Archive for fantasy

An aborted story!

Posted in fiction, Weird with tags , , on June 4, 2009 by benwaysrustyscalpel

A boy toiled in the center of a hamlet quaint and old, virgin and bold, where lilacs did blossom and burst between the cobbled stones  through shanties and hobbled haggled bungalows down to the river’s ever rinsing undertow. Twas not more than sixty odd people set abuzz in this commune and the boy was the only in poverty of years. In fact he was just ripening in that peculiar sexual way and had started pulling on the robes of men and the dresses of women, staring into their eyes with a budding child lust, imploring wordlessly that he yearned for the exchange of bodily warmth, and they scoffed with delighted chin flails, “Why boy, this is a town of virtue” they’d cry, eyes sowed with laughter. Their words rang out like sirens, and the notes held quivering against the clouds for hours. Meanwhile he’d dance about to the chimes of the buzz of the banter of the people of the wind of the sun, to be certain he was not but done and only beginning to inhale each moment. Little he slept, for a growing anxiousness was churning his gut, fattened by disconnect with people too far progressed. His thoughts swelled with young intrigue. The distant echoes of revelers rebels cascading through his day dreams.

He’d been raised by the screams of laughter that came from the pier, where the old generation (grown young in the head), were burned alive before the rising tide, their lips melting off in molten grins. Hamil Shneed had taught him more than any other, the ways of the village, self interest, and chaos. The boy would wake up to Hamil unleashing a chord of urine onto his face. “Now boy, I had the urge, stay still.”

Bread puffed fluffy white on a stone oven, where Delilah fanned the heat signatures with beautiful meat slab hands. Her careless posture exuded a bursting willow confidence and waves of mellow pressure wept from her brow and made fetal his anxious mind. She towered over him, shading his eyes with fraying horse mane hair, casting a black medusa across his skin. One day he’d carve her image in stone.

Regional forwithernsterm spent almost every moment of coherence balancing like a long legged crane on an upright log, his twenty hand bambal pole stretched forth from under his tilted discus hat,  to where only his exceedingly lengthy pole (taken from the most elastic heights of a monstrous bambal tree) could reach the Cashnu sand worms from his perch ashore. He tied glow fish to the end of the pole with wiki string to illuminate the sand clouded depths in a flutter of fire fins. Peering down through the telescope of the hollow branch, he’d wait for the Cashnu sand worms antenna to come slithering through the sand, and he’d use his great tempest lungs to suck the worms up the length of the branch and deposit them riling into his bucket, always with the same riotous snort of drunken laughter. The acts hilarity hadn’t faded over the some two hundred years since he’d invented the method, since that day when he had shrieked in the tavern and shattered all the mugs with self appreciation.

Regional was fond of telling the boy “Just the right amount of steady intoxication, while sucking for sand worms, is the single most pleasurable ecstasy.” His grayish white hair beaded with flecks of salty sun and sky.

The people seldom spoke at all, they became bored and wondered off mid conversation, there were no disputes, all urges and acts were recognized as important in merging the subconscious with the conscious mind, and when they had conversation, it was filled with double meaning and bravoes shows of drama, or it was to the boy, for he was their son. A protégé to the varying chaos’s and orders in them all.

He’d observed that the chaos increased yearly in them, they were becoming more and more joyful, vast, and ever more noticeably impossible to encompass with his child logic. It split him. He loved them all, with the wholeness of his heart, but he couldn’t embody their contentedness. He loathed their complete emotional abandon and his rages could cause no harm.

He watched them through his years, as they meditated and expanded, and the real old, eldest, the ones who sat in solitude/oblivion, he watched as their chaos, began to shift into order; all of a sudden they began to wish for things, they yearned for blood or sex or power. The ghosts of their ancient past began to haunt them, and when they finally felt the universe in themselves begin to recede, they’d calmly, in some cases with a brilliant smile, decide, “Yes, I guess it’s rather time to burn.”

The day started on a high note. The boy woke to Hamil and another villager whispering high octave harmony, their lips brushing against his ears.

O mi fin Lo

O mi qui yi O

La de de do de

Da de do de O

La O de do la Mi

Qui yi fin de O


Ohhhhh (higher pitch)

Ohhhh (higher pitch)

Ohhhhh (baritone)

He squinted in the sun. “Thank you Hamil, Joseph, what a wonderful way to wake!” Joseph smiled and walked off into one of the shanties.

“Why boy, it was my greatest delight, to see our collective voice wrestle a smile from your lips.” Hamil proclaimed with majesty.

“You’re too much.”

“What a terrible thing to say to an old man! Why, I had incubated dreams that I was the universe!”

“Quiet you plump bastard.”

“Did you hear that, orphan boy is calling me bastard.” He screamed at the top of his lungs. “Did you hear that people!” “This motherless twat has called me a bastard!” He spread his arms out like he was trying to hold up the sky and brought down a terrible rage unto the boy.

“Hamil, how can you be so wonderful and then so terribly abysmal the next second. I’m sick of your childishness.” And Hamil swung a hand like lightning unto the boy’s cheek.

“You could not be more venomous and ignorant, is this compensation for the love I’ve given you? Does a child deserve less respect than an adult? Are their playful acts of innocence ignorance? Tell me are you ever closer to the universe in yourself than as a child?”

“I’m going to kill you, you slack bowled cretin!” The boys face was emblazoned with a bright red hand print, and his veins were pulsing maps, gushing energy into his mind. Walls of black rage compressed his universe. Hamil laughed at his blush of anger, spraying spittle in the boys face and then he got up and skipped away.

The boy sat there in the dirt, at the verge of tears.  “What is wrong with me? Why am I so different?”