For Boredom's Sake: Eric's Tale
Chapter VIII: More Snow
By Eric Greer
Eric had been walking all night. He had planned on finally making camp a few hours before dawn when snow once again began to fall. Fearful that he would arrive in Tal to find no ships in port, he ignored the pains in his legs and pressed on.
It was not until sometime around noon that he finally allowed himself a break, and sat down on a fallen tree. Looking up, he watched as snow flakes slowly fell through the canopy above. Winter had taken hold of Saros. He took the small loaf of bread from his bag. There wasn't much left: even if he tried to ration it, he wouldn't be eating tomorrow. He also hadn't drank anything since he had left Mortimer's. He had considered eating snow, but he figured that, since it would lower his internal body temperature, he would save that as a last resort.
So, he ate half of his bread, saving the other half for that night.
He sat and rested for as long as he could, but he knew that he would have to get moving soon. In his mind he could see the last ship pulling out to sea. He ignored the pain in his legs as he stood up and picked up his bag.
He was either moving at a faster pace than he thought or Mortimer had been mistaken. He had reached the forest's edge and was now standing on a hilltop. Below was a rolling plain, beyond which he could spy the port of Tal.
As he began to stumble his way down the steep, snow covered hillside, his exhaustion finally caught up with him. As he tumbled down the hill, the only positive thought that ran through his head was, At least I don't have to walk. When he finally hit the bottom he was out of breath and caked in snow.
"God dammit!" he said. He was cold, sore, and completely out of energy. He had almost constantly been on the move for nearly seventeen hours, and he was probably another six hours from Tal, and that was if he ran. He hadn't been on this earth for four days and he was already starting to regret accepting Sol's offer.
He allowed himself to lay there in the snow for a few minutes before he reluctantly pulled himself up again.
"You couldn't have threw me somewhere a little closer to civilization?" he yelled, looking up at the sky.
Almost as if in answer an eastern wind picked up.
With a sigh (and more than a few grumbles of discontent) he stood up and willed his legs forward.
He hadn't been walking long when something to his south caught his eye. He couldn't be sure, but it almost looked like some sort of structure, though it appeared to be leaning to one side. He had almost missed it in the snow. His path had brought him into a shallow dip in the plain, and Tal was completely blocked from view. As the snow still hadn't let up (if anything, it had picked up), and Tal might as well be a million leagues away, the structure's allure proved too much, and he made straight for it.
When he finally reached it, he discovered it to be an abandoned covered wagon. It was indeed leaning to one side, as the left wheel appeared to have shattered completely. Luckily, it didn't seem to have been abandoned long, as the canvas top was still intact.
Crawling inside, Eric found it to be completely empty; all the more room for him to stretch out. While he had hated the idea of wasting more time, he also hated the idea of possibly freezing to death, and would rather risk missing a ship than possibly being sent back to that lake (which was probably frozen by now). Taking the last morsel of bread from his bag, he quickly scarfed it down. That took care of the last of his food. The coins he had stolen from that villager would go to good use: his first stop would be the inn for his first proper meal since....
Come to think of it, how long has it been since I died? he thought. His mishaps over the last few days, as well as his single-minded drive to reach Tal, had kept the question from popping into his mind. He had died in the final days of the spring of 489; had it only been a few months?
As he lay there, this question burned in his mind, driving away all thought of food. Finally, he fell asleep, the sounds of the wind outside lulling him to sleep.
He had slept through the night and most of the following day, much longer than he had intended. On the plus side, he didn't feel like total crap. Sure, his legs were still sore, and the blinding white brightness of the snow pretty much destroyed his retinas for about five minutes, but he felt much, much better. So much so that, after falling out of the back of the wagon, he began to run east towards Tal. If there were any ships still sitting in port, he was going to be on one of them, even if he had to kill everyone on board.
The clouds had once again receded. The sun was drifting to the west, while in the east the two moons were already visible.
He reached Tal by nightfall. The town was small and far from civilized by Eric's standards. Its primary purpose was to serve as a drop off point for freight destined to the other three villages of Saros. Most of the buildings were simply warehouses, though there was a general store, an inn, and a pub, mostly catering to the crews of passing freighters and trade vessels. During the coming winter months, the town would be deserted, except for a few families who would keep watch on the warehouses and work on the docks in the unlikely event that a ship would take to port.
"Yes! Yes!" he said, dancing, as he reached the docks: there were two large ships docked. Both were of generic design, with two masts, one centrally located, and one aft.
Relieved that he had arrived before the final ships had left port, he relaxed. Leaning on a wooden post, he looked out to sea. The night sky was clear, and the two moons and the stars reflected in the calm ocean water. For the first time in several days he felt like things were finally going his way. Maybe the gods weren't going to give him such a hard time after all.
Or maybe they were just setting him up for another fall. Who knows? He had learned a very long time ago that optimism was for suckers, and things like trust and hope can get you killed; this he knew from experience. Slipping on a patch of ice on his way to the inn only helped to further cement these beliefs.
Copyright 2011 by Eric Greer. All rights reserved.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Saturday, October 22, 2011
For Boredom's Sake: Eric's Tale - Chapter VII: And a Parting
For Boredom's Sake: Eric's Tale
Chapter VII: And a Parting
By Eric Greer
"So, how much further does this forest go on?" asked Eric, munching on a small piece of bread. Mortimer had roused him from his sleep sometime in the late morning. Sunlight was pouring in through the window. Outside the sky was clear, without a cloud in sight.
"Not too much further," said the old man, picking up his bowl of slop from the table. "I'd say a day's walk, due east of here. You should set eyes on the port of Tal from the treeline, though it's easily another half a day of walking further." He lifted the bowl and gestured toward the door, spilling slop on the floor.
"Is Tal a major port? Will I be able to charter passage north?" asked Eric, relieved that the settlement he had chosen was indeed a port.
"Possibly," replied the old man, raising his spirits. "But, winter has come, and trade will slow." His spirits sank. "The seas in these parts get a violent streak in them during the winter months, and passage becomes treacherous. First snow fall usually tells the captains that it's about time to high tail it back north."
"Then I had better be on my way," said Eric, starting to stand up.
Mortimer suddenly grabbed Eric's arm with both hands. "Yes, I believe you'd better had. But...."
Eric could sense a some sort of delay coming up.
"But... what?" he asked.
Mortimer then let go of his arm and raised his bowl of slop to his lips and began to make a disgusting sipping noise.
"Well?"
The old man let out a sigh as he set the bowl down again, then wiped his face with his sleeve.
"Well?" Eric repeated.
"What?" The look on Mortimer's face was quite quizzical.
"I said I should be on my way, but you stopped me." This old man was most definitely addled.
"Oh, yes, of course. What was it again? Let me think for a moment," he said, putting his right hand on his chin and closing his eyes.
This is ridiculous, thought Eric. I'm wasting precious time while this old man... is he sleeping?!
Indeed, a soft snoring had started issuing from Mortimer, his head lulled to one side.
Standing up, Eric slammed his fist onto the table.
"Oh! What? What's all this ruckus?" asked Mortimer.
"I'm wasting time. If I don't hurry I'm going to be stuck on this backwater rock until spring!"
"Ah, yes! That's it! Time! Something I don't have much of, I'm afraid," said the old man, matter of factly.
"What the hell are talking about? I don't have time for this." Eric grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder.
"I'm going to die tonight, sonny." Mortimer said this as if he were telling him about the weather.
Oh, god, he though, don't tell me he wants me to stay with him while he dies.
"If you wouldn't mind, I'd like some company while I pass."
Damn. It. All.
"I'll make it worth your while!"
"How?" he asked flatly, sitting down again. He accepted that the world around him was most likely going to be hellbent on delaying him; this old man was probably just the first in a long line of pains in his ass.
"Will you stay? I promise, I'll die quickly!"
"Fine," he replied, his voice full of gloom.
"Oh, good, good!" He stood up and began to circle around the room, his arms held out as if holding someones hands, dancing.
This guy is absolutely, positively insane.
Suddenly, Mortimer slumped to the ground.
For a moment, Eric thought the old man had died.
"Just practicing!" he gleefully exclaimed.
Absolutely. Positively. Insane.
Slamming his head against the table, Eric began to curse himself.
"I used to be quite the adventurer!" said the old man. He was now lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling. "Yep! I sailed the oceans, looking for adventure! Why, I remember when my mate Peg Leg Pete and I pulled into port one night after a long stretch at sea. We must have bedded every lady on that coast that weekend. I says to him, I says, "Pete! There isn't a lass on this island under seventy!" But we didn't care; we had been at sea for so long, a pulse probably wasn't even required! Pulse optional! Haha!"
