There was a man who lived in a house,
In this house with the man lived a mouse.
This mouse was a big and brown,
And when the man found him, his screams could be heard from the nearby town.
But, fortunately for the man, it was only a mouse.
A big, brown mouse that lived in his house.
At least, that is what the man thought.
For you see, there was another thing that fought
For control of the house from the man.
An extra-dimensional monster named Stan.
This monster named Stan had a horrible plan
To open a portal in the basement of the house of the man.
From this portal the monster came through
And in its wake, terror did ensue.
Stan made its way up the stairs,
Tentacles extended—to skin, flayers.
It was in the living room that it found the man.
And the house became occupied solely by Stan
The Dragonfly and Raven
Showing posts with label short story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label short story. Show all posts
Thursday, June 23, 2016
Wednesday, May 25, 2016
A Bad First Impression
“Hey.”
“...hey.”
“How have you been...since...well, you know.”
“I've been keeping busy.”
“Yeah?”
Besides being a story of all dialogue, this story is also written without adjectives.
“Yeah. Have to make it up to my parents after that impression you gave them Saturday.”
“Come on now, It is not like I was—“
“Really? Because I seem to remember you were an ass after those beers.”
“...yeah.”
“I mean, don't get me wrong, I love you Danny.”
“I love you too Trace.”
“But you have to get your drinking under control.”
“...I know. And I will.”
“How can I believe you though? You've said that before.”
“I know I have. But...I joined AA.”
“Wow...I...I don't know what to say.”
“You don't have to say anything. Just know that I love you Trace. I am doing this for you.”
“I love you too Danny.”
“...hey.”
“How have you been...since...well, you know.”
“I've been keeping busy.”
“Yeah?”
Besides being a story of all dialogue, this story is also written without adjectives.
“Yeah. Have to make it up to my parents after that impression you gave them Saturday.”
“Come on now, It is not like I was—“
“Really? Because I seem to remember you were an ass after those beers.”
“...yeah.”
“I mean, don't get me wrong, I love you Danny.”
“I love you too Trace.”
“But you have to get your drinking under control.”
“...I know. And I will.”
“How can I believe you though? You've said that before.”
“I know I have. But...I joined AA.”
“Wow...I...I don't know what to say.”
“You don't have to say anything. Just know that I love you Trace. I am doing this for you.”
“I love you too Danny.”
Judgment Day
It was the last day that life would exist on the planet Earth. It was time for the reckoning of the human race. It was the Judgment Day.
For the most part, things went just as planned. God brought the first death—that of the body—down upon all of His children. Many of their souls ascended to Heaven, to spend eternity with Him. A great number of souls also descended down into the depths of Hell, to spend an eternity of torment with the Betrayer, souls never knowing the greatness of God.
Except, there was a problem.
One, big problem.
When God eliminated life, everything either went to Heaven, or to Hell, except for one soul. This soul was so neutral that it required a personal judgment by both Satan and God.
Upon agreeing to meet with each other to judge this neutral soul, they both realized why it did not go to Heaven or Hell.
For the soul that they looked upon in judgment was Death.
Death smiled at the Lords of Heaven and Hell, letting out a hair-raising cackle, advancing toward the two, scythe raised.
“There comes a time when all must face Death.”
For the most part, things went just as planned. God brought the first death—that of the body—down upon all of His children. Many of their souls ascended to Heaven, to spend eternity with Him. A great number of souls also descended down into the depths of Hell, to spend an eternity of torment with the Betrayer, souls never knowing the greatness of God.
Except, there was a problem.
One, big problem.
When God eliminated life, everything either went to Heaven, or to Hell, except for one soul. This soul was so neutral that it required a personal judgment by both Satan and God.
Upon agreeing to meet with each other to judge this neutral soul, they both realized why it did not go to Heaven or Hell.
For the soul that they looked upon in judgment was Death.
Death smiled at the Lords of Heaven and Hell, letting out a hair-raising cackle, advancing toward the two, scythe raised.
“There comes a time when all must face Death.”
Monday, May 16, 2016
The Wife's Diary
“Have a good trip Hun!” Conner said, waving at his wife as she pulled out of their driveway in her small black convertible. “I love you!”
“Love you too Hun!” He hears her yell back as she turned into the col-duc-sac. “Take good care of Tommy!”
And with that, she sped off, and making her way around the circle of asphalt, and then out into the greater part of the city.
Conner turned away from the street, and stepped into the living room, closing the front door behind him. He walked to his office, and sat down at his computer. Before him was a massive spreadsheet of numbers. The latest set of statistics he had to analyze for work. After toying around with them for a few minutes, he was graciously interrupted.
“--No! No! No! No! No! No! No! Mama Mia! Mama Mia! Mama Mia, let him go!”
He picked his phone up from off of his desk. The caller ID read Samantha.
“Sam?”
“Hey Conner! I was just calling to see if Brooke was around? Her phone is off.”
“Ah, yes. She is off to the airport. She has to fly to Seattle for work.”
“Oh, I see. When is she getting back? I was hoping to catch up with her.”
“She's coming back Sunday.”
“Three day trip? It must be pretty easy work then.”
“Relatively. She just had to serve as an expert witness for some corporate dispute.”
“Okay then. Well, give her my best. I'll try again Monday.”
“Alright, have a good day Sam.”
“You too Conner.”
He set the phone back on the desk, turning back to his spreadsheets, when he felt something brush against his leg. Looking down, he saw Tommy, his gray-white house cat. In reality, he belonged to both Conner and Brooke, but Conner liked to think that the cat liked him more. After all, he did feed him and deal with his litter. Tommy looked up at Conner, and meowed.
“What's up buddy? Do you want some food?”
Tommy meowed in response, with what seemed to be enthusiasm.
Conner got up out of his chair. “Okay buddy, let's get you some food.”
Making his way into the kitchen, Conner started for the dry food, before going to the cupboard and grabbing a can of tuna. He opened it, and poured it into Tommy's food bowl.
“Here you go buddy. A treat since Mommy's gone.”
Tommy meowed again, quite pleased with the break from the norm.
Deciding that he did not want to continue his work sifting through his work spreadsheets, Conner instead decided that he wanted to go on a walk in the park. He went to his bedroom to change. Upon entering the room, however, he noticed something strange. On Brooke's bedside table sat an unfamiliar book. It was a black leather book, with small gold-looking clasps on its front. Curious, Conner walked over the table, sat down on the bed, and opened the book. After thumbing through it, he realized that it was Brooke's diary. Conner had not known that Brooke had a diary, but he was not surprised. The amount of information that Brooke had to deal with on any given day for her work as a chemist was astonishing, and he did not understand any of it. He was about to close the diary, and put it back how he found it, when he noticed his name on one of the pages. He could not resist looking.
January 15th, 2007.
Today was a hard day at work. Johnson seemed to have an fire under his ass. He kept checking in every ten minutes or so on my progress. I think that he has a lot riding on my work. I just hope that I can deliver.
I had lunch today with Jeremy. I feel bad, because Conner doesn't like me meeting with him. He gets so jealous! I don't think that I will tell him about it...not for a while at least.
Conner's ears began to burn. It was a good choice that Brooke did not tell him about her meeting with Jeremy. Jeremy was her ex-boyfriend, and he had shown up drunk to their wedding, and professed his love for Brooke. Brooke seemed to think that it was not a problem, but he had always thought it was strange for her to be around him after that. Wondering what else she had been keeping from him, Conner continued to read.
January 20th, 2007
Today thing were weird at work. Johnson was waiting for me when I arrived at my lab. When I got in, he slammed the door behind me, and asked me how the project was coming along. When I told him that the specimen had lived, his face went stark white. He asked me if I had submitted the results. I had. When I told him, he got this look in his look in his eyes, almost like that of a caged animal. He didn't say anything after that, and he left the office.
I went back to my work, and a few hours later, Richmond came in, which never happens. She brought with her a man I've never seen before. His name was George Cook. She said that he was replacing Johnson, who had been transferred. She never said where he was transferred to though. I think he was fired. I think he was fired because my tests hadn't brought the results that Richmond wanted. I hope that he's okay.
January 27th, 2007
After a week with Cook, I have to say that he is not the worst boss in the world. He checks in more than Johnson used to, but he is always pleasant. Today he even bought me a coffee. I think things are going to go well with him and I. I still feel bad about Johnson though. I mean, it wasn't his fault that the results didn't pan out right for him.
March 24th, 2007
I think that I am getting close to the solution. The last few tests have proven extremely successful, with the sample's dying every time, and no trace remaining of the chemical remaining after several hours.
March 25th, 2007
Cook was waiting for me today outside of my office. He said that he was happy with my results, and that we were going to go to visit Richmond, but instead of going up to the third floor, we took the elevator down to the basement. He led me down the long hallway to a small room. It was pitch black once he closed the door behind us. Then, the room seemed to move beneath our feet. This happened for a few seconds, before the wall opened, and a different hallway appeared before us.
He took my arm, and pulled me along the corridor. It was whiter than snow, and there were glass windows along it's entire stretch. Inside of them, there were people in hospital beds, strung up with a bunch of wires. They were all asleep.
We finally reached the end of the hall, and Cook opened the large, double door, shoved me inside, and then closed them behind me. Inside, Richmond stood with her back to me. She was looking at a single, large medical room.
She turned when the door shut, smiling at me. She said that she read my findings, and was pleased that I had succeeded. She had me come up to the glass, so I could see my chemical being tested on a full sized subject.
