2006 IMBOLC/LUGHNASADH PROSE ENTRIES

[Crow]

Notice: Please post your short stories and/or philosophical works for the current Eisteddfod here. This category purposely has a loose definition so as to cover as much non-poetic writing as possible.

[Guardian]

Disclaimer: I wrote this on February 26th, 2003, during an extremely dark time in my life. There is no beauty here.

and in my desperate time of need, the only one I have to turn to is me
though, I never really was that reliable
The light glows curiously in the austere room that resonates a cold silence, broken only by the faint sniffling echoing from the corner of the room. Sitting with It’s arms pressed tightly against It’s body and It’s hands bound and at its chest, spasmodically It pulls It’s legs up so that It’s knees are at Its chin and releases a sob. It’s hair, a inexpressible color, knotted and wild sticks to It’s face wet by the salty liquid that has been cascading out of her raw, bloodshot eyes ruthlessly for hours. The liquid pours down over the skin on It’s once-attractive face, now blotched red, raw and bleeding where the river has eroded away It’s skin. Until it reaches the silver sheen of tape that covers the lower half of It’s face, including It’s mouth. It’s wailing and keening muffled by the tape, It sniffs and struggles to breathe through its nose between sobs. It makes no effort to escape. A pair of scissors and a roll of the silver tape are beside It, but there is no one else. It’s weight shifts from the wall to the emptiness beside it, It’s emaciated body crashes heavily onto the ground, and with a loud crack blood pools around It’s head, and It’s eyes. Still open, still streaming. The blood and tears have moistened the tape, and it wilts off of It’s mouth into the pool of blood. A shadow of a voice whispers: “Why?” and with no comprehendible reason to give, It pushes It’s eyelids down over It’s eyes, opens It’s mouth and emits a single unsettling scream. The sound reverberates off of the walls, until it finally shatters and the room is silent again. It closes It’s mouth, opens It’s eyes, and transforms into a wax figure. Stiff, frozen, lifeless.

[barmybam]

Entry
Light from the darkness
Lisa lay in the meadow staring at the night sky, the darkness amazed her. She always wondered why the night sky was constantly some shade of blue…why not lilac or green, why at night it was the deepest blue – almost black.
The only time Lisa would lay in the meadow was when there were no stars, the only light came from the moon and street lights in the distance. It didn’t matter how cold the atmosphere was, all she wanted was some time to herself so she could relax and plan her life. Her biggest dream was to have a daughter so she could see how amazing night sky was when it was almost lightless. Ever since Lisa was a child she had lay in the meadow at night. Lisa loved to sit under a small holly tree when it was solstice, she would set out a circle of candles, and inside the circle she would place a small bunch of white roses with red tipped petals.
The time had come…Lisa was pregnant with the baby girl she had always wanted. When she went into labour she insisted that her daughter was to be delivered under the holly tree.
No-one knew why Lisa would always lay in the meadow. When her daughter was in her teens she finally asked her mother why she would go to the meadow on certain nights. Lisa told her daughter that when she was seven her uncle moved in with her family because he and her aunt couldn’t stop arguing, once everyone had gone to bed he would come into her room naked, when she didn’t feel well she would go for a walk up to the meadow where he wouldn’t find her, she felt safe there. As she got older he came into her room less often but when he did come it seemed even worse than ever for her.
Now at night both mother and daughter lay in the meadow under the holly tree and the moon, relaxing.

[Jingle]

In the Woods

Today I followed an elf and a halfling into the woods. The path, covered with ice encrusted snow crunched beneath my feet as I walked. The elf stopped after a short while and explained that this was the woods in which he had first met the fairies one morning around sunrise. It was a wonderful story, and my human mind struggled to let go of my scientific side and accept the reality of the story. It was clear the elf believed it, and I have no reason to disbelieve the elf.

Further up the path, he showed me the place where several trees near the path seem to be stationary, but each time he visits these woods, the rest of the trees have moved. These ents do not move a great deal, perhaps a few feet at a time, but it was clear, he said, that they do move.

The elf and the halfling moved ahead on the path as I pondered these tidings, and made the decision to accept them. I allowed the woods to penetrate my heart and my mind as I watched the two figures walk together side by side in front of me. To the left of the path I saw a circle of five trees. The trees called to me in the muffled breeze and invited me to stand in their center. The bunnies had been there earlier and had also stopped in the center of the ring. As I looked up I saw the intertwining of their evergreen arms in an embrace which warmed me to be a part of it. The elf and the halfling, seeing that I had left the path, came back toward me, yet kept their distance until I invited them to come and see this marvelous sight.

On the outside of the circle, on opposite ends, there were two more trees. The impression I had was that the five trees were siblings, and the two trees, one larger and one smaller, were the parents. And here they were, inviting me into their family.

We returned to the path which followed the contours of a rather boisterous creek. I imagine that in the summer it meanders. Today the weather was cold, perhaps a few degrees above freezing, and there had been quite a bit of snow in the previous week. I could tell the water was cold by looking at it, and the relative warmth of the day was feeding the creek with an abundance of power.

The elf left the path to view the creek closer. I followed. There, below my feet, was a pool. Fed gently by two small inlets on one end, the downstream end was blocked by a dam of rocks. The elf didn't say a word, but I noticed that the fairies had been skating on the thin layer of ice which covered the dammed end of the pool. I sat on the ground and said "I'm going to get wet". With that, the elf laughed and told me I reminded him of friend of his who would have done the same thing. The elf and the halfling left me then, and I stared for awhile at the wonder of the fairies' skating rink. I closed my eyes and deeply inhaled the crisp, fresh air which didn't seem cold. My body was enveloped by the warmth of a hug, as if the winter world around me was welcoming me to be a part of it.

And then I listened. I could hear the water as it rushed over the stones, but I could feel the fairies and the spirits of the woods inviting me to come back again in the spring. I felt an inner calm and a peace within that had been missing for many years, as I tore down walls I have built over the last quarter-century.

I felt that my companions may become concerned for my wellbeing, so I started to stand. I turned to the right, to see if there was something to available to help me up. I had not really noticed the tree behind me before, but now he gently offered me his arm as I pulled myself up off the ground.

Back on the path, I walked quietly forward. I did not see my companions, but I knew that they would not leave me. On the other side of the creek were the shale cliffs so common in our area. Cascading icicles in several groups along the edge shimmered with the sunlight as they formed crystalline castles along the water's edge. I could imagine the fairy gatherings behind those walls, and I knew that they were there.

There was an opening in the path that led to a beach along the edge of the river, and I headed towards it. The elf and the halfling were there already. I pointed to the icicle houses and whispered "that's where they live". The halfling looked to me and said "who?". "The fairies," I replied. The halfling smiled at me with tears in her eyes.

