“The Flying Tearoom of Tally Furrowbrow” - (A Children’s Novel Treatment)

Tags: children's book, magic, Ragdoll, Saint Bernard

“The Fix” - Another Story From My Sleep

I love it when I’m just the camera in a dream, not the one the camera focuses on. It’s probably the closest I’ll ever get to lucid dreaming, and it’s usually indicative of a good mood the prior day. This one actually occurred to me about a month ago. The whole thing was pieced together over TWO sleep sessions. This one convinced me to - mayhap - compile my weird story dreams into an anthology of sorts. Still working out the kinks on that minor epiphany.

Apologies if the writing appears stream-of-consciousness-ish. It’s just a summary of events…and I was excited. I know, not much of an excuse.

A blind hacker/fixer who wears specially-affixed sunglasses for blueprint read-outs - named Tactile - moves to a new town and is introduced to the underground black market via an old friend, a big black guy named Tomb Eric Root.

At a makeshift club called “The Neutral Zone” he sets his sites on a woman who is a notorious street warrior and gang leader.

He asks said friend - now known as Tombs - to set up an introduction. Even though his friend informs him that the gal - Jeri Planck - hasn’t dated a man since she KILLED the last one.

(I.e. She’s only dates women.)

But before Tombs can even set up an intro, his lover and right-hand-man - a burly Asian named Min Yun - jumps HER gang in plain sight outside the club. Min - an excellent fighter - succeeds in killing her two male bodyguards, but is quickly dispatched by her. Barely left alive. When Tombs, Tactile and Min return to their boss - a guy named Quade Quake - they explain the failure. Quade takes Tombs aside. He explains that he never expected Min Yun to survive but is glad he did. However, Quade has to use him as an example. He gives Tombs an order:

“A finger should do. As a warning and a lesson.”

Tactile uses this as an opportunity to get in Quade’s good graces and offers his unique talents to dispatch Jeri Planck. Tombs and Tactile also leave to carry out Quade’s order, slicing off an index finger of Min Yun. They meant to accomplish this anonymously, but there was a mix-up. Tombs is found out. Said lover confronts him at The Neutral Zone that evening.. The club owner - Rue-B Lo-Fi - tells folks to clear the dance floor and erects a holographic boxing ring as a joke (on Tactile’s advice). Tombs wins the fight, and informs Min Yun that he and Tactile hatched a plan to leave Quade’s gang. He doesn’t care, seeking to kill Tombs for the missing finger. Tombs kills him instead.

In the ensuing brawl, Tactile makes his move on Jeri. Her three other female compatriots try to interfere any which way…but he cleverly dodges them…or outright parries a blow. However, instead of killing her, Tactile kisses her. She returns the affection, impressed that a man could get that close to her without dying. Tombs fight finishes. Tactile and Jeri are making out. Epilogue, Jeri replaces her two male bodyguards with Tumes and Tactile.

Tactile is approached by one of the three female members and she says, “You know, you still have to allow Jeri her women. In return, she’ll allow you men.”

Tactile explains, “Sorry, I like women.”

Girl: “Damn, you’re gonna have a problem there. So does she.”

Tags: cyberpunk, dream, romance

“Title Zero” - A Superhero Comic Synopsis

So, a friend of mine (Aaron) and I were yacking one day about potentially collaborating on a project; a superhero thing, no less. Like there aren’t enough of those. However, after our brainstorming conversation concluded, I set out to run some errands. The notion would NOT leave my head.

In the span of that drive, I plotted a few details down for how we would do one. Upon returning home, I spent the next three or four hours hammering ‘em out. This is the result:

TITLE ZERO SYNOPSIS:

The year 2001 was known as the birth of the “true millennium”. While the fears of the many subsided with the Y2K changeover, there were still those that awaited the successive year with equal parts fascination and fear. For an event was expected by some - an educated few - that could alter the destiny of humankind forever. Their reservations were correct.

For on January 1^st, 2001, the Rhea Cascade happened. A leyline singularity unlike any other; an energy surge of untold power. It didn’t happen in one area, but many. The strongest nexus of which surrounded the plot of land where the as-of-yet Pantheon High School was to be built. The government took notice of this and acted quickly. Referring to the top minds of the science and fringe science communities, a conclusion was reached.

Pantheon High would indeed be built, but not as any normal school. Rather, a Petri dish of sorts. Under the guise of a public school funded under a “Title Zero” government grant, students from all walks of life would populate it’s halls; children whose test scores indicated a potential for greatness. The government would see what would happen to them on a hotbed of metaphysical energy…and wait.

It did not take long. Although 75% of students were unaffected by the invisible “surge”, a quarter of them began exhibiting paranormal traits. The onset was subtle at first. Girl-A would get a top grade on an English test, even though she was a recent immigrant. Boy-C would run a full marathon on a meniscus tear. The top 1%, well, they went farther.

The Pentagon’s patience had paid off. Six students exhibited abilities only heard of in comic books, and better still…their powers were growing. The problem remained of what to do with the other 25%. Superpowered teens were unanimously considered a threat if left unchecked. By the end of June 2001, the Expulsion Directive was carried out.

While prolonged partial exposure to the Rhea energy opened the gate to newfound abilities, a concentrated pulse had the opposite effect. A student exposed would have their powers stripped. Problem nullified. However, once a student was torn from their newfound talents, a part of their very being was ripped from them as well. Some officials likened it to a spiritual lobotomy. Expelled students either fell into an incurable catatonia…or died.

The chosen six were put through a rigorous training regimen. Their identities were shrouded in secrecy. Official designation at Pantheon High was “En Passant”, or less formally; the Chess Team. Their codenames were the six player pieces on a chessboard; King, Queen, Rook, Knight, Bishop and Pawn. In one year’s time, they were ready for field work as military-sanctioned field operatives. That is…until the incident.