But, to my horror, I realized who was in the room. It was Johnson! Richmond laughed when I realized who it was. She told me that he had volunteered to be the first test subject. I asked if he was sick, which only made her laugh more. She explained to me that I wasn't testing an new medicine. Then, Cook entered the room, and injected Johnson with the chemical. After a few minutes, he began to violently convulse. Then, after a few moments, his head snapped violently back, and foam began to ooze out of his mouth. He was dead.
It was then that Richmond told me the true purpose of my research. I had developed a new poison for her. She wouldn't tell me who she worked for though, and who had wanted this poison. She just told me that I was now complicit, and that if I told anyone that I would regret it. They said that both Conner and I are under constantly under surveillance, and that if we do anything, that they will know.
Conner set the diary down. He could not believe what he had just read. Had Brooke really been working on creating poison? Was she really responsible for Johnson's death? He picked the diary back up, and continued to read.
March 26th, 2007
Today, I went back to the hidden facility. I have decided to call it Hell, for that is what it really is. They are having me test the my poison on more people, to prove its efficacy under different circumstances. Today, I had to watch as young man, whose convulsions were much more mild than Johnson's. Instead, he slowly asphyxiated on the white foam that filled his lungs, and then trailed down his chest. His name was Brian. The chart said that he was a homeless man that they had taken off the street, offering him a bed and food for participating in a clinical trial. Looking at the other charts, it seems like that is how they got most of the people.
Then there was this young woman. Her name was Michelle. While I was administrating the chemical to her, she grabbed my arm. As the poison took its hold in her, she began to shake violently, and her grip tightened hard around my arm. I had to pry her hands off after she had finished convulsing.
I had to kill ten others today. I don't know how I am going to do this. I can't keep killing people, but if I stop, they'll just replace me and kill Conner. And if I tell anyone, they'll kill Conner...and I can't let that happen.
Please God, forgive me.
The next two months of entries went into great detail as to what she had done each day, giving the names of all of the people that she had tested the poison on, and going into ever more elaborate prayer for forgiveness from God. Tears streamed down Conner's face. Tommy jumped onto the bed, and meowed at him. Absentmindedly, he reached out and pet him, eyes still glued to the diary.
June 5th, 2007
Today is the first day that I didn't have to descend into Hell. Instead, Cook sent me to the lab that I had originally developed the chemical in. He told me that the poison had been discovered, and that they needed a new one, one that would be unknown to the world. I can't believe that I have to make another way for them to kill people...but at least it keeps me out of Hell, at least for a little while.
The next few months were devoid of any entries.
October 11th, 2007
I finished the new poison today. They took me back to Hell.
The next few weeks detailed her tests of the new poison, ended with an entry from the day before.
December 2nd, 2007
Tomorrow, I have to go to Seattle. They want me to go to some central lab there, and meet with some other scientists that the company has. I am afraid of what is to come. I hope that Conner and Tommy with be okay.
Conner set the diary down, and went back to his office. He grabbed his phone, and dialed Brooke's number. It went straight to voicemail.
“Brooke, honey. It's Conner. I found your diary. Are you okay? Please call me back. I'm scared honey.”
He stood there, eyes locked on his phone, his hand shaking.
Then, he heard someone knocking at the door.
He made his way through the living room to the door, and opened it. Standing there was a man in a black suit and sunglasses. He smiled, and pushed Conner back, into the house. Stepping in, he closed the door behind him, and then stabbed Conner with a syringe. The man held him down for a few minutes, and then dragged his body out of sight of the front door and windows, and then left him lying there, alone in the house.
“Love you too Hun!” He hears her yell back as she turned into the col-duc-sac. “Take good care of Tommy!”
And with that, she sped off, and making her way around the circle of asphalt, and then out into the greater part of the city.
Conner turned away from the street, and stepped into the living room, closing the front door behind him. He walked to his office, and sat down at his computer. Before him was a massive spreadsheet of numbers. The latest set of statistics he had to analyze for work. After toying around with them for a few minutes, he was graciously interrupted.
“--No! No! No! No! No! No! No! Mama Mia! Mama Mia! Mama Mia, let him go!”
He picked his phone up from off of his desk. The caller ID read Samantha.
“Sam?”
“Hey Conner! I was just calling to see if Brooke was around? Her phone is off.”
“Ah, yes. She is off to the airport. She has to fly to Seattle for work.”
“Oh, I see. When is she getting back? I was hoping to catch up with her.”
“She's coming back Sunday.”
“Three day trip? It must be pretty easy work then.”
“Relatively. She just had to serve as an expert witness for some corporate dispute.”
“Okay then. Well, give her my best. I'll try again Monday.”
“Alright, have a good day Sam.”
“You too Conner.”
He set the phone back on the desk, turning back to his spreadsheets, when he felt something brush against his leg. Looking down, he saw Tommy, his gray-white house cat. In reality, he belonged to both Conner and Brooke, but Conner liked to think that the cat liked him more. After all, he did feed him and deal with his litter. Tommy looked up at Conner, and meowed.
“What's up buddy? Do you want some food?”
Tommy meowed in response, with what seemed to be enthusiasm.
Conner got up out of his chair. “Okay buddy, let's get you some food.”
Making his way into the kitchen, Conner started for the dry food, before going to the cupboard and grabbing a can of tuna. He opened it, and poured it into Tommy's food bowl.
“Here you go buddy. A treat since Mommy's gone.”
Tommy meowed again, quite pleased with the break from the norm.
Deciding that he did not want to continue his work sifting through his work spreadsheets, Conner instead decided that he wanted to go on a walk in the park. He went to his bedroom to change. Upon entering the room, however, he noticed something strange. On Brooke's bedside table sat an unfamiliar book. It was a black leather book, with small gold-looking clasps on its front. Curious, Conner walked over the table, sat down on the bed, and opened the book. After thumbing through it, he realized that it was Brooke's diary. Conner had not known that Brooke had a diary, but he was not surprised. The amount of information that Brooke had to deal with on any given day for her work as a chemist was astonishing, and he did not understand any of it. He was about to close the diary, and put it back how he found it, when he noticed his name on one of the pages. He could not resist looking.
January 15th, 2007.
Today was a hard day at work. Johnson seemed to have an fire under his ass. He kept checking in every ten minutes or so on my progress. I think that he has a lot riding on my work. I just hope that I can deliver.
I had lunch today with Jeremy. I feel bad, because Conner doesn't like me meeting with him. He gets so jealous! I don't think that I will tell him about it...not for a while at least.
Conner's ears began to burn. It was a good choice that Brooke did not tell him about her meeting with Jeremy. Jeremy was her ex-boyfriend, and he had shown up drunk to their wedding, and professed his love for Brooke. Brooke seemed to think that it was not a problem, but he had always thought it was strange for her to be around him after that. Wondering what else she had been keeping from him, Conner continued to read.
January 20th, 2007
Today thing were weird at work. Johnson was waiting for me when I arrived at my lab. When I got in, he slammed the door behind me, and asked me how the project was coming along. When I told him that the specimen had lived, his face went stark white. He asked me if I had submitted the results. I had. When I told him, he got this look in his look in his eyes, almost like that of a caged animal. He didn't say anything after that, and he left the office.
I went back to my work, and a few hours later, Richmond came in, which never happens. She brought with her a man I've never seen before. His name was George Cook. She said that he was replacing Johnson, who had been transferred. She never said where he was transferred to though. I think he was fired. I think he was fired because my tests hadn't brought the results that Richmond wanted. I hope that he's okay.
January 27th, 2007
After a week with Cook, I have to say that he is not the worst boss in the world. He checks in more than Johnson used to, but he is always pleasant. Today he even bought me a coffee. I think things are going to go well with him and I. I still feel bad about Johnson though. I mean, it wasn't his fault that the results didn't pan out right for him.
March 24th, 2007
I think that I am getting close to the solution. The last few tests have proven extremely successful, with the sample's dying every time, and no trace remaining of the chemical remaining after several hours.
March 25th, 2007
Cook was waiting for me today outside of my office. He said that he was happy with my results, and that we were going to go to visit Richmond, but instead of going up to the third floor, we took the elevator down to the basement. He led me down the long hallway to a small room. It was pitch black once he closed the door behind us. Then, the room seemed to move beneath our feet. This happened for a few seconds, before the wall opened, and a different hallway appeared before us.
He took my arm, and pulled me along the corridor. It was whiter than snow, and there were glass windows along it's entire stretch. Inside of them, there were people in hospital beds, strung up with a bunch of wires. They were all asleep.
We finally reached the end of the hall, and Cook opened the large, double door, shoved me inside, and then closed them behind me. Inside, Richmond stood with her back to me. She was looking at a single, large medical room.
She turned when the door shut, smiling at me. She said that she read my findings, and was pleased that I had succeeded. She had me come up to the glass, so I could see my chemical being tested on a full sized subject.
But, to my horror, I realized who was in the room. It was Johnson! Richmond laughed when I realized who it was. She told me that he had volunteered to be the first test subject. I asked if he was sick, which only made her laugh more. She explained to me that I wasn't testing an new medicine. Then, Cook entered the room, and injected Johnson with the chemical. After a few minutes, he began to violently convulse. Then, after a few moments, his head snapped violently back, and foam began to ooze out of his mouth. He was dead.
It was then that Richmond told me the true purpose of my research. I had developed a new poison for her. She wouldn't tell me who she worked for though, and who had wanted this poison. She just told me that I was now complicit, and that if I told anyone that I would regret it. They said that both Conner and I are under constantly under surveillance, and that if we do anything, that they will know.