The elf then pointed to a beach on the other side, below the icicles, and said "that's where I met them". And then we all stopped, because the sound of fairy music wafted through the air. It was quiet at first, but even the sound of a jet overhead could not drown out the music when we listened. And then we saw a fairy push an icicle down. "Did you see that?" And we smiled.

We left that place after a bit, and as we went back the way we had come, the elf skipped from tree to tree, hugging each one. He told us that one day, he will have hugged all of the trees in that wood. I had never hugged a tree. There was one tree, or maybe it was two, but the two trunks seemed to grow from a single origin. The elf and the halfling embraced the tree. Group hug, and I hastened to join them. They had moved on, but I called them back and had another group hug. It was wonderful. The trees are warm.

We stopped by the fairy skating rink so I could show it to the halfling, but most of it had melted away. We stopped by the family of trees and hugged each one. The "father tree" was too large to be hugged by a single person, so the elf and the halfling encircled the tree with their arms to give him a proper hug.

Sighs of joy and happiness... What a wonderful day it was. And I have found something that I had lost... My ability to believe.

Next time, I hope my best friend will be able to join us.

[Underground River]

An Insider's Tale

The baby stirred awake within the timeless darkness of her mother's womb. It was exactly five months since she had been conceived.
She swam slowly through the warm darkness touching the walls of her pool to make sure mum was still there. All was well inside her mother that morning.
Her mum was speaking. She could hear it clearly. Mum was talking to dad. Dad said something funny and mum laughed.
Baby listened to the rhythmic sounds of mum's existence. She especially loved her mother's heartbeat. It was her drum of being her constant sound that all was well with mum.
Baby had vague memories of being two halves that desperately sought each other. She had memories of a joyous instant when those two halves met and became her.
She had five months of memories of her swimming pool. It was just perfect, exactly the right temperature. She was never cold, never hot, never afraid in those waters.
She was even attached to her mother. The attachment to mum seemed to bring her food whenever she wanted so she never felt hungry. Her mother seemed designed to let baby live.
Days went by, then weeks, then months. Baby grew. She knew she was bigger because she often really kicked mum further away than she could kick before. She didn't mean to kick mum, she just kicked her legs sometimes to kick them then realized they were kicking mum too. She hoped mum didn't mind, she loved mum so much. Mum was letting her live inside her in this nice warm swimming pool.
She wasn't afraid of the dark, she loved the darkness inside mum. It was total darkness but if she listened to mum being alive she was never afraid.
One day she felt something strange. The pool seemed to be constricting down around her. She was terrified. What was the pool doing? Was she supposed to do something to make it stop? For the first time in her nine months of life she was afraid. None of this was in her mind. She didn't know why her pool was tightening up around her.
It was like waves, every now and then the pool would contract and she wanted it to stop. Suddenly, with a great rush and then a coldness colder than she would ever again know in her life, her water rushed away. Her pool simply slid away from her body and she was left waterless. She felt gravity then, for the first time in her life she felt the earth's downward pull.
She felt another contraction then, and she felt herself drawn into a narrow opening in her mother.
She wanted to scream but her mouth was stuck shut. She wanted to tell mum she was afraid.
Oh mum I'm so afraid, she thought in her mind as if her mum could hear her.
She was pushed relentlessly down, closer and closer to the unknown. Suddenly her mother seemed to be pushing her. No, don't push, she tried to scream. I need my pool. Where's my pool! Give me back my pool!
The terrible pushing went on for awhile, then suddenly, unbelievably, she was out of mum!
She was in a bright room with terrifying lights and loud sounds. She opened her mouth, and wailed out her first cry.
November 17, 2005.

[OrlandoDruid]

Hello Everyone,

Here is my entry for the Eisteddfod Prose competition. I have been working on this screenplay for years now. I am ready to get some feedback and see what others think. I only posted the first few pages of the screenplay. If this catches your attention, please follow the link to read the entire adventure.

This story takes place in a fictionary world much like our own where angels and demons are silently fighting a war in the underbelly of a city known as St. Eyria: City of Darkness. I hope you enjoy.


ST. EYRIA: CITY OF DARKNESS


FADE IN:

SEQ. 1: EXT. ST. EYRIA SKYLINE / NIGHT

It is dark. We hover over the city, looking down at the amazing - almost surreal - skyline. We circle in a birdlike arc around the city, slowly winding down into...

SEQ. 2: EXT. CITY STREETS / NIGHT

Our focus comes to rest on a beautiful young woman running frantically down the street. She gasps as an arrow flies past. Her eyes seem to literally flash for only a second. And she steals a quick glance back.

We leave the girl and look behind her. A group of four people are chasing her. They are dressed in black, wearing leather jackets emblazoned with white skulls. And under each of their right eyes is a small tattoo of a skull. Their mark. They are THE SKULL. They each carry crossbows and sheathed swords. We focus briefly on the grim expression of a beautiful girl. She is JULIE HARRIS. Ahead of her is a fit looking man - only slightly older than the rest. He speaks into a headset.

LEADER
The subject is in view, sir.

SEQ. 3: EXT. NEIGHBORING STREET / NIGHT

A similar group of The Skull heads down the street. In the lead is a tall and powerful looking man with a bow and arrow. He is LAYTHAN, and he does not dress like the others. He also speaks into a headset.

LAYTHAN
Try to corner her. I'm on my way.

And they quicken the pace.




SEQ. 4: EXT. CITY STREETS / NIGHT

The original group of The Skull continues running down the street. Ahead we see the frightened girl round the corner. The Skull members run to catch up, but as they round the corner into...

SEQ. 5: EXT. ALLEY / NIGHT

We see that she is gone. They slow down and look around.

LEADER
What the..?

JULIE
Where the hell did she go?

The others continue to look around in confusion.

SEQ. 6: EXT. NEIGHBORING STREET / NIGHT

Laythan and his followers continue. Laythan looks concerned.

LAYTHAN
What's going on? Talk to me.

LEADER (V.O.)
We lost her sir.

SEQ. 7: EXT. ALLEY / NIGHT

The first team continues looking around in confusion. The leader walks a bit ahead.

LEADER
She's... Gone.

Suddenly the girl lunges from the shadows - eyes glowing white - and tares into the leader with a long dagger.

SKULL 1
sh*t.

Everybody freezes up for an instant. Except Julie. She steps forward and kicks the girl in the head. She then shoots her crossbow, but the girl catches the arrow and tosses it aside. In the same swift motion she knocks the crossbow away, smashing it into the wall. Julie punches her in the face and pulls out her sword. The girl takes a step back as Julie slashes her stomach. The girl roars in pain, then lunges at Julie. Julie kicks her hard in the stomach, but to no avail. They struggle over the sword, and within seconds it falls to the ground. Julie punches the girl in the face, then sweeps her feet out from under her. She falls, but jumps back up.

