Big Boss Story Contest

[Bia]

Hello great members of RPA!



April has finally arrived!! By now I'm sure you've discovered that April is going to be a huge writing competition month for everybody! There's daily themes, last words, captions, cryptograms, and everything else that has to do with words and the use of them! But those are all little competitions, where's the big stuff? The main applesauce? The giant enchilada?

Look no further! For the main writing contest this month on RPA we've decided to go for another short story contest. BUT WAIT THERE'S A CATCH! Instead of a theme, a subject, or just letting you go for it like we have in the past, we're giving you a writing prompt. Yes that's right, like the kind of stuff your teachers would give you during grade school. But don't worry, this kind of prompt will be fun

The sentence you MUST have included in your story (included anywhere, anyway you like!) is:
"I never planned to see you here!" said the man with one eye as he laughed at his own joke.
(Big thanks to Mary Sue for coming up with this prompt)

That's it! Let your creative juices run wild! What is the story behind this one-eyed man's joke? And why does he only have one eye? Answer it in a story of your own!

The Nitty-Gritty:

The contest will take place from April 1st to April 25th. You can post your submissions right here! At the end of the contest your story will be judged by one of the 5 judges (Me(Bia), Mary Sue, Alice, Extraordinaire, and Storm) on this criteria:
-creativity
-grammar/spelling
-the flow of the story
-how well the prompt was worked into it

Now we don't want to restrict you TOO much, but there has to be some rules:
1. Follow all RPA rules in your story (ofc)
2. Anything with Mature content MUST have the [M] rating at the beginning of the story.
3. Word min. 1000 and word max. 2000 (if you have a story that's just a bit over it's no biggie)
4. Make sure you include the prompt, in it's entirety, somewhere in your story.
5. One submission per person.
6. Have an awesome time!

[Housemaster]

I call this story...

~A Meeting of the Fates~

The road...

The road was barren and desolate as dead birds littered the entire stretches of canyon land, both dry and sullen. Why were there so many dead birds? You'd think they would take a hint after a few of them died, but no! Stupid birds... Anyways, this road was a road few dared travel. What made this road so treacherous as to lure unsuspecting birds while offing them at the nearest moment possible.

Okay, seriously... there's like hundreds of dead birds here. What the fuck?

It's ruining my story...

I honestly cannot even conceive on how this happened! Yesterday there were no birds at all until today I find myself up to my knees in dead birds! Okay... I just need to calm down and go with the flow...

*breathes*

So... on this outdoor bird abattoir lay what used to be a fairly quaint cafe until these godforsaken birds. An old red pickup truck could be seen on the horizon, heading towards the cafe in no rush at all. As the truck ploughed through the distraught collection of bipedal Aves, an old woman, who was tittering her rocking chair back and forth, adjusted her glasses to better view their new visitor.

Then she grabbed the shotgun.

"Who goes there? Dagnabbit I said I ain't want no mail no more!" she cawed while waving her gun in the air.

The occupant of the old pickup truck did not seem too alarmed as he unjammed his door from the rust coated truck. "Ya forgot yer meds again meemaw!" a blindfolded man shouted, slapping his knee while shooting his pistol in the air. Oh god who the hell are these people?

"Z'at you Bubo? C'mere so I can have a better look at 'cha!" the elderly woman motioned to the younger man to approach her, setting her loaded double barrel shotgun leaning against the cafe wall.

As he approached, the senile hag squinted her eyes in attempts to properly identify who this was. It certainly could not have been Bubo, that man's been dead for eight years now due to accidentally mistaking a cup filled with pure mercury as a soda pop. No, the man who was now approaching our beloved meemaw was none other then Wallaby Jones, expert detective in all things detecting.

And was also fabulous with impersonations, "Y'all recognize me meemaw?" he half-shouted, hoping she would rely more on her hearing then her failed vision.

"Of course I do..." Meemaw's voice had gone from adorably rustic, to inexplicably british (of the villainous nature).

Detective Jones knew the situation immediately, "How did you know I would be here?" he asked, pulling off his blindfold to reveal his true identity: a man with one eye. You see, Mr. Jones was in fact a cyclops. This was due to a rare birth defect that amalgamated both of his eyes into one enormous super-special-crime-fighting-eye.

"I see you Mr. Jones... Muha.. hee hee hee... hee hee... hee hee hee hee..." the disguised old lady cackled with a high pitched tone as he pulled off his disguise. Behind the drab old lady costume now stood an incredibly well groomed Hugh Laurie, stroking his curled moustache while musing his top hat with a tickled touch. "You're much too late! I've already gotten the nuclear codes and there's nothing you can do about it! Muha ha! ha ha ha ha!" The villainous Mr. Laurie taunted his success.

Wallaby shot his finger in distress towards the villainous sod, "You haven't won yet, there's the Turkish affair to settle still!" he shouted in accusation.

Hugh shot to his feet, "You can never withstand my superior intellect Mr. Jones. I'll prove victorious once the sun sets, and when it rises it shall see me, the dastardly Mr. Laurie, in celebration of a good night of villainy!" he cackled once more.

The detective had to think up something quick, something to outwit the genius of Mr. Laurie's riddle-filled mind. He had little of supplies to aide him, in his pockets you could find a small paperclip, a crumpled parking ticket, lint, and of course scotch. The shotgun was sitting idly by Mr. Laurie in contemplation on weather or not it will be of any use. It was much too far away for the detective to attempt any dive. No, his plan needed to be quick and precise seeing how Mr. Laurie was slowly approaching him, standing just as tall as a 6'2" tree. Wallaby's eye twitched with sudden realization, spotting Hugh Laurie's sudden weakness out and ready for exploitation.

*SLAP*

Detective Jones administered a swift slap to the face which caught the villainous Hugh Laurie completely by surprise.

"You mad fanny!" he spouted, still shocked from the detective's display of violence, "You didn't have to hit me!"

Wallaby suddenly felt guilty, "I.. well.. I didn't mean to-"

"I'm telling!"

"W-what?"

Mr. Laurie nodded his head in determined vigour, "I'm telling on you!"

The detective's plan was immediately backfiring, "N-no! Please don't! I've already been told on twice, I can't get told on again!"

"You should have thought of that before you resorted to violence..." Hugh turned and marched away, marching all the way back to New York city accompanied by a frantic detective Jones in desperate attempt to mend the issue.

"Please oh please!" the one-eyed detective begged, scuffling on his knees to keep up with Mr. Laurie's march. "I'll do anything. ANYTHING to make you reconsider!"

Hugh turned a curious eye to the cyclops, "Anything?" he mused.

"Yes!" The detective confirmed, "Anything!"

"Alright..." Mr. Laurie stopped, "I won't tell on you, but under one condition!" Wallaby stood upwards with attention, ready to hear the villainous proposition. "You must travel to a busy street corner and publicly reveal yourself indecently to everyone who passes."

"Deal!" the detective shook on their deal.

Wallaby ventured to the nearest street corner to perform his deed as promised to Hugh Laurie, who had left on holiday upon a tropical island with his antique collection of nuclear warheads, and stripped down to his naked self. While he was parading his nude figure for everyone to see, he spotted a familiar face from across the street whom was also naked.

The familiar face belonged to none other then Jason Russell, internet propaganda-artist extrodinare! He had found Kony while rummaging through the african bush, but found himself in the exact same situation detective Jones found himself with Mr. Laurie.

"Mr. Jones..." Jason mumbled, strutting suggestively down the sidewalk with his loose everythings dangling rather presumptuously.