Conner set the diary down. He could not believe what he had just read. Had Brooke really been working on creating poison? Was she really responsible for Johnson's death? He picked the diary back up, and continued to read.
March 26th, 2007
Today, I went back to the hidden facility. I have decided to call it Hell, for that is what it really is. They are having me test the my poison on more people, to prove its efficacy under different circumstances. Today, I had to watch as young man, whose convulsions were much more mild than Johnson's. Instead, he slowly asphyxiated on the white foam that filled his lungs, and then trailed down his chest. His name was Brian. The chart said that he was a homeless man that they had taken off the street, offering him a bed and food for participating in a clinical trial. Looking at the other charts, it seems like that is how they got most of the people.
Then there was this young woman. Her name was Michelle. While I was administrating the chemical to her, she grabbed my arm. As the poison took its hold in her, she began to shake violently, and her grip tightened hard around my arm. I had to pry her hands off after she had finished convulsing.
I had to kill ten others today. I don't know how I am going to do this. I can't keep killing people, but if I stop, they'll just replace me and kill Conner. And if I tell anyone, they'll kill Conner...and I can't let that happen.
Please God, forgive me.
The next two months of entries went into great detail as to what she had done each day, giving the names of all of the people that she had tested the poison on, and going into ever more elaborate prayer for forgiveness from God. Tears streamed down Conner's face. Tommy jumped onto the bed, and meowed at him. Absentmindedly, he reached out and pet him, eyes still glued to the diary.
June 5th, 2007
Today is the first day that I didn't have to descend into Hell. Instead, Cook sent me to the lab that I had originally developed the chemical in. He told me that the poison had been discovered, and that they needed a new one, one that would be unknown to the world. I can't believe that I have to make another way for them to kill people...but at least it keeps me out of Hell, at least for a little while.
The next few months were devoid of any entries.
October 11th, 2007
I finished the new poison today. They took me back to Hell.
The next few weeks detailed her tests of the new poison, ended with an entry from the day before.
December 2nd, 2007
Tomorrow, I have to go to Seattle. They want me to go to some central lab there, and meet with some other scientists that the company has. I am afraid of what is to come. I hope that Conner and Tommy with be okay.
Conner set the diary down, and went back to his office. He grabbed his phone, and dialed Brooke's number. It went straight to voicemail.
“Brooke, honey. It's Conner. I found your diary. Are you okay? Please call me back. I'm scared honey.”
He stood there, eyes locked on his phone, his hand shaking.
Then, he heard someone knocking at the door.
He made his way through the living room to the door, and opened it. Standing there was a man in a black suit and sunglasses. He smiled, and pushed Conner back, into the house. Stepping in, he closed the door behind him, and then stabbed Conner with a syringe. The man held him down for a few minutes, and then dragged his body out of sight of the front door and windows, and then left him lying there, alone in the house.
Saturday, May 14, 2016
Satan's Telemarketer
“Hello, is Francis Moore available?”
“Yes.”
“Is this he?”
“It is.”
“Hello Francis. My name is Carl, and I am calling on behalf of the Lord of Darkness, Satan, with a once in an eternity offer! How do you feel about selling your soul to the Devil?”
“Jack? Is this you?”
“No sir, this is Carl, calling on behalf of the Lord of Darkness, Satan.”
Francis laughs, “Okay Jack, whatever you say. I'll see you at the Danny's tonight, yeah?”
“No sir, I am not 'Jack.' My name is Carl.”
“Keeping to the gag, eh Jack? I like it! See you later tonight mate.”
The phone clicks off. Carl pushes away from his desk, tearing off his headset.
“What's wrong Carl?”
Carl sighs.“The usual Jerry. Nobody takes me seriously. I am so far behind quota. At this rate, I am going to go back to the Inner Seventh Circle.”
“Oh, come on now Carl, it can't be that bad. Besides, it's just part of telemarketing. It is a tough game, but it is better than the desert of burning sand and the burning rain though, right? I'll take the First Circle and this hell any day.”
“Yeah, this is certainly better. I am just so very bad at selling things. I want to get into the PR Department. I feel like I would shine there.”
“Ha! You want to work in PR, but you can't get people to sell their souls? Come on, there is no way you're getting into PR unless you shine here.” Jerry scoffs.
“Yeah? Well, fuck you Jerry! It must be second nature to you, coming from the First Bolgia.”
Carl turned back to his terminal, and punched in the next number.
“Hello, is Emily O'Brien available.”
“Speaking.”
“Hello Emily. My name is Carl, and I represent the Lord of Darkness, Satan. I am calling to give you a once in an eternity opportunity, a chance to sell your soul to the Devil!”
“...”
“Emily? Are you still there?”
“I...um...yes.”
“So, what do you say? Do you want to sell your soul to the Devil for amazing power in the mortal world?”
“Is this a joke?”
“No ma'am, I am one-hundred percent serious. If you sign today, you can have your powers immediately. All that is required is your desired gift from the Lord of Darkness, and give an oath of eternal servitude.”
“...”
“Emily?”
“Yes, yes. I am still here. I am just trying to wrap my head around this. You're saying that I can have near limitless power, and all I have to do is make some sort of oath?”
“Well, yes. Though, it isn't some random oath, it is a pledge of eternal servitude to the Lord of Darkness.”
“Okay. I know you're pranking me, but I'll humor you. Yes, I will sell my soul to the Devil. In return, I would like to have ten million dollars.”
“Ten million? Okay, not a problem, I can most certainly authorize that.”
“Great!”
“Okay, in order to finalize the sale of your soul, repeat after me: I Emily O'Brien.”
“I Emily O'Brien”
“Do, of my own volition, grant my soul in eternal servitude.”
“Do, of my own volition, grant my soul in eternal servitude.”
“My soul to the Lord of Darkness, Satan.”
“My soul to the Lord of Darkness, Satan.”
“Great!”
“That's it?”
“Yup, that's it!”
“Okay...so when do I get my ten million?”
“Check your bank account. It's all there.”
“Yeah, okay. Sure.”
“I assure you it is. The Lord of Darkness always keeps his bargains. On behalf of our Master, I would like to thank you for selling your eternal soul to him. I can't wait to see you once you die!”
Carl ends the call, and pushes his chair back, hands held high.
“Jerry! Jerry! I did it!”
“You did what Carl?”
“I got someone to sell their soul, and only for ten million dollars!”
“Hey, there you go Carl! Good on you! Looks like you won't be going back to the Inner Circle after all, eh?”
“Yes.”
“Is this he?”
“It is.”
“Hello Francis. My name is Carl, and I am calling on behalf of the Lord of Darkness, Satan, with a once in an eternity offer! How do you feel about selling your soul to the Devil?”
“Jack? Is this you?”
“No sir, this is Carl, calling on behalf of the Lord of Darkness, Satan.”
Francis laughs, “Okay Jack, whatever you say. I'll see you at the Danny's tonight, yeah?”
“No sir, I am not 'Jack.' My name is Carl.”
“Keeping to the gag, eh Jack? I like it! See you later tonight mate.”
The phone clicks off. Carl pushes away from his desk, tearing off his headset.
“What's wrong Carl?”
Carl sighs.“The usual Jerry. Nobody takes me seriously. I am so far behind quota. At this rate, I am going to go back to the Inner Seventh Circle.”
“Oh, come on now Carl, it can't be that bad. Besides, it's just part of telemarketing. It is a tough game, but it is better than the desert of burning sand and the burning rain though, right? I'll take the First Circle and this hell any day.”
“Yeah, this is certainly better. I am just so very bad at selling things. I want to get into the PR Department. I feel like I would shine there.”
“Ha! You want to work in PR, but you can't get people to sell their souls? Come on, there is no way you're getting into PR unless you shine here.” Jerry scoffs.
“Yeah? Well, fuck you Jerry! It must be second nature to you, coming from the First Bolgia.”
Carl turned back to his terminal, and punched in the next number.
“Hello, is Emily O'Brien available.”
“Speaking.”
“Hello Emily. My name is Carl, and I represent the Lord of Darkness, Satan. I am calling to give you a once in an eternity opportunity, a chance to sell your soul to the Devil!”
“...”
“Emily? Are you still there?”
“I...um...yes.”
“So, what do you say? Do you want to sell your soul to the Devil for amazing power in the mortal world?”
“Is this a joke?”
“No ma'am, I am one-hundred percent serious. If you sign today, you can have your powers immediately. All that is required is your desired gift from the Lord of Darkness, and give an oath of eternal servitude.”
“...”
“Emily?”
“Yes, yes. I am still here. I am just trying to wrap my head around this. You're saying that I can have near limitless power, and all I have to do is make some sort of oath?”
“Well, yes. Though, it isn't some random oath, it is a pledge of eternal servitude to the Lord of Darkness.”
“Okay. I know you're pranking me, but I'll humor you. Yes, I will sell my soul to the Devil. In return, I would like to have ten million dollars.”
“Ten million? Okay, not a problem, I can most certainly authorize that.”
“Great!”
“Okay, in order to finalize the sale of your soul, repeat after me: I Emily O'Brien.”
“I Emily O'Brien”
“Do, of my own volition, grant my soul in eternal servitude.”
“Do, of my own volition, grant my soul in eternal servitude.”
“My soul to the Lord of Darkness, Satan.”
“My soul to the Lord of Darkness, Satan.”
“Great!”
“That's it?”
“Yup, that's it!”
“Okay...so when do I get my ten million?”
“Check your bank account. It's all there.”