There is a brief pause. Julie drops into a split. Within less than a second the girl transforms from a look of confusion too belated understanding as an arrow penetrates her heart.

Across the alley Laythan watches, still holding his now empty bow in readiness.

The girl staggers back. Julie grabs the sword and stands. Steps forward. And shoves the arrow deeper into the girl's chest. She screams in pain and falls to her knees. Her eyes no longer glow. The frightened girl looks up at Julie. But Julie is expressionless. She runs the girl through with the sword.

Julie begins kicking the body. Again and again. Becoming more and more violent. And then she raises her sword.

A hand on her shoulder stops her. She turns to look at Laythan.

LAYTHAN
Easy. I think she's dead.

Julie lowers the sword and exhales.

JULIE
Angels...

He spits on the girl’s body.

LAYTHAN
Give my regards to God.

Laythan turns to walk away. But he stops and turns to Julie.

LAYTHAN
What is your name?



JULIE
Julie Harris.

Laythan smiles and walks away.

SEQ. 8: EXT. CHRISTIAN'S MOM'S HOME / NIGHT

It is just after sundown. A raggedy figure walks down the rows of lower class houses. He is CHRISTIAN, and upon seeing his face we realize he is a handsome young man in his early twenties in desperate need of a shave. He does not look healthy. Christian heads towards a run down looking house. Through the window we see the lights are still on and a woman in her early fifties - CHRISTIAN'S MOM - is watching the news.

SEQ. 9: INT. CHRISTIAN'S MOM'S HOUSE / NIGHT

Christian's mom sits and watches the news in the obviously poor - though well kept - living room. On the screen a woman stares directly into the camera and speaks soberly. She is ANGELINE WALCOTT.

ANGELINE
While police claim to be cracking down on drug
trafficking, they seem to be helpless against the
influx of the new drug Redemption in St. Eyria.
Recent reports claim that approximately one
third of the city has taken this drug at least once
within the past month.

The door opens. Christian's mom rises and turns to see her son.

CHRISTIAN
Hi Mom.

She seems concerned.

MOM
Christian. I didn't hear you come in.

There is a brief silence.

MOM
Are you okay?

CHRISTIAN
Yes.

MOM
You really don't look well.

CHRISTIAN
I'm fine Mom.

MOM
I worry son. You're gone all day...

CHRISTIAN
I work.

MOM
Where can you work looking like this?

He looks away.

CHRISTIAN
Who the hell do you think pays the bills around
here?

MOM
And you look like you haven't eaten in weeks... I
know about this new drug Redemption.

CHRISTIAN
I'm not on drugs.

MOM
Ever since your father left...

CHRISTIAN
That was five years ago.

She walks up to him and touches his face gently.

MOM
I know Christian. It was a long
time ago. That's why I worry.

He hugs her.






CHRISTIAN
I'm fine Mom. I promise... Everything's going to
be okay.

Over Christian's shoulder we see that the news is still on. We close in on the screen as Angeline continues to talk.

ANGELINE
Many local businessmen – led by billionaire Mike
Curry – have been calling for reform and stronger
leadership in the face of such high criminal activity.

SEQ. 10: EXT. CITY STREETS / NIGHT

We pull back slightly to show that we are no longer in Christian's Mom's house. We are now watching one among several screens in an electronics store window.

As the following speech is given we speed quickly through the streets of St. Eyria, focusing briefly on scattered pieces of the bad side of life. Suicide. Drug use and sale. Robbery. Rape. Abuse. Fighting. Cult activity. And we occasionally stop at a TV screen to watch a little more of the report.

ANGELINE
The crime rate has increased steadily every year
for the past twenty years. In St. Eyria, the gang
known as The Skull holds the city hostage while
it plunders our homes and our businesses. Violent
crimes such as rape and murder are at an all time
high, far above the national average.

SEQ. 11: INT. CONVENIENCE STORE / NIGHT

As Angeline finishes her speech we pull away from one last screen inside of a convenience store. Three gang punks stand before the counter holding hand guns. Two point their guns at the man behind the counter. The third holds his gun limply. He is DANNY MICHAELS. We focus on his face as the other two open fire. He cringes, almost unnoticeably. We travel over his shoulder and out into...

SEQ. 12: EXT. CITY STREET / NIGHT

Outside of the convenience store - directly under the streetlight - stand two grungy looking Skulls along with one elite Skull. The elite Skull and one of the punks look at the third, who seems nervous. He is JIM.


ELITE SKULL
Where's the money Jim?

JIM
I... I don't have it.

ELITE SKULL
Then where's the stuff?

JIM
I... It's gone.

SKULL
Gone? What the..?

The elite Skull stops the Skull – over zealous and pissed at this insubordination - from jumping Jim.

ELITE SKULL
Jim... You know the penalty for a Skull taking
Redemption.

JIM
No... No. I didn't... I lost it...

ELITE SKULL
You... Lost it...

JIM
Yeah... I swear I didn't... I wouldn't...


ELITE SKULL
You're tainted Jim. That's no good. You don't
deserve to be a part of us.

JIM
No...

The Skull starts to pull a gun, but Jim pushes him down and takes off down the street.

ELITE SKULL
Get him.

The Skull stands and they chase after him. Jim takes a quick turn and they follow him into an...

SEQ. 13: EXT. ALLEY / NIGHT

Jim no longer has much of a lead.

JIM
Please... Oh please...

Suddenly something grabs the Skull and pulls him into the shadows. A flash of eyes, and we can hear someone getting the crap kicked out of him.

The Elite Skull grabs Jim's jacket, but Jim keeps going. The jacket rips and small vials of Redemption go flying.

JIM
No...

Another figure grabs the Elite Skull, who falls. He grabs Jim's ankle and trips him as he disappears into the shadows. A flash of eyes, and we can hear someone getting the crap kicked out of him.

Jim gets up and turns around. The alley is silent, and he is alone. He drops to his hands and knees and begins picking up the vials of Redemption. He stops nervously and looks around. Still alone. He stands. Turns around. Right in front of him is a tall man. Middle aged. Long, and slightly receded hair. He looks regal and powerful. He is KOREN. A girl appears to his left holding a metal staff. She is ALEXIS. A young man appears to Koren's right. He has dark purple hair spiked half a foot in the air, and he holsters two daggers inside of his jacket. He is RAPHAEL. Koren takes a step forward, stepping on a vial of Redemption.

KOREN
Go.

Jim pisses his pants.

KOREN
Or the Skull will be the least of your worries.

And they are gone. Jim begins to shake. He nervously unscrews a vial of Redemption and reaches into the liquid. He pulls out a communion wafer and places it in his mouth. A look of total ecstasy washes over his face, and he drops to his knees.



