Chapter 1 Ira’s Normal Life (Balance)
The lights went out in the auditorium, leaving nothing but a rotating spot light that panned left to right and up and down to the beat of the obnoxious 90’s hip-hop. There were cheers, a smattering of clapping for a moment, and then over the loud speaker, in that let’s-get-ready-to-rumble voice: “NOW INTRODUCING, THE VICTORS YOU CHOSE AT THE CLOSE OF LAST YEAR, TO BE YOUR LEADERS...YOUR STUDENT BODY OFFICERS!!!”
From behind a large piece of crate paper stretched between 2 volley ball posts, a group of students burst through the paper. They cheered and clapped. All of them wearing business attire: suits and ties and skirts, but topped with baseball hats and trimmed with tennis shoes. The audience screamed in unison with applause.
There were 6 of them. They walked onto the mini stage that had been wheeled into the auditorium as a riser for the podium. The spot light focused in on one of the officers. It was a girl. She wore a black blazer and had on beneath it a cheerleader skirt. “Standing a whopping five feet and 6 inches, Michelle Princeton, captain of the cheerleading squad, holding a 4.0 GPA and a long time advocate for the Mel Bay Buckaneers! We present to you YOUR NEW ACTIVITES COORDINATOR!!!” the crowd cheered. She threw the blazer onto the ground revealing her full cheerleader outfit, and then did a sort of high-kick cheerleader move.
The spot light shifted from one student body officer to the next introducing each of them the a unique but similar fashion. It reached its culmination, introducing the Student Body President: Ira Conrad. He stood with a super-man-stance, both hands balled up in fists at his waste. He wore a stunning pinstripe 3 piece suit and no ball cap or tennis shoes.
“...lead his team to victory on the soccer field as a right wing. Ira is a native of Mel Bay Oregon, and spends his time playing soccer or participating in rock climbing championships... the student voted in last year’s Year-Book as the most likely to become the next President of the United States, your new STUDENT BODY PRESIDENT!” Ira did an imitation moon walk to the podium. The cheers were everywhere. There were a few pockets of booing however.
Ira reached the podium. The spotlight centered on him. He stood behind it and sure enough, his presence was that of a politician. The crowd grew quiet. He waited.
“I know you all don’t want a speech today but I’m going to say a few short words nevertheless.” Ira rested one hand on the podium and scanned the audience. The booing commenced. There was sort of a groan that rippled through the audience. Someone yelled, “your already in office, you can stop campaigning!” there was a reaction rippled of laughter.
Ira put up a hand. “I know. I know.” He waited for silence once more. “The truth is, this is the last year of high school for many of us. High school isn’t the most important thing, and we’re going to move onto bigger and better things. So let’s make this the most memorable year EVER!” he shouted the last word and it echoed like a heart attack through the PA system. The crowd cheered. When the eruption had ended, Ira leaned up close to the microphone. “Our Student Body Officers and myself, along with the best Student Counsel in the history of Mel Bay High!” cheers, “Wish to present to you our motto for this year, focusing on uniting every student in the school, we proudly declare, EVERY FELLOW STUDENT IS A FRIEND!” the other student body officers removed a large sheet and the words were written in black on a large piece of wood. There was a smattering of cheers, but not very powerful. Someone yelled “LAAAAME!”
Ira pushed his way on. “I just want to say, enough with the click’s exclusiveness. Enough with the jocks, nerds, gamers, thespians, whatever. The clicks and what they represent aren’t inherently evil, it’s the exclusiveness we wish to dethrone! So I say to everyone of you!” he pointed a sweeping finger from one side of the bleachers to the other. “Everyone of you is a friend—to ME! Let’s make this year memorable!” cheers again. Ira stepped out from behind the podium to take his bow. And to the surprise of everyone there, Ira was now only wearing polka dot underwear. Somehow, unknown to the crowd, Ira had removed his slacks. The underwear was obviously a gag and Ira was wearing something beneath it, but the crowd died laughing. The other student body officers took a bow next to Ira.
Ira turned the corner in the hallway and saw her. Michelle was at her locker. School had let out some 15 minute before and there was still a rather prominent bustle of students. He didn’t see anything but her though. Her hair seemed to bounce like in a shampoo commercial. She wore skinny jeans and a white blouse that was sort of frilly around the edges. Ira took a deep breath. It was the first day of school, and if this was going to be the most memorable of years Ira had be confident and bold. Things were moving into place just as planned. Ira was student body president, he had just purchased his jeep, he had won the largest rock climbing contest in Oregon over the summer, and was preparing for another in October. Yes everything was going right. He just needed the girl, to make things perfect.
“hey Michelle.” Ira said as he approached her locker. She turned and smiled; what a smile!
“You knocked ‘em dead today, Ira. That was really cool!” Michelle was getting books out of her locker.
“Thanks. I...uh. Yeah, I was worried I lost the crowd... too preachy, maybe?”
“Could have been. But it wasn’t.” She closed her locker and leaned her back up against it. Her bag was bulging. She let it sink to the ground.
“That’s quite the load. Let me carry it for you. I’ll give you a ride home in my jeep too. Did you know I got a jeep over the summer.”
Michelle smiled. “Yes, Ira, I knew you got a jeep. You told everyone in student counsel the day you bought it.”
Ira looked down at his feet. He remembered telling everyone before, he wanted to pound his forehead, but that would have to wait until he was alone at home, then he could scold himself for being so stupid.
Ira reached for her bag. “here, let me get that for you.”
“I got it Ira.” She said hefting the bag over a shoulder. Ira tried to take the bag anyway, but she resisted. The result was that when Ira let go of the bag, it sent Michelle stumbling backwards like the losing side of a tug of war.
“Oh my gosh! Sorry. Sorry! I really didn’t mean to...” Ira said stepping next to her. His face was red again. I’m such an idiot! He said to himself.
“It’s okay Ira. I should get going. I actually have a ton of homework, gotta love those AP classes, and then cheerleading practice in the morning, and Student counsel... its gonna be a hefty year.”
They turned and began walking down the hallway.
“let me give you a ride at least.”
“Ira, Lisa is probably waiting for me.”
“She’ll understand. Come on, do you really want to be with Lisa? Or me?” Ira said with a pseudo-debonair smile. Michelle laughed. She stopped walking and looked directly at Ira. “What?” Ira said looking around himself to make sure it was him she was looking at.
“You’re really gonna make a good Student Body President aren’t you?”
Ira’s mouth dropped. He didn’t know what to respond. So he shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m gonna try...”
They rode without speaking in the jeep. Ira only stalled it once, when they were first leaving the parking lot. They bounced along in the beautiful sunny afternoon. It was still august, the last fading days of summer, and it smelled rich of grass and pine trees as they sped along the windy road out to Michelle’s house. She lived a little bit further inland, where the forest blocked ones view of the ocean.
They pulled up to her house and she was stepping out of the jeep. “thanks Ira.”
“Listen, what are you doing tonight?”
“Homework. James is gonna be calling me too.”
“Are you still seeing that lame college-man!” Ira said patronizingly.
“Yes, he has a name and he is my boyfriend.”
“Isn’t he in Michigan or something?”
“Yeah, OSU doesn’t start classes until the 8th of September.”
The jeep pulled into a long driveway up to a rather large home, with pillars and a pond in the front yard.
“Come on. I won’t keep you out late.” Ira prodded. If he weren’t sitting in the jeep, he probably would have gotten on his knees. Now that Ira was succeeding in a social life, he found himself wanting more of it. He was sick of sitting at home reading, like he had done all through junior high.
“How about instead, you let me bum another ride to school in the morning.” She shut the door of the jeep and walked into her house without looking back. Ira stared at her the whole way. She was beautiful. She had it all: intelligent, gorgeous, rich, and not to mention, what made her more attractive than perhaps anything else, was the simple fact that she was unattainable. She was currently owned by that dopy college boy. Ira was positive James was a nobody at college. But to a young high school girl, any remotely attractive college boy meant a status also out of most girl’s reach.
Ira pulled his jeep up to his home. It was a modest split level home. 3 bedroom including the master. Large kitchen, 2 car garage, lots of space. But the drawback was simply, the house was getting older. The carpet could have been from the 70’s, everything was brown. Brown wallpaper, brown countertops, brown cupboards, and not wood-brown, but paint-brown, that was cracked and peeling.
Ira walked into the house and threw his things down next to the piano in the front room.
“Uh oh! Look who’s back.” Ira’s father, Terry, said hunching to look into the dining room in between the snack bar and the overhang of cabinets. “Its MISTER STUDENT BODY PRESIDENT IIIIRA COOONRAD.” Terry was mixing up his famous potato rolls in a green mixing bowl the size of a small lake. He wore a pink and red apron with hearts on it, shielding his work suit: slacks, blue button up, and tie.
“Come off it dad. Its not a big deal.”
“It is to me!” he said with a big laugh. “Come on, how was the first day. Did you do it?”
“Do what?” Ira feigned ignorance.
“You know, the boxers at the end of the speech.”
Ira wanted to maintain his cool composure, but it was his dad’s idea in the first place. So Ira broke down and described the entire thing. Terry was chuckling through the whole story. “No one noticed during the speech than, that anything was different?”
“I don’t think so. We kept the spot light on mainly my upper half you know, and the rest was shadows. I’m sure to get an earful from Mr. Hink tomorrow but it was worth it.”
“Well, he has to say something. He is an advisor. But you wanted to show the clicks you were everyone’s president right? Making people laugh brings down barriers like crazy.”
Ira loved talking to his dad. He had wished all growing up to be more like him. Terry was the perfect balance of adult temperament with child like reveries. He knew when to joke and when to be serious. He commanded a room like a president and a comedian. It had been his idea to surprise the student body with the phony underwear, and it had worked. Of course it had, Dad knew how to win peoples respect and devotion. It wasn’t a facade either. He cared about people.
Ira went upstairs to change out of his suit and tie. He jumped on MSN for a few minutes but after seeing that Michelle was not online, he abandoned it. When Ira came back downstairs he found his mom in a skirt and blouse. The table was set with their best china, and the table was packed for a feast.
“What’s with all the...” Ira asked with a frown. He hated when his parents left him in the dark.
“A new co-worker at the Hospital. He’s a surgeon, they have a daughter your age, and they just moved here from Chicago. I offered to treat them to dinner tonight.”
Course you did. Ira scowled some more. He didn’t want to put on airs tonight. There were always people coming over. It was the flip side of that coin: Dad being cool attracted company all the time. It was always really boring conversation too. Especially on first encounters. Dad held back the really fun jokes and stories, and told the long time successful stories. The one’s Ira had heard many a time, but Dad seemed to add new details or change things up...but still. Ira did not want to entertain tonight.
The door bell rang, and in came the family of 3. They were a perfect mirror of each other. Dad tall and slender and talkative. Mr. Townsend was round and quiet; he wore a contemplative expression which Ira was sure was just a mask to hide an empty mind. Stephanie, Ira’s mom, was also tall and thin. She was a busy body and a hard worker. Mrs. Townsend was more of a homebody, Ira could tell. For the simple fact that she brought a casserole and wouldn’t stop smiling. Not a fake “putting on heirs” sort of grin, but a genuine “I like everyone” beaming like a star smile.
To his surprise, Emily Townsend, was actually cute. She was sort of rugged looking. Like she didn’t wash her hair everyday and didn’t care about designer jeans or Abercrombie and Fitch. She wore a boys old button up plaid shirt with torn up jeans that might have been cool 10 years back but now they were left wanting.
Stephanie introduced Ira to Emily. They both said hello in the same teenage “I’m here but i’m not really here! Kind of voice. They didn’t speak another word the rest of the night, which came as a relief to Ira. He was worried he’d have to think of things to talk about.