“Yeah, okay. Sure.”
“I assure you it is. The Lord of Darkness always keeps his bargains. On behalf of our Master, I would like to thank you for selling your eternal soul to him. I can't wait to see you once you die!”
Carl ends the call, and pushes his chair back, hands held high.
“Jerry! Jerry! I did it!”
“You did what Carl?”
“I got someone to sell their soul, and only for ten million dollars!”
“Hey, there you go Carl! Good on you! Looks like you won't be going back to the Inner Circle after all, eh?”
Friday, September 4, 2015
The Twentieth of January
It happened on the Twentieth of January, a Tuesday afternoon. As James Bain would soon find out, this was not going to be any typical Tuesday. James worked for the Postal Service, delivering packages to a suburb of Washington, and Tuesday was his day off. James always liked Tuesdays for this reason. Not only did he not have to sit in his van all day, but he was also able to pick his nine year-old daughter Olivia up from school.
James pulled his Honda into the elementary school parking lot, and made his way through the front doors, and into the cafeteria. He sat there with the other parents who were there to pick their students up--waiting for them to be dismissed.
When Olivia's third grade class came into the cafeteria, she ran over to her father, and gave him a big hug around his legs. They both smiled and laughed, and made their way to the car.
They pulled out of the school parking lot, and James began the twenty minute drive home. As he was crossing the intersection of 18th and Potomac, a large SUV crashed into their car.
James woke up several days later from a coma. His wife Abby was at his side. Immediatly, James asked where Olivia was. Tears streamed down Abby's face, as she told him what happened.
After a few days more in the hospital, James was allowed to go home. There, he and Abby arranged for the funeral of their daughter. She was buried on Sunday, with all of their family and friends in attendance.
Once the funeral was finished, and their friends were gone, Abby and James' marriage began to degrade. James turned to the bottle and cocaine in an attempt to console himself. One day, during their third fight about nothing of consequence, Abby yelled at him, saying that she wished he had died that day, and not Olivia.
Drunk, and high on cocaine, James became violent. He began to hit Abby with his beer bottle--beating her. After a while, she stopped screaming, stopped fighting back, stopped everything.
The police arrived the next morning to find James still standing over Abby's body, a blank expression on his face. He was arrested, and convicted of voluntary manslaughter. The jury was unsypathetic, and gave him the maximum sentence of ten years.
Finally, just over ten years after he killed his wife, James was released from prison. He had nothing. He had no money left, and no job. The bank had taken his home, and none of his friends or family were willing to talk to him. Many men would have given up hope, but not James. James felt guilty for what he had done. He felt guilty for killing Abby, and for surviving the accident that claimed his daughter's life. So James decided that he had to suffer--living with the knowledge of what he had done. He lived on the streets for nearly a year, but eventually, he found a job. After a while, he was able to move into an appartment. Every day though, no matter what the weather was, or what was going on, James always went to the cemetary where his wife and daughter were buried. Every day, he would go, pray, and beg forgiveness from God, and from them.
It was on the Twentieth of January--a Tuesday afternoon--when it happened. James had just gotten off work, and he made his way to the cemetary. Walking up to Abby and Olivia's graves, he saw that something had damaged Olivia's, causing a break in the marble that cut her name in two. Upon seeing this, James ran. He ran right past his car, and down the street. He ran and ran and ran, until he could run no more, stopping on a bridge to catch his breathe. After composing himself, James glanced over the railing.
The police came too late, arriving to find his body broken below the bridge.
James pulled his Honda into the elementary school parking lot, and made his way through the front doors, and into the cafeteria. He sat there with the other parents who were there to pick their students up--waiting for them to be dismissed.
When Olivia's third grade class came into the cafeteria, she ran over to her father, and gave him a big hug around his legs. They both smiled and laughed, and made their way to the car.
They pulled out of the school parking lot, and James began the twenty minute drive home. As he was crossing the intersection of 18th and Potomac, a large SUV crashed into their car.
James woke up several days later from a coma. His wife Abby was at his side. Immediatly, James asked where Olivia was. Tears streamed down Abby's face, as she told him what happened.
After a few days more in the hospital, James was allowed to go home. There, he and Abby arranged for the funeral of their daughter. She was buried on Sunday, with all of their family and friends in attendance.
Once the funeral was finished, and their friends were gone, Abby and James' marriage began to degrade. James turned to the bottle and cocaine in an attempt to console himself. One day, during their third fight about nothing of consequence, Abby yelled at him, saying that she wished he had died that day, and not Olivia.
Drunk, and high on cocaine, James became violent. He began to hit Abby with his beer bottle--beating her. After a while, she stopped screaming, stopped fighting back, stopped everything.
The police arrived the next morning to find James still standing over Abby's body, a blank expression on his face. He was arrested, and convicted of voluntary manslaughter. The jury was unsypathetic, and gave him the maximum sentence of ten years.
Finally, just over ten years after he killed his wife, James was released from prison. He had nothing. He had no money left, and no job. The bank had taken his home, and none of his friends or family were willing to talk to him. Many men would have given up hope, but not James. James felt guilty for what he had done. He felt guilty for killing Abby, and for surviving the accident that claimed his daughter's life. So James decided that he had to suffer--living with the knowledge of what he had done. He lived on the streets for nearly a year, but eventually, he found a job. After a while, he was able to move into an appartment. Every day though, no matter what the weather was, or what was going on, James always went to the cemetary where his wife and daughter were buried. Every day, he would go, pray, and beg forgiveness from God, and from them.
It was on the Twentieth of January--a Tuesday afternoon--when it happened. James had just gotten off work, and he made his way to the cemetary. Walking up to Abby and Olivia's graves, he saw that something had damaged Olivia's, causing a break in the marble that cut her name in two. Upon seeing this, James ran. He ran right past his car, and down the street. He ran and ran and ran, until he could run no more, stopping on a bridge to catch his breathe. After composing himself, James glanced over the railing.
The police came too late, arriving to find his body broken below the bridge.
Wednesday, May 13, 2015
Green Eggs and Ham?
It was Boxing Day, and the denizens of Whoville were busily running to and fro, returning unwanted gifts from relatives who knew them not. It was on this festive day that Sam I-Am came into town. Sam I-Am was a hunter of exotic and big game animals, and had come to Whoville to inquire about local wildlife.
Sam-I-Am came into Whoville with a long, brown hunting rifle strapped to his back, and buckskin boots. He went to the town hall, and gained an audience with the mayor. For those who may be skeptical that the mayor of a town as great as Whoville would meet with a random traveler, I would remind you of the size of the town—it was, after all, quite small.
So Sam-I-Am asked the Mayor, “What is there to hunt in these parts? I am an exotic and big game hunter. Right now, I am looking for the perfect meat to go along with the green eggs that I have found.”
“Exotic game? Well, I don't think that you will be able to find any of that around these parts,” Said the Mayor. “However, there is some decent sized game over by the mountain. Perhaps you will find what you are looking for there?”
And so Sam thanked the Mayor for his help, and he set off for the mountain. After spending many days and nights camping, waiting for something to shoot, he finally saw what he was waiting for. A large, man-sized green beast way walking down the mountain. Not believing his luck at finding such an exotic animal, Sam-I-Am shot the beast right in the head, so as not to lose any of its meat. After killing the beast, Sam-I-Am brought it back to his camp, where he proceeded to skin it.
The next day, Sam took the meat—green just like his eggs—back down to Whoville, where he began to sell what he called the Green Eggs and Ham dish. It sold very well, and by the time Sam-I-Am as ready to move on, he made quite a bit of money.
To the dismay of the town, they were never able to introduce the Grinch to Sam-I-Am, who remarked that he would have loved to have discussed hunting and other such ventures with.
Sam-I-Am came into Whoville with a long, brown hunting rifle strapped to his back, and buckskin boots. He went to the town hall, and gained an audience with the mayor. For those who may be skeptical that the mayor of a town as great as Whoville would meet with a random traveler, I would remind you of the size of the town—it was, after all, quite small.
So Sam-I-Am asked the Mayor, “What is there to hunt in these parts? I am an exotic and big game hunter. Right now, I am looking for the perfect meat to go along with the green eggs that I have found.”
“Exotic game? Well, I don't think that you will be able to find any of that around these parts,” Said the Mayor. “However, there is some decent sized game over by the mountain. Perhaps you will find what you are looking for there?”
And so Sam thanked the Mayor for his help, and he set off for the mountain. After spending many days and nights camping, waiting for something to shoot, he finally saw what he was waiting for. A large, man-sized green beast way walking down the mountain. Not believing his luck at finding such an exotic animal, Sam-I-Am shot the beast right in the head, so as not to lose any of its meat. After killing the beast, Sam-I-Am brought it back to his camp, where he proceeded to skin it.
The next day, Sam took the meat—green just like his eggs—back down to Whoville, where he began to sell what he called the Green Eggs and Ham dish. It sold very well, and by the time Sam-I-Am as ready to move on, he made quite a bit of money.
To the dismay of the town, they were never able to introduce the Grinch to Sam-I-Am, who remarked that he would have loved to have discussed hunting and other such ventures with.
Monday, May 4, 2015
The Zagretti Job
Hades,
What the Hell happened to the payment for the Zagretti job? I busted my ass to kill that kid, damn it. When is Zues going to cough up?
–Aries
Aries,
I talked to Hermes. He said that Zues can't be reached until after the Romans are off his back. Told me to tell you to use the Carthage Safehouse until he can meet. Probably gonna be in a week or two. And let me remind you Aries that it was ME who got shot in the Zagretti job. Just because you had to wade through the sewers doesn't mean that you busted your fucking ass. See you in Tunis.