SEQ. 14: EXT. HAVEN / NIGHT

Still dark. A gothic looking cathedral. We can sense there is no longer anything holy about this place. A steady flow of people are going inside.

SEQ. 15: INT. HAVEN / NIGHT

The cathedral is now a night club. And it is packed. A DJ spins trance and hypnotic music mixing rock and electronica. The people are of a wide variety, and we roam the room - seemingly aimless - as we encounter them. We arrive at the bar, where many drinks are served. We eventually come to a beautiful red head in her mid-thirties, wearing a business like - though quite sexy – dress standing near the bar. She is LUNA. And she turns to look directly into the camera. We pull back to show that she is actually looking at Koren, Alexis and Raphael.

LUNA
You're late.

RAPHAEL
Sorry Luna. Koren had this silly idea that we
should save a human life.

SEQ. 16: INT. HALLWAY / NIGHT

Luna leads Koren, Alexis and Raphael through a hallway until they reach…

SEQ. 17: INT. OFFICE / NIGHT

It was obviously once used for more Biblical purposes. Religious books still line the many bookcases. As do many great works of literature from around the world. But mostly there are books of history. Most old. But there is a computer. Aside from that, everything looks like it should be in a museum. Luna, Koren, Alexis and Raphael stand.

LUNA
Koren... Did you find out where this stuff is coming
from?

KOREN
You know where it's coming from.

LUNA
You know what I mean.


KOREN
No Luna. We...

Luna's eyes glow as she tries to control her anger.

LUNA
How hard is this? You may possibly be the only
three inhabitants of St. Eyria that can't find
Redemption.

KOREN
Only the more... Elite... Of the Skull know where
they process it. And they are well trained against
our… Interrogation techniques. They will not
tell us what we want to know.

LUNA
And what do they tell you?

RAPHAEL
Help. Help. Not in the face.

Alexis giggles. Luna gets in Raphael's face, enraged.

LUNA
Raphael? Alexis? You think this is funny?

Brief silence.

LUNA
These people are hunting us.

Silence.

LUNA
And that's the least of my worries. Now, we have a
job to do. And if we don't do it almost every soul on
the planet could be lost. That may not mean anything
to the three of you... But I take that responsibility
very seriously.

Follow this link for the rest... http://www.awengardens.com

[OrlandoDruid]

2005 Eisteddfod Children's Story

Written by: CJ Jackson (Ciuin Ardanach) Copyright 2005

The Characters







The Story
 
Lil’ Druids are little human like creatures, no taller than 3 feet high.  These little druids hold special powers of positivity.  They live to help humans of today to see the most positive things in life and to help them see hope when there seems to be none.  Keep the little druids in your heart and they will see you through any problem in life.
 
On a Lil hidden island off the coast of Dublin, Ireland known as Tuatha Da Danann lived a group of lil mystic beings known as the lil druids.  The lil druids lived happily in their lil grove of Oak trees known as Awen Gardens.  They would join together every morning around the sacred stream of life to scry for unhappiness in the world and do their part to make the world a better place.  They would speak to the trees, rocks, animals and all that nature would provide to help in their quest for world happiness and peace.  This is the story of those lil druids.
 
It was a bright sunny morning in Awen Gardens.  The Lil Druids were just waking up and getting their day started.  They went out to the stone tables to break fast.  Ogma had baked warm honey cakes served with fresh strawberry spread.  Everyone loved Ogma’s cooking.  After breaking fast the Lil Druids headed to the Stream of Life to see what part of the world would need them today.  They formed a loving circle around the Stream and Devlin led them in a meditation to call on the ancients to show them their quest for the day. 

Please follow this link to continue reading the story of the Lil Druids:
http://www.awengardens.com/lil_druids.htm

[Faydra]

Ok, this is a text that was written over a 9 month period. This is a bit of my personnal story. I have read this at our seedgroup's Samhaim celebration last October. It was translated from french by myself and I am no professionnal translator so please be nice Also, I have had to step over my being very shy and nervous and all that to post this... Big step for me!


The year I turned 30…

We wake up one morning realizing that life passes by. That the wheel turns, that time flies, that people are born, live, and then die. That children grow up, that dreams flourish, and that sometimes ideas die too. That our goals are sometimes questioned, that our life standards are established, that life goes on, and we forget that too often, we run to catch it.

I found myself, on a winter morning not too long after Imbolc, in the pitiful parking lot of Notre Dame Hospital. Standing, not knowing how I got there, not knowing how I got out of the hospital. It was February the 7th, and it was about 10 in the morning. Under a dreary sky full of clouds pregnant with snowflakes, that seemed to hold back its tears as if to tell me to be strong. Like I too, had to be in the sky of things that morning.

Followed many days of suffering and decisions. I did not see spring come. I was overrun by emotions and by the last moments I wanted to live with father. The last conversations, the last looks. The last sighs, the last hugs. The last warnings of a father to his daughter.

And then by a beautiful April morning, a beautiful sunny Sunday my love and I united our destinies officially. The trees didn’t even have their green coats on. The wheel of life kept going on it’s eternal turn even if Death was lurking. Morrigan would soon be calling back a member of my life to her.

Beltane came to pass. With it’s fires full of life. That same life that was leaving him slowly. Sight was going, then speech. Pain was taking over, slowly, subtly, not wanting to let go. As if dignity was to be with him to the end, silence invaded our conversations. But what is better than love told through small gestures? Some say truth comes out the mouth of children; this is what we have become again.

Then I turned 30. A few days in peace, I was able to live this turn of my life. On June the 27th, a few days after the summer solstice, my angel took flight. One hand on his forehead, his other hand cradled in my other hand, my life against his, fleeting. It was like he needed my permission to go. My angel took flight, but not far away. My body was like a launching platform. It was twenty past three in the afternoon. Time took a new meaning that day.

Followed tears, sign of an irrevocable selfishness. My father, my angel, his body wasn’t of any use any more. Though he is still close to me, I cannot hold him anymore. But I can talk to him whenever I want now.

Summer followed it’s course, with it my son’s birthday, then Lughnasad, my husband’s and then my mother’s birthday. And the confirmation that my path is the good one, and that I don’t care what people think anymore.

The year I turned thirty a lot of things changed. New year changed date. I grew older in a lot of fashions. I got married. Things in me and around me died. Things in me and around me were born.

The year I turned thirty I discovered that we are all shooting stars. We all shine to different degrees, often in spite of us. Shooting stars, you know, the ones that rain in August but that stay in our hearts like a glimmer of hope all of the next year.

The year I turned thirty I looked back at what I have come to be. Too soon? No. Never too late though.

