have to sit here while they have fun. For a Saturday evening the neighbourhood was oddly silent, not even the noisy stupid neighbors with their gaming yelling sessions were on. I went to the window and inspected the area like a cop looking for trouble, even the lights were off in the area. It's only 7:30 pm is everyone off?! The hair on my arms got all up as I felt a chill down the spine. Someone was watching me, I could feel it on the back of my neck. Checked the streets again, no one, I've pulled the curtains and sat down next to the baby, on high alert and hyperfocused on the noises around. I could hear the kitchen's sink dropson the plate, one by one the driplets were loud and clear, heck I can even hear the tik-toks of the clock on the wall.I can hear the boiler starting, and that’s in garage. Almost instantly I've jumped accross the table to grab the remote and lower the volume. Matt seemed quite chill for a baby, he was smiling towards the screen, altough nothing seemed remotely funny. I swear babies would smile even at a finger. -Yo Matt, do you want to play? -No, dadda said it's time for nigh-nigh. -Dadda?! What dadda Matt?! The boy smiled and pointed towards the end of the couch, but nothing was there. I've grabbed him as fast as I could and ran in to his room, dropping him in the crib then locked the door, with ears glued to the it listening to any sound that might replicate someone's footsteps. Fuck's sake nothing! -Daddaaaa!\n\nI heard him scream and then giggled, looking towards the window. His little chubby fingers, full of sticky banana were reaching towards something in the air, up high. I've got so scared, that I was barely breathing, the inhaled air was stopping in my mouth and my airways blocked. -Matt, stop it there's no dadda, it's only sis in here, see no one. But the baby kept on laughing even after I took him in my arms and turned him away from the window. -What's wrong with you Matt, I yelled, making him cry. We went in my parent's room and I burned down the incense and walked around the room with it. I know it's all in my head and that this is a child's stupid imagination, but I've never seen him do this before. We went in a corner and covered ourselves with blankets, I sincerely hoped this will all be gone. With my condition I'm afraid I'll die any second now. My heart was beating so fast, I wasn't sure if I have palpitations, anxiety attacks or I'm about to die. His cry stopped and shortly his peaceful baby chest was moving slowly, he fell asleep in my arms, both covered in blankets.\n\nI couldn't move from here, it seemed like a safe spot and somehow I felt that if so much of a single hair was blown by my breath whatever the fuck was there it would kill us instantly. My eyes were heavy, but I didn't want to sleep here, falling asleep would surely mean death so my only option is to stay awake. -June!\n\nI've jumped from the spot and saw mom sitting in front of me with Matt in her arms napping. -What happened, why are here and what's with the smell? She looked around confused. -I've...I've... there was dadda and he laughed. -What?! she replied even more confused. I've cried from the bottom of my patched heart and jumped in her protective hug, after a good heartfelt sobbing, even my breathing got a bit under control. Like a stone I stood there, motionless. If I will leave her side it will come back. But dad come in and after checking every room in the house, every closet, every plate and the fridge, and the washing machine, dryer, everything, he convinced me to go to bed. And like a little baby that I was at my very ripe age of 17, I've felt the need to listen to him, cos he knew best. He left the lights on, tucked me in to bed, while covering my trembling body with the soft blue blanket. -There's nothing see? Look, I'm going to check the room one more time with you as witness. Then he meticulously looked under bed, under the table, in the closet.\n\nNothing. -I'll be back, he said with a soft calm voice. Few minutes later he came back in with an ashtray that was smoking a lot, he had put in incences. Placed the silver ashtray on the nightstand and then kissed my forehead with his pricking rough beard. -There you go, you've got my good night protective kiss, I tucked you in, I've checked the room for monsters. All good love, you can go to sleep. I'll be right there if you need me. He went away and I've checked the time with eyes barely open, it was 4:23 AM. Damn son, that's been a long night. I wasn't sure what was there, and honestly I was so scared, so tired, that I coudn't even process the whole thing. The whys of why this happened. Grandpa was dead, but I have never heard Matt calling him, heck - he hasn't even borned when he died. My train of thoughts ran wild for a while, until I fell in deep sleep. The cold air in the room woke me. For some reason the fluffy wool blanket wouldn't keep my warm. Once awake it felt like a nightmare of which I forgot about. I’ve headed over to the closet and pulled out the duvet and got cozy. My eyelids were heavy and thoughout my repeated blinking to stare at the phone, I felt my hair spine getting all up and felt a presence, like someone steped on the wood planks. Too scared to do anything I've looked around hidden under the duvet, and the corner of my eyes caught a glimpse of something in the shadows. -Ciao bella!\n\nA men's deep voice came from the same direction, almost fainted, almost like he had dificulties speaking. As fear gripped me I screamed from the tops of my lungs and ran over to my parents, in complete darkness. -What now June?! You just went to bed! I've went in between mom and dad in bed, hiding under the duvet. -He was there, a man, he spoke something, but I couldn't understand. -Jesus Christ June, he said exasperated and you could see he's still half asleep, it's just a nightmare, there's nothing. Stay put, I'm going to check. Mom hugged me and held me close, like she was about to loose me. He came back later on, pissed off, all sweatty. -Ok, you sleep here, there's nothing, but if you wake me up once again you'll get in trouble. -But dad, there's something there, please believe me! I started crying loudly and my snot was all over my face as I tried to clean it with my sleeve.\n\n-No June, there's nothing, just go to bed please, I have to wake up in 3 hours. He ignored me completely and went under the covers. Mom smiled at me with pity and nodded towards the bed. -I will prove to you it's real, you'll see, and when I will die, because I will, mark my words you will regret not believing in your daughter. I'm not nuts! Jumped from bed, I've wiped my running snot with my sleeves and went in my room, stomping on my way as loud as I could. Lights on, incense burning wild, smoking and hard to breath, but better to cough and choke than die, honestly. I've took my laptop in my arms, web open, recording, open phone's camera recording.\n\nWide view on to phone so that I can capture all the room. Now, I was staring like a mad man, obssesed with every little corner and sound a house can make. The chirping noise of the birds was louder and louder, and in my room the shy orangy sunset light was slowly cripping in. I could hear my dad’s loud snoring. Nothing at all. My eyes were heavy again and with evey slow breath I took in, it relaxed me more and body felt heavy. -Ciao June!\n\nThe voice was back again, this time I recognise my name. -Who's there?! Where are you?! My cameras didn't show anything and my room was empty, still with just the birds chirping. Man...the fuck is happening?! -June, it's me Leo, ciao bella!\n\nThe low deep voice was calling my name, and now I understood what it was saying but couldn't see anyone. -Hello?! Who are you?! Where are you?! I've got up looking in the room for anyone, suddenly I got braver, but once again dumber. That's how people die in horror movies, with a dumb curios person. As I turned around and looked towards my bed I saw a silhouette, almost transparent, white. And it fucking was \"the Maestro\", the one and only Leonardo. I don't know how I recognise him, I guess it was his very distinctive nose, bald top of head and maybe he's strands of hair on the sides. But fuck...this...is real?! Nah man, I’m deffo sleeping. -Ar you?! Like you know, Leonardo, the painter? -In flesh my dear, you have summoned me! This is a weird place you've got in here, what is that candle with so much light? With his big eyes stared at the ceiling lightbulb and I was baffled by both his appearence and also his tone as this was a casual conversion you have with a friend. -Excuse me?!