Across the room Eric was still slamming his head against the table. Mortimer had been regaling his life to him for hours, from his time island hopping to every woman he had bedded.
Why won't he just die? he thought.
As if in answer, Mortimer suddenly stopped.
"Oh. Oh. I think.... Yes, I think...."
Finally.
"Eric, please come over to my bedside. Please," he said.
Obliging, Eric crossed the room.
As he drew near, Mortimer reached one arm under his bed. After a few moments of searching, he pulled out a bundle of cloth.
"I give you my most prized possession, Eric," he said, pushing the bundle into Eric's arms. "It is my sword. I carried it with me in my youth, and it has seen many years of hard and noble service. It's-"
"A piece of crap," said Eric, bluntly. He had taken the sword from the bundle of cloth. The scabbard was worn and nearly falling apart, and the blade was a copper color, pitted with rust and nicked and notched. "Wait... is there potato on this thing? Were you dicing potatoes with this?"
"- name is Bob," Mortimer continued, ignoring Eric's comments. "I have foreseen that you will have great need of Bob in the future. You have a dire road ahead of you, my friend."
"This is potato. God, what a piece of crap."
"One more thing, my friend, before I pass."
"Huh? Oh, what is it, oh Mortimer, dear friend and giver of crappy gifts?" Eric was still examining the blade. He could swear there was something else on the blade. It looked like carrot.
"Please, take Mortimer with you," he said, looking at the sleeping dog. "Mortimer! I'm dying, Mortimer! Don't you want to be with me in my final moments? Here boy!"
The dog didn't seem to react.
"Damned... dog...."
And so, Mortimer passed on. Mortimer the man, not Mortimer the dog; Eric was fairly certain the dog was still doing fine.
"Good god," said Eric. As happens in real life, but is rarely depicted in literature or film, Mortimer's sphincter had loosened. "Good god!" Eric quickly grabbed his bag, and, covering his nose and mouth with his arm, ran to the door.
"Mortimer! Mortimer! Here boy!" He had been calling at the open door of the house for several minutes now, but the dog just didn't want to leave his bed of hay.
"Fine!" he said, turning away. "I don't like dogs anyways."
He then took the sword ("Bob") from it's scabbard.
This thing is embarrassing, he thought. But, Mortimer was right: he was going to need a weapon on his journey. But, still....
Reluctantly he attached it to his belt. Amazingly, it didn't fall apart.
He picked up his bag, and, with one last look at Mortimer's small home, he slung it over his shoulder and turned away, making his way east through the forest, on his way to the port of Tal.
After awhile, he began to wonder if the old man had wanted to be buried.
Oh well, he thought as he continued on his journey.
Copyright 2011 by Eric Greer. All rights reserved.
Chapter VII: And a Parting
By Eric Greer
"So, how much further does this forest go on?" asked Eric, munching on a small piece of bread. Mortimer had roused him from his sleep sometime in the late morning. Sunlight was pouring in through the window. Outside the sky was clear, without a cloud in sight.
"Not too much further," said the old man, picking up his bowl of slop from the table. "I'd say a day's walk, due east of here. You should set eyes on the port of Tal from the treeline, though it's easily another half a day of walking further." He lifted the bowl and gestured toward the door, spilling slop on the floor.
"Is Tal a major port? Will I be able to charter passage north?" asked Eric, relieved that the settlement he had chosen was indeed a port.
"Possibly," replied the old man, raising his spirits. "But, winter has come, and trade will slow." His spirits sank. "The seas in these parts get a violent streak in them during the winter months, and passage becomes treacherous. First snow fall usually tells the captains that it's about time to high tail it back north."
"Then I had better be on my way," said Eric, starting to stand up.
Mortimer suddenly grabbed Eric's arm with both hands. "Yes, I believe you'd better had. But...."
Eric could sense a some sort of delay coming up.
"But... what?" he asked.
Mortimer then let go of his arm and raised his bowl of slop to his lips and began to make a disgusting sipping noise.
"Well?"
The old man let out a sigh as he set the bowl down again, then wiped his face with his sleeve.
"Well?" Eric repeated.
"What?" The look on Mortimer's face was quite quizzical.
"I said I should be on my way, but you stopped me." This old man was most definitely addled.
"Oh, yes, of course. What was it again? Let me think for a moment," he said, putting his right hand on his chin and closing his eyes.
This is ridiculous, thought Eric. I'm wasting precious time while this old man... is he sleeping?!
Indeed, a soft snoring had started issuing from Mortimer, his head lulled to one side.
Standing up, Eric slammed his fist onto the table.
"Oh! What? What's all this ruckus?" asked Mortimer.
"I'm wasting time. If I don't hurry I'm going to be stuck on this backwater rock until spring!"
"Ah, yes! That's it! Time! Something I don't have much of, I'm afraid," said the old man, matter of factly.
"What the hell are talking about? I don't have time for this." Eric grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder.
"I'm going to die tonight, sonny." Mortimer said this as if he were telling him about the weather.
Oh, god, he though, don't tell me he wants me to stay with him while he dies.
"If you wouldn't mind, I'd like some company while I pass."
Damn. It. All.
"I'll make it worth your while!"
"How?" he asked flatly, sitting down again. He accepted that the world around him was most likely going to be hellbent on delaying him; this old man was probably just the first in a long line of pains in his ass.
"Will you stay? I promise, I'll die quickly!"
"Fine," he replied, his voice full of gloom.
"Oh, good, good!" He stood up and began to circle around the room, his arms held out as if holding someones hands, dancing.
This guy is absolutely, positively insane.
Suddenly, Mortimer slumped to the ground.
For a moment, Eric thought the old man had died.
"Just practicing!" he gleefully exclaimed.
Absolutely. Positively. Insane.
Slamming his head against the table, Eric began to curse himself.
"I used to be quite the adventurer!" said the old man. He was now lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling. "Yep! I sailed the oceans, looking for adventure! Why, I remember when my mate Peg Leg Pete and I pulled into port one night after a long stretch at sea. We must have bedded every lady on that coast that weekend. I says to him, I says, "Pete! There isn't a lass on this island under seventy!" But we didn't care; we had been at sea for so long, a pulse probably wasn't even required! Pulse optional! Haha!"
Across the room Eric was still slamming his head against the table. Mortimer had been regaling his life to him for hours, from his time island hopping to every woman he had bedded.
Why won't he just die? he thought.
As if in answer, Mortimer suddenly stopped.
"Oh. Oh. I think.... Yes, I think...."
Finally.
"Eric, please come over to my bedside. Please," he said.
Obliging, Eric crossed the room.
As he drew near, Mortimer reached one arm under his bed. After a few moments of searching, he pulled out a bundle of cloth.
"I give you my most prized possession, Eric," he said, pushing the bundle into Eric's arms. "It is my sword. I carried it with me in my youth, and it has seen many years of hard and noble service. It's-"
"A piece of crap," said Eric, bluntly. He had taken the sword from the bundle of cloth. The scabbard was worn and nearly falling apart, and the blade was a copper color, pitted with rust and nicked and notched. "Wait... is there potato on this thing? Were you dicing potatoes with this?"
"- name is Bob," Mortimer continued, ignoring Eric's comments. "I have foreseen that you will have great need of Bob in the future. You have a dire road ahead of you, my friend."
"This is potato. God, what a piece of crap."
"One more thing, my friend, before I pass."
"Huh? Oh, what is it, oh Mortimer, dear friend and giver of crappy gifts?" Eric was still examining the blade. He could swear there was something else on the blade. It looked like carrot.
"Please, take Mortimer with you," he said, looking at the sleeping dog. "Mortimer! I'm dying, Mortimer! Don't you want to be with me in my final moments? Here boy!"
The dog didn't seem to react.
"Damned... dog...."
And so, Mortimer passed on. Mortimer the man, not Mortimer the dog; Eric was fairly certain the dog was still doing fine.
"Good god," said Eric. As happens in real life, but is rarely depicted in literature or film, Mortimer's sphincter had loosened. "Good god!" Eric quickly grabbed his bag, and, covering his nose and mouth with his arm, ran to the door.
"Mortimer! Mortimer! Here boy!" He had been calling at the open door of the house for several minutes now, but the dog just didn't want to leave his bed of hay.
"Fine!" he said, turning away. "I don't like dogs anyways."
He then took the sword ("Bob") from it's scabbard.
This thing is embarrassing, he thought. But, Mortimer was right: he was going to need a weapon on his journey. But, still....
Reluctantly he attached it to his belt. Amazingly, it didn't fall apart.
