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Blind and violent, it is just another mindless day shining bright, indifferent to the desperate longings and fears of its temporary inhabitants. Earth has been breached by a deranged mage. Monday no longer exists. To read the rest of this story follow this link: http://www.ebookmall.com/author/happy-dagger This story is entered into a contest, and if you like the story, please vote by rating and commenting while you are there!
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Deer Slayer By George S Geisinger The two legged had plenty on his mind, to make the driving that much more dangerous than usual. Besides that, it was very late at night, when the man-made stone that goes on forever across the land, was usually safe for the four legged to walk cross without being bothered by the suicide machines. The four legged were going about their business. The two legged drove one of those suicide machines the four legged had always thought were some other kind of creature the Great One had made for all of the wild creatures to all have to deal with, whether they wanted to or not. The two legged had been to a sacred gathering of the strong in the faith of the Holy One. His thoughts were crowded with ideas he had been given in the gathering. There were plenty of other two legged who would go there to that gathering. They would speak words of significance with one another about the Holy One. They did not carry steel barking sticks to their gathering, like some of the two legged would carry out into the woods on certain occasions, to bark at the four legged, and kill them for venison. But this two legged was about to kill a four legged, whether he wanted to or not. The four legged had been on their way to a stream they all knew, to get a drink of cold water, the way they always did late at night. They were all going, the one along with several of her sisters, and one of her sisters had just taken a few more clattering steps further in that direction when it suddenly happened. There was a moment when there was suddenly an unfamiliar sound. Then. Thud! The four legged felt a great pain, and looked around herself, not comprehending that she was flying at the same moment she was dying. The four legged felt a sharp pain in her underbelly, as she shot several feet in the air, while her world careened out from under her altogether. She found a way to look at all the things around her, from this novel perspective of being several feet up in the air. Her middle felt very open and airy, very uncharacteristically cold, for being her own middle. She came down and tried to run, but her heart was not strong enough to carry her. Her heart was quite painful, as her middle was also painful. Eventually she landed, with a painful plop, and after running a little way away from where she'd been hit, found she did not have enough strength left in her, to stay on her feet any longer. The doe found that her middle was hanging open, and she attempted once more to rise, but failed. The suicide machine had stopped a little way down the road, and just sat there, for some reason the four legged could not understand. The two legged was staying inside the suicide machine, and did not seem to be concerned with where the four legged had gone. For some reason, that fact reassured the four legged, that there would be nothing further from the two legged for the four legged to have to concern herself with. Her sisters had scattered, when the suicide machine had hit the four legged. There was a lot of what happened that none of the four legged understood. They knew that their sister had been killed. They had no idea why or how. They only knew she was dead and gone. "When I remember you, I remember colour- butterflies and autumn leaves, sunsets and flowers in bloom, beauty and brightness. The butterfly takes to the sky, carefree, and my mind follows, my thoughts meandering back to the day we met. It was October then too... and, in fact, it was in a tree similar to the fiery maples above me that we first laid eyes on one another..." Where Am I? Why can’t I open my eyes? How come I am cold? If I am asleep, why am I dressed in a suit and tie? Then why don’t I have any shoes on? I am trying to open my eyes but it feels like they are sewn shut. Why are my eyes sewn shut? Wait, who’s that talking? Let me listen. “He looks good doesn’t he?” “Not really, I don’t like his color.” “Think anyone will miss him?” “Maybe we will miss him today, but not tomorrow. We never really miss anyone, do we?” I have never slept on my back with my hands across my chest. This is just stupid. Wait, what is that bright light? The brightest light I have ever seen, yet it doesn’t hurt my eyes. If my eyes are sewn shut, how is it I can see the light? Hey wait, why won’t they miss me? Why would they miss me if I am right here? Wait a minute. I know what’s going on. I am dead. Crap, I told that fucking waiter the food tasted funny. That’s just great, I am dead and some asshole stole my shoes! Hadley's – it had changed hands so many times over the years, never changing its name... In my Mother's day, it started out as a drug store. As I was growing up, they added a soda fountain and it became an after school hangout. After I moved away, one of my friends told me it was now a coffee shop. When I came back to visit her we always made a stop at Hadley's after shopping. I never knew how much I depended on knowing Hadley's was there. So much of my life had happened at Hadley's. My friends and I had discovered boys at Hadley's. The very cute boy who worked there was our first love. Every day after school, we would go there and giggle, hoping he would say something to one of us. Boys our own age became much nicer and they came there to giggle at us, hoping we would notice them. Many first dates began and ended at Hadley's, right through high school. The decor hadn't changed much over the years, until it became a coffee shop. Espresso and cappuccino machines replaced the soda fountains. The furnishings were now trendy, sleek, instead of plastic, and practical. The light a little softer; the drinks a little more expensive. My friend emailed me to say Hadley's had burnt down and it was as if I had lost a dear friend. I guess I had, actually. That weekend I traveled back to have a last look, to say goodbye. I arrived late Friday after work. I drove past the site where Hadley's had stood and I slowed down checking out the damage. Selfishly I had a thought to stop and see if I could find a treasure to keep as a souvenir, a memory. I quickly pulled over. I got out of the car, my heels clicking loudly as I walked closer to the building. I paused in front of where the front door used to be. In the dim light, everything was charred, black... One and a half walls still jutted from the ashes to the left. I squinted into the darkness trying to imagine what used to be there. I gingerly stepped into rubble, wishing I had worn other shoes. The crunching of burnt, crispy unrecognizable items under my feet was the only sound. I stopped, getting my bearings. Over there we sat laughing about Karen's new baby just last month. Voices came into my head, memories of times past, the giggling of us girls over the antics of the boys trying to get our attention. I chuckled aloud and covered my mouth. A voice rang out almost startling me, “Hello?” the voice called. “Hello” I answered. “I'm just having a last look around.” No further conversation. “I ...I used come here a lot and ...well...I came to say goodbye.” I offered. Nothing. Thinking maybe it had been my imagination I shrugged it off. I heard a crunching noise behind me, spinning around I saw a man standing there smiling. “Oh! I was starting to think I was hearing things!” He smiled wider and held out his hand, “No it was me.” I shook his hand and smiled. “I used to come here a lot and I was looking for a keepsake.” He laughed loudly, “You ruined my opening line! I was gonna ask you if you came