2009. No students have exhibited the same level of talents as the original En Passant group until now. These six - under the mentorship of a new Chessmaster - pick up the mantle their predecessors left behind. The difference is none of them know of the Expulsion Directive or the founding principles of the Title Zero program. Secondly, none of them can stand the sight of each other. And lastly…

They have the power within them to become gods on Earth.

If they don’t destroy it first.

CHARACTERS:

Professor James Laxis:

A former college professor with a doctorate in psychology, students often refer to this shifty, bearded - but amiable - man as Profo Laxis. Or Jimmy Hat. He is the Vice Principal of Pantheon High and the new Chessmaster for En Passant. Getting the new group together, however, has proven a rather daunting task. Luckily, he has a few tricks of his own, namely partial clairvoyance. He can see the future up to “ten steps ahead”, which allows him to plan for most eventualities.

Most.

His reason for taking up the mantle of Chessmaster, aside from his unique Rhea-influenced abilities is his personal attachment to the Title Zero project. His daughter, Blue Laxis, was the former Queen of En Passant…and current leader of Shogi.

Leroy Hayman:

A transferred sophomore to Pantheon High, this tall, built African American male is the envy of all his peers. Smart, cunning, charismatic, and completely aloof. He turned down the opportunity to run for Student Council. His test scores are through the roof, and - despite his best efforts to the contrary - he maintains a B- average.

His abilities are all in his mind; literally. Telepathy, telekinesis, pyrokinesis, if there is a mental trait, he can master it. That is, aside from psychic abilities, which Mr. Laxis seems to have over him.

He is the new “King” of En Passant. Designation: “Checkmate”.

Philomena “Mena” Silver:

Towering most sophomores at five-eleven, the Amazonian Mena Silver was the only one from her class to be accepted on the varsity cheerleading squad. Although considered a high honor, what they really wanted her was for support. After all, her physical prowess was obvious. Regardless of her build and size, she is strikingly beautiful and she knows it. The results of which means she never dates anyone below her height; a strict rule.

Her abilities are fairly self-explanatory. She possesses superhuman strength…with an added twist. If the need arises. Her skin pores secrete an alloy coating, sheathing her in metal. “Silver”, indeed.

She is the new “Queen” of En Passant. Designation: “Endgame”.

Hugh Lincoln:

Hugh is a sophomore, and a very well-known one at that. In his very short run of the school thus far, he has racked up an impressive array of credentials - from cafeteria larceny to pep assembly pranks. The odd thing is, no one on the faculty appears to hate him. Students on the other hand, are split down the middle. Some want to worship him, others want to rend him limb from him.

They’d have to find him first.

Hugh has a talent with light. He can bend it to his will. From bending the light around him, rendering him invisible, to condensing a lightwave to a single (and deadly) beam. He isn’t one to be crossed lightly. Luckily he usually only uses his powers to annoy.

He is the new “Bishop” of En Passant. Designation: “Jester”.

Kira Lightfoot:

Studious, silent, and shy, Kira spends most of her time delving into a book rather than traversing the rigmarole of high school. She mostly keeps to herself, and if ever called upon…she can never be found. There’s a reason for that.

Kira was imbued with the slight manipulation of space-time. She can teleport and freeze time at will with a simple thought. The duration and length of these episodes depends on her level of concentration, which is usually easily distracted.

She is the new “Knight” of En Passant. Designation: “Elle”.

Jin-Wray Carwin:

This Amerasian tenth grader has always had a plan. School was but a step in that plan. Sports, only a means of honing his body. ROTC, only a means of instilling discipline. Some would blame his parents for this narrow-minded focus. Nothing could be further from the truth. This was all him. What was not in the cards, however, was superpowers.

But he’d adapt.

Jin possesses an exceptionally strong life force, one he can harness, shape, and throw at hypervelocity speeds. He can even alter the pressure and size of the impact just by his stance or expression. Don’t ever call it a “chi bolt” or “fireball”, though. He would take offense.

Then probably throw one at you.

He is the new “Rook” of En Passant. Designation: “Ballistic”.

Theodore “Theo” Payne:

Always the understudy, never the actor. Such is the freshman life of the confessed of ”theater geek”, Theo Payne. His dream was to perform as Hamlet at least once. Instead, he was drafted to light detail and tech work. It didn’t help that he was quite good at it. Affable and well-liked, though he was, none considered him talented enough to take the stage. Occasionally he’d get a bite as a member of a Greek chorus or a dancer, but that was it. He never got his curtain call, and it was starting to show.

His moment to shine would come in another form.

Theo has the most unique ability with the greatest amount of potential. While it may seem that all he is is an “elastic man”, in reality he’s a shape-changer. Aside from altering his form and size at will, he can also mimic anything that he touches once; be it person, place or thing. What has not been told to him, though, is this ability might evolve past mere mimicry.

He is the new “Pawn” of En Passant. Designation: “Puppet”.

Tags: Comic, High School, superhero

“Marshall Joe” - A Story from My Sleep

I suppose a little explanation might be in order. The day prior to this write-up, I had just ended a graveyard shift. I managed a two-hour nap before I had to meet a friend for tea. Several cups of tea later (heavily-caffeinated, year-aged stuff), I dropped her at her second locale. The friends there - a charming couple - were also homebrewers and still had some of their self-made IPA on tap. Three pints, some “Afro Samurai”, and copious amounts of water later, I returned home. It was about 7PM-ish. I finally crashed around 8.

Four hours later, I awoke. The dream I had was another one of “those”. From time to time, I dream in story form. As in, I’m not the main character, and it follows a linear plot. Thus far I’ve cataloged…oh…six or so. I’ve had three in the last two weeks.

The one you are about to read, I have no excuse for. Perhaps a steady diet of Dos Equis “Most Interesting Man in the Universe” commercials, sleep deprivation, and Google hits to pornstars named “Joe” are to blame. I haven’t a clue…and frankly, I don’t want one. It’s glorious.

MARSHALL JOE

“He preceded his reputation because it wasn’t fast enough.”

“He found the original Writer’s Block and chiseled an image in his likeness.”

“He rediscovered magic in order to light a cigar.”