He picked up his bag, and, with one last look at Mortimer's small home, he slung it over his shoulder and turned away, making his way east through the forest, on his way to the port of Tal.
After awhile, he began to wonder if the old man had wanted to be buried.
Oh well, he thought as he continued on his journey.
Copyright 2011 by Eric Greer. All rights reserved.
Friday, October 21, 2011
For Boredom's Sake: Eric's Tale - Chapter VI: A Meeting
For Boredom's Sake: Eric's Tale
Chapter VI: A Meeting
By Eric Greer
By midday it had started snowing again, and as night drew near, Eric began to wonder where he would find shelter. Of course, he hadn't been smart enough to steal a tent from that villager, or even a blanket. If he could time travel he could go back and steal a tent; then again, if he could time travel, he probably wouldn't have died and gone to Hell, and therefor wouldn't be in this whole saving the world mess.
Unable to find a worthwhile place to make camp, Eric walked deep into the night. The moons lit his way at times, when there was a break in the clouds, but he found himself mostly feeling his way through the dark. This mode of travel is fairly stupid, as forest floors sometimes have a bad habit of suddenly disappearing. This thought occurred to Eric as he tumbled rather violently down a hillside. When his body finally came to stop, he decided he had found a suitable place to camp.
"Hey, you! You!"
Ugh, where am I? he thought to himself. The last thing he remembered was falling.
"Hey!"
I must have hit my head on something, he thought, rubbing his forehead.
"Mister!"
How long was I out? The sky was still dark, but the cloud cover had broken, and the moons now hung bright in the sky.
"Will you stop with the inner monologue, I'm trying to talk to you!"
Looking around, Eric saw that he had come to rest on a tree-covered hillside. The figure of an old man stood a few feet from him, though his features were hidden in shadow.
"Oh, sorry," he said, getting to his feet.
"It's about time," said the old man, who was now making his way down the hill. "Well, are you coming?" he asked, looking back.
"Oh, uh, I guess so," answered Eric, somewhat bewildered.
Down the hill they went, neither saying a word. The old man was breathing heavily when they reached the bottom.
"So... where are we going?" he finally asked, as they continued through the forest.
"To my home, of course," answered the old man indignantly, not looking back.
"Of course, where else would I be following a strange old man to in the middle of nowhere?" he said sarcastically.
"Exactly," he replied matter of factly.
This old man was strange. Normally this would be where he would follow his gut and sneak off, but the idea of possibly being able to rest somewhere with a roof over his head was too alluring to pass up; he figured he'd have plenty of other opportunities to be one with nature on the long road to Lebin.
About half an hour later Eric spotted a light through the trees ahead. As they got closer, a cozy little cottage appeared.
"Nice place you've got," he said.
The old man simply ignored him, opened the door and shuffled inside, slamming the door behind him.
To say that Eric was confused would be an understatement.
"Are you coming in? Or are you going to stand outside all night?" yelled the old man.
As Eric opened the door, any preconceived notions that the exterior of the small house had created were blown away. The place was a pigsty. The floor was covered by the stained pelt of some strange creature and countless scraps of paper. In one corner stood a table (littered with dirty wooden bowls and more scraps of paper) and two chairs. A large dog slept on a pile of hay in another corner, next to a fireplace, not even acknowledging Eric's presence. On the other side of the fireplace was a disheveled looking bed.
"Welcome to my home. Sit! Sit!" said the old man, as he crossed the room. He pulled one of the chairs out from under the table, and, after picking what appeared to be a small, dead creature from it (which he nonchalantly tossed into the fire), offered it to Eric before slowly sitting in the other.
"Uh, thanks," said Eric, looking from the fire to the seat. Trying not to think about whatever had been lying there before, he sat down.
"My name is Mortimer," said the old man. In the firelight Eric could finally make out his face. He definitely wasn't much to look at: he had a woolly grey beard, a crooked nose, and his left eye appeared to drift inward. His hair was long and unkempt. All in all, he had the look of someone who wasn't quite completely there.
"Eric," he replied, quickly taking his eyes from the man's face.
"Nice to meet you Eric! My name is Mortimer!"
"Uh, yeah, you just told me."
"Did I now? How silly of me," laughed Mortimer. "Well, my name is Mortimer, and this is my home!"
"So, what were you doing out in the middle of the night? You were pretty far from home," asked Eric.
"Sleep walking, I suppose," he replied. "Nothing does a sleeping man more good than going for a midnight stroll!"
"I see." Mortimer definitely wasn't all there. "Nice dog."
"Ah, yes! That's my Mortimer! He's a good boy, aren't you Mortimer? Aren't you?" The dog didn't even open his eyes. "Damned dog. You must be hungry, am I right?" he asked, turning his attention back to Eric. "I've got some slop, if you're interested."
"Uh, sure." He hadn't eaten since the previous morning, having decided to ration his bread.
The old man then stood up and shuffled over to a large pot standing next to the fire.
"Come and get some, sonny!" he said, waving him over.
As Eric drew near, Mortimer pried the lid from the pot. Inside, Eric beheld something truly unholy. "Slop", as the old man called it, was a sickly color, somewhere between green and brown, but distinctly neither, with bits and pieces of what he guessed were small, rodent-like animals and mushrooms. There were other things floating in it, but these were the only things he could identify.
"Er, actually, on second thought, I have bread," he said, moving away from the pot, holding the bag up.
"Suit yourself," said Mortimer, grabbing a wooden bowl from the floor near the dog. "You don't know what you're missing!" He then dipped the bowl in the "slop" and replaced the lit.
"Oh, I'm sure it's delicious; but, I've, uh, made a vow to, uh, eat only bread for... ever. Yep."
"I see," said Mortimer, sitting down. He then lifted the bowl to his mouth and took a hearty swig. He sat for a moment before turning towards the dog and spitting what appeared to be a small eyeball in its direction, which landed a few feet short. "Damned dog."
What followed was several awkward, silent moments. Mortimer busied himself with his meal, sometimes pausing to spit something in the dog's direction. Meanwhile, Eric looked about the room, his stomach churning in disgust. Looking at the papers that littered the floor and table, he could see that some were covered in strange writing; others featured crude stick figures, depicting a wide range of things, from battles to gardening (others, he suspected, were pornographic in nature).
After a few minutes, Mortimer noisily finished his "slop" and threw the bowl back towards the dog. For the first time since he arrived, Eric noticed the dog react: he lifted his head to peer inside the bowl, then sat his head down again, closing his eyes.
"Well," said Mortimer, putting his hands on his stomach, "time for bed!" Standing up, he walked over to the bed. Lying down, he rolled over to the far side. "There's plenty of room for the both of us," he said, patting the empty side of the bed.
"I'm... good. I'll sleep on the floor...." This old coot was just getting stranger and stranger.
"Suit yourself," yawned Mortimer, rolling over. "Night, night."
"Night, night...."
Eric pulled the loaf of bread from his bag and tore a small piece off. As he ate, he began to wonder if this turn of events was just a coincidence or if it was fate. But, then he decided that he was too sore and tired to worry about that, and, seeing as a night of sleeping on a hard floor wouldn't help the sore part of it, he didn't plan on thinking about it tomorrow either.
When he had finished he proceeded to clear a small area of the floor, pushing the papers to one side. Using his bag as a makeshift pillow, he quickly drifted off to sleep, the steady sound of Mortimer's snoring filling his ears.
Copyright 2011 by Eric Greer. All rights reserved.
Chapter VI: A Meeting
By Eric Greer
By midday it had started snowing again, and as night drew near, Eric began to wonder where he would find shelter. Of course, he hadn't been smart enough to steal a tent from that villager, or even a blanket. If he could time travel he could go back and steal a tent; then again, if he could time travel, he probably wouldn't have died and gone to Hell, and therefor wouldn't be in this whole saving the world mess.
Unable to find a worthwhile place to make camp, Eric walked deep into the night. The moons lit his way at times, when there was a break in the clouds, but he found himself mostly feeling his way through the dark. This mode of travel is fairly stupid, as forest floors sometimes have a bad habit of suddenly disappearing. This thought occurred to Eric as he tumbled rather violently down a hillside. When his body finally came to stop, he decided he had found a suitable place to camp.
"Hey, you! You!"
Ugh, where am I? he thought to himself. The last thing he remembered was falling.
"Hey!"
I must have hit my head on something, he thought, rubbing his forehead.
"Mister!"
How long was I out? The sky was still dark, but the cloud cover had broken, and the moons now hung bright in the sky.
"Will you stop with the inner monologue, I'm trying to talk to you!"
Looking around, Eric saw that he had come to rest on a tree-covered hillside. The figure of an old man stood a few feet from him, though his features were hidden in shadow.