Dinner dragged on. Ira had eaten as slowly as possible but adults don’t eat, they talk and nibble. He had cleared his plate a couple of times of mashed potatoes, corn, roast beef and rolls. Mrs. Townsend, (she asked to be called Mable) could not stop commenting on the food. Terry loved it, and soaked it up, he and Mable talked of food the rest of the night. Terry practically ate 4 servings of her split pea casserole. Dad loved to cook. Mom and Mr. Townsend had some unintelligible conversation about hospital stuff. They were like their own mini-episode of ER, and without a medical dictionary Ira was lost most of the time. Mr. Townsend really seemed to open up when talking about his field. Stephanie was a nurse but she was interested in going back to school to be a PA so she was uber-interested in whatever Townsend had to say about his schooling.
It was a like a constant cross fire of conversations across the table seeing how fathers and mothers sat across from each other and yet were talking to the opposite. Ira spent most of the time avoiding making eye contact with Emily and checking his watch.
“...so Emily, you excited for school here in Mel Bay?”
“Not really. But I’m supposed to say yes.” Emily’s parent’s frowned at her. “What. I’m not gonna lie. I’m sure he understands.” Mable huffed trying to stop her, but dad encouraged it further.
“Understand what?” Terry asked tipping back his glass, sipping at the ice which was all that was left at this point.
“Moving to a new school senior year. Starting from scratch.”
“Yeah. I can understand that. Can be hard, but depends on how you approach it.”
“How do you mean?” Emily said with a squint.
“Well, you can dwell on life in Chicago and all the things you missing out on, or you can look at the good happening around you right now.”
Ira had to save her. Dad was getting on a soap box and they were all about to hear a speech. “Dad, please. Spare us a lecture.”
“what, no lecture. This is no lecture.” Terry said smiling. He was always enjoying himself.
“I would like to hear what he has to say.” Mr. Townsend urged. Emily was clearly not happy with the move and Townsend welcomed anything that supported his decision that had brought the family to Mel Bay.
“Well, for one thing, the student body president is sitting right in front of you!”
“Dear!” Stephanie chimed in at the same time that Ira moaned, “you’re really bringing that up.” Ira was glad for his mother’s support. He would need her to thwart a flood.
“What? It’s the truth. What a perfect connection. You’re making right now. I bet Ira can show you around school tomorrow and everything.”
“I can’t!” Ira interjected. It was rude, but he had to put a foot down somewhere. “I mean, I would love to. But I have to be at the school early, and...”
“Perfect. You can give her a ride!” Terry said.
“No I can’t.”
“Why’s that Ira?” Stephanie was turning on him. He had been too bold.
“I’m already giving someone else a ride.”
“And the jeep can hold on 2 people now?” Terry leaned back in his chair.
“Mr. Conrad, it’s okay. I’m sure I can manage.” Emily said. Ira was surprised. She fared well with the adult discussion. She wasn’t afraid to speak her mind.
“No. Ira, the jeep is actually mine, and if you want to be driving anything to school tomorrow, you’ll be taking Emily too.” Terry lost his smile. Ira knew he had lost. He faked a cheeky smile and said they could work something out, but inside he was a bubbling volcano. Michelle and Emily in the same car. How could Ira strut his stuff for Michelle with an audience. Emily seemed the type to speak her mind. It was Ira’s intention of making Michelle a regular part of his daily routine. Michelle didn’t need a ride. Her dad owned like 3 BMWs and 2 Corvettes. She could drive a different fancy car to school every day of the week. She had accepted to ride with Ira because she wanted to be with him. A 3rd wheel would be the end of it.
Ira drove the black jeep up the winding road to Michelle’s mansion. The top was down, but it was a windy morning. The ocean breeze was billowing in from the bay and pushing past the trees, moaning of an early autumn. Emily grimaced most of the way. Ira glanced at her on a few occasions but there was no talk between them.
Ira felt a twinge of guilt for not being receptive. He tried to think of a commentary he could make, but somehow “its a blustery day huh?” just didn’t seem to fit. Emily would know he was being fake and Ira wasn’t in the mood to pretend.
They reached Michelle’s house. She stepped out the door in a striped button up shirt that was undone revealing a snow white tank top underneath. Ira’s heart jumped. She was so attractive. He thanked his lucky stars that she had won the election for activities coordinator.
As Michelle reached the car she hardly took note of Emily’s presence. Ira then realized the catastrophe. He should have picked up Emily second. Ira wanted to pound his head on the steering wheel as he watched Michelle hop gingerly into the open back seat of the jeep. Ira now cursed that same luck. How could this be happening? He knew that with a girl like Michelle one wrong move meant it was over. Resigned to his fate, Ira pushed forward.
“Michelle, this is Emily. She just moved in and her dad works with my dad.”
“Pleasure to meet you.” Michelle said in a tone that almost seemed sincere. Emily mumbled a thank you without looking back.
The drive to school was equally silent. Twice Ira endeavored to kindle a conversation but Michelle gave short one-word answers. Emily stared out the passenger window the entire way. She hardly moved. Ira began to worry that if they didn’t get there soon enough moss would begin to grow.
The day dragged on. Ira spent about 10 minutes showing Emily around the school and then dismissed himself. He felt more guilt but he really had things to get done. It was his job to give the morning announcements over the loud speaker and hadn’t time yet to put together the details.
Classes were the usual run of the mill. Ira found a friend in each class and spent a lot of time talking when he could get away with it. 2 different professors had scolded him for it, using his title as leverage against him.
At the end of the day, Ira made another attempt at rekindling things with Michelle but she declined, simply saying that things were better this way. Ira cursed that stupid parents for being so social, and cursed himself for having picked up Emily first, not that it would have made much difference. And he cursed himself again knowing that he would be taking Emily home again as well.
Ira pulled the jeep into its spot in the driveway. He was feeling better about life again, and trying to forget the social complications. He need to focus now on school. There was much to keep track of; all the things that were already assigned for homework. Emily would have to be sorted out later. Dad had ordered him to make it a permanent situation but Ira would talk to Emily. She seemed to be enjoying Ira’s company about as much as he was hers. He was sure after talking she would agree to dispense with the rides to school.
He grabbed his bag from the back seat and waltzed into the house feeling light and fancy-free.
He found his mom in the front room staring out the window with a hand covering her mouth. Tears were streaming down her face and she was holding a wad of tissues. Her eyes were red enough to illustrate hours worth of shed tears. When she said hello her voice was shaky.
“What’s wrong.” Ira furrowed his brow. He could feel a blow coming to his world.
“It’s your father, Ira.” Stephanie Conrad swallowed reluctantly. “He’s been in an accident at work.”
"What happened!" Ira said dropping his backpack to the tile with a thump.
"He's..." Stephanie broke down and bawled before she could get the words out.
Showing posts with label Carson. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Carson. Show all posts
Monday, February 28, 2011
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
The Clouds Over Mel Bay: Prologue Part II
August 12, Mel Bay, Oregon
Black.
Black slacks.
Black suit jacket.
Shiny black buttons on a faded black button up shirt perfectly pressed.
Black pin stripes and black tie with the first hint of light from diagonal white stripes. The tie covering his heart. Ira Conrad imagined his heart was pumping dark blood through his veins. Blood that was perhaps a crimson so deep it was a shade of black as well. Ira imagined the blackness seeping through limbs and erupting from his chest—the pain was so real that it was hard to believe it was an emotion and not a physical or literal ailment.
Ira suppressed a hiccup and gripped his shirt with a fist.
Ira stared down at the closed casket. More black; a shimmering darkness that reflected Ira’s own image on its smooth glossy surface. He naturally laid his other hand against the box. He could barely hear others in mourning passing behind him, sniffling, or weeping. Some sighed heavily as they passed. Ira could see their faint reflection in the casket’s mirror like surface; holding white handkerchiefs. Ira wondered why they weren’t black.
He wanted to cry too. He wanted to let it all drain out like a pressure cooker that’s lost its seal. It would relieve a certain amount of agony, but he couldn’t do it. It was almost like he wanted to cling to the agony. To make sure he paid for the loss—paid for it a thousand times over.
Ira was sitting in a pew with his mom, Stephanie Conrad. She wiped tears from her eyes with a white handkerchief as well. Everything seemed to echo in the Cathedral. There seemed to be so many shadows, and the only light was filtered by stained glass windows, depicting Saints with curled fingers and bowed heads. Ira noted the blaze of light surrounding each of their heads like a halo. Their long red garments bathed the light and turned it a transparent red, like Christmas lights. Much of the Cathedral reminded Ira of Christmas. He supposed that made sense.
The Cathedral smelled old. It smelled of dust and wood. It smelled of death.
One by one speakers mounted the pulpit. Ira recognized them but was in no hurry to recall their relation to Cole. They became a rumbling in the back of his mind; a mind tossed to and fro. Guilt to agony and back again.
The memories crashed into his cranium. Ira leaned forward and held his head in his hands. No. You don’t have to gruel over this again!!! But the memories only came with more fury. The phone in his hand.
“…Are you busy tonight?”
The lie.
The stupid girl. The distraction. The stupor of thought.
Ira held his face. The first tears wetted his palms. They smelled of salt. They didn’t solve anything. Ira sat wondering if he would ever be whole again. He didn’t want to be—he wanted to pay for this. Pay for it a thousand times over.
Ira gripped the casket once more; this time accompanied by several others whom Ira recognized but could not put a name to. The bulky box was heavy even with 6 men lifting. Ira fought back more tears as they hauled the box from the hearse to a perfectly rectangular hole cut out of the grassy hillside.
There was a gusting wind whipping through the cemetery. It seemed to ripple off headstones and crash into the mourning procession. Women’s hats were thrown off, and men’s ties flapped like kite tales. There was sun too; a bright glowing sort of summer sun. It was a happy sun.
What inconvenient weather. It should have rained.
Ira turned his back as the first shovels of dirt and pebbles were tossed back into the hole. He shut his eyes and tried to disappear, but the sound of mud and rock on the hollow casket beat like a drum in his mind—thump.
He wanted to cover his ears. Panic seemed to well up in his throat—thump.
Each crumbling thump seemed to shake Ira to the core. Tears were streaming again. His feet were moving. The tree, he stumbled behind it. Coming to his knees he gripped a handful of grass and set his head against the tree’s trunk.
Guilt! Loss! Guilt! Loss! Thump thump thump. Wind.
Thump. The wind seemed to convey the sound of his lost friend’s last existence as it was suppressed by dirt and mire—thump.
Or was he imagining the sound—thump.
You will not be forgotten. THUMP!
I will pay for this a thousand times over. THUMP!
Black.
Black slacks.
Black suit jacket.
Shiny black buttons on a faded black button up shirt perfectly pressed.
Black pin stripes and black tie with the first hint of light from diagonal white stripes. The tie covering his heart. Ira Conrad imagined his heart was pumping dark blood through his veins. Blood that was perhaps a crimson so deep it was a shade of black as well. Ira imagined the blackness seeping through limbs and erupting from his chest—the pain was so real that it was hard to believe it was an emotion and not a physical or literal ailment.
Ira suppressed a hiccup and gripped his shirt with a fist.
Ira stared down at the closed casket. More black; a shimmering darkness that reflected Ira’s own image on its smooth glossy surface. He naturally laid his other hand against the box. He could barely hear others in mourning passing behind him, sniffling, or weeping. Some sighed heavily as they passed. Ira could see their faint reflection in the casket’s mirror like surface; holding white handkerchiefs. Ira wondered why they weren’t black.
He wanted to cry too. He wanted to let it all drain out like a pressure cooker that’s lost its seal. It would relieve a certain amount of agony, but he couldn’t do it. It was almost like he wanted to cling to the agony. To make sure he paid for the loss—paid for it a thousand times over.