The year I turned thirty I decided to shine from the inside and to assume my role as a shooting star. Though sometimes shooting stars shine one hundred years, sometimes barely a few seconds. I will have to live with that.

The wheel of the year has now completed its turn. New stars are aligned for birth, and hidden stars will come back for a few hours. And then life will go on, with angel and faeries to protect us. The wheel will start a new turn and bring with the New Year new joys and news sorrows.

Though sometimes shooting stars shine one hundred years, sometimes barely a few seconds we will all have to live with that.

[Belet]

I am not even sure if this qualifies to sit here amoung the rest of you and your writtings but here it will go none the less. This is but a snippett from the fantasy novel I am writing. This is from the first chapter and it is filled with darkness and creepy things that I can't divulge or else ruin the whole story. Perhaps with any luck my novel will make print. No matter what direction it takes it'll be great knowing I tried. So here it is...I hope it fills you with intrigue and wonder to read more.

The Lost Books of Krystalia
By: Linda Fields (aka: Madeline Belet')

Chapter I: The Messengers

"I created you and I gave you my most treasured gifts– yet you defy me even as tears pour from your flesh. Your eyes have lost their shimmer and your soul has become like grapes in the sun. You are an abomination, a soulless creature and by your choice, you fall from grace. You try to take ohters with you in your sorrowful state so you may find some comfort but I tell you now, only through me can you find comfort again. You fear even your own cast shadow. Condemned are you that choose to sit in filth and add to its disease! Hope can find no room in a black hole. Your mind, memories, knowledge...they are lost forever...don't you see? Insanity is all that will remain to rule your flesh and torture your existence. I cannot save that which does not know to be saved and I cannot fill a heart that suffocates in its own despair and ruin. My wondrous creation that I gave life to once upon a word…you must choose which path you will take and I can only hope that you will listen when I speak your name. Listen...for the messengers have come."

The black, humanoid creature slithered back into the darkness. It chewed upon its flesh with pools of spit gathering about its feet. It was obvious that whatever memories the Krystalian child once had were gone. Gathiel shed a tear as the thing coiled away from her light. She was running out of time. She had to find her brother quickly yet the pain of seeing the world torn apart by evils such as what lay before her...of flesh and blood, power and greed...they were almost too much for her to bear. The sacred laws were all but forgotten and the Sacred Book of Three had to be found before history was rewritten forever...it would destroy the One and all of existence. Gathiel reached for the burning sky with her soft, ivory wings before leaving the pitiful creature to squeal in pain.

[Azrienoch]

Rudiments of Government


1. Wittgenstein, in his later years, insisted that the problems and contradictions we encounter in philosophy are not due to the actual existence of said problems, but we encounter them because we allow ourselves to think of logic as something consistent outside of context, such as mathematics. We should approach these problems asking where the statement could have come from. In doing so, we learn to understand each other when we speak. This doesn’t solve the problem, nor does it simply ignore it, but it shows us that we’ve created a straw man of a problem. It simply goes away.

For problems that arise from politics, the case is slightly different. We encounter these problems not because they don’t exist (many do), but because we hold an invalid understanding of what government is. Most of us do not understand the context in which government exists. If we did, we would aim to correct whatever was wrong by valid means. This essay aims to provide a method of how to do just this.



2. In ancient Greece and Rome, the digits for one and zero did not exist. Their sequence of numbers began with two and moved on up from there. The reason for this is that when there was only one, how could there be “a number of things”? This reasoning has since been overcome, but there is a key idea here that should not be ignored: it takes two to have an interaction. For example, geometric point in space has no dimensions whatsoever. It is a totally meaningless thing, practically nothing. Until it is related to another point in space, it serves no purpose. This is to say that things like the laws of physics on whatever level are necessarily inconceivable when there is no interaction. It necessarily does nothing.

How does this apply to us? This gives us the grounds to realize that there is no such thing as government when only one of us is considered. That is, absolute anarchy is only possible when there is no relation or interaction for a human to anything else. It is this concept that gives way to all other areas of philosophy. For example, if I were a hermit, social matters with other humans would not, of course, come into question. However, as I must deal with my environment, then a question of ethics is brought up. How should I treat my environment? Should I take what I need and leave the rest, or should I take what I want and destroy the rest?

Only when there is you, not to say your body but your mind’s eye, a dimensionless point in space with nothing else considered, absolute anarchy is possible. Anything else brings some sort of governance, such as the laws of physics and natural selection, into play.



3. A social contract, however informal, is automatically formed when any number of living things attempts to live together. Consider the territoriality of rivaling packs of wolves; “you stay on that side of the stream and I’ll stay on this side.”

Place your finger upon the pulse of social contracts, and you’ll find rights and laws. Rights, as far as I have been able to define them, are specific actions exempt from restriction by law, and law enforces that one’s rights may not impede on the rights of others. In other words, the social contract is the ideal that a relationship strives for.

Using the example of the wolves, it is the right of pack A to hunt on side A of the stream, and the right of pack B to hunt on side B of the stream. If the law protecting the rights of pack A is breached by pack B, then the contract is off and pack B loses its right to side B.

Government exists to enforce a social contract between people, and attempt to restore it if it is nullified. If the social contract is not agreed upon by the people, then there is no justification for enforcing it. If the government exists without a contract – i.e., without rights – the government is not justified.



4. As humans evolved, they probably inherited a sort of alpha-male government by default, much like gorillas and other large primates. However, this was similar in scale as to a modern household or family (for more on the varieties and instances of these familial governments, read Bertrand Russell’s, Marriage & Morals). I must assume that this is as close to anarchy as one could hope to be because, at the very least, this small form of government is a parental necessity. As soon as there is complexity in survival – i.e., simplicity in survival is solitude, and thus survival concerning more than one organism is complex – government becomes necessary to maintain that contract.

Let’s say that there are two farmers; one grows wheat, and one raises cattle. They may exchange their produce with each other, and this is an example of the simplest form of government: an agreement between two parties. The agreement itself – again, however informal - acts as the mediator between the two farmers. As long as both parties uphold their end of the agreement, there will be no conflict.
But when conflicts do arise, the transgressor has three options: a) insist that they did not transgress, which may be the case; b) refuse to accommodate the debt, or c) accommodate the debt, in which case the agreement will probably go back to the way it was, or be revised to ensure it won’t happen again. If a, b, or the second option in c, reinforcement of the agreement may be necessary, and this is the birth of a formal government.



5. This is where things get rather hazy and where the majority of the problems we have with government come from. It is this part of the model that will lead to your solution of a given government problem so it is essential that you know I cannot, for length’s sake, be as complete as I’d like.

