There's a banging sound in front of me, like a knocking against wood. Holding the green stone in front of me, I move slowly. The flickering that caused me to get on this path looks unexpectedly brighter. There's a faint light and as I get closer the mirrored bubble is steadily getting brighter. I see that I'm almost at the end of this particular path and stop for I can see my destination in front of me.
I'm looking out at the small enclosure of a chapel in a large church. The flickering that drew me to this place is a candle flickering at the base of a statute of some saint. I'm trying to figure out where I'm at. Surely, there can't be a mirror in this chapel. I look towards the entrance of the chapel but no one is around. Pulling Nick's sword closer to me, I gingerly push my hand through the cool, smooth glass and touch air. I take one last glance around me and step closer to the scene in front of me. I see that I am in a mirror and there's a statute right in front of me, all white, its back to me. I push through the glass and feel it slip over my skin one last time. Then I step around the statute and onto the altar, hoping it will support my weight. The altar feels sturdy enough. There are convenient “steps” on the altar and I step lightly down them, pulling the sword after me.
When I reach the bottom I pull out a dollar, ball it up, drop it into the donations box, and then I light a candle offering it up to the white statue. I look up at it for the first time and start.
The statute is of an angel, its wings aren't expanded but I can see its feathers. It's wearing armor and carrying a sword. It's eyes are sightless and smooth but the face is beautiful. It has long flowing hair. Ravelle is much more beautiful but this angel is still lovely. It's life size, bigger than me. Given my recent experiences with angels, I bow to it quickly and walk out of the chapel.
The church is utterly silent, just like I remember. That weird silence feels weighty and when I move it feels like the air has some resistance. It feels unnatural. I look around. There's two people, an old man in the front row and a middle aged woman wearing a brown knitted cap. This is good.
Still carrying Nick's sword I walk slowly down one of the side aisles. The noise from my shoes sounds deafening and the two people in the church turn to look at me. I take off my shoes and socks and walk barefoot down the aisle, looking around. The church is dark, candles flickering. I'm feeling comfortable, knowing I'm in the right place. The stone floor feels cold but not uncomfortably so. The church was built in the 14th century French Gothic style with some Norman Romanesque features. This explains why the church has a very large, square, solid feeling to it.
I look slowly around, scanning for anything that might be the sword but I'm seeing nothing but the usual church decorations and idolatry. I keep looking, paying attention to the statutes and sculptures in this place. I'm almost at the front of the church now and I scrutinize the altar area. It would seem to me that this would be the place for the sword to be but there's nothing but the usual opulence. The little old man looks at me with pale blue eyes. He doesn't seem to notice I'm carrying a sword. I walk across the aisle towards where he is sitting. As I get closer, he stands tottering on his cane in the narrow aisle. He shuffles at me.
“Are services going to start?” his voice is breathless and feeble. The small amount of hair on his little head are white long wisps curling about his ears. His blue eyes are rimmed with red but they are large and clear.
“I don't know but it's 4:38,” I say. I look at him closely because he's looking at Nick's sword now. He's wearing a blue windbreaker and has a blue and white checked scarf on. He's frail and think and very stooped but his face is beautifully angular and chiseled.
“Nice one but won't work for the next leg of the trip,” he says, nodding at the sword.
“What?” I blink at him in surprise.
“That's nice, lady, but you're going to need something with more oomph, I said,” he sits down looking off to his left at the long line of stained glass windows. “Services going to start soon. Soon.” His voice trails off.
“Do you, do you know where I can find something with more...ooompph?” I take a barefoot step towards him. He's still looking at the stained glass windows. It's dark here with just the ambient light from all the stained glass windows and candles.
“Lotta angels here. Should find that thing soon. You'll need it, you know,” his voice sounds faint in its feebleness. He's still not looking at me. He seems far away.
“Where is it?” I say, then I hold my breath.
“Too many angels. Tend to crowd everything out and disrupt the services,” he says. His head is drooping a little and he's now facing forward.
“Where's the sword?” I ask this clearly now. My voice is cold water splash. He starts, looking at me directly. The woman in the last aisle with the brown knitted cap seems to sit up straighter.
The old man sits back with a sigh. I wait a moment more then I reluctantly start to walk away.
“Wait,” he says looking at me again with those clear pale eyes. “You came through the right entrance. That's good. There's no blade on it from this side. Shoes on. Give me that thing, lady,” he reaches out his hand.
I don't hesitate. I hand him the sword and then sit on the stone floor of the church, slipping on my socks and my shoes quickly. The old man is muttering but holding the sword like he knows what he's doing. He holds it out in front of him, looking down the line to check the balance. I'm surprised at his strength.
My shoes on I stand up again. I glance up at the ceiling but there's nothing but the soaring dome above us.
“Where's the ingot?” he asks in his breathless voice. He is fingering the place on the handle where it should be.
“I...I gave it to its owner. Who are you?” I take a deep breath and look at him more closely but he's really just a little old bent man. He hands the sword back to me. I thank him.
“Good. Good. Walk to that side, lady.” He says, waving to his left, and he smiles a little, “Hurry, services will start soon.” He nods me towards the long line of stained glass windows.
“Thank you. You should leave now,” I tell him, bowing slightly. He only smiles at me, waving me away.
I walk towards the windows, making noise now but not caring. The woman in the back row seems to have left so I don't worry about bothering her. The silence seems to have thinned out a bit anyway. I can hear faint hum of traffic outside. This is New York city, after all. I walk along the other side aisle, looking around me. There's another chapel and another angel. This angel isn't standing regally, it's lunging forward, the sword in the other hand is just being raised. This angel is bigger than life. Long flowing hair. Wings more open. I look at the sword and see that it's just a stone handle. A handle. No blade.
There's an unexpectedly loud splintering sound then a cracking. Behind me at the back of the church. The sound of stone falling.
I grab the handle but it won't budge. I pull at it and try to break it but the stone is unyielding.
The stone behind me is breaking and falling to the floor.
I can hear the sound of someone landing on the stone floor. The sound is light and beautiful. A perfect landing.
Using Nick's sword I slice through the statute. The stone cuts but doesn't do anything except peel away the stone covering the sword handle. I can see the bronze underneath. I grab the handle and pull hard. The handle doesn't budge but more stone crumbles in my hand. I use the sword to slice around the handle. I hear the whoosh behind me. A fleshy smack on the stone floor.
“You did well back there,” says Ravelle, only a couple feet behind me now. I jump back into the wall. She's holding the little old man's decapitated head by his fine wisps of white hair. She holds the man's head higher. His blood is dripping to the chapel floor, his eyes are open and clear, steady looking. He doesn't look surprised.
“It's your fault, you know. You shouldn't have talked to him,” her green eyes are sparkling like emeralds in the dark candlelight and she smiles. Her teeth are perfect.
“He was waiting for services to start,” I say, tears welling in my eyes. I realize I'm not holding the handle. Bad move. I lunge towards it but Ravelle slams her sword into the statute, shattering it. It crumbles around us, shards of stone flying round us, hitting me, and she grabs the handle. Before I can do anything she knocks Nick's sword out of my hand. I hear the clang as it lands behind us. I'm trapped with no weapon and no time.
Ravelle smiles at me and holds the blade to my throat. I feel a sting and a trickle of blood starts flowing.
“Cut off your head and you're done for. No crawling after your own head for you,” her voice sounds sing-song now. She is magnificent, her armor is shimmering with gold and the encrusted jewels in the candlelight.
There's a movement behind her and then she lurches forward as the blade of Nick's sword plunges through her chest. She's still holding the handle. She glares at me, then her eyes turn amber, and she buzzes at me. I feel a brief wave of nausea.
Nick's blade pulls out of her and her hand and the handle of the sword goes flying across the small chapel, landing on the small altar. I run for the handle. I grab it and it fits my hand perfectly even with its heavy bronze weight. The remaining stone chips fall away.
Nick is standing behind Ravelle still holding his sword. I'm holding the handle. She staggers sideways, slumping on her side. I throw her hand to her. It seems I'm always throwing Ravelle's hand back to her.
“Blasphemy!” she hisses at me. Her face is shimmering like diamonds. I realize she is crying.
“Stay down. Don't move,” I say. She glares at me as I step around her. Nick moves to stand in front of me, but I shake my head. “Behind me,” I say. He does as he's told. We back out of the chapel into the main part of the church. I glance at the little old man's head lying by the chapel entrance, the floor wet with his blood. I feel a pain rising inside me.
We back slowly out into the side aisle. Ravelle has put her hand back on and is following us into the church. She is moving slowly too but she doesn't hold her sword out in front her.
“No, Miss Turtle. No,” she says, her wings opening and extending to their widest width.
“Who are you to tell me no? Who are you? What gives you the RIGHT?” I shout, my voice breaking. I'm gripping the sword handle but nothing is happening. I know something is going to happen, very painful, but necessary. I bear this knowledge easily.
“It's been sanctioned, Miss Turtle. Approved. Unlike your unauthorized goings on,” Ravelle spits at me. She is still moving slowly towards me even as we continue to back away from her.
“Get farther behind me, Nick,” I glance at him, his brown hair is sticking up in places as usual. It's a comfort to see him. He winks at me. I look back towards Ravelle and I hear him back further away from me.
Then it happens. The tolling of bells from outside. The sound is muffled in this place but unmistakable.
Ravelle trembles, eyes wide.
“Services are starting,” I say and I hold out the sword handle. The tolling of the time continues five times. I shift my weight and plant my feet. Ravelle backs away from me too.
The church goes very dark now with only the candlelight when the last bell tolls. The sword handle is humming now and then starts to vibrate. “Get back, Nick! No matter what happens to me stay back! Don't touch me or try to help!” I shout not moving from my spot. I'm standing almost directly center of the main aisle. The vibrating continues, rougher and more pitched. Then the sword handle is shaking. I hold onto for dear life knowing that this moment is the moment to hold on and never let go. The vibrating is so rough now that it feels like my bones and joints are going to break apart. I grip as hard as I can with my right hand. I can see Ravelle slumped up against the nearest church pillar, eyes full of terror but I can only glance at her. All my attention is focused on not letting go. My teeth start to rattle and the sound, a screalling sound, fills the room. Ravelle has to put her hands over her ears now and she curls up in agony, her angelic ears unable to take that sound.
My body still shaking, it happens. I feel an impossible pain in my hand and then a feeling of something sharp slamming up into my right arm. I can't hold onto the sword anymore but I couldn't let go even if I wanted to. I scream from the pain and collapse to the stone floor. The pain goes all the way up into my arm, across my shoulders and down my left arm. It spreads upwards to my head and down to my heart, down, down past my stomach and into my groin and legs. I'm lying on the floor writhing in agony, the pain forcing and shoving its way through my body. It feels like I'm being impaled through the inside. I scream and scream, in so much pain now that I can't see or think anymore. I scream for death, for mercy, for oblivion, but still the pain goes on. The church is breaking apart now. The decorations falling around me but I know I can't pay attention to that now. The pain runs up and down my body in a flash and then is concentrated on my right arm and hand again. My body slumps on the stone floor from the battering, the concentrated pain growing even more in my right hand, blossoming like flowers butchering their way through my flesh.
The church gradually stops shaking, the lights slowly come up, and the pain fades quickly to a dull throbbing. I can breath now. I take some deep, shaky breaths and look up. Ravelle is standing over me, sword out.
“No Ravelle. It's time for you to go home now,” I say to her, not moving. My voice is harsh and raspy from the screaming. My body shivers.
Her cheeks are still sparkling with tears. “I can't go home. Can't. I need the sword. Give it to me.”
“The Boss has given you the Ultimatum, I see,” I look at her sadly. I feel sorry for her now. She's just an angel, doing what she's told.
Her berry colored lips tremble and she nods. I don't take my eyes off her, but I sit up slowly.
“I'm going to cut off your head like I cut off that old man's. It's been sanctioned and approved, Miss Turtle. I have ALL the full permissions!” she shouts, swinging her sword at me.
Without any effort from where I'm sitting, I counter her swing with my newly completed sword and it's unearthly black blade. The blade slices Ravelle's sword like it was nothing. She takes two steps back, dropping her sword, watching in horror as her weapon shimmers and vibrates then disappears. She screams.
“Blasphemy!!!!” And she lunges towards me one last time, her hands out. I slice open her armor and her insides, cutting up through the top of her head. She shudders, green eyes huge, and I pull the blade out of her. She shakes and trembles and then a terrible gurgling scream fills the air as she shimmers. The sound abruptly stops as she disappears into nothing.
Still lying down, I wipe the tears from my eyes. I hadn't realized I was crying. Nick steps into my view and I'm so glad to see him. He holds out his hand. I take hold of it letting him pull me up. My body is very sore but I know this is not the end of it. The Boss will unleash Heaven's fury on me and I still need to find Mr. Gryphon's head.
“Are you all right?” Nick asks.
“Yeah, I know you want to know what happened but I think I need to get back to the infirmary first," I can barely stand.
“Okay. I'll wait as long as it takes,” he says.
“Thanks for coming. I couldn't have done it without you. Really.” I smile at him, my eyes hurt and I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment.
“My pleasure. I'm glad I could be of some help for a change.”
“You're always helpful, Nick. Especially in the real world,” I say, stretching out my hand in front of us. The reassuring blue door appears in front of us.
He smiles and opens the door for us. He puts his arm around me, supporting me as we go through the door. He feels and smells good. I lean my head against him. I feel like I'm going to collapse now. I walk through the door, my sword Mithra dangling from my hand.
Wednesday, April 07, 2010
Sunday, April 04, 2010
The Problem Part 3
So this morning I realized things are way worse than I thought. My novel, my precious long term project that I've been working on for years, is a love story. It didn't start out that way but two of my main characters have fallen in love and now that part of the story has moved to the front of the line.
Talk about warm fuzzies. I didn't really see it until this morning when I was blubbering on about this problem in my morning pages just now. I'm putting this couple through fucking hell. And on top of that I've promised a happy ending. I don't know if I can pull it off but I've promised that I would do it anyway. Twists and turns keep being thrown on the path to the end of this story and I've stayed the course. I've had to solve some serious plotting problems, all because this has to have a happy ending. Not bittersweet, not an okay resolution, but a happy ending, dammit. And I'm not forcing a happy ending on this thing, I'm doing it because it's right for the story and for these characters.
So here I am writing about this couple and about my story in general. Yes, it's still a historical thriller. I'm writing in this direction: even though my couple is going through hell, it's still worthwhile to stay, be together. Ugh.
It's a problem. What with all the warm fuzzies cuddling around me. And this story. I don't know what I'm going to do with myself now. I can't keep torturing myself like this, right? I'm such a dumbass. I was thinking I need to get away from the warm fuzzies, just do a way with them. This way I can take a step back and get back to my armored, happy-to-be-alone self. But can I do that and work on my novel?
I can't stop working on my novel. I could try stopping and write something else but there's a possibility that one will turn into a love story too. I always thought I would write a love story someday. A wonderful one but I sure as hell wasn't going to do that now. Ugghgh. What am I doing to myself? Even the next novel rolling around in my head has elements of a love story in it.
Can't. Keep. Doing. This. To. Myself.
Talk about warm fuzzies. I didn't really see it until this morning when I was blubbering on about this problem in my morning pages just now. I'm putting this couple through fucking hell. And on top of that I've promised a happy ending. I don't know if I can pull it off but I've promised that I would do it anyway. Twists and turns keep being thrown on the path to the end of this story and I've stayed the course. I've had to solve some serious plotting problems, all because this has to have a happy ending. Not bittersweet, not an okay resolution, but a happy ending, dammit. And I'm not forcing a happy ending on this thing, I'm doing it because it's right for the story and for these characters.
So here I am writing about this couple and about my story in general. Yes, it's still a historical thriller. I'm writing in this direction: even though my couple is going through hell, it's still worthwhile to stay, be together. Ugh.
It's a problem. What with all the warm fuzzies cuddling around me. And this story. I don't know what I'm going to do with myself now. I can't keep torturing myself like this, right? I'm such a dumbass. I was thinking I need to get away from the warm fuzzies, just do a way with them. This way I can take a step back and get back to my armored, happy-to-be-alone self. But can I do that and work on my novel?
I can't stop working on my novel. I could try stopping and write something else but there's a possibility that one will turn into a love story too. I always thought I would write a love story someday. A wonderful one but I sure as hell wasn't going to do that now. Ugghgh.
Can't. Keep. Doing. This. To. Myself.
The Problem Part 2
Okay, so here's the real, scary deal. I don't know why I'm articulating these thoughts, much less putting it on my blog so bear with me.
The real, scary deal is the warm fuzzies are making me consider the idea that being with someone, working through difficulties, getting to know someone and later reveling in their familiarity, and working towards being together with someone might actually be a worthwhile endeavor.
I've been of the opinion for a while now that it's far better to be alone than to be with some idiot. Being with someone like that and the accompanying time and effort it takes to weed out such people is a colossal waste of time in my opinion. Far easier to keep to myself is what I've been thinking.
The warm fuzzies are pushing me to think otherwise. I'm such a dumbass.
Shit. I don't know what's going on with me.
The real, scary deal is the warm fuzzies are making me consider the idea that being with someone, working through difficulties, getting to know someone and later reveling in their familiarity, and working towards being together with someone might actually be a worthwhile endeavor.
I've been of the opinion for a while now that it's far better to be alone than to be with some idiot. Being with someone like that and the accompanying time and effort it takes to weed out such people is a colossal waste of time in my opinion. Far easier to keep to myself is what I've been thinking.