\n\n-The light girl, what is this? His floating body was moving like a balloon, swiftly and light, and then he went under the light and tried to grasp it, only to find out he can't. -I forget, I can't grasp things, my old mind can’t remember stuff like this. He came close to me, staring in to my eyes, but it was hard to look at him, as transparent as it was, I was staring beyond him. -Ahmmm..and my heart was racing, I felt like running, but my stupid brain decided that it can't move, so I stood there like a statue, only with control over the thoughts. -I don't understand you kids nowadays, you summon me in the middle of the night, of my, come se dice, birthday, and then you act all scared and want to run. Seriously you have to take responsability for your actions. I couldn't form a word nor thought, I felt void of any of them, or movement.\n\nJesus, what the fuck was in my head. -I...I apologise I've called you, I, I want to get better. Please become my Maestro, I breath art through every pore of my skin and cells. Please Master! Please I beg you! -Hmm bella, I’m unsure. I can’t stay for long in here! You only need to practice, you know? I’ve fell down on my knees and started crying and begging. -But Maestro, please teach me, I can offer my soul in exchange, if only! -Shuush bella, stop making a sound, there’s someone else in here."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Skunk Train"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "I was supposed to go on this mini vacation with my husband. Now my ex-husband. I am going anyway. I deserve a vacation after the last month. In fact, I deserve a months’ vacation! Who would have thought I would be riding a train; one called the Skunk Train. I had to travel six hours to get here just so I can ride it for a couple of hours. My thinking might be screwed up. Now I am waiting to board till this slow, self-centered bunch, (I mean five people) get on the train. The trainman reaches out his hand to help me up the steps. I feel really old and like I am in a different era of time. I thank him and try to smile. I thought the group was together, but they take every other seat, alternating sides. It looks weird and guess what, I am the only other person in the passenger car. My ticket has me right next to the old woman with a peasant scarf wrapped around her neck. She sniffs at me and turns her face to the window. That irritates me. Well, everything irritates me right now. She can be a snob, and I can long for a window seat looking at the countryside that might at least be interesting or diverting. I wonder if they will let me change seats. I look for someone to help but no one is around. The train is starting up. I didn’t know that these old trains were so noisy and so … The guy in the next seat back just stood up. He looks bad, like he’s about to throw up or something. He’s swaying. Crap, he’s going to fall over. No one else is paying attention. Why do I always have to be the good Samaritan? I leap from my seat and get turned around just in time. He falls across the seat in front of him and I help him to the floor. He’s out. At least he’s not dead. There is barely any movement from the other passengers acknowledging something is going on. It is almost like they are automated or something. Stony eyed, I try to stare at them. They don’t care. He’s moving, shifting his weight. I kneel back down to see if I can do anything else. His eyes shift away from me, he nods his head when I ask if he is ok. Not a word spoken as he sits back in his seat. I also sit down. The ticket taker, I don’t know what he is actually called, stepped into the car. Everything seems normal. The people are nodding and gesturing, and I even hear a little laugh from the lady beside me, even though no one has said anything funny. I so wish I was somewhere else. This was supposed to be the start of my new single life. I want to be distracted from my real life, but this is ridiculous. There isn’t even anyone to talk to or try to be friends with. I look back at the sick man. He is staring straight ahead, but he seems more alive than all the rest. The train rocks a bit on the track. He seems startled, his eyes meet mine for a second and then he is back to staring. I feel like I should be cautious and not try to start a conversation. I turn and stare straight ahead. Maybe it will help me think. Riding the Skunk train was a weird idea. I always wanted to ride a train. You know, like the gorgeous ones in the movies. That is not this train. This train is the real thing, the tracks are the real thing. Pretty soon we should be going through the Redwoods. For a two-hour jaunt, It is taking way too long. I stand up and stretch my legs. My seat mate grunts and scoots closer to the window. I step out into the isle and then sit down in the seat just behind where I was, one seat closer to the man. I can almost feel him flinch. I am getting jittery. The train slows down. We are still in the middle of nowhere. We are stopping. “Mr. Howard! Mr. Howard? Are you here, sir?” A nicely dressed young man stepped into the now completely still train. His eyes lit up when they rested on the man behind me. “Mr. Howard, how are you, sir? We didn’t get your message till early this morning. I hope we are in time.” Everyone’s eyes are very aware now as they look at the man. He grips the seat in front of him and pulls himself up. It seems like he is taking a moment to gather himself, he takes a deep breath and with some effort, stands up straight. He looks around and smiles. It’s a nice smile. “Some of you think because you didn’t let any emotion show on your face, you can play the part of an android. You are wrong. Androids are close to humans in intellect and emotions. There is no right or wrong way to act like them, but you must portray them as human. This woman, (he points at me) is a fine example of what I am looking for. She portrayed an android so realistically she seemed human. Especially when she tried to rescue me. Thank you … what is your name?” “I’m EmmaLou Johnson. And sir, I am a human. I am a human!” I almost cried, I almost shouted! When was the last time I felt human? Before my husband left me? Not since, until now. I looked at the people that had me so worried. Worried because they had expressed no emotions, had refused to even look out the windows of the train to see the incredible scenery or even at each other. There is something welling up inside me now. I flat out hugged Mr. Howard, and he certainly is expressing some emotion now!"
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Anticosti Antagonist"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "“Gosselin rose again. It was more of a struggle now. His feet would have felt like blocks of ice if he could feel them at all. His legs as heavy as tree trunks. Those thick wool pants nearly froze through. Still, he soldiered on, lifting one leg from the slush, then the other, then plunging ahead. Plunging to the shore, the edge of the ice.” What does he know about the cold? Yes, my feet are cold. And my hands. And my head. Everything. You get used to it. It’s winter in bloody Labrador!\n\n“He fell again. It must have been the tenth time since he started across the thawing lake but he’d stopped counting. The toboggan he was hauling had collected a thick layer of snow on the bottom. At another time he’d be aware of the added weight, the added drag, and had scraped it away. But he was desperate now, desperate to get across.”\n\nSacre bleu! I’m surprised this clown of a writer hadn’t added that cliché to this mess. Mister! Hello? The snow on top of the ice would be slick. The toboggan would slide easily. In the prior chapter, you had me waxing the bottom – 18 pages ago. Did you forget? I’m supposed to be an experienced woodsman. A professional trapper. Now you have me, a bushcraft expert, making bush league mistakes? In case you missed the earlier part, the part where you wrote about me tying my snowshoes over the pelts, I think now would be a good time to get those on my feet, which, by the way, wouldn’t be frozen, not with those thick shoepacs on. Jesus H, think this through. McNab did think. How could he get his grizzled trapper, a mean, surly, sonofabitch, across this lake? Maybe he’d overplayed the slush bit. A Google search had said that, yes, you could have a thaw, then a blizzard, and the snow on top would insulate the slush keeping it, well, slushy. Perfect. Gosselin got caught out. He wanted to follow his trapline, hauling in the biggest take of the season, and wave it in their faces at the trading post. Then he’d get drunk, maybe offer a round to the house. Or maybe not. That’s good he thought. He didn’t want his readers to like Gosselin. And a bigot! Maybe he’d write about Gosselin complaining that Mi'kmaqs sprung some of his traps. Yes, and then at the trading post have him, drunk now, yelling about it to a small gathering of indifferent trappers who’d heard about Gosselin’s bounty and chance of the free drinks. This hack makes me a miserable loner because my girl Hanah Jesso died. Consumption it was, and she wasn’t alone. But damn McNab, if you’re a Jesso in this province, you’re a Mi’kmaq, and no two ways about it. Oh yeah, like I’m the bigot. I hope he has a good editor.