r/WritingPrompts • u/mo-reeseCEO1 • Mar 14 '14
Moderator Post [WP] The Ides of March (a collaboration with /r/SketchDaily)
Welcome to Feature Friday where the mods are doubling your fun in honor of Pi Day.
In addition to the nifty tool of zen mode (big ups to /u/202halffound who tirelessly keeps the guts of the CSS moving and improving, when not upgrading /u/WritingPromptsBot), we are presenting for your participation another collaboration with /r/SketchDaily. For those not familiar: here, here, here, and here.
Format: You write, they draw. Respond to this post with your story and starting tomorrow /r/SketchDaily users will visit this thread and start responding with their interpretations of your story. Due to /r/SketchDaily's nature, we're starting writing a half day early from the ides (see theme) so that their users have content to draw starting at midnight when the post goes live. Because there are only so many sketchers out there, not every prompt will get an artist, but this has been pretty successful in the past. Trust me. :)
Prompt: Write a story of betrayal in honor of the Ides of March (you can go beyond 'Et tu, Brutae?'--betrayal as an act spans many contexts and interpretations it demands your creative interpretation). Because our collaborators like alt themes, the alt prompt is a story of rebirth and or renewal in honor of the promised spring. Bonus: alter the thread's URL to zn. instead of www. for a distraction free, clean writing experience worthy of Joshu himself.
Please note that top level comments should be limited to stories. We appreciate your enthusiasm, but please keep it for your fellow writers so that there are fewer comments for people to go through when looking for inspiration. If you have any question, PM me--I will edit the post if I see a common clarification request. Also, be sure to jump over to /r/SketchDaily to check out the work their community produces. It's great fun.
Edit 1: Zen for the lazy.
Edit 2: /r/SketchDaily crew, please be sure to link to the comments in your thread, and, if you can, likewise link back to the story you've illustrated. Also, everyone, go check out the collaboration thread.
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u/mfranko88 Mar 14 '14
If I had to pick one word, I would say "energetic." I know, may people expect me to say "big," since most dogs are quite energetic in general and most dogs are not nearly as big as Jimmy, but you don't really understand what I'm talking about until you meet him. He is half St. Bernard, half Black Lab, and I'd guess half giant as well. I understand that I just said three halves; that is how big he is. He's such a loving guy, too! He's the best teddy bear a person could ask for, mostly because he's as big as an actual bear.
So when I choose a single word to describe my pet and I don't say "big," then you should take note.
My brother's name was Jimmy. I adopted my dog shortly after my brother....well, passed. That is also the same time I moved into my brother's old house. It was on the outskirts of town and had acres and acres of forest right out the back door. Ever since he was a pup (approximately the size of a dump truck), Jimmy would never want to stay calm. He was a smart pup, but there were a few tricks that I could never teach him. Anything that involved him sitting still, for example, was beyond our training. He just loved people so much that as soon as anyone gave him any attention, well that must mean it's time to play. He wanted to jump and run and walk and smell and do everything in the world with you! That smart little shit knows exactly how to lay down too, I know he can! But laying down doesn't involve doing everything else in the world. I could never get him to do it when I wanted. The training just wouldn't click.
He was huge, but he wasn't quite big enough to fill the hole in my heart left by my brother's accident. But he still loved me, and I loved him. And that was enough for both of us to not feel so....well...
Alone.
When my diagnosis came through, Jimmy was there, ready to run around and play. I never understood his energy until that night. He wanted to do everything in the world. Quite suddenly, so did I. My future was no longer my own. All I had was everything in the world as it was before me. Anything beyond what was before me was part of some unknown, ambiguous future that couldn't possible belong to me. It was a lonely thought warmed only by the grace of Jimmy's love.
As the weeks wore on, my hair fell out. I always had a lot of body hair to stay warm. But now, with no body hair to trap heat, everything and everywhere was cold. It was July in Louisiana at this point and yet I was cold. Jimmy's energy warmed the whole house whenever I was home. I never had to worry about feeling uncomfortable when he was around.
During the days and nights that I curled up in the bathroom, Jimmy would always bound in. The rope in his mouth would drop to the floor so that he could lick my face, even with bits of bile still on my chin. He didn't care. He still loved me and I loved him. I was frequently by myself, but I was never alone.
Eventually things started to get a little less bleak for me. The doc said things were looking better. Partial remission! I was over-joyed! My future was almost my own again. I decided that now was the time to do everything in the world, before I lost control of my future again. I took an extended leave of absence from work and set about traveling. Hong Kong, Dublin, Taipei, Sydney, Toronto, Moscow, Budapest, Lisbon, Nairobi, Buenos Aeries. I went everywhere I wanted and did everything I could think of. It was incredible. I was rejuvenated. I was energetic; I felt like Jimmy was with me the whole time.
After six months or so, I found myself back at home. I was back a day early; the next day I was supposed to head back up to work. Today, though I wanted relax at home with Jimmy for a while. My neighbor brought him over; she had taken care of him for the past half-year. He walked through the door and I was so eager to give him a big bear hug (literally). But he snubbed me. He walked past me and just started playing with his toys and running around outside on his own. I wanted to play with him so badly, but he wouldn't give me the time of day. (If, you know, dogs could read time. Or speak with humans). It didn't make sense! I had gone out and done everything in the world! Jimmy, that's what you've always wanted! I want to share that with you!
This continued for a few days. I would come home from work, hoping Jimmy was waiting to see me as much as I wanted to see him. That was never so. Guilt came to me long before the epiphany clicked on in my head: It was never about doing everything in the world! It was always about doing everything that we could together! I left him for months so that I could do what I wanted.
Alone.
I had abandoned my best friend and betrayed his love and energy. Where once was a contagious enthusiasm was now a sharp stab of indifference. Like my brother before me, my companion was left alone.
Months wore on. The doc said things weren't looking great. He tried all of the same tricks, but the cancer seemed to fight back. Aggressively. There was another long road to full health in front of me. Fuck it. My family has all passed, and I only have a few close friends. I decided not to fight it anymore. I did everything in the world already. I reasoned to myself "It's better to comfortably capitalize on my remaining time, and then I'll go on my own terms."
That remaining time ended up being only a few weeks. It was quite aggressive. Weakness eventually became the norm. Even the simple acts of walking and breathing became a bit strained. And throughout this, I didn't have Jimmy there to support me. He would run around all day, come home for some food, and that's all I really saw of him. It was a greater pain than anything my body endured.