"Oh, sorry," he said, getting to his feet.
"It's about time," said the old man, who was now making his way down the hill. "Well, are you coming?" he asked, looking back.
"Oh, uh, I guess so," answered Eric, somewhat bewildered.
Down the hill they went, neither saying a word. The old man was breathing heavily when they reached the bottom.
"So... where are we going?" he finally asked, as they continued through the forest.
"To my home, of course," answered the old man indignantly, not looking back.
"Of course, where else would I be following a strange old man to in the middle of nowhere?" he said sarcastically.
"Exactly," he replied matter of factly.
This old man was strange. Normally this would be where he would follow his gut and sneak off, but the idea of possibly being able to rest somewhere with a roof over his head was too alluring to pass up; he figured he'd have plenty of other opportunities to be one with nature on the long road to Lebin.
About half an hour later Eric spotted a light through the trees ahead. As they got closer, a cozy little cottage appeared.
"Nice place you've got," he said.
The old man simply ignored him, opened the door and shuffled inside, slamming the door behind him.
To say that Eric was confused would be an understatement.
"Are you coming in? Or are you going to stand outside all night?" yelled the old man.
As Eric opened the door, any preconceived notions that the exterior of the small house had created were blown away. The place was a pigsty. The floor was covered by the stained pelt of some strange creature and countless scraps of paper. In one corner stood a table (littered with dirty wooden bowls and more scraps of paper) and two chairs. A large dog slept on a pile of hay in another corner, next to a fireplace, not even acknowledging Eric's presence. On the other side of the fireplace was a disheveled looking bed.
"Welcome to my home. Sit! Sit!" said the old man, as he crossed the room. He pulled one of the chairs out from under the table, and, after picking what appeared to be a small, dead creature from it (which he nonchalantly tossed into the fire), offered it to Eric before slowly sitting in the other.
"Uh, thanks," said Eric, looking from the fire to the seat. Trying not to think about whatever had been lying there before, he sat down.
"My name is Mortimer," said the old man. In the firelight Eric could finally make out his face. He definitely wasn't much to look at: he had a woolly grey beard, a crooked nose, and his left eye appeared to drift inward. His hair was long and unkempt. All in all, he had the look of someone who wasn't quite completely there.
"Eric," he replied, quickly taking his eyes from the man's face.
"Nice to meet you Eric! My name is Mortimer!"
"Uh, yeah, you just told me."
"Did I now? How silly of me," laughed Mortimer. "Well, my name is Mortimer, and this is my home!"
"So, what were you doing out in the middle of the night? You were pretty far from home," asked Eric.
"Sleep walking, I suppose," he replied. "Nothing does a sleeping man more good than going for a midnight stroll!"
"I see." Mortimer definitely wasn't all there. "Nice dog."
"Ah, yes! That's my Mortimer! He's a good boy, aren't you Mortimer? Aren't you?" The dog didn't even open his eyes. "Damned dog. You must be hungry, am I right?" he asked, turning his attention back to Eric. "I've got some slop, if you're interested."
"Uh, sure." He hadn't eaten since the previous morning, having decided to ration his bread.
The old man then stood up and shuffled over to a large pot standing next to the fire.
"Come and get some, sonny!" he said, waving him over.
As Eric drew near, Mortimer pried the lid from the pot. Inside, Eric beheld something truly unholy. "Slop", as the old man called it, was a sickly color, somewhere between green and brown, but distinctly neither, with bits and pieces of what he guessed were small, rodent-like animals and mushrooms. There were other things floating in it, but these were the only things he could identify.
"Er, actually, on second thought, I have bread," he said, moving away from the pot, holding the bag up.
"Suit yourself," said Mortimer, grabbing a wooden bowl from the floor near the dog. "You don't know what you're missing!" He then dipped the bowl in the "slop" and replaced the lit.
"Oh, I'm sure it's delicious; but, I've, uh, made a vow to, uh, eat only bread for... ever. Yep."
"I see," said Mortimer, sitting down. He then lifted the bowl to his mouth and took a hearty swig. He sat for a moment before turning towards the dog and spitting what appeared to be a small eyeball in its direction, which landed a few feet short. "Damned dog."
What followed was several awkward, silent moments. Mortimer busied himself with his meal, sometimes pausing to spit something in the dog's direction. Meanwhile, Eric looked about the room, his stomach churning in disgust. Looking at the papers that littered the floor and table, he could see that some were covered in strange writing; others featured crude stick figures, depicting a wide range of things, from battles to gardening (others, he suspected, were pornographic in nature).
After a few minutes, Mortimer noisily finished his "slop" and threw the bowl back towards the dog. For the first time since he arrived, Eric noticed the dog react: he lifted his head to peer inside the bowl, then sat his head down again, closing his eyes.
"Well," said Mortimer, putting his hands on his stomach, "time for bed!" Standing up, he walked over to the bed. Lying down, he rolled over to the far side. "There's plenty of room for the both of us," he said, patting the empty side of the bed.
"I'm... good. I'll sleep on the floor...." This old coot was just getting stranger and stranger.
"Suit yourself," yawned Mortimer, rolling over. "Night, night."
"Night, night...."
Eric pulled the loaf of bread from his bag and tore a small piece off. As he ate, he began to wonder if this turn of events was just a coincidence or if it was fate. But, then he decided that he was too sore and tired to worry about that, and, seeing as a night of sleeping on a hard floor wouldn't help the sore part of it, he didn't plan on thinking about it tomorrow either.
When he had finished he proceeded to clear a small area of the floor, pushing the papers to one side. Using his bag as a makeshift pillow, he quickly drifted off to sleep, the steady sound of Mortimer's snoring filling his ears.
Copyright 2011 by Eric Greer. All rights reserved.
For Boredom's Sake: Eric's Tale - Chapter V: Snowbound
For Boredom's Sake: Eric's Tale
Chapter V: Snowbound
By Eric Greer
Eric could tell it was daytime, but it was as if the sun had been diminished, as it hung high in the sky, no brighter than the moons.
He was lost, walking across a frozen plain. He could see a figure far off in the distance, unmoving, still as a statue. Beyond he could spy the sparkling sea. He felt drawn towards the figure and began to make his way towards it. With every step he could hear the frozen, crystalline grass shatter beneath his feet.
A wind began to blow against him. At first it was a soft wind, but the further he walked, the harder it blew, and soon every footstep became a struggle. He looked up, raising his arm to keep the wind out of his eyes, but the figure was no closer, and now he could see dark clouds gathering behind it.
Snow slowly began to fall. At first it was just a few flakes, blowing past him on the wind. But soon a blizzard had formed around him. He pulled his jacket tight around him. Looking up, his eyes squinting, he could faintly see the figure ahead of him. His legs were so cold. He somehow knew that if he turned around, the snow and the wind would stop. But the desire to reach whoever it was in the distance had become a fire deep inside, and to turn back now was a defeat he couldn't accept. So he persevered.
The wind was battering him. He could no longer feel his legs. The snow blowing against him felt like razor blades on his bare hands and face. Soon he was bent double against it, blindly stumbling forward. He walked for what felt like hours.
Finally, he could go no further. He fell to his knees. His sight was filled with white, and he felt doomed. But then he heard something in the distance. It almost sounded like a voice, though he could scarcely hear it amid the howling of the wind, let alone make out what it might be saying. He gathered what little strength he had left and pulled himself to his feet.
One last push against the wind, that's all he wanted. The fire, which had burned with such intensity before was down to a few smoldering embers. But it was still there. The wind was screaming in his ears, blasting his body. Every breath was labored and chilled his heart. He was in so much pain. But he pushed on, one slow step at a time.
But soon his strength left him. He was drained, and the fire was cold and lifeless. But he didn't fall to his knees. He stood there, alone, the blizzard howling around him. He could hear the voice again, but this time nearer. He cursed himself for not being stronger. His mind was filled with despair.
Before him he imagined a shape beginning to take form in the swirling snow. But he wasn't imagining it: indeed, someone was drawing near.
"No," he said to himself, as the figure finally came into view. "Not you."
He beheld a woman before him, fair skinned, with curling blond hair, wearing a white dress. Her dress and hair were still, unaffected by the raging wind around them.
Her lips began to move as if in speech, but she made no sound. Time seemed to have slowed for her.
Eric then realized that the voice he had earlier heard had multiplied. He could now hear hundreds of voices, though he could not make out any words.
The woman's lips stopped moving. She slowly reached out her right arm and smiled. Eric reached out to grasp her hand, but as he touched her flesh his own hand began to blacken, as if burned and charred. His skin began to turn to ash, blowing away in the wind.