\n\n“He made it. He made it to the opposite side and was blessed by what he saw. There, just up the marge of the lake, off the shingle, stood a stand of birches. On one he saw treasure; the black hoary mass, like some ugly massive wart, jutting from its side. Chaga. It was chaga. And from that soon, soon enough, he’d have a blaze. “Blessings,” he whispered through his blistered throat. “Blessings.” I’ll give you the blessings of chaga. But let me advise you that 1) shingle doesn’t exist on any lake I know of, only by the ocean, and 2) as good as it is to find chaga, a grizzled sonofabitch like me wouldn’t follow his bloody trapline without matches to start a fire! I live in Canada, it’s winter, and if you’ve got me making it this far in a long life you’d think I’d know a thing or two. Oh, and Jack London, listen up. Chaga would have to dry before I can use it for a fire. FYI. McNab looked to the ceiling. Should he have Gosselin run to the birch tree or stumble? Stumble was better. It went with the frozen feet. “Gosselin was smiling now. He’d have his fire. He’d boil water for his tea. He’d drag up that moose haunch and thaw out chunks for a stew. And then he’d rest for the night. The trading post could wait a day or two. It wasn’t going anywhere.” \n\nMcNab tried visualizing the scene just as they told him to do in the writing class. “Show, don’t tell,” said the instructor who was nearly on the cusp of getting his own novel published. “Homoerotica might be an interesting element. That would be a good back element to why he was a hermit hating society,” he’d suggested. McNab struggled with fitting that in. He typed, “Gosselin whispered out loud, “I’m blethed! Birth trees!” A lisp! Frozen feet and now a lisp? It doesn’t work McNab. I simply doesn’t work.\n\nHe didn’t so much hear the voice as sense it. He felt the sense of the words, the intent; the character was unmistakable. It was the voice he’d been hearing since chapter three; the gnarly voice of his protagonist. And, no, he didn’t detect a lisp.\n\nLeave out that queer nonsense. How abouts I just don’t like people? By the way, most any trapper, guide, hunter, any gold bloody panner, doesn’t much care for people which is why we live out in the middle of God’s country. You made your protagonist, I mean me, an aging, arthritic, grizzled, bitter, nasty, loner of a trapper. I like him already. But homoerotic?\n\nMcNab highlighted and deleted the attempt. He knew Gosselin. He’d created him after all. What he was learning was that Gosselin knew himself even better. With almost every scene he typed, Gosselin was there, hovering over his shoulder like some cheeky raven contemplating when it could swoop down and grab a quick meal from some day-dreaming writer. “No,” came the voice. “That won’t work. “No moron, do you have any idea what a trapper carries?” No this, no that. McNab spent more time correcting details than imagining the story. He jammed his fingers down hard on the keyboard snapping off the T key. “God damn,” he mumbled. He did smile when he snapped the T key back in place and searched “traditional trapper outfits.” He tried to weave more vivid descriptions of wool into the story: wet wool, dry wool, warm wool, old wool, wool hats, wool socks. He wrote so his readers could smell it, wool soaked by the fall into the raging river, the stale stench absorbed through years of sweat and blood, and the musky lingerings of the fleshed-out creatures. Wrong again. You left out the best smell. Smoke. You’ve got all these parts about me huddling by a fire, a smoky fire, to keep the skeeters at bay, to dry me off, to keep me warm. Write about that. Write about the little holes from random sparks blowing about when the wind hits. And why would you want to make me stink? Trappers didn’t stink. We have to be clean lest we leave our scent on the traps and, duh, spook them furry creatures were after. We’d air out our clothes for that reason. And what about me washing in all that cold water, scrubbing myself with sand and Labrador tea leaves? Put that in there. Do some homework! McNab rolled his eyes and retyped. “Gosselin put his Mackinaw over the line. The breeze would clear out the smell. It needed to be clean so as not to spook the game. As it waved in the breeze like the flag at the distant trading post, he doused himself in cold lake water, scrubbing with sand to remove any scent…” Not a Mackinaw! We’re in Labrador, not Minnesota. Make it a Hudson Bay coat and make sure you mention the black stripes. That’s authentic. PS, game? Game is what a hunter wants. For meat. I’m a trapper. I’m going for the pelts first, meat second, and I don’t much care for the taste of minks, martens, fishers, and such. Raccoon stew isn’t bad. Beaver tail is pretty good. You’ll want to add something about my accent. You know Gosselin is a Quebecois name.\n\nAgain, McNab erased and rewrote. Okay, Hudson Bay coat; that made sense. The stench? Yeah, that too. He was typing about the musky, gamy, taste of beaver and raccoon, the disdain for the flesh of minks and martens, when he said out loud to the contemptuous coughing in his head, “Why don’t you write the bloody story Jack Lon...” “I used that line already,” said his character adding a “Mais oui” for effect. McNab went back to typing. Gosselin continued with his corrections. \n\nHe stopped typing for the moment. McNab and tried to imagine a fork in the trail so to speak. He’d get Gosselin to the birch tree. He’d have him cleave off – knock off, came the voice, cleave means to split -- the chunk of chaga to make a fire, and to hell with Gosselin’s admonition that chaga fresh off a tree would be too damp to catch a spark. Then, dried out, rested, his aching joints settled down, he’d have him mush – no, not mush, you only mush with a dogsled! This isn’t the Iditarod! – drag the sled over fresh, cold, snow, revived, warmer, well anyway warmer feet, and a cheery slog to the trading post; whisky, tobacco, and friends. Okay, not friends, rivals maybe, jealous rivals, but Gosselin would display a veteran’s generosity to the cheechakos around him. “Drinks on the house, boys,” he’d yell. Then offer up a mentorship. “Boys, if you want to learn a thing or two, I’ll take you out. Gets kind of lonely out there and I ain’t as young as I was.” More cheers. Slaps on the back. And a young man, maybe an Indian, shyly approaches him. You could see a smile under Gosselin’s dense beard. Gosselin says, “Get your gear.” Off they go into a snowstorm. The end. Cheechakos? Really? “McNab,” came the gruff voice, this time coughing up something thick. It sounded bad. “What’s a cheechako?” \n\nMcNab had him at last. “Cheechako,” he would mention in a footnote, was a newcomer to the wilderness business. So, Monsieur Gosselin, you don’t know everything. Well, voila.” There was a bit more coughing, then a snarl which might have been part of a laugh on someone with a clear throat. “Cheechako is a tenderfoot alright, but not in Labrador! You’re in the wrong province mon ami, maybe the wrong country. Try the Yukon or Alaska. Anywho, a cheechako would be looking for gold, not pelts. Try calling him a greenhorn. That might work.”\n\nMore coughing followed and spitting. The spitting would do. Yes, the spitting would do just fine.\n\nMcNab typed away. “Gosselin reached the birch. The chaga came off easily with a mere tap of his ax. He held the brownish-orange inner mass, the spongy layer that would catch fire, and held it to his cheek. It was cool, still damp. It wouldn’t take a spark, not yet, but Gosselin was no greenhorn. He shaved off a sliver, no larger than a dried birch leaf and just as thin. He held it gently under the armpit of his Hudson Bay coat. Even now, out of the water, out of the wind, it would warm up, dry, and take a spark from his flint and knife. The flint was a piece of chert, once made into a spear point by natives who’d lived here thousands of years before. They followed the caribou who followed the melting glacier. Gosselin would strike the knife against its sharp edge and a resulting spark would ignite the thin edge of chaga. From there, he’d cradle into a bundle of tinder and blow, oh so gentle a blow, it into a flame. “He'd done this before. Yes, a thousand times before. Yet it still gave him an immense satisfaction to see it burst into a fire. A fire that cooked his food, kept wolves and bears away. A fire that kept him warm. A fire that saved his life more often than he could remember. “Gosselin scraped dried cedar bark from a nearby tree, shredded white birch bark into threads, and gathered those into a bundle the size of… Here McNab struggled. The size of a what? He wanted to type a melon but wasn’t sure Gosselin would know what a melon was. So, he wrote melon, underlined it, with the intent to come up with something better later. He challenged, “No complaints?” Go on, came the voice.