Pandora's Resurgence; Book 1: The Search for the Box. - Writers Forum

Twiddler · 08-06-2004, 03:08 PM

This is the start of the Prologue of my trilogy. Let me know if ya wanna see more!

Prologue
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This story begins as all story’s do; at the beginning. Why? Well, why not? You wouldn’t want to start in the middle, because then you wouldn’t know what the hell was going on. And you definitely wouldn’t want to start at the end of the story either, as you would already know what happened and wouldn’t want to bother reading the rest of the story. Which is why the beginning, my friends, is the perfect place to start……

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A figure stirs in his bed, the first rays of morning sunlight seeping in through the bedside window. The light crawled across the blankets that covered the half-sleeping figure like a snake crawling over a grass-covered hill, silent and not wanting their intentions to be known. Slowly, the light continued to crawl, starting to fill the room and push away the black veil of darkness that once existed. The figure stirs again before sitting up in bed, looking around the rest of the room. All along the wall, light reflected off the glass cases that covered the figures ancient artifacts.

There was the Toe of El-Gagadoon, once thought to have the Curse of Tripping Yourself until people realized how easily it fell out of their pockets and onto the ground in front of them. There was the Pastry Bowl of King Metboulgo, where, in it’s center, lied a large, 20,000 year old meatball that seemed to have never decayed even a bit, though people still avoided it for fear it might jump up and bite them in the butt. The Nose Hair of Snezofalot, the Holy Ladle of Sir Juu, and the Blank Journal of Nondescripto were all covered in their own glass cases as well.

This man wasn’t just a collector, though. This man was an archeologist!! His name was Proffessor Maximus Gluttinous, or Max, for short. He was a world renowned archeologist, having traveled all around the world, visiting locations not even the bravest of archeologists dared to visit while searching for artifacts that not even the smartest of archeologists tried to find.

As a child, even though his whole family had been famous archeologists and wanted him to be one too, he dreamed of being a dentist!! He might have been a good one, too, cause he had the hands for it; small, skinny fingers attached to a larger, but still small, hand. Unfortunately for him, those hands were perfect for being an archeologist as well. It was that, plus constant pressure from the rest of his family. which made him decide to be an archeologist.

But he hated his job. He hated having to get down and dirty digging for artifacts. He hated searching through ancient tombs, scared for his life not knowing who, or what, still lived there. He would have much preferred to sit in a small, light-filled room, drilling into people’s faces as the vibration of the drill went through his body, causing him to smile at the relaxing feeling.

He hated being an archeologist, but it’s that hatred that drove him. It drove him to succeed so maybe, just maybe, he could retire. It drove him to be successful, more successful then any other archeologists. It drove him out of bed that morning, to quickly whip open the drapes covering his bedside window as he looked beyond the glass to the world outside.

Working, digging, searching. That’s all they ever did. Morning, noon, and night. Did they ever get any sleep? No. Did they ever NEED any sleep? No. Did they ever want any sleep? Probably not. But that’s what made them such a good team. They worked without having to be TOLD to work. He didn’t know where he found them, though. They just….showed up. All he knew, however, was that, like himself, their families, their family’s families, and their families too…were all diggers. He wondered if any of them ever thought about being a dentist…..

No. Probably not. That’s not something they would think about. Men like them worked hard because, in his opinion, that’s all they thought about. And the more they thought about working, the harder they worked. They enjoyed working. They LIVED to work. They lived to dig and search and dig and search and dig and search all day and night. They had no time for sleep; they lived by the motto “Who needs sleep when you can work?” And work they did…They were born to work, so they lived to work and loved it. He, however, was born to be a dentist, but lived the life of an archeologist and hated it. They rarely took breaks but, when they did, they were good company. Over the years of traveling with them, there were a few he got to know pretty well. Then…there was one who he hadn’t gotten to know, but hated.

His name was Jake McMefferson, but everyone just called him Mef. He had only been with the crew for 2 weeks, but already made an impression on them. Mef’s father was a very powerful, very rich, and very important oil tycoon. Just like everyone else, Mef’s father couldn’t stand his only son and decided, since Mef was getting older, that he should be sent to work for one of his friends. Unfortunately, that friend was Max.

So being both the newest and youngest, he was only 16 years old, member of Max’s Archeological team, Mef thought, that he should be deserving of special treatment by everyone else. He would talk down to the other workers, thinking that he was better then him just because his daddy was a millionaire. Well…..everyone except for Max who, because of his status as head of the team, got the “sucking up” treatment from Mef. If it wasn’t for Mef’s father, Max would have fired Mef already, even though the kid was pretty good at complimenting Max’s sense of taste…..

Suddenly, there’s a knock at the door. Max starts to walk over to the door before stopping. He looks down at his legs. Realization hit him. With a sigh, Max turns and heads towards the dresser, the knocking on the door continuing to get louder. He opens the top drawer, pulling out a pair of long, green Khaki pants. He quickly starts to put them on as it becomes increasingly obvious who was on the other side of the front door to Max’s trailer.

Max.: Damn it, man!!! Don’t you know better then to disturb me at7:30 in the morning?!? I mean, geez, couldn’t you have given me a warning before you started to knock? Yelling out my name, screaming at the top of your lungs, or starting to sing for no apparent reason would have all been great ways of getting my attention and letting me know you were coming. Maybe even starting an argument with someone would have been fine, seeing as how you do LOVE to argue as another way of disturbing the peace around here!!! Here’s the deal; you can do whatever you want, however you want, to get my attention, but please, man, don’t ever, and I do mean EVER, knock at my door at 7:30 in the morning EVER again!!! You got that?

The knocking stopped. As Max finished pulling his pants up, he realized that one of two things had happened. Either a.) The person knocking on the door was psychic and had heard what he said or B.) Max had obviously forgotten to whisper those comments to himself. Because of his old age, he found B to have been much more likely.

The knocking then continued, starting up from where it had left off. Now Max was angry. I mean…..was it so hard to follow a simple warning? Was it SO hard to do what you were told, especially if the person telling you what to do is your superior and could fire you at any time for being so incompetent? If only some people would follow the simple order’s given to them, Max’s mood would be less cranky thanks to people who DIDN’T knock on his door at 7:30 in the morning and disturbed him when he was in the middle of something IMPORTANT!!! Max quickly rushed towards the door and grabbed the doorknob. He took a few seconds to guess who was knocking at his door before turning the doorknob and swinging the door open. He had guessed correctly.

There stood Mef, a smug look on his face. He rocked back and forth, his arms behind his back, his eyes avoiding Max’s gaze, a large grin on his face. He was mocking Max, saying something along the lines of “Oh, no! I didn’t knock on your door, boss! It was the Boogeyman!! Honest, it was!” He didn’t have to move his lips to say it. It was written on his face with neon lights. Mef always was horrible at sucking up to Max. He had forgotten the one golden rule; You need to suck-up ALL the time, NOT just when there’s a crowd of around to see it!!

Max: Mef, you don’t listen much, do you? I thought I remember telling you to never, EVE-

Mef puts up a finger, silencing Max and averting his attention. Max’s gaze follows the finger as it moves down to Mef’s wrist, lightly tapping the face of his watch.

Mef: It’s 8:00, boss. You said no knocking on the door at 7:30, remember? Then again, I don’t blame you for not remembering. Seems like your old age is finally catching up with you. Next thing ya know, you’ll have a bad back and will have to retire. Man….wouldn’t that suck?

Max’s eye’s flared with anger. Mef had just struck a nerve. Mef knew that, since Mef’s father had asked for Mef to be put into a second-in-command position, once Max retired, Mef would be in charge of the team. And Max knew that if Mef was in charge of the team, he would just ruin it. Mef, just like Max, hated being an archeologist. But there was still a difference. Max, though he hated it, still had respect for the job because his whole family had made a living as Archeologists. Mef, however, didn’t. He just found the whole digging and searching thing to be repetitive and useless. He just plain hated it.

Max sprang forwards, grabbing Mef by the collar of his shirt and pulling him forwards. Despite being in the presence of a very ticked-off Max, he wasn’t the least bit scared and he didn’t tremble; no, he just smiled.

Max: Listen here, you little brat! I know your not stupid, and I sure as hell know you hate my guts. Well, the feeling’s mutual. The same goes for the archeological business. But at least I respect it, Mef. And I’ll be damned if I am gonna let a snot nosed little punk take over MY job when and IF I retire!!!

Max let go of Mef’s collar and pushed him out of the door before turning back around and starting to walk back into his trailer. He then stopped, turning his head back towards the still open doorway.

Max: And another thing, kid. I told you once, I told you twice, and now, you incompetent little squirt, I am telling you for the THIRD time; do not ever, EVER, attempt to knock on my door at 7:30 in the morning again unless you want to get a swift kick in the butt! The only exception is if there’s something important that you need to tell me. That is the ONLY exception, ya hear me? If ya don’t know if it’s important, try using your common sense to figure it out!