He looked back at the woman. She no longer held her hand out to him, and her smile had disappeared. Another figure began to appear behind her. A large man. He wrapped his arms around her, and she grasped them approvingly, closing her eyes.
Rage now burned inside of Eric. His entire body was beginning to turn black, his skin cracking and peeling away. As more and more ash was blown away by the wind, it revealed embers. He was smoldering within. The voices on the wind had again multiplied, and now sounded like a choir of thousands, singing in discord.
The woman looked at him one more time. As she turned away, the wind blew harder, tearing at his body. Smoldering ash was torn from him. He let out a scream of pain as the wind finally pulled his body apart.
Eric opened his eyes. He was huddled on his side under a large tree root, his arms wrapped around his bag. Snow had fallen during the night, and his legs were now half buried in the fresh powder.
He rubbed sleep from his eyes with numbed hands and stood up, patting the snow from his legs. He tried to hold on to the images from his dream, but all he could remember was snow and noise.
He pulled the map from his bag. Opening it, he let out a sigh as he beheld the distance between Saros and Lebin. Shaking his head, he turned his attention to the small island.
Saros seemed to be the southern-most island in a long chain of islands stretching northwest to southeast in the southern sea. The island was small and potato-shaped, with a mountain situated on its northernmost end. The only heavily wooded area on the island appeared to be a forest wrapped around the mountain's eastern side, and, seeing as there was a forest around him and a giant mountain behind him, that's where he guessed he was.
There appeared to be a settlement on the coast northeast of the forest. That seemed to be his best option at the moment; hopefully it was a port where he could charter a ship.
With his destination in mind, he put the map back into his bag and pulled out the loaf of bread. As he munched on it, he began to silently make his way northeast through the forest, trying to remember his dream.
Copyright 2011 by Eric Greer. All rights reserved.
Chapter V: Snowbound
By Eric Greer
Eric could tell it was daytime, but it was as if the sun had been diminished, as it hung high in the sky, no brighter than the moons.
He was lost, walking across a frozen plain. He could see a figure far off in the distance, unmoving, still as a statue. Beyond he could spy the sparkling sea. He felt drawn towards the figure and began to make his way towards it. With every step he could hear the frozen, crystalline grass shatter beneath his feet.
A wind began to blow against him. At first it was a soft wind, but the further he walked, the harder it blew, and soon every footstep became a struggle. He looked up, raising his arm to keep the wind out of his eyes, but the figure was no closer, and now he could see dark clouds gathering behind it.
Snow slowly began to fall. At first it was just a few flakes, blowing past him on the wind. But soon a blizzard had formed around him. He pulled his jacket tight around him. Looking up, his eyes squinting, he could faintly see the figure ahead of him. His legs were so cold. He somehow knew that if he turned around, the snow and the wind would stop. But the desire to reach whoever it was in the distance had become a fire deep inside, and to turn back now was a defeat he couldn't accept. So he persevered.
The wind was battering him. He could no longer feel his legs. The snow blowing against him felt like razor blades on his bare hands and face. Soon he was bent double against it, blindly stumbling forward. He walked for what felt like hours.
Finally, he could go no further. He fell to his knees. His sight was filled with white, and he felt doomed. But then he heard something in the distance. It almost sounded like a voice, though he could scarcely hear it amid the howling of the wind, let alone make out what it might be saying. He gathered what little strength he had left and pulled himself to his feet.
One last push against the wind, that's all he wanted. The fire, which had burned with such intensity before was down to a few smoldering embers. But it was still there. The wind was screaming in his ears, blasting his body. Every breath was labored and chilled his heart. He was in so much pain. But he pushed on, one slow step at a time.
But soon his strength left him. He was drained, and the fire was cold and lifeless. But he didn't fall to his knees. He stood there, alone, the blizzard howling around him. He could hear the voice again, but this time nearer. He cursed himself for not being stronger. His mind was filled with despair.
Before him he imagined a shape beginning to take form in the swirling snow. But he wasn't imagining it: indeed, someone was drawing near.
"No," he said to himself, as the figure finally came into view. "Not you."
He beheld a woman before him, fair skinned, with curling blond hair, wearing a white dress. Her dress and hair were still, unaffected by the raging wind around them.
Her lips began to move as if in speech, but she made no sound. Time seemed to have slowed for her.
Eric then realized that the voice he had earlier heard had multiplied. He could now hear hundreds of voices, though he could not make out any words.
The woman's lips stopped moving. She slowly reached out her right arm and smiled. Eric reached out to grasp her hand, but as he touched her flesh his own hand began to blacken, as if burned and charred. His skin began to turn to ash, blowing away in the wind.
He looked back at the woman. She no longer held her hand out to him, and her smile had disappeared. Another figure began to appear behind her. A large man. He wrapped his arms around her, and she grasped them approvingly, closing her eyes.
Rage now burned inside of Eric. His entire body was beginning to turn black, his skin cracking and peeling away. As more and more ash was blown away by the wind, it revealed embers. He was smoldering within. The voices on the wind had again multiplied, and now sounded like a choir of thousands, singing in discord.
The woman looked at him one more time. As she turned away, the wind blew harder, tearing at his body. Smoldering ash was torn from him. He let out a scream of pain as the wind finally pulled his body apart.
Eric opened his eyes. He was huddled on his side under a large tree root, his arms wrapped around his bag. Snow had fallen during the night, and his legs were now half buried in the fresh powder.
He rubbed sleep from his eyes with numbed hands and stood up, patting the snow from his legs. He tried to hold on to the images from his dream, but all he could remember was snow and noise.
He pulled the map from his bag. Opening it, he let out a sigh as he beheld the distance between Saros and Lebin. Shaking his head, he turned his attention to the small island.
Saros seemed to be the southern-most island in a long chain of islands stretching northwest to southeast in the southern sea. The island was small and potato-shaped, with a mountain situated on its northernmost end. The only heavily wooded area on the island appeared to be a forest wrapped around the mountain's eastern side, and, seeing as there was a forest around him and a giant mountain behind him, that's where he guessed he was.
There appeared to be a settlement on the coast northeast of the forest. That seemed to be his best option at the moment; hopefully it was a port where he could charter a ship.
With his destination in mind, he put the map back into his bag and pulled out the loaf of bread. As he munched on it, he began to silently make his way northeast through the forest, trying to remember his dream.
Copyright 2011 by Eric Greer. All rights reserved.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
For Boredom's Sake: Eric's Tale - Chapter IV: What a Bastard
For Boredom's Sake: Eric's Tale
Chapter IV: What a Bastard
By Eric Greer
Eric had fled north, and by nightfall he was deep inside the forest he had spotted earlier during his fall(s). He had been half running, half jaunting almost the entire time, imagining an angry crowd of ignorant yokels hot on his trail. This, however, was not the case. The villagers had, in fact, used the accident as a social event, and only with the coming of night were they spurred to return Tom's horses and wagon and drag Eric's corpse back to the village.
He was quite exhausted when he finally allowed himself a break, falling clumsily to the forest floor.
"You look awfully tired," said a lazy, airy voice, startling the dickens out of him.
Looking up, he saw a thin man in the moonlight, lazily sprawled out across a large tree root a few yards from him. He had dark brown hair, and was dressed in white robes, a belt tied around his waist, and a bag slung over his shoulder. His feet were unshod, and Eric thought he could spy a small knife tied to his right ankle.
"W-who the hell are you?" Eric stuttered, as he hastily heaved himself up from the forest floor.
"Nice duds you're wearing. You wouldn't happen to have nicked them from some poor, traumatized mortal, would you?" asked the stranger, his attention, not on Eric's clothes, but on his own fingernails.
"What? How did you-? Who are you?" Eric asked again, trying to imbue his voice with as much authority as he could muster, though his tone was still shaking with startlededness.
"My, my, you mortals; living a life of sin, you're given a chance at redemption and what do you do? Go right back to sinning," he said lazily.
"Who the hell are you?" He was starting to get angry.
"My name is Cyril. I am a messenger in Sol's service," he said, his focus now on a small pebble he had plucked from the forest floor.
"What message do you bring then?" he asked.
"Oh, I don't have a message."
"Then what do you want?" He made no effort to hide the annoyance in his voice.
Suddenly and quite painfully Eric found the pebble racing from Cyril's hand, bouncing with a thud from his forehead, taking him off of his feet.
"You bastard!" Eric yelled, his hands racing up to rub the lump that was quickly growing where the pebble had struck.
"It was just a small stone," laughed Cyril.
Anger boiling inside of him, Eric quickly snatched the pebble from the ground, and, standing up, with blind fury let it loose in the messenger's direction.
A moment later there was a deafening crack as the stone exploded in an immense fireball.