\n\nThen he did something odd. McNab hunched over the keyboard, typing furiously, hiding the words as best he could. He tried not to think, didn’t dare think, he just tapped away. What’s that? What are you doing? The voice seemed anxious.Where am I? Are we at the trading post? Where’s my bottle? Get me a bottle! McNab smiled at the question and allowed a thought to permeate the screen. “Gosselin craved his drink. But his mind was foggy. “Whiskey,” he whispered. He should have known better. He knew Labrador. He’d known it for more than half a century. A trapper, even a successful one, would want Screech, the Jamaican rum that was a mainstay of the Labrador and New Foundland diets. But whiskey?\n\nI’d never ask for whiskey. Never had a drop! Why’d you write that? “Gosselin reached under his coat. The chaga had dried enough. He held it to the stone and struck with the back of his knife. Again and again and again. A few dull sparks flew but none took to the chaga. One big hit and the chaga flew out of his hands to the snow below. He swore. It was getting cold now, he felt that, with the sun setting. He cut another sliver, placed it again under his arm. A few minutes later he was at it. This time a spark hit the chaga. It was hardly a pinprick of light. Gosselin knew what to do. He gently fanned the spark until it grew to the size of a pea and reached for his tinder bundle. It wasn’t there. He looked around, confused now, and saw it by the birch tree. He rose to get it but by now the glow on his chaga and burned out. He sat down, strangely warm despite the cold, and continued his effort. His hands were shaking. He felt hot, too hot. A few lame strikes and he dropped the knife on the ground. Bending over he started to cough. It was a vicious cough, worse than before. He needed hot tea. Whiskey, no Screech, what was he thinking…would be best. Damn it McNab I can make a fire! Write that in! Never failed and won’t now. What’s with all this dropping? And let me tell you I’d have plenty of that chaga drying in my pocket, not under my bloody armpit. Where are those matches? You got this all… Before the voice could finish, McNab typed on…”Gosselin fell onto his knees, blood streaming from his mouth as his lungs collapsed in spasms. He was lying in the snow, the back of his green and black plaid Hudson’s Bay coat convulsing as he coughed more blood, and his final breaths. McNab sat back with a smile. He was deciding whether Gosselin would be found by other trappers, his pelts to be retrieved and pay off his debts at the Post, or, better, used for a celebration. Or may it would be wolves, drawn to the scent on his coat. Or maybe he’d just leave him in snow, the ancient, grizzled, trapper in his element. A smile frozen deep inside his beard. McNab like the beard image. A voice, quieter than before, whispered A Hudson Bay coat would have a black stripe. Not plaid. That would be a Mackinaw. Just saying."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "Vinny's Way"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Vinny stood with his back to the door of his small apartment building. He had his cane in hand, his lucky hat on, and a small suitcase containing his essentials by his side. At eighty-five, a small suitcase was all he could manage. Eventually, the taxi he was waiting on pulled up, and Vinny settled into the back seat. His cane and small suitcase were securely beside him. The driver, a man in his thirties with tired eyes, glanced at Vinny through the rearview mirror as he pulled away from the curb. “So, where are you heading, Pops?” the taxi driver asked, his voice carrying a hint of frustration, perhaps more with his day than with the question. “The airport, please,” Vinny replied calmly. “The airport, huh? Where are you flying to?” the driver asked, his tone flat, as if it was just another day with another passenger. “Going to Connecticut,” Vinny said with a soft smile. The driver nodded but said nothing. After a few moments of silence, he let out a heavy sigh. “Something wrong?” Vinny asked. “Just feels like I’ll be driving this cab forever.” “Is there something else you’d rather be doing?” “Almost anything, but I’ve got no clue where to start.” The driver hesitated, glancing back at Vinny. “I’ve always wanted to be a baker, but I don’t know where to start. Don’t have the money or the connections.” Vinny’s eyes lit up. “A baker, huh? And are you any good? Be honest with me now.” The driver seemed surprised by the question, but then he reached into a small bag beside him and handed Vinny a pastry over his shoulder. “Here, try this. Made it myself.” Vinny took the pastry, examining it momentarily before taking a bite. His eyes widened in delight as soon as the flaky crust and sweet filling touched his tongue. “This is exquisite! You’ve got real talent, son.” The driver smiled, a flicker of pride breaking through his rough demeanor. “Thanks. The problem is, I don’t know where to go from here.” Vinny leaned forward slightly. “After you drop me off, turn the cab around and return to where you picked me up. Ask for Agnes Ruth. Tell her Vinny sent you.” The driver frowned. “Who’s Agnes Ruth?” “A friend. She owns a small chain of bakeries,” Vinny explained. “She’s getting on in years and might be looking for someone to help her, maybe even take over one day. When you see her, offer her some of your pastries and tell her about your dreams. I’m sure she can help or point you in the right direction.” The driver’s eyes widened in the mirror. “You think she’ll help me?” “If all your baked goods taste like this, then I think you two will be helping each other.” The driver dropped Vinny off and turned around to do what he was told. Vinny grabbed his bag and headed inside the airport. It had been decades since he'd been to an airport, and everything had changed, but that didn’t stop Vinny from finding his gate and boarding his plane. Vinny boarded the plane and found his seat—a window seat near the middle of the cabin. He placed his small suitcase in the overhead compartment and settled in, feeling the familiar hum of anticipation that always accompanied a flight. As the passengers continued to board, a woman and her young son approached his row. The boy, no more than eight years old, was practically vibrating with excitement, his eyes wide as he took in the inside of the plane. The boy eagerly climbed into the seat next to him. Once they were seated, it didn’t take long for the boy to start leaning over Vinny, trying to glimpse out the window. “Danny, please sit still,” the mother chided gently. Then she turned to Vinny with an apologetic expression. “I’m so sorry about that. It’s his first time flying, and he’s just so excited.” Vinny smiled, waving off the apology. “No need to apologize. I remember my first flight—it’s a big deal.” The boy looked up at Vinny with hopeful eyes. “Have you flown a lot?” “A few times, but it was when I was much younger,” Vinny replied with a nod. “It’s always an adventure.” The boy's eyes drifted to the window, and Vinny chuckled softly. “How about we switch seats, young man? That way, you can get a good view of everything.” The boy’s face lit up with a grin. “Really? You don’t mind?” “Not at all,” Vinny said as he stood up, motioning for the boy to take his place. The mother looked at Vinny, her eyes full of gratitude. Vinny settled into the aisle seat as the boy eagerly moved over to the window, his face practically pressed against the glass as he took in the view. Vinny smiled, happy to have brought a little more joy into the boy’s first flight. Vinny got off the plane in Chicago, ready for a short layover before continuing his journey. But as he made his way through the terminal, an announcement over the loudspeakers brought unwelcome news. A storm had swept through a few states away, causing delays and cancellations. When Vinny reached the counter to check on his next flight, the lady behind the desk explained that his flight had been rescheduled—two days from now. Vinny felt a wave of disappointment. He listened patiently as the lady presented him with various options, almost all resulting in the same outcome: a long wait in the airport. In the end, Vinny decided to take a bus. It would get him to Connecticut quicker, and the airport staff would arrange everything for him. About two hours later, Vinny found himself sitting on a Greyhound bus, the rhythmic hum of the engine lulling him into a reflective state. He thought back to when he was sixteen, the first time he took a bus to travel across the state with a friend. The memory brought a smile to his face, even though he and that friend had lost touch long ago. His thoughts were interrupted by a soft voice. “Excuse me, sir.” Vinny turned to see a young girl sitting in the seat beside him. She couldn’t have been more than sixteen or seventeen, and her appearance tugged at Vinny’s heart. Her clothes were a bit worn, and her hair was messy, but what concerned him most were the dark bags under her eyes, signaling a lack of sleep. “Yes?” Vinny replied gently. “Do you have any food you can spare?