here often!” We both laughed. “My name is Everett, can I ask yours?” he asked with his winning smile. . “My name is Lucy.” I smiled back. We started walking back to the street. It was getting darker. Since Hadley's was at the end of the main street through town, it was also quite deserted and I was feeling slightly uncomfortable. “It was nice meeting you Everett.” I waved and started for me car. “Wait! Do you have time for a cup of coffee at the diner?” He called to me. I wasn't exactly in a hurry. “Okay.” It seemed safe to me. We drove to the diner, with me leading the way. Several cars dotted the lot and they were turning on the outside lights. Meet & Eat, not very fancy but the food was pretty good. I stopped and got out of the car. I waited for Everett to reach the door, and then we entered together. It was noisy inside, the clinking of plates and silverware, a mixture of voices, and a jukebox in the corner droning on about heartache, I didn't recognize the song. We find a booth and sit opposite each other. The server comes by and asks for our order. Everett looks across at me, “Are you hungry, cuz I am, I'm thinking more than coffee, my treat? “Um no... Thanks, coffees fine” I was due at my friends later and I would take her out for pizza. “Suit yourself,” he said smiling, and then ordered a “special”. We talked easily with each other as if we were long time friends. He asked me about my memories of Hadley’s and then offered a few of his own. It was amazing to me that I never saw him there. The way he talked, he was there almost as much as I was. We appeared to be close to the same age why had I never seem him at school? “Everett, how is it I don't know you? You would think I would have seen you at school if not at Hadley's.” I asked him. He looked me in the eye then looked out into the diner. “I'm a little older than you. We had different friends...and it was just a different time.” He looked at his plate. His head came up and he shot me his smile. “Anyway, here we are!” “Yes... we are.” I smiled back, it really didn't matter, but it rather seemed odd. “Well I have friends waiting for me so I should get going. Thanks for the coffee, Everett.” “It’s been a pleasure Lucy.” He watched me stand, again with his warming smile. “See ya around maybe...” I waved and turned toward the door. Behind me, he sat shaking his head. I arrived at my friend’s house about fifteen minutes later. She lived just outside of town; the drive was beautiful because you had to cross a creek that had a covered bridge. Such a peaceful place, I missed it sometimes. College and the big city had lured me away. “Lucy!” As I drove up, I could see Carrie waving her arms in the driveway. I jumped out of the car, “Carrie!” We hugged and went arm in arm into the house. “What took you so long?” Carrie asked as she took my bags from me. I don't know why but I lied, “Oh traffic was horrible! And I got started late.” Carrie seemed satisfied with that answer and busied herself taking my things up stairs to the landing. “Hey! Have you eaten yet?' “I was gonna see if you wanted to go out for pizza.” I offered. “Wow, it’s been a long day; I'll order some though, how's that?” Carrie answered as she sat on the last stair. “Sounds good.” So that's how the evening went. We ordered pizza, sat around in our pj's and talked until the wee hours. Carrie was one of my oldest friends. She knew me so well she could finish my sentences sometimes. I stayed with her when I came into town to see my Mom. My Mother still resided in this sleepy little town. Every two weeks I came back to visit. She was not entirely well. She had an apartment at an assisted living village where all her friends also resided. She laughingly called it party city. “Where else can you raise all kinds of hell and they still do your laundry and feed you!” she always said. She had heard about Hadley’s burning down and she seemed quite sad about it. It seemed such a big part of so many lives here. It was late and there is an open pizza box with a few crusts in it. Carrie is thoughtfully drinking her soda. She had just finished a story about a guy she liked in 8th grade; they shared a soda at Hadley's. “Carrie...did you ever know anyone named Everett?” Carrie slowly let the glass lower to the floor where she sat. “Everett?....Everett. Really? No.” “What? It’s a perfectly nice name...I just asked.” I sounded a little defensive. “Lucy, who is he... did he have anything to do with you being late?” Carrie, the detective, asked. “No ... I was just curious.” “Spill it Lucy, I'm tired....” Carrie coaxed. I told her then of my encounter with the man with the beautiful smile. As I retold it, it even surprised me how I reacted. It wasn't like me to have a conversation with a total stranger, to say nothing of spending the next hour and a half drinking coffee and swapping stories. I had no explanation. Carrie was appalled; she told me how lucky I was not to be raped and dead at this moment. I guess she was kind of right. It was just weird. Glad to be alive and full of pizza I suggested we turn. No arguments from Carrie. The next morning I rose early so I could have breakfast with Mom. Carrie was still asleep so I dressed quietly and left the house. I would see her later as I would be staying one more night and go home the following day. As I drove to my Mom's place I had to pass the remains of Hadley's, I slowed as I passed. Was I just being curious again, or was I hoping to see Everett going through the rubble? Soon I pulled into the parking lot of the complex where my Mother lived. The place was amazing! The main building was something out of Las Vegas in decor. The apartments that were attached reflected the occupant as they did their own decorating. She knew I would be there but she didn't know I was coming for breakfast. She always looked surprised to see me, “Sweetie! I'm so glad to see you!” she would yell as soon as she saw me. Then there were always lots of hugs and kisses. She always made sure everyone within hearing distance knew I was her daughter. “This is my baby. … Yes, she’s very successful. ….No, she's not married yet” I would always laugh and spirit her away so I could have her to myself. She was tired this morning; she asked if we could have breakfast in the dining area. I, of course, agreed. After paying for my own meal, we chose a table and sat near a window. We chatted for a few moments over coffee before they brought some eggs and toast. She told me she won bingo that week and got some “Wild Bucks” to spend at the store within the complex. She went on to say how she and the “girls” were signed up for the field trip to a Casino nearby. She was so happy amongst her peers. The staff was wonderful and kept them full of life. I know she missed Dad but she didn't have time to become depressed about it. I was comfortable knowing she was well taken care of. She might as well have been living in a resort. We strolled outside after breakfast and walked into the garden. The fragrance of the flowers was cloying in the cool humid morning. We sat on a padded bench and enjoyed the songs of some nearby birds. “You know your Father and I used to enjoy sitting in the garden.” Her voice broke the near silence. I was hoping she wasn't going to be sad. “I'm sure you did! Who in their right mind wouldn't enjoy such a lovely morning!” I spoke with cheer. She smiled and looked over the garden. “Yes” was all she said. “I'm sure you heard about Hadley's burning down, right?” I tried to change the subject. She turned toward me, “Yes, it's what has me thinking about your Dad.” Great! “How is that, Mom? I was curious. “Before it was a coffee shop, before it got the soda fountains, it was just a drug store. But you knew that...” she started. I nodded. “Well, I was just a young girl but my mom sent me on errands and sometimes I had to go to the drugstore to get things for her. “ She paused as if she were going back to those days in her mind. “I remember seeing your father there many times, probably