"I never planned to see you here!" said the man with one eye as he laughed at his own joke.

Then they both got arrested...

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My brain is mush and my body is arguing with me right now. Safe to say, my mind is now permanently stuck in that weird part of youtube. Hope you enjoyed it, my eyes hate what I have just written.

[Kaos]

[M] Giving Thanks, a Survivors’ Tale

It was a cool, fall evening out in the hilly New York country-side, gusts of wind whipping through the trees and tearing off what leaves the trees had not shed. Winter was fast approaching, and the chill in the air was starting to sink into my bones…

I had driven all the way from New York City to Upstate New York, to enjoy Thanksgiving dinner with my family. We were meeting at my grandfathers’ old farmhouse, a long four hour drive.
Immediately after arriving, I noticed something odd about his demeanor. He seemed a little bit depressed. He always remembered Norma around the holidays, and five years still had not healed the tear in his heart from her passing. I watched him at dinner, looking for a cause, a reason for what could possibly be bugging him. How could he not be happy? He was a great-grandfather now, and he had the largest thanksgiving gathering in his life, held at his big, empty farmhouse. That was his greatest desire in his older years, to see his children have their own grandchildren, and have a house full of forty people on every holiday of the year. So far, he had not been disappointed, in fact, he was as far from disappointed as one could be. If he were any happier, birds and rabbits would be prancing about him out in the now-empty cow pastures.

Around my second helping of mashed potatoes, I noticed his left hand was bare. This was unusual; Grandpa Harry had always worn Norma’s old wedding ring on his left hand, to keep her close. He’d lost her ring. No wonder he was depressed, there wasn’t much left of Norma for him to remember.
I asked him when the pie was coming around, what had happened to the ring. Maybe he’d just taken it off to polish it, get some tarnish off of the old silver for a change. “No, I’m afraid it slipped off my old fingers here sometime three days ago. I did what I always do, I went and picked up doughnuts from the bakery, walked Missy Lou in the forest, then went and got my trucks’ oil changed.” He had said, concern in his voice. “I’ve been too busy buyin’ up all the food in the store to feed this army we’ve got here,” He laughed. “To go and find it.”
Immediately, I promised him I would look for it the first thing tomorrow; which happened to be today.


So, not even an hour ago, I parked my car right next to the door to a little corner store, just across from the Ice Cream Parlor, in the historical downtown area. “Sweets, Treats, and Meats” The place was called, for it’s menu; Candies, baked goods, and around lunch and dinner time, sandwiches piled high with more meat and cheese than any old nasty Subway back home.
The smell of fresh baked bread, doughnuts, and cookies came wafting out to welcome me. No wonder Grandpa came here so often, I could practically live here just for how good it smelled!
As I went up to the old diner-style bar, I sat down on the closest stool, ordered a black coffee, and a big jelly filled doughnut. It was too damn early to be on a goose chase for a lost ring. Grandpa probably left it in a pants pocket, and would’ve found it in the bottom of the dryer by now. I needed my caffeine, immediately if not sooner.


At the end of the bar, near the corner, there was the staple of every small town, crowded around coffee mugs just like mine; The Coffee Club, where all the old guys were every morning, typically with my Grandfather in attendance.
One of them caught my eye. There was a grotesque socket where his left eye used to be. As I stared, he was whispering jokes to the other elderly men, far too quietly for me hear. The man rose to his feet as he worked up to the punch-line of his joke, and he threw his arms to the air as he delivered, laughing as he did so. I couldn’t understand him, but his friends did, and they roared with laughter, but he never broke contact with me, with his remaining eye. “I never planned to see you here!” Said the man with one eye, as he laughed at his own joke. He gestured for me to move on over to join them, his voice cracked and straining over the laughter.
“What?” I called back, sounding more confused than I really was. Still, I moved on over to join them.
“You’re the Sanders‘ boy, right?” He asked, still chuckling quietly. “Timothy? From the farm just up the way? It’s been eight years, but I know that face! You just look like your dad, just like your old dad.”
“No, my names Gary, not Timothy.” I replied calmly.
The old man gave me a strange look, a mixture of confusion and suspicion. He thought I was playing with him, but the other old men knew better. They started to poke fun at him, and call him old.

After I finished my cup, I had to interrupt. “Hey, gentlemen… Gentlemen?” I asked, the first time much too softly for them to hear. After the second ‘gentlemen’ they turned to look at me, not one of them saying anything. I cleared my throat, as they gave me some strange looks. “My grandfather, Harry? Do you know him?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Another old man said, taking a long draught from the now-cool coffee. “What about him?”
“He lost Normas’ ring, did anyone happen to find it?”
A chorus of ‘Nuh-uhs’ and ‘nopes’ in low tones were my only response. After asking the kid behind the counter the same thing, he gave me ‘nope’ as well.

So, I decided to drive back to Grandpa’s, and search the deer trails. My chances of finding the ring out here in the dirt were little to none, and the wind was making it feel a whole lot colder than usual for this time of year. I knew the trails well enough to feel OK going alone, but strangely, I could not shake a strange feeling of dread. Many years ago, my father had taken me down them, to kill one of the very creatures that had made the trail, just as Grandpa had his. Like many families in rural New York, it was tradition; A trial of manhood, if you will.
Searching for hours and hours, thinking of how I would one day take my son through these woods, I came across a broken stone wall next to a pasture. The damage wasn’t too bad, but there were a lot of broken stones, several split in half. Just above the wrecked fence, was a very old deer stand on an even older oak tree, with a worse-for-wear plank ladder nailed to the side of it.
I knew this pasture, and this stand; I had fired my first gun here, hitting my first deer dead in the heart. Almost like I’d done it before, dad had said.
I crossed the field, trying to figure out what had gone on here. Some of the grass was trampled, carving a path through the tall grass. I came across a trail of blood, probably from a bullet wound, after about ten minutes. I looked around the edges of the pasture, for signs of hunters. My grandfather still let his friends’ children hunt out here, now that there were no cattle.
I had come across where it had lay for a while, and deceased. But what concerned me even more, was that the blood, part-way along the trail, had started to turn brown, and had been spread a lot thinner across the grass, as if it had been older. There was no larger pool of blood, where the kill had been laying. This made no sense, and the grass beyond this point was undisturbed, to boot!
I went back towards the stand, maybe I’d find a clue about this blood over there.
As I looked up again, I saw in the gaps between the planks of the platform a collection of glass jars.
So, I took a deep breath, looked up at the noon sunlight, and hoped the planks held as I ascended.

When I got up to the tree stand, not only did I notice Mason Jars full of piss, but two very nice hunting rifles, some ammunition, binoculars, and a few other hunting tools laying there. Nobody would just abandon this much gear, and wander too far away from here.
“Hello!” I called out to the forest, the wood of the distant trees echoing my voice in an odd way. “Hello! Is anyone out there?”

I heard a strange grunt, definitely animal, but it was a little ways away, towards a creek I could see from here. I did not see anyone or anything in that direction, but several more grunts and odd noises came from that direction, so, I left the stuff behind- It wasn’t in me to steal, especially from my Grandfathers’ friends- and I walked to the creek, slowly, carefully, keeping my ears open for the constant grunting and growling noises.

I still see the scene every time I close my eyes.
There were three men, splayed out on the gravel and mud along a creek, the mud and stones covered in fresh blood, some of the blood running into the stream. The corpses were unidentifiable, dressed in remains of hunting camouflage. Chunks of flesh I couldn’t identify- Organs, muscle, skin, bits of scalp and hair- were lying amidst the stones. It looked like they’d been torn apart by animals.