Government exists to enforce a social contract between people; i.e., enforce the law that protects the rights of the involved parties. If the social contract is not agreed upon by the people, then there is no justification for enforcing it. If the government exists without a contract, the government is not justified. If government is the whim of one man, what is the justification for it? How can the contract be valid if one party is forced into it? How can it be expected to be upheld? I contend that it cannot. The good of a country is not the good of one man. Again, it is the people who empower the government and their social contract, their first and last justifier.


Further Reflections

6. While not every law, right, or even government, when each is justified, is brought up in the manner outlined. There may be cases where a formal government, law, or right is made straight away. But to use these special cases as proof of error in “Rudiments of Government,” is a flawed argument. In each of these special cases, the formal government, law, or right is made with the foresight of the points that this essay makes. That is, again, when the government, law, or right is justified, and that really is the point of this essay; to show what is justified according to how government, law, and right comes about.



7. I do see America at its foundation as compatible with the points of this essay; as justified. This isn’t simply the speculation of a biased author, but it is grounded in history. Jean Jacques-Rousseau was the first to really present the social contract as the key to justified government, which he did in his appropriately-titled treatise, “The Social Contract.” Jacques-Rousseau was the major influence in Enlightenment-age governments and revolutions, and it’s no obscure coincidence that his works were favorites of none other than Thomas Jefferson, among others.

Despite our foundations, I do not agree that America is still justified. Many agree, though not all agree for the same reasons. There is another way in which the actions of a government may be justified, and that is scientific justification, perhaps even philosophical justification. For America specifically, this form of justification was included by introducing the checks and balances system for government, and this will bring me to the next point.



8. In America, the idea of one person, one vote is often called into question when citizens are faced with such circumstances as the appointing of the judicial branch, and the use of the Electoral College for the executive branch. While I don’t exactly agree with the use of the Electoral College for the president, both of these are done with the civil/scientific justification split in mind. So the people directly appoint congress, indirectly appoint the president, and do not appoint the federal judges, that being done by the president and accepted or declined by congress.

This checks and balances reveals exactly how America aims to uphold a justified system. For example; the legislative branch, representing the people, makes the laws and defines the rights. The judicial branch, in looking for scientific justification, interprets the law. The executive branch does neither of these, but only serves to carry out and uphold the decisions made by the legislative and judicial branches.



9. The American Civil War marked a sad but interesting part of American political history. During the initial writing and then ratification of the constitution, whether or not slavery was legal was voted upon. In the end, it was decided that the will of the people was that it should be kept, and the philosophical and scientific justification was, at the time, inconclusive. The result was that there would be an even number of free and slave states.

From that time to the Civil War, the philosophical and scientific justification became known more and more to be biased to freedom. The civil justification followed shortly behind. The slave states were pressured by the outcry into uniform freedom, and pointed to the contract they made when the country was founded supporting their slavery. The free states pointed elsewhere saying that, while they need to look out for their own interests, need to also consider the will of all the people of the union.

Feeling coerced and violated, the Confederacy decided to break from the Union. While this was their right as the union gave the majority of power to the states, the Union resisted, basically saying, “No, you made a deal and you can’t just run away when things don’t go the way you want them to.” This was decisive of America’s future because it shifted the power from the states to the union itself. From there, as we all know, the war ensued and the North won.

Now, I do not think that the shift itself from anti-federal to federal was justified. This would be much like saying that it is the social contract itself, a rather arbitrary thing, is more important than the people involved. The slave states had every right to break from the union as they were being coerced into agreeing with developments. However, if I stand with the confederate states I make the exact same mistake, which is I would be saying that the social contract, the state, is more important than the people involved in it. We reach an impasse who’s solution was to take more time with understanding how slavery was or was not justified when the country was founded. The problems created by this impasse are still apparent and obvious today, having never been solved.



10. To begin to analyze the ‘good’ and ‘bad’ qualities in ‘good’ or ‘bad’ forms of government, we must define a standard for good and bad. How would an absolutist government, for example, be classified as good or bad? Obviously, by how focused on the will of the people its rulers are. Because this is the case, why would we need an absolutist government? By contrast, how would a socialist democracy be classified as good or bad? Perhaps one way it would be bad is if it focused on less people than it could, but here, the extremes of good or bad always lean towards the good side, while in the absolutist government it inherently leans to the bad. The difference is that I may only ask of dictators where the justification for their power comes from. Some might say from money, some might say from heredity, others might say that they won it and it’s simply theirs, but none will say the people are the justification for government.

I cannot therefore agree with is any absolutist ideology, nor can I agree with any ideology that could lead to absolutism in practice. This, the likelihood of absolutism or absolutism itself, will be classified as ‘bad’ while an antonym of this ideal will be classified as ‘good’.

Monarchies, dictatorships, theocracies, even authoritarian republics, and other absolutist forms of government can only be characterized as good or bad according to the specific personality of the ruler, as these forms of government are not pragmatic to the people. That is, the concerns of these governments are mainly focused on the well-being of the government itself.

To highlight this, we may ask a very simple question of these sorts of governments: if the people that you rule wish for you to not rule them, or wish you to rule through a different type of government, would you comply with this request without condition? Most assuredly, regardless of the personality of the ruler, the answer would be a sound, “No.” To clarify; all forms of government may have a ruler in practice (of course, this means that some of these governments are not what they claim to be), but for a government to even be eligible for an analysis of justification, we must look to forms of government that do not require a ruler.



11. I must respect soldiers because they’ve offered up themselves, not to fight for some government, but to fight for the people. I must respect that commitment of servitude.

It is very sad that a man should sneak into a position of power over these soldiers and command them to do something that goes against what they went to do. It calls my reasoning for respecting and thanking these soldiers into question, and makes both respect and thanks harder to give. We should not be given reason to be tempted to this.

We should not find it acceptable for the government that we empower to deceive or mislead us.

We should declare that it is the sole responsibility of our government to work in the best interests of the land, the people, and the companies of its nation, in that order, and no other agendas are to take precedence over these things.

We should recognize that our government shall not impose our ideals upon foreign countries, nor impose crass stupidities upon us.

And lastly, we should uphold our right that if the persons or institutions that we have positioned to operate our government violate our rights, we may replace them with persons or institutions that are more apt to uphold our contracts.


Suggested Reading
These are books that either inspired or relate to the content or intention of this paper, or further its cause.

Hobbes, Thomas. Leviathan.
Jacques-Rousseau, Jean. The Social Contract.
Locke, John. Two Treatise of Government.
Montesquieu. The Persian Letters.
Montesquieu. In the Spirit of the Laws.
Russell, Bertrand. Marriage & Morals.
Spinoza, Baruch. Tractatus Theologico-Politicus.
Spinoza, Baruch. A Political Treatise.
Vico, Giambattista. The New Science.
Wittgenstein, Ludwig. The Blue and Brown Books.