Ira was sitting in a pew with his mom, Stephanie Conrad. She wiped tears from her eyes with a white handkerchief as well. Everything seemed to echo in the Cathedral. There seemed to be so many shadows, and the only light was filtered by stained glass windows, depicting Saints with curled fingers and bowed heads. Ira noted the blaze of light surrounding each of their heads like a halo. Their long red garments bathed the light and turned it a transparent red, like Christmas lights. Much of the Cathedral reminded Ira of Christmas. He supposed that made sense.
The Cathedral smelled old. It smelled of dust and wood. It smelled of death.
One by one speakers mounted the pulpit. Ira recognized them but was in no hurry to recall their relation to Cole. They became a rumbling in the back of his mind; a mind tossed to and fro. Guilt to agony and back again.
The memories crashed into his cranium. Ira leaned forward and held his head in his hands. No. You don’t have to gruel over this again!!! But the memories only came with more fury. The phone in his hand.
“…Are you busy tonight?”
The lie.
The stupid girl. The distraction. The stupor of thought.
Ira held his face. The first tears wetted his palms. They smelled of salt. They didn’t solve anything. Ira sat wondering if he would ever be whole again. He didn’t want to be—he wanted to pay for this. Pay for it a thousand times over.
Ira gripped the casket once more; this time accompanied by several others whom Ira recognized but could not put a name to. The bulky box was heavy even with 6 men lifting. Ira fought back more tears as they hauled the box from the hearse to a perfectly rectangular hole cut out of the grassy hillside.
There was a gusting wind whipping through the cemetery. It seemed to ripple off headstones and crash into the mourning procession. Women’s hats were thrown off, and men’s ties flapped like kite tales. There was sun too; a bright glowing sort of summer sun. It was a happy sun.
What inconvenient weather. It should have rained.
Ira turned his back as the first shovels of dirt and pebbles were tossed back into the hole. He shut his eyes and tried to disappear, but the sound of mud and rock on the hollow casket beat like a drum in his mind—thump.
He wanted to cover his ears. Panic seemed to well up in his throat—thump.
Each crumbling thump seemed to shake Ira to the core. Tears were streaming again. His feet were moving. The tree, he stumbled behind it. Coming to his knees he gripped a handful of grass and set his head against the tree’s trunk.
Guilt! Loss! Guilt! Loss! Thump thump thump. Wind.
Thump. The wind seemed to convey the sound of his lost friend’s last existence as it was suppressed by dirt and mire—thump.
Or was he imagining the sound—thump.
You will not be forgotten. THUMP!
I will pay for this a thousand times over. THUMP!
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Mental Homicide
(A quick disclaimer: this is a piece a I wrote for a class assignment that we will be turning into a short "silent" film. thus said, there is no dialogue except visual dialogue, words are mouthed etc. and there are no descriptions of sound whatsoever. So take that into account when critiquing it. Also, when you write a screenplay, you cannot write "Tyler was surprised..." because that is a very non-visual description and is rather ambiguous. rather you would write "...Tyler's mouth dropped open, his hands released his books that clattered to the ground." Thus the visual representation of surprise is depicted. That is how this piece is written as well. Please take these 2 things into account when reviewing the piece.)
Jon, a young man with glasses, slowly opens his eyes in a pool of water. He blinks repeatedly from the impact of more water falling onto his face from the sink above.
The door to the restroom opens as another man in a dark jacket (no tie) walks in. upon seeing Jon’s state in the messy bathroom the Jacketed Man hurries to aid Jon in getting back on his feet. Jon leans against the wall holding his head, while Jacket man washes his hands.
Jacket man leaves but as he does, Jon glances down and sees Jacket Man pushing a wallet into his back pocket. Jon, does a double take, reaches for his own wallet and realizes its missing. He is startled for a moment, but after regaining his composure, he runs out the door to confront the man who has just pick-pocketed him.
Outside the bathroom Jon sees his assailant disappearing around a corner to his left. Jon inhales deeply and then starts walking in pursuit. He hasn’t taken more than 3 steps however when something draws his gaze to the right. He quickly looks to find the same jacketed man sitting at a table. Shocked Jon looks to his left then his right repeatedly. He mouths the words “how did you…?”
Jon shrugs it off and marches to confront the man. As Jon reaches the table, the man motions for him to have a seat across from him. Jon, skeptically, pulls the chair out and moves to sit, but, to his surprise the chair is suddenly gone, and Jon stumbles to the ground.
Jon picks himself up again only to find himself next to an old house that’s decrepit and crumbling. Jon rubs his head and scans the area. He hears a noise and steps to peak around the corner.
He sees the Jacketed man hunched over a tree stump, using a rusty knife to cut carrots. Jon is shakes his head and blinks repeatedly in disbelief. He stares on at the jacketed man in an attempt to decide what his next move is. Suddenly, the jacketed man looks up and meets eyes with Jon. Jon jumps back around the corner, sure that the man has already seen him.
Slowly Jon takes another peek. The man is gone but the vegetables and axe remain on the stump. Jon checks his surroundings. Nothing. Jon looks back to the stump—the axe is now gone.
Jon begins to shake in panic. He slowly creeps forward and investigates the stump.
As he leans down and picks up the shredded carrots, the Jacketed man approaches from over Jon’s shoulder. Jon does not realize the man is approaching. The man raises the axe and at the last second. Jon turns to find his assailant.
He is thrown backwards over the stump. Jon stumbles, rolls, and breaks into a run making it around the nearest corner of the house. As Jon run’s he looks back over his shoulder for his pursuant, but to his dismay, the Jacketed man is gone again.
Jon rounds the corner and smashes into someone—the jacketed man.
Jacket man grabs Jon and begins to shake him. He then reveals a pistol from his coat.
Suddenly, the pair are in the middle of a road. Cars flying by on both sides.
Suddenly they both are struggling in the bathroom. They’re feet slosh water as they struggle for hold on the gun.
At last Jon wrenches the gun from Jacket-Man’s grasp. He steps back and points it at Jacket man’s chest. But Jacket man continues to grin. From behind him he reveals the axe. Jacket man takes 2 steps forward. Jon motions for him to stay away with the pistol.
Then, Jon lowers the gun for a moment as his mouth gapes open.
Flashback.
Jon is in the bathroom alone. As he washes his hands he slips in the water and hits his head like a rag doll on the lip of the sink.
Back to.
Jon holding the gun. Jacket man is in front of him but does not advance. Jon reaches in his back pocket and finds his wallet is still there.
Astonished, Jon looks back to his hand and though his fingers are still formed as though they were holding a gun, there is nothing in his hand. Jon looks forward, Jacketed man is not there anymore either.
Jon closes his eyes and opens them. Jacket man is back in the bathroom and the gun is in Jon’s hand once more. Jon slowly shifts the gun to his own head.
Jacket man yells “Noooo!!!”
Jon, now without a gun in his hand, Jon closes his eyes, and pulls the trigger.
A Flash of light and then blackness.
Jon stands alone in the bathroom. He closes his eyes and opens them. Jacket-Man does not return.
The End
Jon, a young man with glasses, slowly opens his eyes in a pool of water. He blinks repeatedly from the impact of more water falling onto his face from the sink above.
The door to the restroom opens as another man in a dark jacket (no tie) walks in. upon seeing Jon’s state in the messy bathroom the Jacketed Man hurries to aid Jon in getting back on his feet. Jon leans against the wall holding his head, while Jacket man washes his hands.
Jacket man leaves but as he does, Jon glances down and sees Jacket Man pushing a wallet into his back pocket. Jon, does a double take, reaches for his own wallet and realizes its missing. He is startled for a moment, but after regaining his composure, he runs out the door to confront the man who has just pick-pocketed him.
Outside the bathroom Jon sees his assailant disappearing around a corner to his left. Jon inhales deeply and then starts walking in pursuit. He hasn’t taken more than 3 steps however when something draws his gaze to the right. He quickly looks to find the same jacketed man sitting at a table. Shocked Jon looks to his left then his right repeatedly. He mouths the words “how did you…?”
Jon shrugs it off and marches to confront the man. As Jon reaches the table, the man motions for him to have a seat across from him. Jon, skeptically, pulls the chair out and moves to sit, but, to his surprise the chair is suddenly gone, and Jon stumbles to the ground.
Jon picks himself up again only to find himself next to an old house that’s decrepit and crumbling. Jon rubs his head and scans the area. He hears a noise and steps to peak around the corner.
He sees the Jacketed man hunched over a tree stump, using a rusty knife to cut carrots. Jon is shakes his head and blinks repeatedly in disbelief. He stares on at the jacketed man in an attempt to decide what his next move is. Suddenly, the jacketed man looks up and meets eyes with Jon. Jon jumps back around the corner, sure that the man has already seen him.
Slowly Jon takes another peek. The man is gone but the vegetables and axe remain on the stump. Jon checks his surroundings. Nothing. Jon looks back to the stump—the axe is now gone.
Jon begins to shake in panic. He slowly creeps forward and investigates the stump.
As he leans down and picks up the shredded carrots, the Jacketed man approaches from over Jon’s shoulder. Jon does not realize the man is approaching. The man raises the axe and at the last second. Jon turns to find his assailant.
He is thrown backwards over the stump. Jon stumbles, rolls, and breaks into a run making it around the nearest corner of the house. As Jon run’s he looks back over his shoulder for his pursuant, but to his dismay, the Jacketed man is gone again.
Jon rounds the corner and smashes into someone—the jacketed man.
Jacket man grabs Jon and begins to shake him. He then reveals a pistol from his coat.
Suddenly, the pair are in the middle of a road. Cars flying by on both sides.
Suddenly they both are struggling in the bathroom. They’re feet slosh water as they struggle for hold on the gun.
At last Jon wrenches the gun from Jacket-Man’s grasp. He steps back and points it at Jacket man’s chest. But Jacket man continues to grin. From behind him he reveals the axe. Jacket man takes 2 steps forward. Jon motions for him to stay away with the pistol.
Then, Jon lowers the gun for a moment as his mouth gapes open.
Flashback.
Jon is in the bathroom alone. As he washes his hands he slips in the water and hits his head like a rag doll on the lip of the sink.
Back to.
Jon holding the gun. Jacket man is in front of him but does not advance. Jon reaches in his back pocket and finds his wallet is still there.
Astonished, Jon looks back to his hand and though his fingers are still formed as though they were holding a gun, there is nothing in his hand. Jon looks forward, Jacketed man is not there anymore either.
Jon closes his eyes and opens them. Jacket man is back in the bathroom and the gun is in Jon’s hand once more. Jon slowly shifts the gun to his own head.
Jacket man yells “Noooo!!!”
Jon, now without a gun in his hand, Jon closes his eyes, and pulls the trigger.
A Flash of light and then blackness.
Jon stands alone in the bathroom. He closes his eyes and opens them. Jacket-Man does not return.
The End
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Clouds Chapter 1
August 12, Somewhere beneath Lake Nasser, Egypt
His hands felt raw as he gripped the crusted rocks. They were the only thing keeping him from tumbling down the steep slope in the darkness. Several times his tattered hiking boots had slipped out and Isaiah Conrad lurched on the edge of the precipice. The trail wound downward like a snake in the enormous cave. They had walked for what seemed like a full day without stop. The tunnel had grown wider and wider, as they walked deeper and deeper into the earth. Isaiah had held a glowing shaft in the darkness to guide his way for much of the trip. It was a simple tube of glass, but when Isaiah touched it, a blue light emitted in the darkness. Isaiah was a Mariner, and thus had a gift to charge certain artifacts made from viduro-glass with an energy known as the Mist. The Mist glowed in the darkness from the shaft giving him a vision of his foot placement.