The warm fuzzies are pushing me to think otherwise. I'm such a dumbass.
Shit. I don't know what's going on with me.
The Problem
"What's wrong with you?"
"I don't know."
"Something's up. What is it?"
"Fuck, I don't know."
I'm confused but it's not that good time confused like "I'm confused because I'm not confused." No, instead I get the real confused, the puzzled renderings that pop through my head like the time my boss spent most of a morning popping bubble wrap in his office. POP! POP! Confused. What's my problem? I don't know.
These days love, romance, and desire, having spent so long keeping their distance, are now circling me slowly. They're trying to corner me but I'm resisting. I keep telling them everything is futile, that I'm destined to spend the rest of my life alone. My body was asleep but now it's awake and betraying me like there's no tomorrow. I don't know what my problem is.
There's no one here that's what the problem is. My body, even now as I'm writing this, is getting regular doses of the warm fuzzies. I'm practically torturing myself with love, romance, and desire on a daily basis. Sure, it's all mentally driven, mental pictures, but I'm still doing it, willingly. I don't know what my problem is.
I'm still alone, make no mistake. It's just me, the dog, and the entire universe of my inner life here. I don't even have a crush on anyone right now. There are no possibilities on the horizon.
The warm fuzzies...make my extraordinary loneliness stand out in vivid detail. The warm fuzzies...bring my aloneness into painfully sharp relief. The warm fuzzies...keep it all front and center. I can't push it away, rationalize it away to my friends or to myself. No, love, romance, and desire are right here with me. I don't know what my problem is.
Why now of all times when I'm really getting into this being alone thing? I feel so comfortable alone. I like being alone. It's a good thing.
I'm the loneliest person I know.
I have serious doubts that will change anytime soon. I long to have someone in my life now but I can't imagine doing anything about it. The warm fuzzies...make me question why I'm alone. There doesn't seem to be a good reason for it, not after all this time. Maybe four years ago it made sense in a licking-my-wounds sort of way but the warm fuzzies, love-romance-desire, are making me question my choice to be alone.
Nothing's going to change. I'm sure of it. Even with all these self-inflicted warm fuzzies, I'm not feeling a need to alter anything that goes on in my daily life. I'll eventually get past this self-inflicted daily torture I'm subjecting myself to and go back to my usual self, right? Uh-huh.
Fuck. I don't know what my problem is.
"I don't know."
"Something's up. What is it?"
"Fuck, I don't know."
I'm confused but it's not that good time confused like "I'm confused because I'm not confused." No, instead I get the real confused, the puzzled renderings that pop through my head like the time my boss spent most of a morning popping bubble wrap in his office. POP! POP! Confused. What's my problem? I don't know.
These days love, romance, and desire, having spent so long keeping their distance, are now circling me slowly. They're trying to corner me but I'm resisting. I keep telling them everything is futile, that I'm destined to spend the rest of my life alone. My body was asleep but now it's awake and betraying me like there's no tomorrow. I don't know what my problem is.
There's no one here that's what the problem is. My body, even now as I'm writing this, is getting regular doses of the warm fuzzies. I'm practically torturing myself with love, romance, and desire on a daily basis. Sure, it's all mentally driven, mental pictures, but I'm still doing it, willingly. I don't know what my problem is.
I'm still alone, make no mistake. It's just me, the dog, and the entire universe of my inner life here. I don't even have a crush on anyone right now. There are no possibilities on the horizon.
The warm fuzzies...make my extraordinary loneliness stand out in vivid detail. The warm fuzzies...bring my aloneness into painfully sharp relief. The warm fuzzies...keep it all front and center. I can't push it away, rationalize it away to my friends or to myself. No, love, romance, and desire are right here with me. I don't know what my problem is.
Why now of all times when I'm really getting into this being alone thing? I feel so comfortable alone. I like being alone. It's a good thing.
I'm the loneliest person I know.
I have serious doubts that will change anytime soon. I long to have someone in my life now but I can't imagine doing anything about it. The warm fuzzies...make me question why I'm alone. There doesn't seem to be a good reason for it, not after all this time. Maybe four years ago it made sense in a licking-my-wounds sort of way but the warm fuzzies, love-romance-desire, are making me question my choice to be alone.
Nothing's going to change. I'm sure of it. Even with all these self-inflicted warm fuzzies, I'm not feeling a need to alter anything that goes on in my daily life. I'll eventually get past this self-inflicted daily torture I'm subjecting myself to and go back to my usual self, right? Uh-huh.
Fuck. I don't know what my problem is.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
FailSafe - Mirare (Part 13)
There's no one around. I hold out the sword and step out of the elevator. I look left, right, then up. Nothing but the generic carpeting, furniture, and décor of an expensive office building. I walk slowly down the hallway, not sure what I'm looking for, bracing for surprises. I do know the portal is around here somewhere on this floor. I hear nothing but the low hum of the air conditioning.
I walk into an open space full of hundreds of cubicles. The huge floor and maze of putty colored cubicles seems to go on forever. Everything looks brand new. Still, I hear nothing. I glance into one of the cubicles and even the office supplies have been laid out neatly in each space. Each desk has exactly one black pen, one blue pen, one notepad, and a pad of small post-its. There's a generic looking red mouse pad too. Each station has a big flat screen monitor. I walk out of the cubicle, still looking around. The building feels eerie and wrong. Nothing is out of place and nothing looks used.
I keep walking down row after row of generic cubicles, glancing in front and behind me. When I almost reach the center. I glance into one of the cubicles and stop. The yellow note pad has what appears to be a rough drawn map. There's a path through the maze of and it appears to disappear down staircase to my left. I look up and see the staircase exit sign.
SCREEEECCHHH! I drop down to the carpet in the cubicle pathway at the loud sound. “That didn't take long,” I mutter out loud. I stay low and dragging my sword after me, run as fast as I can to the staircase. I don't know if this is the right way to go but I'm going to have to trust this story. There's a crash and I glance above me. It's a bit low for someone to be flying in here but I wouldn't put it past her to try. I'm coming out of the maze now and the door is right in front of me. I run straight for it without looking back and I can smell the rotting before it reaches me. Demons. Flying behind me. Without even looking I jump and turn, slicing off the head of the demon behind me. As my feet hit the floor, I see now there are scores of them coming at me. I swing again and again, slicing the nearest ones to me in half. Black rotten blood is splattering everywhere, their bodies are flying apart in halves. I manage to get to the door and reach for the door knob, and rush down a very narrow hallway. There are a bunch of white doors, and they all look the same. It reminds me of that long hallway in Matrix 2. I run and run but the demons are crowding the narrow hallway and I don't see how I'm going to get away from them. I try some of the doors but they're all locked then I have an idea, a really good one. I reach into my backpack, grab the bag of Sevens, all 14 of them, wait until the nearest demons get close enough and throw them into the air.
The demons stop in their tracks even as the Sevens, with their unmistakable shimmering, fall to the ground. A moment later, they're grabbing and shoving for them. The narrow hallway only makes the situation worse as they climb, fight each other for them. The grotesque sounds of wailing, snarling, and demonspeak fill the air, hurting my ears and making the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I look around the hallway, wiping black blood from my cheek and try to think of what to do next.
"Maybe it's like with the Archivist," I say out loud. I look up at the nearest door and say "Portal." Instantly, the words glow in white on the door and the door unlocks, slipping open. I glance back and see that the screaming and tearing of demon bodies has gotten worse. It will take Ravelle a little bit of time to get through them. I go inside the room, feeling for the lights, and close the door. I hear it lock behind me.
I'm in a closet. And I hear the high musical sound of Ravelle's scream outside. I look frantically around for a light but there is none. I'm literally standing in tiny janitorial closet. Maybe she won't know where I've gone, I think, then I laugh at that thought. There's a pounding going on outside now. I feel panic rising in my throat and I try to hold the sword out in front of me but it's too long. If she catches me in this small space, I'm done for. I tilt the sword down and back up to give myself more room. I run into a bucket at the back of the closet and hear a familiar “ding.”
There's an elevator behind me, like in that movie “I'm Not There.” The doors open, I walk in, and press the only button which has no number, just a sunburst pattern. As I move upwards smoothly I wonder where I'm going. This building is over 500 floors tall but I was at the top floor so who knows where I'm going now. I can hear a banging below me but it's starting to fade and the elevator continues its silent, steady ascent. There's a faint shudder from below but then nothing.
The elevator has mirrors lining the walls, there's an handrail around the walls and it keeps going up and up. There's no little computer screen showing latest news or the weather. It just keeps moving. I lean against the mirrored wall and wait. I think about Mr. Gryphon and wish he was here with me. In fact, I really wish he was here in real life. I look at myself. I'm a little trimmer than I am now, I still have my long hair, I'm wearing boots, a black t-shirt, and green fatigues. I have no jewelry on, not even a watch. I don't even have my cell phone. No reception here.
I sigh and look around wondering when the elevator is going to stop. It keeps moving and then see a flash out of the corner of my eye. I look again and there's another flash to my right. I examine the mirror. The flash is actually a flicker, and it seems to be coming from the mirror itself, at fairly regular intervals now. There's nothing opposite of the mirror that could be causing the flash. I walk up to the mirror and look at it more closely. Meanwhile the elevator keeps moving upwards. There it is again. The flicker. I can see it if I stand to the right of where it seems to be coming from. It flashes again and I press my hand to the glass. There's a gentle yielding and I pull back in surprise. I pick up sword which was leaning on the mirrored wall and adjust my backpack, then I press carefully at the space again. It yields gently again. The mirrored wall is hard and cool but the pliable. I push my hand slowly through until it's inside the mirror above my elbow but I don't feel an other side. I pull my arm back. The elevator has still not stopped. Not knowing what else to do, I take my sword and swing at the mirror. The blade slices through as easily as butter but doesn't not shatter or break. When I pull the sword back, the mirror slips back together without a crack or mark.
I stare at the mirror for a moment more looking for seams then sheathe the sword. I push myself through the mirror and slip easily into it. There's some resistance but the hard metal is as pliant and yielding as thick well kneaded dough. I glance behind me as I pull my foot through and the mirror closes behind my foot. Now it looks like I'm standing in a mirrored bubble. It's very strange. I have plenty of room above my head and on my sides. I can breathe just fine and my breathe isn't fogging up the glass. I can see my reflection everywhere and I have no idea why there's still light or where it's coming from. It doesn't seem to be coming from anywhere.
I hear a slightly muffled “dink” behind me and the sounds of someone entering the elevator. I turn and keep moving towards the flickering light which I can see quite clearly now. The floor of the mirrored bubbled is straight and flat. I'm moving easily enough though I think it would be better if it was a tunnel. I know I'm making progress because the sounds in the elevator are fading behind me. I keep walking, wishing I had a camera. I don't know why I never bring cameras into these stories. I resolve then to throw one into my backpack for next time.
The lights flicker and I stop walking, looking around, then the light fades slowly. A fear grabs me and I start running. The thought of getting stuck here in the dark seems like a terrible fate. I run and the cold smooth metal yields easily to me, the bubble staying intact around me. The lights fade to barest light, flicker again, and then I'm in the pitch dark. I stop and try to calm down but I can't. I have thoughts that I'll be stuck here forever, clawing at the smooth walls. I force myself to stop panicking and listen to the only sound I can hear. I tilt my head and realized the sound is my own heartbeat. I hadn't realized how quiet this place is. The sound is reassuring even it's beating fast. I reach out to the sides, feeling the walls so cool and smooth. I pull off my backpack and rummage around for the green stone in the front the pocket. The reassuring green glow lights my space. I'm glad I still have it.
The gentle glow is beautiful in this bubble of mirrors. I pull on my backpack and keep walking. There's no breeze but I keep walking anyway. I walk for a while, not hurrying, the panic now gone. I think about Nick, I think about Mr. Gryphon. I wonder how this story is going to turn out and why I had to write it down. My thoughts whirl around. I think about Mr. Gryphon and how much he loves me even if he is an imaginary friend. I suppose real love is unconditional even among fictional characters. Even with them it never fails.
I stop looking at my darkened reflection in the bubble of mirrors, a tear running down my cheek. I hope. I hope I can get everything back. And I hope I'm strong enough for what's coming next.
I wipe away the tear, then I hear a faint sound in front of me.
I walk into an open space full of hundreds of cubicles. The huge floor and maze of putty colored cubicles seems to go on forever. Everything looks brand new. Still, I hear nothing. I glance into one of the cubicles and even the office supplies have been laid out neatly in each space. Each desk has exactly one black pen, one blue pen, one notepad, and a pad of small post-its. There's a generic looking red mouse pad too. Each station has a big flat screen monitor. I walk out of the cubicle, still looking around. The building feels eerie and wrong. Nothing is out of place and nothing looks used.
I keep walking down row after row of generic cubicles, glancing in front and behind me. When I almost reach the center. I glance into one of the cubicles and stop. The yellow note pad has what appears to be a rough drawn map. There's a path through the maze of and it appears to disappear down staircase to my left. I look up and see the staircase exit sign.
SCREEEECCHHH! I drop down to the carpet in the cubicle pathway at the loud sound. “That didn't take long,” I mutter out loud. I stay low and dragging my sword after me, run as fast as I can to the staircase. I don't know if this is the right way to go but I'm going to have to trust this story. There's a crash and I glance above me. It's a bit low for someone to be flying in here but I wouldn't put it past her to try. I'm coming out of the maze now and the door is right in front of me. I run straight for it without looking back and I can smell the rotting before it reaches me. Demons. Flying behind me. Without even looking I jump and turn, slicing off the head of the demon behind me. As my feet hit the floor, I see now there are scores of them coming at me. I swing again and again, slicing the nearest ones to me in half. Black rotten blood is splattering everywhere, their bodies are flying apart in halves. I manage to get to the door and reach for the door knob, and rush down a very narrow hallway. There are a bunch of white doors, and they all look the same. It reminds me of that long hallway in Matrix 2. I run and run but the demons are crowding the narrow hallway and I don't see how I'm going to get away from them. I try some of the doors but they're all locked then I have an idea, a really good one. I reach into my backpack, grab the bag of Sevens, all 14 of them, wait until the nearest demons get close enough and throw them into the air.
The demons stop in their tracks even as the Sevens, with their unmistakable shimmering, fall to the ground. A moment later, they're grabbing and shoving for them. The narrow hallway only makes the situation worse as they climb, fight each other for them. The grotesque sounds of wailing, snarling, and demonspeak fill the air, hurting my ears and making the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I look around the hallway, wiping black blood from my cheek and try to think of what to do next.
"Maybe it's like with the Archivist," I say out loud. I look up at the nearest door and say "Portal." Instantly, the words glow in white on the door and the door unlocks, slipping open. I glance back and see that the screaming and tearing of demon bodies has gotten worse. It will take Ravelle a little bit of time to get through them. I go inside the room, feeling for the lights, and close the door. I hear it lock behind me.
I'm in a closet. And I hear the high musical sound of Ravelle's scream outside. I look frantically around for a light but there is none. I'm literally standing in tiny janitorial closet. Maybe she won't know where I've gone, I think, then I laugh at that thought. There's a pounding going on outside now. I feel panic rising in my throat and I try to hold the sword out in front of me but it's too long. If she catches me in this small space, I'm done for. I tilt the sword down and back up to give myself more room. I run into a bucket at the back of the closet and hear a familiar “ding.”
There's an elevator behind me, like in that movie “I'm Not There.” The doors open, I walk in, and press the only button which has no number, just a sunburst pattern. As I move upwards smoothly I wonder where I'm going. This building is over 500 floors tall but I was at the top floor so who knows where I'm going now. I can hear a banging below me but it's starting to fade and the elevator continues its silent, steady ascent. There's a faint shudder from below but then nothing.
The elevator has mirrors lining the walls, there's an handrail around the walls and it keeps going up and up. There's no little computer screen showing latest news or the weather. It just keeps moving. I lean against the mirrored wall and wait. I think about Mr. Gryphon and wish he was here with me. In fact, I really wish he was here in real life. I look at myself. I'm a little trimmer than I am now, I still have my long hair, I'm wearing boots, a black t-shirt, and green fatigues. I have no jewelry on, not even a watch. I don't even have my cell phone. No reception here.
I sigh and look around wondering when the elevator is going to stop. It keeps moving and then see a flash out of the corner of my eye. I look again and there's another flash to my right. I examine the mirror. The flash is actually a flicker, and it seems to be coming from the mirror itself, at fairly regular intervals now. There's nothing opposite of the mirror that could be causing the flash. I walk up to the mirror and look at it more closely. Meanwhile the elevator keeps moving upwards. There it is again. The flicker. I can see it if I stand to the right of where it seems to be coming from. It flashes again and I press my hand to the glass. There's a gentle yielding and I pull back in surprise. I pick up sword which was leaning on the mirrored wall and adjust my backpack, then I press carefully at the space again. It yields gently again. The mirrored wall is hard and cool but the pliable. I push my hand slowly through until it's inside the mirror above my elbow but I don't feel an other side. I pull my arm back. The elevator has still not stopped. Not knowing what else to do, I take my sword and swing at the mirror. The blade slices through as easily as butter but doesn't not shatter or break. When I pull the sword back, the mirror slips back together without a crack or mark.