–Hades
Hades,
Where the fuck where you? I went to Carthage, and you weren't there. Worse, there where a whole bunch of fucking Romans! I thought we was in this mess together.
–Aries
Aries,
Carthage has been compromised. Zues was taken by the Romans. Hercules is in charge now. I'm not sure who sold Zues out, but we'll find the bastard. Relocated to the Gaul Safehouse.
–Hades
Hades,
I'm not going anywhere until I know who screwed us over, and not until I get fucking paid. Tell Hermes that if he doesn't get Hecules to cough up, I'm walking, and talking my memories with me.
–Aries
Aries,
Your lucky that I didn't put a hit out on you myself. It's a good thing that I'm friends with Aphrodite... well, Persephonie is. Anyway, I can't tell Hermes that because he's dead. Midas got a tip that he was the one who flipped on Zues. Hercules killed him himself. Just sit tight, okay? We've gotta figure out whose filling his shoes. Besides, you don't wanna see Hercules pissed. I worked with him once on a bank job, and there wasn't a recognizable race for the Romans to identify.
–Hades
Hades,
Alright, fine. But hurry up.
–Aries
Aries,
There has been a coup at Olympus. Hecules is in exile. A usurper has taken charge... and your not gonna like who. Turns out Midas was the mole. He ratted out Zues to put Hercules in power, because he knew he had the support to overthrow him. He gave us Hermes to get us off his trail. You can kiss you payment goodbye Aries. Try to get out with your life.
–Hades
Hades,
I made it safely out of Chicago. I am now hiding out in Yggdrasil, with the Norse Family. Turns out, they were in need of a monkey man. My name is no longer Aries. They have rebranded me as Ullr. It comes from Old Norse. It means “glory” or something like that. There's an extra spot here if you want it. I would be happy seeing you again, old friend.
–Ullr
What the Hell happened to the payment for the Zagretti job? I busted my ass to kill that kid, damn it. When is Zues going to cough up?
–Aries
Aries,
I talked to Hermes. He said that Zues can't be reached until after the Romans are off his back. Told me to tell you to use the Carthage Safehouse until he can meet. Probably gonna be in a week or two. And let me remind you Aries that it was ME who got shot in the Zagretti job. Just because you had to wade through the sewers doesn't mean that you busted your fucking ass. See you in Tunis.
–Hades
Hades,
Where the fuck where you? I went to Carthage, and you weren't there. Worse, there where a whole bunch of fucking Romans! I thought we was in this mess together.
–Aries
Aries,
Carthage has been compromised. Zues was taken by the Romans. Hercules is in charge now. I'm not sure who sold Zues out, but we'll find the bastard. Relocated to the Gaul Safehouse.
–Hades
Hades,
I'm not going anywhere until I know who screwed us over, and not until I get fucking paid. Tell Hermes that if he doesn't get Hecules to cough up, I'm walking, and talking my memories with me.
–Aries
Aries,
Your lucky that I didn't put a hit out on you myself. It's a good thing that I'm friends with Aphrodite... well, Persephonie is. Anyway, I can't tell Hermes that because he's dead. Midas got a tip that he was the one who flipped on Zues. Hercules killed him himself. Just sit tight, okay? We've gotta figure out whose filling his shoes. Besides, you don't wanna see Hercules pissed. I worked with him once on a bank job, and there wasn't a recognizable race for the Romans to identify.
–Hades
Hades,
Alright, fine. But hurry up.
–Aries
Aries,
There has been a coup at Olympus. Hecules is in exile. A usurper has taken charge... and your not gonna like who. Turns out Midas was the mole. He ratted out Zues to put Hercules in power, because he knew he had the support to overthrow him. He gave us Hermes to get us off his trail. You can kiss you payment goodbye Aries. Try to get out with your life.
–Hades
Hades,
I made it safely out of Chicago. I am now hiding out in Yggdrasil, with the Norse Family. Turns out, they were in need of a monkey man. My name is no longer Aries. They have rebranded me as Ullr. It comes from Old Norse. It means “glory” or something like that. There's an extra spot here if you want it. I would be happy seeing you again, old friend.
–Ullr
Thursday, April 30, 2015
This Is Your Final Notice
"THIS IS YOUR FINAL NOTICE.YOU. ARE TO VACATE THE PREMISES BY NOON TOMORROW. FAILURE TO COMPLY WILL RESULT IN FORCIBLE REMOVAL."
She sets down the notice, placing it beside the others.
"Ms. Turner: It has come to my attention that you are late on your monthly rent. Please enclose in a sealed envelope a check to the sum of $1000."
"Ms. Turner: For several months you have failed to submit your rent check. If payment is not made, I will be forced to evict you."
"NOTICE OF EVICTION: DUE TO YOUR FAILURE TO MAKE PAYMENT TO YOUR RENT, YOU ARE HEREBY ORDERED TO VACATE THE PREMISES BY THE 3OTH OF MARCH."
She stares at the notices for a moment, tears running down her face.
A knock comes from the door.
"Helen Turner? Open up. Police."
She sets down the notice, placing it beside the others.
"Ms. Turner: It has come to my attention that you are late on your monthly rent. Please enclose in a sealed envelope a check to the sum of $1000."
"Ms. Turner: For several months you have failed to submit your rent check. If payment is not made, I will be forced to evict you."
"NOTICE OF EVICTION: DUE TO YOUR FAILURE TO MAKE PAYMENT TO YOUR RENT, YOU ARE HEREBY ORDERED TO VACATE THE PREMISES BY THE 3OTH OF MARCH."
She stares at the notices for a moment, tears running down her face.
A knock comes from the door.
"Helen Turner? Open up. Police."
Tuesday, April 28, 2015
Sunday, April 26, 2015
Friday, April 24, 2015
A Vegas Rendezvous
"Rachel? Rachel Carter?"
"John Kero? What are you doing here?"
"Well, I just got married. Her name is Steph."
"A Vegas wedding? I never took you as the type, John."
"Well... we eloped. After we split up... well my family hasn't really approved of anyone else."
"But that was after we graduated high school! That was seven years ago John!"
"Yeah, but you've met my mother."
"Good point."
"So what are you doing here Rachel? Celebrating putting another sleezeball behind bars?"
"No, actually. I... um... I just got married as well. His name is Tom."
"Wow! Congratulations! Gosh, what are the odds?"
"I know!"
"So... um... what are you doing here alone at the bar?"
"Well... I... I just needed to be by myself for a little bit, you know?"
"Yeah... same here."
"So, how have you been?"
"Good. Good."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. You?"
"I've been good."
"Good."
"Say... do you want to... go get a room or something, and catch up?"
"That would be nice..."
"Cool, come on, let's go."
"Wait... John, what are we doing right now?
"We're going to go catch up."
"No John, what are we really doing?"
"We're going to catch up Rachel."
"No, we're not. Goodnight John. It was nice to see you again. Congratulation about Steph."
"John Kero? What are you doing here?"
"Well, I just got married. Her name is Steph."
"A Vegas wedding? I never took you as the type, John."
"Well... we eloped. After we split up... well my family hasn't really approved of anyone else."
"But that was after we graduated high school! That was seven years ago John!"
"Yeah, but you've met my mother."
"Good point."
"So what are you doing here Rachel? Celebrating putting another sleezeball behind bars?"
"No, actually. I... um... I just got married as well. His name is Tom."
"Wow! Congratulations! Gosh, what are the odds?"
"I know!"
"So... um... what are you doing here alone at the bar?"
"Well... I... I just needed to be by myself for a little bit, you know?"
"Yeah... same here."
"So, how have you been?"
"Good. Good."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. You?"
"I've been good."
"Good."
"Say... do you want to... go get a room or something, and catch up?"
"That would be nice..."
"Cool, come on, let's go."
"Wait... John, what are we doing right now?
"We're going to go catch up."
"No John, what are we really doing?"
"We're going to catch up Rachel."
"No, we're not. Goodnight John. It was nice to see you again. Congratulation about Steph."
Thursday, April 23, 2015
The Boy and His Blocks
A little boy sits on a hard oak floor playing with wooden blocks and plastic cars. His mother and father stand in the next room, arguing and crying. After a short time, the father walks out of the house, a stack of signed papers in hand. Soon after, the boy gets up to see his mother in the kitchen, asking her for food. She tells him to go back to playing, and that she will bring him something in a moment. She goes over to the cupboard and opens it, revealing bare shelves, save for a loaf of bread. Then, she goes to the refrigerator, grabbing the only thing that it had--a stick of margarine. Choking back tears, she forces herself to smile as she brings toast out to her son.
Tuesday, April 21, 2015
De Septem Cathedras Imperialis Potentia
This is either the prologue to a much larger story, or a story unto itself. I am not sure what I am going to do with it quite yet.
The human race has created many things, many great and terrible things. The Pyramids of Giza and the Great Wall of China, created via slave labor. So many lives lost, just to showcase the power of the ruling class. But what kept the ruling class in power, besides military might? Religion, some argue. Charisma, others say. Perhaps the fact that the general population is easy to fool. These all were factors in how those in power were able to keep control, but there is another, hidden explanation. De Septem Cathedras Imperialis Potentia, or The Seven Seats of Imperial Power, were seven chairs created by the Caesar Marcus Aurelius Antoninus Augustus, the sixteenth Emperor of Rome. Marcus Aurelius is well known as one of the greatest Roman Emperors, and was considered a philosopher king. During his war with the various Germanic tribes and the Sarmatians, Aurelius discovered an enormous tree, in what is now the Bohemian region of the Czech Republic.