But the path soon became illuminated from another source. Tiny twinkling lights, like stars, flickered somewhere far above. Isaiah pondered on them for many hours, wondering how such a light source could exist in the dark of the cave. He had naturally wanted to call them cave stars. They illuminated everything in a dull blue light. Isaiah could now see the vast expanse before him. It was like being in the largest cathedral that ever existed. But instead of pillars, there were large rounded rock walls curving up to the ceiling at least a couple miles above them.
Below was a vast expanse of water. Isaiah could not see the far end of the chamber but in its center, jutting out of the water, was a large island. The island looked like a perfect disc that rested on the water. Its diameter was at least 20 miles. And though they were in a cave, deep beneath the earth’s surface, Isaiah felt like he was on top of a mountain staring down on a great lake.
The island was not vacant however. It was covered in crumbling structures that seemed covered in moss and mud; large stone buildings that were crumbling against the weight of long rains, and a damp ocean like air. There were large roads, completely empty, that ran through the groaning city, and a perimeter wall that rose to full height in some places, but vanished from destruction all together in other spots.
Isaiah paused on several occasions to stare out at the dim broken city below. Marinthe! A once great nation was now rubble and history. Isaiah’s heart jumped with the sight. He wanted so badly to spend the rest of his life digging through the city. Discovering what his ancestor’s lives were truly about. It was an archeologist’s dream world. It was a completely dead city. All of the cities inhabitants had died with the cities destruction. Isaiah’s ancestors had been some of those that had escaped. They carried on much of the traditions and brought with them many artifacts, but the Mariner world was still a secret and a myth, little known to the outside world.
Nevertheless, Isaiah could not help but get excited. He imagined that his current emotions were on par with those that had discovered Pompeii after Mount Vesuvius erupted and buried it. Or like the man that discovered the Valley of the Kings in Egypt. Marinthe had suffered a similar fate, only not by volcano; Marinthe had been sunk and destroyed by hurricane, tornado, blizzard, fierce winds, and lightning—all in the same moment. Each weather form had contributed to its current state. The few accounts Isaiah had encountered described it as though the island had been flipped upside down completely and forced into Lake Nasser, which was where the island had originally existed.
For that reason Isaiah had searched Lake Nasser for years in search of any remnant or archeological sign of the once great city of Marinthe. But his flaw was thinking the city would be under water. Isaiah didn’t understand how but the city had somehow been pushed deep inside the earth...
“Conrad! Keep moving.” A raspy winded voice echoed through the air. Isaiah looked forward again. His only companion on the trip, a man who claimed to be called Triston Howard. Isaiah shuttered to himself. He openly admitted to hating the man in his mind. He wished he could push him off the cliff face, but Isaiah worried the fall would not kill him. It was only water below, and he might survive. It would be too risky. Mr. Howard was dangerous; dangerous for whom he really was. Isaiah was no fool and it did not take him long to realize that Triston Howard was in truth a man so old, he was worthy of archeological study. His right name was Amun Chenzira, and he had been an original inhabitant of Marinthe some 3,000 years prior. Chenzira had been the Emperor for a short time…
How did I end up in this predicament? Isaiah thought as he began trudging forward again. His frail knees wobbled with each step. Isaiah was beginning to feel his age. He did not think 65 year old men capable of such. That was another reason of why Isaiah had relied on Chenzira to find Marinthe; a man who had seen it, who had walked its streets and lived to the current day. Chenzira had been there, over 3,000 years prior and had been the catalyst that brought the city to its destruction. Yet somehow Chenzira was still alive. He was a man shrouded in secrets and dark endeavors. He would not have good intentions for this journey to Marinthe.
Isaiah knew Chenzira was returning to find something, probably some artifact that had aided him in the past to conquest. But what exactly that meant, Isaiah could not be sure on. He found himself, however, wondering if coming was the right thing to do at all. He was risking so much, and for what? To get a glimpse of an ancient civilization? Conrad reviewed his reasoning in his mind to comfort a swollen conscience. In all reality Isaiah had little choice in the matter to begin with. He stumbled upon something so valuable many would kill for it.
In either event Chenzira would have managed the trip with or without himself. He would have simply killed Isaiah, and taken the map to Marinthe, had he not agreed to the journey.
It had only been 2 week prior that Isaiah had made a major archeological discovery there in Sudan. It was a large glass box the size and shape of a coffin. At first Isaiah had hoped to use it as data for an analogue he was working on which proved that glass had been first created by the original inhabitant culture called the Mariners near lake Nasser. But inside the glass coffin, Isaiah discovered several artifacts of more value than a simple analogue.
Isaiah tried desperately to keep the contents of the box secret. One of the artifacts was a map, the other a weapon.
Isaiah quickly wrapped the weapon up, and shipped it FedEx to one of his colleagues, Tannon Daecraw in Oregon. Tannon would know what to do with it. He would know how to hide it.
The map, on the other hand, Isaiah kept in his possession. It was his backup plan. Too many eyes were there to witness the glass coffin. There were loose lipped traitors, and Chenzira’s persuasion was absolute.
Isaiah thanked his lucky stars for the map however, for not 2 days later, a man came knocking at his door proclaiming to be Triston Howard, a curious descendent of the Lost Mariner civilization. Isaiah knew instantly that Triston Howard was a liar and somehow in league with the Marauders. He did not realize at first though, that he was the leader of the Marauders.
Isaiah proclaimed that the map was the only thing found in the box and he agreed to accompany Mr. Howard to find the lost entrance to Marinthe. It was enough to fool Chenzira for a time. Chenzira had agreed to the trip and not made mention of the weapon. Isaiah only hoped that the weapon would remain occult. Deep in his heart he doubted that though. Whisperings would lead Chenzira to Oakridge eventually. That was another reason Isaiah regretted his decision with each step. His family was in Oakridge.
Isaiah took a few more steps and tried to shake his consciences constant mutterings. At least now Isaiah was still breathing and he would witness what Chenzira was up to… and seeing the walls of Marinthe somehow made it all worth it. For the moment, anyway.
Isaiah kept moving down the slope. Witness? The word stung his mind. Witnesses to crimes were liabilities. Chenzira would not leave him alive. Once they reached the city he had to escape. He had to hide and find his way back out before Chenzira. Then inform the academy and they could stop the evil again before it started.
There was still so much risk. The day before Chenzira showed up, the same day he sent the weapon to Tannon, Isaiah wrote a hasty letter to Patrick, his grandson. Isaiah was not sure why he did it, but he felt the need to warn his family, but he had sworn to Stephanie, his daughter, that Patrick would not get wrapped up in the Mariner world like his father had.
As long as Patrick got his letter everything would be fine. He hoped he would understand their importance. Isaiah could only hope Patrick would notice any out of the ordinary people hanging around. There would be many trying to find the weapon. Patrick would be getting the letter any day now.
A twinge of remorse etched his brow. This could all go very wrong. He would surely be killed, done away with once his purpose was fulfilled, in fact, he was already becoming more of a drag than a necessity. Chenzira had found Marinthe, and beyond doubt no longer needed Isaiah’s presence.
Chenzira was not the type to leave innocent bystanders breathing. Then Patrick and Stephanie would be next on the list. Then anyone who opposed Chenzira would be obliterated. There would be a war. A war between the Mariner’s and the rest of the world; Chenzira versus the entire world civilization above. Was it right to risk all this just to see the lost city? Isaiah’s archeological ambitions had long put distances between him and his family. It was another subject of remorse. He pushed it from his mind.
Isaiah came around a bend in the trail to find Amun hunched and staring out over the city. It was the best view yet of the large roadways and crumbled buildings. Isaiah’s heart almost stopped. There was so much history here. He imagined finding artifact after artifact that would help piece together what life had been like for the original Mariners. Isaiah couldn’t help but let his jaw drop. It would be worth it. This moment made it all worth it.
The city was covered in shadows of the cave though. The small blue lights hovering somewhere above like stars illuminated only certain angles. There was so much Isaiah did not understand. He thirsted for the knowledge though. Years down the road, Isaiah would be bringing his students from the university to witness this site. The thought was little more than a wish, however.
Chenzira groaned. He was hunched over wearing his cloak and hood. Isaiah could make out a hand gripping intently at the fabric on his chest.
“This had all been mine. Truthfully, it still is mine. Every stone, every wooden parapet, every archway, every grain of sand...every shard of glass.” The raspy voice was like listening to an old radio. He hadn’t spoken this much the entire journey. It was as though seeing the lost city, caked in shadow, was like seeing a loved one in the casket of death. Isaiah almost felt sorry for the cruel man.
A few more moments passed as both men gawked in the darkness. And then Chenzira urged them forward. He said at dawn there would be light and they could cross the channel to the island. Isaiah did not understand what Chenzira meant, or how he presumed to know so much about this underworld.
Isaiah stared downward again. It was a dizzying height, but he could now make out the movements of deep waters in the shimmer of cave twinkles… or whatever it was that gave light in the cavern. Isaiah put a hand to his forehead as they walked. He was old and he could feel the tension on his joints. He couldn’t do this much longer. He did not know how he would make the trip back out. Isaiah was convinced there was an artifact in Marinthe that Chenzira was after, perhaps even one of the 8. He did not know what exactly it would be. None of the original artifacts would be of any use though after so many thousands of years. If the Glassblower that created an artifact was deceased, than the artifact would be useless. Except for a few of them. There were 8 of them created by the hand of Demetri Idero Idune himself. They had lived on beyond his death. Many believed it was because Demetri never died, but was simply taken home to a palace prepared by the Maker inside the sun. There was legend of 8 artifacts, which Demetri had used in the destruction of Marinthe. And that these artifacts still functioned. A legend Isaiah now had reason to believe was true, after finding the weapon in the Sudan which He believed to be one of the 8 artifacts of Idune.
The thought cinged his own brow. Isaiah glanced around as though his secret might be discovered. Even thinking about it made his hands tense and his brow sweat. In Chenzira’s presence… if Chenzira only knew what he possessed, what was on its way to Oakridge in a express FedEx package. There was no telling how Chenzira would react. Isaiah had hung on his every word hoping to learn more about Chenzira’s history. How he had lived for so many years. Hoping to discover some part of his plans, but Chenzira was no fool. He had no reason, or intention of allowing Isaiah to know his schemes. Isaiah had to get away. He had to discover what Chenzira was after, and then somehow reach the surface before him and warn the Counsel at the Academy. All this before anyone discovered what else he had found in the Sudan.
Isaiah stared back at the stony cliff path they were trotting down. His legs seemed to shake with each step.
Ahead Chenzira began hacking and wheezing and grabbing at his chest. Isaiah relaxed knowing that whatever had kept Chenzira alive for so long, it was not holding him together so well these days. Chenzira looked like a sallow carcass of a man.
A wind crept up from the water below. They were treading down a steeper path and the surface seemed closer with each step. Isaiah could now smell the wet air. It smelled of seaweed and old dirt. The waters must be ancient. Isaiah wondered if there was an outlet or an inlet of any sort… if these waters ever moved? The scientist in Isaiah was coming out again. It was that curiosity that made him risk it all on this adventure. He had known from the beginning that the man who offered to take the trip to Marinthe was an enemy. But the daunting urges to see the lost city at last, to see it before he died, to be the only man to know his roots…
Isaiah sighed. He had risked it all for truth about his heritage, and he was beginning to wonder if it was worth it. It had to be. He would figure out Chenzira’s plans and disclose them…somehow. That would make his vain sacrifice a more noble cause. Then the Haloes would speed his mission. The Clouds would be guiding him.
Isaiah stared down again. They were low enough now that he could jump. He could hit the waters without dying on impact. The height was still dizzying though. Isaiah could not bring himself to do it. Not yet. Why am I such a coward?
Suddenly Chenzira stopped dead in his tracks. He was staring again out across the city. Isaiah began to wonder on the wretched man’s delusions.