I stare at the mirror for a moment more looking for seams then sheathe the sword. I push myself through the mirror and slip easily into it. There's some resistance but the hard metal is as pliant and yielding as thick well kneaded dough. I glance behind me as I pull my foot through and the mirror closes behind my foot. Now it looks like I'm standing in a mirrored bubble. It's very strange. I have plenty of room above my head and on my sides. I can breathe just fine and my breathe isn't fogging up the glass. I can see my reflection everywhere and I have no idea why there's still light or where it's coming from. It doesn't seem to be coming from anywhere.
I hear a slightly muffled “dink” behind me and the sounds of someone entering the elevator. I turn and keep moving towards the flickering light which I can see quite clearly now. The floor of the mirrored bubbled is straight and flat. I'm moving easily enough though I think it would be better if it was a tunnel. I know I'm making progress because the sounds in the elevator are fading behind me. I keep walking, wishing I had a camera. I don't know why I never bring cameras into these stories. I resolve then to throw one into my backpack for next time.
The lights flicker and I stop walking, looking around, then the light fades slowly. A fear grabs me and I start running. The thought of getting stuck here in the dark seems like a terrible fate. I run and the cold smooth metal yields easily to me, the bubble staying intact around me. The lights fade to barest light, flicker again, and then I'm in the pitch dark. I stop and try to calm down but I can't. I have thoughts that I'll be stuck here forever, clawing at the smooth walls. I force myself to stop panicking and listen to the only sound I can hear. I tilt my head and realized the sound is my own heartbeat. I hadn't realized how quiet this place is. The sound is reassuring even it's beating fast. I reach out to the sides, feeling the walls so cool and smooth. I pull off my backpack and rummage around for the green stone in the front the pocket. The reassuring green glow lights my space. I'm glad I still have it.
The gentle glow is beautiful in this bubble of mirrors. I pull on my backpack and keep walking. There's no breeze but I keep walking anyway. I walk for a while, not hurrying, the panic now gone. I think about Nick, I think about Mr. Gryphon. I wonder how this story is going to turn out and why I had to write it down. My thoughts whirl around. I think about Mr. Gryphon and how much he loves me even if he is an imaginary friend. I suppose real love is unconditional even among fictional characters. Even with them it never fails.
I stop looking at my darkened reflection in the bubble of mirrors, a tear running down my cheek. I hope. I hope I can get everything back. And I hope I'm strong enough for what's coming next.
I wipe away the tear, then I hear a faint sound in front of me.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
FailSafe - The White Tower (Part 12)
I walk on through the winding streets. I can see the White Tower ahead of me, a giant skyscraper, gleaming in the dark light. It's the largest modern building I've ever seen. If modern man had wanted a tower of Babel this would be it. Looks tall enough to scrap the roof of Hell. It's not clean, by any means. The lower floors are blackened from a fire. The winding streets are getting wider and there aren't as many people or cars. The air here seems to less sulfuric probably because I'm farther away from the flaming rivers. Souls look curiously at me as I pass but I ignore them. I feel renewed from my baptism in the heavenly sea. I'm probably glowing or something.
I know I need to get inside the White Tower before Ravelle does but I don't feel like I need to rush. If Ax was telling the truth I should have no problem getting inside. He had given me his finger and the key.
I wonder about Nick. He is probably on the mend and definitely in a safer place. It was a mistake thinking I could do this with help. I should have started out alone. I shake my head, tears springing into my eyes. Suddenly, I miss Mr. Gryphon like I've never missed him before. The pain makes me stop in my tracks on the sidewalk. I do wish he was here. We have been apart for far too long and I've been feeling his absence even in the real world. I square my shoulders and keep walking. I'm getting everything back, including him, even if the Boss unleashes Heaven's fury on me. Let him. He will find that I've still got some fight in me, and that I can be merciless.
I get closer to the White Tower. For such a huge building it looks empty. It's only two blocks away when I hear the alarms going off. A deafening, mechanical voice announces “There is a BREACH of the security code section 27(a)(5)(iv)! You will cease your activities immediately or risk being arrested. Once again, there is a 27(a)(5)(iv) security BREACH! You have been put on notice. You have been put on NOTICE!”
I turn just in time to see Ravelle in full battle angelic regalia, flying towards me with shield and sword drawn. She is beautiful and awful, the expression on her face enough to give anybody nightmares for the rest of their life. But not me. Not now. And not ever. I run as fast as I can the last two blocks. In a moment, Security will intercept her but I must get to the White Tower anyway. I'm a half a block away when I hear Ravelle scream, a high musical sound. The whooshing sound of her wings breaks past me but I don't look back. I reach the giant front glass doors, and only then do I turn to see the stunning scene of Ravelle in an airborne sword fight battle with five demons, also in full battle armor with swords and shields. I wonder when the last time that happened. Everything and everyone has stopped to watch the fight. As spectacular as it is, I don't hesitate. I remove Ax's severed pinkie and push the tip of it at the door sensor. The doors slide open without a sound and I run into the building.
The air is cold with the artificial blast of arctic air conditioning. I run to the elevator bank. No one seems to be around. I press the button as Ax told me, walk into the elevator, insert the tiny tarnished silver key, and press the top floor. As the elevator moves I heard the glass doors shatter. I hope I can make to the top of the building.
It takes forever to get to the top and as I'm passing the 275th floor, the elevator shudders then there's a jolt and the elevator stops. The power flickers and goes out. In a moment, the backup generators switch on bathing the elevator in dim light. I draw the sword and shove it into the doors, trying to pry them apart. There's a crashing sound below and I shove the sword to the side again. The doors part and I see the elevator is between floors. It's too high for me reach. I look around as the elevator rocks back and forth. It slips upwards a couple of feet but is still too high for me to reach.
“Damn you,” I mutter, then I shove the sword into the wall in front of me, and with some difficulty I start sawing away at the wall to the floor below. I tell myself I only have make a small opening. The sword has no trouble cutting through the wall but it's still awkward and time consuming. I make the opening big enough and as I start to crawl through, something lands on top of the elevator. I look up and then move as fast as I can, scrambling through the hole and falling six feet to the office floor. The elevator screeches and then falls as Ravelle cuts the steel cables holding it up.
I don't wait for the elevator to crash. Instead, I run to the stairs, running through the doors and take the stairs two at a time. I hear and feel the crash of the elevator slamming into the ground floor as the building trembles from impact. I know I can't run for very long and I'm running out of time. I think hard about what I can about that but can't think of anything else to do except keep going. I run and run passing the 284th floor. My legs are cramping but I keep going. When I pass the 298th floor I come to a stop, bending over and panting. Ravelle is standing in front of me. Her face, armor, and wings are stained with demon's black blood, the rotten smell is rising off her like black smoke. Her green eyes are sparkling with a sociopathic fire.
“It stops here, Miss Turtle. I've been sanctioned to use all means necessary. All means.” She holds out her sword towards me, still dripping with the stinking blood of the demons.
I say nothing, instead I reach into my backpack and draw out a 9mm, a smaller one. I don't bother aiming. She's only three feet away. I'm not trembling. I'm not even afraid like I was that one time when I stood at the firing range and held that loaded semi-automatic in my hand, forget which kind. It felt so heavy. Even with the headphones on, the sounds of the gunfire terrified me like nothing else. The acrid smell of the smoke seemed like smell of ruin to me. And I couldn't pull the trigger then. Instead I had to put the gun down and I cried much to the annoyance of the person who was with me. Not this time. This time I pull the trigger, concentrating on her face, once, twice and then again and again. The bullets pound through her beautiful face, ripping obscene holes in her perfect flesh. One of her eyes goes flying. I empty the magazine, reload, and keep firing. The sound echoes painfully in the white stairwell. Now she's on the ground, on all fours, crawling in my general direction. I back up until I can feel the wall and I keep firing at her head. Bits of bone, sweet scented amber liquid, flesh, and black hair are flying everywhere. I empty that magazine and reload a third. Her head is now a lump of torn apart flesh and bone, the white, wet of her skull gleams in the fluorescent lights. She grabs at me one more time and then collapses. I unsheathe Nick's sword and decapitate her again, then I kick her head down the stairs. I run into the next floor and press the button for the next elevator. I can't hear a damn thing.
Just a little more time. Just a little,” I mutter. The elevator door opens and once again I insert Ax's key and press the button for the top floor. I lean my head against the cold steel of the elevator walls because I'm suddenly shaking from having to shoot someone that many times especially someone who looks like a perfect version of me. I thought I was tougher than that, I need to steel myself because it's only going to get worse. I'm thinking this as I take several deep breaths and place my shaking hands on the elevator walls. Even if she is an angel and can't feel pain it's still difficult.
“What a fucking bitch, “ I mutter, hanging onto my anger for dear life. The elevator stops at the top floor and the doors open.
I know I need to get inside the White Tower before Ravelle does but I don't feel like I need to rush. If Ax was telling the truth I should have no problem getting inside. He had given me his finger and the key.
I wonder about Nick. He is probably on the mend and definitely in a safer place. It was a mistake thinking I could do this with help. I should have started out alone. I shake my head, tears springing into my eyes. Suddenly, I miss Mr. Gryphon like I've never missed him before. The pain makes me stop in my tracks on the sidewalk. I do wish he was here. We have been apart for far too long and I've been feeling his absence even in the real world. I square my shoulders and keep walking. I'm getting everything back, including him, even if the Boss unleashes Heaven's fury on me. Let him. He will find that I've still got some fight in me, and that I can be merciless.
I get closer to the White Tower. For such a huge building it looks empty. It's only two blocks away when I hear the alarms going off. A deafening, mechanical voice announces “There is a BREACH of the security code section 27(a)(5)(iv)! You will cease your activities immediately or risk being arrested. Once again, there is a 27(a)(5)(iv) security BREACH! You have been put on notice. You have been put on NOTICE!”
I turn just in time to see Ravelle in full battle angelic regalia, flying towards me with shield and sword drawn. She is beautiful and awful, the expression on her face enough to give anybody nightmares for the rest of their life. But not me. Not now. And not ever. I run as fast as I can the last two blocks. In a moment, Security will intercept her but I must get to the White Tower anyway. I'm a half a block away when I hear Ravelle scream, a high musical sound. The whooshing sound of her wings breaks past me but I don't look back. I reach the giant front glass doors, and only then do I turn to see the stunning scene of Ravelle in an airborne sword fight battle with five demons, also in full battle armor with swords and shields. I wonder when the last time that happened. Everything and everyone has stopped to watch the fight. As spectacular as it is, I don't hesitate. I remove Ax's severed pinkie and push the tip of it at the door sensor. The doors slide open without a sound and I run into the building.
The air is cold with the artificial blast of arctic air conditioning. I run to the elevator bank. No one seems to be around. I press the button as Ax told me, walk into the elevator, insert the tiny tarnished silver key, and press the top floor. As the elevator moves I heard the glass doors shatter. I hope I can make to the top of the building.
It takes forever to get to the top and as I'm passing the 275th floor, the elevator shudders then there's a jolt and the elevator stops. The power flickers and goes out. In a moment, the backup generators switch on bathing the elevator in dim light. I draw the sword and shove it into the doors, trying to pry them apart. There's a crashing sound below and I shove the sword to the side again. The doors part and I see the elevator is between floors. It's too high for me reach. I look around as the elevator rocks back and forth. It slips upwards a couple of feet but is still too high for me to reach.
“Damn you,” I mutter, then I shove the sword into the wall in front of me, and with some difficulty I start sawing away at the wall to the floor below. I tell myself I only have make a small opening. The sword has no trouble cutting through the wall but it's still awkward and time consuming. I make the opening big enough and as I start to crawl through, something lands on top of the elevator. I look up and then move as fast as I can, scrambling through the hole and falling six feet to the office floor. The elevator screeches and then falls as Ravelle cuts the steel cables holding it up.
I don't wait for the elevator to crash. Instead, I run to the stairs, running through the doors and take the stairs two at a time. I hear and feel the crash of the elevator slamming into the ground floor as the building trembles from impact. I know I can't run for very long and I'm running out of time. I think hard about what I can about that but can't think of anything else to do except keep going. I run and run passing the 284th floor. My legs are cramping but I keep going. When I pass the 298th floor I come to a stop, bending over and panting. Ravelle is standing in front of me. Her face, armor, and wings are stained with demon's black blood, the rotten smell is rising off her like black smoke. Her green eyes are sparkling with a sociopathic fire.
“It stops here, Miss Turtle. I've been sanctioned to use all means necessary. All means.” She holds out her sword towards me, still dripping with the stinking blood of the demons.
I say nothing, instead I reach into my backpack and draw out a 9mm, a smaller one. I don't bother aiming. She's only three feet away. I'm not trembling. I'm not even afraid like I was that one time when I stood at the firing range and held that loaded semi-automatic in my hand, forget which kind. It felt so heavy. Even with the headphones on, the sounds of the gunfire terrified me like nothing else. The acrid smell of the smoke seemed like smell of ruin to me. And I couldn't pull the trigger then. Instead I had to put the gun down and I cried much to the annoyance of the person who was with me. Not this time. This time I pull the trigger, concentrating on her face, once, twice and then again and again. The bullets pound through her beautiful face, ripping obscene holes in her perfect flesh. One of her eyes goes flying. I empty the magazine, reload, and keep firing. The sound echoes painfully in the white stairwell. Now she's on the ground, on all fours, crawling in my general direction. I back up until I can feel the wall and I keep firing at her head. Bits of bone, sweet scented amber liquid, flesh, and black hair are flying everywhere. I empty that magazine and reload a third. Her head is now a lump of torn apart flesh and bone, the white, wet of her skull gleams in the fluorescent lights. She grabs at me one more time and then collapses. I unsheathe Nick's sword and decapitate her again, then I kick her head down the stairs. I run into the next floor and press the button for the next elevator. I can't hear a damn thing.
Just a little more time. Just a little,” I mutter. The elevator door opens and once again I insert Ax's key and press the button for the top floor. I lean my head against the cold steel of the elevator walls because I'm suddenly shaking from having to shoot someone that many times especially someone who looks like a perfect version of me. I thought I was tougher than that, I need to steel myself because it's only going to get worse. I'm thinking this as I take several deep breaths and place my shaking hands on the elevator walls. Even if she is an angel and can't feel pain it's still difficult.
“What a fucking bitch, “ I mutter, hanging onto my anger for dear life. The elevator stops at the top floor and the doors open.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
FailSafe: A Quick Note
The story is about to get more violent. Just a warning.
I finally got around to rewriting and posting the missing chapter. The rest of the story is finished and just needs to be cut & pasted and edited.
I wanted to make a comment on the writing. While this is an actual story it still falls under the category of blog post for me. As I mentioned before, everything that happens in this story was written as it was happening. There was no advance planning at all and there's been very little editing to the story. I only had a vague idea about how it was going to turn out. I didn't really know much about it, I just knew it had to be written.
I've been working steadily on my novel which means finding the story, putting it together, and then extensive editing and polishing. These blog posts are usually written down off the top of my head, edited a bit to make it more readable, and then posted. My point is the writing in my novel and any other story that I don't consider "personal" is different than these blog posts. How different, I'm not sure. I don't think I'll know that until I've finished the third draft of my novel (working on the second draft now).
Thanks for reading.
I finally got around to rewriting and posting the missing chapter. The rest of the story is finished and just needs to be cut & pasted and edited.
I wanted to make a comment on the writing. While this is an actual story it still falls under the category of blog post for me. As I mentioned before, everything that happens in this story was written as it was happening. There was no advance planning at all and there's been very little editing to the story. I only had a vague idea about how it was going to turn out. I didn't really know much about it, I just knew it had to be written.
I've been working steadily on my novel which means finding the story, putting it together, and then extensive editing and polishing. These blog posts are usually written down off the top of my head, edited a bit to make it more readable, and then posted. My point is the writing in my novel and any other story that I don't consider "personal" is different than these blog posts. How different, I'm not sure. I don't think I'll know that until I've finished the third draft of my novel (working on the second draft now).
Thanks for reading.
FailSafe - Ravelle (Part 11)
We are walking down one of the crowded side streets leading away from the huge square. About six blocks away there is a giant, black stone arch. The arch is wide enough for three lanes of traffic with the occasional semi rumbling through it. The traffic turns to the left about four blocks ahead of us. There are demons in the distance directing the traffic. The arch doesn't look like it's made out of black stone, instead it looks as though it's been blasted with black soot for not all the stones are black. Or maybe the arch burned at some point and the black stones are burn marks.
There's a blinding flash behind us and then an explosion that knocks us both off our feet. The souls blow away like bodies in a nuclear blast but Nick and I slam into the cobblestones. The buildings around us start shedding bricks, pieces of wood, and glass. Nick throws himself over me, attempting to shield me from the falling debris. We can hear the shouting of the souls and demons alike, then the wrenching sounds of demons wailing fill the air.
“She's here!” I shout at Nick, whose warm body covers me, “Nick, get up! We have to leave!”
Nick does not move. I push at him and then extract myself from underneath him. With effort I roll him over. He still alive, thank God, but unconscious. I shake him.
“Nick, wake up. Please!” A panic is filling me. I don't know what I'm going to do if he's seriously injured. The screams get louder. “Nick!” He does not stir and I look behind me. A roaring wave of demons and souls are running to get away from her. She'll be here in a moment. With difficultly, I remove Nick's sword, remove the ingot, and slip it into his pocket. I stretch out my hand, willing for the infirmary in my Library. The reassuring blue door appears and I push the door open, and drag Nick through. I look quickly around and my Library staff is running towards me.