running errands as well. I saw him in school but it was different when you would see a classmate out of school,” she laughed, “especially a boy!” She shifted her position and went on, “He always wanted to walk with me, but I had eyes for someone else so I shooed him away.” I laughed, “Really Mom? Wow I almost didn't happen!” I teased her. She laughed with me, “I was afraid the Pharmacist's assistant would think your Dad was my boyfriend!” “So how did Dad finally win you?” I encouraged her story; she seemed to find humor in it. Her face changed and became rather sad, “There's no doubt I would have married your Dad in the long run... but... I had the biggest crush on that assistant. Everett died from a snake bite while hunting.” Hearing Everett's name startled me, “What was his name?” She repeated it. Discreetly I asked her what he looked like and it fit the description of the man I had seen in the rubble. She erased all doubt it was the man I had seen when she mentioned his beautiful smile. Advance . . . . The sun rained down, desiccating the parched earth even further. Woollagong was hot this time of year. Even the camels were listless, browsing on the barren twigs of the yarrowbee bushes as they trudged along, for some kind of nourishment. Dangaroa whistled for his dog Grip to turn the lead camel. The day was edging away and it was time to make camp for the night. A trifle early perhaps, but in this scrub land, it was far better to prepare early than get caught out with no time to gather kindling Jililie had already stopped at the end of the line and was gathering what sticks she could find close by to start the fire going. Once the fire was alight with enough burnable material to keep it going a few minutes, she ranged further afield, bringing back her horde to keep it blazing with a steady flame which would heat their precious water for a cup of strong tea and be hot enough to cook the damper. “That be enough?” she asked. Dangaroa nodded. Once he had settled the herd, he would range farther out and gather as much as he could to keep a blaze going right through until past dawn. Night temperatures dropped suddenly in the bare desert and freezing air could not be ruled out; a fire would also keep away dingoes. It might however draw snakes in so a wide patch of earth and sand was cleared around the campsite. He could spot a snake if it came close to get warm. As the camels were herded into a semi-circular pattern, Dangaroa commanded one of the pack animals to sit. From its load he took a portable rope, compact - light-weight, but strong enough to become a barrier for the beasts, a secure area to keep them from roaming. It saved the tedious task of hobbling individuals every night; easier for Grip's attention to be focused on keeping a watchful eye for predators rather than looking out for strays that left the security of the herd. The corall also served as a central area for feeding the beasts the packages of nourishing fodder in pellet form they had brought with them to supplement naturally gathered edibles. “Give me the billie can,” said Jililie, “making damper soon.” Dangaroa was a quiet man and just nodded again, moving over to where the fire and hot tea awaited him. By the time they had a good fire burning, the camels had been fed, the damper was almost cooked. The sun was setting, its last red rays casting a bronze light over the scraggy trees on the perimeter of the clearing. A brilliant sunset, as always in this region but neither Dangaroa nor Jililie had time to look at the sky, their attention was focused on that night’s meal and bedding the camels down. Jililie mixed up the flour and water blend and placed it in the damper pot then swung it over the flames. The fire was putting out plenty of heat although it was small and the damper would not take more than half an hour to cook. The billie had been placed over the flames as soon as the fire took hold and the water was just about at boiling point now. She emptied a pouch of tea into the pot for it to brew. They liked it strong as did many other drovers. When all the camels had been fed their ration and Dangaroa had finished gathering sticks, he called in Grip for his ration of dried meat and a drink before sending him off to do guard duty. He doubted any dingoes were close, but you never knew and the prospect of fresh camel meat might prove too tempting for a pack of the blighters. Whilst collecting wood, Dangaroa kept an eye open for browns that liked this region. Browns venom was virulent. Grip was a good work animal but he had to look after the camels. Couldn't expect him to keep watch for snakes too so a sweep of the area was a justified precaution. They would probably keep away during the night. They seldom stuck around humans, but you could never tell for sure. The cold night made snakes lethargic and a nice warm fire could bring up their body temperatures enough to make hunting for food an easier task, so a place to get warm was always a good option. Both Dangaroa and Jillie would of course, take turns in sleeping and keeping watch. Jililie would watch first, then Dangaroa would take over when she woke him around two a.m. The sky was black velvet, like a woman's shawl that was covered with glittering diamonds. Dangaroa never ceased to marvel at the sight as he settled himself, blanket around his shoulders, to wait for dawn to lighten the sky. Some night insects, attracted to the low flames, buzzed around. At the perimeter, Dangaroa continually brushed at the annoyance. He wished he had one of those fancy fans the women used in the summer but that would also waft the icy air over his face and that was something he could do without. He heard the sound of dingo calls once or twice as he watched over the herd, but they were some distance away. Far enough, he thought, for them not to be a menace. Jililie slept soundly, her light snoring an accompaniment to the crackle of the flames, the odd grunting of sleeping camels and his own in-drawn breaths. Finally a dark purple smudged the far horizon. Dawn was approaching. Dangaroa moved back towards the fire and added fuel. He also topped up the water in the billie and shook Jililie awake. Jillie yawned and unwrapped herself from the blanket. She had grown cold as the night wore on and was loathe to leave the covering off. With a slight shiver, she began to prepare their meagre breakfast, adding sugar to the pot of black tea. The night had passed without danger and as soon as breakfast and ablutions were done, they would pack up the compound and be on their way, another day over and nearer their goal. The camels bleated as the compound was wound up and replaced on the lead animal. It groaned and spat as it lifted its hind legs, then stretched its forelegs up off the ground. Dangaroa knew this was a miserable animal, but it was a strong one and a born leader so he put up with its cantankerousness. Grip wagged his tail, yipped as he nipped at the beasts and ran around getting them to start moving, which they were loathe to do. Dangaroa called him to heel. Pots and blankets had already been loaded so Jillie was ready to go. She just had to gather her walking staff, make sure the fire was out and the embers scattered. She spread the ashes with her shoe. As she did so, she noticed the shoes were getting a bit worn. They would have to see her through until the spring. The sun was almost risen as they set off. In the distance, the red earth blazed where the sun hit it. It was truly a colourful landscape. One she had been brought up in. So totally different to the pictures of places in other parts of the world. There were books in the old schoolroom where she had once been taken. That did not last long. She never looked at books now. Her tribe had welcomed her back. Now she was married to Dangaroa, she followed him and the camels. It wasn’t a bad living. No restrictions now. Ayres Rock loomed high in the early morning sunshine a week later. Again, the redness shone out like a beacon. They