The tree in question was colossal, a yew. According to secret journals of Aurelius, the Germans believed that the tree was planted by the goddess Thrud, granddaughter of Wodan. They believed that whoever controlled the tree had the favor of the gods. Marcus Aurelius, upon slaughtering the Germans, he ordered the tree to felled, and brought back to Rome. There, he had his master artisans create the Seven Seats of Imperial Power. Each chair was was crafted in the image of the six most powerful gods of the Roman Pantheon―Jupiter, Minerva, Apollo, Venus, Mars, and Neptune. The seventh chair was crafted with the image of the Caesar in mind.
Upon the completion of the chairs, Marcus Aurelius had them put away in a hidden cache in the Alps, except of course, the chair that was crafted in the likeness of the Caesar. This chair, the First Seat of Imperial Power, would be passed on down the line of Emperors until the fracture of the Empire. It would then be taken to Constantinople. There it remained, to be used by the Byzantines Basileis, and Ottoman Sultans, until the first World War, when it was taken by the British. They then took it to India to help cement their power there. Unfortunately, it was lost during the independence movement, and the new Indian government gained control of it.
The remaining six chairs would stay hidden within their cache in the Alps for several centuries, until Pepin the Younger, King of the Franks, discovered them shortly before his death. The chairs were willed to his son Charlemagne, who would form the Holy Roman Empire. Charlemagne chose to distribute the chairs to his chief advisers, giving one to Viceroys of Neustria, Austria, Aquitaine, Lombardia, and one to Pope Leo III, in return for his crowning of Charlemagne as the Holy Roman Emperor. Charlemagne decided to keep one of the chairs for himself at the Imperial Capital of Aachen.
For many centuries, the chairs remained dormant, not surfacing during the time of the Karlings, or the first few crusades. The chair given to Pope Leo III―the Fourth Seat of Power―remained within the walls of the Vatican, and is currently occupied by Pope Francis. Much like the First Chair of Power, it moved very little.
The chair granted to the Viceroy of Lombardia―The Third Seat of Power―has a more bloody history. It remained in Lombardia for several centuries, and its power was forgotten by almost all. So, in a gesture of good faith, the Duke of Milan gave it to the Holy Roman Emperor Fredrick III von Hasburg, the first of the Hasburgian Emperors. Fredrick knew of the power that the chair possessed, as Hasburgs held the Sixth Seat of Power. In an attempt to improve their diplomatic reputation, and their relations with the newly formed Spain, Fredrick gifted the Third Chair of Power to Isabella I of Castile, and her husband Ferdinand II of Aragon. The chair was used by the Spanish to fuel their conquest of the New World. It was at one point sent to the new world, to provide more power for the regional governors. It was seized by the Americans during the Spanish-American War. It was brought to Japan after WWII, and was gifted to them after the withdrawal of American troops. The Sixth Seat of Power, the one held by the Hasburgs, was the same that was granted by Charlemagne to the Viceroy of Austria. The Hasburgs would use the power of this chair to secure the Holy Roman Empire for the five centuries, eventually gaining control of the crowns of Bohemia, Germany, Hungary, and Bavaria, and beyond. The chair would be taken by the British during WWI, and taken to Hong Kong to secure British trade dominance. Shortly before the British were to return Hong Kong, they made plans to bring the chair back to England. Their plan did not see fruition though, as Chinese agents intercepted the shipment. The chair now resides within The Great Hall of the People in Bejing.
Charlemagne's chair, the Second Seat of Power, would pass through many hands over time. It stayed in northern Germany though, and it was utilized by the Fredrick the Great when he formed Prussia, and the First Reich. The chair stayed in the hands of the Germans through World War II, when it was taken to Moscow by Stalin. It remains within Kremlin, and is currently held by Vladimir Putin.
The Seventh Seat of Power was granted by Charlemagne to the Viceroy of Neustria. The chair would remain in the region for quite some time, finding its home in what is now known as Normandy. The seat eventually ended up in the hands of William the Bastard, Duke of Normandy. It was through the Seventh Seat's power that William was able to take England, becoming William the Conqueror. The chair remains within Britain. The exact location of the chair is uncertain though, as during the London air raids in World War II, Prime Minister Churchill had it moved to a protected, undisclosed location.
The fifth one ended up in France. The Fifth Seat of Power was granted by Charlemagne to the Viceroy of Aquitaine, which was his son, Louis the Pious. The chair was passed on to his son Charles the Bald, and his son Louis the Stammerer. It would be passed back and forth between the rulers of the Kingdoms of Aquitaine and West Francia until their eventual union, with the formation of the Kingdom of France. It was during the the reign of King Louis XVI that the Fifth Seat of Power finally was moved again. Louis XVI, facing massive internal strife, and being good friends of the Americans, gifted the chair to General Washington. Washington used it to win the Revolutionary War, and it was passed from that point on from president to president, and is currently held by President Obama.
That is the story of De Septem Cathedras Imperialis Potentia; The Seven Seats of Imperial Power. Crafted from a yew sacred to the Germanic tribes of Bohemia by Caesar Marcus Aurelius, the chairs were used by the rulers of nearly every major Western power after. From the German Kaisers to Spanish Kings and from the Austrian Archdukes to the American Presidents, the chairs were used by those in power to rule over their citizens, and to expand their spheres of influence across the globe.
―Special Thanks to Chris Van Allsburg, Whose Picture Inspired This Story. And to Ms. Jan Priddy, Who Gave Me The Assignment That Prompted This Story.
De Septem Cathedras Imperialis Potentia
The human race has created many things, many great and terrible things. The Pyramids of Giza and the Great Wall of China, created via slave labor. So many lives lost, just to showcase the power of the ruling class. But what kept the ruling class in power, besides military might? Religion, some argue. Charisma, others say. Perhaps the fact that the general population is easy to fool. These all were factors in how those in power were able to keep control, but there is another, hidden explanation. De Septem Cathedras Imperialis Potentia, or The Seven Seats of Imperial Power, were seven chairs created by the Caesar Marcus Aurelius Antoninus Augustus, the sixteenth Emperor of Rome. Marcus Aurelius is well known as one of the greatest Roman Emperors, and was considered a philosopher king. During his war with the various Germanic tribes and the Sarmatians, Aurelius discovered an enormous tree, in what is now the Bohemian region of the Czech Republic.
The tree in question was colossal, a yew. According to secret journals of Aurelius, the Germans believed that the tree was planted by the goddess Thrud, granddaughter of Wodan. They believed that whoever controlled the tree had the favor of the gods. Marcus Aurelius, upon slaughtering the Germans, he ordered the tree to felled, and brought back to Rome. There, he had his master artisans create the Seven Seats of Imperial Power. Each chair was was crafted in the image of the six most powerful gods of the Roman Pantheon―Jupiter, Minerva, Apollo, Venus, Mars, and Neptune. The seventh chair was crafted with the image of the Caesar in mind.
Upon the completion of the chairs, Marcus Aurelius had them put away in a hidden cache in the Alps, except of course, the chair that was crafted in the likeness of the Caesar. This chair, the First Seat of Imperial Power, would be passed on down the line of Emperors until the fracture of the Empire. It would then be taken to Constantinople. There it remained, to be used by the Byzantines Basileis, and Ottoman Sultans, until the first World War, when it was taken by the British. They then took it to India to help cement their power there. Unfortunately, it was lost during the independence movement, and the new Indian government gained control of it.
The remaining six chairs would stay hidden within their cache in the Alps for several centuries, until Pepin the Younger, King of the Franks, discovered them shortly before his death. The chairs were willed to his son Charlemagne, who would form the Holy Roman Empire. Charlemagne chose to distribute the chairs to his chief advisers, giving one to Viceroys of Neustria, Austria, Aquitaine, Lombardia, and one to Pope Leo III, in return for his crowning of Charlemagne as the Holy Roman Emperor. Charlemagne decided to keep one of the chairs for himself at the Imperial Capital of Aachen.
For many centuries, the chairs remained dormant, not surfacing during the time of the Karlings, or the first few crusades. The chair given to Pope Leo III―the Fourth Seat of Power―remained within the walls of the Vatican, and is currently occupied by Pope Francis. Much like the First Chair of Power, it moved very little.
The chair granted to the Viceroy of Lombardia―The Third Seat of Power―has a more bloody history. It remained in Lombardia for several centuries, and its power was forgotten by almost all. So, in a gesture of good faith, the Duke of Milan gave it to the Holy Roman Emperor Fredrick III von Hasburg, the first of the Hasburgian Emperors. Fredrick knew of the power that the chair possessed, as Hasburgs held the Sixth Seat of Power. In an attempt to improve their diplomatic reputation, and their relations with the newly formed Spain, Fredrick gifted the Third Chair of Power to Isabella I of Castile, and her husband Ferdinand II of Aragon. The chair was used by the Spanish to fuel their conquest of the New World. It was at one point sent to the new world, to provide more power for the regional governors. It was seized by the Americans during the Spanish-American War. It was brought to Japan after WWII, and was gifted to them after the withdrawal of American troops. The Sixth Seat of Power, the one held by the Hasburgs, was the same that was granted by Charlemagne to the Viceroy of Austria. The Hasburgs would use the power of this chair to secure the Holy Roman Empire for the five centuries, eventually gaining control of the crowns of Bohemia, Germany, Hungary, and Bavaria, and beyond. The chair would be taken by the British during WWI, and taken to Hong Kong to secure British trade dominance. Shortly before the British were to return Hong Kong, they made plans to bring the chair back to England. Their plan did not see fruition though, as Chinese agents intercepted the shipment. The chair now resides within The Great Hall of the People in Bejing.