“Take care of him. I have to go!” They grab him and I run back through the blue door, shoving two souls away who trying to scramble through. Then I'm back in the middle of the blown up street. The Stranger is standing in front of me. She makes no move to get through the door. I glance back to ensure the blue door is fading away. I unsheathe the sword and stand facing her.
Instead, she moves towards me with supernatural speed and grabs my arm. I raise the sword and the blade slices through it, the flesh parting with no effort at all. Her severed arm clenches tightly to my forearm. I see her stretch out her hand, the blue door shimmering into view, then she uses her other hand to grab my wrist and shoves her way through the blue door, pulling me after her. The sulfuric smell of Dis is whooshed away like a blast of the freshest sea breeze when the door slams shut after us. She drops my wrist and I fall to my knees into soft pure white sand.
I grab at her other severed arm and extract it with difficulty. She stands a few a feet from me, keeping her distance. I throw the arm at her. She picks it up and shoves the arm back into the sleeve of her robe. There's a squelching sound and she opens and closes the previously severed hand. I don't take my eyes off her. I stand up very slowly in the sand, a little unsteady. The sky is a stunning summer blue, the clouds are puffy white perfection. The roar of the sea waves are melodious music. Tears come to my eyes because of the magnificent light and I wish for my trusty Raybans as I squint. She backs up slowly a few more feet and then puts her emaciated hands to her hood and pulls it away. The entire robe falls away like cherry blossom petals falling to the ground. The Stranger is unveiled to reveal...an angel. She looks a lot like me but an impossibly perfect version of me. Her eyes are dark green, her hair shiny pitch black.
I take a step back and stumble, a rush of awed emotion flooding me. I fall to the sand, my eyes tearing up at her angelic presence. I feel a bittersweet sting in my heart, an ancient ache, that seems to rise up from an unknown place.
“Surprised?” she asks me. Her voice is gorgeous. I think with envy that her singing voice must be beautiful.
“A little,” I say my hand in the sand. The sand feels perfect, silky. I squeeze some of it. The grains slide through my fingers and a warm feeling of satisfaction flows through me. I could squeeze the sand for hours, it feels so good.
“Come on. We need to talk,” she says and I follow her up the beach towards a shimmering staircase in the side of the white cliffs in front of us. I look down at the worn steps and I'm amused that the steps are made of worn gold in need of polishing. We get to the top of the cliffs and I look around in awe.
Spread out in front of us is a magnificent plain. The light is full of a unearthly grace. The most glorious city is stretched out in front of us. High above the city is a perfect shimmering White Tower. The Stranger bows to it. I don't. We can't see the top of the Tower, it's covered with clouds. I can hear the dulcet tones of beautiful voices and a marvelous music can just be heard.
She directs me along the cliff path. I see the most magnificent birds flying overhead then I realize they are angels. No seagulls. No pelicans. I frown a little.
“How do you like Heaven?” she asks. The warm sea breeze blows through her beautiful black hair, lifting strands here and there.
“It's pretty but that's all it is. You got a name?” I say, feeling my stubbornness rise up in me like a security blanket. I look around some more, feeling annoyed. “Where are all the animals?”
“My name is Ravelle. No natural habitats here, Miss Turtle. We have a magnificent zoo, though.” The perfect sea breeze smells sweetly fragrant.
I grit my teeth, resolving that the all the animals in captivity in my world will be set free to roam as they please, including all those in the aquarium.
“Man was made to rule over the animals. Since we rule over man it makes sense that all the animals be in a zoo," she says. I keep looking at her. I tell myself that it's because I need to keep an eye on her all the time but it's also because I can't help looking at her, I want to look at her.
“You make me sick,” I say. She glances quickly at me, obviously surprised at my anger. I feel it settling into my bones, spreading out. I take a deep breath, letting the anger ground me as it never has before.
We are walking along the path and the beach narrows steadily until there's nothing but the lapping sea against the rocks. The walk reminds me of the most perfect version of Wilder Ranch in Santa Cruz. In the place were the pelicans would be hanging out there are none. The water is mostly crystal clear below us but I can see there are some deeper places too. She is still keeping a respectful distance.
“The Boss wanted me to send you a message, Miss Turtle. He's most unhappy with you,” she says.
“Where's April?” I ask, ignoring her statement. I have to consciously unclench my jaw.
“She's safe,” she says, the sea breeze flutters her glowing white robes. I put my hand on the sword. I don't care about their damn rules and regulations.
She glances at my hand. “No need to do that, Miss Turtle. We could have disarmed you when you arrived but we decided to make a good faith effort with these negotiations,” she kicks a perfect rock in the middle of the path. The rock rolls off the cliff and lands in the sea with a beautiful plop. She still looks serene but something about that little gesture bothers me.
“The Boss, he doesn't like the world you've made so he sent me to make an example of you," she says, not looking at me.
“For whom? For whom am I being made an example of?”
“Everyone,” she says, still not looking at me. She's looking at the ground. She is so beautiful that it makes me hurt to look at her. My anger is swelling like a rising tide.
“The Boss is going to destroy your little world as punishment,” she says. Her voice sounds a little faraway, sing-song even.
“Why? You're not making any sense!” I've stopped and am looking at her but she seems to getting a little weary.
“For everything. You can't just do what you want like that," she says, I watch her more closely and it's like she's a wind up toy slowly winding down with her slightly fading voice and weary walk.
“Why not? This is my world. It has its own logic, history, everything. I created it!”
“He doesn't like it,” she says. She hasn't looked at me in a few minutes and I sense...sadness? The white cliffs are sloping upwards now. I glance down at the beautiful sea again as we start to climb up the path.
“He doesn't like the sword. None of you do,” I say. She turns her stunning eyes towards me.
“Of course, we don't. It's goes against everything that is holy. It's a terrible weapon and you know it. It's not sanctioned, Miss Turtle.”
“But machine guns and nuclear weapons are sanctioned. You just don't like it because it can destroy you too. It's high time that your lot got a taste of the fear of death or oblivion,” I kick a perfect rock into the sea, mimicking her. It seems to take forever to land with another perfect plop.
“It's not just death, Miss Turtle. It's total obliteration. Even the particles will be destroyed. Can't you see? Not even those particles can be recycled. They simply cease to exist!” her shimmering eyes are wide with fear.
“Precisely. Your lot needs to take your place among all the other creatures and learn what it's like to be afraid like that,” I say, surprised at my cold voice.
“Miss Turtle, if you don't take me to that sword I'll systematically dismantle your entire world. It's been sanctioned and ordered by the Boss himself. I have been given all the full permissions,” her voice has risen a little, "If you give me the sword willingly, we can all go home and leave each other in peace." We have stopped walking and are facing each other. She is standing up straight and perfect, no trace of weariness now.
“Where's Mr. Gryphon's head?” I say, ignoring her threat.
She smiles beautifully. “The Boss said he would be your weak spot. We have it in a safe place. Take me to the sword, Miss Turtle. The Boss wanted me to bring you these terms as an attempt to resolve this situation peacefully,” she says. She opens her wings now and they fly out from her shoulders like perfect snowy blasts. She reminds me of how Mr. Gryphon opens his wings when he's alarmed or angry.
“Fuck your sanctions and terms. Fuck you, Ravelle,” I say. In one quick motion I unsheathe Nick's sword and cut off her head. Before her body can collapse I slice her body in half at the midsection then I kick the lower half of her body into the sea. Her head has rolled into the soft sand on the side of the path. She is moving her mouth at me but her vocal cords have been severed so I can't hear anything but a gurgling. Her headless torso is crawling towards me. I shove the sword into her chest, her torso lurching. The sound of bones crunching and squelching of tissue makes me sick. I step back, knowing I have no time. I don't feel bad. She doesn't feel pain nor does she bleed. I only did it to buy a little time.
The wound in her chest is already starting to heal. I throw myself off the cliff into the blue sea. I splash down and the water is warm and wonderful. The exhilarating feeling of being healed and purified fills my every pore. I gulp down some water so it gets into my body, then as I swim I suck down some water into my lungs. My body tries to choke but then settles, letting the water flow into my lungs.
I have little time to disappear and so I swim downwards towards the lower depths. I know I can't last long. Maybe I'll drown and die like I did in my last story. I feel a pang of sadness as I think of Mr. Gryphon but I push the thought away. I'll grieve over him when I'm not trying to escape the clutches of Heaven.
The water is getting darker and I swim towards the rocky white cliffs. I stretch out my hand. I need to go back to Dis. The blue door materializes in front of me. I grab the knob and push my way through along with a great deal of sea water. I stumble back to the place on the broken boulevard, Heaven's seawater gushing into the streets. I'm choking, the water being expelled from my lungs but I need to do something about water filling the streets. I try to throw my weight on the door but the water pressure is too much. Still coughing I stand back and will the door to disappear. Nothing happens. I'm feeling fairly alarmed now. With a leak that large they'll know exactly where I've gone, not that it wasn't already obvious before.
The water is sparkling and glowing in the dark light. Souls and demons are all staring at it, transfixed. I can't do anything about it now so I run down the broken street towards the black stone arch in front of me. The traffic has stopped and all the windows are blown out in the cars and buildings from the earlier blast. Glass is being carried away along the flowing water. The demons are getting out of my way as they run past me towards the gushing blue door.
More shouts behind me now. I glance back and see souls are jumping in the water and becoming whole. They whoop in delight. I also see that angels are coming through the open door, drenched but still beautiful. I move on and allow myself to be swallowed up by the throng. I cross under the black arch. I can smell the old burnt bricks.
I keep walking, having decided that running will only draw more attention to myself. Heaven's sea water with those strange cleansing properties is flowing on the cobblestone, filling the cracks. It's running down the middle of the street ahead of me. I keep walking, drenched, leaving the sounds of shouting angels and demons behind me.
There's a blinding flash behind us and then an explosion that knocks us both off our feet. The souls blow away like bodies in a nuclear blast but Nick and I slam into the cobblestones. The buildings around us start shedding bricks, pieces of wood, and glass. Nick throws himself over me, attempting to shield me from the falling debris. We can hear the shouting of the souls and demons alike, then the wrenching sounds of demons wailing fill the air.
“She's here!” I shout at Nick, whose warm body covers me, “Nick, get up! We have to leave!”
Nick does not move. I push at him and then extract myself from underneath him. With effort I roll him over. He still alive, thank God, but unconscious. I shake him.
“Nick, wake up. Please!” A panic is filling me. I don't know what I'm going to do if he's seriously injured. The screams get louder. “Nick!” He does not stir and I look behind me. A roaring wave of demons and souls are running to get away from her. She'll be here in a moment. With difficultly, I remove Nick's sword, remove the ingot, and slip it into his pocket. I stretch out my hand, willing for the infirmary in my Library. The reassuring blue door appears and I push the door open, and drag Nick through. I look quickly around and my Library staff is running towards me.
“Take care of him. I have to go!” They grab him and I run back through the blue door, shoving two souls away who trying to scramble through. Then I'm back in the middle of the blown up street. The Stranger is standing in front of me. She makes no move to get through the door. I glance back to ensure the blue door is fading away. I unsheathe the sword and stand facing her.
***
There is no battle. Not this time.Instead, she moves towards me with supernatural speed and grabs my arm. I raise the sword and the blade slices through it, the flesh parting with no effort at all. Her severed arm clenches tightly to my forearm. I see her stretch out her hand, the blue door shimmering into view, then she uses her other hand to grab my wrist and shoves her way through the blue door, pulling me after her. The sulfuric smell of Dis is whooshed away like a blast of the freshest sea breeze when the door slams shut after us. She drops my wrist and I fall to my knees into soft pure white sand.
I grab at her other severed arm and extract it with difficulty. She stands a few a feet from me, keeping her distance. I throw the arm at her. She picks it up and shoves the arm back into the sleeve of her robe. There's a squelching sound and she opens and closes the previously severed hand. I don't take my eyes off her. I stand up very slowly in the sand, a little unsteady. The sky is a stunning summer blue, the clouds are puffy white perfection. The roar of the sea waves are melodious music. Tears come to my eyes because of the magnificent light and I wish for my trusty Raybans as I squint. She backs up slowly a few more feet and then puts her emaciated hands to her hood and pulls it away. The entire robe falls away like cherry blossom petals falling to the ground. The Stranger is unveiled to reveal...an angel. She looks a lot like me but an impossibly perfect version of me. Her eyes are dark green, her hair shiny pitch black.
I take a step back and stumble, a rush of awed emotion flooding me. I fall to the sand, my eyes tearing up at her angelic presence. I feel a bittersweet sting in my heart, an ancient ache, that seems to rise up from an unknown place.
“Surprised?” she asks me. Her voice is gorgeous. I think with envy that her singing voice must be beautiful.
“A little,” I say my hand in the sand. The sand feels perfect, silky. I squeeze some of it. The grains slide through my fingers and a warm feeling of satisfaction flows through me. I could squeeze the sand for hours, it feels so good.
“Come on. We need to talk,” she says and I follow her up the beach towards a shimmering staircase in the side of the white cliffs in front of us. I look down at the worn steps and I'm amused that the steps are made of worn gold in need of polishing. We get to the top of the cliffs and I look around in awe.
Spread out in front of us is a magnificent plain. The light is full of a unearthly grace. The most glorious city is stretched out in front of us. High above the city is a perfect shimmering White Tower. The Stranger bows to it. I don't. We can't see the top of the Tower, it's covered with clouds. I can hear the dulcet tones of beautiful voices and a marvelous music can just be heard.
She directs me along the cliff path. I see the most magnificent birds flying overhead then I realize they are angels. No seagulls. No pelicans. I frown a little.
“How do you like Heaven?” she asks. The warm sea breeze blows through her beautiful black hair, lifting strands here and there.
“It's pretty but that's all it is. You got a name?” I say, feeling my stubbornness rise up in me like a security blanket. I look around some more, feeling annoyed. “Where are all the animals?”
“My name is Ravelle. No natural habitats here, Miss Turtle. We have a magnificent zoo, though.” The perfect sea breeze smells sweetly fragrant.
I grit my teeth, resolving that the all the animals in captivity in my world will be set free to roam as they please, including all those in the aquarium.
“Man was made to rule over the animals. Since we rule over man it makes sense that all the animals be in a zoo," she says. I keep looking at her. I tell myself that it's because I need to keep an eye on her all the time but it's also because I can't help looking at her, I want to look at her.
“You make me sick,” I say. She glances quickly at me, obviously surprised at my anger. I feel it settling into my bones, spreading out. I take a deep breath, letting the anger ground me as it never has before.
We are walking along the path and the beach narrows steadily until there's nothing but the lapping sea against the rocks. The walk reminds me of the most perfect version of Wilder Ranch in Santa Cruz. In the place were the pelicans would be hanging out there are none. The water is mostly crystal clear below us but I can see there are some deeper places too. She is still keeping a respectful distance.
“The Boss wanted me to send you a message, Miss Turtle. He's most unhappy with you,” she says.
“Where's April?” I ask, ignoring her statement. I have to consciously unclench my jaw.
“She's safe,” she says, the sea breeze flutters her glowing white robes. I put my hand on the sword. I don't care about their damn rules and regulations.
She glances at my hand. “No need to do that, Miss Turtle. We could have disarmed you when you arrived but we decided to make a good faith effort with these negotiations,” she kicks a perfect rock in the middle of the path. The rock rolls off the cliff and lands in the sea with a beautiful plop. She still looks serene but something about that little gesture bothers me.
“The Boss, he doesn't like the world you've made so he sent me to make an example of you," she says, not looking at me.
“For whom? For whom am I being made an example of?”
“Everyone,” she says, still not looking at me. She's looking at the ground. She is so beautiful that it makes me hurt to look at her. My anger is swelling like a rising tide.
“The Boss is going to destroy your little world as punishment,” she says. Her voice sounds a little faraway, sing-song even.
“Why? You're not making any sense!” I've stopped and am looking at her but she seems to getting a little weary.
“For everything. You can't just do what you want like that," she says, I watch her more closely and it's like she's a wind up toy slowly winding down with her slightly fading voice and weary walk.
“Why not? This is my world. It has its own logic, history, everything. I created it!”
“He doesn't like it,” she says. She hasn't looked at me in a few minutes and I sense...sadness? The white cliffs are sloping upwards now. I glance down at the beautiful sea again as we start to climb up the path.
“He doesn't like the sword. None of you do,” I say. She turns her stunning eyes towards me.
“Of course, we don't. It's goes against everything that is holy. It's a terrible weapon and you know it. It's not sanctioned, Miss Turtle.”
“But machine guns and nuclear weapons are sanctioned. You just don't like it because it can destroy you too. It's high time that your lot got a taste of the fear of death or oblivion,” I kick a perfect rock into the sea, mimicking her. It seems to take forever to land with another perfect plop.
“It's not just death, Miss Turtle. It's total obliteration. Even the particles will be destroyed. Can't you see? Not even those particles can be recycled. They simply cease to exist!” her shimmering eyes are wide with fear.
“Precisely. Your lot needs to take your place among all the other creatures and learn what it's like to be afraid like that,” I say, surprised at my cold voice.
“Miss Turtle, if you don't take me to that sword I'll systematically dismantle your entire world. It's been sanctioned and ordered by the Boss himself. I have been given all the full permissions,” her voice has risen a little, "If you give me the sword willingly, we can all go home and leave each other in peace." We have stopped walking and are facing each other. She is standing up straight and perfect, no trace of weariness now.