[Adam]

The prose I write tends to function as therapeutic or developmental metaphor. This is a short tale from the first generative (spiritual and personal development) CD I produced... I've since become less than happy with the production, but I'm still proud of the metaphors and inductions. As with most of my metaphors, this one benefits from being heard rather than read, as some of the phonetic ambiguities tend to lose their power in just reading.

The Maker of Maps

Way back, back further even than before the time of your future dreams, there was a Map Maker who was regarded as the finest maker of maps in the city. His maps were known throughout the land, and people would travel for many days to have a map prepared by the Map Maker.

One day, a foreign dignitary visited the Map Maker's shop, and at the dignitary's request the Map Maker prepared him the most exquisite of maps made of the finest parchment, with the rarest inks. The Map Maker worked late into the night, ignoring mealtimes and calls for bed. In the morning, the dignitary called to pick up the map as arranged and he was delighted.

Reverently he unrolled the map out on the Map Maker's desk. Beneath their eyes desert lands unfurled in gold, while green-brown forests and white peaked mountains lay before them. Delicate lines marked out contours, latitudes and longitudes, and exquisite letters showed the locations of towns, villages and cities.

"Map Maker" said the dignitary, pointing to a deep blue river on the map, "tell me of this area here".

"Sire" replied the Map Maker "I know not of these areas I draw. My maps are drawn from the words and the maps of others who have gone before me." And he took the dignitary to a room at the back of the shop that contained books from travellers, hand drawn maps, sketches, and all manner of paper and record.

The dignitary hid his disappointment well, but soon after he left, the Map Maker began to hear disturbing stories. That people were saying that they could not trust his work. Saying, that if he simply put together his maps from other peoples work then however fine they were, how could anyone guarantee their accuracy? How could anyone who used them know that they would simply not get lost?

Over the weeks, he noticed a slowing down of business, until his customers had almost stopped coming in their entirety. Now, this sorely vexed the Map Maker, for not only was this how he made his living, but he was a deeply proud man, proud of both his art and his reputation. And it pained him to the core of his being that his maps might not actually be as good as he had always believed them to be. So he resolved to discard his work and to discard his books and his drawings, and venture out into the world himself, and learn his art again anew.

So, he sold his shop, his fine pens and his parchments. He sold his rare ink and his gold leaf, his books, papers and records. With the proceeds from the sale, he paid of his servants and was about to put the remaining money in the single bag he had packed for his journeys when he had a thought. This thought came unbidden, and he knew not from where, but it seemed important to him somehow.

"If I am to start out anew then I must go out into the world as much as a new born child as I am able. Only then will I be able to immerse myself deep in my art".

And so he gave the remainder of his money to a beggar outside the shop, and he left his shop and he left his city. As he walked passed the city gates with only his clothes and his bag he turned back to look, and it seemed to him as if he was leaving a strange place.

Many days he wandered and there was much fear in his heart, for he had no maps to guide him now. But many days there was much joy too, as he took to sketching with the simple pencils and paper he had brought with him for the task of relearning his art. And sometimes he measured, and drew maps, and sometimes he just sat, deep in a silence. And it would seem to him afterward, that it was at these times that he was most deeply immersed in his art, and that it was in this inner sense of silence that he learned the most.

As he learned to survive, to trade his physical labour or his skills as an artist for food, the days when he felt fear grew less, and the days when he felt joy, grew more. He came to know the pleasure of rain on his skin, the soft sound of birdsong as the sun rose in the mornings. He came to learn the ache of muscles worked hard during a long day. He came to appreciate the bright crispness of a winter's day, the newborn colours of spring, the warm joy of summer and the red-gold quiescence of autumn. He discovered the joys of a simple welcome and of hospitality, of a giving and receiving, motivated only by a common humanity.

As he wandered, his muscle grew hard, and his body lean and tanned. His face became lined and radiated a peace and a gentle silence that filled the people he met with quiet awe and reverence. Yet none of this he noticed.

When he came to a new town, he would tell the people there of his travels, and he would illuminate his stories with pictures and maps of his own making, drawn both on paper, and in the air with his arms as he told his tales. And he started to notice a strange thing; that when he came into a new place, people seemed to know him, and to have been waiting eagerly for his arrival. Audiences would gather to hear of his travels, and he would leave behind maps and pictures for the people, never taking them on with himself in his journey but always starting out anew with fresh pencils and plain paper.

As he continued to wander, he came to realise that the maps he carried in his memory would guide him better than the maps he drew on paper, because they could change, and in winter, would have snow and ice, and in summer, fields and desert. So he started to tell his audience that they did not need his maps, that the maps that they carried in their heads were much more useful, because they would change, but only the children seemed to understand, and so he would still leave maps and pictures for the townsfolk wherever he wandered.

Time went on, and although he had not forgotten why he had left the city, his purpose became less and less important to him.

Over time, he noticed that people seemed to treat him differently. The children would rush toward him still and clutch at his clothes, begging to hear his stories, and the adults would welcome him into their homes, offer him work and give him food, but there was a change. There was an air of hushed reverence and deference in their treatment of him and gradually this came to trouble him. One day he stopped at a village that he knew well, and the people of the village welcomed him with their usual love and respect, but he asked of them "Why this change? For many years now I have travelled, and I've come through your village, and you have always welcomed like a brother, but this, this is different. Why do you now treat me like a…?" and he paused, lost for the word.

"Magus, you do not know?" asked one villager. The answer troubled him further, and he shook his head, so the villager lead him to the village meeting hall. There, inside, and surrounded by people, lay one of his maps, left behind from a previous visit. The villagers parted to let him through, and he approached the map, only to notice the most curious thing. When he was here last, he had drawn a map of the land in winter, with snowcaps and frozen lakes. This, this was a map of the land in summer, all green fields and flowing rivers. He peered closer, and was surprised to see movement. If he looked closely enough, he could see the meeting hall. And if he looked closer still, he could swear that he could almost see into the hall itself, and see himself standing surrounded by the awed villagers. He laughed out loud.

"Do you see, Magus?" the villager asked.

"I see nothing" said the Maker of Maps, kindly, "I see only what I have told you all along, but only the children understood." and with that, he picked up the map, and tore it into little pieces. He turned to the villager, placed his hand upon the villager's head and asked "And who has the best map, now?"

[Adam]

A short metaphor on learning and learning to learn... again, some of the ambiguous word play works better when read out loud.

The Book

I once heard a story about a man who found a book that had been hidden by a messenger. From where this messenger came, and from whom, I do not know, although I have my thoughts. But she left this book for the man to find, and find it he did.