always stopped nearby and climbed to the top. Visitors staying around the area gazed at their ragged clothes, watched their nimbleness with awe and jealousy. Tourists took pictures of the camels, of Grip. When they came down, they asled if they could take pictures of Dangaroa and Jillie. A few years previously, they may have had a refusal. Now Jillie charged, and everyone was happy. Finally the camel train moved on. There were still a few hundred miles to travel. They had to reach their destination before the rains came and made the last stretch soggy. They did not want to lose cahs by being late due to wet trails. “Grip,” called Dangaroa. Grip yipped to start the camels moving, nipping heels and leaping out of the way of the odd kick. Just a few more weeks and they would be back home. But just for a while. Only a while. © Copyright Evelyn J. Steward. March, 2003. (Edited and added to October, 2012) Clown World by Frank Endert Issue 1 : The IMAGO MUNDI Chapter 1 The Crawfish Dream Asylum: A manufactured realm connected to Earth The latch screeched in pain to the turning of the iron key. With the tumblers compromised, the first intruder pushed the large door open. The noise of laughter and loud conversations ushered the two strangers into the large room. The couple looked to each other and entered. Disguised, her mask was made of bone ash porcelain with oval eyelets; a series of red painted hearts dripped down her right cheek - emulating tears. His mask was made of latex, dark, and molded into a snarling visage of a wild beast, with a canine snout and white pointed teeh. As he held her hand, he approached an antiquated machine Beneath the half-mask, he spoke, "Well, here it is." In the dim room, she nodded, affirmatively. He let go of her hand and searched for the main kill switch on the device and flicked it. The room ignited with a carnival of lights and electronic noises. The bright glow from the machine licked into her face as she took in the glamour of the apparatus. Moving her gaze upward, she saw a dominant metallic sign with the words IMAGO MUNDI branded on it. Below the sign, a large primal Tiki statue stood, perched on a pedestal that was attached to the wall. Arms stretched out to the ceiling, the Tiki god held an old train station clock over its head. It chirped methodic tics to affirm the passing of time. Below all of that, was a huge wheel fastened to the same back wall. Two glass deprivation tanks were bound on the wheel with horizontal straps made of brass and capped on the bottom and top with brass lids. Each tank was secured to the opposite sides of the wheel. The man spoke, "This is her masterpiece." The woman spoke, "Is she an artist?" "Who, Natasha? Yes. Well - kind of." "The Imago Mundi, huh?" "Yes. I believe it is Latin for 'imagine a world' - or something like that." Admiring the detailed hammmered-metal craftwork of the IMAGO MUNDI, the women nodded in silence. She glimpsed at its foundation. A heavy cover ,made out of slabs of obsidian marble, was mounted to the floor. Trapped inside, the hidden bowels of the machine hummed in electronic protest. The woman tilted her head to the side, "Impressive." She marveled at the visible murky waters within each deprivation chamber; one glowed with a creamy amber hue, while the other brooded a deep indigo color. The dark blue chamber resided at the bottom of the wheel, while the brighter one Ferris wheeled at the top. Each tank had a title plate. The placard on the top tank read 'DREAMER', while the plate on the bottom tank read 'DESTROYER'. As she drew in for a closer look, the nose of her porcelain mask clinked against the thick surface of the tank. She saw nothing, but an abyss; palming the glassed portion of it with both hands, she welcomed the cold touch of it. Spellbound, she breathed measured meditative breaths. "It moved," she screamed, backing away from the wheel. "Yes, yes. It moved. He, I believe it is a he," the man pointed to the other tank," And she, they are alive in there." The man tapped on the glass. A fleshy body flopped and struggled within the waters of the 'DESTROYER' tank. "I, I do not understand." "I could explain it, but it would only alarm you - further." "How can you imprison them in there? Like that?" "Imprison? Are you serious? It is considered a high honor to be chosen for one of Natasha's works of art." "What?" "Yes, in a sense, they are both immortal. Chosen stewards of the Imago Mundi." The woman looked to her left and right, hugging herself. The beast masked man stared with disapproval, "This was your idea. I am taking a big risk to bring you here." The woman said nothing. "Well. Maybe, we should go. This may have not been such a good idea." "No." "No? No what?" "No, I want to try it; you didn't tell me about them. They scared me." She could sense a smirk behind the man's mask. She pointed to the only door in the room, "There is nothing for me out there. Please continue." "As you wish," He pointed to a display above the wheel. It was another wheel, a smaller one. It was covered, except for a cut out rectangular window at the top. The card showcased in the window was the '5 of Wands'. The card illustrated five men waving around long quarterstaffs without any regard for each other and engaged in a conflict. The men appeared to enjoy the chaos of this battle. "The pattern is already set." "What does the picture mean?" "I am not sure. Natasha knows the esoteric meaning of the destiny cards." The man flipped another kill switch on the Imago Mundi. The ' 5 of Wands' spins away into a visual vortex. Walking to the Tiki idol, there was a digital control panel at its feet with strange symbols for numbers. Turning knobs, he customized the time device to his preferences. The hands of the train clock spun and locked into a five minute angle, the big hand set on '7' while the small hand set on the '8'. The space between the two hands glowed red. "Take a seat." The woman looks about. There are six chairs surrounding the machine. "Which one?" "It doesn't matter." She pushed two chairs next to each other and sat down in the left chair. Pulling at the control panel, he unlocked it from the monkeypod wood Tiki god. After mutter something under his breath, the panel slid out further. Long thick wires were attached to it and they seemed to effortlessly stretch as the man walked with the device and sat down next to his companion.Two long brass levers grew up and out of the control panel. She questioned her memory as the console split apart. Each piece contained a lever and one of the parts sprouted a shiny green jade button. Offering her the panel without the button, "Grab hold of the lever." As he grabbed his lever, "So, are you ready?" Before she could answer, the man pressed the green button. The Imago Mundi roared to an exalted degree of activity. The deprivation chambers spun furiously, creating a duo colored whirl. Harsh thumping mechanical sounds pounded from beneath the marble foundation. The man glimpsed at the clock as a bright pain seared into him. Seconds felt like hours as he watched the red glow between the clock hands convert into a vibrant green hue. At that moment, his elbows locked up and he felt as if someone was running a vacuum within his intestines. A micro second later, his neck got stiff and his brain could not catch up with his other senses. Unconscious, their bodies slumped in their chairs. Their hands remained locked, gripping their levers, as the room hummed and crackled with unusual fields of electricity and magnetism. Chapter 2 Planet Earth: Santa Rosa , CA 95409 Unable to speak a word, a man wearing a worn out T-shirt with the image of Yoda giving any random passerby the 'finger', drank from a half gallon of orange juice. His impulses had gotten the best of him and the deranged mage went too far, again. "La, la, la. Who is that? There you go. Oh who is going to get up, today?" A woman cooed and cajoled a toddler from behind the park bench that the mage slouched in. His head