“Where's Mr. Gryphon's head?” I say, ignoring her threat.
She smiles beautifully. “The Boss said he would be your weak spot. We have it in a safe place. Take me to the sword, Miss Turtle. The Boss wanted me to bring you these terms as an attempt to resolve this situation peacefully,” she says. She opens her wings now and they fly out from her shoulders like perfect snowy blasts. She reminds me of how Mr. Gryphon opens his wings when he's alarmed or angry.
“Fuck your sanctions and terms. Fuck you, Ravelle,” I say. In one quick motion I unsheathe Nick's sword and cut off her head. Before her body can collapse I slice her body in half at the midsection then I kick the lower half of her body into the sea. Her head has rolled into the soft sand on the side of the path. She is moving her mouth at me but her vocal cords have been severed so I can't hear anything but a gurgling. Her headless torso is crawling towards me. I shove the sword into her chest, her torso lurching. The sound of bones crunching and squelching of tissue makes me sick. I step back, knowing I have no time. I don't feel bad. She doesn't feel pain nor does she bleed. I only did it to buy a little time.
The wound in her chest is already starting to heal. I throw myself off the cliff into the blue sea. I splash down and the water is warm and wonderful. The exhilarating feeling of being healed and purified fills my every pore. I gulp down some water so it gets into my body, then as I swim I suck down some water into my lungs. My body tries to choke but then settles, letting the water flow into my lungs.
I have little time to disappear and so I swim downwards towards the lower depths. I know I can't last long. Maybe I'll drown and die like I did in my last story. I feel a pang of sadness as I think of Mr. Gryphon but I push the thought away. I'll grieve over him when I'm not trying to escape the clutches of Heaven.
The water is getting darker and I swim towards the rocky white cliffs. I stretch out my hand. I need to go back to Dis. The blue door materializes in front of me. I grab the knob and push my way through along with a great deal of sea water. I stumble back to the place on the broken boulevard, Heaven's seawater gushing into the streets. I'm choking, the water being expelled from my lungs but I need to do something about water filling the streets. I try to throw my weight on the door but the water pressure is too much. Still coughing I stand back and will the door to disappear. Nothing happens. I'm feeling fairly alarmed now. With a leak that large they'll know exactly where I've gone, not that it wasn't already obvious before.
The water is sparkling and glowing in the dark light. Souls and demons are all staring at it, transfixed. I can't do anything about it now so I run down the broken street towards the black stone arch in front of me. The traffic has stopped and all the windows are blown out in the cars and buildings from the earlier blast. Glass is being carried away along the flowing water. The demons are getting out of my way as they run past me towards the gushing blue door.
More shouts behind me now. I glance back and see souls are jumping in the water and becoming whole. They whoop in delight. I also see that angels are coming through the open door, drenched but still beautiful. I move on and allow myself to be swallowed up by the throng. I cross under the black arch. I can smell the old burnt bricks.
I keep walking, having decided that running will only draw more attention to myself. Heaven's sea water with those strange cleansing properties is flowing on the cobblestone, filling the cracks. It's running down the middle of the street ahead of me. I keep walking, drenched, leaving the sounds of shouting angels and demons behind me.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
FailSafe - Expository Interlude (Part 10)
The crowd gets louder and then a pair of demons come rushing through the crowd, throwing souls aside like they're so many rag dolls. They stop in front of Nick who has drawn his sword. One of the demons is very tall and thin. His skin is yellowish and he has pitch black eyes. He nods at Nick's sword. “Put that away, little doggie, there's a good boy.” His voice is silky and beautifully refined. He smiles at Nick, his dark yellow lips spreading wide across his face. His teeth are chiseled and pointed, and he has very long, black hair braided into tiny braids. He doesn't smell as bad as the others. Nick grips his sword and then slowly sheaths it.
“Now, what's the problem?” asks the demon, looking around, “Other than that these two are still alive?” “She has a seven! A SEVEN!” shouts a vaporous soul, a young man when he died. There's a loud murmuring of the crowd. The demon's head snaps back to look at me.
“Is that right,” his voice is all serious. The shorter demon still has said nothing but is staring at me with unnerving focus. The tall demon steps around Nick, looking at me up and down. “How many do you have?” he asks slowly. He is deadly focused on me, his eyes not blinking. I feel an unholy chill, I want to leave.
“Just one,” I say, almost whispering.
“Where did you get it?” asks the tall demon. The short demon glances at the taller one now but the thin one shakes his head without looking at him.
"I found it while I was transitioning,” I say, “I didn't know what it was at first, but I had to pick it up.”
“Of course, you did. What creature wouldn't?” He leans close to me, his silky voice low now, “What do you want for it?” His voice is a soft seduction.
I swallow. “What makes you think I want something?”
He steps back and laughs. “You really want me to believe that you and your little doggie came here not wanting something? Or for some reason? What live soul would come down here otherwise? AND how would they know how to get down here in the first place? No, no. You and the puppy are here for a reason. Am I right?”
I say nothing. Neither does Nick but he still has his hand on the sword handle. The thin demon walks in a circle around us, the crowd widening to give him room. “Are you looking for someone? People who make it down here are usually looking for someone. Or are you looking for someTHING,” he says this last word close to my ear and I jump. His unblinking black eyes are strangely beautiful. He has long, thick lashes. He must have been a real beauty before falling.
“I want,” I stop and then speak on, “I want 2000 dragnets and the location and ability to enter the White Tower.” It's not a good idea to bargain for a Seven but I know it happens all the time. Still, the nature of the object gives you the feeling that you shouldn't.
“DONE!!!” the demon shouts, all smiles now then his smile abruptly vanishes, “To make it truly official I will even give you the pass code to the building.” The demon produces a curved knife with a spectacular jewel encrusted handle but before he can cut himself, I tell him I want the knife too.
“You drive a hard bargain but the answer is yes.” With that he cuts his pinky off to the first joint and hands it to me. It does not bleed blood but a fruity rotten smell fills the air as the flesh closes the wound. He winces and then smiles slowly. I reach into my pocket for a handkerchief and wrap the pinky joint up, slipping it into my pocket then he pulls out a bag and hands it to me. The dragnets jingle inside. I look at them quickly and hand the bag to Nick.
“There might be a couple more than 2000 in there,” he says.
“Thank you,” I say, “You were probably off to a tournament.”
“Indeed and now I'm late but this entire transaction makes it very, very worthwhile,” he says. He gives me the curved knife in its sheath and then leans close and whispers in my ear. He tells me the location of the White Tower and how to get inside then he hands me a small key, all tarnished silver.
“Isn't this your only key?” I ask. I don't know why I'm concerned about that.
“Nah. We lose them all the time, see how small they are? The boss doesn't care anymore. And now, the Seven, miss.” He stands slightly away from me and holds out his hand. The little demon holds his breath as reach into my pocket. Everyone is holding their breath, I realize. I pull the Seven out and then slip it into his palm. The Seven sits shimmering in his palm. I hear a sob from behind me. He closes his hand over it, blinking away a black tear himself. He bows, “Thank you for this transaction. If you need anything my name is Ax.” I nod at him and both Ax and the short demon make their way through the crowd. Nick and I look after them and then we turn to walk towards the middle of the square. No one bothers us.
Nick walks in silence for some minutes. I stop at a vendor and buy box dinners for both of us. We find a small table nearby and sit down as the hordes of souls walk back and forth. The box dinner has magnificently prepared steak, fluffy mashed potatoes, and a very rare, huge perfectly steamed artichoke with lemon mayonnaise.
Nick doesn't eat, he only looks at me.
“If you're worried about eating something here and not being able to return back home, don't worry. Things don't work that way.”
“So why is it in a myth?”
“Because Persephone spent six days in bed with the God of the Underworld in ecstasy. She belonged to him after that. That's why they say it's six pomegranate seeds.”
“Hm.”
“Hm yourself. Eat, Nick.” I slice off a piece of steak. It melts in my mouth. Nick's dinner is vegetarian and includes a beautiful assortment of vegetables which makes his dinner even rarer. He is clearly impressed and eating eagerly. When he slows, he puts his fork down and looks at me.
“So Miss Turtle are you going to tell me what a Seven is?”
I sigh, feeling reluctant. “A Seven is a unit of money from Heaven, that neighborhood.”
“Wait a minute! They have money in Heaven?”
“Yes, but the souls there don't need it. The Sevens are issued in Heaven and used here and in other places.”
“What other places?”
"Purgatory. Transitional spaces. Recreational places."
“Huh,” says Nick. He is looking at me like I've lost my mind.
“If you get seven Sevens you can bypass the usual path to Heaven. If you show up at St. Peter's Gate with seven Sevens he will let you in, no questions asked. And it doesn't matter what you look like or whether you're a demon or human or whatever. You still get in and you still get saved.”
“That sounds weird. Capitalistic. I mean, you are saying you can buy your way into Heaven.” Nick picks up his fork and starts eating again.
“That is indeed the case. A total of seven Sevens gives you the grace of God, automatically. All your sins, problems, prior record, all washed away. And that's not all. If you can get 10 Sevens you can exchange them for an ingot which gets you into Heaven and allows you free access.”
“Free access?” Nick picks up his fork again and pokes at some squash.
“Yes. Free access to everywhere. That means you can come and go as you please. Even in Heaven. Very few have free access. Even the archangels, who can go anywhere else, can't come down here. You still have to observe the usual rules, though.”
“What rules?” Nick is looking at me with an enraptured expression. He is fascinated by my bizarre world. He is leaning forward eagerly, holding a forkful of vegetables. I glance around. Souls are walking by us, not stopping, but they are looking at us with frank envy. Some are glaring but none bother us. The strange, dark light of this place gives the impression of being in an eclipse all the time. It feels unnatural.
“The usual rules. In transitional zones, for example, there's a no weapons rule. Of course, in all the major zones there's a no weapons rule, but people used to use their weapons in transitional zones all the time and there were some nasty wars and battles fought there. Most of the rules relate to when you can use and draw your weapons.”
“What about me?” he asks. I frown at him. I hadn't thought about it. Nick has been using his sword throughout this story but there have been none of the usual alarms and restrictions.
“Could it because I'm still alive?” I still say nothing wondering what to do about this discrepancy. It doesn't sit well with me and I don't want to rewrite this story.
“I don't know. It can't be your sword. There's nothing magical about it as far as I know. Let me see it.”
He hands it to me. The sword is relatively light. I hold it in my hands and look at the handle carefully. It's a jian, a double-edged Chinese straight sword, very fine. There are magnificent etchings on the steel blade. I turn it over and my hands stop. There's a gold inset and it's glowing with an unnatural brilliance. I can't believe I didn't notice it earlier.
I don't bother removing the gold inset. I hand the sword back to Nick and lean towards him.
“You have an ingot underneath this gold insert,” I say speaking low. Nick reaches for his sword. “No, don't remove the insert. It will cause a riot here.”
His eyes are glowing. “How do you know?”
“You can tell by the glow, but since your hand is almost always over it and it's facing your body when the sword is sheathed it's difficult to see.” I sit back looking at him. “Who gave you the sword?”
“Your Dead Version,” he says. He has put down his fork and pushed his plate away. I'm about half way finished with my artichoke. I place it on the bread plate in front of us, gesturing for him to take a few leaves. He picks up leaf and slips it into his mouth.
I smile, thinking I should give her a proper name. “Well, she of all people would know when such a thing is warranted. No matter what, Nick, you cannot give up that sword. I'm amazed that the demons at the jail cell missed it. If you have to, abandon the sword and take the thing out. It's a guarantee.”
“I've never seen it glow like that. It usually looks like plain gold to me,” he says as I hand the sword back to him. And even as I'm looking at the sword again it's glowing is gone. I frown, then hold out my hand. He hands it back to me. The glowing starts again. I give it back to him and he puts it back on.
I lean towards him again. “I have 14 Sevens.” His eyes widen. “They are there in case we need them but only in case.”
“So why not just exchange the 10 for one of those things?” he asks.
“Can't. Have to do that at the Pearly Gates in Heaven and I haven't been to Heaven yet. I've only gotten as far as Eden.”
“Oh,” says Nick, frowning at me. He takes off his glasses and wipes his lovely eyes then he runs his hand through his hair, making his hair stand on end. I love that about him.
“This eating/expository interlude has gone on for far too long, Nick. Time to move on.” I get up and shoulder my backpack. He stands up brushing off his pants. We look around the huge square. I look for the nearest landmark Ax told me to find and start walking towards it.
“Now, what's the problem?” asks the demon, looking around, “Other than that these two are still alive?” “She has a seven! A SEVEN!” shouts a vaporous soul, a young man when he died. There's a loud murmuring of the crowd. The demon's head snaps back to look at me.
“Is that right,” his voice is all serious. The shorter demon still has said nothing but is staring at me with unnerving focus. The tall demon steps around Nick, looking at me up and down. “How many do you have?” he asks slowly. He is deadly focused on me, his eyes not blinking. I feel an unholy chill, I want to leave.
“Just one,” I say, almost whispering.
“Where did you get it?” asks the tall demon. The short demon glances at the taller one now but the thin one shakes his head without looking at him.
"I found it while I was transitioning,” I say, “I didn't know what it was at first, but I had to pick it up.”
“Of course, you did. What creature wouldn't?” He leans close to me, his silky voice low now, “What do you want for it?” His voice is a soft seduction.
I swallow. “What makes you think I want something?”
He steps back and laughs. “You really want me to believe that you and your little doggie came here not wanting something? Or for some reason? What live soul would come down here otherwise? AND how would they know how to get down here in the first place? No, no. You and the puppy are here for a reason. Am I right?”
I say nothing. Neither does Nick but he still has his hand on the sword handle. The thin demon walks in a circle around us, the crowd widening to give him room. “Are you looking for someone? People who make it down here are usually looking for someone. Or are you looking for someTHING,” he says this last word close to my ear and I jump. His unblinking black eyes are strangely beautiful. He has long, thick lashes. He must have been a real beauty before falling.
“I want,” I stop and then speak on, “I want 2000 dragnets and the location and ability to enter the White Tower.” It's not a good idea to bargain for a Seven but I know it happens all the time. Still, the nature of the object gives you the feeling that you shouldn't.
“DONE!!!” the demon shouts, all smiles now then his smile abruptly vanishes, “To make it truly official I will even give you the pass code to the building.” The demon produces a curved knife with a spectacular jewel encrusted handle but before he can cut himself, I tell him I want the knife too.
“You drive a hard bargain but the answer is yes.” With that he cuts his pinky off to the first joint and hands it to me. It does not bleed blood but a fruity rotten smell fills the air as the flesh closes the wound. He winces and then smiles slowly. I reach into my pocket for a handkerchief and wrap the pinky joint up, slipping it into my pocket then he pulls out a bag and hands it to me. The dragnets jingle inside. I look at them quickly and hand the bag to Nick.
“There might be a couple more than 2000 in there,” he says.
“Thank you,” I say, “You were probably off to a tournament.”
“Indeed and now I'm late but this entire transaction makes it very, very worthwhile,” he says. He gives me the curved knife in its sheath and then leans close and whispers in my ear. He tells me the location of the White Tower and how to get inside then he hands me a small key, all tarnished silver.
“Isn't this your only key?” I ask. I don't know why I'm concerned about that.
“Nah. We lose them all the time, see how small they are? The boss doesn't care anymore. And now, the Seven, miss.” He stands slightly away from me and holds out his hand. The little demon holds his breath as reach into my pocket. Everyone is holding their breath, I realize. I pull the Seven out and then slip it into his palm. The Seven sits shimmering in his palm. I hear a sob from behind me. He closes his hand over it, blinking away a black tear himself. He bows, “Thank you for this transaction. If you need anything my name is Ax.” I nod at him and both Ax and the short demon make their way through the crowd. Nick and I look after them and then we turn to walk towards the middle of the square. No one bothers us.
***
Nick walks in silence for some minutes. I stop at a vendor and buy box dinners for both of us. We find a small table nearby and sit down as the hordes of souls walk back and forth. The box dinner has magnificently prepared steak, fluffy mashed potatoes, and a very rare, huge perfectly steamed artichoke with lemon mayonnaise.
Nick doesn't eat, he only looks at me.
“If you're worried about eating something here and not being able to return back home, don't worry. Things don't work that way.”
“So why is it in a myth?”
“Because Persephone spent six days in bed with the God of the Underworld in ecstasy. She belonged to him after that. That's why they say it's six pomegranate seeds.”
“Hm.”
“Hm yourself. Eat, Nick.” I slice off a piece of steak. It melts in my mouth. Nick's dinner is vegetarian and includes a beautiful assortment of vegetables which makes his dinner even rarer. He is clearly impressed and eating eagerly. When he slows, he puts his fork down and looks at me.
“So Miss Turtle are you going to tell me what a Seven is?”
I sigh, feeling reluctant. “A Seven is a unit of money from Heaven, that neighborhood.”
“Wait a minute! They have money in Heaven?”
“Yes, but the souls there don't need it. The Sevens are issued in Heaven and used here and in other places.”
“What other places?”
"Purgatory. Transitional spaces. Recreational places."
“Huh,” says Nick. He is looking at me like I've lost my mind.
“If you get seven Sevens you can bypass the usual path to Heaven. If you show up at St. Peter's Gate with seven Sevens he will let you in, no questions asked. And it doesn't matter what you look like or whether you're a demon or human or whatever. You still get in and you still get saved.”