These are a few of the tall tales ascribed to Joseph Noble; philanthropist, ethnographer, adventurer, writer…pornstar.

The world simply knows him as “Marshall Joe”.

Although he looked rather average, plain he wasn’t. Born into a life of privilege, the son of a brilliant industrialist, and raised on a near-mythical private island - dubbed “Marshall Stallion” by his father, after his wild horse commune - young Joe grew weary of everything coming easy to him. Education, games of chance, women, there was nothing that he couldn’t attain. He simply believed things were easy and they were. That striving to outdo himself became his only weakness, for he was never satisfied.

He set out to prove or disprove myths and legends as a means of stumping his good fortune. Nothing succeeded. While the amount of legends was innumerable, any he turned his attention to were either revealed, debunked, or exploited. Usually to the betterment of humankind.

He successfully traversed the Bermuda Triangle, then later built a beach house on it. By hand.

Atlantis? It became the first underwater casino - the profits of which went to combating world hunger.

When adventures rooted in Old World mythology proved too pedestrian, Joe turned to the more esoteric; such as discovering the lost Mudworm People of the Midwest. A tribe of Minnesotan settlers-turned-aborigines that lived among (and fed off of) giant-sized worms. He lived among them for a week, even adopted a mudworm as a pet.

As his fame grew, so did the need to capture his likeness on camera. Too bad every actor in existence paled in comparison to the actual man. Hollywood blockbusters made about him starred him. Even the inevitable pornographic parody of his exploits featured him in the title role. It became the first crossover hit since Deep Throat.

Still nothing could quench his thirst.

Then an opportunity came from the last place he ever thought to look - the island of his youth. Rumor had it that Noble MetaWorks, the company his father built from the ground up, was involved in the cocaine trade. Not just any cocaine, but powder chased with a rare mineral compound - native to the island - that instilled a state of pure bliss. Describing the experience as a “high” simply didn’t do it justice, it was like being spanked by Buddha himself, then tossed back to reality…naked. Inevitably, addicts committed suicide, but the market was on the rise. Joe had to put a stop to it.

On his return to Marshall Stallion Island, Joe personally oversaw the day-to-day operations of the company, all the while keeping his eyes and ears open for any hint of a hidden drug lab or mining operation. As he dug further, flashbacks from his childhood grew more prevalent. Joe recalled a time - around five years of age - when he discovered a lone robot on the beach. Big head, bug-like eyes, E.T.-ish. For the longest time he thought it only a childlike fantasy.

Until he saw it again.

The robot led him to a series of mini-mineshafts, operated by small men - shadow-black in color, glowing white eyes. Human-sized derricks burrowed into the ground, unearthing something that glowed. He remembered these from his childhood as well. The largest he dubbed “Old Smokey”. The shadowy natives - Little Smokeys. His old memories were coming back to him.

Until he was knocked on conscious.

Joe awoke the next day, covered in white powder, dumped in a cheap motel room, his name on the evening news, and his company under investigation. Overnight, his godlike reputation came a-crashin’. Brow-beaten, downtrodden, broke-as-a-joke, the immortal Joseph Noble finally knew failure.

Like that would stop him, though.

With a renewed sense of purpose, Joe strives to uncover the mystery of Marshall Stallion Island, uproot the drug conspiracy that tarnished his good name, and perhaps seduce a henchwoman or two.

For Marshall Joe only knew failure so success could be that much more sweet.

Tags: adventurer, ethnographer, Joe, philanthropist, pornstar, writer

My Future

Several years ago in college, we were given an assignment to do a write-up of where we saw ourselves in fifty or so years. Naturally, I did mine in story form. This was the result.

It is October the 2^nd, 2052. 7 P.M. at night. Scenery scrolls by from the car window on my right side. The smooth hum of the electric engine echoes a soft vibration from beneath my feet. I catch my reflection in the windowpane. Sags have grown under my eyes after years of staring at words all my life. A thick head of gray hair, styled forty years out of date, lies atop my loose scalp - my own head of hair, no less. I tap on the transparent surface with my ring finger. The gold wedding band clinks as it lightly touches the surface.

The car is long with cushioned seats facing each other in the back, the interior of a limo. I’m being driven someplace. Two younger people are in the seats facing me. One is a woman in short cut polymer dress, while the other - a male - sits bow-legged in a color-shifting tuxedo. Both appear chipper, if relaxed, while my expression is a bit vexed. Both appear to be in their late twenties, and slightly resemble me in the face. Yet they have their mother’s dark brown eyes.

“This isn’t what I had in mind,” I say aloud with a grumble.

“You said you’d do it for Mom,” the woman replies. “She’s been planning it for months.”

“I didn’t ask her to plan it, Karen.” I turn away for a moment, gazing out the window again.

“Dad, just view this as something that’s been long in coming,” the younger man chimes in. “I mean, hell, they made a movie about it.”

My eyes close, but I smile a bit. “It was a pretty bad one at that, too.”

“What’d you expect? Look at the director they chose,” he laughs.

The car slows to a stop in front of an amphitheater. Both of my progeny quickly jump out. It takes a bit longer for me to roust myself from the seat - more due to my reluctance than any actual physical impairment. A banner is flying over the Romanesque exterior. It reads:

A TRIBUTE TO ELDYR’HAI

The series that I’d written over twenty years ago - five books total. All of which chronicled the misadventures of three space-borne outcasts, and was later made into three movies. The characters were horribly miscast, but they kept the story intact somewhat, which surprised me. I never thought it was my best work, but I had the most fun writing it.

On the exterior steps, a dignified brown-haired woman (five years my junior) races down. Even at her age, she still possesses an inhuman sense of grace - the woman who became my muse. She flashes me her token grin. I return her jovial gesture with a partial half-smile - awkward.

“Are you ready?” she asks.

“No,” I respond.

“Good,” she says, kissing me on the cheek as we walk up.