Charlemagne's chair, the Second Seat of Power, would pass through many hands over time. It stayed in northern Germany though, and it was utilized by the Fredrick the Great when he formed Prussia, and the First Reich. The chair stayed in the hands of the Germans through World War II, when it was taken to Moscow by Stalin. It remains within Kremlin, and is currently held by Vladimir Putin.
The Seventh Seat of Power was granted by Charlemagne to the Viceroy of Neustria. The chair would remain in the region for quite some time, finding its home in what is now known as Normandy. The seat eventually ended up in the hands of William the Bastard, Duke of Normandy. It was through the Seventh Seat's power that William was able to take England, becoming William the Conqueror. The chair remains within Britain. The exact location of the chair is uncertain though, as during the London air raids in World War II, Prime Minister Churchill had it moved to a protected, undisclosed location.
The fifth one ended up in France. The Fifth Seat of Power was granted by Charlemagne to the Viceroy of Aquitaine, which was his son, Louis the Pious. The chair was passed on to his son Charles the Bald, and his son Louis the Stammerer. It would be passed back and forth between the rulers of the Kingdoms of Aquitaine and West Francia until their eventual union, with the formation of the Kingdom of France. It was during the the reign of King Louis XVI that the Fifth Seat of Power finally was moved again. Louis XVI, facing massive internal strife, and being good friends of the Americans, gifted the chair to General Washington. Washington used it to win the Revolutionary War, and it was passed from that point on from president to president, and is currently held by President Obama.
That is the story of De Septem Cathedras Imperialis Potentia; The Seven Seats of Imperial Power. Crafted from a yew sacred to the Germanic tribes of Bohemia by Caesar Marcus Aurelius, the chairs were used by the rulers of nearly every major Western power after. From the German Kaisers to Spanish Kings and from the Austrian Archdukes to the American Presidents, the chairs were used by those in power to rule over their citizens, and to expand their spheres of influence across the globe.
―Special Thanks to Chris Van Allsburg, Whose Picture Inspired This Story. And to Ms. Jan Priddy, Who Gave Me The Assignment That Prompted This Story.
Friday, April 17, 2015
Telling a Story Through Setting OR Showing, Not Telling
Here is an assignment I recently received that focused on telling a story by showing, not telling. The goal was to do it in a paragraph or less. The three stories were as follows.
1. The story of a Civil War soldier.
2. Someone landing on Mars.
3. Someone getting accepted to the school she wanted to go to.
Here is what I wrote. I challenge you to do the same, and if want, to leave them in the comments below.
1. Two large armies meet on the field of battle. An army of blue, and one of gray. Albert crouches behind the makeshift battlement his army had constructed, firing his rifle at the horde of enemy troops.
2. Galileo 5's RCS thrusters gently set it down on the barren, red soil. Its hatch opened, and Jerome stepped out in his skin-tight space suit.
3. She reached into her mailbox, thumbing through assorted bills and advertisements. She threw them down onto her desk, and they scattered themselves out, revealing one with a Harvard letterhead. Slowly, a smile crept across her face. .
1. The story of a Civil War soldier.
2. Someone landing on Mars.
3. Someone getting accepted to the school she wanted to go to.
Here is what I wrote. I challenge you to do the same, and if want, to leave them in the comments below.
1. Two large armies meet on the field of battle. An army of blue, and one of gray. Albert crouches behind the makeshift battlement his army had constructed, firing his rifle at the horde of enemy troops.
2. Galileo 5's RCS thrusters gently set it down on the barren, red soil. Its hatch opened, and Jerome stepped out in his skin-tight space suit.
3. She reached into her mailbox, thumbing through assorted bills and advertisements. She threw them down onto her desk, and they scattered themselves out, revealing one with a Harvard letterhead. Slowly, a smile crept across her face. .
Thursday, April 16, 2015
Just Another Day
She grabs a bright red apple, and sets it down gently onto an opaque cutting board. Holding it in place with her right index finger, she slices through the fruit with a cold, stainless steel blade. Slowly, she takes the two symmetric halves, and sets them beside each other. She then proceeds to turn each half into quarters, and the quarters into eighths. Now finished, she walks over to the sink and cleans the blade with her hands. As she finishes this, she punctures her finger with the tip of the knife, sucking the small globules of blood that spew forth.
Sunday, April 5, 2015
The Eyes of the Orchid
It stared at him. He didn't quite know how, but it was staring at him. It didn't have any eyes, nor did it have ears to hear that he was coming, or a nose to smell him. Yet there it was, staring at him, the orchid. It was just sitting there in its pot, soaking in rays from the sun—staring at him. It had three main budding flowers, pure white that looked as soft as snow. The center of the flowers was a light—but rich—violet. Those three violet centers served as its eyes, staring him down, making him question his purpose. The more that he stared at it, the more he became unnerved. It felt like it was getting closer to him, this most sinister orchid. It made him feel claustrophobic within the large open room that he had all to himself.
The more that he looked around, the more he realized that it was not just the white-violet orchid that was looking at him. Right next to it was a green, shrub-like plant. It too was watching him. The goldfish in the tank were watching him. The dragonfly sculpture above was watching him. The painting of sunflowers on the wall, the man on his coffee mug, the door picture of his family. They were all watching him. He started to hyperventilate. The world seemed to be closing in around him. The room was getting smaller and smaller. The hairs on his head stood on end, and he began to shake uncontrollably. Then, there came a knocking on the door.
It was as though someone had shined a light into the depths of a very dark cave. He saw this beacon of hope, and strode toward it, jumping out of his chair, and away from the eyes that watched him. He glanced over his shoulder on his way to the door, still nervous. But everything was returning to normal again, the room back to its normal size. He stopped shaking, and his breathing calmed. He stopped for a brief moment before the door, closing his eyes, and taking a deep breathe. Then, he opened the door, smiling.
The more that he looked around, the more he realized that it was not just the white-violet orchid that was looking at him. Right next to it was a green, shrub-like plant. It too was watching him. The goldfish in the tank were watching him. The dragonfly sculpture above was watching him. The painting of sunflowers on the wall, the man on his coffee mug, the door picture of his family. They were all watching him. He started to hyperventilate. The world seemed to be closing in around him. The room was getting smaller and smaller. The hairs on his head stood on end, and he began to shake uncontrollably. Then, there came a knocking on the door.
It was as though someone had shined a light into the depths of a very dark cave. He saw this beacon of hope, and strode toward it, jumping out of his chair, and away from the eyes that watched him. He glanced over his shoulder on his way to the door, still nervous. But everything was returning to normal again, the room back to its normal size. He stopped shaking, and his breathing calmed. He stopped for a brief moment before the door, closing his eyes, and taking a deep breathe. Then, he opened the door, smiling.
Monday, March 16, 2015
The Old Man on the Hill
On desolate hill above a small town there stands a house. It is old and disheveled, with shingles missing from the roof, and the white paint is faded. As one approaches the house, they must first walk up a paved stoned path, made of river-rock taken from a small creek several miles west. The path is not completely even, though it is even enough to not cause trouble for the inhabitant of the house. There is no road connection to the small, lonely building, as the owner never cared for the hustle and bustle of the post-war society. No, he preferred instead to use the legs his maker had given him, taking a pleasant half-mile or so walk down to the town below.
Once one is on the stone path, and at the top of the hill, they come across a waist high dry stone wall, with a plain brown picket fence style gate. Past the gate, there is a space for a large garden, one that has not existed for some time. Now all that remains is a jungle of dandelions and chickweed and clovers. In the tangle of green lie patches of yellow celandine and white daisies. Slow worms can be seen slithering in the high grass, though they keep to themselves.
Once one is through the garden, one will find themselves at the front door of the house. Upon rapping on the door with a small brass knocker, one will find themselves facing an old man wearing a tan woolen sweater with gray tweed pants and jacket. He is hunched over slightly, and in his left hand is a dark-stained birch derby cane. He smiles warmly, crooked, yellow teeth visible. He has thin, wire-framed glasses over his kind blue eyes. His name is Thomas Evans, and this is the story of his end.
It was a warm summer's afternoon when it happened. The sun was nearing the end of its arc through the sky, as Apollo prepared to end his day of labour. Warblers and larks could be heard chirping away happily, minding their own business. In his house, Thomas Evans is making tea. He takes his pot of boiling water off of the stove, and begins to pour it into a small teacup. A sharp pain in the chest strikes Thomas, and he sets the pot down. He stands there, doubled over in his kitchen, clutching his chest. Then, there comes a series of raps at the door.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Still hunched over, Thomas makes his way over to the front door, opening it. As he did, all of the lights in his house went out, like the flame of a candle blown out at night. At his door is a tall, skinny man dressed in an all black suit. His skin is pale, and the only color he has is a single red rose in the breast pocket of his jacket. He carries a candle lantern in one hand, and in the other he holds a black pocket-watch inlaid with gold in the shape of skull. On his shoulder is perched a jet-black raven, which calmly stares at Thomas.
“Who are you?”
“I am Michael.”
“How can I help you Michael?”
Michael grins, “Oh Thomas Evans, I am not here for your help. I am here to help you. Come, let us walk together.”