Max moved back to the door and grabbed the doorknob. He went to close it but Mef quickly put his hand out in front of the incoming door, stopping it in its tracks. He was still smiling.

Mef: Boss, please, no need to go all postal now! I already learned all your little “rules” a long time ago and what I have to tell you now IS important. They finally found it, boss. They finally found the entrance to the Tomb of Dante Korpa!!!!

For the first time that morning, a smile came to Max’s face. In an instant, Max rushed past Mef, knocking him to the ground, as he hurried to get to the nearby dig site.

* * *

Vixen · 08-06-2004, 04:42 PM

Uhm, you may want to watch the all bold, it isn't too good for the eyes. Also, I'm wondering about the use of exclamation points. You really don't need one when you tell us he's a dentist.

Twiddler · 08-06-2004, 04:43 PM

Bold is just to make it stand out....but, meh...won't bother using it anymore. And ya...still got a bit of editing to do on the prologue :d

Twiddler · 08-06-2004, 04:55 PM

Omar Fradoo stood still, looking up towards the sky as he leaned back on his shovel, the top of which was sunk deep in the ground. His face was a mask of sweat and his bare chest gleamed in the sunlight. It was hard work digging all day with the warmth of the sun beating down across your back as you work. He had been doing it for two weeks straight without any breaks. Not even time to eat or sleep But, it was his choice to have no breaks and, naturally, he was tired and hungry. His work was complete for now but, unbeknownst to Omar, his time to take a break was still a long ways away.

He turns around in time to see his boss, Mox, and his wannabe boss, Mef, as they ran down a beaten path, obviously headed to the unearthed tomb entrance behind him. They both continued past him, but Max then stopped and turned back around, staring at Omar with a smile on his face.

Max: Your coming with us, Omar. We might need a hieroglyph translator, and you’re the best we have. Plus….”takes a quick glance at Mef who was standing behind him”…..I might need someone to protect me, just in case there’s anything still living in the Tomb. Report back here in 5 minutes, ok? That should give you enough time to get whatever supplies you might need, right?

Omar just nodded and turned to face the beaten path. He gave out a sigh before starting to walk towards it. It was just another day at the dig site for him…..

* * *

A couple minutes later, Omar had returned, now wielding a crowbar. Max turned from his inspection of the Tomb’s front door, noticing that Omar had finally come back. He smiled, looking deep into the dark and mysterious eyes of his dear old friend. He had known Omar for as long as he could remember, and his memory only went as far back as six years.

Six years ago, when Max had begun his career as an Archeologist. Six years ago, a crew had appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, ready to work for Max; ready to dig and search and help Max all day and all night long. Six years ago, Max had met Omar.

They enjoyed each other’s company, of course, but weren’t what the experts might consider friends. No, not friends, as that would assume they knew each other well which, because of the way Omar preferred to stay quiet most of the time, didn’t seem to be very possible. But they weren’t necessarily enemies either as that would have required a certain hatred towards one another, which they lacked. So even though they weren’t necessarily friends, and definitely weren’t enemies, they still were, and had been for the 6 years they worked together, comrades.

They were comrades in arms; standing and working beside each other, their shovels simultaneously digging into the ground, continuing their never-ending war with the sand. They were comrades in trust; they had gained a comradic bond with each other through the 6 years they worked together and would, if need be, trust each other with their life. They were even comrades in hatred; they both equally despised and hated Mef.

Max quickly glanced behind him to the Tomb door before giving out a quick sigh as he focused his stare back onto Omar.

Max: Door’s shut tight, Omar. It’s gonna be hard to get through that thing, that’s for sure. Mef’s trying to pry it open with his hands, the damn fool, so let’s just hope he breaks a couple fingers in the process. I think we might need a drill or maybe a bulldozer to get through the entrance unless, of course, you got a better idea.

Omar smiles, raising the crowbar with one hand and tapping the side of his head with another. Max laughs before taking the crowbar from Omar’s hand and staring blankly down at it. He then looks back up at Omar with a puzzled look on his face.

Max: You’re an odd one, Omar, ya know that? You always seem to know what we might need in a certain situation before we even know we what the situation is! What are ya, Omar, a damn psychic?

Omar shakes his head before tapping the side of it with one finger as he had done before. Max just laughs and nods.

Max: Ya, Omar, your not a psychic. Psychics don’t exist. Your just smart. I mean, well, that’s just using common sense, right? The Tomb door’s are always shut tight, so a crowbar is the perfect thing to open them up. No need to be psychic to know that, right? I guess not. Now let’s see how long it takes Mef to open the damn door with a little help.

Max and Omar walk closer to the Tomb, causing Mef to turn around, sucking on his fingers, which were red and sore. He ducked, the crowbar flying over his head onto the ground behind him, before standing back up and shooting an angry glare at Max who’s face was bright red from trying to hold in the laughter. Mef, angry, just quickly turned back around, grabbing the crowbar from off the ground, before getting back to work on opening the Tomb’s front door. Max took a quick, hard laugh before glancing up at Omar who had a wide grin on his face.

Max: So how long do ya think it will take him to open the door? Those bony arms of his don’t got much meat on them, and, if he keeps dropping the crowbar onto his foot, like he just did, he won’t be getting nowhere. I give him an hour. What about you, Omar?

Omar raised his left hand, his fingers all raised. Max’s expression turned to a look of shock as he shook his head, not being able to believe what Omar was thinking.

Max: Five? Five MINUTES?!? Damn, Omar, are you crazy or something? The kid ain’t strong enough to get it open in 5 minutes!! But, hey, that’s your call, Omar. Maybe I might actually win one of these bets for once, eh? Can’t have you winning my money every time, now, can I?

Max laughed again, turning his focus back to Mef. Omar smiled. He focused his attention on to the crowbar in Mef’s hands. Omar’s eyes glowed bright red, as did the crowbar. Seconds later, the Tomb door opened, a cloud of dust coming forming in the entrance of the door. Mef then turned, smiling and raising the crowbar triumphantly, not noticing the dust veiled figure behind him.

A large, long, stick-like object slammed into the back of Mef’s head, knocking him to the ground, the crowbar falling behind him. The dust settled, revealing the figure to be a bandage-wrapped mummy, wielding a bandage-wrapped stick-like object. The mummy stepped forward and tripped over the crowbar, landing flat onto the back of a still unconscious Mef. The mummy then quickly stood back up, now very angry.

He turned back around, starting to viciously smack Mef’s back with his stick-like object. The mummy stopped, raising his arm into the air, triumphantly.

Mummy: You no trip Mike! YOU NOOOOOOOOO TRIIIIIIIIP MIIIIIIIIKKKKKEEEEEEEEE!!!!! GRRRAAARRRGGGGHHH!!!!!!!

The mummy then went back to smacking Mef’s back repeatedly with the long, stick-like object he held in his hands. Mef, who by now had regained consciousness, did the only thing he could do in a situation like this; he screamed for mercy, yelped in pain, and howled for help all at once. While Mef’s cry for help was utterly useless, and even though Mike wasn’t the kind of mummy who believed in showing someone else mercy, Mef’s high-pitched yelps of pain had still managed to garner him some attention.

A few feet away, Max and Omar stood silently, watching and smiling. Max took a glance up at Omar, laughing.

Max: Ya know, Omar, this right here is what I would call quality entertainment. It’s not every day we see a ticked off mummy beating the hell out of young Mef with a stick-like object, now is it? Nope. It sure ain’t, which is why it’s so entertaining! Funniest thing is, though, that that’s not exactly a stick he’s holding, though I’m pretty sure you knew that already, right Omar?

Omar nods, causing a puzzled look to return to Max’s face. He stared at the stick, it’s motion almost hypnotic. It rose into the air, paused, and then swooped down for another blow to Mef’s back, causing Mef to let out yet another girlish scream.

Max: Is it supposed to be that long? I mean, well, I’ve seen a lot of those things in my days and, well, they are usually much shorter, ya know, like around 2-3 feet long. That one is almost 6 feet!!!! It ain’t normal, Omar. Well, at least I don’t think it is, but you know more about them then me. So is that the normal size?

Omar shakes his head as another scream is heard in the background. Max let’s out a sigh of relief, his face going back to normal.

Max: Oh. Good, then. I mean, well, that’s not the only thing that didn’t seem normal about it, of course, but, well, now that I KNOW it’s not normal, then that explains everything. Not only is it of a freakishly long size, Omar, but it’s also missing that little knobby thing at the end! It can’t be normal without one of them on the end, right?

It was now Omar’s turn to stare back at Max, his face scrunched up in confusion. A high-pitched wail, followed closely by a loud “Me Mike!!! Me GOD!!!! You no trip GOD!!! GRARGH!!!” is then heard as a shocked expression comes to the face of Max.