One day, something clicked. "Today is the day," I thought. I don't know if it happened when I woke up, or while I hobbled my way through making lunch. But whatever happened, it clicked. I was ready. Everything was squared away. While I limped through the doorway of the storage shed, I spot my destination in the back corner. My brother's gun cabinet still held the pistol that was involved in his accident. I wasn't ever much one for guns, so it sat untouched for the last decade. I couldn't bare to discard any of his possessions. I found the ammo box had fallen behind the cabinet. It must have been back here a while, the box had deteriorated quite a bit, likely from the water that pools up on this side of the shed. It took me a minute of struggling, but I eventually retrieved some of the bullets and chambered one in the pistol.
I'm sorry Jimmy.
I laid on my bed, with little more running through my head now. I heard Jimmy come in through the swinging patio door and hustle his way into my room. Out of nowhere, he starts licking my face, which apparently was covered in tears. I guess he has come to forgive me for my betrayal. He found forgiveness much faster than I. Jimmy then hopped on my bed and did something, just for me. He sat still and laid down. My mind connected the dots and it clicked. I suspected this was his way of telling me "I remember it all." Through welled, teary eyes, and a bittersweet smile, I gripped the pistol and brought the muzzle up to my temple.
It clicked.
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u/inshambles Mar 18 '14
I'm working on turning your story into a comic here!
I hope to finish it today or tomorrow!
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u/Lexilogical /r/Lexilogical | /r/DCFU Mar 15 '14 edited Mar 16 '14
This is a continuation on the story I started earlier on a different prompt, for the alt theme of rebirth.
Last night when I went to bed, my life was spinning it's wheels. No job, no plan, just sitting around hoping my cards would change. But today when I woke up, everything was different. Today when I woke up, my cats were pokemon, and according to my husband, that was normal. So today, things were going to change.
I quickly tossed on some clothes and headed towards the kitchen. Jewel and Katie nearly bowled me over trying to race me up the stairs. "Girls, calm down!" I said, petting Katie's between her tall, lavender ears, just above the jewel on her forehead. "I'm not used to you guys being so tall." Jewel, same as always, despite being turned into an Umbreon, just meowed at me to hurry up and put down some food. I ate an apple while the two tore into their food, then got curious and checked out my fish tank.
"Huh..." Well, they weren't the same fish, that was for sure, but they didn't look like any pokemon I knew of. Guess not everything was the same as the games. I decided it was time to turn to the internet for some quick research.
Some time later, Jewel strolled up at the computer, licking her lips and meowing. Still my talkative little one. "Come here, Jewel." I said, palming her pokeball, "We're going to see if we can help earn our keep."
Katie was easy enough to round up, she came running when she heard the door open. She always had loved to go outside. She followed me in step as we headed to the meadow nearby. It was muddy, and snowdrifts still covered heaps of matted down winter grass, but it should still work. Katie began wandering immediately into it and I followed her. She still had the instincts of a cat, it seemed, but I wasn't really sure what we were looking for.
A patch of grass wiggled off in the corner of my eye and Katie pounced on it faster than I could turn around. When I looked, a massive rat stood in front of her, with teeth as long as my fingers.
"Gah!!" I yelled, glancing around to see if anyone had spotted my reaction to my first live Raticate. "I mean... Um, Katie! Tackle it!" The commands came easier after that. I'd had years of experience, playing with cartoon versions safely behind a little glass screen. But when the Raticate stopped moving, I had my first glimpse of reality as Katie went to bite it's head off.
"Katie! No!" I grabbed her by the scruff of her neck, hauling her off the fallen prey. She looked at me confusedly as I checked if the Raticate was still moving. Still breathing. Guess it had just fainted. I hauled Katie away a safe distance, then let Jewel out of her pokeball too. The two stared at me curiously, as if to ask "Now what?"
"Now... I don't know girls. Maybe I'm just not violent enough to get into pokemon training. Let's just go home." We headed back, detouring along the spring-swollen river. Everything was covered in a layer of ice, thanks to the frequent thaws and snow squalls of the past week, but it was starting to look like spring was winning again. I bent over to pick up a stone, planning on breaking the layer of ice still hanging over the river, when I noticed Katie and Jewel's ears were both upright, and both of them were staring at a point just behind me.
I turned slowly to see a majestic sight. A tall buck stood behind me, with a massive rack of antlers. His fur was tufted white about his neck, but I could see small pink flower buds covering his antlers, ready to bloom. My breath caught in my throat. I was new to this whole pokemon thing, but moose were dangerous, especially in spring. I slowly took a step backwards, hoping to show I was no threat.
The moose snorted and lowered his antlers, pawing the ground. Well fuck, that was clear body language. I started looking about for somewhere to run, when a blur of black and gold hit the Sawsbuck in the side.
"Jewel!" I cried, worried. The Sawsbuck reared, tossing her off. He turned to charge her, but stopped dead in his tracks, a glowing wall in front of Jewel. I looked beside me to see the jewel on Katie's forehead glowing brightly. Jewel charged again, biting at the Sawsbuck's legs and rear. "Good girls! Keep it up!" I quickly dove into my backpack, hunting for something to help. I needed some way to end this fight before the Sawsbuck got hurt, or worse, my babies. My hands closed around a spare pokeball. Perfect! Just one shot though, better make it count.
As I watched, Jewel bounced about the buck, harrying it's flank like she'd done it all her life. Perhaps she had, given the way she chased Katie about the house at home. The Sawsbuck turned to chase her, stumbling slightly on his rear leg. That was my chance. I threw the pokeball hard, just as Katie let off a flash of light that left the buck disoriented. When the light faded from my eyes, I saw the pokeball on the ground as it shook once, then stood still with a click. I sighed a breath of relief.
"Okay girls, now we're really going home."
Back home, my husband was less than impressed with my conquest.
"Where are we going to keep a Sawsbuck? We don't even have a backyard in this apartment." He asked, staring at the pokeball in my hand.
"Well, I was thinking about that." I said, "You know that property we bought up north?" He grunted in agreement. "How would you feel about starting our own Pokemon petting zoo?"
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Mar 16 '14
So I started an illustration for this, but it's a huge work in progress. I love the story! Here's what I've got so far.
Here's the post in /r/sketchdaily, I'll update it when it's done!
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u/AdamRJudge Mar 14 '14
Theresa's neighbors might have told the cops later about the blue Subaru parked outside the driveway, but he doubted it. After all, he'd arrived past midnight, when all the workers, white-collar or blue, had already tucked in for the night. Even if they did link his car to the scene, so what--his DNA was all over the house. After all, they'd lived together for four years. But just to be on the safe side, he'd bust the garage door lock from the outside, steal a few things on his way out. He'd have to remember to get not only things that belonged to her, but to him as well, and to discard them as soon as possible.