throbbed in a shattered realm of stasis. Charlotte was back. He knew it would be even harder, possibly impossible, to get rid of her this time. She walked around the bench with her professional camera wrapped around her neck. Supposedly, she was a great photographer - mostly portraits. The toddler was speaking in garbled high pitched noises. Pulling the camera up to her face, she pointed it over the mage's shoulder and clicked a few shots. "That's right. La, la, la. Oooh, you are so strong. Look at you. That is right." Too focused on a painted bench, twelve feet away, The mage was distracted. She invaded his concentration. Her voice was syrupy and sunk into his entire being - haunting him with a melodic sound of estrogen and condescension. It was meant for the child, but in his condition, it cut into him like a psychopath singing love songs to their newly captured prey. Charlotte smiled at him warmly, "Hi, nice day isn't it." The sweetness in her voice revolted and excited him. He started to keep track of the trees behind her that hissed with green tongues and spiraled with pine tree branches stabbing into the sun. He held vigilant and tried to remain calm. The mage said nothing. Charlotte tormented him; she knew that he was unable to speak and he was hers for the taking. "The quite type, huh?" Charlotte licked her blue painted lips. "I like that," moving closer, Charlotte whispered, "I like that, a lot." Her bottom lip rubbed against the outline of the mage's left ear. The wet feel of her mouth made him shiver. The sun was shined like a floppy gooey jellyfish, an egg yolk that had been perforated by a fork - bleeding sun trails of light, watered with primary colored pigments. "Look at you, who wants to speak? Who wants to use his words?" Charlotte pulled the camera up and snapped a few more shots over the mage's head. "That's right. La, la, la," She ran back to the toddler. "You are so strong, and look at you - you can do it all by yourself." The mage's movements were stunted in his mind, like a low level shutter speed. He would look to the left, wrapping his fingers around each other in tight knots, to the point of almost breaking them. His left leg stretched out, defiantly, as if it had a mind of its own. It wasn't until his left foot flinched out and to the right, that his focus slammed into another direction: the painted park bench twelve feet away from him. The artist had painted a 'Día de Muertos' mural on it. The fountain, behind the bench, accommodated three separate spouts of city water shooting up into the air - proud and unfaltering with motion; the light of the afternoon fell into the background as the bench thudded with deep resonant sounds of dominance. The images on the bench were dancing. Cheek to cheek, skull to skull, the skeletons held each other close, with passion, with fervor, their skinless smiles clacking with exotic ecstasy. Colorful, like their yellow, orange, and viridian costumes, their love for each other festered - frozen in time and worn down with the use of the public park bench. The mural images changed their moods and glowered at the mage: shaming him for his non-existence. The mage surrendered, I love you too. Yes, we know you do, the mural thought back to him. The mage laughed and then went dumb, shocked that he actually made a noise. It seemed like years had passed since he heard his own voice. In a lurid instant, the next f stop shutter speed shunted the mage into a new physical position and focal point. Two overweight girls, with bright patterned baseball caps inspected the mage as he sat alone on his bench. His hair was bedraggled and shown a common brown while his jeans were clean,but baggy and distressed. He sported a ragged moustache, full and booming, like something you would see on a highway patrolman, if it was the 1970's, or if the patrolman still lived in the 1970's, in his own mind. His cheap prescription glasses flashed, greasily, at the girls, showing faded blue eyes - friendly, yet awkward. One of the girls looked to the other and made a rude 'Phhht' noise with her lips, conveying disbelief. She said, "Psych. Psych." and walked off, ignoring the mage trapped inside his own miasma of reality. In static violence, the mage propped both of his hand behind his neck and stared up into the air; his focus was on the town square clock. Only minutes had passed, but he was already sorry for what he had done. He wished she would leave, but he knew Charlotte was not going anywhere. Her hands touched his from behind. They were cool, so soothing, so demanding. Charlotte reached further. Racing her pale hands across and down the front of his neck, she draped them, lazily, around Yoda's image. "You know, I used to be a witch." Yes I know, he had heard it before. "Wicca." Charlotte rubbed his chest in sweeping sensual patterns, "It is a very peaceful, harmonious and balanced way of life. It promotes oneness with the divine and all which exists." The mage's hands broke from the back of his head and slammed down on the seat of the bench, palms open and fingers stretched out. Pretty. He could not stop thinking of this word when he thought of her. He didn't have to look at her to know what she was to him. She was everything. Everything, everything, everything, it echoed in his thoughts. Her kindness resonated into him, drowning his senses with safety, with comfort. His thoughts changed and his head shifted focus, again, as his fingers re-locked around each other in contorted formations. The poison is strong. Wow, so strong. Charlotte let go of him, snapped a few more pictures of the toddler, as the clock tower swept a few more minutes away into the day. She walked in front of the mage, blocking the view of the fountain gurgling absurdities to him, "How do you feel, Samuel?" Samuel looked up at her: a face - smooth- round dark eyes, lacking pupils, little lines of powdery light blue accentuating them from the bottom of her eye lids. She blinked. Samuel spoke, "I feel insane." "Of course you do." Charlotte planted Samuel with a soft full kiss. It had been so long, too long, since he tasted Charlotte's wet kiss, a signature, a renewal of a dark contract, a bond of destruction, so he could begin, again. The farther he fell, the longer she stayed and he truly loved her for it. Pretty. So, pretty. Never stay and always betray - endlessly. Charlotte pulled away and said, "Come, Samuel. Get up and look at what you have wrought with your abusive magic." The madness of her and his awakening, again, distorted the city park into flames - a visual atrocity. The toddler sat before him on an indigo blanket,crackling with electric stars and swirling with persimmon colored comets. The pudgy child had the skin color of a milked down tangerine; eyes an amber brown, projecting forgiveness and untold fortune. Two eyebrows flowed into high pointed semi-circular landmarks; they were the only common features that Samuel found recognizable on him. A red tattoo of a red trident, lacking a handle, mantled the child's forehead; he lacked a nose, but furbished a thick and luxurious trunk-like snout. The toddler gooed in an unintelligible language, as his trunk reached out and encapsulated it's favorite rattle. He vibrated with a unnatural glow of health. Using two of his four arms, the toddler pushed himself up into a standing position and trumpeted a loud song of deafening joy. Charlotte mounted and caressed Samuel in a wrestler's embrace. "There he is, my sweet. You have killed Monday and we will be with you for a very long time." Samuel nodded foolishly, feeling his powers beginning to return. Samuel knew that he fractured this world to a point of no return. He would have to finish what he started - for the love of everyone, for the love of all. He remembered when he first met Charlotte, as an afterthought, attached to a casual friend; they were heading their way out of the theater and back to the commune. His child-of-hippies friend, Gabrielle, introduced her to him. She was calm and