Now, this was no normal book. For one thing, it only had two pages. And each page was woven tightly out of wicker, in complex and intricate patterns. Somehow the man knew that there was something special about the book, but he didn't know how he knew, and he didn't know what.

For many months the man puzzled over the book. He began to notice that, as he puzzled, he felt the patterns with his fingers and knew somehow that they had meaning. He came to notice subtle intricacies of shade and shadow within the book and as his fingers ran lightly over the knots and weave he would hear gentle sounds.

Long days and long nights he studied. At night, he noticed that the use of different senses in still new ways of making sense seemed to allow him to understand different meaning. By day, he noticed he could look at the book in a new light.

Gradually he noticed a change. He noticed that his sense of touch had become more delicate and more discriminating. He noticed new patterns each time he read the book with his fingers. He became aware of a rhythm and a pattern to the sound of his fingers lightly brushing the pages and he discovered a depth and variety of colour he had not before known. And he noticed a change in himself.

He noticed how his life touched the lives of others in different ways, and how others touched his own life. He became aware of smaller and smaller changes, ever further away, still felt deep within. And he didn't know how much of these changes came from the reading of the book, or simply from the action of learning to read the book. When asked, he would smile, and quietly say that it simply didn't matter any more.

[Conn]

Well, I've managed to do it just in the nick of time This is my prose entry, and needs little disclaimer unfortunately. First - believe me, translating from english to polish is fun. Translating from polish to english is torment. I know that there are probably some mistakes, but I'm exhausted after these three MS Word pages of text. Second - this is humm...not a separate text. It is prologue to my collection of short stories titled "Stories from the City" (a slight connotation with "urban legends" is welcomed ) and they are in general somewhat antiutopian, Kafka-like, Orwell-like etc. etc.. This is just a beginning text, a prologue. I hope someone's gonna like it



ENTRY


THERE WAS A TIME...

There was a time. Time, when there were forests, full of animals and birds, full of life. Sun with difficulty was breaking through treetops, and not much light was there on ground. There was dusk, where two-legged creatures were walking. They didn’t venture deep into the forest, because heart of the woods was carrying darkness, which they were afraid of.

He was traveling through the City. Many days and many nights, along the streets filled with people, he was drowning in yellow pale light of the street lamps, whipped by night wind carrying fumes from nearby cars. He was walking, because he knew what he wanted to accomplish. He was walking, because he wanted to see with his own eyes the end of the City.

There was a time. Time, when great lakes sparkled with rays of a rising sun, and in crystal clear water one could see fish swimming between underwater flora. Two-legged creatures used to sit near the banks of the lakes, because deeper waters aroused fear. They carried Darkness with them.

Streets changed, sometimes slowly, sometimes like in kaleidoscope, but he slowly began to notice changes in his surroundings. A new architecture, look, even cleanliness of the land. He already passed through largest residential quarters, and he was slowly entering industrial districts. The horizon was covered with forest of smoking factory chimneys, growing out of rows and clusters of workshops, enormous factories and dumpy, sooty buildings of unknown use.

There was a time. Time, when the Ocean was in every place, where the land ended. Dark, boundless and dangerous. Hundreds of beings lived in the Ocean, and the deeper It was, the more dangerous creatures were there. The two-legged creatures were clinging to the banks of the Ocean, out of Abyss, dark and unknown.

He choked and he coughed, for air here was much heavier and was soaking with odour of chemical waste flowing down from factories to regulated, flagged with concrete riverbeds, filled with dirty, muddy water. There were no trees, no animals, everything seemed to be dead. He didn’t even see people, for only silhouettes that appeared in dense, dirty fog covering this part of the City, disappeared just after their arrival and seemed to be phantoms created by his mind.

There was a time. Time, when two-legged creatures discovered, that they can use their limbs and mind to create complicated things. And managed they to bring Light where Darkness dwelled. And started they to build shelters, to defend themselves from dangers waiting outside. That is how first House was created, and within it – the first light. And concealed the two-legged creatures in the House, for outside there was Darkness and everything that lived with it.

Yet he traveled, because he knew what he want and knew the destination. Through thicket of living quarters, through forests of factory chimneys, through artificial mists – created by exhaust fumes and smog, through rivers full of toxic waste, through concrete jungle – he wanted to reach the border. The end of the City.

There was a time. Time, when two-legged creatures started to make tools. Time, when they experienced the power of hammer and anvil. When they experienced the power of saw and wheel. And manufactured they all these tools, and with them they slowly started to venture deeper and deeper into the woods. First trees hit the ground, and sun poured down to newly created clearings.

Again, surroundings seemed to change their appearance. Now only concrete riverbeds accompanied him in his journey, intertwined with now empty workshops, full of broken windows. All around him was stillness and emptiness. All symptoms of life perished. He was left all alone, yet he traveled onward, though he was choking because of smoke and smog.

There was a time. Time, when more and more of the trees was cut down, and instead of them, rows of building rose. Time, when lakes were full of fishing boats, and first expeditions were sent to the Ocean. Time, when sky, once clear, now slowly began to cover with smoke and flying machines. Time of the City slowly came.

Stillness. Everywhere was stillness. Thicket of buildings and chimneys thinned out, burned trees and tired ground now surrounded him. Rivers full of waste disappeared far behind him, he reached to a wasteland full of burned ground and tar lakes, all covered with grayness. He didn’t know whether it was day or night; he fell down a couple of times and felt dizzy. Yet he stood up and moved along. The Border of the City was near.

Woods, once full of game and birds, now became thin fields of grass. Two-legged creatures slaughtered everything that lived – first to cover and warm themselves, later to satisfy their vanity and greed. They have conquered woods. They have conquered lakes. They have conquered sky. Where once one house stood, protecting inhabitants from the Darkness, now humming and buzzing, rows of machines were working, throwing clouds of smoke up to the sky. Great buildings started to tear sky to pieces and tear it apart. In the past sun was shining strongly on the sky, now grayness fell down on everything, so only cautious observer could see the difference between day and night. Streets were covered with smoke, rivers were full of tar, and sky became blood-red because of streetlights. Everything was covered with the City.

He reached it. He reached the border. He reached the end of the City. He stood for a while there, petrified and shattered of what he saw. Two big tears flew down his smeary and smoke-soaked face. He fell on his knees and lowered the head. He knew that there was no rescue. No retreat.
He saw the beginning of the City.


Blessings,
Conn

[Underground River]

Late Again

Oh my, I thought, jumping up and dashing for the door! I'm late again! If I dashed, I could just make the bus on time. I threw on my coat and dashed out the door. The bus stop was two blocks away, I could see the bus down the street... Run! I screamed inside my mind. Run!
I flew down the street and was almost at the bus stop when the bus roared away in a cloud of smoke and exhaust. Darn! I was late for that important thing called work again!
January 16, 2005.