Tags: Assignment, College, Eldyr'Hai, Old, story

Day’s End

Day Brennon never knew how much he missed it. Like a sea-born breeze brushing his hair back, the memories of a bygone moment in his life invaded him. Stepping through the sliding door brought forth the nostalgia instantly. The lobby hadn’t changed after all the time that had passed. Couches still lined the back wall, and weren’t all that different from the ones he remembered. Students herded through the open walkway, cautiously avoiding the bookworms that occupied the round tables on the far side. The couches on the other hand were the communal rest area for a varied array of slackers. Just like back in Day’s time at Elderwood High.

He walked slowly towards the entrance to Senior Hall, the lockers - lacquered white - in regimented columns ushering him in. Feeling out of place was a new emotion for Day. Everyone looked so young, and the ceiling seemed farther down upon him. Even the seniors, who deemed themselves ready for adulthood, still bore the onslaught of acne and questionable fashion tastes. At least, they were questionable to him. No one wore pants two-to-three waste sizes larger back when he attended. Black wasn’t a preferred color, and hairstyles didn’t defy gravity during his tenure as a student. A lot had changed on the surface, but the essence of it was still recognizable to him.

Vivid recollection crept up to him. Senior Hall held a particular significance. Locker #357. Day faced it with all the wonder that one bestowed upon a valuable relic. A crack in the locker’s door hinge revealed itself to his wondering eyes. He made that crack with an art cutter his sophomore year! His girlfriend dumped him that day, complaining that his name ‘Day’ was too queer. That moment lingered in his mind as a humorous stumbling block rather than a moment of grief. The so-called relationship lasted far longer than his friends predicted. Steiner - an old friend - kept tabs on the bets made in favor of the breakup. A bet that Day himself had entered.

Another peculiarity, which bothered him, was the memory of being one of the only sophomores in Senior Hall. The area designated to his ilk had overcrowded that year, leaving several in his grade locker-less. Others migrated to Freshman Hall at the urgings of the faculty, while a few others and he were given the leftovers in Senior Hall. Day dreaded that day he held his schoolbooks, gazing up at the overhead scowls of upperclassman; all glaring in dismay at their sovereign territory forever violated by the presence of an underling amidst their ranks.

He strolled further down and encountered an old man dressed in faded blue overalls. Regardless of his haggard appearance, the ancient figure wheeled a mop over his shoulder with surprising youthful ease. Day recalled that maneuver, and the man who made it famous. Chuck Whiltman, the Senior Hall janitor.

Good ol’ Chuckie hadn’t changed, even his face looked as sandpapery as ever. The only difference Day could spot was a missing tooth along his lower bridge, but that gave him character. Not that the old janitor needed any more character than he already possessed. How could he don the same grin, and hum the same tune after so many decades? It was beyond the former student’s comprehension.

The janitor passed by him without even the slightest hint of recognition. That didn’t surprise Day any. He never really stuck out to Chuckie. No one did. A different world surrounded that man, a perception everyone wished they could attain, but would never understand.

Day chuckled inwardly at the irony then decided it was time to depart.

Nostalgia possessed a divinity all its own for a fleeting moment, then receded back into the subject’s mind like an outgoing tide. Day stood there, feeling the change come over him as the memories trickled into the present. Recollection toppled over to welcome reality. The former student sighed.

The memories were small ones, insignificant to the blinking eye. However, those simple happenings held more symbolism than the grandiose events that supposedly defined the “high school experience.” He could recall his first pencil sharpener, yet couldn’t remember his first dance. A carving on the bathroom wall in the shape of a phallus amused him, yet the pep assemblies were little more than a blur. His first beer, still sour upon his lips, replayed itself in his thoughts, yet he couldn’t spell the name of his prom date. What type of phenomenon was this?

Then it hit him. One simple sentence.

“Dad? Can we go now?”

The lanky young freshman looked up at him, barely above five-four in height with green-dyed hair shaved to Chia Pet length. A skateboard hung from his left arm, while a tattered backpack relaxed limply on his bony right shoulder. The boy smiled quizzically, his braces flashing in the fluorescent lighting.

“Oh sure, Joe, no problem. I’ll get the car,” Day replied, as if awoken from a trance.

He wandered outward, pushed upon the handle of the less-than-sturdy glass door, and placed his reflective penny-loafers on the discolored cement. Turning his head, he viewed the sign upon the windowpane.

WELCOME FRESHMAN

It was then that he understood why he couldn’t recall the majority of the grander events of his youth, why only the little inconsequential things stuck out in his mind. His time had ended, while his progeny ventured forth to make memories of his own. Day withdrew his keys, and pressed the button on his obsidian-black key chain. The car alarm to a chrome-colored Lexus parked in front chirped in reply.

Tags: Elderwood, High School, story

Spirits

Toby Reynolds liked to think of himself as a party animal. Every one of his Gamma Epsilon Chi fraternity brothers thought so, but the world had yet to discover his skills of debauchery. He planned to rid the unsuspecting public of their ignorance of him. Reynolds would show them what it meant to know . . .

The Tobe.

That was his nickname. He earned it on while balancing a keg on one of his biceps, and three bottles of tequila on his nose. This was his ticket into the fraternity. It would also be his ticket out–if only he could find the right place to make his debauch debut. Reynolds’ college days were coming to an end, and he had to find a new social livelihood. Today, he promised, would be that day.

Now, all you need to do is sober up, his mind said.

The frat boy shook his head vigorously, attempting to end the swimming sensation within. His Greek-lettered sweater reeked of Budweiser; his beige slacks were drenched. Some unknown sorority sister, whose name he couldn’t quite remember, had soaked him with a bucket of water. Everything after that was a blank. The last thing he recalled was looking at himself in a mirror, brushing back his thick red hair. He blacked out after that.

He now found himself on a street. How did he end up on this street? He didn’t recognize it. The road shimmered like polished obsidian. No cracks lined the asphalt, and no cruisers in fast cars left streaks of burnt rubber in their wake. The black surface lay untouched, virginal, free from wear or tear. The Tobe couldn’t even hear the echoes of emergency sirens passing by, not even a Doppler Effect residual. Reynolds was alone on a barren highway between the urban and the suburban. He was alone? The Tobe was never alone!

