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Myth of Tyrant

Myth of Tyrant

1/13/2011 10:23:08 PM
[quote]So Flood, I am in the middle of writing four different stories right now, and I decided I'd share one, just to see what your reaction is.[/quote] One^1 The man walked through the hallways nobly, taking special attention to not upset the equilibrium of the glass of midnight serum, the milk, in his left hand, his right hand partaking in the job of balancing, with all of the grace of a blueblood. He made sure to avoid tripping over the obstacles of a slightly unkempt house, avoiding the obstructions of toys, clothes and household decorations that had been uprooted in the daytime calamity that had taken place earlier; the conflict between a five foot, eleven inch dragon and a four foot, three inch princess. A princess had rescued the knight, an eleven year old, seventy pound Irish Setter. The man let all of his thoughts give one collective sigh as he continued on his journey to the princesses' chamber. As he navigated through the hallways he noticed all of the decorations on the walls. Replicas of obscure paintings he did not remember buying, and the portraits of estranged family relations he did not remember framing. He passed through the ostentatious hallway without much more thought and opened approached the door to the chamber. He listened to the princess on the other side, as she sang to what must be a dolly in her hands, in the made-up language of the motherly. He gripped the doorknob and slowly opened the door to the halfway point, so as to not alert the princess of his presence immediately, he waited a few minutes before he threw himself with the entire flourish of a Prince, for a Prince he was. The princess was stopped in mid-coo, and gazed up from her bed and observed the stranger in her door for a moment in silence. Upon registering the stranger as no one else but the Prince himself, the corners of the girl's mouth shot upwards so quickly and forcefully she clung to her bed sheets to avoid blasting off to the moon in happiness. "Joey! Lookitmelookitme!" she screamed, before throwing herself on the floor and performing a lop-sided cartwheel. The Father sat down the milk on the bedside next to the princesses' bed and the Prince laughed and scooped her up to lay her in bed. The Father tucked her in and sat down next to her. "Now now, what do you know about bed time?" The Father questioned. The girl sat stumped, feigning anger at her Dad for throwing her back into bed. The girl threw her shoulders up in surrender. "Oh you know better than that! What do all princesses need to be strong and pretty?" he questioned again. "Sleep! Princesses need sleep!" she shouted excitedly. She waited another moment before asking again, "Bubut, aren't I already pretty!?" The Father laughed loudly and the Prince exclaimed, "You're the most beautiful princess in all of seven kingdoms of the world!" threw his hands up, and bowed to the girl flamboyantly. The princess laughed hysterical at her Prince and she drank the milk that her father had given her excitedly and fell back into bed. She pulled the sheets up to her eyeballs, as green as they were exposed, gazed at her Father. The Father kissed the girls forehead, ruffled her hair, and sat up off the bed. He walked to the door and turned off the light, telling the princess of his love for her, and the princess did the same for him. Satisfied, he closed the door and began the process of cleaning up the remnants of the epic dragon battle that had taken place earlier. He worked for an hour, resetting everything to its aesthetic locations, and sweeping the floor of the dry macaroni, which had served as the guts of the dragon. It was a work of love, all for the girl. When he was done, he sat himself in the living room Lay-Z-Boy and turned on the TV. His sports team was losing; his political party was gaining seats, his favorite show was being renewed for another season. He relaxed his eyes and let all of the entertainment come to him. There was nothing more for him to do with the day, and he felt no urge to change that. Exhausted, he was no longer the dragon, the Prince or even the Father. He was off the clock; he was now only Joel Lund. After a few hours of television, he fell asleep in his seat to the noise of his mind's pacing and the droning of a Proactiv commercial. ###### The Soldier marched dutifully through the sleet and mud, keeping his feet out of puddles and his eyes on what was in front of him as well as what was going on behind him. His head was locked in place, and he was determined to not fight. He looked at the trees which lined either side of the path all the soldiers were walking, black like the Ardennes, the Soldier became convinced he was in Germany. He kept his gun slung on his shoulder, in the masculine, accepted pose he watched his allies stride in. They were faceless projections of what he wanted them to be, he made no effort to incorporate himself with the men whose reasons for enlistment