Thomas trusted this stranger, though he did not know why. He felt as if Michael was a good person, and that he meant no ill will. Closing his door, Thomas followed Michael into his garden, through the brown picket-fence like gate, and down the paved stone road. The trail made its way into a small wood that bordered the town below Thomas' house. They were about halfway down the trail when Michael turned onto a dirt path, one that Thomas had never seen before. But he followed the man in black anyway. There was just something about the man, something that compelled Thomas to follow him.
Finally, after many twists and turns, they came to a large stone wall at the wood's edge. The wall was of the same dry stone that he had at his home, though it was several heads taller than he. In the center of the wall was a large iron gate, which Michael opened. Beyond the gate was the blinding light of the sun. It was so bright that Thomas could not see beyond the wall. Michael gestured for him to continue. Bowing his head slightly, he thanked Michael, stepping into the light.
Several days later, when people in the town noticed that Thomas had not been down for a good while, a constable was dispatched to check on him. They found him lying on his kitchen floor, teapot fallen, its contents strewn over the floor. They tore down his home, replacing it with a cemetery, where they buried him. While they built a new road to service it, the city kept the old stone road. More often than not, you can still see the people of the town walking up the weathered stone road to visit the cemetery to this day, bringing flowers for the departed.
Once one is on the stone path, and at the top of the hill, they come across a waist high dry stone wall, with a plain brown picket fence style gate. Past the gate, there is a space for a large garden, one that has not existed for some time. Now all that remains is a jungle of dandelions and chickweed and clovers. In the tangle of green lie patches of yellow celandine and white daisies. Slow worms can be seen slithering in the high grass, though they keep to themselves.
Once one is through the garden, one will find themselves at the front door of the house. Upon rapping on the door with a small brass knocker, one will find themselves facing an old man wearing a tan woolen sweater with gray tweed pants and jacket. He is hunched over slightly, and in his left hand is a dark-stained birch derby cane. He smiles warmly, crooked, yellow teeth visible. He has thin, wire-framed glasses over his kind blue eyes. His name is Thomas Evans, and this is the story of his end.
* * *
It was a warm summer's afternoon when it happened. The sun was nearing the end of its arc through the sky, as Apollo prepared to end his day of labour. Warblers and larks could be heard chirping away happily, minding their own business. In his house, Thomas Evans is making tea. He takes his pot of boiling water off of the stove, and begins to pour it into a small teacup. A sharp pain in the chest strikes Thomas, and he sets the pot down. He stands there, doubled over in his kitchen, clutching his chest. Then, there comes a series of raps at the door.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Still hunched over, Thomas makes his way over to the front door, opening it. As he did, all of the lights in his house went out, like the flame of a candle blown out at night. At his door is a tall, skinny man dressed in an all black suit. His skin is pale, and the only color he has is a single red rose in the breast pocket of his jacket. He carries a candle lantern in one hand, and in the other he holds a black pocket-watch inlaid with gold in the shape of skull. On his shoulder is perched a jet-black raven, which calmly stares at Thomas.
“Who are you?”
“I am Michael.”
“How can I help you Michael?”
Michael grins, “Oh Thomas Evans, I am not here for your help. I am here to help you. Come, let us walk together.”
Thomas trusted this stranger, though he did not know why. He felt as if Michael was a good person, and that he meant no ill will. Closing his door, Thomas followed Michael into his garden, through the brown picket-fence like gate, and down the paved stone road. The trail made its way into a small wood that bordered the town below Thomas' house. They were about halfway down the trail when Michael turned onto a dirt path, one that Thomas had never seen before. But he followed the man in black anyway. There was just something about the man, something that compelled Thomas to follow him.
Finally, after many twists and turns, they came to a large stone wall at the wood's edge. The wall was of the same dry stone that he had at his home, though it was several heads taller than he. In the center of the wall was a large iron gate, which Michael opened. Beyond the gate was the blinding light of the sun. It was so bright that Thomas could not see beyond the wall. Michael gestured for him to continue. Bowing his head slightly, he thanked Michael, stepping into the light.
* * *
Several days later, when people in the town noticed that Thomas had not been down for a good while, a constable was dispatched to check on him. They found him lying on his kitchen floor, teapot fallen, its contents strewn over the floor. They tore down his home, replacing it with a cemetery, where they buried him. While they built a new road to service it, the city kept the old stone road. More often than not, you can still see the people of the town walking up the weathered stone road to visit the cemetery to this day, bringing flowers for the departed.
Sunday, March 15, 2015
The Perfect Girl
She was the perfect student. Well, almost perfect. She was senior class president and her class valedictorian. She was in calculus and physics and college level English. She was an athlete, the star of the softball field. In the Fall, She was a thespian, the lead of the Fall play. In the Winter, She put on her protective goggles and acted as lead engineer for her school's robotics team. She had been accepted to every university she had applied to, and had even earned a full ride from Stanford. It was clear to everyone that she was destined to go places.
That is because no one knew about her secret. You see, one night after a softball game, She was giving one of her teammates a ride home, and She decided to take a detour to a one-room, abandoned house on the edge of town. Both girls stepped out of the car—a yellow Volkswagen Bug. Her friend was reluctant at first, but she was an extremely persuasive person.
Once her friend was inside, She closed and locked the door. “So,” She said. “Why did you do it Haylee?”
“Do what?”
“Why did you make me look like a fool on the field?”
“What do you mean?” Fear creeping into her voice.
“You threw me the ball when I wasn't looking in the fourth inning, when we had two outs. How could you forget that?”
“It was just a mistake. I'm sure no one remembers. I mean, I didn't.”
She glared at her teammate, “I am sure there were scouts there. Besides, I noticed.”
“Okay, jeez. I'm sorry.”
“So am I Haylee, so am I,” She said, striking her in the head with a rusty pipe. Haylee dropped immediately to the floor, unconscious. She quickly went to the only furniture in the room, an armoire. She opened it, and grabbed a bottle of whiskey, putting it in Haylee's hand. Then she brought out a large kerosene lantern. She lit it, and then pushed it onto its side next to Haylee. Quickly, She left the house, and pulled away from the derelict shack.
Later, when they found the remains of Haylee in the ruins of the house, the police came to talk to Her. She told them that Haylee had asked Her to drop her off nearby the house, though She had no idea where Haylee was going to go. The police questioned her several times after, but in the end, they dropped their investigation into Her. The death of Haylee was ruled an accident, caused by a lantern being knocked over by the drunken girl.
That is because no one knew about her secret. You see, one night after a softball game, She was giving one of her teammates a ride home, and She decided to take a detour to a one-room, abandoned house on the edge of town. Both girls stepped out of the car—a yellow Volkswagen Bug. Her friend was reluctant at first, but she was an extremely persuasive person.
Once her friend was inside, She closed and locked the door. “So,” She said. “Why did you do it Haylee?”
“Do what?”
“Why did you make me look like a fool on the field?”
“What do you mean?” Fear creeping into her voice.
“You threw me the ball when I wasn't looking in the fourth inning, when we had two outs. How could you forget that?”
“It was just a mistake. I'm sure no one remembers. I mean, I didn't.”
She glared at her teammate, “I am sure there were scouts there. Besides, I noticed.”
“Okay, jeez. I'm sorry.”
“So am I Haylee, so am I,” She said, striking her in the head with a rusty pipe. Haylee dropped immediately to the floor, unconscious. She quickly went to the only furniture in the room, an armoire. She opened it, and grabbed a bottle of whiskey, putting it in Haylee's hand. Then she brought out a large kerosene lantern. She lit it, and then pushed it onto its side next to Haylee. Quickly, She left the house, and pulled away from the derelict shack.
Later, when they found the remains of Haylee in the ruins of the house, the police came to talk to Her. She told them that Haylee had asked Her to drop her off nearby the house, though She had no idea where Haylee was going to go. The police questioned her several times after, but in the end, they dropped their investigation into Her. The death of Haylee was ruled an accident, caused by a lantern being knocked over by the drunken girl.
Saturday, March 14, 2015
The Clearing
I walk out into the clearing. It is dark out now, though small flickering flames of swaying lanterns provide pockets of light throughout the meadow. I meander my way through the clumps of people, those lying on the ground, looking up to the heavens, admiring distant worlds. Those who stand, talking and laughing. Telling stories. And then those who make passionate love in the darkness, unashamed of what they are doing.
Finally, I find a nice patch of grass to sit down on, putting me into a circle of five strangers. Yet, we felt like we knew each other--like we were friends.
They welcome me into their group, and we talk about all sorts of things. We talk about ourselves, and what we do. We talk about the stars and the Earth and anything that comes across our minds. The peace pipe is offered, and we all partake in smoking the indica being shared. Soon, our minds are clouded by the tendrils of the cannabis. We find that we cannot stop laughing. We find that we are getting closer and closr to each other, until we are all lying together as one mass. Soon enough, we join the others who were making love in the dark, blowing out the flame of our lantern.
Finally, I find a nice patch of grass to sit down on, putting me into a circle of five strangers. Yet, we felt like we knew each other--like we were friends.
They welcome me into their group, and we talk about all sorts of things. We talk about ourselves, and what we do. We talk about the stars and the Earth and anything that comes across our minds. The peace pipe is offered, and we all partake in smoking the indica being shared. Soon, our minds are clouded by the tendrils of the cannabis. We find that we cannot stop laughing. We find that we are getting closer and closr to each other, until we are all lying together as one mass. Soon enough, we join the others who were making love in the dark, blowing out the flame of our lantern.
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