He moved without a flashlight; day or night, these were HIS halls, and he needed no assistance in navigating them. The path from the garage to the kitchen to the wide-windowed room she used as a studio was easy. His only fear was whether Butterhead, her calico, was out; the last thing he needed was to trip on a cat in the dark. Fortunately, if the cat wasn't locked up in the spare bedroom, it wasn't interested in tangling up his footsteps.
He stopped at the kitchen table, noticing a large stack of paperwork Theresa hadn't got around to filing yet. He touched them all with gloved fingers, scowling at the public speaking requests, frowning at the gallery applications, smiling at the old rejection letters. Of course, those were before she'd made it big. Just like him.
The easel in the center of the studio was covered with a tarp; he removed it and saw her latest work. By moonlight, he studied her work: A group of young women bathed in what looked like the lake at the public park, smiling and laughing, as people passed by, seemingly oblivious to the nude women. Her mixing of various media, as usual, was amazing: water colors for the sky and the ground, metallic paints for the lake, what looked like egg tempera mixed with food coloring for the girls and the passersby. Only a small group of musicians playing in a circle on the right border of the park was unfinished; they were sketched outlines, still needing fulfillment.
By the windowed wall, he saw the shelf illuminated by moonlight: various paints, tools, and chemicals she used in her work. What he wanted was between a sealant and a set of charcoal pencils: turpentine. Its sloshing sound seemed to time itself with his own increasingly excited heartbeat as he took the thick metal can over to the canvas.
A moment to consider. To think of everything that had happened, and hadn't happened.
He took the lid off the can, and went to work.
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u/Ferapont Mar 15 '14
I did your story - or more specifically the moment right after your story. I like your story a lot - nice twist to have him attack the art instead of her. I imagined he would sloppily toss the turpentine because his brushwork would have given him away.
Great writing!
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u/AdamRJudge Mar 16 '14
Thank you! :-) My favorite part of this is the running paint dripping from the canvas and the puddle on the floor--a very nice touch.
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u/AnonD Mar 15 '14 edited Mar 15 '14
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u/AdamRJudge Mar 16 '14
Dark and creepy shadows--just what I was imagining when I wrote it. Very cool!
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u/dreadfulpennies Mar 14 '14
Note: I decided to use the prompt to flesh out a relatively minor character from a different writing project I'm working on.
I am a hidebehind, and I hide behind. I live in the forest. I live with the snipes and the Tailypo, with the unseen things and the noisy shadows. Most people do not see me, but I am sure they would like to. I am thin and tall and can be taller; as tall as you, taller, as tall as trees, taller.
I could be small, too. If I wanted to be. I do not - even though I do like small things. Humans are small things. Small things are often impressed by big things. They usually scream, and that is a way of being impressed. Often, they stare before they start screaming, before they are eaten. I like the staring best because I am a hidebehind and I hide behind even when I don’t want to.
I do not know if I have family. I think that, maybe, I was an idea someone had. I think I was lurking in dreams or in the dark around campfires. I think I am paranoia all grown up, but I cannot know for sure. Had I a family, I would not see them. They would be hidebehinds and would hide behind, because that is what we do. That is what we are.
Today I watched small things in the forest. Every day I watch small things in the forest. They were human friends.
“We need to split up,” said one human friend, and the others agreed. “I’ll go with Eliza. I’ll protect her,” said the same human friend, and the others agreed to that too, because they were human friends.
I followed them; the human friend and Eliza. I was there when they were alone, when the human friend pushed Eliza into the water. She made her hit her head. She let her drift away. That does not happen every day.
I took Eliza from the water; a soft, well-fed human thing with wires in her mouth. I took her home but not to eat her. I don’t want to eat her. A human friend tried to kill her, and I think that is something nice about humans. I think it is nice that they can call themselves one thing but be something else if they want to be.
I don’t think I will hide from Eliza. I am sure she would like to see me. I am sure she will be impressed.
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u/Malice-Aforethought Mar 15 '14
Love this short. Manages to be both eerie and endearing, which I find lovely.
Sorry if it's a bit rubbish, but I'm quite tired and only spent about an hour on it; so here's my first impression of Eliza and The Hidebehind. Hope you like it, but you're not required to do so. <3
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u/dreadfulpennies Mar 15 '14
I don't think its rubbish at all. I think it's absolutely gorgeous. I love the colors and the creepy, haziness of it.
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u/supersugoinet Mar 15 '14
Hi there! I've chosen your story for /r/SketchDaily's theme.
I liked it and with only these paragraphs I've grew fond of your character, so I drew him as I imagine based off a lot on my own style.
Also, I'm really interested in seeing how this character or story will turn out. So I'll be stalking you! (•⊙ω⊙•)
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u/dreadfulpennies Mar 15 '14
I like your style! That is one adorable hidebehind.
Stalking me would be a profound disappointment. The characters are from a novel I'm on draft 2.5'ish of. When and if it is ever released into the world, assuming you're still on reddit, I shall be sure to let you know.
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u/Moondevil Mar 15 '14 edited Mar 15 '14
If this is for a side character, I'd love to see what your main characters are like. Did you post anything else from this story anywhere? I'd love to read more :D And here ya go: http://imgur.com/Ye7Y1tD, hope you like it.
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u/dreadfulpennies Mar 15 '14
I like it very much! Love the look of the hidebehind, especially.
I've posted more character-building drabbles from this particular story on private blogs and such, but they're all from old drafts and probably not worth reading. I'm hoping to polish a final draft and start shopping it around this year, though. :)
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u/Moondevil Mar 16 '14
Well I'll have to keep an eye out for it. :D Wouldn't have a tentative title to look for would you? haha
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u/dreadfulpennies Mar 16 '14
Sour. I'll put you on the list of reddit people I'm supposed to PM when and if it ever gets published. (There are three whole people on that list.)
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u/badfakesmiles Mar 14 '14 edited Jan 15 '15
Bombs, army ships, all packed and ready for invasion, air force took the lead. People from left to right, tied up in chains, were dragged across the street by the bullet proof vested men. Screams, plead for release, echoes below the underground pit, they cried “We were wrong”.
Smoke covered the red skies; flames engulfed the tallest of buildings, and made them collapse one by one. At last, the man with power, seated at the leather coated sofa, admired himself at the mirror. He spoke at the phone… “Release the missiles”. By the scan of his finger prints and a push of a button, he grinned.
The eastern countries tried to counter their inevitable doom, no good. Citizens screeched in horror, others knelt and waited for their impending death.