Samuel looked her directly in the eye, as he did with everyone. It hit, without doubt, that she was not a 'Mundane'. Samuel, soaking up her energy from those dark eyes, said, "Yes, Gabrielle, I can tell that she knows her worth." Charlotte looked back observantly, sizing him up. Her look was deviant, covetous, yet light and unassuming; she was not asleep. Gabrielle chuckled and agreed. He was used to such odd behaviors, and considered the strange response to be Samuel just being 'Samuel'. The town was small, but he soon found Charlotte, everywhere. She collected friends like purchasing bags of cheap candy and ran in social circles, similar to Samuel's circle of friends. Without thinking about it, intuitively, Samuel knew, as he entered a shop, turned a corner, or entered a class room, when Charlotte would materialize. Samuel thought he got away with it, but the stars in the sky were always watching. He was sloppy and many of the 'Mundanes' saw him bend the school's oak tree into unnatural formations with his mind. Later that night, he created an additional taboo spell and set the monstrosity on fire, purging it from existence. Those two flagrant hexes on reality locked him to her. Unknown to himself, Samuel was a marked man, Charlotte found her query; he reeked of obscene magic. Walking down a country road, late at night, walking back from the downtown area and back to the commune, Samuel remembered the bizarre bleeding of headlights behind him on a moonless night. The stars glared down and spoke to him. They whispered and mocked him by tutoring him with his own personal thoughts and theories. "Yes I know. I know that already. Please do shut up." The sparkling sentinels refused to stop babbling in his ears. They prophesied doom, loss, and love. That is when a boat of an old beat-up luxury car pulled passed him and parked to the side of the road. Great. Here we go. Samuel's intuition was ringing. Shelly, a class mate, was waving at him and calling his name, but he already knew who was driving the car. The two girls semi-kidnapped him and took him on a ridiculous ride of misadventures, including: chasing chickens in a barn that blared red light bulbs as porch lights, snuck up on a cow that had a huge window in the side of its stomach where you could see hay being digested in one of its guts, followed by dumpster diving behind a brand name grocery store; Shelly new the exact hour they dumped all the fresh left over doughnuts from bakery. They, eventually, drove Samuel home. She, now, knew where he lived. Weeks of coincidences piled up and nature ran its course. In each others arms, they would wax poetic on how they have always known each other. Rambling nonsense, Samuel would proclaim to Charlotte things like when he was eight and she was four, they would fight over who got to sit in the 'Dog' chair. They were spies, interlopers, looking in through the 'out' door at a humanity consumed by its numbness. Their bond enhanced everything, distracting Samuel from his mystical practices, confusing him further from paths unexplored. The world was licking its minor wounds as the 'Mundanes' grew bored of being ‘aware’ and fell back to sleep. The further Samuel grew comfortable in her box of love, lost, anesthetized, and smothered in happiness, the less she respected him. Soon, Charlotte's gaze began to find faults; they were faults that were always there. Charlotte re-discovered them out of convenience to initiate the next step. Where, once, Samuel was a flawless gem, he was now a scourge of annoyance. They fought, they cursed, and they abandoned each other. Love's victims embraced each other's demise and spread their pain into others, as it was intended, forever unresolved. Charlotte was no accident, she was a debt collector for those who don't abide and respect the delicate threads that keep everyone in this world from spinning out control - unraveling into incalculable series of chaotic oblivions. The cycle of this world was not complete and further such interruptions would snag the progress of the future, at least, according to the 'Weavers': her boss. That was when Samuel learned there was a price for everything. It took him a decade to disengage from his love for her. It only took tearing the variable ‘Monday’ apart from the time continuum of Earth to bring her back. As a punishment and redemption, balance had to be met and all accounts had to be paid in full. Charlotte laughed at him, hearing his thoughts. "It will be an eternity before you are rid of me, lover." Remembering how much he enjoyed her company, Samuel smirked and said, "So, how do we work our way to Tuesday?" Thank you for reading my work. If you are interested reading the rest of the first issue of Clown World or the second issue, you can check out links to these ebooks.at happydaggerpress.com Community By George S Geisinger The man cannot find a concept of community with those around him. There has never really been a concept of community where he's been almost all of his life. His father's professional background was unsuccessful, and the family did not have a stable basis of constancy to fall back on, anywhere they went. The problem was not simply isolated to his childhood, either. The man was a transient, all his life long. They moved around every year, for his first several years in life, and there was always something inside of the boy that was never really resolved in the man. There is an irrational fear that had finally reached a point of definition for him, and the man finally knows why he has been afraid all his life. It should have stopped him from running altogether, and it did, but it did not help him to be more comfortable where he was. He likes it here, but wants to run away anyway. It isn't his fault. It was a concentrated form of child abuse that had made him a shape shifter all his life. It was confusing to those around him, because the man could not maintain a consistent persona throughout his dealings with anyone around him. It has been a matter of torment that had done this thing to him, and few have any concept of the extent of the torment itself. But the knowledge of it didn't resolve his feeling of being an unknown and unsettled individual in all of his social pursuits, throughout his life. There have always been people who knew the man, and then noticed the man disappeared from their circles abruptly. There had always been a question about whether the man had lived or died. There was no way for the man to transmit the answer to such a question to the people who matter the most. His removal from the society of his friends had been so frequent. so abrupt, with no coherent statements tossed around among those that matter, about where he'd gone, or why. He imagines there must be hundreds – even thousands – of friends of his, who honestly have no report, no clear concept of where the Shadow had gone, or how he fared in life since they'd last seen him. He had his concept of diary keeping settled relatively well. He could make observations about his surroundings rather easily. The Shadow was indeed a writer. The issue of circulating his documentation was part of the problem. No one knew, by enlarge, where the boy or the man ended up going on to. He would just disappear from their circles and never come back. That was his MO. He can remember events, and chronicle things that have transpired around him rather accurately. He's a good historian of things that had happened around him, and to him as well, up to a point. But the man is not so good at congealing his experience into a cohesive, whole concept of human dynamics, nor is he good at publishing his continuity of life to his many friends, would know and understand what had happened to him. He is always bailing out of awkward situations. But how does one arrive at a concept of community? How can one man, who's been betrayed and abused by so many, begin to trust one solitary environment, such that he feels comfortable enough to stay put, long enough that he can