The growling was very close, but my stomach was turning, my head spinning and pounding. I fell to my knees, puking up the remains of my breakfast. As I turned my head to the side, I noticed a pair of very wobbly legs stumbling towards me. The guttural noises came with them. The legs and sounds belonged to a child, too old to be walking in such a manner, but it looked like whatever killed those guys had gone after this child. There was nothing remaining, just oozing flesh, twisted muscle, and a skeleton grin, lidless eyes locked onto mine with a predatorily glare. I don’t know how long we stared at one another.
The child quit staring me down, his or her growls and groans turning into loud screams. It struggled to cross the blood slicked stones, falling flat on its back and cracking its skull open.
I didn’t look back to see if it was moving, I sprinted as fast as I could, dashing through the shallow stream as quickly as my feet would carry me. I ran, and I ran, until I realized I was not being chased.
Thankfully I had run in the direction of my Grandfathers’ farmhouse, but I went inside to find the house empty. I called, and, probably loud enough for the neighbors to hear me a couple miles away, but my grandfather never came.
I found Grandma Normas’ ring on the kitchen counter. I lifted up, holding it to the window, and I saw dark brown blood on it.
In the bedroom above me, there was the EAS system broadcasting through what I can only guess was the radio.
That is exactly where I was, when I first learned of the scourge that could put an end to us all. That, sir, is where I was when I realized the world was ending.




EDIT: Not sure if if the gory part of this qualifies for mature or not; Tagged it Mature to be sure. If not, please PM me otherwise so I can edit that tag off.

[~N~]

Title: Giving a...

"'I never planned to see you here!' said the man with one eye as he laughed at his own joke."

Fuck.

Who comes up with this shit? I thought, staring down at the prompt. The room was a humid 89 degrees at 1:47 pm in the afternoon. It sat above the cafeteria and below the black flat roof that gathered every last ray of the sun's scorching June heat.

I was tired, and it was near the end of the school year. Why did I have to take this fucking test at all? And what kind of uninspired neanderthal came up with this prompt? Christ.

Stupid test for graduation. Apparently I had to pass this fucker to get my diploma. Wouldn't even let me take it in summer school; that humorless tight-ass who walks around with his pants pulled up too high said I had to take it now, even if I was already taking summer school for about three other classes.

Such bullshit.

And what was I supposed to do with this? They said write an "essay". One of those new fucking requirements for the state tests they give us, apparently. Just one more fucking test to give me before I graduate. Always one more. I hate this place so much I could vomit all over this test right now and not give a shit if they can read a thing I write.

Ha.

Like I'm going to write anything anyway. They can just kiss my ass. I got outta this thing two years in a row and they keep trying to get me to take it. Persistent, I'll give 'em that.

Best part is they say that the teachers are gonna be judged based on my response to this thing. LOL. Just wait till they see what I have to give them.

The paper made that loud crackling crinkling sound that standardized test paper makes when you slide it across the desk and then crumple it up in your hands, combined with the "dift, dift, dift" it makes when you toss it on the floor with a smirk, waiting for Miss Hiller's response to that shit.

"Richard Fargo! Pick that up right now, or I'm going to call Mr. Brandt up to this room and have you suspended!"

"Fine, suspend me," I retorted, "you bitch."

"What'd you say to me, young man?!" she called back, standing up.

God, what a middle-aged wooden old bag she was. You could tell she hadn't gotten laid in years, or if she had, she wouldn't even know how to fucking do it right. It'd be like fucking a closet. I shuddered at the thought of this troll bitch getting any at all. She was built like a man. It'd be easier to convince someone to fuck a bear over this woman.

"PICK. THAT. UP. YOUNG MAN," she repeated, her whole broad frame shaking with each deliberate pointed push of her finger against the surface of her desk. Thick rimmed glasses, hair out of the '50's, a purple polka-dot dress that was so conservative it made a paperbag look fashionable.

I bet she was as hard and dry as a tomb.

"Fuck," I muttered, screeching back the chair on the dirty tile floor. Fucking schools, cheap ass buildings with no air-conditioning. The whole room stank like puberty and musty sweat on a hot summer day.

I couldn't even breath in without tasting the stench on my tongue, let alone concentrate long enough to write a fucking sentence for this thing, let alone write FIVE FUCKING PARAGRAPHS.

"This is such BULLSHIT," I said outloud.

"Yeah, well, if you did this when you were supposed to back in TENTH GRADE, we wouldn't have to be here today!" she called back at me.

"Fuck you," I grumbled, again, under my breath, head down, dragging my feet to pick the test up.

"Keep it up, Mister. I'm writing you up," she replied in her old bitch snippy attitude. "You can be sure of that!"

"I gotta go to the bathroom," I said suddenly, a plain look on my face that conveyed that I wanted to be anywhere but here.

"Hold it," she snapped back, sitting back down without even acknowledging my existence.

Bitch.

"I've gotta go bad," I whined, "I'm gonna shit all over myself if I don't go now," I replied, trying to sound like I meant it.

"Watch your language. Maybe you should've thought about that before we started," she glared at me with as much sympathy in her eyes as a firing squad. "I can't let you go. Test rules. You'll just have to hold it," she shrugged pitilessly.

"But I have to gooooo!" I whined again, pathetically. I didn't give a damn how I looked, just so long as I could get out of this sweltering fucking room.

"Je-sus!" she said irritably. "Hold on."

I smirked. I didn't even think that would've worked.

She picked up the phone and talked to someone else on the line. "Yeah, I'm here with the wonderful Mr. Fargo. He says he needs to go. We need someone to escort him and I can't do it." Pause. "Okay. Ten minutes? Okay." Pause. "Thanks, Brian."

She hung the phone up and glared at me with those beady eyes that probably never knew a moment's pleasure in their entire life.

"Mr. Ross is on his way. Ten minutes. Think you can hold it till then?" she inquired with a special tang of bitterness.

What a bitch.

I slumped down in my seat and absentmindedly stuffed the test answer sheet--still crumpled in a ball--into my shorts pocket and proceeded to stare at the desk. My attention focused on some grooves that read "MATH SUCKS" in jagged letters. There was the faded scribbling of "jimmy" on the lower end. Scratches. Parts of the surface chipped off. Typical half-broken, worn-out public school bullshit desk.

"Mr. Fargo?" came the masculine voice at the door. Inside the frame stood the 6'2" build of Mr. Ross, who must've weighed some 250. He had a bit of a gut, but not much. He could pull you down if he wanted to. I'd seen him slam students against lockers. Must've been in his late thirties. Spiked hair, clean cut, shaved, brown eyes, built, did Weight Training club. Solid fucker.

"You need to go to the bathroom?" he asked, his voice full of skepticism.

"yeah" I muttered and got up out of my seat, head down, shuffling towards him and out the door.

"We'll be back soon," he said to Miss Hiller. I proceeded to do the slow prison walk to the shitty school bathroom stall for boys on the second floor.

"Hurry it up," he commanded. I looked over my shoulder but didn't say anything. Last thing I wanted was for him to shove my face into a locker. Even if I complained, I'd seen him get away with it before.

We reached the bathroom three minutes later. Longest three minutes of my life. I slumped inside and he followed me in.

I stopped and turned, looking at him with unchallenging, blank eyes. "You gonna follow me into the stall?"

He smirked, "No. Just making sure you're not doing anything you're not supposed to be doing."