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Vinny studied her momentarily, noticing signs of exhaustion and possible hardship. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any food on me,” he said, his voice filled with genuine regret. “Oh, okay then,” the girl said softly, curling up in her seat and continuing to read her book. Vinny watched her for a moment before speaking again. “Are you running away?” he asked gently. She hesitated before nodding slightly, her eyes still on her book. “I see,” Vinny said thoughtfully. “When I was about your age, I ran away from home with a friend. We were tired of always being told what to do and knew that if we had the chance to be free and do what we wanted, then things would be better.” The girl looked at him, curiosity mingling with her sadness. “Were they? Vinny chuckled softly. “Oh God, no. We spent all our money in two days and had to call our parents for help. Our idea of going on a grand adventure and becoming successful in a few weeks was nothing more than a false dream. An empty stomach and a lack of a warm bed can really change the way you look at the world.” The girl's stomach growled, and she sighed, looking out the window. “My parents don’t understand. They’re always on my case about school, but they don’t care about what’s important to me.” Vinny nodded sympathetically. “It’s hard when you feel like no one understands you. But sometimes, parents are tough on us because they’re worried. They want what’s best, even if they don’t always know how to show it.” The girl’s expression softened slightly, “That sounds like something right out of a daytime television talk show host would say.” Vinny laughed, “I have watched quite a few of those.” “When did you leave home?” “Last night.” “Does it still feel like the best choice after being gone for almost twenty-four hours? The world is a rough place, and one day soon, you will be able to thrive in it, but for now, I recommend getting as much knowledge and guidance from your parents as possible before heading out on your own. But that’s just some advice from an old man.” “Do you think they’ll be mad at me?” “I would be furious with you if I were your parents, but I would also go to the ends of the world to help you. Being angry with someone doesn’t mean you don’t love them.” The girl said nothing as she stared out the window for a minute. Tears welled up in her eyes before she turned to Vinny and said, “I want to go home.” How far away is home?” “Rockford, just outside of Chicago,” she murmured. “OK. Do you have a phone?” The girl nodded and pulled out her cell phone, which she had purposefully turned off. “Call your parents and tell them where you are. I will ask the bus driver to stop.” As the bus slowed to a stop, the girl gathered her things and turned to Vinny to thank him but Vinny was up with his things as well. “Are you getting off here?” “I am.” “Thank you,” she said quietly. “I’m Isabel.” “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Isabel. I’m Vinny,” he replied with a warm smile. “Come on, let’s wait for your father at that dinner over there. I’ll get us something to eat.” Vinny knew he wouldn't have a way to Connecticut once the bus left, but some things were more important. He was sure he would figure something out. A few hours later, Vinny sat alone at the diner. Isabel's father had arrived and picked her up, overjoyed to see her. In his excitement, he said nothing about her attempt to run away. After thanking Vinny for his help, they said their goodbyes. Vinny was about to ask the woman working at the diner if she had any recommendations for a place to stay, but he held his tongue as she walked over to the man sitting next to him and slapped a bill on the table before him. “Your card is expired and was declined,” the woman said, her tone sharp. The man looked shocked as he picked up the card and read the date. “Oh, come on, it just expired.” “Doesn’t matter. It won’t work. I need another form of payment,” she replied sternly. “But I don’t have any other form of payment. I’ve got about four or five dollars in my wallet, maybe a few more in my truck,” the man said, clearly distressed. “If you walk out that door without paying, I’m calling the cops.” Vinny, sensing the man’s genuine distress, decided to intervene. “Excuse me, ma’am, but I’ll cover his tab.” The woman glanced at Vinny without a word before taking his credit card. Vinny turned to the man, staring into his wallet, looking for something that wasn’t there. “I’m sorry if I overstepped. You looked like you’re having a rough day and could use a little good fortune.” The man shook his head, a mix of gratitude and frustration in his eyes. “Thank you, and no, you didn’t overstep, but I don’t have the money right now to pay you back.” “That’s fine, I don’t mind,” Vinny said, trying to put the man's mind at ease, but the man still seemed distraught. “Is there something else troubling you?” Vinny asked gently. “As you just saw, I won’t have access to my money until tomorrow when the banks open. That would be fine, but I have to have my rig in New York by tomorrow morning to pick up a trailer before it goes to someone else, and I don’t have enough fuel to make the trip.” Vinny nodded, understanding the man’s predicament. “I see. Would you be open to a mutual arrangement?” “What kind of mutual arrangement?” the man asked, intrigued. “I need to get to Connecticut, and New York is closer to my destination than here. So, how about I pay for the gas, and you take me as far as you can?” That’s how Vinny found himself fast asleep in the passenger seat of a semi-truck on his way to New York. The man's name was Kevin, and Vinny learned that Kevin had a friend in New York who could help him get the rest of the way to Connecticut. Vinny woke up to the loud sound of the truck's airbrakes. “Rise and shine, Vinny,” Kevin said. Vinny looked around, getting his bearings straight. They were parked in front of a house in a small town in New York, and the sun was starting to rise. “Is this where your trailer is?” Vinny asked. “No. This is a friend's house. I called while we were getting gas. I told them about your situation, and they said they could provide you a way to Connecticut, but for a small favor. There’s also a shower here you can use if you like, but this is as far as I can take you.” Vinny nodded, appreciating the help. He didn’t mind doing someone a favor, especially a small one. He exited the truck and followed Kevin to the door, where a woman answered. Kevin introduced Vinny to his friend, Tina. After a few minutes, Kevin left, and Vinny went to clean up. When he returned, he walked to the garage, where motorcycles were everywhere. He looked around and saw Tina wiping down a motorcycle. Tina stopped wiping down the bike and looked at Vinny with a smile. “Welcome to my shop. This is where I dismantle, rebuild, fix, and customize bikes.” “It’s a nice shop,” Vinny said, genuinely impressed. “Thank you. I take pride in my work. You ever ride a bike before?” she asked. “It’s been a while,” Vinny said with a smile, remembering a time in his life when riding his bike was all he wanted to do. “Great! I won’t waste your time; I’ll get straight to the point. Kevin told me where you need to go, and it just so happens I have a client who lives in the neighboring city. This is his bike,” she said, pointing at the one she was wiping down. “We were scheduled to deliver it next month, but if you want to deliver it personally, it can help us both.” “That sounds like a plan,” Vinny agreed, feeling a sense of adventure stir within him. Tina smiled. “Alright, breakfast first, and then we’ll get you on the road.” Vinny cruised down the highway, feeling more alive than he had in a long time. The weather was perfect for a ride, and after a few hours, he passed a sign that welcomed him to Connecticut. Vinny had only been to the East Coast once before, years ago, when he briefly visited New York City. Most of his life had been spent on the West Coast, where he rarely ventured far from home. Now, as he rode down the country highways of the East Coast, with the early signs of fall painting the landscape in warm hues, he found himself truly appreciating the beauty of this unfamiliar terrain. Following the map, Vinny arrived at a small house and knocked on the door. The door opened to reveal a man with a wide grin, his eyes immediately locking onto the motorcycle parked in the driveway. After a moment, the man finally looked at Vinny, taking in the sight of the older man standing on his porch with a small suitcase, a hat, and a cane. “Here you go,” Vinny said, handing the man the keys before turning to leave. “Hold on,” the man called out. “Tina told me someone would be dropping off my bike, and she mentioned you might need a ride. So, where are you headed?” The man's name was Ben, and Ben was eager to give Vinny a ride after he dropped off his bike. Vinny got dropped off in front of a cute little house. He walked to the door and took a deep breath before knocking on the door. A woman answered the door, holding a newborn baby. She froze at the sight of Vinny, who just stood there, giving the woman a goofy grin. Tears formed in the woman's eyes as she stared at the man before her. Then, she reached out and wrapped her father in a huge hug."