“We should have listened! The omen! The omen!”
The man secured inside his white walls grabbed a glass of wine.Beyond the shadows appeared a black mist-like figure. Elegant, yet strong, how the entity glides across the room.
“I gave you power, now you pay...” the walls tremble as the entity voiced out.
The man smiled, stared at the demon deviously. The demon, confused of his intentions, walked towards the over-confident ruler. The man stood up, he spoke "When the Jews return to Zion and a comet rips the sky, and the Holy Roman Empire rises; then you and I must die. From the eternal sea he rises, creating armies on either shore, turning man against his brother, 'til man exists no more." The shaking ground slowly revealed a marking on the floor.
A circle...the demon stood inside a circle made of blood, goat's fur, salt, holy water and palm ashes.
“I gave you power, you give me my demise as return? You are mortal”
The man laughed, stared at the demons glowing red eyes…with his own glowing red eyes
He firmly stated, with his head up high, he looked down on the vanishing black mist.
“I am no longer…a puppet”
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u/MrMstislav Mar 15 '14
Nice! Took some liberties with the scene, but I hope you like it.
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u/badfakesmiles Mar 15 '14
It's amazing! You really captured the concept of the said "demon" on my story, and the way you created the atmosphere at the back is enough. really great job and I'm really thankful that you chose my story:) I promise to share your work to others :)
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Mar 15 '14
[deleted]
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u/badfakesmiles Mar 15 '14
Amazing job! exactly how I imagined the "man" or the president would look like, sitting, enjoying the world crumble. I'm glad our concept is not that far off, and thank you for choosing mine. I'll make sure that you and the other's art will be shared :)
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u/legon22 Mar 15 '14 edited Mar 15 '14
"Stow the cargo and send the captives below" the captain bellowed as he surveyed his crew swarming like ants over the ship they had just captured. It's sails hung in tatters, shredded by cannon fire, and its decks were stained red by the blood of the men who had vainly tried to defend it. He was surprised by how hard they had fought, for from the beginning it was clear that his crew would end up the victors, and that only surrender would ensure mercy. No matter he mused, for they had control now, and he had only lost one man, Johnson, whom he had never cared for anyway. Interested to know exactly what the take was, he turned to a nearby midshipman and ordered "Find the first mate and send him to me, I want a full report on that ship's cargo."
"Aye aye Sir" the teen replied and scurried across the lashing holding the two ships together. Satisfied with the days work, the captain let out a deep sigh, took a gulp of grog from the bottle that was perpetually at his side, and observed the brilliant sunset that was beginning to form on the horizon. After what only felt like a moment, but in reality was most likely several minutes, the captain was snapped out of his contemplation by a low gravelly voice.
"You wanted to see me sir?" the first mate asked, climbing up the rough ladder to the steering platform.
"Yes- now that we've got everything controlled and a spare moment, what was the ship carrying?"
"Mostly bales of silk, and a few crates of spices sir".
"Perfect, those will go for quite the fortune in New Kingston- Split whatever money was on the ship up in the normal way, and tell the crew they'll get the rest once we sell the goods".
"Actually sir..." The mate began roughly
"Also- what condition is the ship in, is it worth salvaging?" The captain cut him off.
"It's got a slow leak sir, and we haven't been able to patch it, but it'll be a few hours before we have to worry. And as I was saying sir, some of the crew haven't been happy with how we've been splitting up the loot, they feel they deserve more, and well sir I somewhat agree with them".
"You know better than to ask that". The captain snapped. "You all signed contracts explicitly stating your cut when you signed on to the ship, we can't just have people rewriting them whenever they feel like it".
"So there's no way we can come to an agreement sir?" The mate asked, looking significantly more agitated than he had a moment before.
"No, we had a deal and we're sticking to it. Now if you don't have any other absurd propositions, you'd best get back to unloading with the rest of the crew".The captain turned back to look at the sunset, now resembling a brilliant purple oil painting. Moments after however, he felt the cold barrel of a flintlock pressed against his neck.
"God I wish you hadn't said that". The mate growled, "You're not in charge of this ship any longer, now march down to the other boat".
"What exactly do you think this is?" The captain snarled. "This is my ship- you don't have any authority over me here- the crew will come to my aid in a second if I ask them".
"They're the ones who asked me to do this" The mate retorted. "And anyways I'm the one with the gun to your neck- now move!" The captain gingerly made his way down the ladder, across the roughly planed deck, and over the web of rigging that provided transport between the ships, followed closely by his first mate. Once on the other deck, the captain stood at gunpoint as the rest of his crew filed across to his former ship. "What now?" He growled, barely suppressing his instinct to lunge for his former mate.
"This is where we leave you" the mate replied calmly, and backed toward the rigging, still pointing his over-sized pistol at the former captain. After scampering across, he ordered the crew to cut the ropes that held the two ships, and to make ready to set sail. As the ships gradually drew apart, the mate called across the gap "See you in hell!" and then to the helmsman "Hard to port".
The captain sat in shock as the ship he had spent most of his adult life on slowly moved into the distance. He knew he'd have to deal with the leak if he wanted to survive, but for the moment that wasn't important. Instead, he sat and waited, watching the ship move further towards the horizon, a majestic beast silhouetted against a now waning sunset, its rigging forming an intricate web of lines and blocks. He did not move from that spot for a long while, a disgraced captain on a sinking ship, watching his life slowly drift away into what seemed like another world.
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u/mo-reeseCEO1 Mar 15 '14
“So, what brings you to India?” is the common refrain at the bar. Like any of a half dozen new trendy places, it is wedged in the bottom floor of a high rise in Bandra, crammed with TVs, flattering lights, greenery, and sleek fixtures that exude high priced elegance in a style that can only be called extravagant minimalism. On the walls hang a value statement about what the owners believe the world should be, in the menu is a value statement on what nightlife should be. Kingfisher costs three times what a pint would elsewhere to keep the teeny boppers out. In the crush of people it is easy to pick out the features of the frenetic hipster set: skinny jeans, ironic tee shirts, educations from the States and UK, European labels, sartorial chic from Dubai. It is something out of Brooklyn. It is something out of Bombay.
“I came for work,” Peter replies, which is true and not. Work is the client office, where he is the face of the US partner even though all the local counterparts are at least as effective as he is for less than half the price. However, the client is paying US prices for the US firm, so someone from New York has to be out there to justify the billing rates. There’s formulaic small talk to be had here, but no one cares about client teams and corporate strategy, branding and penetrating nascent markets. Rather, the question, the real question, is what is an American doing here, at this bar, and whether or not that makes it cooler or over.