If he only knew.

"Fine, whatever," I retorted, sliding down to the only stall that actually locked -- the handicapped one.

I walked in side, shucked down my shorts that were barely on anyway, followed by my boxers, and smiled for the first time as I took my time taking the smelliest dump I could.

And that's when I pulled out that crumpled answer sheet.

Finally, some use outta of this, I thought. Smiling broadly, I stood up, and then reached around wiped my ass with that piece of paper, grinning at the brown streaks of my handiwork on the crumpled paper.

Let 'em score that. Wiping for real after, I flushed the toilet and pulled up my boxers and then my shorts up enough so they would stay on, and then walked out, keeping the paper folded right so I didn't get my own hands dirty and carried it back to the classroom with Mr. Ross walking beside me. He never even saw it.

Walking into the room with a barely concealed smirk on my face, I slouched back to my desk, unfolded the paper, glimpsed my handiwork, and then squinted and turned my nose up.

"Miss Hiller? I can't write on this. Guess I'm just not gonna be able to do this today," I said, standing up and gesturing to the crumpled, stained answer sheet.

Her eyes narrowed as she stood up and paced back towards me. Clip, clip, clip, old flat heels on tile.

She reached my desk and glanced down at it.

The expression on her face was priceless.

[AlyKun17]

Diary Entry: Winter '95
((My verision of a dairy page I found))

The wind was ice cold freezing as I went walking out into the night. Bare feet, nothing to eat, no place to go. I never imagined I would be able to live this long in this condition. Winter winds were coming in and soon it would be snowing. I've always wanted to touch the snow but he said I couldn't. I would see kids play around, jump up and down, make men out of snow and even throw snowballs at each other, It all seemed fun. But.. He said I couldn't.

As I walked in the inn to spend the last pennies of my stolen money, I could smell the sweet ham that they roasted. It was winter after all; Ham, cakes, cheese, and all those mouth watering food laid down before everyone's tables. I always wanted to have a dinner such as that...but he said i couldn't. Taking my seat on the bar counter I saw the bartender smile at me. He was nice, seemed kind enough to give a stranger a nice smile, but then again maybe it was part of the job description. He finished giving the one eyed man next to me a beer when we approached me and then asked.
"I don't suppose you'd want a beer too" He said smiling.
"Guess not." I said simply as I checked my pocket for the last of my money. "I just couldn't afford something like that." I took out my dollar and 10 pennies. The dollar was something I picked up while walking on the street. People these days just throw their money everywhere.
I could see the bartender look at me with his smile not waning. "Well what do you know, Just enough for a good'ol fashion roasted ham, cheese, and baked potato." He put some 10 dollars when my 10 pennies were. he then whispered to me "Keep the dollar." And so I did.
The bartender got the money and called out to the chef and then i heard a "Got it!" from what seemed to be their kitchen. He turned back to me and smiled again but he said nothing and then proceeded with wiping the cups of the bar. He wore a simple shirt and pants wouldn't really think he was a bartender, but i guess he wasn't going to stay long here.

I turned around as I waited for my food. There weren't a lot of people here. Everyone was with their families, friends eating dinner and waiting for the snow. All that were in the inn was a one eyed man sitting next to me, a fat lady to my left and the bartender. I bet the innkeeper was in a room getting ready to close. As i turned my attention to the lady to my left I see she was crying. Tears fell to the table as she howled even more as I noticed it. She then looked up at me and I, figuring how the bartender smiled at me, smiled at her. She began howling it out again.
"She's Georgia, She's always here every night." the bartenders whispered to me he leaned closer "she's got no family, no future, no money, no nothing." He whispered. "And she just cries it all out like she owns all the problems in the world." he then recollected himself wiping up the cups again.
"no family, no future, no money, no nothing.." sounds like me i thought to myself. As I thought of all I had been through, all i was deprived off, i felt sorry for myself, I could then feel my eyes welling up. I looked up to the ceiling to stop them from flowing but one tear fell down.

I was then grabbed by the shoulders by the one eyed man.

"Joshua" His eye squinted, red obviously drunk "I never planned to see you here!" said the man with one eye as he laughed at his own joke. It was either of two things. either he was drunk and thought of me a someone else or he just was in for a good joking around. He shook me and smiled at me. His teeth were yellow, and i don't think they were even real teeth. His hair was messy, clothes torn out body all dirty but he was smiling. I assumed he was drunk.
"please sir." I said as i felt uncomfortable with his grip "You are drunk and-" he slapped me cutting me off.
"I'm not drunk!" he said pushing me to the fat lady. "Can't an old one eyed-man have a good laugh before he hits the bucket!?" he said slamming his fists on the table "The problem with you people is that you think that Just cause I'm old, No family, No future, No money, no nothing is that i can't smile and have fun!" He turned to me. His eye staring down into me "well listen here you little..."
I figured he couldn't think of anything to call me
"I'm not drunk! I'm just an old fellow who apparently has nothing and yet has the guts to smile!" He shouted. "I may not be the riches man out there but F*ck! I do give a d*mn about it! At least I got the guts to smile to strangers! I ain't afraid of no death! In fact i'm making my hell of a life worth while so that i would have no regrets when death comes and gobbles up my soul!" He then pointed at me with his index finger , eye staring into mine. "So F*ck you for saying I'm drunk!" He then dropped on the table.
I was nervous, The man wasn't moving I was about to touch him when the bartender grabbed my hand and whispered no.

"That's Old man pete, been here for 3 years since his wife run off with his fortune."
"That's harsh."
"I know, considering the fact that he gave everything to that wife of his"
I stayed silent
"But, he's happy." He paused. "genuinely"
"But he's got nothing he's gonna die."
"but he's happy." The bartender smiled at me.

The ding of the bell suddenly woke me up back to reality. And i saw a platter of fine ham, cheese, and baked potato before me. I offered some to the bartender, he politely declined. so, I dug in. I savored every flavor of that ham. It was delicious! I scarfed down the baked potato and chomped on the cheese. Dinner never tasted this good! I licked the plate and didn't really care what they would say to that. All I cared about was that I was full and had energy! I smiled at the bartender and jumped down the stool and headed outside. It was still freezing but the only difference was, I was smiling and walking bare foot on the ice cold pavement like a boy with new shoes to show off.

I sat down on the bench just a few blocks from the inn. I didn't really mind if it was freezing, All i could think of was how happy I was that i was alive. I ran around the block waiting for the snow to fall. I kicked some piles of leaves that the cleaning people raked up, I jumped up and down trying to climb the tall ever greens and finally I saw down on the bench looking up at the sky.

The star began to fill the black blanket that covered the world. Little by little I could see shinning dots in the distance. I started counting them as I felt my body weaken. Cold freezing winds blew to me again but i continued counting hoping that a snow flake would fall on me as I did. The wind got stronger howling like the fat lady in the inn. The freezing winds enveloped me so i gathered myself and closed my eyes.

I got my winter dinner, and now I waited for snow. I could feel it... Only a few seconds left and Its coming. I know it is....

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sorry if it sucks. I was looking for some inspiration and stumbled upon my old stash of papers. Then I remembered when i was in the US. I found a piece of paper crumpled and wedged into the bench. I forgot where I was then but I kept that diary page. I kinda retold the story but in my way making it a bit fictional but I thought Is still there.

Thanks for reading!

[\/£in]

To See Only You.