He needed another drink.

A friend of his once said, “You’re never truly drunk until you see a pink elephant. You may be buzzed, you may be hammered, and you may even be sloshed! But you are never drunk until that pink pachyderm crosses your path. So drink all you want until that happens!”

Those were words the Tobe could live by, and had lived by. He had yet to see a pink elephant. After a heavy night out he had seen many blurred objects, a spinning world, and lastly, doubles of people he knew. However, no animals of any kind ever manifested before his eyes. The Tobe was still in the zone. He wondered if he could keep up his winning tolerance a little longer.

He staggered for several blocks along the surreal street. Everything looked decadent. All buildings were made of brick, and rose out of the ground like living stone obelisks. Street lamps glowed with a fiery luminescence, which made his shadow dance in the flickering embers of light. He felt like dancing with it, but the subtle undulation of his shadow’s legs seemed difficult to duplicate. The lamps themselves were formed from intertwined metal, chain-laced together like outstretched claws at the end. The claws held the illuminating orbs that captivated Reynolds.

“Cool,” thought the Tobe. “I must be royally buzzed!”

After an hour of misplaced wandering, he arrived at a small pub. Like all the buildings in the area, it too resembled a medieval abode. The front walls were made of layered brick. Moss and vines covered the corners and sides, and the edge of the roof jutted outward like a flat snow shovel. The door looked cut from pine. A wooden sign upon it read “The Spirit’s Sanctum.” It was a strange name for a pub, but no different than “The Puck and Girdle” where he and his friends hung out.

He entered the establishment. The aroma of freshly poured ales invaded his nostrils. The smell brought tears to his closed eyes, for it was so intense. He opened them, half-expecting a typical sports bar with average-looking jocks hanging out and jerseys hanging from the walls. What met his eyes caused his heart to skip a beat. The inhabitants weren’t even human.

The barstools and chairs were crowded with an assortment of different beings. Elves occupied the far, right corner watching a re-run of Xena: Warrior Princess. A group of stout dwarves, beards braided in twists, played billiards in the back with an equally aggressive-looking pack of kobolds. At the bar itself, five gnomes, three chimeras, a centaur, and twenty faeries watched with sadistic glee as a miniature Pegasus fought a puny hydragon - on the counter. Bets were being monitored by a very gangly cyclops in a pair of khakis and a “Billabong” shirt.

“Okay,” Reynolds sighed. “So I’m a little beyond buzzed. I must be hammered. Just hammered! Not drunk!”

The Tobe approached the bar, keeping a fair distance from the fight of the small creatures. The bartender faced him. He had two heads–one the head of an eagle, the other the head of a yellow primate. However, he had the body of a well-built marble statue of a human. Both heads stared straight at him.

“What’ll it be?” Came the deep-voiced offer.

“Whatever’s the house special.” Reynolds squealed in reply.

“Ah, the Spirit of Etheron!” The bartender growled with admiration. “You are a brave one. No one has dared try that in an age! The last person was a dragonoid. He was supposed to be resilient to all forms of alcohol. Was he ever wrong! HA! I’ve never seen you’re type around here. What are you?”

“A G-gamma E-e-epsilong Chi.” He whimpered.

The bartender’s eagle eyes scrutinized him. “A Gamma Epsilon Chi? I’ve never heard of your race before. But, then again, I am new to the Nexus. I didn’t even know what an elf was until about a year ago. HA! Can you believe it?!”

The two-headed bartender patted Reynolds’ shoulder with a gruff hand. The impact sent him reeling. He barely recovered his balance. After regaining his composure, the Tobe weakly beckoned for his drink. The bartender slammed a large bottle onto the counter. The liquid within emanated a pinkish glow.

“Enjoy your Etheron Spirit, boy!” The primate face on the barkeep grinned. “Most do until the end!”

For the first time in his life, Toby Reynolds was frightened of a beverage. The smoking fluid within the bottle mocked him. He could’ve sworn he saw a skeletal face form within the liquid. He rubbed his eyes, and the image was no longer there. The drink looked calm and still, but he felt an aura about it. A feeling from within him quivered at the thought of ingesting it. Was it his liver? He didn’t want to know.

He couldn’t back down. He ordered it, and it was his fraternal duty to finish it. No one backed down from a drink. Especially not the Tobe! He grasped the bottle with both hands as tightly as he could, raised it to his lips, and let the rushing torrent cascade down his open throat. The taste of the first swig sent him into shock. Nothing could compare to the mixture of emotions and tastes he experienced at that moment. One moment he felt fear, and the equally powerful taste of vinegar. The next, he felt joy, and the matching afterglow of seasoned mint. The sheer joy rivaled orgasms in its intensity.

Suddenly all went blank. All thought, all feelings–both physical and emotional–ceased. He existed in a state of emptiness. Nirvana to the soiled brain. A small tingling sensation ebbed from within his spine. He arched his back to end it, but the tingling grew more intense. A moment later he toppled to the floor, mouth agape, eyes widened, and fists clenched. He couldn’t move. He didn’t want to move.

The strangest sight beheld him. A giant pachyderm, the color of his drink, loomed over his fallen body. The creature’s trunk swayed back and forth, causing a minor wind to blow by his frozen face. If Reynolds hadn’t known any better, he could’ve sworn the creature smiled at him. Anything was possible, considering the thing was standing on its hind legs. One such stump of a leg lifted off the ground. The elephant pivoted on its one remaining leg, then leapt into the air. The Tobe willed himself to watch where it would land, for he knew he was the instant target. What happened at that point was a blur to him, yet he thought he heard the two-headed bartender laughing in the background. All went black.

Existence faded from view. So did he.

#

Reynolds awoke the next morning with the worst hangover he ever had, although, that wasn’t his primary shock. He awoke in the Gamma Epsilon Chi house in his own bed. A banging sound came from the door. His head stung at the reverberation.