differed so greatly from his. They were pawns, and the Soldier viewed himself as a martyr, he was the one in control and it was only with his permission would his life be given. Even then, his life would be a contribution to only whomever he wished. His life was not for protecting the freedom of people hundreds of miles away, people who felt no more familiar to him than the enemy he was instructed to terminate. He groped his side for the pack on his thigh, searching for the papers he had strategically hid from his commanding officers. He had one objective; the mission was merely a transport, a vehicle for his own inclinations. His fingers found the impressed pulp fibers and their edges, and he patted them for extra security. He moved his hand back into marching position subtly, feeling watched the entire time. He would give these men no inch for them to pull him along, and kept all the slack for himself. They marched for many more miles. The Soldier watched the woods on either side of him transform from their snow-trimmed wholesomeness into victims of r­ape, tormented and contorted into shapes immediately more reminiscent of refugees than trees. The sky had melted from its grey indifference into a fire of orange and hatred. The Soldier continued thrust his shoulder in a semi-circular motion, reinforcing the sling on his breadth. He gripped the barrel with his palms, bringing its soulless opening into view, and keeping it pointed down without doubt. The officers, riding their horses in front of the platoons walked with more caution, a nervous stomp. The Soldier didn't like how the atmosphere and suddenly become so smothering. He looked to the treeline, gazing over the lords of the forest. He saw a villa, a small grouping of houses on a hill, overshadowed by a French château. The Soldier became convinced now he was in France. The officers stopped the platoons. The Soldier stopped with them. There was a hushed murmur amongst the soldiers, as they all speculated in low, unconvinced tones. The Soldier turned to speak to no one and discussed his thoughts in his head. The clouds in the sky conglomerated in the distance, and the hating orange sky turned to dark. The light from the sun no longer reached the shoulders, and still they sat illuminated. Heavenly rays poked through the clouds in giant amorphous blobs, highlighting selected sections of the men at random. The Soldier was convinced the light was not the sun, but something magic. The Soldier gripped the barrel of his gun more tightly, making sure that not for even a moment that his gun may be gone from his possession, he still had no need to fight, but the gun's presence made him feel more secure. The officers cried out in surprise to their troops to stop moving, to halt their activities, to keep quiet. The Soldier stepped back and swung his head nervously to all sides, gazing at the r­aped trees that leaned in closer to him, trying to whisper to him the regrets they had. The Soldier would not listen; he only dug his heels in and waited for the officers to give orders. The openings in the sky were beginning to shut, the swatches of light shrinking, stifling the people below in darkness. The Soldier sat unafraid, groping his gun and now his papers in his side pocket. The men around him grew grey and powerless and shifty, they looked around in fear as the landscape began to turn against them before their eyes. The trees contorted violently, stretching and reaching towards the soldiers as they huddled into piles of themselves helplessly. They had no reason to be afraid, there was no enemy, death was far away tending to other lands, but the Soldier felt that may have been the reason for their fear. The loneliness of the situation, it was a battlefield forming before their eyes, devoid of everything, including death. The mean readied their weapons and pointed into the sea of twisted limbs, ready to respond with violence when provoked with violence. The officers' horses had enough, and they revolted against their seated masters. They sprang up and shook off the men desperately, eager to gallop away from the forest of the damned. The officers stood up quickly to stifle their humiliation. The winds picked up, rattling the already restless tree limbs. The soldiers turned to men, disorganized and frightened for their lives, they began to lose order. The Soldier pulled out a cigarette, his hands were shaking badly. He steadied them with the support of his limbs, but found them turned to little earthquakes in his body. He stood in the center of the crowd of scared men, men with guns. The illumination that had blessed them earlier was now nearly completely gone, and a shadow was closing in all around the men of the infantry. The men shifted back and forth, each one desperately trying to weasel himself out of the edge of the circle, and climb his way near the spot the Soldier found himself in by good luck. The illumination from the sky now was gone completely, and everything was still. [Edited on 01.13.2011 2:32 PM PST]