The old brown patch seemed to only collect dust as it lay before the grand mirror atop the mahogany dresser. Resting for days and never planned for use again, but fate had its tricks and with its tricks it always had a purpose or motive to change what may or may not welcome it. Just as the stringed leather eye ware of lesser fashion was tattered and worn, so was its owner.

He sat on the bed adjacent to the mirror staring blankly into his own wrinkled reflection. Gray hair and eye once blue, now darkened in contrast to what he had seen in his life. Questions of what he could of been and should of been weighing on the past mistakes, always tipped at the end of the deadly spear by wishful desires to change it all. Was the mirror a curse or was it a portal rippling the visage he now bore? Either way, he could never be proud of what looked back at him. The reflection of a saddened man.

Cutting down his upper right forehead and arching down across the socket of his eye was the scar, the highlight of his existence. A constant reminder of the lost blue orb that once centered that shadowed cradle. Forced to live the second half of his life seeing only what lay on the path of a tunneled left eye vision. Of all the memories he had come to store in his mind, one of the eyes that made it all possible had long departed. He relaxed back as his mind began to ponder the sights once beheld.

In the 70's he raised a gun in service of the United States, a conflict against gorillas in Vietnam. Many a time he dodged bullets and equally spread them out in a battle for his life and for an illusion of freedom as he would say. Once, he even saved many men from their untimely death as he quickly spotted a Viet Cong ambush waiting to send them all to the grave. His bravery on the battlefield earned him a medal and later when shrapnel nearly crippled him, he was awarded the purple heart. His eyes showed him the fear of man, the death of man, and allowed him to see that even in the darkest of times, hope exists.

After returning home to the states, he met Alice. A beautiful waitress at the Far Skies Cafe. The two fell as fast as rain. An angel to him, in which he was thankful to lay eyes upon. Before long they were engaged and then later married and before soon he even found himself hearing words that brought more fear to his heart than "Viet Cong". The words "I'm pregnant."

He watched with those same eyes as his beautiful baby girl was delivered. In his life he had heard many cries, some of which were cries of death, but when Sarah was born and her lungs cried from the air cutting into her lungs for the first time, he even cried himself. It goes without saying that he loved his daughter and even loved Alice, but love couldn't hold him down.

On a sunny afternoon driving to work, a truck jack knifed and in its catastrophic mayhem, it brought an equally cataclysmic outcome. A projectile of glass took his eye and the wreak claimed his legs.

From that day on, he only found despair in what he had lost and soon pulled himself into seclusion. Alice couldn't make him smile and Sarah couldn't make him laugh. The days were filled in tears and finally his beautiful angel and their cherub flew from the cloud. Again he felt another loss, he lost the ones he loved.

The years were filled in him trying to forget the past and avoid Alice and Sarah. The pain he felt for them leaving was transformed into a hatred he seemed to make himself hold. For twenty years he tried not to think of them, but thoughts of calling or seeing them again always seemed to make him rethink the way he was. However, he never strayed from his path of seclusion until the day he received a call that Alice died from cancer.

More pain and more hate, he didn't even have the chance to tell her goodbye. Still fearful of facing his baby girl, he didn't even attend the wedding.

Finally, he picked up the phone and dialed her number. When Sarah answered with an innocent hello, oblivious to the man that placed the call, he had to forcefully push the words out. He asked her to meet him.

3pm at the Far Skies Cafe, he nervously waited in the same booth Alice had served him that cold glass of tea several years ago. What would he say to her? Would he be able to explain to her that he was sorry? Would she listen to him or would she just tell him to get out of her life forever? So many questions.

Yet, no answers. Sarah never came. In fact, a tragic accident took her life.

"ENOUGH!!!," he screamed as he shook his head from the sight of the mirror.

These weren't just memories played into his head, the mirror had become a window into the past. A recap of all things he had seen.

"You always was frightful of looking at reality."

He turned quickly to see Alice standing beside the bed, nude yet not embarrassed. Just as she had once resembled an angel and full of love, now she bored the wings of one also. She sat down beside him and smiled.

"I never planned to see you here," said the man with one eye as he laughed at his own joke.

"You were not a bad man in life Robert," she assured as she leaned in to lye her head on his shoulder. "Your fate is with me and Sarah in the heavens, not fire."

"Still," he reasoned. "How could any god accept a broken man like me?"

"I don't think you're broken," another figure appeared. This time a young woman, Sarah, almost mirroring the look of her mother.

Robert raised his hand to his eye and then lowered it to the stub of one leg.

"I pushed you all away, where I couldn't walk, I made you both walk away instead."

Two women, mother and daughter, opened the bedroom door and entered swiftly moving towards the mirror. They seemed to pay no attention to the three occupants already inside. Ones hand moved to the eye patch and lifted it up closer to look at, before she lay it down in the same spot. Both of the women proceeded to groom in the mirror.

"What did Uncle Robert do for a living?"

"I don't know," the other answered sadly.

"He was your brother, how could you not know?"

The woman slammed her hands roughly onto the dresser and after a moment of looking downward with her auburn hair falling beside her cheeks, the small outline of a tear could be seen.

"I'm sorry mom," the younger woman softly caressed her mothers back. "He's in a better place now right? With his wife and daughter..."

"I never told my sister how much I loved her and I never even got to know my niece," Robert sobbed.

"They know..." Sarah replied.

Just as the younger woman left the room, the other woman picked the eye patch up once more. She kissed it and lay it down saying the words "I'll miss you." Before she too exited the room.

"Dad," Sarah beckoned. "If you wish to see your funeral..."

"No," Robert shook his head. "I want to go on, to be with my angels."

"First," Alice stated as she waved her hands over his legs. "You need to walk."

Just as the words left her lips, Roberts legs were restored.

"Now your eye," his beautiful love smiled.

"Wait!," he plead. "I only need one eye."

Sarah looked to her father in wonder, "Wouldn't you like to see with both eyes again?"

Robert smiled. "I only need this one eye to see how beautiful my life really was, to see the things I overlooked, and most of all...to see you. I will go on with a single eye."

The women smiled and took his hands into their own. "Welcome home daddy."

[P.K.]

A fathers love

"I never planned to see you here!" Said the man with one eye as he laughed at his own joke.

"Yes hilarious" I said with a sigh. The one eyed man in question was my father james debreas delofiges. I was sherem jarem delofiges. How I hated that name...

"Hey was up? you used to love that joke"

"Ya when I was like two!" I pointed out "And considering the fact that you have repeated the same joke over my life time about 300 times does not help"

"I haven't said it THAT many times".

"Oh?" I asked raising an eyebrow then held up a finger "There was that time in the hospital while I was getting my broken leg looked at and you were flirting with the nurse" I held up a second finger "Then there was the time where you were in the Hospital after the car wreck flirting with a nurse, AGAIN" I raised a third but at this time my father raised his hand with an okay okay look. I shut my mouth and put my hand on the spangles white table with lots of yellow and red spangle markings all over it.

"Alright so maybe I DID say it a few times"

I gave a light snort and carefully grabbed my straw and put it in my mouth sucking the sweet strawberry lemon mix smoothy into my mouth.

James scratched just below his empty eye socket in thought. he often did that when he was trying to come up with something to say to his daughter. I shivered at the sight of it.

James had lost his eye in a shoot out at his old home shortly after he had gotten married to my mother. I wasn't born then but mother used to tell me that the sight had been horrible and my father had been brave. Now though she would have told me my father had been dumb and should have stayed out of it.

"Well..." My father said after a particularly long pause of silence.

I simply kept watching him while slowly sucking on my straw. The silence stretched on and my father shifted in his seat.