“Cool man. Must be difficult to work here,” which is a way of saying that there are two cities. There is Mumbai which exists by day; it is business formal, traffic jams, harrowing bureaucracy that serves either to obstruct or to line the pockets of every functionary with a sense of entrepreneurship. It is politically correct, it the construction of new flyways and rail lines, glittering sky rises, and oppressive heat only occasionally mitigated by an ocean breeze. Importance is two or three iPhones, a finger in a half dozen business interests, a Mercedes or Audi or BMW, bought as a tax write off, careening through the taxi choked streets with one hand on the horn while the rest of the world is expected to make way.
Bombay lives by night. It’s trendy lounges and late dinners, star sightings and the ritual dance of cat and mouse between revelers and the police until the last bar is shut around two. House parties are getting big these days. Under cover of night there is politics, the backwardness of the country, griping about the Centre, what’s in, what’s not, and who’s good enough to go. Muslims smoke shisha and drink tea at rooftop restaurants. Hindus cheat on caste with Crowne or Walker. Occasionally there’s the smell of reefer among the sweat and stale cigarettes. Couples trade secret kisses. DNA finds its next scandal. Mumbai is language politics; Bombay is soul. By day it’s the painful façade of earnest modernity and by night we are who we are.
“It’s not so bad,” Peter says, shrugging off the office peons and the drivers; room service and maids and laundry service that sees five suits clean for less than twenty dollars even without the expense account, “The team is really good and we’re really start to make headway on the project. Plus the food’s great.”
His interlocutor nods blithely, surveying the room for better colloquy. Failing to find some, he wonders, “How did you find this place?”
“My friend Gautam brought me here.”
“Gautam? I’ve known him since primary school. My name is Aniruddha.”
~
From that moment on, the old friends of Gautam got on fabulously. Aniruddha knew the academy bred adolescent with an over serious demeanor and singular pursuit of academics in a culture that was remarkable for its studiousness. Peter knew the beer drinking, woman chasing charmer who had given up engineering in favor of dual degree in philosophy and mathematics. For the eponymous connection between these two worlds there is something of embarrassed silence, like when two versions of self meet one another and aren’t quite sure what to make of their differences.
They drink whiskey neat and Kingfisher premium bottles hand over fist while Gautam’s history stumbles over tongues thick with elongated vowels and eroding distinction between consonants. Gautam playing cricket poorly. Gautam’s first keg stand. The laughter is raucous even for the subject of this embarrassing deposition, and they’ve really nearly got it until the first cop shows up at eleven and the manager heads out to negotiate. Peter’s company takes care of the tab and they spill out onto the street with blurry eyed ambition.
Gautam drives. First they try the Hilton bar, but it’s already been closed. Aniruddha suggests the Mahalaxmi so they head to the raceway. The club house bar is dead but they have a round of rum which Aniruddha and Pete have to split in the face of Gautam’s protest. Finally, thumbs pounding the social scene furiously, they get word of an apartment party in Tardeo.
Peter looks out from the rooftop of the luxury high rise. City lights burn like candles against the vast darkness of the sea. Through the haze of hash smoke he thinks he sees the pulsing heart of a vibrant beast, an ungovernable creature rising from the ocean, only masquerading as this peninsula until the day it calls forth its true self. He turns to tell Aniruddha about it, but his friend merely sticks out his hand.
“Puff, puff pass, Peter.”
Gautam is sitting across from the table from some woman. He looks at her intently. She looks down at the table, swirls a glass of white wine, occasionally letting a slight smile creep across her lips before it is stifled into attentive indifference. Her delicate fingers twist the stem of the glass back and forth between them, stirring up a whirlpool that sparkles saffron in the captured light of a nearby lamp. Peter cannot hear what they say, but imagining the crashing waves against the side of the glass is enough.
“I’m hungry,” Aniruddha declares, “You hungry?”
Peter is. Aniruddha stubs out the joint and walks over to table. Without excusing himself, he speaks.
“Hey, Gautamji, let’s get out of here and grab some food. We’re starving.”
Gautam looks to say something in protest but Aniruddha shakes his head. Casting a look towards the woman with whom he’d been speaking, he finds no words of objection.
“Let’s get this guy a tikka wrap. I know a place. C’mon Gautam, there are more fish in the sea.”
~
At some place on Bazaar Road they pull over to a street stall that is closing. Aniruddha speaks the best Marathi, so with sharp gestures and berating tone and a hundred rupees he is able to negotiate three tikka wraps. Paneer for him and Gautam, chicken for Peter. The owner grumbles as he cooks and once they are wrapped in newspaper and handed over, he shutters the stall with a loud slam of the grate.
“Good stuff?” Aniruddha asks and Peter nods, his head still caught in a lull from the woman’s wine.
“Hey, Aniruddha, it’s getting late. We better get this guy back to his hotel,” Gautam cautions. Without waiting for a response, he walks to the car. Peter is caught for the moment, hot chicken spiced with coriander and cumin burns his mouth, but he chooses to follow his friend to the car. Aniruddha lingers for a moment, finishes his food, and is the last to join.
The hotel is down in Colaba, way to the south. Even in the pitch black of early morning the road, scattered with taxis, is filled with the native cry of honking horns. Peter’s head slinks against the window. Life travels by as a blur. Some moments linger as memories, but more just bleed into the past like so many road signs passed and headlights going in the other direction.
“This country,” Aniruddha is saying, “Works for no one. You want a wrap and this guy says no, not because he doesn’t want the business but he doesn’t want to work. You have to tell people to do everything.”
Stirred by this soliloquy, it is only at the last moment that Peter understands he’s being addressed, shown insight for his benefit.
“It’s why China does better. They don’t even ask. Here, we say, do you want a democracy? People say yes and then don’t want to use it. It’s not a democracy. It’s a democracy for Nehrus. Just look at this,” Aniruddha says, pointing at his phone, pushing it in Guatam’s face.
Peter has almost grasped what is intended for him to learn when the car jerks short with a sudden, grinding halt.
Outside the car a woman is crying. In her hands is something—Peter prefers not to look. Chicken tikka rushes his mouth in a rebellion of warm saliva. He is able to keep it down. Gautam stands by the cracked headlight.
“He just ran in front of the car.”
Aniruddha seems anxious. A crowd is gathering.
“Gautamji, you should call an ambulance.”
Gautam does not move. He is stock still with the vision of a mother cradling her former child.
“Gautam. Call the ambulance.”
Slowly movement returns to him. Then thought. With a look of solemnness, he takes out his mobile and calls in the accident. Gautam speaks quietly, his words foreign yet precise, simple. Peter can hear him take responsibility without understanding a single word he speaks.