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  • JAC Overlord
  • Kellzofligin

    Kellzofligin

    1/13/2011 11:12:20 PM Permalink
    In all honesty, You put too much up too fast. I'm never going to read that much in one sitting while on the Internet. In a book, yes. In an internet thread? Never.
  • Th3 Invader

    Th3 Invader

    1/13/2011 11:05:53 PM Permalink
    [quote][b]Posted by:[/b] Ramen 6378 Paragraphs. Please use them.[/quote] *laughs* Yeah...and I thought you were writing about the Flood in a story...I'm disappointed.
  • Myth of Tyrant
  • squirrel dude

    squirrel dude

    1/13/2011 10:39:09 PM Permalink
    Make sure to post this in The Flood Library =P. Also your coup is a little hard to read.
  • Myth of Tyrant

    Myth of Tyrant

    1/13/2011 10:37:01 PM Permalink
    [quote][b]Posted by:[/b] Tacoworld501 [quote][b]Posted by:[/b] Myth of Tyrant [quote][b]Posted by:[/b] Ramen 6378 Paragraphs. Please use them.[/quote]I'm fixing it now, I had to strip the extra coding because I wrote it on word, and I wanted to throw it up there quickly so there were as little responses between parts as possible.[/quote] Me and another guy beat you too it. :)[/quote]There, fixed it.
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  • Tacoworld501

    Tacoworld501

    1/13/2011 10:31:06 PM Permalink
    [quote][b]Posted by:[/b] Myth of Tyrant [quote][b]Posted by:[/b] Ramen 6378 Paragraphs. Please use them.[/quote]I'm fixing it now, I had to strip the extra coding because I wrote it on word, and I wanted to throw it up there quickly so there were as little responses between parts as possible.[/quote] Me and another guy beat you too it. :)
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  • Myth of Tyrant

    Myth of Tyrant

    1/13/2011 10:30:23 PM Permalink
    [quote][b]Posted by:[/b] Ramen 6378 Paragraphs. Please use them.[/quote]I'm fixing it now, I had to strip the extra coding because I wrote it on word, and I wanted to throw it up there quickly so there were as little responses between parts as possible.
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  • Ramen 6378
  • Nirvash
  • That Bosnian Kid
  • YOUNG D1AB0LUS

    YOUNG D1AB0LUS

    1/13/2011 10:26:43 PM Permalink
    [quote][b]Posted by:[/b] Myth of Tyrant No TL:DR[/quote] *equips self with 3 Visine bottles* Let's do this.
  • ASuperWhiteGuy
  • Myth of Tyrant

    Myth of Tyrant

    1/13/2011 10:25:23 PM Permalink
    The Worker's fingers began to ache, and he took a break. He pushed his chair back from his desk and opened the blinds to the right of his corner of solitude. He rubbed his wrists and rotated them in circles, reminding him of their intents and humoring their real talents, preparing them to give themselves up for another stretch into an adapted purpose. The Worker opened the window and stuck his head out, looking around his house, he noticed there was no breeze outside, and he felt the sunshine give no warmth to his skin, even when standing directly underneath its radiated path. He sighed, only a little defeated, and remembered the promise he had to keep with his work, and knew that he had known there would be no liberation for his soul until he found his mind out of debt with his body. The Worker pulled himself up to his desk, and began to type again; he didn't stop until he was dead. Two^2 Joel picked up his head again and looked out the window; the sun was gone, taking whatever it had brought to the day back with it to the other side of the world. His work was finished, miraculously. None of it seemed particularly important right now, all sort of a blur; one paper after the next, one spreadsheet following the other. When one day of work starts to just spill into the other without warning, it makes it hard to even remember what your job is. Joel looked at his watch, the time was well past five, but maybe the ice cream place would still be open. He picked himself off the chair, knees cracking and back snapping, and walked out his study and downstairs to check on Susannah. The house had survived an afternoon alone with her and her creative tantrums, and nothing seemed to be broken. The chairs to the dining room table had been removed and the blankets had been torn off all the beds, fortresses of fabric characterized the living room floor. The Barbies were stationed in positions of attack on the outside of the fortress' entrance, a piece of cardboard with wooden planks drawn on with Crayola marker. The living room lamps were covered in towels, to muffle their light, it wasn't enough to