"Look Sherem..." He said softly "I know you might have wanted to stay with your mum but..."

"I know" I mumbled over my straw "she's sick" I looked down at the table.

I heard my father sigh and get up as our number was called.

James was a large burly man some one you would call if you needed help with a large hall of needed something big moved... and that’s basically what he did. Me I was a tall girl a lot thicker in the arms and legs then most other girl and stronger to. Guess I got that from him. I got my long brown hair and green eyes from my mother though she had been a beauty and thats why my father had fallen for her. They had been happy together for a few years but after mother's older brother died she had become more angry at the world and less and less beautiful until finally she divorced father for what I still did not understand. She somehow also got custody over me though father fought as hard as he could to get it himself.

I know my father felt bad that he had not, Living with my mom was hard and it had only gotten worse until it got to the point where she finally lost it and had to be taken care of by someone else... other then me. Margret ramel sharen ... was not herself and probably never would be.

A tray slid in front of my view with my chicken sandwich on it. "There you go sweety" my Father said softly sitting down across from me with his own food.

Grabbing my sandwich I unwrapped it and took a bite as the silence proceed... thus started my new year with my father.

Weeks later I found myself in a little school with a lot of...punks. Though they left me along for the most part I could see some of them watching me even when they thought I didn't see them. The girls were no better than the punks most seemed to be goth wearing black eye paint and dark cloth. The teachers were less than peanuts and not even edible. Why my father had sent me here I did not know and did not care at this point.

My study's where good unless interrupted which was the case most of the time. Father tapping on the door asking if I wanted to help him fix something or go to the store with him. My reply was always a curt “no” while staring straight at the book or page in front of me. My door would then shut quietly without another word and leave me in silence while I finished up my work. On one of these particular days I pulled out my ipad and turned up my music after attaching it to some small speakers.

Nickelback weaved out of the speakers as I tapped the tip of my pencil in time with the beat. I had to get this assignment done by tomorrow and I was not even halfway through yet but that would be okay as this assignment was as easy as well... eating pie. It wasn't as easy to make however so I never understood why people said it’s as easy as pie.

That night I slept well unknowing that my father had peeked into my room and then tucked me in nicely before retreating to his own bed. It was not till the next morning I noticed that had a small gift next to my head. I looked at the small box that fit in my hand so easily. I first looked at one side and then the other. It was a small glossy black box with a pink ribbon wrapped around it and tied into a neat bow.

I was reluctant to open it and ruin the perfectly made bow but with a small sigh
I resigned myself to pull it off and see what was inside. My curiosity getting the better of me I pulled the ribbon out and took it off before slowly opening the lid and peeking in.

I could not believe my eyes. Inside set a thin golden chain wrapped preciously around a small clear crystal that had been carved delicately into a fox. Picking it up in reverence I carefully studied the fine work and wondered how much it would have cost someone to have this done... and why?

Pondering this more I realized that it could have only been james... it dawned on me, And maybe I know this but it never hit me this way before, That I was pushing him away and it must hurt. I thought on this more and felt more and more like a horrible daughter. Just because of what happened in the past did not make my father a horrible man it was not his fault. So why did I treat him so? Maybe I was mad because in my opinion he didn’t fight hard enough to take custody of me or had mom just rubbed off on me? I didn’t know but I resolved right there to change that small gap I had made between me and my father.

Getting up I set the necklace on the nightstand carefully and went about getting dressed and packing my school work. Stuffing everything into my backpack I picked up the crystal fox and gently placed it around my neck where it rested cool and present against my skin. I then left my lonely room and made my way to the kitchen to where I know my father would be making breakfast for himself since I had never bothered to eat with him.

Picking my way through the living room I could hear my father's rough voice singing in a low tone as I reached the door I watched him flip over an egg before slipping the rest of the way into the kitchen. “Dad?”