Max: What? Don’t you know what I’m talking about? I mean….doesn’t EVERY staff have one of those little knobby things at the end of it? I think they might be there purely for decoration, but they might also be used to show what place you have in the royal Egyptian Hierarchy. You know…like, well, you could tell by the knob if the person was a king, or a diplomat or, well, a slave. Though I’m not exactly sure what a slave would use a staff for. Maybe he’d add a couple bristles to the end of it and use it as a back scratcher? Now do you know what I’m talking about, Omar?

Another scream rang through the air, followed by a loud “GRARGH!!!”
Omar nodded before pointing a long finger at the staff.

Omar: Yes. But it’s not a staff. It’s more like….his “pet snake”.

As Max stood there, letting the last comment sink in to his head, he let his mouth drop open. Realization hit him like a freight train hitting a poor cat with it’s foot caught in the railroad tracks. Realization hit him for the second time that day and, oddly enough, caused Max to feel sorry for Mef. No one, not even Mef, deserved to be smacked around by someone’s “pet snake”. Though, in Mike’s case, it was more of an anaconda then a snake. Max turns to run off before stopping, turning back around, and staring back at Omar.

Max: The kid needs help. No one deserves to get smacked around by some guy’s 50 year old willy. I have a lighter in the trailer. Gonna go grab it quickly and come back. Those bandages wouldn’t last long against the power of fire!

Omar just shook his head as Max ran back up the path. He knew a lighter wouldn’t do anything to a mummy. Fire, yes. But not a lighter. Omar was the only one who could save Mef now. Omar focused his stare onto the mummy’s head. Omar shut his eyes as he started muttering something under his breath.

Omar: Humminami numina. Humminami numina. Humminami numiNA!!!!

With that last syllable, Omar thrust up his hands, and opened his eyes which now had a dark red glow to them. The mummy’s head, in an instant, caught on fire. He then started running around in circles, screaming out “GRARGH!!!” in random intervals, before, almost suddenly, his head exploded. Mike’s headless body then fell to the ground, flopped around like a fish out of water for a few seconds, and then lay still. Mef quickly stood up, a pained expression on his face and one hand behind his back rubbing his sore spots, as Max returned. He looked at Mef, then looked down at the headless corpse of Mike the mummy, and then looked back up at Omar with a confused look on his face.

Max: What the hell happened here?

Omar eerily smiled back at Max, his eyes having reverted back to normal, before pointing a long finger at the corpse.

Omar: His head a-splode.

With a somewhat blank expression on his face, Max looked down at the corpse, then stared back up at Omar for a few seconds, back down to the corpse again, and then up at Omar for a final time.

Max: Oh. Good, then. I was hoping that something like that might have happened cause, well, for some odd reason, my lighter is currently stuck in the pipes of the kitchen sink. Don’t ask me how the hell it got there, but it did. Anyways, shall we enter the Tomb now? Yes? Ok. Mef, your leading as always.

Mef glares at Max for a few seconds before picking up the crowbar and heading into the Tomb. A few seconds later, a scream is heard and Omar and Max follow him in.

* * *

Max: Ya know, Mef, I should smack you for being such a damn wimp, ya know that? I really should. It was only a bloody spider!! NOTHING to be afraid of!! It wasn’t even an adult spider or a damn, evil, radioactive spider, cause those are the ones you should be scared of. It’s a baby spider, for crying out loud!!

Mef: But….it BIT me. In the neck!!! Aren’t those things poisonous?

Max: Ya, some of them are, but not the baby ones. You should learn not to be afraid of everything, Mef. It might do you some good. Then again, maybe not, because once ya go wimp, there ain’t no turning back….

He wasn’t even a foot past the entrance of the Tomb and, already, Mef was having problems. He had stepped through the doorway only to have his face collide with a spider web. A large, sticky, spider web which was the home to an equally large, green, 8-legged insect who, apparently, didn’t like house calls as it promptly fell onto the back of Mef’s neck. Mef hated spiders, but especially hated THIS spider after it bit him in the neck. He hated spiders, spider webs, and mummies. He hated Max, Omar, and all of the other damn archeologists. He even hated his father for forcing him into this job. He hated everything, pretty much.

There were very few things Mef enjoyed in life. He enjoyed mind games, the thrill of getting into someone else’s head and making them go crazy. He enjoyed mocking and annoying others, the satisfaction of poking someone in the shoulder until they just want to punch you in the face. And he enjoyed it when he grabbed the spider off his neck, threw it to the ground and then, before it could run away, beat the spider into the ground mercilessly with his crowbar, hopefully having taught the stupid thing a lesson.

A light tap on Mef’s shoulder cause’s him to quickly turn his body around, the crowbar swinging before his head does. Max barely ducks the crowbar before popping back up with a smile on his face.

Max: My god, man. What’s with you? I mean, geez! It was only a god damn spider, Mef! Your going all crazy for no good reason. Your going postal!!

Mef swiftly punched Max in the face before turning back around, heading to the door at the end of the hallway. Mef WAS postal, and with good reason. Wouldn’t you be ticked if you were bitten by a spider, beaten up by a mummy, and pushed to the ground by some idiotic Archeologist all before you even had breakfast?

Mef was ticked. Really, really, ticked. Ticked enough to have pushed the oncoming door open with one hand. He was ticked and on an adrenaline rush, which was not a good combination. Mef didn’t even stop to think of what was in that locked box on the pedestal in the center of the room. He slammed the crowbar against the lock, but it didn’t break.

Suddenly, Omar rushed to the doorway.

Omar: Mef, NO!!! DO NOT OPEN THAT BOX!!!!!

He turned around and stared at Omar for a few seconds before turning back, raising the crowbar above his head.

Mef: It’s only a box, Omar. What harm could it do?

Mef then swung the crowbar down again, slamming it against the lock, breaking the lock in half, causing the box to open and the world be thrown into utter darkness.

{- End Prologue -}

Selorian · 08-06-2004, 05:02 PM

I think it has a lot of potential. It is right in the vein of what I like to read. I look forward to seeing more when you post it. I do agree about the bold though. I knew what you were probably trying to do but it takes away from the experience, as does the color changes. Just look at it this way, when it is published it will all be in black and white.

Twiddler · 08-06-2004, 05:04 PM

Those events happened 20 centuries ago, sending the world into turmoil. But we will get to that later. Right now, all that really matters, is that the REAL beginning of our story starts. And it shall start very, very unexpectedly…..

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We are now at a meadow. Flowers of all colors, shapes, and sizes flow across the landscape. It is early morning as the sun rises behind a large hill. Atop the hill stands a small man who wears white robes and an oversized turban. He places a hand above his eyes, making it flatly stick out and block the suns rays from view. He frowns as looks all across the meadows, as if he was searching for someone…or something. All of a sudden, he does a little hop and claps his hands for joy, obviously ecstatic over having found what he was looking for. He starts running down the hill, almost tripping once or twice along the way, half-running half-waddling. Suddenly the man stops, stretching out his arms to either side of him.

Man: I love you, Betsy!

From ahead, a large camel starts running towards the man, it’s mouth trying it’s hardest to smile. His arms still outstretched, the man continues to run towards the camel. The scene goes to slow motion, repeatedly switching between shots of the man and the camel as they run towards each other. The scene goes back to normal speed as the man and the camel crash into each other. The camel manages to stand still, despite a minor headache, but the man falls to the ground in a fetal position. The camel, seemingly worried, slowly trots up to the man’s unconscious body. The camel then starts to lower it’s head, inch by inch, moving it closer and closer to the man’s face. Slowly, a tongue makes it’s way out of the camels mouth, starting to lick the man’s face….

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Rasheem Hafoo wakes up to a wet sensation on his left cheek. He starts to laugh a little, his eyes still closed.

Rasheem: Oh, Osammalita….you are such a goddess!! Why don’t you come to bed now and we can get our freak on…

The licking continues from the culprit of Rasheem’s fantasy, his camel, Ol’ Betsy. Hearing what Rasheem said, Betsy stops licking his cheek. The camel then slowly trots over to the opposite side of the bed, sliding in under the sheets as if she had done this before. Betsy then stretches out her neck, resting her head beside Rasheems. Betsy exhales, the air being pushed upon the back of Rasheems neck. Rasheem opens one eye, quirking his eyebrow in thought.

Rasheem: Damn, women. Your breath stinks!! Don’t worry, you make up for it in pure hotness!!

Now, with both eyes open, Rasheem turns his head to the other side, coming face-to-face with Betsy’s beady eyes. Rasheem screams and jumps quickly out of the bed, backing up slowly into the nearest corner of the room. He starts quickly breathing in and out, scared out of his wits. He looks back at Betsy, who is by this time out of the bed, standing lifeless near the bedroom door. His face still pale, and his eyes burning with anger, he slowly walks up to Betsy. When he gets close enough, he grabs her head and starts to shake it violently.

Rasheem: What the hell was that? What the hell did you do that for? That is the fifth damn time you’ve done that this week!! Even though I do enjoy the licking, I am getting damn tired of it!! You do it again, I kill you!!! I kill you GOOD!!!