“Take this!” Chenzira said, as he revealed a silver hilted pistol from a side bag. Isaiah furrowed his brow. What was this madness? Isaiah took the gun in his two hands. Was Chenzira preparing him for a duel? Was he going to give him an honorable last moment? A chance to defend himself before he died?
Isaiah cocked the gun and pointed it at Chenzira. He would not give him the chance. He would kill the Dark Seed then and there. The pistol began to glow blue as Isaiah’s touch charged the glass capsule interior. He gently nudged his finger against the trigger. All he had to do was pull, and a blue ball of liquid fire would explode from the barrel of the gun and incinerate Chenzira.
“Don’t you move…or I’ll…” Isaiah’s words sounded hallow. His hand was shaking as well. He was wavering in his boldness. Chenzira began to laugh.
“You are a fool Conrad! It never ceases to amaze me.” Chenzira removed a second pistol from his bag and pointed it out over the water. Chenzira nodded with his head for Isaiah to look. Slowly, expecting a trap, Isaiah glanced out across the water. He could hardly see anything now. A low hovering mist was gathering around the city. After it gathered like an army of mist, it ventured across the water. The mist was rolling and tumbled gently in their direction. With each bounce it became a larger heap of cloud matter. Though it did not seem to be moved by the wind, it was now channeling directly for them like a large mountain of dark and gray cotton.
“You can go ahead and kill me, but what are you going to do about the Dark Mage on its way to prevent us from reaching the city?” Chenzira’s smile was now gone. He held the pistol out, pointing at the rolling mist. The clouds tumbled to the cliff face and then pushed upwards. In seconds they would be enveloped.
“On my mark human!” Chenzira spat the words, knowing that Isaiah would obey. It burned Isaiah that somehow Chenzira still held the charge of a leader. Isaiah pointed the pistol at the cloud mass. “Wait for its core to appear.”
“How will I recognize it?” Isaiah whispered.
Chenzira snorted. “With all your clout and arrogance, the Academy still knows nothing of the Mariner world. Clinging to petty traditions, but you don’t know anything of what it means to be a Mariner!” Chenzira shook his head. Isaiah wanted to strangle the man then and there. He was not a soldier, he was an archeologist; a teacher at the university. He did not profess to know the workings of the Mages. That was left up to others. “You’ll recognize its core because that will be the first thing it reveals, in the shape of some monster, just before it smashes us to bits.”
Isaiah held his breath. He watched as the rolling, tumbling clouds pushed upwards. It all made Isaiah feel very small in a large world of danger. At the head of the tumult a large ball of mist began to churn in a circle as though it were spinning. It began to take shape. The ball of mist seemed to condense and solidify. There was an oblong ball of cloud out of which grew to large horns of mist causing it to strongly resemble a very large ram’s head made of cloud matter; riding at the head of a torrent of smoke—this was the Mage’s core.
Isaiah had heard stories, even seen some photographs, but never had he actually witnessed a Mage fully revealed to the naked eye. They were creatures made of the clouds. They were the clouds. Large roaming beasts that hid themselves placidly in the sky from the human world unless compelled to a manifestation. And now that he was seeing it, he no longer wanted any part of it. The white demon sped upwards none the less. A huge massive river of fog with the head of a ram.
Chenzira opened fire. He relentlessly pulled the trigger of his silver pistol. Blue charges sped toward the Mage. 10, 11, 12 charges were fired by Chenzira before Isaiah gathered his courage and followed suit. The cobalt bursts crashed into the cloud matter and exploded like Molotov Cocktails. They seemed to ignite large chunks of the cloud with blue laces of fire that spread, slowing the Mage’s progress until they fizzled out. The Mage shifted and 2 enormous arms began to form from the fog. It used the large arms to block the last few charges.
Isaiah wanted to run. His sole desire was to drop the pistol and run for his life—but where could he run to while the enormous creature sallied upwards.
Chenzira was stone faced and did not budge. He continued to fire the pistol at the Cloud beast whose arms were within 20 feet. Isaiah stumbled backward and fell onto his butt. He was turning to run when the Mage reached them. Its large arms and boulder sized fists began swinging at the mountain side. They crashed into the rock, as though they were solid objects, no longer just a wisp of cloud.
The whole cliff side shook and sent shards of rock tumbling to the water below. Isaiah ducked as a large arm smashed the cliff just above his head. He looked back to see Chenzira collapsing to the ground. The Mage must have had a direct hit on the Dark Seed. Isaiah watched in horror. He was frozen in place. He wanted to leap from the ledge but the desire to see what happened prevented him from moving.
The Mage hovered above them for another moment. It reached its massive arms out, that were the size of a semi-truck, above its head preparing for a final blow. But before its beastly hands came crashing down, Amun Chenzira sprung from the rock face. He jumped with a youthful energy that surprised Isaiah. He cleared the gap like a flying squirrel between the cliff and the Mage. He crashed into the cloud monster’s chest, all the while Chenzira continued to fire shots from his pistol at the Ram’s head.
Isaiah gripped his pistol and let it charge for a moment, until it was glowing, a jagged blue light. Then Isaiah fired more shots at the ram’s head. If Chenzira could keep fighting in such a circumstance, than so could he. The Mage was pounding at its chest, but somehow Chenzira managed to hold on. Hold on? To what? Somehow Chenzira was floating there in the clouds, which Isaiah did not understand at all. The cloud matter must have somehow condensed and become more solid.
The ram’s fists came crashing against its own chest, but Chenzira was beginning to get a full blue fire burning across the Mage’s face. The fire seemed to spread slowly onto the Mage’s shoulders and down its arms, until the entire storm was a mass of burning clouds. Then the Mage fell backwards and began to disintegrate into the rest of the oncoming fog. Chenzira rode the flailing monster into the bleak fog below until he was lost from view in the fog below. Isaiah expected there to be some sort of splash on the water as the massive torched ram collided with the surface, but no such sound was made. The ram seemed to disintegrate back into the mist from whence it had come, without a sound. Chenzira was gone as well.
Isaiah was left alone on the cliff face holding a small pistol and wiping his forehead with a dirty hand. He sat up and rubbed his chest. His eyes glared into the mist below but they had become a swirl of unintelligible fog once again. Chenzira was gone? Isaiah doubted it. He looked behind himself at the winding trail he had come down. He could walk away in that moment. He could return to the surface and inform the academy… he could run home and protect Patrick and Stephanie and Tannon…
Then Isaiah paused. There was a light breeze on the air. In his heart Isaiah knew he needed to press on. He needed to see what Chenzira had planned with Marinthe. His letter would be enough to warn Patrick…
Isaiah trudged forward in the darkness.
His hands felt raw as he gripped the crusted rocks. They were the only thing keeping him from tumbling down the steep slope in the darkness. Several times his tattered hiking boots had slipped out and Isaiah Conrad lurched on the edge of the precipice. The trail wound downward like a snake in the enormous cave. They had walked for what seemed like a full day without stop. The tunnel had grown wider and wider, as they walked deeper and deeper into the earth. Isaiah had held a glowing shaft in the darkness to guide his way for much of the trip. It was a simple tube of glass, but when Isaiah touched it, a blue light emitted in the darkness. Isaiah was a Mariner, and thus had a gift to charge certain artifacts made from viduro-glass with an energy known as the Mist. The Mist glowed in the darkness from the shaft giving him a vision of his foot placement.
But the path soon became illuminated from another source. Tiny twinkling lights, like stars, flickered somewhere far above. Isaiah pondered on them for many hours, wondering how such a light source could exist in the dark of the cave. He had naturally wanted to call them cave stars. They illuminated everything in a dull blue light. Isaiah could now see the vast expanse before him. It was like being in the largest cathedral that ever existed. But instead of pillars, there were large rounded rock walls curving up to the ceiling at least a couple miles above them.
Below was a vast expanse of water. Isaiah could not see the far end of the chamber but in its center, jutting out of the water, was a large island. The island looked like a perfect disc that rested on the water. Its diameter was at least 20 miles. And though they were in a cave, deep beneath the earth’s surface, Isaiah felt like he was on top of a mountain staring down on a great lake.
The island was not vacant however. It was covered in crumbling structures that seemed covered in moss and mud; large stone buildings that were crumbling against the weight of long rains, and a damp ocean like air. There were large roads, completely empty, that ran through the groaning city, and a perimeter wall that rose to full height in some places, but vanished from destruction all together in other spots.
Isaiah paused on several occasions to stare out at the dim broken city below. Marinthe! A once great nation was now rubble and history. Isaiah’s heart jumped with the sight. He wanted so badly to spend the rest of his life digging through the city. Discovering what his ancestor’s lives were truly about. It was an archeologist’s dream world. It was a completely dead city. All of the cities inhabitants had died with the cities destruction. Isaiah’s ancestors had been some of those that had escaped. They carried on much of the traditions and brought with them many artifacts, but the Mariner world was still a secret and a myth, little known to the outside world.
Nevertheless, Isaiah could not help but get excited. He imagined that his current emotions were on par with those that had discovered Pompeii after Mount Vesuvius erupted and buried it. Or like the man that discovered the Valley of the Kings in Egypt. Marinthe had suffered a similar fate, only not by volcano; Marinthe had been sunk and destroyed by hurricane, tornado, blizzard, fierce winds, and lightning—all in the same moment. Each weather form had contributed to its current state. The few accounts Isaiah had encountered described it as though the island had been flipped upside down completely and forced into Lake Nasser, which was where the island had originally existed.
For that reason Isaiah had searched Lake Nasser for years in search of any remnant or archeological sign of the once great city of Marinthe. But his flaw was thinking the city would be under water. Isaiah didn’t understand how but the city had somehow been pushed deep inside the earth...
“Conrad! Keep moving.” A raspy winded voice echoed through the air. Isaiah looked forward again. His only companion on the trip, a man who claimed to be called Triston Howard. Isaiah shuttered to himself. He openly admitted to hating the man in his mind. He wished he could push him off the cliff face, but Isaiah worried the fall would not kill him. It was only water below, and he might survive. It would be too risky. Mr. Howard was dangerous; dangerous for whom he really was. Isaiah was no fool and it did not take him long to realize that Triston Howard was in truth a man so old, he was worthy of archeological study. His right name was Amun Chenzira, and he had been an original inhabitant of Marinthe some 3,000 years prior. Chenzira had been the Emperor for a short time…
How did I end up in this predicament? Isaiah thought as he began trudging forward again. His frail knees wobbled with each step. Isaiah was beginning to feel his age. He did not think 65 year old men capable of such. That was another reason of why Isaiah had relied on Chenzira to find Marinthe; a man who had seen it, who had walked its streets and lived to the current day. Chenzira had been there, over 3,000 years prior and had been the catalyst that brought the city to its destruction. Yet somehow Chenzira was still alive. He was a man shrouded in secrets and dark endeavors. He would not have good intentions for this journey to Marinthe.
Isaiah knew Chenzira was returning to find something, probably some artifact that had aided him in the past to conquest. But what exactly that meant, Isaiah could not be sure on. He found himself, however, wondering if coming was the right thing to do at all. He was risking so much, and for what? To get a glimpse of an ancient civilization? Conrad reviewed his reasoning in his mind to comfort a swollen conscience. In all reality Isaiah had little choice in the matter to begin with. He stumbled upon something so valuable many would kill for it.
In either event Chenzira would have managed the trip with or without himself. He would have simply killed Isaiah, and taken the map to Marinthe, had he not agreed to the journey.
It had only been 2 week prior that Isaiah had made a major archeological discovery there in Sudan. It was a large glass box the size and shape of a coffin. At first Isaiah had hoped to use it as data for an analogue he was working on which proved that glass had been first created by the original inhabitant culture called the Mariners near lake Nasser. But inside the glass coffin, Isaiah discovered several artifacts of more value than a simple analogue.