James turned around but before he could say anything two long arms wrapped around him. Surprised he looked down at his daughter “I love you” was all I said to him. Silence fell over us both as we both just basked each others loving presence. I felt my father wrapped his arms tightly around me holding me close I also felt a warm soft tear hit my cheek and I realized he was crying but when I looked up he was smiling his one good eye looking happier than I ever remember it being. I reached one hand up and pulled out the small crystal fox and he beamed at me looking proudly down at his daughter... me. he pulled me closer and kissed my forehead with a gentle loving cress.

~~~~

A short story from a novice ~

[Housemaster]

Great narratives so far guys, hope to see more as the month progresses!

[G]

Based loosely on the roleplay All in (dis)Order.

Untitled.

Serenity Isis Mae Sensibility winced as her young attendant yanked the strings of the corset tighter, closing an inescapable cage around her ribcage, crushing her lungs still further, until it felt like they must remould themselves to fit amongst her other organs.
“Mo-” Sera panted, struggling to get the words out, “-ther! I can... hardly breathe in this thing!”
“Well, what's more important?” the imposing figure of Queen Sensibility responded haughtily, fixing her with beady, probing eyes, “The ability to breathe, or maintaining a high level of decorum and style amongst ones' subjects? A simple question, I think.”

The young princess sighed, knowing from her mothers' tone that there was no point arguing further. She would be wearing this horrible dress tonight, whether she liked it or not. The dress itself was stunning, really, a finely made affair in multiple shades of purple, a strong imperial colour, or so her mother said. But the whalebone corset, however pretty its lavender material might have been, however slim and sleek it made her torso look, was not worth the discomfort – not to Sera, at any rate.

Regardless, an hour later, when the younger Sensibility crossed the high, arcing bridge that led from the palace into the visibly shabbier area where her mothers' subjects – her subjects, one day, dwelled, she still wore the dress. At least the time she'd had to prepare had allowed her to master the short, shallow breaths she was required to take if she was to avoid fainting. A trumpet blared from somewhere just ahead, and Sera craned her neck, trying to see past the guards that flanked her on all sides. As she reached the uppermost point of the arc, she caught her first glimpse of the town below, bedecked in brightly coloured banners and stalls, the streets crowded with townspeople out for the days revels. For today was the Fae Festival, the one day of the year when the citizens of Serroc were allowed to be themselves, and they rejoiced in it.

Long had the city lived under Sensibility's iron-fisted rule, oppressed and controlled to an extent that, had they been permitted to explore other lands, and known the possibilities of freedom they might have, the city would have found abhorrent. When the city's loyalty had begun to waver, some five years ago now, Sensibility had put in place the festival, a day where anyone might act as they pleased (in a controlled environment, of course) so as to keep the peace amongst her people. Of course, there was still a high level of control – the streets were rife with Orderlies, the 'peace keepers' of the city, who acted as judge, jury and executioner to any they felt were endangering the order of Serroc. Still, the people did not let it ruin their high spirits. Comparative to normal, they had freedom, today, and they would not let that happiness be dampened.

Refusing the carriage that had been prepared for her, much to the displeasure of her guards, Sera walked amongst the people, smiling at the grubby hands that reached out to stroke the folds of her dress, smearing it with grime. “I wish to stop here,” she told her watchers, when they reached a small eatery, its doors flung open to the outside air, “I am hungry.”

Ever obedient, her guards stopped, arranging themselves protectively around her as she sat down. She didn't have to wait long to order – in an instant, a waiter had appeared, beaming and bobbing his head at her politely.
“An honour, ma'am, an absolute honour!” he was saying, “And you shall have anything you like, free of charge, or course!”
“Of course not! I'm more than happy to pa...” Sera's response was cut short as she looked up at the man, stifling a gasp. He had a young, handsome face, almost princely in it's looks, save for one blemish – his right eye was completely missing, leaving a deep, awful looking cavity beneath his brow, the skin a mess of pink and white scar tissue.
“I.. I'm sorry,” Sera fumbled with an apology for staring, then, blushing, stood, saying she needed to relieve herself, and could she please be shown to the bathroom. One of her guards stood, as though to follow her, but she stopped him in his tracks with a sharp look.
“I don't think it will be necessary for you to accompany me to the ladies' room, Victor,” she chided him, “Or do you think there is a knife wielding maniac lurking behind the plant pot, there?”

He sat, muttering something about duty and responsibility, but Sera ignored him, following the one eyed waiter to a small alcove in the back of the shop, where a water closet and basin were shielded by a heavy curtain.
She thanked him politely.

A moment later, chaos descended.
No sooner had she stepped out from behind the curtain, a hand snaked its' way around her face, covering her mouth and stifling her scream before she had time to release it. Her eyes were wide, staring in horror at the four dead guards who sat at the table where only a moment ago she had been with them. She struggled against her captor for a moment, then something was forced over her head, and her vision went black.

After what seemed like hours, the carriage that Sera had been bundled into finally stopped. They had travelled an unmeasurable distance, full of twists and never-ending turns and the princess' whole body ached from the countless bumps and rattles of the cart as it seemed to leave any kind of manufactured road behind, going cross god knows what country. She had absolutely no idea where she was, and even when the bag that had kept her blinded for the journey was removed, the sparse woodland around her did nothing to help her sense of direction. She tried to take in as much of her surroundings as she could, but the way her body trembled and her heart raced with fear clouded her mind, making clear thinking impossible. Who were her captors? And why... though really, it was obvious. She was the daughter of a vicious tyrant of a ruler, and though Sensibility had thought the festival had quieted the rebellious ideas of her subjects, she had obviously been wrong.
“Oh princess!” A voice thick with mock surprise addressed her, somehow familiar, and she spun to face the speaker, “Whatever brings you to Hyde Forest? I never planned to see you here!” said the man with one eye as he laughed at his own joke. Serenity, unsurprisingly, didn't find it all that amusing.
“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded of the false waiter, his mocking, self-satisfied smile now so different from the snivelling, deferential one he had worn in the eatery, “Who are you?”
“I am Alexander,” he replied easily, his voice growing more businesslike as he sunk into a courteous bow, “Leader of the rebellion, freedom fighter, and peace bringer to the peoples' of Serroc. It is my mission to free every poor soul from Sensibility's tyranny, and you, Serenity Isis Mae Sensibility, are going to help me.”

Serenity couldn't help it – it was she who giggled now, a disbelieving, incredulous laugh.
“And how in the world am I going to do that?” she asked Alexander sceptically, “I suppose you think I have some kind of sway over my mothers' actions. Well, I'm sorry to inform you, but she listens no more to me than she does to any other of her subjects.”
Alexander answered with a sly grin, “Ahh, princess, you have me all wrong. I do not intend to change the queen's point of view. What need is there of that, when I can change yours.”

-

Miles away, in the city of Serroc, a bell began to toll, a low, mournful ring that echoed through every street and into every home, and the revellers all froze in their festivities, heads tilted to the sky. There was a moment where time seemed frozen, Orderlies and citizens alike stopped in their tracks, some wondering, some waiting. Then all hell broke loose.
Among the crowd, hundreds of people shed their cloaks, revealing weapons previously concealed, and lunged themselves at any Orderly unfortunate enough to be within arms reach. It was a massacre. Before the self proclaimed peace keepers had time to realise what was happening, most had been slaughtered, quickly and efficiently, by Alexanders' conveniently placed men, and the ones that survived the initial onslaught were too few to resist the tides of citizens they had thought well kept in fear and obedience. All had been waiting for this moment, and even those not in the know about the rebellion were quick to recognise that this moment might be the one to change everything; anyone able and courageous enough took up arms and joined the rebels as they began to march together, toward the high, arcing bridge that led to Sensibility's citadel – and freedom.

-

“So you see, you are as much oppressed by her as anyone else?” Alexander concluded, his eyes fixed on Sera's. She sat in silence for a moment, and then nodded numbly. All that Alexander had told her in the last little while was hard to take in. She had long known, been able to see, the way that her mother suppressed the fae people, restricting their use of their magical abilities and cruelly punishing, even murdering, those who opposed her. Long had she been aware that the Orderlies were little more than mercenaries, inflicting any cruel punishment they desired, more often then not on falsified charges. But what Alexander had just told her.... Serenity could not believe it! She had never known her father, only heard what her mother had chosen to tell her, that her father was a liar, scum, not worth knowing about. He had betrayed her, the woman told her daughter, betrayed them both. Now Alexander told her the truth – her father had been a fae. Sixteen years ago, when Sera was born, she had been surrounded in a hazy white glow – the first and most obvious sign of a fae child. Though her mother had loved the man deeply, even then she had harboured a fearful mistrust of the magical people, and had forbidden the man from performing any magic in her presence. To find that her daughter was fae! This had been more than she could bear, and in her anger, she killed the man she claimed to love, forbade her fae subjects from performing the magics that were their birthright, and swore to never let her daughter know of her heritage, or her power. It was a shocking revelation, to know that she had been lied to her whole life, that in fact, it was largely because of her that the people of Serroc had been so oppressed, and perhaps, some would say, she was being too hasty in believing Alexander's words. But something in the one eyed mans' voice, in his manner, made her certain he was telling the truth.