stifle it entirely, and holes in the fabric allowed portions of light to cut through the living room like carnivorous teeth through the flesh of the submitted. The light fought to envelope the Barbies' profile and shadows criss-crossed the floor, acting like impressions of what the Barbies really were. Teddy bears and the stuffed pig were laying face down in the flooring behind the Barbies. An old toy of Joel's, a G.I. Joe figure, was wedged underneath the doorway of the fortress. Joel felt a dull pain on the back of his skull at its base. He just felt the pain, not quite remembering it before but understanding that it had been with him for a very long time now. Déjà Vu settled in with Joel, and he understood why, but not how. He felt very light-headed, and his eyes began to cloud over with black. A dull rushing sound was blowing in his ears, he could hear his own blood flowing. The dull rush became a sharp ring, and Joel felt the pain in his head ignite and he let a muffled groan form in his throat but swallowed it before it became audible. He stumbled around clumsily and the light seemed to flicker near unnoticeably. He felt like vomiting but couldn't find the will to. His body was collapsing with him in it, and it was all happening near instantaneously. He looked around, for anything to sit down on, he needed to get low, he started to faint. His left foot caught on his right foot, and he fell backwards, landing on a chair which had served as a turret to the fortress, the blanket which had been resting on it pulled off and Joel saw a giant hole form in the middle of the blanket fortress. He felt bad he had destroyed it, but was grateful he was sitting. Feeling began to come back to Joel, and he felt much better. "JOEY! You ruined my castle!" cried Susannah from behind him. Joel looked over his shoulder, towards the hole in the fortress. Susannah had poked her head out from the hole and was making a big show to get the point of her anger across. Her arms were folded, and her bottom teeth were biting mercilessly into her top lip, her long straight hair was frizzled and pointing in directions that defied gravity and were trembling in static electricity. Joel was surprised to see her. The fortress, which had seemed almost impenetrable earlier, was now half-destroyed, and Joel noticed at its highest, it reached not even four feet tall. "Oh, sorry Susie, I tripped. Have you been building this all day?" Susannah paused, and looked around to take another look at her creation. She shrugged. "I guess I did." She said, more to keep Joel quite than anything. Joel looked at the fortress again, and the part of it he had flattened with his butt, the blanket that had collapsed and dragged down another part of the castle with it. Really the whole thing started to look like it was sagging. Joel sucked in a breath of air and stood up. He reached over the back of the chair and into the hole, grabbing the corners of the blanket and pulling them back over the chair. He tied the corner of the blanket around the support of the chair and carefully went to all of the other chairs, tightening the ceiling of the fortress. "You did a really good job Suze! Was it to protect you from the werewolves?" Joel pointed his over to Doogie, who was laying on his back over the furnace covering on the floor. Susannah moved from biting her top lip to biting her bottom lip, and despite her best efforts a smile was tugging at her cheeks. She still kept the angry glare in her eyes up pretty well. "No Joey. That's Doogie. Werewolves don't exist." She said angrily. Joel put on his best serious face. He opened his eyes as far as they could, made his mouth into a tiny "o" shape and looked around like someone might be listening. "Susannah shh! You don't want them to hear you, do you?" He whispered towards her. Susannah acted unimpressed, and looked right back and Joel, her arms still crossed. She even had the courage to look at Joel and yawn. "No really Susie! It's true! Really, there is a reason why people don't believe. Werewolves are tricky, they don't want people to believe in them, because then people would be more careful, and they don't want that! Werewolves think people are too tasty." Joel crouched down and looked straight at Susannah, like he was actually concerned. Susannah looked back at him, and through the sheer need for mimicry crouched in the hole, and lifted a blanket up so she could still see Joel. That's it so far. No TL:DR [Edited on 01.13.2011 2:36 PM PST]
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  • Myth of Tyrant