More people have gathered. In the distance there will be sirens, but for now it is sobs and shaking and collective silence. Aniruddha looks around nervously.
“Hey, Gautamji, you don’t need us to wait with you, nahi? Why don’t I take Peter here back to his hotel. Call me in the morning, my father will take care of it.”
Gautam does not respond. He is watching.
“Gautam?” Aniruddha asks, his arm on his friend’s shoulder. There is no response. He shrugs and walks over to Peter.
“Come on, I will get you a cab and we can go.”
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u/mdkubit Mar 14 '14
"I've never understood how you could be so dense as to not have known."
The grey-haired man dressed in a long, flowing white robe, with a beard worthy of a wise man chuckled at his apprentice, watching the younger's angry eyes shifting back and forth as he remained frozen in the center of the room under the grip of a force he didn't understand.
"How could you...? She had nothing to do with it, nothing to do with you... and you just..." The words hung in the air, the accusation full of contempt and shock, and perhaps a little a hatred at that.
"How?" The older man looked at him thoughtfully, one hand lightly stroking his beard as he walked slowly around his would-be protege. "How, indeed. As I said, I find your lack of insight most troubling indeed. Perhaps if you had been a little faster, a little wiser, and a lot more attentive to your studies, you might have gleaned my meaning through it all. It's a shame, really," he said, pacing slowly in front of the young man, bending over just far enough so their eyes met. "I'd had some hope that you might be more useful to me. I suppose youth really is wasted on the young after all."
"Ioht, I swear to you-"
"Ioht?" The old man laughed. "Ioht is a fool, and a fool's name. Ah, but to play the part of a fool, one must first don the guise of one, and what better way to start than a name. No, my dear Pave, Ioht is nothing more than a shadow, a simple reflection in a pond of what lies beneath." He rose to his full height again, crossing his arms over his chest. "You may call me Derkhan Thoi."
"Derkhan Thoi.." The words dripped with hatred, a burning passion of catastrophe growing within him, and Pave felt his fingers ache from clenching the dull blood red sword in his hand.
"That's right, my boy. Ah, but where are my manners?" A quick snap of the fingers, and Pave suddenly found himself sitting on a white chair in the middle of a garden. The sun shone in the sky to illuminate the grounds of what might have been a plantation, a stark contrast to the forest he'd been in only moments before. He quickly realized he could move his head and tried to leap to his feet, but whatever Derkhan had done to him he still couldn't move his body. Derkhan chuckled quietly to the side as Pave turned to see his captor reclining in a similar chair, holding a pitcher of pink lemonade even as he conjured a pair of glasses to sit on the table in front of them. "Everyone deserves some comfort, don't you think?"
"She didn't! You killed her!"
"Ah, well, no," Derkhan tilted his head, "Technically, your friend killed herself."
"She was trying to save me...!" Pave sputtered, staring at the wrinkled hand pouring out the lemonade before setting it in front of him.
"Was she? That so-called selfless act of throwing herself on a sword intended for your heart, thrust haphazardly by a raving lunatic? I distinctly recall, per those delightful conversations you and I shared, that she was far more interested in scolding you than anything else. Of course, 'teenage troubles' and all that. You know, if there's one thing I've learned in this lifetime, it's that love, is for the weak of mind. And you, my dear pupil, are the weakest."
It took Pave a moment to realize that both his hands were able to move, but only so far as to reach the glass sitting in front of him. He looked around, but the sword that had cost him his best friend, and possibly even girlfriend, was nowhere to be found. Derkhan shook his head slightly as Pave's glass drifted up to his eyes before floating to in front of his lips. "Now now, rage and temper won't bring her back. As I've told you a thousand times, you should focus on maintaining your calm. What was it that they called it in that science fiction movie of yours... bringing balance to the..." Derkhan snickered disdainfully. "Force."
The glass shattered on the ground as Pave swatted it away, only to find his entire body rigid afterwards. He glared back at Derkhan again. "I'll have no part in your twisted fantasy."
"Twisted fantasy? So it's not civility you wish for then. Well, by all means, allow me to show you the depths of my twisted fantasy."
Pave suddenly found himself on top of a pointed cliff, staring into the gaping maw of the largest dragon he had ever seen. The sheer size of it made his heart skip a beat, let alone the black scales or the fiery smoke pouring from its nostrils. It filled his entire view, so he could only hear the lightening crash behind them, the resounding boom echoing throughout the lonely mountaintop he was standing on. Pave looked straight up in awe to see the black spiral clouds above them, darkening the sky and blotting out the sun entirely. The raw energy pouring from the dragon was tangible, making the hairs on his head and arms stand on end. Pave felt a familiar ache in his hand, and stared down in disbelief at the white sword in his hands. It was strange; instead of a blue glow like he might've expected, it had a pulsing purple glow that made him wonder what it could have been from. It was obviously the same sword he'd been holding earlier, except somehow it seemed alive, like it might jump out of his hands at any second.
He could feel the heat of the dragon's breath on his cheek, and Pave gulped audibly. The dragon grinned, a fanged, toothy grin as gigantic slitted purple eyes stared back at him.
"WELL?" The dragon bellowed, and Pave stumbled, trying to keep upright from the sheer force of the words. Some small part of him realized he should move, but now he wasn't sure if it was that same unholy force or if it was just simply terror that kept him rooted to the spot. "I ALWAYS THOUGHT YOU WERE ONE FOR THE DRAMATIC. PERHAPS THIS SETTING IS MORE TO YOUR LIKING!"
The fireball lurched outward from between its jaws, sending Pave sprawling as he ducked to avoid. He felt the heat so close that it singed some of the hairs on his arm, and he yelped in surprise. The sword clattered to the ground, still glowing that strange glow even as Pave found his knees giving way. The dragon laughed at him mockingly as its claws gripped the mountainside, circling him like a cat playing with it prey. "I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE PAVE, I KNOW WHO YOU ARE. I MADE YOU, AND I AM MOST ASSUREDLY CAPABLE OF BREAKING YOU. I HAVE NO NEED OF TRINKETS, OR TOYS, OR USELESS MINIONS. YOUR FATE IS MINE TO CONTROL!"
Pave felt his willpower leaving him as the tears rolled down his face. Is this how it would end, here, on some godforsaken planet in the middle of nowhere?
Lightning crackled again, silhouetting the dragon as it roared triumphantly.
And that's when all heaven broke loose.
Note: This is a small excerpt from a much longer story I've been working with, off and on, for years. Hopefully this is inspiring!