“That sounds weird. Capitalistic. I mean, you are saying you can buy your way into Heaven.” Nick picks up his fork and starts eating again.
“That is indeed the case. A total of seven Sevens gives you the grace of God, automatically. All your sins, problems, prior record, all washed away. And that's not all. If you can get 10 Sevens you can exchange them for an ingot which gets you into Heaven and allows you free access.”
“Free access?” Nick picks up his fork again and pokes at some squash.
“Yes. Free access to everywhere. That means you can come and go as you please. Even in Heaven. Very few have free access. Even the archangels, who can go anywhere else, can't come down here. You still have to observe the usual rules, though.”
“What rules?” Nick is looking at me with an enraptured expression. He is fascinated by my bizarre world. He is leaning forward eagerly, holding a forkful of vegetables. I glance around. Souls are walking by us, not stopping, but they are looking at us with frank envy. Some are glaring but none bother us. The strange, dark light of this place gives the impression of being in an eclipse all the time. It feels unnatural.
“The usual rules. In transitional zones, for example, there's a no weapons rule. Of course, in all the major zones there's a no weapons rule, but people used to use their weapons in transitional zones all the time and there were some nasty wars and battles fought there. Most of the rules relate to when you can use and draw your weapons.”
“What about me?” he asks. I frown at him. I hadn't thought about it. Nick has been using his sword throughout this story but there have been none of the usual alarms and restrictions.
“Could it because I'm still alive?” I still say nothing wondering what to do about this discrepancy. It doesn't sit well with me and I don't want to rewrite this story.
“I don't know. It can't be your sword. There's nothing magical about it as far as I know. Let me see it.”
He hands it to me. The sword is relatively light. I hold it in my hands and look at the handle carefully. It's a jian, a double-edged Chinese straight sword, very fine. There are magnificent etchings on the steel blade. I turn it over and my hands stop. There's a gold inset and it's glowing with an unnatural brilliance. I can't believe I didn't notice it earlier.
I don't bother removing the gold inset. I hand the sword back to Nick and lean towards him.
“You have an ingot underneath this gold insert,” I say speaking low. Nick reaches for his sword. “No, don't remove the insert. It will cause a riot here.”
His eyes are glowing. “How do you know?”
“You can tell by the glow, but since your hand is almost always over it and it's facing your body when the sword is sheathed it's difficult to see.” I sit back looking at him. “Who gave you the sword?”
“Your Dead Version,” he says. He has put down his fork and pushed his plate away. I'm about half way finished with my artichoke. I place it on the bread plate in front of us, gesturing for him to take a few leaves. He picks up leaf and slips it into his mouth.
I smile, thinking I should give her a proper name. “Well, she of all people would know when such a thing is warranted. No matter what, Nick, you cannot give up that sword. I'm amazed that the demons at the jail cell missed it. If you have to, abandon the sword and take the thing out. It's a guarantee.”
“I've never seen it glow like that. It usually looks like plain gold to me,” he says as I hand the sword back to him. And even as I'm looking at the sword again it's glowing is gone. I frown, then hold out my hand. He hands it back to me. The glowing starts again. I give it back to him and he puts it back on.
I lean towards him again. “I have 14 Sevens.” His eyes widen. “They are there in case we need them but only in case.”
“So why not just exchange the 10 for one of those things?” he asks.
“Can't. Have to do that at the Pearly Gates in Heaven and I haven't been to Heaven yet. I've only gotten as far as Eden.”
“Oh,” says Nick, frowning at me. He takes off his glasses and wipes his lovely eyes then he runs his hand through his hair, making his hair stand on end. I love that about him.
“This eating/expository interlude has gone on for far too long, Nick. Time to move on.” I get up and shoulder my backpack. He stands up brushing off his pants. We look around the huge square. I look for the nearest landmark Ax told me to find and start walking towards it.
FailSafe - The Square (Part 9) (Okay, this one was missing sentences but it's all fixed now)
When Nick and I run through the blue door we are not in The White Tower. Instead, we are still at the Black Gate of Dis, this time at the bottom of the gate. We find a place to hole up in a small area not far from the exit. The black concrete is crumbling in places and we find a place to sit together. Nick doesn't speak as I check my arm for problem injuries. It's merely sore so I rub it.
Do you think we can get April back?” Nick asks finally. I sneak a sideways glance at him.
Why do you like her?” I ask him. As soon as the words come out of my mouth, I regret saying them. I follow up my gaffe with, “I'm sorry I shouldn't have said that” before he can reply.
He looks at me carefully. “This is your world, Miss Turtle. Of course, I like April, same as I like you but this is your place.” My body sags and I'm tired, really tired for the first time.
You're right,” I take a deep breath, thinking of the situation at hand, “Yes, we can get her back. And we will.” He nods, pushing up his glasses. I am still rubbing my arm and he repositions himself closer to me.
Here let me for a while,” he says taking my arm. He begins to rub my shoulder gently and then with firmer strokes. He has large hands, his palms seem big and ruddy. The memory of his hands sears my mind and then I push the thoughts away.
I smile at him. His referral to my imaginary world as “home” feels flattering and hopeful to me. “No, it's more like a giant office building. And, oh!” I stop speaking, remembering.
"What is it?” asks Nick, leaning towards me. We hear more guttural sounds and we both freeze when we hear the sounds of the devil's speak. Even after hearing it so often it still sounds harrowing to me. I suppose there are certain things a human should never hear. The demons run by without seeing us.
"Do you know what they're saying?" he asks.
"No, can't say I ever wanted to learn,” I laugh a little. It sounds uncomfortable, a small bark. “Anyway I wanted to tell you there's a portal there to another place. And I have a feeling we'll find the sword there, hidden I assume.”
"Where does the portal lead us to?" he asks.
"To a church in New York City, on Lexington Avenue,” I say. He is too surprised to comment for a moment. Indeed, even as I write those words the very idea sounds bizarre but that's where I last saw the sword.
"It's not so much of a stretch. The sword was found at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, you know," I say. He has stopped rubbing my arm. We can hear demons in the distance now. I wonder where The Stranger is.
"No, i didn't know. Look can't we go to the church in the real world, and find it that way rather than continuing through this place?"
"Well, I don't know if I could get your real self to agree to go with me to be honest and, more importantly, we have to go through the portal to find it. It might have something to do with being able to see the sword when we go through. I don't know. I know for sure we have to go through the portal.”
"Okay, Miss Turtle,” he sighs, “As much as I like being here I do want to go home.” I feel a pang as he looks at me directly. “I don't belong here, and you know it. There are things I need to do. You understand?”
"Yes, I do. Of course, I understand,” I say, “My arm feels better, thanks. We should go now.” He helps me up, and holding my hand, leads me out into the sulferica that is Hell.
"It's twisted but this place reminds me so much of Old Town in Prague. It seems wrong to locate it here, though.” We are moving along with everyone else. My feet are hurting again because of the cobblestones. My clothes are dry but stiff from the salt water.
"Why all the shops and eating and drinking places? Do dead souls buy things? Eat?” Nick asks. Right then he's jostled by a large almost solid soul of a man. He glares back at Nick and then moves on.
"Sure they do. They have houses and possessions like any living person. They tend to buy more when they're dead. As for eating and drinking, it's all about the same thing.”
"What's that?” The crowd is taking us to the huge square in front of us. It's about ten times larger than the real square I had so much fun exploring on my own.
"Nostalgia. These souls can't really eat or drink but they try.”
"What happens to all the food and drink?” Nick stops as the crowd opens up in front of us. There are at least six churches surrounding the square, all of them old, all of them very Catholic and huge. His mouth drops open and I sigh shaking my head.
"Much of the food and drink goes to waste, I'm afraid. This is Hell, after all, but they do recycle it and use it to help power the City even if they don't really need to. The churches are a bit of a stretch, I'll grant you, but you won't believe how many people attend church with regularity here.”
"I think I can imagine people wanting to be in church after being dead and ending up here.”
"It's a prayer for salvation, I suppose. The folks upstairs supply them with the plans and sanction the items needed for such worship. As they correctly assumed, people wanted their religious trappings more than ever down here."
"The folks upstairs?” Nick is sounding incredulous now. I sigh again, wondering about my own mind and why it works the way it does. Churches in hell! What a concept!
"Yes, God, Heaven, Angels, that neighborhood.”
Nick can only stand there on the edge of the massive square, thousands of souls walking to and fro, small mechanical carriages rolling by. We spot a demon strolling along on the other side of the square. We smell one walking behind us but don't turn towards it.
"The demons won't bother us. They're taking a break and going to gamble,” I say as I give his arm a tug. We walk into the square. We can smell the meat and pastries being sold by the vendors. I'm starving but don't have any money or at least I don't think so. I check my pockets and locate a couple of dragnets. I check my backpack and pull out a handful of Sevens. I quickly put all but one away and close my fist around it, but the graceful glow is unmistakable in this place and everyone stops and stares at my hand.
"What you got there?” asks a wrinkled old black man with a difficult to place accent. He moves closer and Nick reaches for his sword.
“Stop it, boy. No need to threaten here. Just want to see, is all," the old man says, glaring at Nick.
I open my hand slowly and the Seven shimmers into brilliance. There is silence. And then shouting as everyone reaches for it. People are offering huge amounts of dragnets for it. A hand thrusts towards me, holding jewels. Nick gets in front of me, drawing his sword.
Do you think we can get April back?” Nick asks finally. I sneak a sideways glance at him.
Why do you like her?” I ask him. As soon as the words come out of my mouth, I regret saying them. I follow up my gaffe with, “I'm sorry I shouldn't have said that” before he can reply.
He looks at me carefully. “This is your world, Miss Turtle. Of course, I like April, same as I like you but this is your place.” My body sags and I'm tired, really tired for the first time.
You're right,” I take a deep breath, thinking of the situation at hand, “Yes, we can get her back. And we will.” He nods, pushing up his glasses. I am still rubbing my arm and he repositions himself closer to me.
Here let me for a while,” he says taking my arm. He begins to rub my shoulder gently and then with firmer strokes. He has large hands, his palms seem big and ruddy. The memory of his hands sears my mind and then I push the thoughts away.
I smile at him. His referral to my imaginary world as “home” feels flattering and hopeful to me. “No, it's more like a giant office building. And, oh!” I stop speaking, remembering.
"What is it?” asks Nick, leaning towards me. We hear more guttural sounds and we both freeze when we hear the sounds of the devil's speak. Even after hearing it so often it still sounds harrowing to me. I suppose there are certain things a human should never hear. The demons run by without seeing us.
"Do you know what they're saying?" he asks.
"No, can't say I ever wanted to learn,” I laugh a little. It sounds uncomfortable, a small bark. “Anyway I wanted to tell you there's a portal there to another place. And I have a feeling we'll find the sword there, hidden I assume.”
"Where does the portal lead us to?" he asks.
"To a church in New York City, on Lexington Avenue,” I say. He is too surprised to comment for a moment. Indeed, even as I write those words the very idea sounds bizarre but that's where I last saw the sword.
"It's not so much of a stretch. The sword was found at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, you know," I say. He has stopped rubbing my arm. We can hear demons in the distance now. I wonder where The Stranger is.
"No, i didn't know. Look can't we go to the church in the real world, and find it that way rather than continuing through this place?"
"Well, I don't know if I could get your real self to agree to go with me to be honest and, more importantly, we have to go through the portal to find it. It might have something to do with being able to see the sword when we go through. I don't know. I know for sure we have to go through the portal.”
"Okay, Miss Turtle,” he sighs, “As much as I like being here I do want to go home.” I feel a pang as he looks at me directly. “I don't belong here, and you know it. There are things I need to do. You understand?”
"Yes, I do. Of course, I understand,” I say, “My arm feels better, thanks. We should go now.” He helps me up, and holding my hand, leads me out into the sulferica that is Hell.
***
We are walking through the narrow cobblestone streets of Dis. The buildings are beautiful and old even in the harsh red light. The smell of sulfur is everywhere but we've both gotten used to it. Souls of varying ages look at us as we make our way through the crowds. They look at us curiously but don't impede our progress. There are plenty of cafes, restaurants, gambling establishments, bars, and shops."It's twisted but this place reminds me so much of Old Town in Prague. It seems wrong to locate it here, though.” We are moving along with everyone else. My feet are hurting again because of the cobblestones. My clothes are dry but stiff from the salt water.
"Why all the shops and eating and drinking places? Do dead souls buy things? Eat?” Nick asks. Right then he's jostled by a large almost solid soul of a man. He glares back at Nick and then moves on.
"Sure they do. They have houses and possessions like any living person. They tend to buy more when they're dead. As for eating and drinking, it's all about the same thing.”
"What's that?” The crowd is taking us to the huge square in front of us. It's about ten times larger than the real square I had so much fun exploring on my own.
"Nostalgia. These souls can't really eat or drink but they try.”
"What happens to all the food and drink?” Nick stops as the crowd opens up in front of us. There are at least six churches surrounding the square, all of them old, all of them very Catholic and huge. His mouth drops open and I sigh shaking my head.
"Much of the food and drink goes to waste, I'm afraid. This is Hell, after all, but they do recycle it and use it to help power the City even if they don't really need to. The churches are a bit of a stretch, I'll grant you, but you won't believe how many people attend church with regularity here.”
"I think I can imagine people wanting to be in church after being dead and ending up here.”
"It's a prayer for salvation, I suppose. The folks upstairs supply them with the plans and sanction the items needed for such worship. As they correctly assumed, people wanted their religious trappings more than ever down here."
"The folks upstairs?” Nick is sounding incredulous now. I sigh again, wondering about my own mind and why it works the way it does. Churches in hell! What a concept!
"Yes, God, Heaven, Angels, that neighborhood.”
Nick can only stand there on the edge of the massive square, thousands of souls walking to and fro, small mechanical carriages rolling by. We spot a demon strolling along on the other side of the square. We smell one walking behind us but don't turn towards it.
"The demons won't bother us. They're taking a break and going to gamble,” I say as I give his arm a tug. We walk into the square. We can smell the meat and pastries being sold by the vendors. I'm starving but don't have any money or at least I don't think so. I check my pockets and locate a couple of dragnets. I check my backpack and pull out a handful of Sevens. I quickly put all but one away and close my fist around it, but the graceful glow is unmistakable in this place and everyone stops and stares at my hand.
"What you got there?” asks a wrinkled old black man with a difficult to place accent. He moves closer and Nick reaches for his sword.
“Stop it, boy. No need to threaten here. Just want to see, is all," the old man says, glaring at Nick.
I open my hand slowly and the Seven shimmers into brilliance. There is silence. And then shouting as everyone reaches for it. People are offering huge amounts of dragnets for it. A hand thrusts towards me, holding jewels. Nick gets in front of me, drawing his sword.
Saturday, February 06, 2010
Re: Inferno, Reimagined - A Response to Mark's Comment
I was going to leave this in the comments section but decided to post it here because I was having too much fun writing it.
Mark,
So good to hear from you. Folks have been borrowing good stories, like Inferno and Greek mythology, to create video games and other forms of entertainment and they have been doing so since we started telling stories to each other. Inferno is ripe for such treatment because the landscape and geography of Hell and its inhabitants are fascinating. Witness my own "FailSafe" which borrows heavily from Inferno and Purgatorio (though not Paradisio).
American McGee's Alice" is my favorite video game of all time. I LOVE it and I'm so happy to know that you've played it yourself. I've played all levels at least 3-4 times each. The "Nightmare" level is my favorite. I thought the creators did a pretty good job pulling some obscure Carrollian references into the game. In fact, the game is the source of my gmail handle "dormy." In the book, the Hatter says "Dormouse, wake up. Dormouse, wake up." In the videogame, the March Hare is saying "Dormy, wake up, wake up Dormy" while hanging from a couple of torture machines. For those of you who don't know, this game goes to some dark places.
As for your comments about about films, I'm looking forward to Tim Burton's upcoming "Alice," so interested see what they do with it even if it does sound like a variation of "American McGee's Alice." Also, I read there's going to be a sequel called "Alice II" though the video trailer on the this website was made by a fan and is not official. I might be forced to have to get an Xbox just so I can play the game. What a terrible thought!
Speaking of Greek mythology, I was actually a little thrilled while watching the trailer for "Clash of the Titans" having loved the original movie and been an long-time admirer of Ray Harryhausen. The question is, how good is the gorgon Medusa going to look when the original was so fantastic? Here's a clip from the original "Clash of the Titans" to refresh your memory. Damn, I watched that clip just now and it gave me CHILLS. She is sooo cool crawling along the floor like that, shaking that rattler tail of hers. As a child Medusa was my favorite Greek mythological monster along with Cerberus, the three-headed dog.
Lastly, I found this trailer to "Dante's Inferno" game the other day and I have to say it looks fantastic.
Thanks for commenting and please leave more thoughts about the subject if you want.
MT
Mark,
So good to hear from you. Folks have been borrowing good stories, like Inferno and Greek mythology, to create video games and other forms of entertainment and they have been doing so since we started telling stories to each other. Inferno is ripe for such treatment because the landscape and geography of Hell and its inhabitants are fascinating. Witness my own "FailSafe" which borrows heavily from Inferno and Purgatorio (though not Paradisio).