"Now, now, mortal, we mustn't throw stones," laughed Cyril.
"What do you want with me?" yelled Eric, who had been knocked down again by the explosion, his left hand on his forehead.
"Oh, you're no fun," he said grumpily. "I bring a gift to aid you on your mission."
"I thought you said you didn't have a message."
"A map," he said, pulling a scroll from his bag, "is not a message."
With that, he stood up and walked to the center of the clearing where the stone had exploded. Clenching his right hand, a faint light radiated from between his fingers. He knelt down and let a few small flames fall from his hand, stopping a few inches above the forest floor, where they accumulated into a small fire, bathing the clearing in a warm light. He then lazily tossed the scroll to Eric, before sitting down again.
Eric stepped closer to the fire and unrolled the piece of leather. It depicted the entire world (as far as he could tell at least; he had never actually seen the entire world, after all). There were six continents, each separated into many countries, which were dotted with finely printed names. His eyes moved to the northernmost reach of the continents.
"There's Lebin," he muttered to himself. It was a comparatively large country, the word "Waste" scrawled across much of it. North of the "waste" was a range of mountains with many arms, and beyond that the northern coast. A small sea separated the northern Lebin coast with what looked to be a large unnamed landmass.
His eyes roamed south, reading the names of the countries. "Where am I?" he asked, not looking up.
"On the island of Saros," said Cyril, his voice practically dripping with boredom.
The sea was littered with islands. It took him a few minutes to find the small island labeled Saros - and his heart sank.
"I'm in the southern sea," he said flatly.
"Yep," said the messenger.
"I'm in the southern sea," he said again. "Do you know how long it's going to take me to reach Lebin?"
"Ages, I'd imagine," said Cyril in a giddy voice. He then began to laugh. Apparently, he found Eric's predicament quite entertaining.
Eric ignored the laughter and began to pour over the map, looking at all of the countries he would probably have to pass through to reach Lebin.
Suddenly, the flame was extinguished.
Eric looked up, unable to see the map in the darkness. He could barely see by the dim moonlight. But the clearing was empty. Cyril was gone.
"Good luck, mortal," said a voice, seemingly from behind him.
He turned, but he found no one.
The forest around him was silent.
He was alone.
"Fool," he finally muttered to himself after a few moments.
Suddenly, he found himself pushed to the ground, followed by a round of gay laughter. He could hear Cyril's voice trailing off into the night, floating on the wind.
Eric quickly picked himself up, wiping the earth from his jacket. He listened to the laughter, but soon it was gone.
Unable to read the map, and unable to kindle a fire, he resigned himself to an uneasy sleep, curled up in Tom's jacket. At dawn he would take a closer look at the map and decide his first course of action.
Copyright 2011 by Eric Greer. All rights reserved.
Chapter IV: What a Bastard
By Eric Greer
Eric had fled north, and by nightfall he was deep inside the forest he had spotted earlier during his fall(s). He had been half running, half jaunting almost the entire time, imagining an angry crowd of ignorant yokels hot on his trail. This, however, was not the case. The villagers had, in fact, used the accident as a social event, and only with the coming of night were they spurred to return Tom's horses and wagon and drag Eric's corpse back to the village.
He was quite exhausted when he finally allowed himself a break, falling clumsily to the forest floor.
"You look awfully tired," said a lazy, airy voice, startling the dickens out of him.
Looking up, he saw a thin man in the moonlight, lazily sprawled out across a large tree root a few yards from him. He had dark brown hair, and was dressed in white robes, a belt tied around his waist, and a bag slung over his shoulder. His feet were unshod, and Eric thought he could spy a small knife tied to his right ankle.
"W-who the hell are you?" Eric stuttered, as he hastily heaved himself up from the forest floor.
"Nice duds you're wearing. You wouldn't happen to have nicked them from some poor, traumatized mortal, would you?" asked the stranger, his attention, not on Eric's clothes, but on his own fingernails.
"What? How did you-? Who are you?" Eric asked again, trying to imbue his voice with as much authority as he could muster, though his tone was still shaking with startlededness.
"My, my, you mortals; living a life of sin, you're given a chance at redemption and what do you do? Go right back to sinning," he said lazily.
"Who the hell are you?" He was starting to get angry.
"My name is Cyril. I am a messenger in Sol's service," he said, his focus now on a small pebble he had plucked from the forest floor.
"What message do you bring then?" he asked.
"Oh, I don't have a message."
"Then what do you want?" He made no effort to hide the annoyance in his voice.
Suddenly and quite painfully Eric found the pebble racing from Cyril's hand, bouncing with a thud from his forehead, taking him off of his feet.
"You bastard!" Eric yelled, his hands racing up to rub the lump that was quickly growing where the pebble had struck.
"It was just a small stone," laughed Cyril.
Anger boiling inside of him, Eric quickly snatched the pebble from the ground, and, standing up, with blind fury let it loose in the messenger's direction.
A moment later there was a deafening crack as the stone exploded in an immense fireball.
"Now, now, mortal, we mustn't throw stones," laughed Cyril.
"What do you want with me?" yelled Eric, who had been knocked down again by the explosion, his left hand on his forehead.
"Oh, you're no fun," he said grumpily. "I bring a gift to aid you on your mission."
"I thought you said you didn't have a message."
"A map," he said, pulling a scroll from his bag, "is not a message."
With that, he stood up and walked to the center of the clearing where the stone had exploded. Clenching his right hand, a faint light radiated from between his fingers. He knelt down and let a few small flames fall from his hand, stopping a few inches above the forest floor, where they accumulated into a small fire, bathing the clearing in a warm light. He then lazily tossed the scroll to Eric, before sitting down again.
Eric stepped closer to the fire and unrolled the piece of leather. It depicted the entire world (as far as he could tell at least; he had never actually seen the entire world, after all). There were six continents, each separated into many countries, which were dotted with finely printed names. His eyes moved to the northernmost reach of the continents.
"There's Lebin," he muttered to himself. It was a comparatively large country, the word "Waste" scrawled across much of it. North of the "waste" was a range of mountains with many arms, and beyond that the northern coast. A small sea separated the northern Lebin coast with what looked to be a large unnamed landmass.
His eyes roamed south, reading the names of the countries. "Where am I?" he asked, not looking up.
"On the island of Saros," said Cyril, his voice practically dripping with boredom.
The sea was littered with islands. It took him a few minutes to find the small island labeled Saros - and his heart sank.
"I'm in the southern sea," he said flatly.
"Yep," said the messenger.
"I'm in the southern sea," he said again. "Do you know how long it's going to take me to reach Lebin?"
"Ages, I'd imagine," said Cyril in a giddy voice. He then began to laugh. Apparently, he found Eric's predicament quite entertaining.
Eric ignored the laughter and began to pour over the map, looking at all of the countries he would probably have to pass through to reach Lebin.
Suddenly, the flame was extinguished.
Eric looked up, unable to see the map in the darkness. He could barely see by the dim moonlight. But the clearing was empty. Cyril was gone.
"Good luck, mortal," said a voice, seemingly from behind him.
He turned, but he found no one.
The forest around him was silent.
He was alone.
"Fool," he finally muttered to himself after a few moments.
Suddenly, he found himself pushed to the ground, followed by a round of gay laughter. He could hear Cyril's voice trailing off into the night, floating on the wind.
Eric quickly picked himself up, wiping the earth from his jacket. He listened to the laughter, but soon it was gone.
Unable to read the map, and unable to kindle a fire, he resigned himself to an uneasy sleep, curled up in Tom's jacket. At dawn he would take a closer look at the map and decide his first course of action.
Copyright 2011 by Eric Greer. All rights reserved.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
For Boredom's Sake: Eric's Tale - Chapter III: Return to Sender
For Boredom's Sake: Eric's Tale
Chapter III: Return to Sender
By Eric Greer
Thud.
The noise caught Sol's attention as he was leaving the room, having just sent Eric off on his mission.
"Are you kidding me?!" he exclaimed, as Eric once again stood up on the table. "You've died... already?!"
"I'm lucky the fall didn't kill me. Don't you guys know how to aim?" yelled Eric, jumping down from the table.
"You insolent worm!" The wrath in his face matched the rage in his voice. The god took Eric in one hand before jumping onto the table. Looking down, Eric watched as the center of the table fell open once more. "Get back down there!" screamed Sol.
And with that, the god threw Eric down.
"Oh, by the gods, I didn't see him! I swear!" Tears rolled down the wagon driver's face. "He came out of nowhere!"
A reasonable sized crowd had gathered round the crushed body of a naked man.
"I bet'cha this lad was drunk," said one villager.