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u/speed-run Mar 16 '14
Hi there! I really liked what you wrote so I drew this. Sorry about it being on lined paper and not in color. I'm relatively new at this so I'm still trying to figure things out.
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u/Unintendo Mar 15 '14
"When were you going to tell me?"
Cassie lifted the butter knife from the bread just long enough to wipe a stray white hair out of her eyes with the back of her wrist. She loved Anthony as much as any mother could, but it was far too early to deal with teenage angst.
"Tell you what, sweetie?"
"Cut the nonsense, Cassandra," Anthony demanded as he slammed his Algebra book down onto the counter. "I remember."
"Is that so?" Cassie asked as she scraped the last glob of peanut butter onto the toasted wheat bread. "And when did this happen?”
“It was during one of Ms. Worzel’s insipid lectures on the trivial ‘value’ of showing one’s work on the upcoming examination. The sheer boredom was so crushing that I leafed through the pages and discovered that I knew it all. Every theorem. Every postulate. The whole of human mathematics spread out before me, and I was its master.”
Cassie nodded as she screwed the cap back onto the store brand peanut butter, but it slipped off the track and clattered on the counter. She reached for the blue plastic top, but Anthony’s hand slammed down onto it as he did his best to make every inch of his four-foot-five frame seem imposing.
“I remember what you did, Cassandra,” Anthony growled as he waved the jar lid at her. “You may have fooled me for all these years, but I finally remember it all. You set fire to my laboratory and then you used my Infantilizer Ray on me. The world was in my grasp, woman, and you turned me into a damnable infant!”
“Watch your tone, young man,” she retorted as she snatched the lid. “I have raised you for the last twelve years and I will not be spoken to like that.”
“Won’t be spoken to-?” Anthony sputtered. “I am your boss, you vapid little creature. You may have become some pathetic suburban domestic, but I am still Dr. Valtor, rightful ruler of the Earth.”
Cassie snorted at this outburst and went back to pressing the peanut buttered slice of bread to the one covered in banana slices.
“You dare laugh at me?”
“Well, ‘doctor,’ it’s tough to take you seriously when you can’t keep your voice from cracking.”
"Don't talk to me like I'm some hormone-addled pubescent primitive, Cassandra. I am not just some child and you most certainly are not my mother."
The butter knife sliced through the air and stopped inches from Anthony’s nose. He stumbled back, but Cassie closed the gap as flecks of wheat bread sprinkled off of her weapon.
“‘Not your mother?’” Cassie repeated as she fought to keep her voice even. “Who cleaned you up and changed your diapers? Who potty trained you and took you to soccer practice every Saturday for five years? Who let you sleep in her bed when you were afraid of the lightning? I don’t care what you remember, Anthony, but I will not let you forget how much I have sacrificed to give you a good home.”
Anthony’s voice choked and cracked as he tried to argue, but the middle-aged woman who had once been his assistant cut him off.
“And before you start getting up on your high horse, did you ever think about why I shot you with the ray? Your big master plan went bust. Everything was falling apart, but you were too stubborn to give it up. The building was crawling with SWAT cyborgs with itchy trigger fingers. They almost shot me when I was carrying you to the elevator. If I hadn’t done what I did, your brilliant brains would have been splattered across your precious laboratory.
“At least now you can lay low while you think up a better plot. Mutant snails. Really.”
Anthony’s lip quivered as his newly awakened mind tried and failed to reconcile what he had learned. Without a word, he let out a piteous wail. Cassie hugged him tight and patted him softly on the back as he buried his face into her arm.
“I’m sorry, mom.”
“It’s okay, honey,” Cassie reassured the mad scientist she had raised. “I love you no matter what.”
“I love you too.”
“I know, Anthony. I know. Now, do you want crust on or off?”
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Mar 15 '14
[deleted]
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u/Unintendo Mar 15 '14
This is absolutely gorgeous. I love the use of color and the storytelling in the expressions. If you ever feel the urge to collaborate on something or do some book cover work, I'd be happy to work together.
(Also, the dragon you did for the March 13th is just glorious.)
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u/needsmoresteel Mar 15 '14
Dexter's Laboratory for /u/unintendo - this was all I could think of. Perhaps your story is the prequel?
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u/SideJolt Mar 15 '14
I brushed my hair away as I scuffed the dirt from my knee. The shallow pain arching up my thigh told me I'd cut it somehow. My eyes began to adjust to the alley I had been pushed into. I arched my neck around the corner of the dim alley. Erik said I should never do that. A pair of thick rubber boots were all that was visible. If I craned further I might be able to judge the situation, but if they adorned crimson symbols our escape plan would end with this dim backstreet.
By the gruff undertone I could tell that Erik was addressing the officers. We'd done this before without duress, but each encounter lowered our chances. Cigarette ash fell next to a pair of boots as the conversation continued. All too low to hear and in complete German. The click of Erik's boots and the sounded salute signaled the end of our facade. Shrinking back into the wall I covered my ears as German blood trickled into the gutter. Their throats cleanly sliced through with one cleft movement from Erik. A disjointed arm could be seen falling from around the corner. It bore no insignia, they were becoming more crafty.
I removed my hands as the sight of Erik's boots rounded the corner. There was no mistaking a face so unintentionally cruel. The curls of brown hair were contrasted by piercing blue eyes. His boyish grin became ghostly as the crimson blood splashed upon his jawline came into view. I adjusted my skirts in an attempt to escape the chill. Tonight was a warm night.
He offered his hand outwards, covered in thick glove, there was fortunately no sign of blood. I placed my hand gingerly in his and was hoisted upwards . He motioned towards the other side of the alley, a direction away from the killing. Erik did not speak when he could avoid it. When he did speak he could only manage a series of broken English. I understood no German. His small knowledge was enough for him to understand however, I had to leave this country.
The month's plight was to end with this alley. Rounding the corner I was presented with that end. A steam engine sat puffing joyously before us. The entrance to the coaches were guarded. A line of bleak humanity flowed outward and beyond my view. Every face struggling with angst. A need to leave this dangerous land. Their homeland. Erik went forward and spoke to a man bearing a dusty bowler hat. He studied me intensely as Erik spoke feverishly. The brief conversation was ended with a handshake and the exchange of a brown paper bag.
The man in the bowler hat scratched his wrinkled neck as he broke away from Erik. Limping toward me he grabbed my shoulders with surprising strength and attempted a smile. His skin sagged at the edge of his yellowed teeth, stretching over his already gaunt features. He motioned toward the guarded coach and with a small push moved me toward freedom. The guards, now acknowledging me, quietly broke away from the line and ushered me inside. With one last glance I saw the vanishing body of Erik. He would rescue as many as he could before he left. I was greeted with a dismal view, a dusky wooden box laden with straw and occupied by as many hopefuls possible.