Isaiah tried desperately to keep the contents of the box secret. One of the artifacts was a map, the other a weapon.
Isaiah quickly wrapped the weapon up, and shipped it FedEx to one of his colleagues, Tannon Daecraw in Oregon. Tannon would know what to do with it. He would know how to hide it.
The map, on the other hand, Isaiah kept in his possession. It was his backup plan. Too many eyes were there to witness the glass coffin. There were loose lipped traitors, and Chenzira’s persuasion was absolute.
Isaiah thanked his lucky stars for the map however, for not 2 days later, a man came knocking at his door proclaiming to be Triston Howard, a curious descendent of the Lost Mariner civilization. Isaiah knew instantly that Triston Howard was a liar and somehow in league with the Marauders. He did not realize at first though, that he was the leader of the Marauders.
Isaiah proclaimed that the map was the only thing found in the box and he agreed to accompany Mr. Howard to find the lost entrance to Marinthe. It was enough to fool Chenzira for a time. Chenzira had agreed to the trip and not made mention of the weapon. Isaiah only hoped that the weapon would remain occult. Deep in his heart he doubted that though. Whisperings would lead Chenzira to Oakridge eventually. That was another reason Isaiah regretted his decision with each step. His family was in Oakridge.
Isaiah took a few more steps and tried to shake his consciences constant mutterings. At least now Isaiah was still breathing and he would witness what Chenzira was up to… and seeing the walls of Marinthe somehow made it all worth it. For the moment, anyway.
Isaiah kept moving down the slope. Witness? The word stung his mind. Witnesses to crimes were liabilities. Chenzira would not leave him alive. Once they reached the city he had to escape. He had to hide and find his way back out before Chenzira. Then inform the academy and they could stop the evil again before it started.
There was still so much risk. The day before Chenzira showed up, the same day he sent the weapon to Tannon, Isaiah wrote a hasty letter to Patrick, his grandson. Isaiah was not sure why he did it, but he felt the need to warn his family, but he had sworn to Stephanie, his daughter, that Patrick would not get wrapped up in the Mariner world like his father had.
As long as Patrick got his letter everything would be fine. He hoped he would understand their importance. Isaiah could only hope Patrick would notice any out of the ordinary people hanging around. There would be many trying to find the weapon. Patrick would be getting the letter any day now.
A twinge of remorse etched his brow. This could all go very wrong. He would surely be killed, done away with once his purpose was fulfilled, in fact, he was already becoming more of a drag than a necessity. Chenzira had found Marinthe, and beyond doubt no longer needed Isaiah’s presence.
Chenzira was not the type to leave innocent bystanders breathing. Then Patrick and Stephanie would be next on the list. Then anyone who opposed Chenzira would be obliterated. There would be a war. A war between the Mariner’s and the rest of the world; Chenzira versus the entire world civilization above. Was it right to risk all this just to see the lost city? Isaiah’s archeological ambitions had long put distances between him and his family. It was another subject of remorse. He pushed it from his mind.
Isaiah came around a bend in the trail to find Amun hunched and staring out over the city. It was the best view yet of the large roadways and crumbled buildings. Isaiah’s heart almost stopped. There was so much history here. He imagined finding artifact after artifact that would help piece together what life had been like for the original Mariners. Isaiah couldn’t help but let his jaw drop. It would be worth it. This moment made it all worth it.
The city was covered in shadows of the cave though. The small blue lights hovering somewhere above like stars illuminated only certain angles. There was so much Isaiah did not understand. He thirsted for the knowledge though. Years down the road, Isaiah would be bringing his students from the university to witness this site. The thought was little more than a wish, however.
Chenzira groaned. He was hunched over wearing his cloak and hood. Isaiah could make out a hand gripping intently at the fabric on his chest.
“This had all been mine. Truthfully, it still is mine. Every stone, every wooden parapet, every archway, every grain of sand...every shard of glass.” The raspy voice was like listening to an old radio. He hadn’t spoken this much the entire journey. It was as though seeing the lost city, caked in shadow, was like seeing a loved one in the casket of death. Isaiah almost felt sorry for the cruel man.
A few more moments passed as both men gawked in the darkness. And then Chenzira urged them forward. He said at dawn there would be light and they could cross the channel to the island. Isaiah did not understand what Chenzira meant, or how he presumed to know so much about this underworld.
Isaiah stared downward again. It was a dizzying height, but he could now make out the movements of deep waters in the shimmer of cave twinkles… or whatever it was that gave light in the cavern. Isaiah put a hand to his forehead as they walked. He was old and he could feel the tension on his joints. He couldn’t do this much longer. He did not know how he would make the trip back out. Isaiah was convinced there was an artifact in Marinthe that Chenzira was after, perhaps even one of the 8. He did not know what exactly it would be. None of the original artifacts would be of any use though after so many thousands of years. If the Glassblower that created an artifact was deceased, than the artifact would be useless. Except for a few of them. There were 8 of them created by the hand of Demetri Idero Idune himself. They had lived on beyond his death. Many believed it was because Demetri never died, but was simply taken home to a palace prepared by the Maker inside the sun. There was legend of 8 artifacts, which Demetri had used in the destruction of Marinthe. And that these artifacts still functioned. A legend Isaiah now had reason to believe was true, after finding the weapon in the Sudan which He believed to be one of the 8 artifacts of Idune.
The thought cinged his own brow. Isaiah glanced around as though his secret might be discovered. Even thinking about it made his hands tense and his brow sweat. In Chenzira’s presence… if Chenzira only knew what he possessed, what was on its way to Oakridge in a express FedEx package. There was no telling how Chenzira would react. Isaiah had hung on his every word hoping to learn more about Chenzira’s history. How he had lived for so many years. Hoping to discover some part of his plans, but Chenzira was no fool. He had no reason, or intention of allowing Isaiah to know his schemes. Isaiah had to get away. He had to discover what Chenzira was after, and then somehow reach the surface before him and warn the Counsel at the Academy. All this before anyone discovered what else he had found in the Sudan.
Isaiah stared back at the stony cliff path they were trotting down. His legs seemed to shake with each step.
Ahead Chenzira began hacking and wheezing and grabbing at his chest. Isaiah relaxed knowing that whatever had kept Chenzira alive for so long, it was not holding him together so well these days. Chenzira looked like a sallow carcass of a man.
A wind crept up from the water below. They were treading down a steeper path and the surface seemed closer with each step. Isaiah could now smell the wet air. It smelled of seaweed and old dirt. The waters must be ancient. Isaiah wondered if there was an outlet or an inlet of any sort… if these waters ever moved? The scientist in Isaiah was coming out again. It was that curiosity that made him risk it all on this adventure. He had known from the beginning that the man who offered to take the trip to Marinthe was an enemy. But the daunting urges to see the lost city at last, to see it before he died, to be the only man to know his roots…
Isaiah sighed. He had risked it all for truth about his heritage, and he was beginning to wonder if it was worth it. It had to be. He would figure out Chenzira’s plans and disclose them…somehow. That would make his vain sacrifice a more noble cause. Then the Haloes would speed his mission. The Clouds would be guiding him.
Isaiah stared down again. They were low enough now that he could jump. He could hit the waters without dying on impact. The height was still dizzying though. Isaiah could not bring himself to do it. Not yet. Why am I such a coward?
Suddenly Chenzira stopped dead in his tracks. He was staring again out across the city. Isaiah began to wonder on the wretched man’s delusions.
“Take this!” Chenzira said, as he revealed a silver hilted pistol from a side bag. Isaiah furrowed his brow. What was this madness? Isaiah took the gun in his two hands. Was Chenzira preparing him for a duel? Was he going to give him an honorable last moment? A chance to defend himself before he died?
Isaiah cocked the gun and pointed it at Chenzira. He would not give him the chance. He would kill the Dark Seed then and there. The pistol began to glow blue as Isaiah’s touch charged the glass capsule interior. He gently nudged his finger against the trigger. All he had to do was pull, and a blue ball of liquid fire would explode from the barrel of the gun and incinerate Chenzira.
“Don’t you move…or I’ll…” Isaiah’s words sounded hallow. His hand was shaking as well. He was wavering in his boldness. Chenzira began to laugh.
“You are a fool Conrad! It never ceases to amaze me.” Chenzira removed a second pistol from his bag and pointed it out over the water. Chenzira nodded with his head for Isaiah to look. Slowly, expecting a trap, Isaiah glanced out across the water. He could hardly see anything now. A low hovering mist was gathering around the city. After it gathered like an army of mist, it ventured across the water. The mist was rolling and tumbled gently in their direction. With each bounce it became a larger heap of cloud matter. Though it did not seem to be moved by the wind, it was now channeling directly for them like a large mountain of dark and gray cotton.
“You can go ahead and kill me, but what are you going to do about the Dark Mage on its way to prevent us from reaching the city?” Chenzira’s smile was now gone. He held the pistol out, pointing at the rolling mist. The clouds tumbled to the cliff face and then pushed upwards. In seconds they would be enveloped.
“On my mark human!” Chenzira spat the words, knowing that Isaiah would obey. It burned Isaiah that somehow Chenzira still held the charge of a leader. Isaiah pointed the pistol at the cloud mass. “Wait for its core to appear.”
“How will I recognize it?” Isaiah whispered.
Chenzira snorted. “With all your clout and arrogance, the Academy still knows nothing of the Mariner world. Clinging to petty traditions, but you don’t know anything of what it means to be a Mariner!” Chenzira shook his head. Isaiah wanted to strangle the man then and there. He was not a soldier, he was an archeologist; a teacher at the university. He did not profess to know the workings of the Mages. That was left up to others. “You’ll recognize its core because that will be the first thing it reveals, in the shape of some monster, just before it smashes us to bits.”
Isaiah held his breath. He watched as the rolling, tumbling clouds pushed upwards. It all made Isaiah feel very small in a large world of danger. At the head of the tumult a large ball of mist began to churn in a circle as though it were spinning. It began to take shape. The ball of mist seemed to condense and solidify. There was an oblong ball of cloud out of which grew to large horns of mist causing it to strongly resemble a very large ram’s head made of cloud matter; riding at the head of a torrent of smoke—this was the Mage’s core.
Isaiah had heard stories, even seen some photographs, but never had he actually witnessed a Mage fully revealed to the naked eye. They were creatures made of the clouds. They were the clouds. Large roaming beasts that hid themselves placidly in the sky from the human world unless compelled to a manifestation. And now that he was seeing it, he no longer wanted any part of it. The white demon sped upwards none the less. A huge massive river of fog with the head of a ram.
Chenzira opened fire. He relentlessly pulled the trigger of his silver pistol. Blue charges sped toward the Mage. 10, 11, 12 charges were fired by Chenzira before Isaiah gathered his courage and followed suit. The cobalt bursts crashed into the cloud matter and exploded like Molotov Cocktails. They seemed to ignite large chunks of the cloud with blue laces of fire that spread, slowing the Mage’s progress until they fizzled out. The Mage shifted and 2 enormous arms began to form from the fog. It used the large arms to block the last few charges.
Isaiah wanted to run. His sole desire was to drop the pistol and run for his life—but where could he run to while the enormous creature sallied upwards.
Chenzira was stone faced and did not budge. He continued to fire the pistol at the Cloud beast whose arms were within 20 feet. Isaiah stumbled backward and fell onto his butt. He was turning to run when the Mage reached them. Its large arms and boulder sized fists began swinging at the mountain side. They crashed into the rock, as though they were solid objects, no longer just a wisp of cloud.
The whole cliff side shook and sent shards of rock tumbling to the water below. Isaiah ducked as a large arm smashed the cliff just above his head. He looked back to see Chenzira collapsing to the ground. The Mage must have had a direct hit on the Dark Seed. Isaiah watched in horror. He was frozen in place. He wanted to leap from the ledge but the desire to see what happened prevented him from moving.