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The Photographer's Lens"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Emma adjusted her camera, framing the dilapidated barn against the setting sun. The golden hour cast long shadows across the overgrown field, creating the perfect ambiance for her rural decay photo series. As she clicked the shutter, a twig snapped behind her. She whirled around, heart racing. A man stood at the edge of the clearing, hands raised placatingly. \"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you,\" he said, offering a disarming smile. \"I'm Jake. I own this property.\" Emma lowered her camera, embarrassment replacing fear. \"Oh! I'm so sorry. I should have asked permission before—\" Jake waved off her apology. \"No worries. It's nice to see someone appreciating the old place.\" He nodded toward her camera. \"You're a photographer?\" \"Yeah,\" Emma replied, relaxing slightly. \"I'm working on a series about abandoned rural structures. Your barn is stunning in this light.\" Jake's eyes lit up. \"Well, if you're interested, there's an old farmhouse just over that rise. It's been empty for decades – might be perfect for your project.\" Emma hesitated. The light was fading, and she'd planned to head back to town. But the promise of an unexplored location was too tempting to pass up. \"Lead the way,\" she said, gathering her equipment. As they walked, Jake asked about her photography, and Emma found herself opening up. There was something easy about his manner, a gentle curiosity that put her at ease. \"So, what brought you out here?\" Emma asked as they crested the hill. A shadow passed over Jake's face, so fleeting she almost missed it. \"Oh, just checking on the property. I don't get out here as often as I should.\" Before Emma could probe further, the farmhouse came into view. It was a weathered Victorian, paint peeling and shutters hanging askew. Emma's fingers itched for her camera. \"It's perfect,\" she breathed. Jake grinned. \"Thought you'd like it. Go ahead, I'll wait out here.\" Emma approached the house, snapping photos of the exterior before gingerly testing the porch steps. They creaked but held her weight. The front door swung open with a gentle push. Inside, dust motes danced in the fading sunlight streaming through grimy windows. Emma moved from room to room, capturing peeling wallpaper and abandoned furniture. In what must have been a child's bedroom, a decrepit rocking horse stood sentinel in the corner. As she framed her shot, movement caught her eye. She lowered the camera, squinting. For a moment, she could have sworn she saw a small figure dart past the doorway. \"Hello?\" she called, pulse quickening. Silence answered. Shaking off the eerie feeling, Emma continued her exploration. In the kitchen, she found an old refrigerator, its door hanging open. Curiosity piqued, she peered inside. Her blood ran cold. Fresh food lined the shelves – milk, eggs, vegetables. This house wasn't abandoned at all. Emma's mind raced. Who was living here? And who was Jake really? She turned to flee and found Jake blocking the doorway, his earlier warmth replaced by steely determination. \"I was hoping you wouldn't notice that,\" he said quietly. Emma's hand tightened on her camera strap, ready to use it as a weapon if necessary. \"Who are you? What is this place?\" Jake sighed, shoulders sagging. \"I told you the truth – I do own this property. What I didn't tell you is why I'm here.\" A floorboard creaked upstairs. Jake's eyes flicked toward the sound, then back to Emma. \"I'm protecting someone,\" he said. \"Someone who needs to stay hidden.\" Emma's fear warred with her curiosity. \"Hidden from what?\" Jake studied her for a long moment, as if weighing how much to reveal. Finally, he stepped aside, gesturing for her to follow him upstairs. Heart pounding, Emma climbed the stairs. Jake led her to a closed door at the end of the hall. He knocked softly. \"Mia? It's okay. You can come out.\" The door creaked open, revealing a young woman with haunted eyes. She clutched a toddler to her chest, the child's face buried in her shoulder. \"This is my sister,\" Jake explained. \"And my nephew, Tyler.\" Mia regarded Emma warily. \"Who is she? Why did you bring her here?\" \"It's alright,\" Jake soothed. \"Emma's a photographer. She was taking pictures of the barn, and I... I guess I wanted someone else to know. To understand.\" Emma's mind whirled, piecing together the fragments. \"You're hiding from someone,\" she said to Mia. It wasn't a question. Mia nodded, her grip on Tyler tightening. \"My ex-husband. Tyler's father.\" \"He was abusive,\" Jake added, his voice hard. \"Mia finally got the courage to leave, but he's relentless. He's a cop, so he's got resources. We couldn't risk going through official channels for protection.\" \"So you brought them here,\" Emma finished. Jake nodded. \"It was our grandparents' house. I inherited it years ago but never did anything with the place. Seemed like the perfect hiding spot.\" Emma's gaze traveled between the siblings, then to the child in Mia's arms. This was bigger than her abandoned building project. This was life and death. \"I'm so sorry,\" she said softly. \"I didn't mean to intrude on this. I'll go, and I promise I won't tell anyone—\" \"Wait,\" Mia interrupted. She looked at Jake. \"Maybe... maybe she can help.\" Jake's brow furrowed. \"Mia, we can't ask her to get involved. It's too dangerous.\" But Mia's eyes were alight with a desperate hope. \"You're a photographer,\" she said to Emma. \"You must know how to document things, right? Evidence?\" Understanding dawned. Emma nodded slowly. \"I do. I've worked with domestic violence shelters before, helping survivors document injuries and unsafe living conditions.\" \"That's what we need,\" Mia said urgently. \"Something to take to the authorities, to prove what he did. Jake's been hesitant to try because of the risk, but... we can't live like this forever.\" Emma glanced at Jake, seeing the conflict on his face. She made a decision. \"I want to help,\" she said firmly. \"If you'll let me.\" Over the next few hours, as night fell, Emma worked with Mia to document everything. Old text messages, voicemails, photos of healed injuries. Emma showed her how to organize it all, how to build a case that even a corrupt department couldn't ignore. As Mia put an exhausted Tyler to bed, Emma and Jake stood on the porch, the weight of the evening settling between them. \"I'm sorry I deceived you,\" Jake said quietly. Emma shook her head. \"You were protecting your family. I understand.\" They lapsed into silence, gazing at the star-filled sky. Finally, Emma spoke. \"What you're doing – it's incredible. Brave.\" Jake's laugh was tinged with bitterness. \"Doesn't feel brave. Feels like running.\" \"It's not running when you're saving lives,\" Emma countered. She hesitated, then added, \"I meant what I said. I want to help, beyond just tonight. I have contacts, people who can make sure Mia and Tyler stay safe while the case is built.\" Jake turned to her, surprise and gratitude warring in his expression. \"Why would you do that? You don't even know us.\" Emma thought of the rocking horse in the abandoned room, of Tyler's innocent face, of the fear that still lingered in Mia's eyes. \"Because it's the right thing to do,\" she said simply. In that moment, standing in the darkness with a man who had begun the evening as a stranger, Emma felt the trajectory of her life shift. Her abandoned buildings project suddenly seemed trivial compared to the real story unfolding before her – a story of survival, of family, of finding allies in unexpected places. As if reading her thoughts, Jake smiled – a genuine smile that reached his eyes. \"I'm glad you decided to photograph that old barn today.\" Emma returned the smile, feeling the first stirrings of a connection that transcended their unusual meeting. \"Me too.\" Together, they walked back into the house, ready to face whatever challenges the dawn might bring."