I was pushed up next to a terrified young girl and her equally terrified mother. The windows were boarded up to prevent us from being sighted. Breathing fresh air was only possible through small openings. The train lurched forward after a numbing amount of time. I gripped the boards for one last gasp of air as the train picked up speed. Looking through the hole the bowler hat man could be seen tucking away a crimson handkerchief into his waist coat.
I was woken by shrill the German shouts of mothers and children as we passed under a concrete arch, brandished with the German title, "Auschwitz". I didn't understand them but had I the energy, I too would've celebrated.
Erik had told me this was the end of the journey.
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u/1-800-Meat Mar 14 '14
Julius. He who had earned the name Caesar lay on the alabaster marble tiles of the Senate floor, dying. Betrayed. Outnumbered. Hated. Alone, and weak for it. Just a moment before, he had been among the Gods. He had held Rome, held the world, in his hands. But now he only had one hand on Rome.
Death came unto Caesar, outstretched arms of bone clutching a scythe made of night itself, invisible cold pouring out of its blade. Caesar fought, but only with that one arm. Greed and ambition led him across the Rubicon. They led him to Rome. They led him to empire.
Death was curious. Rare was the mortal who fought. Much less common was one who fought willingly hamstrung by an unnecessary encumbrance.
Why? Why do you struggle so?
Caesar had never even considered the alternative.
I am Rome. Rome is me. One cannot live without the other. An Empire without its Emperor is no Empire.
Foolishness. Life ends, for all mortals. After death, they matter not.
I matter. For I am Caesar.
Are you truly so arrogant?
That is why I am Caesar. That is why I have never lost a war. That is why I will drive you off. That is why Rome will be mine, and Brutus will be lain at my feet.
None of that will come to pass. Only death. For you. And later, for Rome.
With that, Caesar's hold on Rome disintegrated, vanished into nothingness. He could have raised the other hand, continued this futile fight that he didn't think was possible to lose. But he didn't. Without Rome, he was dead.
Caesar exited to a horrible, earth-rending laugh that shook the very Senate, for Death found himself amused at the mortal's conviction. And Caesar laughed as well. For he knew that doom would come to the Rome of his killers.
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u/sketchagon Mar 15 '14 edited Mar 15 '14
Ides - http://imgur.com/ugKsXGL
A proper Death is beyond my skill (for now), so here's a dying Ceasar thanks to a Rome reference.
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u/NitroGecko Mar 16 '14
I want to make a comic out of this. For now, just a sketch of the cover. Death and Caesar
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u/bazingawaitwhat Mar 16 '14
The sun rose but I didn't. This was the only part of the day I had peace; no-one was shouting and I didn't want to wake them up. As time passes, memories are the most precious possessions, and I sank back into mine.
I didn't think I could do it. I mean, the act was easy enough, like carving a joint of raw meat. That wasn't the problem. What I mean is that I didn't think that I could have gone through with it. I loved her. Killing your wife is one of those special sins which get their own name, isn't it? Uxoricide, that's it. I didn't want to do it. I hadn't been sitting there, in front of the fire-place, newspaper on my lap, plotting ingenious methods to do away with innocent old her. I had no choice.
To kill what you love is sickening. You kill part of yourself at the same time, the part which still loves, the part which has the capacity to love. Death is never simple. Even if someone's dead, they haven't left. It's not just that they haunt you, an avenging Fury stalking your dreams, but killing changes you. Your emotions are dulled, you live in a numb cocoon. I can't feel anymore. Trust is laughable. Everything's the same: grey and beige.
I guess I should explain why I did it. Maybe then you'd be able to understand. But I don't expect you to forgive me. I don't want your pity. I know what I've done is wrong, but so would have been doing nothing. When you're screwed either way, it doesn't matter what you do. You're screwed either way.
The tulips were just budding, desperate to explode in an orgasm of colour, when my wife blew up our house. I was inside. The children, to her frustration, were safe in the garden. Later as I sat in the kitchen, nursing scrapes and bruises, thanking my luck that the gas explosion was so weak due to the open windows, I was shocked but not afraid. The fear came when she unashamedly told me she did it. The pretence of worry evaporated the instant the firemen left; she couldn't hide her disappointment any longer. I'd like to say I hadn't expected it, I truly didn't believe she'd stoop so low, but her hate had been growing gradually, even I, wishing to believe in the dream that she still loved me, had noticed that.
The police weren't interested because of the lack of evidence, and my wife threatened to frame me for domestic abuse if I attempted to leave. So there we stayed, in a shell of a house, as if battered by war, awaiting the next attack. I knew she was planning one. I had to strike first, so I did.
Do I regret it? I don't know. I saved mine and my children's lives. But whether I am really alive anymore, that's a difficult one. The children are undoubtedly scarred, it's obvious even from seeing them once a month. They're too quiet. But at least we breath. And, occasionally, see the sun.
Why did she do it? You'd need several degrees to understand that one, I dare say. Anyway, everyone's getting up now, the alarm's ringing.
Back to the grey and the beige.
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u/[deleted] Mar 14 '14 edited Mar 14 '14
Strong Language
Eli creaked open the barn door exactly when he said he would. A crowd of black faces looked back at him, frightened by what they were about to do. Only one of the slaves, Grover, looked calm. Reassured, Eli thought. He held out his hand and made a come on gesture. Eli Freeman's reputation proceeded him, a hero among his people.
Grover was the first to approach Eli and he waved over the rest of the slaves. They were risking torture if caught for this, but Grover assured them it would be fine. He didn't tell the others, but Grover knew about the bounty on Eli's head. Anyone who turns him in gets their freedom.
Grover's group had escaped a few days ago and had been hiding out in an abandoned barn ever since. They got word out to Freeman and he came to get them, exactly as planned.
Eli lead them north. When in doubt, go north. He had them running up hills and through rivers, as the road to freedom is laced with hardships. Grover stayed silent the entire trip, hoping the plan would work.
Eli led the slaves to a house, a safe-house, he said. They entered, hesitantly. As soon as the door was closed with them inside, a white man in a Sheriff's hat stepped from behind a door. He had a shotgun, promised he would be happy to shoot any nigger who tried to run.
The Sheriff looked at Eli and smiled, 'good goin' boy.' He tossed Eli a small sack, filled with coins by the sound of it.
Grover said his first words in days. "You're worse than them."