develop friendships and put down roots where he is. What he wants to do is the same thing as he'd always done. He wants to runaway. He wants to devise a plan to engineer his own escape from his very stable environment, so that he can generate even more perplexed people, who cannot know where he's gone. This is his instinctual response to staying in one place for the better part of two years. He's been brought up to be runaway, and he is finally more reserved at doing such things than he's ever been before. The other thing standing his way, where he is, is that he truly likes it where he's living. The man is not interested in leaving his place behind. It has proven to be too secure for leaving. He has no idea where to go, so he postpones all plans to run, and all plans to travel. His relative safety and comfort of his current circumstances are significant enough. He understands he has no comparable place to turn to. There are his many friends, and those he knows who care about him. There are also people he cares about the most, well enough to know about them, specifically, and that those people are significant to him, right here where he is. The Shadow no longer has any place to run. He's been edged out of the places he used to run. Then there are people he will not associate within his environment. They managed to get themselves classified as dangerous to his best interest. The man is not interested in flirting with danger anymore than he can avoid it. He'd done too much of that already. He figures it won't be safe to associate with those people at all, so he just edges them out of his circles altogether. Avoiding eye contact, and not responding to them is effective, by enlarge. The man is a shape shifter. A loner. He has a way of being one thing at one time, and something else altogether at another time. It isn't a matter of integrity, it's a matter of definitions. There are times the man can be the life of the party, and has the love and respect of all around him. Other times, he is unable to be the slightest bit social with anyone. He withdraws. Those times will shift him into his time in his suite, where he will become something – someone – else, entirely. The use of power plants had done enough of the work on his thinking and perceptions to narrow down his feelings of brotherhood and trust of others. The Shadow believes he has known few brothers. There are a very few, indeed, that he will actually admit that he knows significantly, any dynamics of those around him. Mostly, the man does not figure he knows others hardly at all. It is only that others know him, and that he will freely tell certain people certain things about himself. Then there are the things he'll write, and things he won't. A New Direction By Rick Carufel Prologue When I was a kid, God said, "Kid, (he always calls me kid 'cause he likes me) I want you to save the alcoholics and the Christians." Wow, not an easy job. I stayed up late pondering this request for thousands of nights. I think I may have found an answer. I had to figure out everything in order to arrive at a solution. It cost me a lot, but I think I got a plan. This is the solution I've come up with. Since the beginning of time, when the first hominid ate magic mushrooms (The Forbidden Fruit?) and conceived of a power greater than himself, we have been drawn to the stars. ________________________________________________ 2016 May 1 The hired talent, with no more interest in the speech than a paycheck, steps up to the podium to make his presentation. He is an actor, a "B' list talent with an excellent speaking voice. The crowd fills the auditorium to capacity. Scientists, teachers, politicians, military and religious leaders, and the press all gathered to hear what has been rumored to be a ground-breaking announcement by a major U.S. Government agency. "I come here tonight not to talk about sin or good and evil. Not to talk about guilt or belief in ancient writings that say they have a monopoly on God. I come here today to talk about Revelation. Not the revelations of the bible but revelations that will in fact change your life, here and now, revelations that will change the way you think of yourself and your fellow man. Revelations about why God put us here and what we are supposed to do with our lives." "These revelations are simple and evident in the writings of all religions, if you but use your eyes to see." "God did not put us here to kill each other over religious ideology, greed or monotheistic self-righteousness. God did not put us here to judge one another. God did not put us here to destroy the planet. But he did put us here for a reason and that will be revealed tonight." "I would like to ask you to accept a few logical suppositions about the world in which we live." "First let us suppose that Mother Earth is alive. Not too much of a leap, it has been suggested for millennium. But we are going to take that at face value. Earth is a life-form." "Many cultures and religions believe this, with some actually teaching the earth even talks to us if we know how to listen." "For earth to be a life-form it must meet certain criteria. One of those criteria is the ability to reproduce itself. How can a planet reproduce you may ask? That is one of the revelations." "Mother Earth is not the planet itself, Mother Earth is the collective biosphere, life. It is the biosphere that has the ability to reproduce itself." "Well, how could it do that?" "It would take a specialized reproductive species with the ability to package the building blocks of life and propel them from the surface into space to fall on barren worlds." "What could this reproductive species be?" "The Human Race, Us. God did not create us to kill and destroy but in his likeness, to create, to spread life through the universe doing his work." "Jesus said, 'We will build a new heaven and a new earth.' How much plainer need it be said?" "This is why we are here in this world, this is why God put us here and this is our purpose." "This is not a revelation of doom, of end times of fire and brimstone or judgment, this is a revelation of hope. This revelation give us a meaningful goal, a vocation in life, a fulfilling knowledge that we finally get it and are finally on the right course as a species in tune with the needs of our Mother Earth and our Farther in heaven. We now know why we are here, we know what to do. This is the meaning of life, to propagate this life beyond the confines of this world and to do God's work, to participate in the creative process that God himself has been doing since the beginning of time." Although this discourse went on for several hours with the speaker reluctantly answering endless questions, most of which he had no answers for, that is the gist of what has been hailed as the new religion of man by most, and as the advent of the antichrist by some fundamentalist, monotheistic religious leaders. This was in actuality the launch of a government sponsored project, specifically by DARPA, Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency, to garner support for its 100 year starship project. This one event was a turning point in the ideology of the human race, someone had finally connected the dots and made sense of things. Over night organizations sprang up eager to do "God's work" in any way they could. The milling masses finally had an endeavor in which to immerse themselves in, that had a positive end goal and created a sense of well-being and oneness with the creator. Crime rates plummeted, wars ground to a halt, as people finally realized what they had to do with their lives. The first ship was assembled in orbit and launched on 2034 just 18 years after the May first speech in 2016. There was a lottery to see who got to go after all the necessary technical slots had been filled. The vessel was massive, a true ark with thousands of lifeforms and 20,000 humans. After that ships were sent out every 10 years. Eventually technology was developed that allowed the 100 