“What!” He yelled.

A burly young man with short-cropped blond hair entered. “Hey, Tobe. How are ya! We was worried sick, man. Franky and Alex found you passed out in front of the campus library. How much did you have last night, dude?”

“Too friggin’ much, Arnie.” Reynolds replied.

“Whoah! You mean to say that you–the Tobe–got hammered?” The blond frat boy said in shock.

“Not hammered, dude. Drunk. Really, really . . . drunk.” He corrected.

“You don’t mean . . . pink elephants drunk, do ya?” Arnie asked with worry.

“Pink elephants,” Reynolds repeated, stuffing his head into his pillow. “And dwarves, and elves, and fairies, and centaurs, and two-headed bartenders, and pink drinks, and . . .”

His voice trailed.

“Dude, you need to lighten up on the keg.” Arnie advised before backing out slowly.

Toby Reynolds didn’t hear him. He didn’t hear anything accept the trumpet call of Etheron’s Spirit parading through his skull.

Tags: Douche, Drunk, Fantasy, Frat, Pink Elephants

Rain

He peered down. Elderwood High’s blacktop expanded before him. Jay decided this was the perfect place to do it. With careful thought, with great consideration, and with much reluctance, he’d chosen this to be the place where he would be remembered - as a spattered corpse, maybe, but remembered nonetheless. A real legacy, something that would stick . . .

Stick like his opened skull would in a few minutes. Jay smirked at that. No one understood his sense of humor. All of his peers found him morbid. Perhaps he was. On that same token, he found their mediocrity horrifying. Like pubescent geese they squawked about nothing of importance with stapled smiles that never waned. If he had to endure a world like that for the next three years - a pointless game of minced words - he would rather sit it out.

The ledge of the school’s gymnasium - the home of the Elderwood Satyrs - provided the highest point that the three-story school had to offer. Such an end would have a sense of poetry to it, a person who viewed life as a game plummeting from a place where games were played. Yes, that would be his legacy amidst the popculture herd of high school. At least he would finally have one. Years of anonymity would end - not with a bang, but with a splat!

What caught his eye from the left corner tore him away from that thought. A girl maybe no older than sixteen in faded blue overalls stood on the ledge as well, surveying the blacktop as he had, eyes blanketed by an oily mat of brown hair - an overdone bowl cut. She was singing:

If the rain comes
they run and hide their heads
They might as well be dead
If the rain comes
If the rain comes

“Hey you,” he called out. “Beat it!”

The girl stopped in mid-tune but didn’t respond.

“Look, I dunno what you’re doing here, but I would rather not have company,” Jay said.

She turned her matted head to him, and a dimpled grin appeared on her face - a Cheshire glow amidst a curtain of brown. “I’m waiting for my cue.”

He titled his head. “Cue?”

“Yes, cue. It’s supposed to rain today.”

Jay scoffed. “No, it isn’t. It’s sun-” a crack of thunder interrupted him “-ny.”

In his pondering, he hadn’t noticed the thick patches of gray gathering above him in the mid-day sky. Droplets followed - the very “cue” she had spoken of. Her smile widened and she giggled. Jay swore he found melody to the sound of it.

“It’s here!” she shouted, outstretching her arms, embracing nothing. “It’s here for me.”

“What the hell’re you talking about?” Jay asked. “What’s here? Why for you?”

“The rain is here for me,” she said. Streams of water cascaded down her cheeks, creating the illusion of tears. “The rain is me. I am the rain.”

Turning away from him, she returned her gaze to the puddle-dotted blackness below. Her arms fell slowly to her side. Drenched as she was, her pale undershirt didn’t cling at all. If anything, it appeared feathery. Jay squinted then gasped. Her clothing wasn’t wet at all, only her skin.

“Time for me to return,” she said through the beating shower, standing off her heels, bearing weight on the tips of her toes.

A moment passed. The downpour continued, clanking and splashing against stone slabs and metal rungs of the roof. Her chin raised, mouth closed, and hair parted away from her face due to sheer water-weight. Her chest didn’t heave. No chilled spasms racked her body. Why Jay noticed this, he didn’t know. Something about her seemed . . .

Before he could find the right words, she was no longer there. A muddled imprint of her shoes remained in her place. Jay dashed to where she had stood and gazed downward. The blacktop was empty. No blood, no body, just puddles.

“What the . . . What the . . .” he repeated looked up at the gray-smeared sky above him. “FUCK?!?”

* * *

He walked among the puke-green-lacquered lockers inside the school. Darkness shrouded the hall except for a few flickering florescent bulbs. They reflected off the trails of wetness Jay left in his wake as he trudged for the nearest exit. His lips contorted into a grimace, thinking about the last few minutes, still breathing heavily. Obsidian hair bungeed the water that remained - dangling, mocking.

With his right hand he swiped the follicle mop away from his vision. And he noticed the locker rows had ended. Several plaques lined the free wall. Framed black and white pictures, arrayed in segments. He read through the years of each. Some dated back as early as six decades ago. He hadn’t noticed this area before. Then again, he rarely set foot in Senior Hall. After screening the photos for a few minutes, he stopped at one in particular.

Jay’s face paled.

The photo of a brunette girl with a dimpled smile stared back at him. The etched letters below it read:

IN MEMORY

OF

RAIN MORGAN

1951-1967

Tags: Elderwood, Fiction, Ghost, story

Closet Space

His house came into view - the tall spires of green and blue, the crimson-tinged window spirals haunted his vision. Uebler already felt haggard. The gate he opened was transparent with a strange violet fluid flowing within the bars. Tiny sponge-like life forms lined the inside of the clear surface. Those organisms had a lot in common with him - trapped in an invisible prison.

Having been away from home for so long, he didn’t know what to say to them. Could he still relate to them? Was it even possible to? Earth had a way of changing people, or so he had been told time and again. Here he was, back among the colonies again, out along the Rim - the wilds of the Terran frontier. Free to do as he pleased, yet confined at the same time.