A tear rolls down Betsy’s cheek, stopping on top of Rasheems thumb. He gets a sad look on his face as he let’s go of Betsy’s head. He turns around, walking back to the bed, before sitting on the edge of it, his head in his hands as he goes into deep thought. He looks back up at Betsy, who still stands in front of the bedroom door.

Rasheem: What the hell am I gonna do with you, huh? My wife already left me, thinking in her head you meant more to me then she did, which is a damn lie. She knows how much I love her, so she probably left for some other reason. Like the fact you smell like poop. Yes. That’s it. She left because you smell like poop!! Damnit, can’t you STOP smelling like poop?

Betsy glares at Rasheem, obviously trying to give him “The Look”. Rasheem chuckles before looking down at the floor.

Rasheem: No…I guess not. It wouldn’t hurt to take a bath once in a while, would it? Only joking, Betsy. Those flea hotels of yours are the only way we’re able to pay the rent for this god damn shack. Anyways, Betsy…I am sorry for shakin your head like a madman. I guess that happens sometimes, especially when ya interrupt my god damn good dreams, eh?

Betsy trots over to Rasheem, lovingly pushing the side of her head against Rasheems. He smiles, putting an arm around her neck, before starting to massage it.

Rasheem: Ya, ya…I love ya, Betsy. You know that. It’s just me and you in this world and I wouldn’t have it any other way….

Betsy nudges Rasheems head lovingly one last time before slowly trotting out of the room. Rasheem then stands up, stretching his arms above his head. He looks back at the doorway, thinking for a moment.

Rasheem: Just me and you, Betsy…A crazy man and his camel. The life of a man and his camel is a crazy life indeed…..

Rasheem then walks out of the room, following Betsy’s lead.

* * *

A man stood in front of a large, steel door, quivering and afraid. His name didn’t matter, as he was of little importance. But, still, he stood in front of that door, obviously very reluctant to enter the room behind it. No one that knew what lay behind those doors would dare blame him for that.

Behind those doors, was a room that Lord Mef called home. Everyone was afraid of Lord Mef. They didn’t know why, but they just were. He instilled fear into people’s hearts without even having to be seen by them. And those who entered his room, never walked out.

But it wasn’t the poor man’s fault he had to be the next one to enter the room. He was only a messenger. A soon to be very, very, very dead messenger, but a messenger none the less. It was a message of good news, too, but he was still going to be a very, dead man and very, very soon.

The man, who shall henceforth be known as Joe, looked to either side of him before pushing open the door and closing it behind him. Looking around the room made Joe even more scared then he had been already. In the center of the room hung a large, sticky spider web. It was a huge, and very perfectly made spider web. He took a few steps forward, biting his fingers, before something fell, hitting him on the head. He leaned down, and picked the object up. His face went pale as he turned it around with his fingers, realizing what it was. It was a large, skinless, skeletal, human skull.

Curiosity getting the better of him, Joe slowly tilted his head back up to look at the ceiling. He almost fainted backwards from the fear before regaining his composure and breaking into a run to the nearby door. He made it to the door but before he could open it, a string of sticky webbing shot out of nowhere, and anchored itself onto his back.

He tried pulling it off but, to no avail, failed as he was flung into the air. Thankfully, gravity failed him as well thanks to the webbing that kept him hanging in the air, like a parachutist who has gotten caught in a tree. Slowly, two clawed, hairy legs carefully turn the string which, in turn, caused Joe’s whole body to turn around as well, and then stopped when Joe was face-to-face with Lord Mef.

Mef: Morning, Joe. How’s the family doing?

Sweat poured down Joe’s face as he forced out a tiny smile. Joe had heard many tales about Lord Mef, and all of them were bad. All the tales told of Lord Mef being a shapeshifter, a being capable of changing it’s appearance at a whim, each one more hideous then the last. The only thing somewhat normal was his human form, but even then he looked somewhat grotesque.

Currently, Lord Mef was in the form of a giant spider. He had 8 hairy legs, 2 poisonous and sharp mandibles, and a large tail with a spike at the end, which was used to gut his victims before he ate them. Inside his body, he reproduced thousands of tiny baby spiders, and, at a whim, could command them to exit from a small hole in his backside, whether it be to feed or, perhaps, give chase to an escaped victim. The skin atop his head was non-existant, revealing Mef’s large, pulsing brain.

Mef’s brain was probably the scariest thing about him. Each form he took on had it visible, as it was the source of his power. It was the source of both his overwhelming intelligence and his psychic abilities. It was what made him super freaky.

Joe: Th-the family, si-sir? The- they’re doing well, your lordship. And, might I say, your looking very, err…Mef-tastic right now. Th-those legs of yours, Lord Mef, l-look so clean! H-how often do you sh-shave often, sir? C-cause, if so, i-it really does show!

Joe extends the length of his smile a bit, but then turns his head away in an attempt to avoid the piercing stare of Lord Mef.

Mef: Now really, Joe, is that all you wish to say? Please, tell me what you really think about me. And don’t lie, Joe, because I am psychic and will know if you DO lie to me. And I won’t appreciate it, either. So, Joe, be truthful and I might not kill you just yet.

Joe gulped, suddenly feeling like a large lump was going down his throat. He was in quite the pickle. If he didn’t tell the truth, he’d be killed. If he did, then he still might be killed, because he wasn’t sure Lord Mef would like what he had to say. He was now, literally, sweating buckets.

He was hanging in the air, by a string of webbing, which could be snapped at any time, and it didn’t matter what he said, as he would die, right there, right then, no matter what. Things weren’t looking good for him at all. He decided just to tell the truth and get it over with. He wasn’t very patient, so he preferred to die now, quickly, rather then later.

Joe: Well, sir, the truth is that, right now, I am scared to death of you. I mean, well, it’s not exactly a daily occurrence to be hanging in the air thanks to some huge, ugly as hell, spider that can, and probably will, kill me any second. I mean, well, I know your gonna kill me, and all, but can’t you just do it now and get it over with? It’s really freaking me out that, well, I know I am going to die at any second, your lordship, but am scared that I am not dead YET. It’s just a lingering feeling of death inside of me. You know what I mean, right?

The spider did what could only be considered as a nod.

Mef: Is that all, Joe? I am sure there is more you want to say to me.

Joe started to think quicker then he usually did. The knowledge of knowing you could die at any moment did that to a man.

Joe: Well, actually, yes, your lordship. I mean, well, what’s with you having to be a spider while you talk to me, huh? Seeing as how you’re a Lord and all, I thought you might have changed into something ominous, like a giant, floating head or, preferably, some kind of talking, inanimate object. A spider is just too damn scary! You got like 50 eyes, 8 legs, HORRIBLE breath, and an odour that might be associated with a toilet!! And that spiked tail of yours isn’t exactly going to win you any awards for being the least harmful Lord ever, just to let you know. And….err, never mind. That’s all I have to say…

In an instant, Mef’s spiked tail flew towards Joe’s face, causing him to look away, close his eyes, and put his arms up to shield himself. It was natural for human instincts to, whenever an object was flying towards their face, protect themselves in this way, no matter what the object is, as it might be a fist, chair, or a Bran Muffin Of Evil Intentions.

99% of the time, that person would know when to stop protecting himself, as either they would be on the ground and would go with their instincts to scream out in pain, or would feel the object having bounced of their arms and would pull them away. Joe, however, was within the other 1%, where nothing had occurred within the last minute, causing him to wonder, in his head, what the hell was going on.

He pulled away his arms and saw, to both his relief and his fright, the spiked tail, it’s tip paused only a few inches away from his face. Joe blinks, not believing his luck and, at the same time, not believing he wasn’t dead yet. Slowly, the tail retreats to it’s former position, the spike hovering a few feet above Mef.

Mef: That, Joe, is how quickly your life can cease to exist when you get on my bad side. Remember that next time you wish to keep things to yourself. Consider this your last warning.

Joe suddenly felt the presence of something warm, solid, and mucky in his pants, and there was a slight odour in the air, now. If he did live through this, he was pretty sure that the first thing he was going to do was return home and change his pants. He thought for a minute. Things would be so much easier on the ground. On the ground, he’d be able to do a lot more things; like, for example, run away.

Joe: Well, your Lord, I do have more that I must tell you but, well, wouldn’t it be easier to, well, talk on the ground? I promise, if I run away, you have permission to gut me and slice me into a million pieces right then and there. Also, well, if possible, could you, maybe, NOT be a spider anymore? I mean, while it is lame, it’s also quite hard to say things that might be annoy or tick off the person your speaking to, when the person your speaking to is in the form of a giant, killer, spider.

For a few seconds, there was a disturbing silence. Then, a slight hum buzzed through the air. Joe wasn’t sure where the sound was coming from, but he had remembered that there were some people who were very loud thinkers and he hoped to god that Lord Mef was one of them.