“So,” Alexander continued, “All I ask of you is this. Remember what I have told you today. Remember who you are, when you become queen. You have a responsibility not only to your people, but to yourself, to allow them to be free.”

“All this is well and good,” Sera replied, her voice trembling slightly in the face of so much responsibility, and the thought of her mothers' deceit, “But what good is it, telling me all this now, when I must go home and bow and smile to my mother? It may be years before I am queen!”

Alexander only smiled in response, that same sly smile.
“It may be sooner than you think.”

-

In Serroc, the city was rife with festivities once more. At first glance, it might seem that nothing had changed, but when you walked the streets, smelt the air, the fresh corpses of the Orderlies were plain to see, the pungent smell of blood and battle filling the atmosphere. The citadel, usually such a bustling, thriving centrepiece to the city, was deathly quiet – as a tomb. And that was what it had become.
In her chamber, with it's long, glass window overlooking the city, Sensibility sat in the throne-like chair she often frequented. The crimson gown she wore hid the bloodstains that covered her body, and her face was frozen in a mask of forced defiance, her last expression. She would never lift herself from that chair again, never fix her imperious gaze on whatever unfortunate subject had been dragged in disgrace before her.
And in the streets, the people danced, wildly celebrating their freedom, awaiting their new, unknowing queen, and their new lives.

[Old Gregg]

"The Story of Captain Black London Boon"

I sat in my cell, staring up at the dark ceiling with only a square of light shining on it, coming from the tiny barred window that was at least two heads higher than me. I didn’t belong here. I belonged back home in my comfortable bed, sleeping next to my wife. Here I was, an innocent man accused of stealing a ship. After protecting the coasts of London from pirates for six years with my crew, they turned on me, stole a ship, and I was to be held responsible for something I had no involvement in. I sighed and shifted my hands, causing my shackles to jingle so that they reminded me that I was bound like a dangerous animal. I was nothing like those men, the ones I’d been putting behind bars for six years. No one believed me and I was to be hung six days after my arrest. My crew had all made off with the ship. And so the judge presumed that I was just their captain that was the head of the heist that they had overthrown and left behind. So there I sat, with heavy blame on my shoulders that wasn’t mine to bear.
Just as I laid my head back on the stone wall of my cell, I heard the familiar, heavy footsteps of the prison guard heading toward my cell. Worried that maybe it had been decided that my execution should come earlier than six days, I silently prayed that he would make his way past me. The man stood in front of me, bars separating us. Keys in hand, he unlocked my cell, lumbering in to retrieve me. He wasted no time in making sure that I was up. A meaty hand grasped my left arm and yanked me onto my feet, and lead me right out the door.
My stomach turned as my mind went straight to the notion that my death was to come early. What else could it have been? The guard led me down the dark corridor and up the stairs leading out of what I liked to call “The Dungeon”. I kept my eyes to the ground as I was led through another corridor, thinking I was on my way out to be hung. I couldn’t look at anyone. I walked proudly but didn’t raise my head because I felt so ashamed being in such a place. The very people I protected were demanding my head on a platter for something I didn’t do.
I was snapped from my woes when the “dungeon keeper” stopped before another cell and unlocked it, shoving me in. I caught myself against the wall to avoid falling on the ground and heard another man’s voice chuckle from inside the cell. “Well, well. If it ain’t Mr. Darius Thatch, captain of the crew of The Boon of London,” said the man. I turned and noticed a young pirate lad, shackled just as I was, smiling up at me from his position sitting up against the other wall. He looked familiar and I figured he must have been one of the men I’d captured with my crew and had thrown in jail. “Yes. Captain of the crew that committed what your type would call mutiny,” I sneered, not in the mood to be taunted or to fully recognize the irony of me being imprisoned with someone I had had locked away. He nodded and said with a nasty smile on his face, “Oh, I see. Don’t wanta talk about it, do ye?” I furrowed my brows and scowled at the man as I slid down the wall with my back against it until I was sitting down. “No, no I do not wish to discuss this with you or anyone else. Can’t you just afford me the silence I need to accept my upcoming execution? Or do I need to make it clearer that I would rather be left alone?” I was bristling, like a dog with his hackles raised in defense. I figured that if I were lucky, I could go down nobly in a brawl with the pirate and maybe I’d die that way; quicker, braver, and not in front of all the people I knew and loved. I expected the lad to accept my subtle challenge and attack, but instead he laughed and raised a brow, his eyes scraping over me with keen interest. “You’ve got some fight in ya. How about lendin’ me a hand, Thatch. I think ya got what it takes to be a decent pirate. Help me escape, and I’ll take ya someplace where you can begin an entirely new life...as a captain.” At first, I was ready to refuse the offer right away, but the thought of being the captain of a crew that could help me terrorize London began to creep into my mind. Revenge seemed so sweet and so close. I shook my head, however and replied sarcastically, “That’s absurd. I’ll think about it and get back to you.” The man smiled and nodded, like he knew something I didn’t. “Well, I s’pose ya got five days to think before ya have no choice. Anyway, the name’s Greaves. John Greaves, but me friends call me Greaves.” I sat with my head in my hands, my knees brought up to my chest. “And you already know who I am, so I suppose that takes away from the idea of a decent introduction, doesn’t it?” I was cross with him because I felt guilty for finding his offer appealing. I was supposed to be a man of the law, and outstanding citizen. “And how is that treating you?” I thought to myself as we sat in silence. Greaves stretched out and laid down on his cot, turning away from me. He was asleep in no time, snoring contentedly as if he were at home. “Bastard’s over there sleeping like a baby,” I said softly to myself. Hours went by and the thought of breaking out with the man and escaping to become a pirate seemed more and more appealing and the more I fought it, the more I gave in.
When Greaves woke up, I was sitting at the end of his cot. He sat up and chuckled. “Ready to go, are ya?” I shook my head and looked at him hollowly. I’d given in and was agreeing to do something I never thought I would have in a million years. “Tell me what I need to do,” I said. A sly smile curled itself upon the pirate’s lips as he said, “I’ve got me a key. But I need a distraction.”
I was waiting for the guard to come around the corner as I heard him making his nightly rounds that night. I snuck around in the darkness, free of my bonds and my cell as Greaves had set us both loose to execute our plan to escape. I was to take out the guard while Greaves went about unlocking all the doors that we needed to escape. I saw the light of a candle shining down the corridor that kept getting closer to my position. I gripped the chains from my shackles in my hands, careful not to make a sound as the “dungeon keeper” nearly passed me. I tossed the chains around his throat and yanked, attempting to choke him. He grunted and dropped his candle, snarling and lashing out in my direction. I kept a tight grip on the chains until his eyes closed and he dropped to the ground and then I let go so as not to kill him. I checked the man’s pulse before I left and he was still alive, but when I turned, I saw that the candle has caught a a rug and part of a chair on fire. That was the first time I had to choose whether to be noble or to think like a pirate. A good Samaritan would have drug the man out of harm’s way. I was not a good Samaritan anymore. I turned and fled up a flight of stairs, feeling on edge and yet, alive. Greaves met me outside and from there we stayed in the shadows and watched from afar as the prison smoked from the underground fire. I was filled with so much hate, I could neither enjoy the sight or feel disgusted. “Can we just get to where we’re going already?” Greaves chuckled. “Ya better get used to that sight, Thatch. You’re going to be seein’ a lot more like it if you ever become a captain. A crew doesn’t want a captain that pales easily at the scene of a burnin’ building.”
We traveled for a few hours until we reached the nearest docks. I hadn’t spoken to Greaves and he hadn’t said a word to me since we’d left, but he held out his hand to stop me as I spotted an unattended boat. “We don’t need to escape in one of them. I have someone I want ya to meet before we go anywhere.” This man who seemed to be no more than twenty was telling me what to do all along the way, and the pride in me wouldn’t even fight it. I just wanted to survive.
A little ways from the docks, there was a small tavern on the coast where we were accepted into the establishment with a hearty welcome from what seemed to be a bunch of older pirates. Greaves waved to a bearded man with a missing eye that was sitting in the corner and headed straight toward him, dragging me along. "I never planned to see you here!" said the man with one eye as he laughed at his own joke. Greaves smiled and said, “Aye, Flint, I’ll bet you weren’t. I was a dead man, but this ‘un here helped me escape.” The man known as Flint looked me over with his one eye and grinned, pointing the pipe he was smoking in my direction. “Isn’t this the cap’n of the Boon of London?” Greaves shook his head. “Aye. And he’s lookin’ to become a captain. Would ya be able to set us up with a crew. He’s makin’ me his first mate.” Greaves winked at me. I knew I’d never said any such thing, but I figured it was the least I could do for him, considering he’d helped me escape. Flint cackled and shook his head. “Better be findin’ yourself a new name, lad. It’s only the pirate thing to do.” Before I could respond, he switched over to conversation with Greaves and answered, “I can get you shipped out with a worthy crew of about six men by tomorrow. Take one of me smaller boats out there...and uh, it’s gonna cost ya, as always.” Greaves laughed and reached into his breeches, producing a small pouch of jingling coins he must have taken from someone on his way out of town before we left and placed it into the palm of the old pirate. “Done and done, my friend.” Flint nodded and tucked the coins into his shirt, looking from Greaves to me. “Boys,” he said grandly, “You’re in for a hell of a time if you’re gonna be pirates.”