    Myth of Tyrant

    1/13/2011 10:24:45 PM Permalink
    "Alright, alright, they're for little children, I believe you, but I don't think they do. Susie, what are the toys going to feel when I have to go into the closet and tell them you don't want to be their friends anymore?" Joel knew it was a dirty trick, preying on her childhood gullibility and insistence on the toys being real people, but he still felt satisfied for having used it. The little girl's eyes grew the size of dinner plates and she threw her hands up and down, flapping her arms like a loon. "No Joey! Don't tell them that! I didn't mean it! I didn't! I promise!" she protested, hoping to convince her older brother enough so he wouldn't tattle on her to all of the toys in the closet. Joel just shrugged and smiled a goofy smile. "Sorry Susie, but if you're not going to go play with them, I guess I should justthrow them out." He said. He took a big step and made a big show about walking closer and closer to the closet where the toys were. Susannah followed desperately, pulling on Joel's pant leg to keep him from getting closer and jumping up and down and calling his name to distract him, both of the kids were playing a game to see whose bluff would outlast the other's bluff, Joel's show of throwing out the toys versus Susannah's distraction action. Joel walked over to the closet and opened the door, and there it stood, the toy box. Half a dozen Barbies, another dozen accessories of Barbie; Barbie's car, Barbie's lemonade stand, Barbie's dog, Barbie's kid, and so on and so forth, a baby doll, two boxes of crayons and several coloring books, a stuffed pig, endless amounts of LEGOs and various pieces of plastic junk made up the box. Joel bent down, his knees popping as he did, and started to talk to the box of toys. "Hey guys, I don't know how to tell you this, but it doesn't look like- "He's lying Barbie! Don't listen to him!" Susannah interjected. "It doesn't look like Susannah wants to be your- "Stop it Joey! Stop!" "It doesn't look like Susannah wants to be friends with you any" Susannah kicked Joel's heel and started pounding on his back with her tiny fists. "Okay, okay Suze. I'll tell them I was only joking. But I don't think they'll believe just me, why don't you see if you can make it up to them, alright?" Susannah suddenly stopped moving and shouting and looked up at Joel, and nodded. Her dinner plate eyes were threatening to bobble right out of her head. "Alright, good girl, I'll be in my study reading if you need anything, alright?" Joel ruffled her hair and stood up, his knees cracking again. Susannah simply nodded and started pulling toys out of the box, hugging them, and then setting them down before hugging the next one. Joel left her playing with her toys in the hallways and walked up the stairs and went to his side room, a cubicle looking room only separated from his bedroom by one paper-thin wall that had served as his only sound barrier back when his bedroom had been his parents' and his study had been his bedroom. He sat down at his desk and opened up his laptop and turned on his cell phone, he wanted to get his work done early today so he could do something with Susannah, he didn't like having to spend his last day with her doing office zombie work. He figured if he could blow through it in a few hours he could still do something a little less extravagant than he had hoped to at first. That is, the zoo trip he had planned, maybe a quick trip downtown to the ice cream emporium or something of that field. He sat down and cracked open his laptop, booting up the work he had and set out to complete it by five. # #### The Worker introduced himself. The Worker took hold of his own fingers and began the lengthy process of writing in columns and organizing facts and sheets of data, arranging them in a meaningful way. He arranged them in a factual way, but in a way that skewed the facts, the contradictions no longer mattered. It was more of a slop job, throwing them up in the way that was dictated to the Worker by his boss, the nameless higher-up, but he didn't follow the instructions to the letter. Facts instead of arranging themselves in a way that benefited his employer directly, the facts were thrown up there in a story that had no conclusion. They were left open-ended, or maybe it was considered empty-ended. The Worker droned on anyways, executing but not revising. There was a sort of obedient genius surfacing in his work, but instead of coming out in a way that carried any feeling, any power, the talent just poured out into a diluted mess of self-expectations. The Worker found little in the way of diligence in his work, and just instead focused on how his work appeared from the perspective he had been trained to. The Worker cracked his fingers as he cracked open the integrity of his worker, spilling joint fluid in the way he spilled honesty, without second thought. The Worker thought of how long it had been seen he had seen the results of his work, and thought instead of how often he had seen the toil of his work. The days of fantasizing of a virtuous overthrow in his field of business had long escaped the Worker. The seeds of Bolshevik idealism had attached itself to the egg of neutrality in the womb of the Worker's mind, and the Worker struggled to remember how its blossoming promises had once brought joy to his mind, and instead he just felt the painful scars of the abortion that his actions had performed on that tiny Bolshevik fetus. In the place of the fetus, a weighted void had grown, characterized only by the black hole which had been created out of the void, an infinitesimally small idea, or lack thereof, which had grown so incredibly dense in contrasting rhetoric, it had managed to tear a hole in the nigh-existent space it had formed in. This is where the Worker's responsibilities now lived out of, cognitive processes going in, emotionless responses being shipped out. The Worker kept working, without the slightest hint of irony or repetition, everything had its purpose, but altogether, the Worker noted that none of it had any purpose at all. The Worker had worked all day, and the sun was a distraction, peeking in random intervals during the day to invite the worker to give up his charade and just enjoy the day. The Worker was often tempted, but to stop working was the equivalent of self-destruction to the Worker. Unwavering ethics was kept the Worker sustained, and any temptation into the treatises of nutrition, success or idealism would implode the worker in the hypothetical and bury him in their irrelevant sting, for they were redundant to the Worker's purpose. The Worker only served to do his job and to torch any part of him that was not necessary to the over-arching goal of serving a purpose that was much more important than him. The question was not to ask what, but how. [Edited on 01.13.2011 2:35 PM PST]
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  • Myth of Tyrant