}
] |
[
{
"from": "human",
"value": "The Prometheum Enigma"
},
{
"from": "gpt",
"value": "Beatriz and Tonel met during a press conference, both determined to uncover the truth about the pyramid. While Tonel was focused on the scientific implications, Beatriz was driven by her journalism. She was curious about how such an object could appear without warning and what it meant for humankind, by which she meant her friends’ perspective. Their first conversation was marked by mutual intrigue. Beatriz’s sharp questions challenged Tonel’s technical explanations, and he found her perspective refreshing. Soon, they started spending time together after hours, discussing theories about the pyramid and what it could mean. One evening, after a long day of examining the pyramid’s surface (which appeared to be made of a material that could morph and reform), Tonel and Beatriz shared a quiet moment under the stars. The Nazca desert stretched out around them, the ancient lines seeming insignificant compared to the monolithic structure they now faced. Beatriz was mesmerized by Tonel’s knowledge, and he couldn’t help but admire her drive and intuition. “I've been chasing mysteries my entire life,” Beatriz confessed. “And now, here it is, right in front of me. Maybe it's not just about the science. Maybe this pyramid... is an omen.\" Tonel nodded thoughtfully. \"I think you're right. It’s not just what it appears. He quoted something under his breath: ‘Follow old tracks, faint— shadowy, barely discerned. Ancestral form’s child.’ It sound like the Tao te Ching to her. It’s a message, perhaps a warning or an invitation. But we need to see it in the context of the Nazca culture of 2000 years ago.\" Their conversations often drifted into personal territory, with Beatriz talking about her life as a journalist and how family turmoil meant she would lead an extraordinary life. Tonel shared his childhood dreams of the pursuit of the unknown. They grew closer, their late-night talks filled with excitement, fear, and the realization that they were both falling in love with each other. As their relationship deepened, so did their understanding of the pyramid. Beatriz suggested one day that the pyramid wasn’t just an object—it was a machine, a time-travel device from the future. The machine had fragmented into millions of parts, integrating itself into the Earth's technological fabric. It was as if the pyramid’s presence had advanced humanity overnight, solving energy crises, diseases, and other global challenges—almost like the birth of a new form of AI, but far more powerful. At the same time Tonel realized that the signals weren’t from space, but from time itself. The pyramid was a creation of future humans, sent back to prevent a catastrophe that had yet to unfold. One night, Beatriz confessed her fears to Tonel. “What if I’m not myself anymore? What if the pyramid is manipulating me, guiding my thoughts?” She looked at him with a mix of love and desperation. What if the pyramid was the author of her life, guiding her to influence Tonel to investigate the future and now the past? A team of admirers and physicists met to engage in conversation about the message predicting the delivery of a system to envelop Earth and its moon: Tonel had been the first to posit that the message came from the future where a group of influencers were using retrocausality. Both sides recognized the magnitude of interpreting the brown pyramid which dominated the landscape of Peru's Nazca. They were going to use TONEL’s work to calculate that this moon limit was a quarantine imposed by the pyramid's builders. In the report room, scientists were exploring the controversies surrounding the distribution of pieces of the pyramid, the conversation veering between what Tonel had predicted and the brute fact of owning said pieces, cubes 2.5 centimeters on each side, and whether that was either good or bad. He owned a microscope for scientific exploration, a variable resistor revealing his tinkering with electrical circuits, an X-ray apparatus indicating his interest in the human body, and a phial of mercuric oxide showcasing his fascination with chemistry. Other items, such as a Davy lamp, a telegraph machine, a high-powered generator, a lie detector, an atomic model set, and archaeological tools, displayed his multifaceted curiosity across various scientific disciplines. He also wanted to own his own piece of the pyramid, or guardian object. Born in 2014, Tonel was the oldest professional scientist living. He smiled, passing his hand through his grey hair. Would it be ethical for anyone, anywhere, any-when to adopt the belief that objects from the future could influence present choices? With his scientific mindset and fascination with a broad range of tools, he argued that if the guardian object had causal effects, these effects must be grounded in natural law. He emphasized that the guardian objects’ potential influence could not be allowed to compromise rational autonomy or moral duties. He was a rational agent; these were his terms of work. After they had finished with a round of applause for him, there was the sight of Tonel walking down the corridor and talking to every person. After summarizing the admirers and physicists’ conclusions he said, \"The meeting is closed for the foreseeable future due to unforeseen circumstances.\" As he was leaving a staffer grabbed his sleeve and asked him, \"Why would we undo what the Eternals have done?\" \"That's a very good question. You see, the dilemma we face is complex and multi-faceted,\" replied Tonel. \"While disobeying the commands of these advanced beings may seem like a viable option, it's essential to consider the potential consequences. By defying their directives, we risk escalating a conflict or triggering unknown retaliation, which could have devastating repercussions for ourselves in this era. If they know in advance what we intend to do, then we must use dirty tricks.\" The Eternals may harm large sectors of humanity,\" said one of the admirers. With a final say of, “Not if we can help it,” he turned to go. He walked up the hill and waited for a bus to arrive. He knocked at the window with his fist to get the driver's attention. The bus stopped and Tonel got on. He beamed and showed his bus pass. A phone message on his phone confirmed his suspicions - The government insisted on the Eternals being stopped. Tonel considered the advanced technology and manipulation of spacetime. If they couldn’t observe him, he’d work silently using subterfuge. Haunted by his thoughts, Tonel contemplated the possibility that Beatriz, now his common-law wife, the journalist and also a psycho-biologist in her own right, might be under some hypnotic influence. It all began when Beatriz, a young, passionate journalist, was assigned to cover the sudden appearance of a pyramid on the Nazca lines. She had always been fascinated by ancient civilizations and speculation about the pyramid’s origin was rampant until she interpreted it as something that could redefine humanity’s understanding of time and space. She kept it grounded in reality, but who was doing the grounding she began to question. Tonel, the brilliant scientist working with SETI (Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence), had been investigating strange signals in the atmosphere before the pyramid appeared. He had long believed that space-time anomalies portended the arrival of future beings. The pyramid landing seemed like the breakthrough moment he had always anticipated, but it carried far more weight than that. His investigations sought time entities as those which differed from his colleagues in space investigation. Tonel gently held her hand. “You’re still you. The pyramid may have an agenda, but it can’t change who you are. I love you for the person you’ve always been, not for any influence.” The closer they got to understanding the pyramid’s technology, the more it began to affect Beatriz. She would have vivid dreams, seeing glimpses of the future and strange visions of a world apart. Tonel grew increasingly concerned, realizing that the pyramid might be using Beatriz as a conduit for its plans. At the height of the investigation, they discovered the pyramid’s true purpose; to prepare Earth for quarantining in the vast space outward to Mars but no further. In a final act of defiance against the pyramid’s growing influence over her mind, Beatriz helped Tonel devise a way to break its hold. Beatriz first spoke the words that solidified their bond. “I’m not afraid of the future, not as long as we face it together.” The machine, sensing the strength of their connection, relinquished its hold on her. In that moment, Tonel and Beatriz realized that love was doing that. The pyramid had been sent back by beings with