Mef: How do I know I can trust you, hmmm? Why should I be able to when you, obviously, don’t trust me? I don’t see how smart of a decision it would be for me to let you go, not knowing if your going to run away or not.

He didn’t know why, but this ticked Joe off. His eyes flared and he gave Mef an angry stare. The 100 eyes that stared back at Joe blinked, all at once.

Joe: Damnit, my Lord, you must be the most stupid “psychic” I have ever met, you know that? I mean, gee, why not just read my damn mind and find out what I am thinking? Also, Lord Mef, I think I’m scared enough of getting gutted by that tail of yours and I can assure you that I won’t run away. And ya know what? Ya know what? You SUCK at being a ruler!! I mean, sure, ruling by fear does help, but your abusing it!!! Instead of listening to your subjects and seeing what they want, you prefer to use them as midnight snacks!!! That, my Lord, is NOT the right thing to do!!!

Again, there was silence, It was making Joe feel a little bit uneasy. He had yelled at Lord Mef, called him a moron and a horrible leader. Joe had thought he just signed his own death certificate. He didn’t expect what had happened next.

It started as a slow, quiet rumbling noise, like the start of an earthquake. It then started to increase in volume, until, Joe realised, it was actually a loud, hearty laugh. And it was coming from Lord Mef.

Then, suddenly, the string of webbing snapped and Joe fell to the ground. He landed and, almost immediately, crumpled into a fetal position. The pain was too much and caused Joe to black out. He might just survive to see another day….

* * *

(So...just post it like that, then?)

Twiddler · 08-06-2004, 05:17 PM

Rasheem: Damn it’s hot out here!!

And, truthfully, it was quite hot out. But it was always hot in the dessert, though today it was hotter then usual. And Rasheem, as he stood outside his front door, realized it. It was as if something special would happen today. And, if Rasheem hadn’t been busy looking up at the sky, he would have seen the black, cloaked figure walk past him. This day was going to be very special, indeed.

Barely anyone visited the town of Sagdalam. It was poor, and not very well known. It was mostly inhabited by Abeths and camels, but the population of the town was still very low. It hadn’t always been this bad. Before the “incident”, the town was very unlike how it is now. It was a bustling town, and had been very successful. It’s success mostly came from two things; hats and dentistry.

Most Abeths enjoyed making hats. They didn’t know why, but they did. Big, small, long, tall; they made the finest hats around. They enjoyed wearing them, too. No Abeth would ever want to be seen outside without a turban. It was like a sacred rule to Abeths; “Though Shall Not Be Seen Outside Without A Hat”. They would use hat’s for anything, even going as far as mastering the technique of tossing their hat’s like a boomerang, making them into some sort of weapon. They usually called this the Turban Toss technique, and would have local tournaments to find out who was the Turban Toss Champion. They found their hats to be a very important part of their lifestyle and, for some odd reason, thought that, with hats, you needed to have good teeth to compliment them.

Abeths, weirdly enough, had the best teeth you’d ever see. They shined and sparkled in the sun. They, for the most part, were clean. Their teeth were the only clean thing about them, though. Abeths smelled, stinked, and just plain LOOKED messy. They were a walking garbage dump. Except for their teeth. It’s like being trapped in a garbage truck, underneath all the refuse. Then, for some odd reason, water starts pouring through. It makes a hole and, through the whole, shines a light, the only light to be seen from the bottom of the truck. They knew a lot about teeth, so, not surprisingly, they made good dentists.

So it was no surprise that the cloaked figure, as he walked through the town, blank faces staring at him in shock and disbelief, stopped at Ol’Gadoo’s Dentistry. He let out what seemed like a sigh, and then walked in. As he did, he made sure to take out the “We’re Hiring” sign from the window. He was sure they wouldn’t need it anymore.

***

Joe opened his eyes. He tried to sit up, but a sudden pain rushed through his body, causing him to fall back and continue to lie still on the bed. He felt groggy and, as he turned his head to look at his surroundings, everything was just a blur to him. Had he been drunk? He didn’t remember having had any ale in the last 24 hours, though he did feel like he was in the middle of a hangover. The last thing he could remember was the web string snapping, causing him to fall to the ground. He remembered the pain that surged through his body when he landed on the cold, hard floor. He remembered blacking out. And, echoing all throughout his mind, Joe could still hear the loud, haunting laughter of Lord Mef.

Suddenly, Joe sat up, ignoring the pain in his body altogether. He looked around the room for a second time. Though his vision was still foggy, a thought came to him as he stared at his surroundings. This wasn’t his bedroom. He laid back down, going into deep thought. He was pretty sure he didn’t have, nor sleep at night in, a king-size bed. He was pretty sure that his wardrobe was too small to fill a dresser, which stretched out to the length of a whole wall. And he was pretty sure that his bed room wasn’t the size of an airplane hangar. No, this wasn’t his room and he was pretty sure of that. He let out a sigh.

Joe: Where the hell am I?

Voice: Where am I, he asks. Oh, ho, ho, ho, ho. Little does our little friend know that he lies, now, in his DEATH BED!!! Heh, heh, he, ha, ha, ha, ha!!

The voice sounded like it was in a permanent state of cackling. It was a shrill, high-pitched, screeching noise, the kind of sound that could break glass. The laugh was even worse, as it echoed throughout the room, sending chill through Joe’s body. Joe looked around the room for a third time, finally noticing a figure sitting in a chair by the door. Joe slowly backed up against the wall, scared for his life yet again.

To say that the figure was human shaped would be, in a way, correct, but to say the figure WAS human would be an insult to humans everywhere. The figure’s face, for instance, seemed normal. Two dark red eyes, one elongated nose, two sharply pointed ears, and a mouth of razor sharp teeth. The rest of him, however, was much more frightening. Strewn throughout his body were many large, gaping holes, each of which had millions of teeth inside of them. The largest hole was located where his stomach might have been, acting like a second, and much larger, mouth. His fingers were replaced by long, sharp nails, capable of slicing someone’s head off in an instant. This was no human, Joe realized. This thing was a killing machine!

Joe: Who the hell are you?

The figure leaped into the air before landing, feet first, onto the bed, Joe now lying beneath the creature. The creature lowered it’s head, until it was face-to-face with a quivering Joe.

Creature: Who am I, he asks. Oh, ho, ho, ho. My name does not matter, as you won’t live long enough to remember it!!! Heh, heh, heh, he, ha, ha, ha, ha!!!

The creature put one hand on Joe’s chest to keep him in place, while raising his other hand above his head, his fingers growing even longer. Joe closed his eyes, turned his head away, and put up his arms in the hopes they might protect him.

There were so many thoughts now running through Joe’s head. He knew he was going to die any second now; no flesh and bones were going to protect him now and he was pretty sure this creature never heard of the word “mercy”. He was also positive this was NOT his bedroom, as he would never let some maniacal, freaky looking creature near his home, let alone inside of it. He was ticked that he was going to die in these circumstances, not even knowing who, or what, his killer was. And, most of all, he was annoyed and saddened by the fact that he would never see his family again, and wished that he could have at least said good bye to them. He was going to really, really miss them.

Five minutes passed before yet another thought came to Joe; Why am I not dead yet? He pulled one arm away slowly, risking a glance at the creature. The creature smiled back, a wide, evil grin on his face. Joe, curious, slowly tilted his head downwards and noticed the creature’s nails, frozen inches away from Joe’s neck. Joe then looked back up at the creature, who now had a serious look on his face. The creature moved his face even closer to Joe’s. The creature’s head then stopped as he just stared at Joe, staring at him coldly. The creature was now like a statue, staying still in one place. Then, all of a sudden, the smile returned.

Creature: Boo!!

The creature then started laughing. It was a madman’s laugh, slow and evil. Soon, it erupted into a hysterical giggle, as the creature jumped off of the bed, and sat back, by himself, in a dark corner of the room. The bedroom door then opened as another figure came into the room. Joe looked the figure up and down, before realizing who it was. The large, exposed brain pretty much gave it away.

Lord Mef was in human form now, though it was more skeletal then human-like in appearance. His fingers were long, and bony, as were his arms, legs, and toes. He didn’t wear a shirt either, so, when he breathed in, his skin outlined the bones of his rib cage. He wore a black cape, which dragged behind him as he walked into the room, shutting the doors behind him. He took a quick glance at the creature giggling in the corner, before turning his head and staring at Joe with a smile on his face.

Mef: Ahhh, Joe. You’re awake! I trust you had a good blackout. Oh, and I see you’ve met my servant demon, Holes! He’s quite friendly, isn’t he?

Joe looked at the creature huddled in the corner giggling to himself. He wasn’t surprised that a madman like Lord Mef would give a thing like that a name. It was an accurate name, though. Joe then stared back at Mef, a cold look in his eyes.