"Aye, why else would he be runnin' 'bouts all naked like?" said another.
"An' out into the road, withou' lookin'. Aye, mus'a been drunk."
"I don' reco'nize him; mus'a been a stranger to these parts, eh?" said an elderly woman.
"Aye, poor feller. Ye should watch where yer drivin' Tom; ye can't be runnin' down tourists like this!" said the second.
Tom was now fanatical. "Oh, what have I done? The poor man!"
"Tis alrigh', Tom. Get yerself home; Ottis'll drive yer wagon back into town, an' we'll take care o' this poor feller. Don' ye fret," said the elderly woman.
Amid the commotion, no one noticed a naked man fall from the sky, landing in the far side of the lake.
"Oh, god, it's cold!" stuttered Eric, as he dragged himself out of the lake.
Looking around, he noted the season: it was now late in the year, late autumn by his reckoning. Judging by the bare state of the trees, snow would be coming soon.
Turning, he could see a gathering of people on a road across the lake. Following the road with his eyes, he spotted a small village on the hillside overlooking the lake.
Suddenly he was aware of his nakedness. "God dammit," he said, shivering. "I need clothes."
And so he made his way towards the village, running from bush to stone to tree, sneaking his way around the lake and up the hillside.
"This country is goin' t' Hell," said a farmer, watching the naked man run from cover to cover.
Shaking his head, he turned away, back to tending to his herd of sheep.
"I can't believe I killed him," cried Tom as he made his way to his village. Every time he closed his eyes he could still see the dead man, his body pinned under the wheel of his wagon. His hysterical screaming had lured most of his neighbors out of their homes, and he was still passing the odd person making their way down the hill towards the scene.
Looking back, Tom could see the crowd gathered below. He blew his nose as he arrived at his home.
He looked around. Did the man have a home? Perhaps he had had a small plot of land, much like Tom's, with a small stable and a chicken coup. A modest cottage. Did he have a family? Tom didn't have a family. Perhaps the man had had children. A wife who loved him, who would be anxiously watching for his return. A wife who would never know what happened to her husband. A wife who would grow old, alone and heartbroken.
Tom let out a wail at these thoughts as he entered his small house.
Finally, Eric reached the outskirts of the village.
Looking down the hill, he saw that the villagers were still occupied with his previous body.
He found himself behind a small cottage. He peered through one of the windows. It was a small bedroom. And he could spy clothes!
Looking around once more, he silently pried the window open, before sneakily crawling in.
He went through the drawers, pouring over their contents, picking and choosing from the shirts and pants inside until he had an outfit in front of him. After putting them on, he looked at himself in the mirror. It wasn't a very stylish affair, but it'd do, for now. At least until he reached civilization, where he would have access to a proper tailor.
Next to the mirror sat a few pairs of worn work boots.
"These will have to do," he sighed, as he picked up the least worn pair. He sat down on the bed, and, with a gawdy green shirt he had rejected, he wiped some of the caked on mud from its side.
At least they fit, he thought as he stood up. He looked about at the floor, the dresser's contents strewn across it. For a moment he felt a pang of guilt. It was only for a moment though. He was guilt free as he peered out the door. When he was sure the main house was empty, he cautiously stepped out.
He found a heavy jacket sitting on the back of a chair, sitting all lonely-like at a table. Slight pang of guilt. It was gone as he slipped it on.
Suddenly, as he was walking across the main room, he heard the front door opening.
Tom didn't know how he would sleep tonight.
He glumly pealed his coat off, throwing it onto his favorite armchair. Kneeling down in front of the hearth, he managed to coax a fire. The warmth radiated through his small house. He then walked to one of the windows, half expecting to see his neighbors working their way towards his home with his horses and wagon. But, the road was empty. They were probably still gawking at the poor man's body, sharing theories as to his origins.
He made his way to the kitchen. He paused momentarily, looking at his kitchen chair - he could have sworn he had left his other jacket hanging there last night. No matter, he thought, as he moved to the cupboard.
Eric peered around the side of a long unused desk sitting in the corner. The man was making his way to the kitchen. This was his chance! He stood up, quietly. Wait. The man had paused at the kitchen table. Had he noticed the missing jacket? No. The man was making his way to the cupboard. This was when all those years working as a cat burglar would pay off!
Tom heard a crash behind him. Looking back, bread in hand, he saw a man standing in the middle of the room, a goblet rolling around at his feet.
"What- who are-" All thought of words had left him. He had caught sight of the man's face. It couldn't be....
"This isn't what you think-" the man started.
"Ghost!" screamed Tom, hysteria in his voice, renewed tears streaming down his cheeks. "You've come to torment me! Oh, gods!"
His heart was racing.
His vision was blurring.
"Leave me be, spirit! Leave me... be..."
Eric watched as the man crumpled to the floor with a thud.
"Huh," he said to himself. "What a loon."
He made his way to the door. As he grasped the worn brass of the door knob, he hesitated for a moment. He looked back at the man, helplessly sprawled on the floor.
Quickly moving around the room, he found a bag. He began to fill it with supplies. He took the bread from the man's hand. He found some rope on a barrel next to the front door. He even found a few gold and silver coins sitting in a bowl on the kitchen table!
He then silently made his escape. He found the village outside to be completely deserted. He half considered robbing a few more houses, but, he thought he had spent too much time getting dressed: the villagers would soon be milling their way back up the hill, and he wanted to be as far away as possible when they arrived.
Copyright 2011 by Eric Greer. All rights reserved.
Chapter III: Return to Sender
By Eric Greer
Thud.
The noise caught Sol's attention as he was leaving the room, having just sent Eric off on his mission.
"Are you kidding me?!" he exclaimed, as Eric once again stood up on the table. "You've died... already?!"
"I'm lucky the fall didn't kill me. Don't you guys know how to aim?" yelled Eric, jumping down from the table.
"You insolent worm!" The wrath in his face matched the rage in his voice. The god took Eric in one hand before jumping onto the table. Looking down, Eric watched as the center of the table fell open once more. "Get back down there!" screamed Sol.
And with that, the god threw Eric down.
"Oh, by the gods, I didn't see him! I swear!" Tears rolled down the wagon driver's face. "He came out of nowhere!"
A reasonable sized crowd had gathered round the crushed body of a naked man.
"I bet'cha this lad was drunk," said one villager.
"Aye, why else would he be runnin' 'bouts all naked like?" said another.
"An' out into the road, withou' lookin'. Aye, mus'a been drunk."
"I don' reco'nize him; mus'a been a stranger to these parts, eh?" said an elderly woman.
"Aye, poor feller. Ye should watch where yer drivin' Tom; ye can't be runnin' down tourists like this!" said the second.
Tom was now fanatical. "Oh, what have I done? The poor man!"
"Tis alrigh', Tom. Get yerself home; Ottis'll drive yer wagon back into town, an' we'll take care o' this poor feller. Don' ye fret," said the elderly woman.
Amid the commotion, no one noticed a naked man fall from the sky, landing in the far side of the lake.
"Oh, god, it's cold!" stuttered Eric, as he dragged himself out of the lake.
Looking around, he noted the season: it was now late in the year, late autumn by his reckoning. Judging by the bare state of the trees, snow would be coming soon.
Turning, he could see a gathering of people on a road across the lake. Following the road with his eyes, he spotted a small village on the hillside overlooking the lake.
Suddenly he was aware of his nakedness. "God dammit," he said, shivering. "I need clothes."
And so he made his way towards the village, running from bush to stone to tree, sneaking his way around the lake and up the hillside.
"This country is goin' t' Hell," said a farmer, watching the naked man run from cover to cover.
Shaking his head, he turned away, back to tending to his herd of sheep.
"I can't believe I killed him," cried Tom as he made his way to his village. Every time he closed his eyes he could still see the dead man, his body pinned under the wheel of his wagon. His hysterical screaming had lured most of his neighbors out of their homes, and he was still passing the odd person making their way down the hill towards the scene.
Looking back, Tom could see the crowd gathered below. He blew his nose as he arrived at his home.
He looked around. Did the man have a home? Perhaps he had had a small plot of land, much like Tom's, with a small stable and a chicken coup. A modest cottage. Did he have a family? Tom didn't have a family. Perhaps the man had had children. A wife who loved him, who would be anxiously watching for his return. A wife who would never know what happened to her husband. A wife who would grow old, alone and heartbroken.
Tom let out a wail at these thoughts as he entered his small house.
Finally, Eric reached the outskirts of the village.
Looking down the hill, he saw that the villagers were still occupied with his previous body.
He found himself behind a small cottage. He peered through one of the windows. It was a small bedroom. And he could spy clothes!