year voyage to be reduced to several months. On September 12, 2112 the first ship returned with news from a new world. With great fanfare and much pomp and circumstance the crew was welcomed home as heroes and with an unusual tale to tell. They had encountered another race in a distant star system who told them they too were doing God's work by spreading life throughout the stars. After the initial time it took to develop a way to communicate they had decided to mix their crews, since both species were similar in physiognomy and so the returning crew had brought not only new friends home but also many beneficial plants and animals from distant worlds. As time passed new friends were found and all the space-faring species co-operated in the work to spread life across the stars. Barren worlds were found, environments engineered and species introduced. When the asteroid hit the earth with a kill shot in 2341, it had been evacuated of most of the people and other species. Some had chosen to stay to the end. As soon as the dust cleared and the earth had stabilized, a coalition no less than 23 races showed up to begin the job of building a new earth. They had already built a new heaven. http://www.amazon.com/Rick-Carufel/e/B004LCK4P4 Fortress Drachanweld The two warriors stood back to back, blades and vestments covered in blood and various bit of tattered flesh. The taller of the two men, Patrow Kellerman was of the clan Harrowcar, a fierce and proud race, known for strong axe blades and good fighters. His companion Toggmar Brennlin, was a good head shorter, built like an ox. He was from the Sallowertan tribe of Herringer, his folks were known for their horsemanship and swordsmanship on horseback. This day had started badly for Toggmar, standing watch at the Castle Porrodlin, between the Herringer grounds and the far distant shores of Plamindar. He and his fellow watchman had not seen the troops, until they came from under the ground 200 feet from the gates. The first Toggmar knew was when his colleague fell with a Plamindar bolt in his throat. He tried to run for the castle to warn the rest of the soldiers but was cut down by a staff and had to watch as the soldiers stormed the gates. He saw friends torn apart from blades so ragged, the blood squirted from so many cuts you couldn't see the men. Looking around him, Toggmar knew, with instinct borne in battle with the Plamindar. There was only one end in sight, that was the death of all in the party, they would slay thity-five good men of Herringer. Toggmar jumped astride the nearest horse and rode for all he was worth reaching Fortress Drachanweld in two hours, instead of the usual three hours it would have taken. Out of breath and running as fast as he could, he went to the guard commander. Toggmar could only say “Plamindar, three miles west of here, stay close together!” Then he collapsed, tired out and weary. After three mugs of 'Hog’s Blood' ale he went to see Patrow Kellerman, the clan chief. Patrow asked of him “From where have you ventured, my man, and what is your good name?” “I'm Toggmar Brennlin of the Salloertan clan from Herringer. I came to you straight from Castle Porrodlin, or at least what is left of it. We lost thirty-five men of Herringer in a skirmish with the Plamindar. And they are coming here next.” “I haven't heard of them before. Is there a way to defend ourselves?” “Not this group, this is a skirmishing raid. The only defence is when they arrive, get the men to stand back to back, for NO reason leave anyone unprotected. These are butchers, they kill and maim, for sheer enjoyment!” “Porrodlin you said.” “Yes.” “If my memory is correct that castle had a clear field of fire, no trees and bushes and yet you said they suddenly appeared 200 feet away. Do you have an explanation as to how?” “We thought we had everything covered, rocks for our protection near the gates, just to slow them a bit, and give us a chance to form up, but they appeared from nowhere, and all plans went aside, it became a fight to the death, each man for himself.” “How did you survive then Toggmar of Sallowertan?” “I was hit on the back of the head with a staff, as they do not check for casualties they left me for dead. I woke three hours later and saw the ruined castle, strewn with my friends. You don’t have the time to challenge my word nor the manpower to imprison me for being a possible spy. By now they should be coming around the fork at Hagardson’s ridge.” “If we give you a horse and food, can you make it to Porrowlock? It's only five miles and they have a garrison of over a hundred and fifty men?” “I could. But there is no point!” “Why?” “Take a look over the brow of that hill.” “I see smoke pouring from the village, MY GOD! They hit Porrowlock first.” “I was wondering, why it took them so long to get here.” “What does that mean for us, there are only fifty here, counting you and me?” “Patrow Kellerman of Harrowcar, as I stand here the last man of Herringer. I salute your bravery, my friend. We have but one choice. We stand back to back, axe to sword and fight until either we win or die.” Patrow and Toggmar gather ed the men for a final prayer to their gods of war Signus the Great and Sigmar the rock. Who had held a pass against over a hundred invaders for two hours, so the injured could escape. As the band of men rose from prayer, Patrow gave the order “By Sigmar’s blood and Signus’s hand. We fight this fight, live or die, we battle to a stand in death, we die to protect our lands.” The men stood in awe of their heroes and the deeds done, each lost in thoughts of homes, they hoped to see. Each hoping that at dawn of day, this battle would be a historic victory and sung around the fires. Then out of the mists for the first time, the dreaded banners of red and gold helmets were in sight. The army was on the march in an orderly manner. This was something unusual, as Plamindar attacks were usually quick strikes and then off to the next ones. Looking out over the crest of the hill Patrow was horrified at what he saw “Toggmar, what do you make of this, my friend?” “I can only assume ONE thing Patrow. We are all that stands between them and controlling this area, they only unfurl the banners at the end of the struggles, so we are the last stand now.” Patrow stood aloft the castle walls, and yelled to the men “Porrowlock is in enemy hands We have no chance of reinforcements or escape. Any man willing to try is welcome, nobody will think bad of you. Otherwise we'll stand and fight here and now.” If on cue, as he stood down a huge boulder came crashing through the walls, where less than a minute ago, he had stood. With the first breach came the rush of men, axes swinging, swords slashing through coats of leather, like through reeds in the spring. Toggmar and Patrow led a charge to try and hold the breach, but the few men they could gather were no match as more rocks crashed the gates. “Get to your positions men!” shouted Toggmar. On the command the men withdrew into groups, each man covered by two more as the raid progressed the men of Plamindar, grew weary. They had got used to a quick fight and were now weakening, sensing this Patrow shouted “Break ground men!” At this command, the men broke the groups and chased down the enemy, the banners of Plamindar, lay in the blood and guts of its dead warriors. Toggmar and Patrrow strode to the top of the battlements, to watch the stragglers be chased down and put to the sword. The fort lay in ruins, men lay dead at their feet, clothes torn and bodies tired but they had held the grounds and could be proud. Although they lost twenty men in the raid, their position had held and they knew this day would not be heard of in Plaminder. Patrow turned to Toggmar and asked “What do you think saved us, my friend?” After a while Toggmar said “It wasn't just the stand and fighting but also we chased them down, so they could not band together again, for another attack.” |
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