Joe: Polite? Oh, of course. He was very polite. In between the death threats and his hand coming inches away from cutting my head clean off my neck, I found him to be a very nice guy. You know, other then the fact that he tried to freaking KILL me, he seems pretty genuine! Wait a minute….what the hell am I saying? The guy is a damn nut case!!! He scared the hell out of me by almost killing me, then jumping off the bed and going into some maniacal fit of laughter! And you just stand there saying “He’s quite friendly, isn’t he? So very, very polite he is!!”, not knowing better. Has he ever tried to kill you? Huh? HUH?!?!?

Lord Mef put one hand under his chin and scrunched up his face as he looked up at the ceiling, now deep in thought. He started to scratch his chin as Joe lay on the bed, watching. Joe always thought that one of Lord Mef’s major flaws was that he couldn’t tell when someone was being sarcastic, as it made him seem like a pretty damn stupid psychic. A smile then came to Mef’s face as an answer finally came to him.

Mef: Oh, of course. He’s tried to kill me on more then one occasion. Hell, Joe, he STILL tries to. But I am just too smart for him. And, besides, his maniacal tendencies start to really grow on you after a while. You just have to get used to him and the sounds he makes as he sneaks up behind you, his nails raised above his head, ready to slice off your head in a moments notice. Underneath it all, though, he is just lonely, looking for someone to care for. He doesn’t realize, though, that first he needs to learn to take care of himself. He’s a pretty lazy servant, if I might say so myself. He is always asking the other maids and butlers to do his chores for him, fetch him meals and all that other stuff. He needs to learn to rely on himself, I think, before he can stop being so maniacal. I apologize if I don’t make much sense at the moment, Joe, but a couple of tall glasses of orange juice can do that to a man.

Joe stared up at Lord Mef, a confused look on his face, before he just turned his head away, shaking it in disbelief. He wasn’t sure if it was possible to get drunk off of orange juice, but it sure seemed like Lord Mef had done just that. Lord Mef walked to the side of the bed and sat down. He stared at Joe, smiling. Joe turned his head away from Lord Mef’s gaze, averting his attention back to the creature, Holes. It just sat there in the corner, giggling to itself maniacally.

Even though Joe didn’t exactly know what the creature was, he was sure that it’s behaviour wasn’t normal and that it shouldn’t have been acting the way it did. Joe was pretty sure that creature wasn’t human, though. There was know way that something which was so freakishly horrifying could be, in any way, shape, or form, human. Joe turned his head and stared back at Lord Mef.

Joe: I have a question, your lordship. What the hell IS Holes and where the hell did he come from?

Lord Mef raised his head and stared back up at the ceiling; his hands placed to either side of him, as the memories slowly came back to him. There were good memories and bad ones, but they all put Lord Mef into a relaxing trance as he remembered them. He seemed somewhat far away, as if he was stuck, now, in the deepest recesses of his mind. But then, without taking his attention off of the ceiling, he spoke.

Mef: Holes is a demon. A half-demon, actually. He’s a half-demon/half-demon, but I suppose that would make him a whole demon, eh? Yes, I know it sounds confusing, but let me just explain. I enjoy breeding demons. It’s a hobby of mine, I guess you could say. I travel around the world catching demons and breeding them together to see what happens. It’s really quite exhilarating and I have been doing it for a couple years now, actually. I can still remember my first official breeding as if it was yesterday. I used two very unique and very different species of demon in my first breeding. I won’t go into all the details about them, but I will just say this; they breeded together successfully and, soon after, Holes was born. At first, he was a wild child, and I lost a lot of other servants during “Bloodbath” week. He was hard to tame and control, but I managed to do just that. Well, to some extent, at least. He’s like my own son, in a way. In another, totally different way, he’s more like a two-legged lawnmower with a few too many mouths. But he had his uses, and still does to this day. I love the little bugger with all my heart and wouldn’t have him any other way.

Joe looked back up at Mef, noticing a small tear roll down his cheek. It was then that Joe realized something. No matter how evil, cold hearted, and scary Lord Mef seemed to be on the outside, he was, on the inside, a caring, nice, and lovable guy. It would pay to be on his good side from now on, Joe thought. It would greatly decrease the chances of him getting his head cut off. Joe turned in the bed, scooting over next to Lord Mef. Joe then stared at the ground for a few minutes before pulling his head back up and looking at Lord Mef with a confused look on his face.

Joe: Just wondering, your lordship, but why didn’t you kill me the other day when you could have so easily done so? Why spare my life? What use am I to you? I mean other then the information I was supposed to tell you before I blacked out, I don’t think there’s much I can do to help you.

Lord Mef snapped out of his trance and looked at Joe, a wide grin on his face. He then put one arm around Joe’s shoulder, pulling him closer to him.

Mef: I had a good reason not to kill you, Joe. A very good reason, actually. You’ve impressed me quite a bit, Joe. You really have. No one has ever yelled at me quite like you did, Joe. No…I think most people are too scared of me, and too scared of dying, to do so. Yes, I know that you, Joe, are scared of me as well, but you still had the guts to tell me exactly what you thought of me. I appreciated that very, very much. You have lot’s of guts, Joe. Your exactly the kind of person I have been looking for. But we will talk more about that later. Right now, I just want to know what you came to tell me in the first place.

Joe smiled as he looked back up at Mef. For the first time ever, Joe didn’t feel uncomfortable in Mef’s presence. No, he just felt very calm. In fact, in a way, being near Mef made all his fears just disappear. Mef’s presence made Joe feel safe. To Joe, Mef was like a walking, talking life insurance that Joe didn’t even have to pay for!

Joe then looked up at the ceiling, thinking, and trying to remember; remember what it was he was SUPPOSED to remember.

Joe: Not exactly sure, my lordship. I think that Corkins sent me to tell you that he found one of the Reborns. Doesn’t sound very important to me though. I guess I just don’t understand it, eh?

For a split second, Joe noticed Mef’s expression changed. His eyes flashed red, his smile turned to an angry frown, and the rest of his face just turned serious. Then the smiled returned, along with the rest of his normal, relaxed expression, as Mef turned his head to Holes, who was now shouting out maniacal gibberish in the corner.

Mef: Holes, report to Corkins tower. Get more information out of him about this Reborn he had found, then go out and find him, or her, yourself.

Holes stood up, sliding his way to the bedroom door, before turning around again and staring at Mef.

Holes: Report, I shall do. Find the Reborn, I MUST do. But, master, what shall I do when I find the Reborn?

Mef: Kill him…or....her.

* * *

Rasheem: Damn it, Kunal, where the hell are you?

It was still early morning when Rasheem stepped into his camel stables. The stables meant a lot to Rasheem, as they were a Hafoo family heirloom, passed down to him by his father. The Hafoo family scoffed at the idea of having something small, like a gem-encrusted cup, as a family heirloom because, as Grandfather Namul Hafoo had said on a cold, winter evening, “Who the hell would want an heirloom which can be so easily broken? A swift kick between the legs is all it takes to do so!!!” So instead they went with something large, full of odours, and VERY hard to carry around.

Soon Rasheem would have to do the same and, while he didn’t have a son of his own, he DID have an equal substitute; his nephew Kunal Hafoo. He had been training Kunal for the past two months, teaching his nephew everything he’d have to know before he could take over the stables. While the kid was very bright, he wasn’t a very fast learner. It had taken Kunal almost a week just to memorize the directions to the stables, despite the fact that he lived less then a mile away. It wasn’t like the stables were hard to find, exactly. In any other city, the smell of the stables alone would have stuck out like a sore thumb in a garbage dump. But this was Sagdalam, where any odour, whether there for a brief visit or deciding to pitch up a tent and stay for a while, managed to blend in perfectly.

The stables consisted of twenty-one stalls; ten on the left, ten on the right, and one right across from the doorway. There were a few empty stalls saved for any passerby’s to hold their mounts, whether they were horse, camel, or giant gecko, while they stayed the night at the town’s inn, but the rest of the stalls were reserved for the town’s camels. The stables were like a public garage for very hairy, smelly, and bony transportation of the two-humped variety. The townspeople depended on Rasheem to take care of their camels. He was in charge of grooming, cleaning, and, generally, taking care of them. But, soon enough, it wouldn’t be his responsibility anymore. It would be Kunal’s.

Out of the corner of his eye, Rasheem notices movement coming from one of the stalls. The popping out of a head, the frantic wave of an arm, and a quiet shriek, which sound somewhat like “Over here, Uncle”, only confirmed Rasheem’s suspicions; Kunal was in the middle of practicing his responsibilities. With an exasperated sigh, Rasheem stomped over to the open stall and peered inside. There, sitting cross-legged on a stool, was Kunal, his hand’s hidden beneath the underside of a particularly large, and hairy camel. Noticing where Kunal’s hands were positioned, Rasheem’s face turned red as he grabbed Kunal’s raggedy collar, pulling him up so that t hey were face-to-face.