Uebler passed the twin porcelain gargoyles by the crystal-grass lawn, and the lamps in the shape of nuclear missiles. All ghastly sights, which were a testament to his parents’ awkward personal tastes, phased him only a little. The chrome door opened.

He felt like an anomaly within his own home. The sensations that invaded him -the smell of incense mixed with potpourri, the sounds of chattering Juba birds - further alienated him from the place he once resided. Entering his parents’ abode felt like transcending several alien worlds at once. The miasma caused uneasiness within his stomach.

He stepped in.

His father sat in an egg-shaped easy chair, reading the late addition of the Chronos Herald. The older man looked like a sophisticated mime. His skin was unusually pale, contrasting the lip rouge he wore. Brunette locks ended in a strange topknot fashioned after a bonsai tree. His clothing matched that distinction - bright, colorful, and well-pressed.

His mother - seated on a nearby twentieth-century couch - was quite the opposite. She was a throwback to the Animal Fur Renaissance, wearing a blouse made from genuine terrier hide. Her long skirt flowed around the couch, and divided into feathery segments. Ostrich, Uebler thought. Very hard to come by.

His father looked up from his newspaper. “Ueby! Damn boy, you’re home early.”

“Honey!” His mother instantly jumped up, and rushed him into an embrace - one he paused at, but returned with equal tightness. “How are you? How was Earth?”

“We weren’t expecting you for another four hours,” his father cut in. “You should’ve told us you arrived at port, we would’ve had the car fetch ya.”

“I-I didn’t wanna bother you,” Uebler replied.

He waved a hand. “Nonsense, that’s what the car’s for. Got a brand new autodrive for it and everything. All suped up. So, now, tell us about your trip?”

“Yes, do tell!” His mother agreed, still clasping his shoulders.

“Um…well…it’s still blue.” Uebler started. “The oceans, I mean. They’re still blue.”

“We already know that,” his father said. “You know what we want to hear.”

Uebler’s mother nodded. “Yes, yes, tell us about . . . him.”

“Oh.” Uebler felt the beads of sweat roll down his temples, listened as his quickened heartbeat raced to his brain, gulped as the moisture retreated from his throat. “You mean Parousia.”

“Yeah, that bastard,” his father said through a sneer. “Mr. Messiah himself.”

“I never got to the sky cities,” Uebler said. “I didn’t really hear much about him.”

“How could you not?” asked his mother. “He’s been alive for a thousand years!”

Uebler shrugged. “You don’t hear much about him on the low planes. People just go about their regular business.”

“Even on the campus you were at? No word?” his father grilled. “Nothing about that Arma-whatever war that nearly destroyed Earth?”

“Yeah, there’s books and stuff.” Uebler scratched his head. “And there’s this really cool arcade called Megiddo Max’s, but nothing outta the ordinary. People just act like people. No cowering, no praying in the streets, nothing. I mean, it’s been a thousand years. They’ve had time to get over it.”

The older man put a hand to his chin. “Hmmm, odd. Those closest to him react less to his presence than those who fled his grasp. Interesting.” He paused a moment before speaking again. “Glad to hear it. I tell ya, your mother and I were worried that you’d fall into that crowd when we heard you’d been accepted for the Pilgrim Exchange.”

Uebler gave a slight chuckle. “Nah, you had nothing to worry about. There were no recruiters in the streets or brainwashing devices. All colonial media propaganda.”

“Good!” His father patted him on the back, a hard slap that sent him reeling. “Well, get unpacked. I’m sure the jump was a long one. You’re room’s exactly as you left it.”

Uebler smiled. “Okay.” He put his feet on the stairs, his luggage floated to him, and the stairs scrolled him up to the second story.

The steps lurched to a stop at the door to his room, which opened at his presence. His dad was right. The room was exactly as he had left it. Posters of his favorite Vendetta Ball team lined the ceiling, giving the play-by-plays of his favorite moments. His stuffed dog yelped at him in, jumping on his leg. Blankets retracted and polymer words appeared on his pillow.

WELCOME HOME, UEBLER SANZA

He smiled at that then turned to the closet and nodded. The mirror irised open as the suitcases made their way to the geode of neatly folded clothing. Before the mirror could close, he placed a palm in front of it. It whirred with a pause. He put a hand to his throat, caressed the jeweled chain around his neck, and pulled the source of the necklace to his face. A crucifix reflected back at him.

They couldn’t know, he thought. They weren’t ready to know. Colony-folk were like that, and his parents were no different.

Tossing the necklace into the closet, Uebler winced as the iris closed.

Tags: Armageddon, Christian, Parousia, Second Coming

“Crossing the Stars” - A Novel Synopsis

INTRO:

The Age of Decay had ended. Denizens of the Tarolis galaxy crossed the stars once more. Warlords became nobles, pirates became kings, and wanderers became heroes. Empires rose and fell, but one kingdom shined above all the others; Algarath.

Five hundred years later, an ancient power awoke and cast its vengeful eyes upon the cosmos.

In one day, it came out of hiding.

In one day, the kingdom fell.

VINTS: (aka. Vintrosu Ridrant) – Ten years ago, Vints – a man of noble lineage - witnessed firsthand the fall of the Algarath Kingdom. When mysterious white ships descended upon Algarath, he was there. Like many that day, he tried desperately to find cover from the strafing runs for himself and one other. A woman.

However, as the onslaught raged on, they were separated. An energy discharge left him horribly scarred, his left leg burnt to ash. His last visible memory of that day was watching her departure, her unconscious form cradled in the arms of a figure in black.

Vints awakens each morning to that last memory fading to black. To him, the dream is his waking world and reality his purgatorial nightmare. The life of a spacer replaced the life of a nobleman. He sullies it away with alcohol, minor crime and brawls. If it weren’t for the empathy of a local bartender, no place would be home.

A person from his past jolts him from his masochistic reverie…

Another woman; one he had saved so long ago.