The Mage hovered above them for another moment. It reached its massive arms out, that were the size of a semi-truck, above its head preparing for a final blow. But before its beastly hands came crashing down, Amun Chenzira sprung from the rock face. He jumped with a youthful energy that surprised Isaiah. He cleared the gap like a flying squirrel between the cliff and the Mage. He crashed into the cloud monster’s chest, all the while Chenzira continued to fire shots from his pistol at the Ram’s head.
Isaiah gripped his pistol and let it charge for a moment, until it was glowing, a jagged blue light. Then Isaiah fired more shots at the ram’s head. If Chenzira could keep fighting in such a circumstance, than so could he. The Mage was pounding at its chest, but somehow Chenzira managed to hold on. Hold on? To what? Somehow Chenzira was floating there in the clouds, which Isaiah did not understand at all. The cloud matter must have somehow condensed and become more solid.
The ram’s fists came crashing against its own chest, but Chenzira was beginning to get a full blue fire burning across the Mage’s face. The fire seemed to spread slowly onto the Mage’s shoulders and down its arms, until the entire storm was a mass of burning clouds. Then the Mage fell backwards and began to disintegrate into the rest of the oncoming fog. Chenzira rode the flailing monster into the bleak fog below until he was lost from view in the fog below. Isaiah expected there to be some sort of splash on the water as the massive torched ram collided with the surface, but no such sound was made. The ram seemed to disintegrate back into the mist from whence it had come, without a sound. Chenzira was gone as well.
Isaiah was left alone on the cliff face holding a small pistol and wiping his forehead with a dirty hand. He sat up and rubbed his chest. His eyes glared into the mist below but they had become a swirl of unintelligible fog once again. Chenzira was gone? Isaiah doubted it. He looked behind himself at the winding trail he had come down. He could walk away in that moment. He could return to the surface and inform the academy… he could run home and protect Patrick and Stephanie and Tannon…
Then Isaiah paused. There was a light breeze on the air. In his heart Isaiah knew he needed to press on. He needed to see what Chenzira had planned with Marinthe. His letter would be enough to warn Patrick…
Isaiah trudged forward in the darkness.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Clouds-Amun Chenzira Still Lives
There was a slight breeze in the dry air. It moved small grains of sand from time to time but amidst the heat of the baking sun in the endless sea of dunes it made little impression on the landscape. There was, however, one feature standing out on the landscape. One solitary, low flying cloud hovered like a spirit over the bleak desert. Its shadow cast against the hills of sand giving them a small break from the scorching sun.
Soon its shadow hovered slowly over cracked columns and bricks that were slowly returning to the earth as though they followed the cycle of time and decay. The sand encompassed much of the ruins. There had once been a structure of some sort in the area. The sand sloped off to an empty river bed next to a cliff edge. At a prior millennia it would have been a waterfall and a paradisiacal glen. The only life now amidst the ruins was a tall, slender man. In that moment it would not have been apparent that he was defined, skilled, and hansom. His chiseled features were now hid beneath a cowl; a large cloak that covered his entire person except his brown boots. He crouched atop a certain fallen spire with his hands crossed. Soon the clouds shadow fell on him and he raised his head slightly upwards.
The silence was shattered after a moment. A low hum echoed through the dry river bed and off the torn and fallen columns. The cloaked man did not move. Soon a low flying aircraft glinted in the sun as it crested the closest dune. Its hull was silver and with black veins running along its different facets. It seemed to be armored and out of its back side was a blue fire that propelled it forward like a jet engine only smaller.
The craft landed like a dragonfly amidst the ruins and its cock pit slowly opened revealing two heads. The two people stepped out of the craft and crunched onto the sand floor. The first was a man in his late 40’s. He boasted a scruffy chin and wore goggles. The second was a woman. Her name was Victoria. She had long flowing black hair and wore a business suit with a skirt that was just as black as her hair; the skirt barely made it to her mid thighs. Upon landing in the sand she removed her high-heels and proceeded forward barefoot.
The man in goggles followed Victoria towards the fallen columns.
“You’re late.” The man under the cowl spoke in a gravelly voice. One would perhaps have thought he was ill from his voice but the man and woman both knew better. They were aware that the man under the cloak had recently awoken from a 200 year sleep. They knew it wasn’t his first either. He had survived millennia upon millennia on this earth making his age countless. They knew very well that he had just accomplished a journey into the heart of the earth and back to retrieve something… some artifact. But what artifact exactly? They had hoped to find out.
“Late?” spoke the man. He sounded tired but steady. “We are here on the precise day and time you commanded.”
“I’ve been here for 2 days now. If you had listened to the whisperings of the Bleak you would have known to come earlier.” The cloaked man said bitterly.
The woman gave almost a snort in response. “We leave most of that up to you Emperor...”
“Don’t be a fool.” He said before she could finish his title. A hand protruded from within the folds of heavy cloth and tossed a shiny item that looked somewhat like a dingy brooch attached to leather belts. The scruffy man caught it in his left hand. He immediately began examining the artifact.
“Is this…it? Is this what you went to Marinthe to…”
“It is an artifact that has survived the tests of time.” The cloaked man cut him off before he could finish the question. “It is called a crutch. It’s a gruesome item my Glass Blower of over 10,000 years created…Rajagal was his name. One of the few human souls I truly miss since my time on earth. He was the most talented with glass and the bleak. But seeing how you, Mr. Cannon are the only Glass Blower I can trust at this disdainful time, it must be you who recharges the crutch. And then I will be able to return to normal.”
“When will you want it back? How much time do I have?” Mr. Cannon said holding the crutch up to the light. It was a flattened sphere of perfectly clear glass attached to small leather belts and buckles. The center piece was so clear that it appeared more like a drop of water than glass.
The Emperor arose at this point and approached Mr. Cannon. He walked with a limp and grunted with each step. “I want you to do it…now.”
A brief look of fear flashed across Mr. Cannon’s face. He doubted his abilities and perhaps supposed once the task was complete his purpose to the Emperor would be fulfilled thus making him a unneeded liability. Cannon breathed deep and regained his resolute disposition. “What must I do.”
Beneath the cowl a grin slowly formed.
An hour later Mr. Cannon and Victoria left in the same craft that had brought them. Timing could not have been more perfect for as the jet disappeared into the horizon 2 more figures appeared with the now setting sun to their backs. It cast long shadows from their bodies as they marched towards the Emperor.
“Giacov! Sophacles!” the Emperor called their names. Upon hearing it they ran towards the fallen monument.
When they reached him both Giacov and Sophacles fell to one knee. “Chenzira.” They whispered ominously. Both were dressed for the trek across the desert. Giacov was defined by a head of white hair that was brilliant in the sun. Sophocles was shorter and stocky. His pectoral muscles protruded from his chest and his arms were like over filled sausages that he folded across his front.
“Arise.” The Emperor spoke. His voice was no longer gruff but smooth and enchanting. Giacov reached out and put a hand on the Emperor’s shoulder. “Master. You seem… well. Once more.”
The Emperor put a hand over his chest and heaved a large breath. “Things will be different this time around. The name Amun Chenzira will be known once more across the earth.” Amun turned and faced the ruined monument. “Do you know what this is?” he asked loudly. He walked forward and his limp was gone as well. The crutch was working. “This was the once great Tower of Idune. Time has crumbled it to the ground just as Demetri Idero Idune himself was lost. I am the only thing on this EARTH that has out done the cycles. I am greater than any other. You two will be princes of the Bleak.” Amun turned and smiled at Giacov and Sophocles. “Do you see that cloud fading into the north?”
Giacov and Sophocles both gazed into the northern horizon. “It is a Mage of the Bleak. It will guide us to the next phase in our assault of the Mariner world. Come, we must not lose pace.”
Emperor Chenzira moved to the far side of the ruins. Giacov and Sophocles followed to find 3 horses tied to a large stone. The three mounted and rode north.
Soon its shadow hovered slowly over cracked columns and bricks that were slowly returning to the earth as though they followed the cycle of time and decay. The sand encompassed much of the ruins. There had once been a structure of some sort in the area. The sand sloped off to an empty river bed next to a cliff edge. At a prior millennia it would have been a waterfall and a paradisiacal glen. The only life now amidst the ruins was a tall, slender man. In that moment it would not have been apparent that he was defined, skilled, and hansom. His chiseled features were now hid beneath a cowl; a large cloak that covered his entire person except his brown boots. He crouched atop a certain fallen spire with his hands crossed. Soon the clouds shadow fell on him and he raised his head slightly upwards.
The silence was shattered after a moment. A low hum echoed through the dry river bed and off the torn and fallen columns. The cloaked man did not move. Soon a low flying aircraft glinted in the sun as it crested the closest dune. Its hull was silver and with black veins running along its different facets. It seemed to be armored and out of its back side was a blue fire that propelled it forward like a jet engine only smaller.
The craft landed like a dragonfly amidst the ruins and its cock pit slowly opened revealing two heads. The two people stepped out of the craft and crunched onto the sand floor. The first was a man in his late 40’s. He boasted a scruffy chin and wore goggles. The second was a woman. Her name was Victoria. She had long flowing black hair and wore a business suit with a skirt that was just as black as her hair; the skirt barely made it to her mid thighs. Upon landing in the sand she removed her high-heels and proceeded forward barefoot.
The man in goggles followed Victoria towards the fallen columns.
“You’re late.” The man under the cowl spoke in a gravelly voice. One would perhaps have thought he was ill from his voice but the man and woman both knew better. They were aware that the man under the cloak had recently awoken from a 200 year sleep. They knew it wasn’t his first either. He had survived millennia upon millennia on this earth making his age countless. They knew very well that he had just accomplished a journey into the heart of the earth and back to retrieve something… some artifact. But what artifact exactly? They had hoped to find out.
“Late?” spoke the man. He sounded tired but steady. “We are here on the precise day and time you commanded.”
“I’ve been here for 2 days now. If you had listened to the whisperings of the Bleak you would have known to come earlier.” The cloaked man said bitterly.
The woman gave almost a snort in response. “We leave most of that up to you Emperor...”
“Don’t be a fool.” He said before she could finish his title. A hand protruded from within the folds of heavy cloth and tossed a shiny item that looked somewhat like a dingy brooch attached to leather belts. The scruffy man caught it in his left hand. He immediately began examining the artifact.
“Is this…it? Is this what you went to Marinthe to…”
“It is an artifact that has survived the tests of time.” The cloaked man cut him off before he could finish the question. “It is called a crutch. It’s a gruesome item my Glass Blower of over 10,000 years created…Rajagal was his name. One of the few human souls I truly miss since my time on earth. He was the most talented with glass and the bleak. But seeing how you, Mr. Cannon are the only Glass Blower I can trust at this disdainful time, it must be you who recharges the crutch. And then I will be able to return to normal.”
“When will you want it back? How much time do I have?” Mr. Cannon said holding the crutch up to the light. It was a flattened sphere of perfectly clear glass attached to small leather belts and buckles. The center piece was so clear that it appeared more like a drop of water than glass.
The Emperor arose at this point and approached Mr. Cannon. He walked with a limp and grunted with each step. “I want you to do it…now.”
A brief look of fear flashed across Mr. Cannon’s face. He doubted his abilities and perhaps supposed once the task was complete his purpose to the Emperor would be fulfilled thus making him a unneeded liability. Cannon breathed deep and regained his resolute disposition. “What must I do.”
Beneath the cowl a grin slowly formed.
An hour later Mr. Cannon and Victoria left in the same craft that had brought them. Timing could not have been more perfect for as the jet disappeared into the horizon 2 more figures appeared with the now setting sun to their backs. It cast long shadows from their bodies as they marched towards the Emperor.
“Giacov! Sophacles!” the Emperor called their names. Upon hearing it they ran towards the fallen monument.