    Myth of Tyrant

    1/13/2011 10:24:11 PM Permalink
    The Soldier saw a path leading up the hill to the villa ahead of him, not nearly twenty yards ahead of him. The Soldier saw the magnificent stone walls that served as the fortifications for this European town lavished in all of the flourishes of Italian Renaissance architecture, and the Soldier was convinced he was in Italy. He was now a minor sprint away from the entrance, from relative safety. He gave himself a moment and looked behind him, he saw the beings swarmed behind him in the dozens, the fire consuming the wake of their predatory chase, with the resurrected men being burned alive in the hellish blaze. The sky had switched to crimson, letting light through in large pockets, pockets which exploded the beings almost instantaneously, leaving only questionable smog. The Soldier gazed back at the entrance of the fortifications and watched the impressive double-reinforced wood door begin to open, and the Soldier saw the cannons lining the top walls, preparing to fire. The Soldier cried out to fire! fire the cannons, for God's sake? what are you even waiting for? fire! The Soldier reached the double wooden door and heard the cannons fire behind him, and felt their artillery burst into the ground, leaving craters where demons once stood. The Soldier heard the whines of pain from behind him, loud shrieking sounds, before he felt the smooth wooden stock of a rifle smack into the back of his head. One^2 Seven o' clock the next morning, Joel woke up, ready to start the day again. He still had one more day with Susannah and he wanted to be happy during it. He threw himself off the recliner and moved towards the kitchen to start on breakfast, eggs and bacon. He turned on the stereo by the stove and listened to CCR while preparing the food. He worked without saying a word until he heard the familiar sound of light-footed walking coming from down the hallway and turned to see is little girl yawning and walking towards the kitchen table lethargically. She hugged her father's leg and said goodmorning, which he courteously returned as she plopped herself down on the wooden seat at the wooden table. Sammy finished cooking the food and arranged it pleasantly on the plate, in the shape of scrambled eyes and a meaty smile, and set it down in front of Susannah and fixed most of the rest of the helpings for himself. He poured another glass of milk for the girl and pulled out a small carton of orange juice for himself. He sat down with his food and ate patiently, watching the girl eat everything on her plate, making sure she finished her milk. He paced himself so they would finish at the same time, and took their plates when they were done. "You can watch TV for a bit if you want, Suze," he said in between applications of elbow grease onto the dishes. "That's okay Joey, I'll wait," the little girl said while swinging her legs from the dining chair absentmindedly. They sat together in silence, working on whatever projects they had. Words weren't necessary for the two of them to know what the other was thinking about. Joel knew Susannah missed her father. Joel could pretend to be anything he wanted to his little sister, but he knew he couldn't replace years of evolving biology. The little girl knew Joey was thinking about having to take her back, and she felt the four year old foundations of guilt in her belly, and wondered why she felt that way. Doogie, the seventy pound "dragon" forced his way into the kitchen, half-awake but too half-dead to even care, lying at first on his stomach, letting the linoleum cool himself down, before rolling on his back and kicking his feet into the air, inviting anyone to come and pet him. Begging, anyone to touch him in any way, eleven years had done nothing to satiate his need to be an attention whore. Susannah giggled at the sight of him rolling on his back, letting his tongue hang out the side of his mouth, and his floppy cheeks peeling backwards and his neck skin drooping in every direction. "Doogie looks like an old person Joey!" Susannah yelled loudly between her giggles. Joey looked downwards from the dishes and saw that miserable old dog stretching out on his back, his big old ears extended as far as they could go, and his floppy cheeks made his face look like a deranged grin on his face, he looked like a rabid bunny with a gland issue. "Well look at that! He looks like a funny bunny to me from up here!" Susannah thought this over for a moment before deciding it was the funniest thing anyone could have ever said to her, she screamed loudly and laughed, "Funny bunny! Funny bunny!" Joel finished the dishes and turned on the TV for Susannah, he handed her the remote, asking her if she remembered how to use the television at his house, she smiled and nodded telling him she remembered. He told her