American McGee's Alice" is my favorite video game of all time. I LOVE it and I'm so happy to know that you've played it yourself. I've played all levels at least 3-4 times each. The "Nightmare" level is my favorite. I thought the creators did a pretty good job pulling some obscure Carrollian references into the game. In fact, the game is the source of my gmail handle "dormy." In the book, the Hatter says "Dormouse, wake up. Dormouse, wake up." In the videogame, the March Hare is saying "Dormy, wake up, wake up Dormy" while hanging from a couple of torture machines. For those of you who don't know, this game goes to some dark places.
As for your comments about about films, I'm looking forward to Tim Burton's upcoming "Alice," so interested see what they do with it even if it does sound like a variation of "American McGee's Alice." Also, I read there's going to be a sequel called "Alice II" though the video trailer on the this website was made by a fan and is not official. I might be forced to have to get an Xbox just so I can play the game. What a terrible thought!
Speaking of Greek mythology, I was actually a little thrilled while watching the trailer for "Clash of the Titans" having loved the original movie and been an long-time admirer of Ray Harryhausen. The question is, how good is the gorgon Medusa going to look when the original was so fantastic? Here's a clip from the original "Clash of the Titans" to refresh your memory. Damn, I watched that clip just now and it gave me CHILLS. She is sooo cool crawling along the floor like that, shaking that rattler tail of hers. As a child Medusa was my favorite Greek mythological monster along with Cerberus, the three-headed dog.
Lastly, I found this trailer to "Dante's Inferno" game the other day and I have to say it looks fantastic.
Thanks for commenting and please leave more thoughts about the subject if you want.
MT
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Inferno, Re-imagined
Today I stumbled across this article in the NYT about a new video game called "Dante's Inferno." It's going to be released in February. In this re-imagining, Dante is no longer the passive poet making his way through Hell with Virgil's guidance. Instead, they've turned him into a muscular, scythe wielding knight just back from the Crusades to find that his beloved Beatrice has been murdered. Our old friend Scratch grabs Beatrice's soul and spirits her off to Hell. The rest is pretty much as you might imagine: Super Crusader Knight takes on hordes of demons, etc. as he battles his way through the nine (9) circles of Hell.
Apparently, a book of Dante's Inferno has been released in conjunction with the game. Same words, same classic poem but with a mega-buffed Dante on the cover. See pic below:
A look at the website and the trailer for the animated movie shows Dante running, jumping, and slicing and dicing his way through the nine circles. Yes, they are coming out with an animated movie in conjunction with the release of the game. Sounds like a DVD to be sold along with the game itself.
This whole thing is pretty funny, but I have to say the official website does have a section where they give a time line of Dante's life, the Divine Comedy, and its tremendous influence. I wonder if this game will inspire teenage boys to seek out the original Inferno. They will find that it is not an easy read and that the real Dante is not an action hero. Speaking of which the company is releasing a Dante action figure:
In the game, Dante's weapons include his massive scythe and the holy powers of the cross given to him by Beatrice. Dante is told that he must not only find Beatrice to save her but also confront his own sins and find his own salvation. I wonder about the religious components in such a game, and what effect they have during game play. Probably no effect at all.
In spite of my initial curiosity I'll have to content myself with not playing this game since I don't own any of the gaming platforms. They should do a game of the Odyssey next, if they haven't already. Odysseus was not only a warrior but had a "cunning intelligence" and the Odyssey is a great adventure ripe for this kind of weird treatment.
Apparently, a book of Dante's Inferno has been released in conjunction with the game. Same words, same classic poem but with a mega-buffed Dante on the cover. See pic below:
A look at the website and the trailer for the animated movie shows Dante running, jumping, and slicing and dicing his way through the nine circles. Yes, they are coming out with an animated movie in conjunction with the release of the game. Sounds like a DVD to be sold along with the game itself.
This whole thing is pretty funny, but I have to say the official website does have a section where they give a time line of Dante's life, the Divine Comedy, and its tremendous influence. I wonder if this game will inspire teenage boys to seek out the original Inferno. They will find that it is not an easy read and that the real Dante is not an action hero. Speaking of which the company is releasing a Dante action figure:
In the game, Dante's weapons include his massive scythe and the holy powers of the cross given to him by Beatrice. Dante is told that he must not only find Beatrice to save her but also confront his own sins and find his own salvation. I wonder about the religious components in such a game, and what effect they have during game play. Probably no effect at all.
In spite of my initial curiosity I'll have to content myself with not playing this game since I don't own any of the gaming platforms. They should do a game of the Odyssey next, if they haven't already. Odysseus was not only a warrior but had a "cunning intelligence" and the Odyssey is a great adventure ripe for this kind of weird treatment.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Waiting For A Simple Twist Of Fate
"It's been a dry spell."
"Yes, it has been. I don't know what to do about it. I don't feel like I'm turning into an empty husk, but I can't seem to get things going both here on this blog and in my private life. I feel sullen for some reason," I say. I'm waving my hands around trying to make a point.
There's a light rain as Mr. Gryphon and I walk along a waterfront dock. The night is heavy. The smell of the sea, the rancid smell of gutted fish fill the air. It's empty here, no sailors. The warm humidity and gentle rain thickens the atmosphere.
"It's been a long time Miss Turtle," he says with a sigh. We are not the same now, not after my last story "FailSafe." We've grown ever closer.
"I was going to wait until after I finished putting up the story but I've missed you and needed to have a chat," I say. I hear the strumming of a guitar, very comforting. We walk slowly past a young man wearing a linen button down shirt that sticks to his skin, a worn out hat, and threadbare trousers. Mr. Gryphon stops to drop a dollar into his money jar. The young man barely nods at him.
"You've made good progress on your novel," he says, standing up straight. He knows it's not the best thing to say now. I grit my teeth but only for a moment.
"Yes, I have. And that's all good. So many things I want to do but how do I decide what to do?" We are approaching the tired lights of the arcade after walking past a motel with bright neon signs. A few people, all grayed out by the rain and humidity, scuttle past us. They stare at Mr. Gryphon.
"Why am I so sullen lately? It's like I'm pouting over something," I push my hair back from my face, an old, constant habit. A young couple walks by, giggling. They hold hands and bump into each other as they walk along the sidewalk.
"You're good at pouting," is his only reply. I grit my teeth again but don't say anything. The worn out arcade is upon us now. It's a small place, two or three rooms. The lights from the games flash. A few people play, the lines on their bodies brought into sharp relief by the bright lights. Sounds of ringing bells, computerized beeping, snatches of sampled music, giggling, and talking float out of the entrance. I nod in the direction of the arcade. Mr. Gryphon shakes his head.
"Not in the mood for pinball?" He doesn't reply. "You know, you're becoming just like my bosses. I bring up things and make suggestions in email and they don't bother to reply."
"I'm not in the mood for pinball," he says, enunciating clearly. He opens his golden wings just a little, fluffing them as we walk away but he does not extend his claws. I keep looking at him but he does not look back.
"You're not being very friendly," I say. We are in a pull-push state. He's feeling closed off and I'm feeling, well, sullen.
"Your bosses are all engineers," he says, by way of explanation.
"I wish you'd open up a little, just a little," I blurt out. We're a block past the arcade and the rain has stopped. All around us is the drip-drip of water. Mr. Gryphon looks at me at last, his yellow eyes burning brightly. He says nothing but I've finally figured out what's going on with me. I take a deep breath feeling the sting of embarrassment.
"That's better, Miss Turtle. Much better," he says, nodding.
"Piss off," I say. I push up the sleeves of my shirt. The humidity is getting to me, sweat is running down my back in a trickle.
He smiles. We pass some sailors. Mr. Gryphon nods at them. We wait at the next block for the light to change. We hear the faraway sounds of a saxophone playing and I can see the gate ahead of us. A young man is coming in our direction. He has a parrot on his shoulder.
I nod at the young man when he gets closer to us. His parrot squawks a "Hello!" at Mr. Gryphon. He passes us by and I look back, watching him as he walks towards the docks.
"Think he'll find what he's looking for?" I ask.
"Most certainly."
I look at Mr. Gryphon, surprised. "You've become something of an optimist," I say.
"Yes, it's true, Miss Turtle. This is your world after all." I don't ask him to elaborate. We keep walking towards the gate. The rain has started up again.
"Yes, it has been. I don't know what to do about it. I don't feel like I'm turning into an empty husk, but I can't seem to get things going both here on this blog and in my private life. I feel sullen for some reason," I say. I'm waving my hands around trying to make a point.
There's a light rain as Mr. Gryphon and I walk along a waterfront dock. The night is heavy. The smell of the sea, the rancid smell of gutted fish fill the air. It's empty here, no sailors. The warm humidity and gentle rain thickens the atmosphere.
"It's been a long time Miss Turtle," he says with a sigh. We are not the same now, not after my last story "FailSafe." We've grown ever closer.
"I was going to wait until after I finished putting up the story but I've missed you and needed to have a chat," I say. I hear the strumming of a guitar, very comforting. We walk slowly past a young man wearing a linen button down shirt that sticks to his skin, a worn out hat, and threadbare trousers. Mr. Gryphon stops to drop a dollar into his money jar. The young man barely nods at him.
"You've made good progress on your novel," he says, standing up straight. He knows it's not the best thing to say now. I grit my teeth but only for a moment.
"Yes, I have. And that's all good. So many things I want to do but how do I decide what to do?" We are approaching the tired lights of the arcade after walking past a motel with bright neon signs. A few people, all grayed out by the rain and humidity, scuttle past us. They stare at Mr. Gryphon.
"Why am I so sullen lately? It's like I'm pouting over something," I push my hair back from my face, an old, constant habit. A young couple walks by, giggling. They hold hands and bump into each other as they walk along the sidewalk.
"You're good at pouting," is his only reply. I grit my teeth again but don't say anything. The worn out arcade is upon us now. It's a small place, two or three rooms. The lights from the games flash. A few people play, the lines on their bodies brought into sharp relief by the bright lights. Sounds of ringing bells, computerized beeping, snatches of sampled music, giggling, and talking float out of the entrance. I nod in the direction of the arcade. Mr. Gryphon shakes his head.
"Not in the mood for pinball?" He doesn't reply. "You know, you're becoming just like my bosses. I bring up things and make suggestions in email and they don't bother to reply."
"I'm not in the mood for pinball," he says, enunciating clearly. He opens his golden wings just a little, fluffing them as we walk away but he does not extend his claws. I keep looking at him but he does not look back.
"You're not being very friendly," I say. We are in a pull-push state. He's feeling closed off and I'm feeling, well, sullen.
"Your bosses are all engineers," he says, by way of explanation.
"I wish you'd open up a little, just a little," I blurt out. We're a block past the arcade and the rain has stopped. All around us is the drip-drip of water. Mr. Gryphon looks at me at last, his yellow eyes burning brightly. He says nothing but I've finally figured out what's going on with me. I take a deep breath feeling the sting of embarrassment.
"That's better, Miss Turtle. Much better," he says, nodding.
"Piss off," I say. I push up the sleeves of my shirt. The humidity is getting to me, sweat is running down my back in a trickle.
He smiles. We pass some sailors. Mr. Gryphon nods at them. We wait at the next block for the light to change. We hear the faraway sounds of a saxophone playing and I can see the gate ahead of us. A young man is coming in our direction. He has a parrot on his shoulder.
I nod at the young man when he gets closer to us. His parrot squawks a "Hello!" at Mr. Gryphon. He passes us by and I look back, watching him as he walks towards the docks.
"Think he'll find what he's looking for?" I ask.
"Most certainly."
I look at Mr. Gryphon, surprised. "You've become something of an optimist," I say.
"Yes, it's true, Miss Turtle. This is your world after all." I don't ask him to elaborate. We keep walking towards the gate. The rain has started up again.
FailSafe: Sorry For The Hold Up
For those of you following my strange personal story FailSafe, I wanted to apologize for not putting up more chapters. I've somehow lost a chapter or two somewhere between writing here at home and at my writing group. The chapter I finally found is incomplete and so needs to be re-written. I'll try to get that done this weekend and post a few more chapters.
Thanks for reading and I appreciate you all coming here.
Thanks for reading and I appreciate you all coming here.
Sunday, January 03, 2010
The Green Fairy
Among the new things I tried over this New Year's weekend was absinthe AKA the green fairy. Absinthe is a distilled spirit with a very high alcohol content (between 45%-75% ABV). Having been banned for most of the 20th century here in the U.S., I've been wanting to try it since the ban was lifted in 2007. The spirit was banned because it was thought to cause madness and hallucinations but the only real danger is from the high alcohol content.
I ordered the drink during our New Year's Eve celebration at the Girl and the Fig restaurant in Sonoma on the Square. They served the drink with 1 part absinthe to 3 parts water in a small pitcher. They provided me with a glass, a special slotted absinthe spoon, and the all important sugar cube. You pour the drink very slowly over the sugar cube, letting it dribble into the glass. This is the traditional "French Method." The resulting liquid is soft green and cloudy (known as the "louche"). This little ritual felt very exotic when everyone else at the table was drinking champagne and cocktails.
Absinthe has flavors of anise, fennel, and star anise which means it tastes and smells like ultra powerful black liquorice with menthol at first. I thought the drink would be super sweet like a liquor, but the sugar cube seems to smooth and mellow out the flavor rather than add any sweetness. I sipped it slowly while eating croque monsieur. Over time, absinthe mellows considerably and I enjoyed having it with my meal. I was surprised I enjoyed it so much since I can't stand the taste of black liquorice.
I did get a buzz on but eating a good dinner kept things from getting out of control. It was a strange buzz. I didn't actually feel all that drunk but I was definitely not sober. Another side effect of absinthe is it completely screwed up my taste buds. For the rest of the evening and all the next day and night everything I drank tasted awful. Eating was no problem but we stopped at a winery on the way to a sparkling wine/champagne party and I couldn't really pull any flavors from the wine. I seemed more aware of the textures than anything else. When we got to the party I couldn't drink any sparkling wine/champagne. All of it tasted TERRIBLE. Our hostess opened a magnum later that evening, and everyone assured me it was really good but it tasted harsh and bitter. Oh well.
I had been concerned about being able to taste properly because the next day I could still taste anise. It was almost like garlic coming out of your pores the next day. Very interesting. Now I know never to drink absinthe during a wine tasting weekend.
I ordered the drink during our New Year's Eve celebration at the Girl and the Fig restaurant in Sonoma on the Square. They served the drink with 1 part absinthe to 3 parts water in a small pitcher. They provided me with a glass, a special slotted absinthe spoon, and the all important sugar cube. You pour the drink very slowly over the sugar cube, letting it dribble into the glass. This is the traditional "French Method." The resulting liquid is soft green and cloudy (known as the "louche"). This little ritual felt very exotic when everyone else at the table was drinking champagne and cocktails.
Absinthe has flavors of anise, fennel, and star anise which means it tastes and smells like ultra powerful black liquorice with menthol at first. I thought the drink would be super sweet like a liquor, but the sugar cube seems to smooth and mellow out the flavor rather than add any sweetness. I sipped it slowly while eating croque monsieur. Over time, absinthe mellows considerably and I enjoyed having it with my meal. I was surprised I enjoyed it so much since I can't stand the taste of black liquorice.
I did get a buzz on but eating a good dinner kept things from getting out of control. It was a strange buzz. I didn't actually feel all that drunk but I was definitely not sober. Another side effect of absinthe is it completely screwed up my taste buds. For the rest of the evening and all the next day and night everything I drank tasted awful. Eating was no problem but we stopped at a winery on the way to a sparkling wine/champagne party and I couldn't really pull any flavors from the wine. I seemed more aware of the textures than anything else. When we got to the party I couldn't drink any sparkling wine/champagne. All of it tasted TERRIBLE. Our hostess opened a magnum later that evening, and everyone assured me it was really good but it tasted harsh and bitter. Oh well.
I had been concerned about being able to taste properly because the next day I could still taste anise. It was almost like garlic coming out of your pores the next day. Very interesting. Now I know never to drink absinthe during a wine tasting weekend.
Sunday, December 06, 2009
A Quick Note: Immersion Life Now Gone
In an effort to consolidate I moved the nine posts from "Mock Turtle's Immersion Life" back to this blog. I was feeling so much pressure from having three blogs so I thought this would be the best way to deal with that.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
"I Promise I Will Tell No Lies"
Note: I first posted this on 10/26/06 and then I took it down right away. I was worried that I might get in trouble for talking about work. The case was finished over three years ago and I wanted to put it back up again. I love this story.
SEPTEMBER 13, 2006
The Case - An Application for Political Asylum in the Immigration Court
The Stakes - If we lose, the client goes back to his home country and will be killed
I had three urgent projects I was working on last night. I needed to clear the decks so I could come into work this morning and focus on today. I left work at 9pm last night after getting everything done.
This morning: As usual I'm running late and literally running around. I'm trying on clothes and throwing them on the big bed. I was supposed to have done my laundry but hadn't had the time. I'm exhausted, but I need to be calm and on top of my game. I can't figure out what to wear and my choices are too limited. I slip into my $450 Italian shoes and run to my car. A womanly way to solve the "what do I wear?" problem.
Driving through the streets of San Francisco feels like a trap, a 16th century dance, a weaving as we roll in and out and try to avoid the pedestrians who can't keep their asses on the sidewalk. I approach Van Ness and there's a double parked brown UPS truck in the usual spot. I slip gracefully around it. Crossing Market Street means taking your life into your hands, but I slide into the correct lane and make a left onto Mission Street. It's a beautiful morning. The sun is shining. It's warm and the sky is clear.