VEK’SIRAHL – An orphan of a massacre, Sirahl wandered the halls of a battered space station for most of her childhood eking out an existence on littered food and the kindness of other displaced spacefarers. This had been the pattern since the death of her mother at the hands of mercenaries.

This changed with the chance meeting with a scarred spacer – a teenager with a talon-like burn mark across half his visage, and a left leg gleaming of metal. There eyes met, and unlike the countless times when her pleading expression surfaced, this time it did not. She did not beg. Sirahl studied him. He regarded her the same way.

Since that day, she called him Vints, and he called her sister. For over ten years, they formed a lucrative smuggling partnership. Sirahl thrived on the thrill of the chase, while Vints viewed it as a passable distraction from inner pain.

They parted ways when she chose to delve into another profession – piracy. He wandered the free territories of the Spiral Run, while she eased her way into the ranks of the infamous The Aquarian Queen. A ship captained by…

THAKRIEN THE DRAY (a.k.a. Thakrien DiSarra) – Five years ago a man proud of his pirate lineage learned of an excavation in the heart of the Noble territories. A mysterious vessel dating back over ten thousand years had been discovered. The Nobles themselves were in an uproar. No technology from prior to the Age of Decay had ever been discovered intact!

Thakrien decided then and there that he had to relieve them of their quarry. With a ragtag group of other Spiral Run misfits, he infiltrated Noble space and commandeered the vessel. What he learned upon entering shocked him. The ship was alive yet not organic. An empath among his crewmates informed him that although the ship itself was not made of anything biological, it did possess a soul.

He had heard of such ships before, legends passed down his family line for generations – starships that ran on the rarest of renewable energy sources, a lifeforce of its own. Another surprise was in store.

The vessel knew him.

Now, he and his newfound spaceworthy companion – the soulship The Aquarian Queen - wreak havoc upon the fringe of Noble territories, exclusively worlds with ties to his ancestry. For somewhere along the Spiral Run lies his legacy, one that has eluded him for decades. Help arrives from an unlikely source. All he has to do is go back into the heart of Noble space, snatch up a noblewoman, and deliver her to the Borderguard – the self-appointed militia of the Spiral Run.

To accomplish this, he needs someone who looks like a noble to go in and find her. Sirahl, a newer member of his crew knows of such a man. A drunken spacer by the name of Vints.

DATHEDRA PREVANE (a.k.a. Dathedra Senai) – Ten years ago, the world she called home was laid to waste. The invaders didn’t even destroy the planet, occupy it, or remove anything. Their goal was single-minded, cold and efficient: eliminate all sentient life on Algarath. Thankfully, their attempt had left pockets of civilization intact. Somehow she survived but at a very high price. The youth she was betrothed to – Vintrosu Ridrant – was nowhere to be found.

Her rescuer, clad in black, announced herself as High Defender Ro Taal – the military head for her family, the Royal House of Senai. The darkly-dressed woman informed her that she was the last royal alive.

They made it off Algarath with the help of the few remaining members of the Algarathi military. The ragtag convoy escaped undetected, much to the surprise of the High Defender. Dathedra – barely fifteen – was left in the care of the Noble House of Prevane. Ro Taal gave her two warnings: “Never reveal who you are”…and… “In ten years time, I will come for you.”

Ten years came and went, and the former High Defender never contacted her. At the time of her betrothal age, she took matters into her own hands by hiring spacers to track Ro Taal down. She discovered that the few remaining members of the royal military had defected to the free territories of the Spiral Run and were now defending it in the guise of the Borderguard militia.

Contact was made.

Ro Taal informed Dathedra that she had not forgotten her promise, and that as they spoke plans were being made to bring her to the Spiral Run. The only hitch was finding a pirate or spacer crazy enough to do it.

Enter Thakrien the Dray.

RO TAAL: The world, the family, and the kingdom she had sworn to protect crumbled before her eyes in a matter of hours. Majestic vessels of unknown origin descended upon Algarath like sentient clouds and rained fire upon the once pristine world. High Defender Ro Taal’s first thought upon watching the destruction was the haphazard nature of the attack – thousands of ships surrounding the globe uprooting pockets of citizenry. It seemed more like an act of fear rather than precision.

That was how her mind worked. Amidst the savage landscape, the screams of agony, and the macabre array, she questioned the motivation. Their timing seemed far too convenient; mere days before a peace accord with key Spiral Run systems, one week to the day after she had made the greatest discovery in centuries.

The cause of the Age of Decay.

Ten thousand years of darkness were suddenly brought to light, and the family she guarded with her life held a connection to it. However, with the connection to the reason came with it the knowledge of an ancient enemy – one that roamed the stars long before humankind ever conceived of spaceflight. Ever since unearthing lost knowledge, she pondered the best way to reveal it to the masses. The invasion of her world forced her hand.

Her duty was clear now: protect whatever remained of the Senai family, and if none remained, find a way to fight against to the coming tide. By sheer luck or fate, she found one member of the royal family alive – the youngest daughter, Dathedra. Another factor in her favor was the knowledge that underground bunkers with contingents of her troops were also still intact.

Contact with the others were made, ships were found, a route of safety was plotted. Summoning all of her combat training, and pushing her loyal followers to the brink of exhaustion, they made it off Algarath. Heavy casualties resulted from the suicide run out of the system, but the core ships in her makeshift convoy still flew.

The Noble House of Prevane, ever-loyal and indebted, agreed to shelter the young princess until the time was right for her summons. The former High Defender then took to the stars again leaving Noble space behind her. She and her troops relocated to the Spiral Run and swore to guard the free territories from the inevitable arrival of a powerful nemesis.

Ten years have passed, and the time is upon them. Ro Taal – once the most respected High Defender in the Algarath Kingdom, now a scarred Borderguard general – again has a duty to fulfill. To defeat an ancient evil, one must awaken an ancient good.

For a poem about the discovery of The Aquarian Queen, go HERE!

Tags: Aquarian Queen, Crossing the Stars, Eldyr'Hai, novel, sci-fi