good, and returned the smile. He told her he was going to go take a shower and he'd be out in fifteen minutes, but to just knock if she needed anything. She told him okay before seeking out Dora the Explorer on the early morning kid's shows. Joel went upstairs to his room and pulled out a towel from his dresser and went to the master bathroom next to his bedroom, he closed the door and turned on the faucet. He sat down on the lid of the toilet waiting for the water to warm-up and put his face in his hands, trying to keep himself awake and fight off the sleepiness that had invited itself in place of the extra hours and night he would have rather had. He thought of what he would do with Susannah today, anything to keep his mind off of thinking about giving her up tomorrow. The water pounded the tile floor of the shower, and drops of water ricocheted off the surfaces and sprinkled the adjacent side of Joel's arm, its cold temperatures initially contrasting with the warm, humid air of the bathroom. Joel moved off the toilet and straightened his back, standing at his full six feet, and jumped into the shower fully clothed. Warm jeans, raggedy t-shirt, old boxers and thinning socks swelled and doubled in weight as they invited in the water. Joel felt like the creature from the Black Lagoon, a monster suffocating in its own excesses and filth. He stood for another moment and bowed his head downwards, bringing his hand to pull his hair back, as he blew out the water around his mouth with hardly any enthusiasm. For a moment, he wished he would drown now, so he didn't have to deal with being alive anymore. Death seemed more approachable in times of exhaustion. He closed his eyes to the half-way point and stood like a somnambulist doing their best to imitate consciousness. He swayed side to side to wake himself up, and felt the day would never feel like it had actually happened today. Joel took off his soaked clothes and took a shower normally. Two^1 Joel walked downstairs and found Susannah playing with the unplugged toaster; inserting bread, removing the bread, inserting the bread upside down, removing upside down bread, inserting multiple slices, reaching her hand in to pull out multiple slices that had globbed together and jammed the toaster, and repeating it all ceremoniously. Doogie just sat with his head on his paws, uninterested in the toaster and instead more interested in observing an ant crawling in circles on the linoleum. "Susannah?" "Hm," was the response, more statement than it was a question. "What are you doing kiddo?" "Hm?" this time a serious question was attempted. "With the toaster, what are you doing? Is it off? Don't stick your hand in there, why is there crushed bread stuffed at the bottom of the toaster? What happened to the loaf of bread I had out?" The questions came out a little more fluidly and more as authority than Joel was comfortable with. "What?" Susannah seemed not to be connecting with any of the conversation at all. "Susannah!" Joel shot out, trying to coax the little girl's attention. Susannah turned her head lazily, her eyes focusing still on the toaster; Doogie raised his head to see what the commotion was, before laying it back down and lazily scooping up the ant he had been watching with his still remarkably flexible tongue. "What!" Susannah yelled back. Joel walked over and took her hand out of the toaster and removed the bread that was still only cooking with its own sense of embarrassment. "You don't need to play with the toaster Susannah, it's not a toy, and it makes food. Toys don't make food." Joel tried not to smile as he observed the toaster did look kind of fun to play with. "My Easy Bake makes food! And it's a toy!" Susannah responded after only a little effort in thought. Joel wasn't surprised she was contesting his definition of toy, his argument wasn't particularly bulletproof. "Alright fine, toys can make food, but then this is my toy, it could hurt you if you used it, or you could hurt it. Why in the world would you even want to play with a toaster anyways? I still have all of your toys here in the closet from your last visit." Susannah wasn't very old, and besides the emotions of anger, hunger and happiness, she wasn't able to communicate her feelings well. That didn't seem to stop her from putting forth the extra effort to her best impression of someone who has just been deeply offended. "Joey those toys are for babies!" she yelled in her best angry voice, which was more like a squeakier version of happy. Joel had to bit his lip quickly to keep from laughing at the little girl, he could see in her face she was deeply serious, and he knew how quickly he could disturb the situation by spiting her. [Edited on 01.13.2011 2:34 PM PST]
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  • Tacoworld501
  • Egerspurge
  • Myth of Tyrant