Rasheem: What the hell are you doing? What the hell do you think your doing? What the BLOODY hell are you DOING with your hands below the underside of that damn camel?!? Don’t you know that the underside of a camel is a sacred place where no man dare wish to tread? Didn’t I damn well teach you that?!? DIDN’T I DAMN WELL TEACH YOU THAT?!?!?

His eyes growing beadier and more plate-sized by the minute, Kunal tries avoiding the angry, piercing gaze being given to him by his uncle. He then cleared his throat, ridding it of the lump that once resided inside, before staring right up into the tomato-like face of his uncle.

Kunal: Uncle…I…I have done nothing wrong!! I…I was just practicing what you had taught me. You…you never objected to this before. You never stopped me when I had done this before. I…I find nothing wrong with what I was doing. I don’t see the problem with my..my…my milking the camels.

After the few minutes it took to register into his head, Rasheem’s eyes flared up, and his face went even more red then humanly possible. He grabbed Kunal for the second time and started shaking him, turning his nephew into an Abethian vibrator.

Rasheem: Damn it, Kunal!!! You can’t milk a camel!!! It is bloody impossible to milk a damn camel!!! How in the hell can you milk a camel if there is no way for the damn milk to come out? Camel’s are not cow’s, damn it! No matter how much the might smell like them, camels are not bloody cows and you can’t milk a bloody damn camel!!! Allah does not bloody damn well allow it!!

Sweat now pouring down his face, Kunal tried to escape his uncle’s grasp, but found that, in the mood Rasheem was in at the moment, trying to escape would be like a frog trying to squirt water out of it’s feet. It was impossible. His uncle was angry. No….very angry. But he was always angry about something. It was his normal mood. Kunal, ever since he had started being trained by his uncle, had learned a technique that was very useful in these situations. He called it the Jewel Smasher. He swung one leg back slowly and, when it could go no further, brought it forwards as fast as he could, driving it right in between his uncle’s legs.

Kunal, after landing feet first onto the ground, quickly went searching through his pockets as his uncle now laid in a fetal position at Kunal’s feet. After about five seconds, Kunal’s frantic search had come to an end. He pulled out a small, rectangular, silver and blue box. He turned it around with his fingers a few times before reading the label, which said “Geniral Aspirins”. This always made Kunal laugh when he thought about it. What other kinds of aspirins COULD there be? It’s not like it was possible for headaches to occur anywhere OTHER then your head, right?

Headaches, no; you could only get those in your head. Kunal had been right about that on, at least. But aches, in general, COULD occur all over the body. There are so many different kinds of aches that it would be impossible for two completely different aches to NOT bump into each other in, for example, the right thumb and start an argument over who was here first and who should get out of the other ache’s territory before he finds himself waking up the next morning only to realize he’s dissolving slowly in a lake of stomach acid.

But, as bright a kid as he was, Kunal had not realised this simple little fact. Kunal was always oblivious to little things like that. He always seemed to miss the fading around the R in “Geniral”, possibly hinting that, before the fading, it had not been an R at all. He always seemed to miss the way his uncle’s back, whenever he was curled up in a fetal position, had always been facing towards Kunal, his hands out of view and, quite possibly, holding onto something he didn’t want Kunal to see him holding on to. And Kunal always, ALWAYS, seemed to miss the small print under the label saying, in bright, yellow letters, “Aspirins – They’re not just for damn headaches anymore!!”, which, if Kunal had, even once, noticed it, might have made him realize that these aspirins were definitely NOT for headaches.

Kunal proceeded to open the box and then shake it until a small blister pack fell onto his open and waiting hand. There were tens slots in the blister pack; six were empty, while the other four still held aspirins in their plastic casings. He pushed one of the aspirins out of it’s casing, put the blister pack back into the box, slipped the box into a random pocket and then laughed as he stared at the aspirin sitting in his hand, before kneeling down beside his uncle.

Kunal: I am very, very sorry for doing that, uncle, but desperate times call for desperate measures and, well, you brought this upon yourself. I mean….do you KNOW how hard it is to talk to you when your like that, uncle? It’s like talking to a camel with a broken hump! It’s damn near impossible, uncle. It’s just as hard talking to someone who is laying down on the ground in pain, though, so please sit up so I can give you your aspirin.

It took a few minutes but, despite the pain, Rasheem managed to sit up, grab the aspirin out of Kunal’s hand, and then pop the aspirin back into his mouth. He then laid back down, closing his eyes for a minute as he let the aspirin do it’s work, slowly ridding his body of any “Geniral” pains. He then re-opened his eyes and tilted his head back, staring up at Kunal with an angry, yet pained, expression on his face.

Rasheem: You didn’t have to do that, you know. I am perfectly capable of controlling my anger, damnit!!! If you had told me to stop, I would have stopped. If you had told me to continue, I would have done just that. I am 40 years old, Kunal, and I can bloody well control my anger!!!! Then again, wasn’t it your fault I got angry in the FIRST place? Oh….I think it WAS!!! Yes, it was you and your damn lies that caused me to blow up, Kunal!!! I hate repeating myself, but I will try to put it in a way you might understand. You do NOT pass go, you do NOT collect $200, and you do not, will not, CAN NOT MILK A DAMN CA-

Noticing something out of the corner of his eye, Rasheem stopped talking, stood himself up, and pushed Kunal aside. He then reached under the camel who’s name, due to the fact that no one was really sure if he was male or female, was Hermie, and grabbed the handle of a large, tin bucket, slowly lifting it up so he could see the contents inside. The bucket was half full, filled with a yellowish white liquid, which, to Rasheem’s surprise, failed to release any distinct odour. He raised his other hand and closed his eyes before, fearing the worst, he dipped one finger into the liquid.

Even though the liquid seemed to sizzle when the finger got closer, it had done nothing at all to the finger as Rasheem swirled it around. In fact, the liquid seemed to be quite soothing to the touch, like a calm, summer breeze rushing passed your face. Curious, Rasheem withdrew the finger and brought it up to his lips, staring intently at it. It, somehow, seemed to sparkle, as if a thousand blinking stars were resting on Rasheem’s fingertip. Rasheem then opened his mouth, and slowly inched his tongue closer and closer to it. When, at last, tongue and liquid met, it caused Rasheem’s eyes to grow and bulge outwards.

Rasheem then froze, his hand letting go of the bucket. The bucket fell to the floor, spilling the liquid onto the floor and causing a puddle to form around Rasheem’s feet. Then, as if a tiny lumberjack had just finished cutting down a very large Rasheem tree, Rasheem slowly fell backwards. He fell, faster and faster, frozen and un-flinching like a statue. He then landed, his fall cushioned by a small bed of hay which, after having been landed on, shrunk considerably due to the fact that a few hundred pieces of hay suddenly grew legs so that they could run away from the overwhelming, Abethi stench.

No one, not even the Abeths themselves, were really sure what caused them to smell so bad. Some people were convinced that it was the fact that they spent most of their time around camels, entire industries riding on their Stench-Be-Gone product lines. Others blamed the smell on the fact that Abeths spent all their time out and about in the dessert sun, prancing around oblivious to the creation of deodorant. While these were both very good theories, they were also both wrong. The truth was that Abeths were actually undead zombies.

They weren’t full zombies, of course. They were more like half-zombies. So people might say that there is no difference between normal zombies and half-zombies, but there is. Quite a few differences, actually. While both types of zombie are almost un-killable, half-zombies are still able to feel any pain inflicted upon them. Both varieties smell horrid but with regular zombies, being the large, lumbering masses of rotting flesh that they were, you could see why.

Then there were the differences in the behavior of the two zombie varieties. Half-zombies were much smarter, weren’t afraid of sunlight, and , most of the time, seemed to be perfectly normal, despite their odd, unexplainable love of turbans and camels. Full zombies, on the other hand, only came out during the night, half-limping, half-walking, their arms stretched outwards in front of them while they continue their never-ending search for brains, randomly groaning out words from their severely limited vocabulary like “Braaaaaaiiiiins”, “Grrrr”, and “Arrrgh!”.

Both species also reacted differently to any limb losses that might occur. While neither species would ever lose any blood over the loss of, say, their right arm, regular zombies would still continue to function, as if they had not lost said limb at all, while half-zombies, on the other hand, tended to freeze up like statues until said limb has been reattached. The dislocation of any one limb could happen at any time to either species and while regular zombies didn’t have the brainpower to do so, half-zombies learned to be prepared in situations like this; either with needle and thread, hammer and nails, or good, old-fashioned, glue.

Kunal knew from experience that glue didn’t work very well when being used to re-attach limbs, and hammer and nails, though effective, was also the most painful way to go in these situations. So, ultimately, that left stitch-work, which, thankfully, Kunal had learned all about at an early age, and had the patience, and small fingers, to be very adept at. Reaching into his pockets again, Kunal pulled out a small bag, possibly made out of some small, furry rodent, which was closed tightly with a small length of rope. He untied the rope, before reaching into the bag and pulling out a couple of needles and some thread. He then went on the search for his uncle’s missing appendage.