the same DNA who understood love. Tonel and Beatriz, now inseparable, continued their work, documenting the incredible changes the pyramid had wrought while remaining vigilant for the future challenges it hinted at. Beatriz, dressed in ethereal robes, welcomed Tonel warmly. In her apartment, she suggested the risks of being discovered. Tonel’s perspective on time travel was that it was the \"last human experience\" and his hopes were stabilizing. There were suspicions among his colleagues about Beatriz's involvement with the pyramid, and thoughts about her work with animal behavior enlarged their suspicions that conditioning meant she was under subconscious control, and these were potential reasons to not use her. The arrival of two heavy helicopters, disrupting the gray morning, symbolized the measures taken by authorities to secure the pyramid and keep its existence discreet. Tonel tried to keep Beatriz out of his meetings with SETI. It was a golden autumn day. The sky was clear with wispy high-altitude cirrus clouds and a gentle, warm breeze with a faint aroma of blooming flowers and dried leaves. The air was crisp and dry and the sun invigorating. Tonel strode outside an hour after waking to the pyramid and picked up one of the cubes. He examined it carefully. He held the Prometheum cube in his hand, and it was unlike anything he had ever encountered. The cube was small, about the size of a sugar cube, yet it felt impossibly dense, as if it contained the weight of a small mountain. The material was cool to the touch, with a surface that was smooth like polished stone but had a slight, almost imperceptible texture, like a fine-grain sandpaper that gripped his skin just enough to make him aware of its presence. Visually, the cube mesmerized him. It had a deep, metallic sheen, shifting between shades of dark blue and violet as it caught the light. The color pulsed faintly, as if there was a heartbeat within the metal itself. Occasionally, when he tilted it just right, he caught glimpses of other colors—greens, reds, and even flashes of silver—dancing across its surface, like the Northern Lights captured in a solid form. When Tonel focused on the cube, he felt an inexplicable warmth spreading through his hand and up his arm, a warmth that was not physical but more like an emotional comfort, a sense of being protected. The feeling was subtle but unmistakable, a calming presence that soothed his mind and sharpened his focus. It was as if the cube was aware of him, responding to his thoughts and emotions. He then noticed that when he carried the cube with him, things tended to go his way. A difficult problem he had been struggling with suddenly became clear; an argument with a friend resolved itself with unexpected ease; he found himself avoiding small accidents or missteps, as if guided by an unseen hand. The cube seemed to offer a gentle, persistent nudge towards the best possible outcome in any situation, subtly bending luck and fate in his favor. Despite its strange and powerful properties, it did not feel malevolent or dangerous. Instead, it felt like a tool or a companion, something meant to aid and guide, not to control or dominate. It was as if its purpose was to help those who possessed it achieve their true potential, to align their actions with their deepest desires and values. Then things began to scale up. During a speech rally, a fire threatened a village, and the firefighter threw his guardian object at the fire. It went out. Beatriz heard how the people of Nazca experienced clothes drying after storms and the discovery of relics such as shamanic garments perfectly preserved believed to resonate with the pyramid. Visitors paid for a statue which commemorated Tonel's theoretical work, paid for by the people of Peru. Meanwhile, the guardian objects' power was demonstrated in various ways, such as saving a museum visitor's life, when plesiosaur bones from the dinosaur section fell on her, leading to inspiration globally when the news got out. The city of Nazca became a hub of activity, with lives transformed. Tonel was now assuming a leadership role, navigating the city to protect it from bad actors. As the recently appointed council leader, he knew that a gang planned to replace valuable items with replicas. He used advanced surveillance to intercept coded messages revealing their plan. The firm resolve of law enforcement under his orders meant the bad actors were swiftly apprehended. As he went through the gates of the park, there was a gentle slope, and above the hill right there in front still, a straight line ran past the old trees that dropped silver leaves in autumn, red and brown. He opened his notebook and drew the pyramid's walls then closed it and stuffed it in his pocket. He walked over the grass. ‘What are you doing here, Tonel?' It was Beatriz sitting facing him. 'What’s going on?' He said he was sure there was a transition between the Paracas and the Nazca, which lasted one year from BCE to CE and that was the period they should focus on. Beatriz spoke firmly to him, \"Hey Tonel, did you see the latest New Scientist publication?\" “Whoa,” he said, “I haven't seen it yet. What's it about?” “They found a remarkable garment with intricately woven images that dates back to then. It’s not just any piece of clothing; it’s of immense historical significance.” “ How did they determine its age?” “By radiocarbon dating.” “ That’s fascinating. So, what makes it so special?” “Well, the garment served as the blueprint for the Nazca lines. The images are believed to have directly influenced the designs of the Nazca lines.” “ Are you serious? Ok, when can we go to see it?” “ This is too important to miss, so I'll start planning the trip and gather all the details.” “Keep me updated with the details.” “ Will do, Tonel. This isn’t going away.” A three-man time machine evidently was approved by the Eternals, as they seemed to have some overwatch on the top-secret project. They were even offering hints to building a time machine. The guardian object itself was probably driving the research, as a convoluted way of making creativity more abundant. The president of Peru began his speech. \"My fellow citizens, ‘Today, we face an unprecedented challenge, one that threatens not only our present but our future. A an enigma, the Prometheum enigma, has turned our dreams into choices between right and wrong. Its presence has fractured our world. We cannot afford to stand idle. I am ordering a massive mobilization of our brightest minds—scientists, engineers, mathematicians—from every corner of our nation. This is an urgent call to action. We must unlock the secrets of time travel, dismantle the Eternals' hold on our planet, and reclaim our future. This mobilization will not be without sacrifice. Resources will be redirected, daily lives disrupted, and freedoms curtailed. But this is the price we must pay. Our unity and resilience will be tested, but together, we will prevail. Thank you, and may we find strength in our collective resolve.’ \"You know, we have to be realistic, said one of the listeners. \"This is a dire threat, but we can't let fear drive us into rash decisions. The president's plan sounds like a war footing. Sacrificing civil liberties, disrupting our lives to such an extent—it's a recipe for chaos.\" Her companion nodded, a determined glint in her eyes. \"You're right, you know. We'll gather support from our environmental advocacy colleagues and draft an alternative proposal. One that ensures we continue to address our pressing scientific needs while also combating this threat.\" There was a momentary flicker of white light inside the pyramid. Facing the daunting task, Tonel sat in a dimly lit room, attentive to the president as he went on speaking about the pyramid on the TV station. Clad in a metallic gray suit, his instincts were homing in on the right course of action. For now he had stopped seeing Beatriz. Eventually, he confided in her about not wanting to delay, and that he would drive forward with the time machine. The Time Machine called \"Prometheus\" symbolized the culmination of global efforts to prevent the Eternals' phenomenon and its prohibition of space travel. Tonel believed the key to time travel lay in the insertion of the human biological body into the time vortex directly. He thought only inside a time machine would he be safe, thanks to his suit. To that end he had worked with Robert Bryant the engineer to develop the revolutionary \"Dimensional Fold Drive\" (DFD), a sophisticated propulsion system that folded space-time around the capsule, enabling time travel. The Time Capsule itself, with a sleek design, minimized resistance during time travel, and its outer shell was coated with a nano-film to neutralize gravitational forces."
}
] |