    Myth of Tyrant

    1/13/2011 10:23:40 PM Permalink
    The Soldier clicked his lighter on, and an explosion blew out of the simple device with a religious ferocity. The light stretched in ten feet in every direction, barely escaping the edge of the circle of men. The men left in the dark reached towards the light weakly. Other men in the other platoons began to light their lighters, mimicking the actions of the Soldier. Soon, half a dozen lighters gave light to a situation which was otherwise completely cloaked. The combination of all the fire gave an ethereal glow, and the embers and ambers danced a dance of security. Faceless men clamored for the warmth of the light, to be safe from the paranoid terrors of the land, even officers abandoned their typical embellishments and privileges to find asylum in the light of contained safety. As men clamored around him, to be a part of him, the Soldier found himself suffocating under anxiety. The winds were now ripping through the countryside at cataclysmic speeds, and the trees were now inches away from the edging of the congregation of men. Men who were clothed in darkness were ripped away violently, their screams tracking their inexplicable ascension into their air. Men visible by the light but not touching it were dragged away by the trees, sometimes so suddenly and ferociously their legs were torn from their sockets instantaneously. Their screams characterized the wind, giving it hellish abandon. The trees gnawed at the flesh of men, caking themselves in the spirit of men. Yet, inside the area of the lighter, the men were untouched. The men inside the light felt no wind sweeping their skin off their bones and muscle, the trees refused to indulge in their blood. The Soldier felt comforted with the eyes of hopeful men gazing into his light, and he feared the darkness. The Soldier looked over to the other men with lights, and did not see the same easing look in their faces. Stony grey and unmoving, the other torch-bearers seemed more like statues than shepherds. The Soldier watched solemnly as his brothers in light let their cigarette lighters flicker, and he shouted at them to watch their lights, protect them from the drafts that breached their security. The light bearers hardly noticed the Soldier screaming at them, and their lights began to choke on their lack of oxygen. The first of the lights blew out, and a whirling and aching sound blew through the air. The sounds of men being torn apart, the sounds of their ghostly apparitions melting away into the dreamscape did little to encourage the other statues. Their lights flickered as the men moaned and cried for their damnation. The Soldier watched for minutes as lights went out one by one and the number of men alive quickly slipped away. The Soldier could hold in his nerves no more as the fourth light went out, leaving only him and two other lights burning, he hoisted the light above his head as far as his arm could reach, and held his rifle in his free hand. He gazed around, and could see an opening in the ceiling of clouds breaking through above the villa and the château. He shoved the men out of his way and started to run for the hill. As he left the circumference of men the other two lights dropped to the ground, igniting it. The fire burned slowly and small at first, but quickly gained its footing. The fires stretched in trenches and reached a half dozen feet high, the darkness that had encircled the men suddenly became lit with fire. The light was enough to show the surroundings of their situation, to show them what had taken place momentarily just out of their vision, bodies drowning in their own fluids, a black muck bogging them down. The Soldier stopped in panic for a moment, and the remaining sixty-something men followed suit, drawing up their weapons. The departed men's faces were ripped from their face, and a black mold sat in its place. Limbs and half-bodies were scattered around nonchalantly, and ghouls of black mud crouched over their bodies, feasting on their blood, with black smog drifting off of them and stretching back into the trees. The Soldier vomited and watched the beings stand erect. The bodies they had feasted on joining them in their bipedal performance. Dead men rose and stiffened their backs to stay upside. The beings and the resurrected surrounded the men, and they walked in unison towards them, slowly and invitingly. One of the men who stood closer to the beings cocked his head to the side dropped to his knees and crawled towards the beings, surrendering. Other men looked nervously amongst themselves and watched as the beings did nothing, before joining the man. The beings hesitated and watched the men collapse at their knees, before bending down and picking them up with one immeasurable arm and dragging them seven feet in the air, growing in size as they did. The previously exhausted men flailed their arms and legs and screamed as the beings placed their heads in their mouths and began gnawing at the base of their neck. The beings ate inefficiently, leaving muscles and tendons dangling unfortunately from their bodies. The beings threw the bodies to the side, and the living men huddled closer together, raising their weapons but not daring to fire. The Soldier kept his arm up, holding the light, despite the unmistakable trembling in his arm, his gun dangled uselessly in his other hand. The beings advanced closer, standing no more than fifty feet away, the reanimated men dangling behind apathetically, their eyes protruding from the black face mask, staring at the living men without the luxury of blinking or dilating. A man next to the soldier voided his bowels and stumbled, humiliated. The beings and the reanimated men diverted their attention to the man. The Soldier looked nervously behind his shoulder, at the château behind him, still basking in the gift of light. The beings poised their bodies and quickly came towards the humiliated man, half-running, half-swimming in their movements. Using nothing but instinct, one of the men fired his weapon at the charging mass of black; the bullet splashed the surface of the beings and exited on the other side, cutting through a resurrected man behind him. The zombie man fell down, dead at first, dead again. The black mass of mud on his face gripped his skull tightly and pulled the man off his feet again. The Soldier knew now he had no choice anymore, he ran. The beings were now all over the men, those unlucky enough to not get out of the way were dropped to their knees as the beings lurched down and entered their throat, and slowly suffocating them before leaking out of their orifices and leaving a mask of black over their face. The Soldier ran through the forest, all the trees now leaked black ooze or sat in place, dead. Beings leapt out of the ground and encircled the men behind the Soldier that tried to follow, screaming his name, begging for his pity. The Soldier pressed his ear up to the side of his raised arm and closed the other ear with his hand, which ran free with the gun on his shoulder. The beings gained footing on the man, swallowing up survivors as they reached them, and the men that had wished to be with the Soldier for safety now wished to be with him out of hunger. The Soldier broke through the forest and found empty farmlands separating him from the villa. He didn't hesitate to keep running. His legs burned and warned of his depleting energy, but he paid it no warning. The fire from the forest reached the field, igniting the dry farmland and consuming the resurrected men and serving as a retardant to the evil of the beings. The Soldier was in a state of panic, for the beings were continuing to gain ground on him. He kept his lighter suspended above his hand like Lady Liberty's beacon, he began to feel exhaustion pumping through him, crippling him even more with each step. A being caught up to him and grabbed his gun, its gaseous hands gripping the barrel of the rifle and tugging on his shoulder. Without thinking, the Soldier ripped the strap of the gun off of him, freeing his body from the being's clutches. More were gaining, reaching out towards his ankles, begging to have him quit his fleeing. The back of the Soldier's boots kicked the hands and resisted the hunger of the beings, feeding them dirt and debris as a substitute for the flesh it craved so deeply. [Edited on 01.13.2011 2:32 PM PST]
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