When they reached him both Giacov and Sophacles fell to one knee. “Chenzira.” They whispered ominously. Both were dressed for the trek across the desert. Giacov was defined by a head of white hair that was brilliant in the sun. Sophocles was shorter and stocky. His pectoral muscles protruded from his chest and his arms were like over filled sausages that he folded across his front.
“Arise.” The Emperor spoke. His voice was no longer gruff but smooth and enchanting. Giacov reached out and put a hand on the Emperor’s shoulder. “Master. You seem… well. Once more.”
The Emperor put a hand over his chest and heaved a large breath. “Things will be different this time around. The name Amun Chenzira will be known once more across the earth.” Amun turned and faced the ruined monument. “Do you know what this is?” he asked loudly. He walked forward and his limp was gone as well. The crutch was working. “This was the once great Tower of Idune. Time has crumbled it to the ground just as Demetri Idero Idune himself was lost. I am the only thing on this EARTH that has out done the cycles. I am greater than any other. You two will be princes of the Bleak.” Amun turned and smiled at Giacov and Sophocles. “Do you see that cloud fading into the north?”
Giacov and Sophocles both gazed into the northern horizon. “It is a Mage of the Bleak. It will guide us to the next phase in our assault of the Mariner world. Come, we must not lose pace.”
Emperor Chenzira moved to the far side of the ruins. Giacov and Sophocles followed to find 3 horses tied to a large stone. The three mounted and rode north.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Username and Password Video Link
I know its been sometime, and I don't know if you remember my last post, but the video I created from the screenplay I had written, is now posted on Vimeo. Go check it out and see how it compares with what you imagined from reading the screenplay. here is the link: http://vimeo.com/10654390
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Username and Password
Original screenplay by Carson Tietjen
Int. Computer Lab. Day
Matthew Connelly is sitting at a computer HUNCHED over staring deep into the monitor. He has a hoody on and headphones from his mp3 player. He looks over a Word document and moves the mouse to scroll up and down. Someone sits next to him at another computer.
Matthew turns his head to see a brunette sitting down at the computer next to him. She is decked out in full fall outfit including scarf and petticoat. Autumn girl removes a leaf that has been stuck to her scarf.
Matthew
Hey.
Autumn
Hello.
She sets her book bag down, removes a pen from behind her ear and sets it down, puts her phone next to the keyboard, sets her Ipod down, takes her scarf off and bundles it next to her bag, and sets a water bottle on the desk next to the computer.
She reaches in her book bag and removes a jump drive. As she does so, she catches Matthew from the corner of her eye. She smiles real big and bites her lip. Clearly interested and happy with her luck of sitting next to Matthew.
Matthew glances at her and Autumn looks away in a inconspicuous/conspicuous manner. Matthew rubs under his eye and returns his face returns to his own computer monitor.
Autumn stifles a laugh and sneaks several peaks at Matthew. She opens her email and begins typing a message. “…boy next to me is so HOTT!!!...”
Autumn can't stop staring at the boy until it draws Matthew’s attention once more and she resumes an INNOCENT and oblivious facial expression. Matthew glances at her screen to see what she has written. Casually Autumn reaches up and turns the monitor away from Matthew. He removes his headphones and openly glares at her as if to say Are you kidding me? Autumn does not react. She merely twirls her hair with one finger. Matthew eventually resumes his homework.
Autumn grabs her phone, and, holding it down to not be noticed, takes a picture of Matthew. The phone makes a SHUTTER sound effect that draws Matthew’s attention once more. He removes his headphones and waits for Autumn to see him, but she is busy writing a text message on her phone. She sends “pic” to her email address autumn_girl_32@gmail.com.
Matthew leans forward and trys to catch another glimpse of Autumn’s computer monitor. This time she sits back in offense and stares at Matthew. He looks shocked that she is acting so innocent. Autumn points at his computer monitor and shoos him away.
Once Matthew isn’t looking anymore Autumn gets a sneaky smile on her face. She stares at Matthew a moment longer.
A message pops up on the screen: “1 New Email Message in Your Inbox”. She opens it and it’s the picture of Matthew she texted to her own email. She proceeds to forward it to her friends.
Matthew once again glances at the monitor and Autumn downsizes the window to reveal a word document. Matthew shakes his head in disbelief. Something is going on and he wants to know.
Autumn hits the print button. She stands up and walks to the printer leaving her items behind. Once she is across the room Matthew leans over and opens the email window on her computer to find out what she has been up to but to his dismay Autumn has signed out of her email. He looks at her as she walks to the printer. Autumn turns and smiles at him and shakes her head mouthing the words “ah ah AHH!” .
At this point Matthew is getting fed up. An idea pops in his head. Matthew straightens himself in his seat and checks his surroundings. His head turns from one side to the other and then it comes back to the computer. He checks for Autumn who is now standing at the printer waiting.
Matthew JUMPS up and grabs the two keyboards in front of himself, swapping his keyboard for hers. He does the same with the mouse so that he has the controls to her computer and her spot has his keyboard. Matthew grabs an out of order paper from the computer next to himself and places behind Autumn’s monitor.
By now Autumn is already on her way back with several papers in her hands. Matthew acts casually as she sits back down. He can’t help but reveal a smile but then quickly wipes it off his face. Autumn is now WARY but after searching her surroundings she returns to her computer.
Autumn sits and reaches for her mouse. At first her mouse doesn’t react but she shakes it back and forth and it begins to respond. As she does Matthew, unnoticed, follows her every movement with his mouse. Autumn types her username into the computer. The letters appear slower than she types them. She does not notice but Matthew is mimicking her every movement.
Matthew turns his monitor away from Autumn as the username appears that Autumn unknowingly just typed into the wrong keyboard making them display on Matthews computer. He smiles and continues to imitate her movements.
Next she types in her password and on her monitor it appears blanked out, but on the real monitor to Matthews right, the words are plain. Her password is cinniminstix27. Autumn hits enter but nothing happens. She continues to do so several times. Autumn is suddenly frustrated and stares at Matthew as if he is the culprit. Matthew acts casual.
Matthew
Hmm, must have froze. Oh wait see this?
Matthew pulls out the out of order paper from behind the monitor.
Matthew
Computer must have problems.
Autumn glares at him and then moves one computer away. Matthew casually opens the email account on his left using Autumn's username and password. He opens her sent mail and reads the messages about himself “…boy next to me is so hott!!!” Matthew smiles and closes the email.
Matthew closes the window, logs out, grabs his backpack, and walks away.
Autumn remains behind still figuring Matthew is up to something. By now she has successfully logged onto her email once more. On her screen a new email appears in her inbox. She opens it and it has a 7 digit number. Autumn slowly punches it into her phone. Across the library she sees Matthew answer.
Matthew
Hello?
Autumn (with a big grin)
Hey.
The end.
Int. Computer Lab. Day
Matthew Connelly is sitting at a computer HUNCHED over staring deep into the monitor. He has a hoody on and headphones from his mp3 player. He looks over a Word document and moves the mouse to scroll up and down. Someone sits next to him at another computer.
Matthew turns his head to see a brunette sitting down at the computer next to him. She is decked out in full fall outfit including scarf and petticoat. Autumn girl removes a leaf that has been stuck to her scarf.
Matthew
Hey.
Autumn
Hello.
She sets her book bag down, removes a pen from behind her ear and sets it down, puts her phone next to the keyboard, sets her Ipod down, takes her scarf off and bundles it next to her bag, and sets a water bottle on the desk next to the computer.
She reaches in her book bag and removes a jump drive. As she does so, she catches Matthew from the corner of her eye. She smiles real big and bites her lip. Clearly interested and happy with her luck of sitting next to Matthew.
Matthew glances at her and Autumn looks away in a inconspicuous/conspicuous manner. Matthew rubs under his eye and returns his face returns to his own computer monitor.
Autumn stifles a laugh and sneaks several peaks at Matthew. She opens her email and begins typing a message. “…boy next to me is so HOTT!!!...”
Autumn can't stop staring at the boy until it draws Matthew’s attention once more and she resumes an INNOCENT and oblivious facial expression. Matthew glances at her screen to see what she has written. Casually Autumn reaches up and turns the monitor away from Matthew. He removes his headphones and openly glares at her as if to say Are you kidding me? Autumn does not react. She merely twirls her hair with one finger. Matthew eventually resumes his homework.
Autumn grabs her phone, and, holding it down to not be noticed, takes a picture of Matthew. The phone makes a SHUTTER sound effect that draws Matthew’s attention once more. He removes his headphones and waits for Autumn to see him, but she is busy writing a text message on her phone. She sends “pic” to her email address autumn_girl_32@gmail.com.
Matthew leans forward and trys to catch another glimpse of Autumn’s computer monitor. This time she sits back in offense and stares at Matthew. He looks shocked that she is acting so innocent. Autumn points at his computer monitor and shoos him away.
Once Matthew isn’t looking anymore Autumn gets a sneaky smile on her face. She stares at Matthew a moment longer.
A message pops up on the screen: “1 New Email Message in Your Inbox”. She opens it and it’s the picture of Matthew she texted to her own email. She proceeds to forward it to her friends.
Matthew once again glances at the monitor and Autumn downsizes the window to reveal a word document. Matthew shakes his head in disbelief. Something is going on and he wants to know.
Autumn hits the print button. She stands up and walks to the printer leaving her items behind. Once she is across the room Matthew leans over and opens the email window on her computer to find out what she has been up to but to his dismay Autumn has signed out of her email. He looks at her as she walks to the printer. Autumn turns and smiles at him and shakes her head mouthing the words “ah ah AHH!” .
At this point Matthew is getting fed up. An idea pops in his head. Matthew straightens himself in his seat and checks his surroundings. His head turns from one side to the other and then it comes back to the computer. He checks for Autumn who is now standing at the printer waiting.
Matthew JUMPS up and grabs the two keyboards in front of himself, swapping his keyboard for hers. He does the same with the mouse so that he has the controls to her computer and her spot has his keyboard. Matthew grabs an out of order paper from the computer next to himself and places behind Autumn’s monitor.
By now Autumn is already on her way back with several papers in her hands. Matthew acts casually as she sits back down. He can’t help but reveal a smile but then quickly wipes it off his face. Autumn is now WARY but after searching her surroundings she returns to her computer.
Autumn sits and reaches for her mouse. At first her mouse doesn’t react but she shakes it back and forth and it begins to respond. As she does Matthew, unnoticed, follows her every movement with his mouse. Autumn types her username into the computer. The letters appear slower than she types them. She does not notice but Matthew is mimicking her every movement.
Matthew turns his monitor away from Autumn as the username appears that Autumn unknowingly just typed into the wrong keyboard making them display on Matthews computer. He smiles and continues to imitate her movements.
Next she types in her password and on her monitor it appears blanked out, but on the real monitor to Matthews right, the words are plain. Her password is cinniminstix27. Autumn hits enter but nothing happens. She continues to do so several times. Autumn is suddenly frustrated and stares at Matthew as if he is the culprit. Matthew acts casual.
Matthew
Hmm, must have froze. Oh wait see this?
Matthew pulls out the out of order paper from behind the monitor.
Matthew
Computer must have problems.
Autumn glares at him and then moves one computer away. Matthew casually opens the email account on his left using Autumn's username and password. He opens her sent mail and reads the messages about himself “…boy next to me is so hott!!!” Matthew smiles and closes the email.
Matthew closes the window, logs out, grabs his backpack, and walks away.
Autumn remains behind still figuring Matthew is up to something. By now she has successfully logged onto her email once more. On her screen a new email appears in her inbox. She opens it and it has a 7 digit number. Autumn slowly punches it into her phone. Across the library she sees Matthew answer.
Matthew
Hello?
Autumn (with a big grin)
Hey.
The end.
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