It obviously wasn’t his legs, arms, hands, or feet, as they all seemed to be tightly fastened to the rest of his uncle’s body. It also must have been pretty small, because, from first glance, Kunal didn’t seem to notice anything missing. A second glance didn’t seem to help either. Kunal sighed, realizing this might take longer then expected before, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed his uncle’s left ear, laying a few feet away from his head. Kunal picked it up, and held it against the side of his uncle’s head, as he started to go to work reattaching his uncle’s ear.

It didn’t take very long, as the ear didn’t really lose much cartilage after popping out of place. Kunal then stepped away, admiring his handiwork, as his uncle sat up and yawned. That was another thing about half-zombies that was so peculiar; whenever they were knocked unconscious, or frozen, for a long time, they always yawned after regaining consciousness, as if they had only been asleep for a very long period of time.

Rasheem then stood up, wiping the hay and dirt from off the back of his pants, before turning to Kunal, glaring angrily at him, and picking him up, yet again, by his collar. Kunal started shaking again, obviously scared out of his wits at what might happen to him now. He irked out a smile, sweat pouring down his face, but his uncle’s expression stayed motionless and angry.

Kunal: Errr…what…what is it, Uncle? Are…are you ok?

Upon hearing this question, Rasheem’s eyes flare up before he pulls Kunal even closer, close enough for their noses to touch,, and for Kunal, now shaking uncontrollably, to start to slowly swing his leg back and forth like a pendulum.

Rasheem: Am I ok? AM I BLOODY OK?!?!? How the bloody hell do you THINK I feel right now!!!

Kunal’s leg continued moving back and forth, now faster and faster, as he was sure that he might need to use it soon. His uncle was angry, again, which meant that it was Kunal’s job to calm him down, and there was only one way that Kunal knew to calm his uncle down when he was angry. He had used it once already today, and wasn’t afraid to do so again, which is why his uncle’s next actions had caught him off guard. A smile suddenly came to Rasheem’s face, as he let go of his nephew’s collar, before grabbing and embracing him with a hug. Rasheem then, in an odd moment of happiness, started to repeatedly kiss Kunal’s forehead. Kunal calms down, stopping his legs pendulum-like movements before looking up at his uncle with a bewildered look on his face. Rasheem just smiles back, bright as a lamp in the shade.

Rasheem: Damn, Kunal. Did you think I was mad at you or something? No. Of course not! I am in very good mood!! Why? Because that was DAMN good camel milk!!! It shall make me a fortune! People shall soon be able to purchase it by the bucket loads!!! And who do I have to thank for this wonderful discovery? You, Kunal. So, for that, I am eternally grateful.

Kunal thinks for a minute, before returning the smile. Rasheem then puts Kunal down, picks up the bucket, and sits down next to the underside of Hermie, beckoning Kunal to do the same. Kunal sits as his Uncle puts an arm around him, before looking down at Kunal with a smile.

Rasheem: Now, Kunal, you just tell Uncle Rasheem about how you milk the camel, alright? If I want to be rich, I need to get inside that little head of yours to know exactly what to do.

Kunal: Well, Uncle, it’s easy. You see….it’s kinda like milking a cow. The only REAL difference is the fact that while a cow udder has three….udder-sticks for the milk to come out of, a camel only has one. But the camel’s udderstick is much hairier and longer then any of a cow’s uddersticks! It’s in pretty much the same place as well, Uncle, so just grab on, and give it a good couple pulls.

As the information started to slowly register into Rasheem’s head, his face started to get whiter and whiter. Slowly, horrified that the realization that he had come to in his head might actually be true, he reached under Hermie’s back legs, feeling around the camel’s underside until he had found what he was looking for. It WAS long. It WAS hairy. But it definitely was NOT like a cow’s udder. Angered, he turned his head to Kunal, glaring at him but still holding onto the camel’s “udderstick”.

Rasheem: Damn it, Kunal! This is the LAST bloody time I am going to tell you this! That…(Rasheem points to the puddle of liquid that had been spilt earlier)…is NOT milk. THIS…(Rasheem points to Hermie)…is NOT a cow! You know what that means Kunal? It means you can NOT….(Rasheem tugs hard on the “udder-stick”)…..MILK….(Another hard tug by Rasheem)….a DAMN…(Another tug, causing Hermie to get angered)….CAMEL!

Rasheem does another last tug, harder then the last ones, before turning his head around, right into a large, hoofed foot, flying right for his mouth.

* * *
Contrary to popular belief, Holes wasn't really psychotic. He was guilty of being slightly insane, but if any person had to live through their life after realizing, minutes after being born, that they were going to be a servant their whole life, they wouldn't exactly be totally sane either. He only acted psychotic because, quite frankly, that’s what people EXPECTED him to be like. It’s just not natural for someone to hear about a demon like Holes, with extendable, razor-sharp fingernails and more mouths covering his body than a Greek family has in the surrounding the table during Christmas dinner, and then say to themselves “Why, that demon sure does sound like a right, jolly old chap! Maybe I should invite him for tea and crumpets some time.”

It’s like how you’d expect a cute, little doggy to go “Woof!”, not “Oink!”, “Meow!”, or “Yo, foo! Would it hurt for ya to maybe scratch my belly from time to time instead of sitting on your lazy butt all day?”. It’s like how you expect a domesticated bunny to lick your fingers and then hop away, not jump up and start gnawing at your face until you manage to pry it off and throw it over your shoulder, before, at this point in time, it just licks it’s lips, wiggles it’s ears, and then jumps back up in hopes of seconds.

It’s not like Holes ever really had a choice, anyways. Being a servant is, as sad at it may seem, the only position that a demon like Holes could ever really be used for. Again, though it goes without saying, people just could never really get used to seeing demons as anything other then a servant, though once Lord Mef had used a demon by the name of Jokelis as a Court Jester. This lasted for about a week before Lord Mef realized that it would never work out because, as Lord Mef said, “Watching someone hit themselves accidentally in the face with a flaming torch can only be entertaining for so long before it becomes as boring as watching paint dry.”

Despite everything, however, there WERE a few benefits to being a servant of Lord Mef. There were the three square sacrifices a day, which were human only SOME of the time. There were the daily two hour breaks, which, thanks in part to Lord Mef, Holes spent with his hands in menacing positions as he spit out random death threats while chasing random maids around the castle, though Holes enjoyed it because, since he was forced to stay cramped up in the castle all the time, it was his only source of exercise. Then there were the times that Holes had spent with Carcer.

Dr. Carcer Corkins was, in the eyes of Holes, someone who actually understood him and the only person that Holes really talked to about his personal problems. To everyone else, he was a madman with a penchant for blowing things up.

(Chapter 1 - Incomplete! To be continued...soon.)

Twiddler · 08-06-2004, 05:22 PM

Chapter 2
=========

High above the continents of Warth, a seagull flies overhead. For humans, being in the perspective of a bird, such as this seagull, is not something that happens often. Then again, if you were a human, it’s not something you’d want to experience anyways. There’s just something about being millions of miles above ground without any way of stopping gravity from pulling you down and turning you into just another bloodstain on some unknown, at least to the newly deceased human, sidewalk which doesn’t sound very pleasing to the ear.

But to the seagull, the life of a bird is one that it enjoys very much. Not that it has much of a choice, though, seeing as how it is the only life it can really have. Until it dies, of course, at which point it will probably spend an eternity in hell, it’s talons chained to a wooden pole on the end of the Burning Docks of Hell, limiting it’s movements enough so that it would be impossible to avoid the Pebbles of Eternal Torture that were being chucked at it by the Giant Singing Clam of Supreme Judgment. The seagull tried not to think about that, though. It would have enough time for that when it WAS dead.

Seagull’s, not exactly being one of the smartest species of birds around, didn’t really have time to think about dying and, for that matter, didn’t really want to think about it. Instead, it preferred to think about flying, or life, but not both at the same time. The seagull tried that once and not only did it give itself a major headache by doing so, but it had gone into a nose dive which, if it had not suddenly concentrated mind on flying, would have cost the seagull it’s beak thanks to a very rocky mountain surface. Immediately after recovering from the nose dive, the seagull had found a place to land and started scolding itself because, according to what the seagull told itself, you only get one beak and it wasn’t tired of it’s beak yet. Immediately after scolding itself, the seagull decided that, when it WAS tired of it’s own beak, it would give that mountain surface a call and let it know that the seagull was on it’s way.

Right now, the seagull was thinking mostly about flying. It, just like any other bird, enjoyed flying for many reasons, though, unlike other birds, the seagull only really had two reasons because there really wasn’t enough room in the seagulls head for it to remember more then three things at a time, the reminder of exactly HOW to remember things always having to take up at least one of those spaces.

(Chapter 2 - Incomplete.)