At work. My suit jacket is too tight. I look great (head to toe in black), but I need to have the jacket tailored. Just move the buttons over about 3/4 of an inch. The shoes help. Super shiny black patent leather. I can see myself in them.
I wander slowly through the hallways. Cleaning your office of last night's projects is a really good way to clear your head. In a few minutes they will be here and everything will begin.
I meet our clients for the first time. I have read their story at least 10 times and each time I can't believe it. I'm looking at history right in front of me. I am introduced. The guy I'm working with is a nice guy, does good work, but today I will learn the depths of his kindness and compassion and I will be amazed.
We have lunch. The Reverend, or rather the Guardian Angel, has come along. His heart is so big that he gently glows with it. He's incredibly articulate. I can't help but think that this man's work and life must sustain him as he answers that higher calling.
We make our way to Court. Slowly. The client has a limp and that limp is a major part of his story. The top of his cane is worn from having to lean on it all the time. I am worried, but he's still gracious and smiling. We arrive and the waiting begins. We wait. We wait and wait some more. The client's wife doesn't speak English. Neither of them do. She offers me a packet of gum. I refuse graciously and then look at her face. This is a gift, she's offering me a token of esteem. I take the gum. She shows me pictures of her family. They are beautiful and far away from here.
Just before we go into Court, there's a fire alarm. The lights flash on and off. Everyone, including the people at Homeland Security, evacuates the building. In the lobby, the firemen walk around in their gear. They look concerned and puzzled. We finally hear it was a false alarm, the third one that week. We make our way back into the building.
Finally in the courtroom and it's our turn. A single image burns in my mind:
The client and his wife stand and are sworn to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. They are both raising their right hands together. They are standing so close they are touching each other. The judge in his black robe swears them in. Through the translator the client says "I promise I will tell no lies" instead of saying "I do." Behind them, the Reverend is sitting next to me. He sits with his eyes closed and his hands clasped in his lap. He is praying.The story our client tells is so compelling that we barely have to do anything. The story moves and jolts us along. It's something that should be written down. Towards the end of the day, just when we were winding down, there's another fire alarm and we clear the building again. This time we wait outside looking at two bright red fire trucks. The firemen, probably the same ones from earlier, are loading up tanks on their backs. One of them holds a huge ax. They look grim and concerned. Getting the green light to go back into the building because it was yet another false alarm takes much longer.
Back in the Courtroom. We wrap up for the day. We'll be back next week.
Outside, I say goodbye to the Reverend and our clients. The client's wife hugs me. I am moved. I can't talk to her. At least not in English. We share a small moment of kindness.
EPILOGUE
That first day we thought our case was a no brainer, a slam dunk win. I mean, after you've heard the story how could we not win? Five days in Court and many weeks later, it became clear that our case was NOT a slam dunk. The Judge indicated to us during a particularly grueling day that he was still not sure which way he was going to rule. The going got tough, but we got going. We did our best to comply with what the Judge wanted. The client was questioned and questioned and questioned again. A parade of translators came and went.
The week before the last day in Court, I wandered through the hallways at work in shock. It had finally dawned on me that we might lose this case. The consequences of losing were so severe that losing was literally not an option. I marshalled my resources. I talked to other attorneys. I called someone I love very much so I could talk to him about my fears. I talked to my friends. I cried and then focused on my work.
Last day in Court, a beautiful, sunny morning. Things were looking really scary. The client would be questioned yet again and the strain was wearing him down. The guy I work with was worried during our morning meeting. He asked the Reverend to say a prayer before we went into Court.
In the waiting room, I stood there trying to think good thoughts. I needed the strength I have to be on top of everything. As I waited with the others, the Reverend stood up and took the client's and his wife's hands in his. He said a prayer. A long one. I watched and folded my hands. I couldn't understand what was being said, but it made me tear up anyway. I never pray, but I did in that waiting room. It seemed like a good idea at the time. All around us were so many people. People speaking in foreign languages, people holding stacks of paper and books and the Deputies as they patrolled the hallways.
The first good sign was a translator from a couple of weeks ago had returned. They flew him in from Minnosota. He was the best translator we had. We all breathed a sigh of relief.
In the courtroom, the client was seated and was asked more questions. I sat and watched. A couple hours went by. I kept trying to breathe. There was a break and then time for closing arguments.
I didn't know what to expect from the guy I was working with. I thought he would go in with both barrels blazing, but instead he spoke gently, almost softly. Being in the courtroom is a performance. You have to know what you're talking about, but you also have to convey specific information to your audience. Most importantly, you have to recap the story you're telling because all court cases are stories. Here, the guy was not only doing a lovely recap, but his kindness, compassion and absolute faith in the case came through. I saw him shine with it and so did the Judge. I was so proud.
The Judge then talked about the case. He talked for a long time. He talked about his concerns and why we were losing on these different points. I sat there gripping my hands because I thought we were going to lose for sure. I thought all was lost, but then the Judge explained why we were winning on one issue. I closed my eyes in relief. We were all quiet. The translator looked at the client, who had no idea what the Judge was saying since it wasn't being translated for him, and nodded and smiled. I started to tear up then. I look at the Reverend sitting next to me. He smiled and then I reached out and we squeezed our hands together in quiet triumph.
The Judge went through some procedural issues. We all stayed quiet and calm. I felt like I was about to explode. After everything was over, the guy I was working with stood and turned. The smile on his face was glorious. He and the Reverend hugged and then he told the Reverend to tell the clients that we'd won. Instead, the Reverend hugged the client and ruffled his hair. Me, the translator, the Reverend, the client and his wife all started to cry.
We made it out of the courtroom. I could barely keep it together. The client's wife thanked the Judge and I could see from the Judge's smile that he felt he had done the right thing that day. Once outside the courtroom, I lost it. I cried and cried. I was happy, grateful and proud. I'd never cried after winning and this felt so real and so sweet. I felt like I had, for once, made a real difference in the world.
The rest of the day, I floated on air. I glowed and then got really tired. I told a bunch of people and then quietly went back to work. It was good that we didn't have any fire alarms in Court that day.
That first day we thought our case was a no brainer, a slam dunk win. I mean, after you've heard the story how could we not win? Five days in Court and many weeks later, it became clear that our case was NOT a slam dunk. The Judge indicated to us during a particularly grueling day that he was still not sure which way he was going to rule. The going got tough, but we got going. We did our best to comply with what the Judge wanted. The client was questioned and questioned and questioned again. A parade of translators came and went.
The week before the last day in Court, I wandered through the hallways at work in shock. It had finally dawned on me that we might lose this case. The consequences of losing were so severe that losing was literally not an option. I marshalled my resources. I talked to other attorneys. I called someone I love very much so I could talk to him about my fears. I talked to my friends. I cried and then focused on my work.
Last day in Court, a beautiful, sunny morning. Things were looking really scary. The client would be questioned yet again and the strain was wearing him down. The guy I work with was worried during our morning meeting. He asked the Reverend to say a prayer before we went into Court.
In the waiting room, I stood there trying to think good thoughts. I needed the strength I have to be on top of everything. As I waited with the others, the Reverend stood up and took the client's and his wife's hands in his. He said a prayer. A long one. I watched and folded my hands. I couldn't understand what was being said, but it made me tear up anyway. I never pray, but I did in that waiting room. It seemed like a good idea at the time. All around us were so many people. People speaking in foreign languages, people holding stacks of paper and books and the Deputies as they patrolled the hallways.
The first good sign was a translator from a couple of weeks ago had returned. They flew him in from Minnosota. He was the best translator we had. We all breathed a sigh of relief.
In the courtroom, the client was seated and was asked more questions. I sat and watched. A couple hours went by. I kept trying to breathe. There was a break and then time for closing arguments.
I didn't know what to expect from the guy I was working with. I thought he would go in with both barrels blazing, but instead he spoke gently, almost softly. Being in the courtroom is a performance. You have to know what you're talking about, but you also have to convey specific information to your audience. Most importantly, you have to recap the story you're telling because all court cases are stories. Here, the guy was not only doing a lovely recap, but his kindness, compassion and absolute faith in the case came through. I saw him shine with it and so did the Judge. I was so proud.
The Judge then talked about the case. He talked for a long time. He talked about his concerns and why we were losing on these different points. I sat there gripping my hands because I thought we were going to lose for sure. I thought all was lost, but then the Judge explained why we were winning on one issue. I closed my eyes in relief. We were all quiet. The translator looked at the client, who had no idea what the Judge was saying since it wasn't being translated for him, and nodded and smiled. I started to tear up then. I look at the Reverend sitting next to me. He smiled and then I reached out and we squeezed our hands together in quiet triumph.
The Judge went through some procedural issues. We all stayed quiet and calm. I felt like I was about to explode. After everything was over, the guy I was working with stood and turned. The smile on his face was glorious. He and the Reverend hugged and then he told the Reverend to tell the clients that we'd won. Instead, the Reverend hugged the client and ruffled his hair. Me, the translator, the Reverend, the client and his wife all started to cry.
We made it out of the courtroom. I could barely keep it together. The client's wife thanked the Judge and I could see from the Judge's smile that he felt he had done the right thing that day. Once outside the courtroom, I lost it. I cried and cried. I was happy, grateful and proud. I'd never cried after winning and this felt so real and so sweet. I felt like I had, for once, made a real difference in the world.
The rest of the day, I floated on air. I glowed and then got really tired. I told a bunch of people and then quietly went back to work. It was good that we didn't have any fire alarms in Court that day.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Writing Life: The True Story
This evening while working on my novel I realized that the story has changed again. This is a surprise even after working on it for so long. I'll back up a little so you know what I mean. When I first drafted this novel during the NaNoWriMo, it was a complete story with character arcs, plot twists, and a surprise ending. Even so, I knew the story wasn't right. I tried to write the second draft but realized I couldn't do it until I figured out what the true story was. I assumed I would find some kind of subplot or some change that would shift the story to its proper place. That didn't happen.
I was at a loss and spent some time making notes, trying to do character sketches, plot outlines, time lines, and deadlines in hopes that something would shake free but I wasn't making any headway. When I joined my writing group I would use my hour to write a scene. Soon, I was writing down scene after scene without thinking much about where they fit in the story or even if they belonged there at all.
I was getting a better sense of the story but I had a big problem. My novel is a historical mystery and there are several attempts on the major characters' lives but I didn't know who was behind the attacks. Once again, I went back to laying down more scenes. I pondered, free wrote, outlined some more, but none of the scenarios I came up with made sense. Still, I felt I finally had a handle on the story itself. I was now on the third version of it and feeling fairly comfortable.
I started an online writing course by Holly Lisle called "How To Think Sideways." I like Holly's approach. It's very nuts and bolts which is what I need now. I've read a lot of articles and books on writing but many of them are heavy on the ideas and light the how-tos. With the help of this course I feel I'm making great progress, finally. I'm at the point where I'm making plot cards for my scenes. This evening I happily did 12 cards for the major, critical scenes, Holly calls them candy bar scenes, and...and I realized my story has changed yet again. This is the fourth version of it.
Keep in mind that my historical mystery is based on events that really happened. There's quite a bit of documentation about it so the story can't vary all that much, right? Wrong. The basic arc of the story remains the same but the fictional characters' secrets and personalities are driving the story in ways I couldn't have imagined when I wrote the first draft. It's wonderful, fascinating stuff. My challenge is not to fail my readers and to get the story on the page in such a way that does all that wonderful, fascinating stuff some justice.
I have to say had I taken Holly's course a couple of years ago, I would not be in the place where I'm at now. Back then I spent quite a bit of time trying similar techniques but didn't make the same kind of progress. The reason is I needed to flail around so I could figure it out. I needed to give myself time to explore. Now I have a bunch of scenes I probably won't use in the novel but all of them are important because I was able to learn more about the characters through writing them and trying different versions of the story.
All the books I've ever read barely touches on this idea. Sure, many of them say after you write the first draft you have to figure out if you're telling the right story but they didn't say it would take me two years to figure out what the story was nor did they suggest how to go about doing that beyond asking a handful of questions. I keep wondering if it's going to take me this long when I finally get around to writing my next novel.
When I look at my 12 candy bar scenes I see a great story with richness and depth. Everything really fits now. God, I hope I have the skill to put it on the page so my novel is as compelling as I hope it's going to be.
I can't wait to write the second draft.
I was at a loss and spent some time making notes, trying to do character sketches, plot outlines, time lines, and deadlines in hopes that something would shake free but I wasn't making any headway. When I joined my writing group I would use my hour to write a scene. Soon, I was writing down scene after scene without thinking much about where they fit in the story or even if they belonged there at all.
I was getting a better sense of the story but I had a big problem. My novel is a historical mystery and there are several attempts on the major characters' lives but I didn't know who was behind the attacks. Once again, I went back to laying down more scenes. I pondered, free wrote, outlined some more, but none of the scenarios I came up with made sense. Still, I felt I finally had a handle on the story itself. I was now on the third version of it and feeling fairly comfortable.
I started an online writing course by Holly Lisle called "How To Think Sideways." I like Holly's approach. It's very nuts and bolts which is what I need now. I've read a lot of articles and books on writing but many of them are heavy on the ideas and light the how-tos. With the help of this course I feel I'm making great progress, finally. I'm at the point where I'm making plot cards for my scenes. This evening I happily did 12 cards for the major, critical scenes, Holly calls them candy bar scenes, and...and I realized my story has changed yet again. This is the fourth version of it.
Keep in mind that my historical mystery is based on events that really happened. There's quite a bit of documentation about it so the story can't vary all that much, right? Wrong. The basic arc of the story remains the same but the fictional characters' secrets and personalities are driving the story in ways I couldn't have imagined when I wrote the first draft. It's wonderful, fascinating stuff. My challenge is not to fail my readers and to get the story on the page in such a way that does all that wonderful, fascinating stuff some justice.
I have to say had I taken Holly's course a couple of years ago, I would not be in the place where I'm at now. Back then I spent quite a bit of time trying similar techniques but didn't make the same kind of progress. The reason is I needed to flail around so I could figure it out. I needed to give myself time to explore. Now I have a bunch of scenes I probably won't use in the novel but all of them are important because I was able to learn more about the characters through writing them and trying different versions of the story.
All the books I've ever read barely touches on this idea. Sure, many of them say after you write the first draft you have to figure out if you're telling the right story but they didn't say it would take me two years to figure out what the story was nor did they suggest how to go about doing that beyond asking a handful of questions. I keep wondering if it's going to take me this long when I finally get around to writing my next novel.
When I look at my 12 candy bar scenes I see a great story with richness and depth. Everything really fits now. God, I hope I have the skill to put it on the page so my novel is as compelling as I hope it's going to be.
I can't wait to write the second draft.
Wednesday, November 04, 2009
I Don't Usually Write About Work But...
I lean forward in my chair, staring intently at the screen. All around me I hear the "click-click" of people fingering their mouses. I survey this small place where I earn my living in my peripheral vision, all that's needed really. Some days I feel like my hair is being blown back from the sheer volume of tiny detail that seeps through every available virtual crack and cranny. Time flies by, in hysterics. The sound of that obscene laughter makes me grit my teeth.
I'm not used to being out in the open but I don't feel like I'm a target. No one's gunning for me in this place. We are all moving forward together, trying to keep up with each other as bits and bytes and court notifications litter the pathway. Sometimes the bosses run and I limp along, hamstrung by my own second guessing. I had no idea I was this good at procedure but apparently I am. You never know what great talents will show up when you're being asked a lot of questions. You teach best what you need to learn so they say.
I really want to be here, with these people.
The struggle to do better, be more organized is a constant. Many people tell me I'm really organized but it's not enough. Systems are needed, old bad habits purged. Slowly but surely I make progress. I'm learning at an exponential rate. The people I work with have no idea. To them it's business and keeping up with the schedule. For me, it's bulking up with new skills and shiny new knowledge.
This is all good. In fact, what tickles me about this place is after 16 years I'd decided that I had learned almost everything I needed to know about my job. Not so. There's always more to learn and another perspective to try out.
The bulk of my job is running after my bosses. They're like tigers with large paws, splendid orange stripes, and overly long tails. They run on, large ears back, tails snapping behind them. I'm hanging on to those whipping tails as we run through the email blizzard.
We'll see if I feel the same way in a couple of months when the blizzard turns to avalanche.
I'm not used to being out in the open but I don't feel like I'm a target. No one's gunning for me in this place. We are all moving forward together, trying to keep up with each other as bits and bytes and court notifications litter the pathway. Sometimes the bosses run and I limp along, hamstrung by my own second guessing. I had no idea I was this good at procedure but apparently I am. You never know what great talents will show up when you're being asked a lot of questions. You teach best what you need to learn so they say.
I really want to be here, with these people.
The struggle to do better, be more organized is a constant. Many people tell me I'm really organized but it's not enough. Systems are needed, old bad habits purged. Slowly but surely I make progress. I'm learning at an exponential rate. The people I work with have no idea. To them it's business and keeping up with the schedule. For me, it's bulking up with new skills and shiny new knowledge.
This is all good. In fact, what tickles me about this place is after 16 years I'd decided that I had learned almost everything I needed to know about my job. Not so. There's always more to learn and another perspective to try out.
The bulk of my job is running after my bosses. They're like tigers with large paws, splendid orange stripes, and overly long tails. They run on, large ears back, tails snapping behind them. I'm hanging on to those whipping tails as we run through the email blizzard.
We'll see if I feel the same way in a couple of months when the blizzard turns to avalanche.
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