Looking around once more, he silently pried the window open, before sneakily crawling in.
He went through the drawers, pouring over their contents, picking and choosing from the shirts and pants inside until he had an outfit in front of him. After putting them on, he looked at himself in the mirror. It wasn't a very stylish affair, but it'd do, for now. At least until he reached civilization, where he would have access to a proper tailor.
Next to the mirror sat a few pairs of worn work boots.
"These will have to do," he sighed, as he picked up the least worn pair. He sat down on the bed, and, with a gawdy green shirt he had rejected, he wiped some of the caked on mud from its side.
At least they fit, he thought as he stood up. He looked about at the floor, the dresser's contents strewn across it. For a moment he felt a pang of guilt. It was only for a moment though. He was guilt free as he peered out the door. When he was sure the main house was empty, he cautiously stepped out.
He found a heavy jacket sitting on the back of a chair, sitting all lonely-like at a table. Slight pang of guilt. It was gone as he slipped it on.
Suddenly, as he was walking across the main room, he heard the front door opening.
Tom didn't know how he would sleep tonight.
He glumly pealed his coat off, throwing it onto his favorite armchair. Kneeling down in front of the hearth, he managed to coax a fire. The warmth radiated through his small house. He then walked to one of the windows, half expecting to see his neighbors working their way towards his home with his horses and wagon. But, the road was empty. They were probably still gawking at the poor man's body, sharing theories as to his origins.
He made his way to the kitchen. He paused momentarily, looking at his kitchen chair - he could have sworn he had left his other jacket hanging there last night. No matter, he thought, as he moved to the cupboard.
Eric peered around the side of a long unused desk sitting in the corner. The man was making his way to the kitchen. This was his chance! He stood up, quietly. Wait. The man had paused at the kitchen table. Had he noticed the missing jacket? No. The man was making his way to the cupboard. This was when all those years working as a cat burglar would pay off!
Tom heard a crash behind him. Looking back, bread in hand, he saw a man standing in the middle of the room, a goblet rolling around at his feet.
"What- who are-" All thought of words had left him. He had caught sight of the man's face. It couldn't be....
"This isn't what you think-" the man started.
"Ghost!" screamed Tom, hysteria in his voice, renewed tears streaming down his cheeks. "You've come to torment me! Oh, gods!"
His heart was racing.
His vision was blurring.
"Leave me be, spirit! Leave me... be..."
Eric watched as the man crumpled to the floor with a thud.
"Huh," he said to himself. "What a loon."
He made his way to the door. As he grasped the worn brass of the door knob, he hesitated for a moment. He looked back at the man, helplessly sprawled on the floor.
Quickly moving around the room, he found a bag. He began to fill it with supplies. He took the bread from the man's hand. He found some rope on a barrel next to the front door. He even found a few gold and silver coins sitting in a bowl on the kitchen table!
He then silently made his escape. He found the village outside to be completely deserted. He half considered robbing a few more houses, but, he thought he had spent too much time getting dressed: the villagers would soon be milling their way back up the hill, and he wanted to be as far away as possible when they arrived.
Copyright 2011 by Eric Greer. All rights reserved.
For Boredom's Sake: Eric's Tale - Chapter II: Of Gods and Idiots
For Boredom's Sake: Eric's Tale
Chapter II: Of Gods and Idiots
By Eric Greer
When he finally awoke, Eric found himself lying in the fetal position, a sense of euphoria coursing through every nerve ending in his body. The feeling was intoxicating, and his mind was dazed. It took him a few moments to realize that he was lying on a large, round table, in a round room. All around him were thrones, hewn from marble, each themed slightly differently. Sunlight streamed down upon him from an opening in the domed ceiling, high above him.
"Mmm..." he said to himself, as he rolled around on the table top, touching his arms. "This is... strange...."
"Ah, he is awake," said a voice. Lazily turning his head, his eyes half open, Eric saw a man walk into the room from a large doorway behind one of the thrones. He was a tall, muscular man, great in stature. His mighty, manly beard hinted at the power he held. He was followed by other men and women of equally or slightly lesser stature.
Finally, after all but one of the thrones were occupied, the man spoke again.
"Sir Eric the Black of Door of the Odder Shaped Table. You were in an incredibly wicked man in life." His face was hard and stern.
"I had fun though... hehe..." giggled Eric, still rolling about the table, euphoria gripping him in an idyllic stupor.
The man sighed as he sat his forehead in his left hand.
Suddenly, Eric's body became rigid as the euphoria was replaced by a shocking pain.
"Now, where was I? Ah, yes. Sir Eric the Black of Door of the Odder Shaped Table," the man said again. "You were an incredibly wicked man in life. Yet, we have decided to give you a chance to redeem yourself."
"And who are you to give such chances?" Eric spat, his body crumpled on the table top. Pain raced once more though his body as the man stood up from his throne.
"We," his voice boomed, "are your gods. My name is Sol! Do you not wish to redeem yourself? Or would you rather be sent back to Hell? I'm sure there are a million others who would jump at such an opportunity."
"Nope, nope, I'm good," Eric said quickly, as the pain subsided. Slowly he stood up, his body still aching.
"I thought so," he said. He began to pace around the table. "Now, one of our number, in his immense boredom, has taken it upon himself to wage war on humanity." He motioned to the empty throne; it reeked of stereotypical evilness: carvings of crows and snakes adorned it, and a pile skulls of varying sizes served as some sort of makeshift footstool. "Of course, we can't have this, because we love your kind and whatnot. We want you to stop him."
"You're gods, why can't you stop him yourselves?" asked Eric.
"Where's the fun in that?" said another god.
"This seems much more interesting!" said another, a jolly, overweight man. "Your kind can be so delightfully entertaining!"
"I see," said Eric. "What, do you guys, like, bet on us or something?"
"Of course!" said a goddess.
"So, this is a game?" asked Eric.
"Of sorts," she replied. "Don't take it the wrong way though; this is a wholly serious matter. There are human lives and souls at stake."
"Back to business!" said Sol. "Our brother Nestige has taken up residence in a fortress far to the north, in the country of Lebin. Go there and, you know... kill him or something."
Sol and the others ignored the quizzical look on Eric's face.
"Now," Sol continued, "you've been dead for some time, and because this is a covert mission of utter covertness, we can't have you walking around in your old, worm-ridden body. So, blah, blah, blah, reborn, blah, blah, blah, peak physical fitness, blah, blah, blah."
"Wait, I get a new body?" asked Eric.
"Yes! A magnificent one at that!" said a scantily dressed woman as she stood up from her throne.
"Oh, for the gods' sake, Lust, sit down," said Sol.
"Apologies," she said, as she sat down again. She bit her bottom lip and sent a wink Eric's way. Being hit on by a goddess only increased his already swollen ego.
"Now, your mission, if you choose to accept it, is to subvert his efforts to corrupt humanity and kill him. Are you paying attention?!"
"Do what now?" asked Eric, taking his eyes from Lust's legs.
"Humans," Sol sighed. "Good luck!"
Suddenly, the table fell open like a trap door. With a yell, Eric found himself falling through clouds. Faster and faster he fell, his body tumbling in every direction, wind rushing past his ears.
After several minutes, a bright flash blinded him.
When his vision returned, he saw the ground rushing towards him. He could see a small village below, with a lake to the south and a forest to the north.
"Hit the lake! Hit the lake!" he screamed.
Faster and faster he fell. Moments later, he hit the moist earth with a sickening thud, a few yards from the shore of the lake.
Consciousness found him once more. His body ached from the impact.
Standing up, he found himself quite naked, his body caked with grass and mud.
His mind was a haze. He slowly walked forward, his legs wobbling like jelly. He could hear something... familiar.
Clop, clop, clop.
What was that noise?
Clop, clop, clop.
His vision was a blur.
Clop, clop, clop.
Turning, his eyes focused in time to see a large wagon moving towards him, pulled by four horses.
His motor skills did not return to him in time, however, and he found himself being ran over by one of its large wheels.
Copyright 2011 by Eric Greer. All rights reserved.
Chapter II: Of Gods and Idiots
By Eric Greer
When he finally awoke, Eric found himself lying in the fetal position, a sense of euphoria coursing through every nerve ending in his body. The feeling was intoxicating, and his mind was dazed. It took him a few moments to realize that he was lying on a large, round table, in a round room. All around him were thrones, hewn from marble, each themed slightly differently. Sunlight streamed down upon him from an opening in the domed ceiling, high above him.
"Mmm..." he said to himself, as he rolled around on the table top, touching his arms. "This is... strange...."
"Ah, he is awake," said a voice. Lazily turning his head, his eyes half open, Eric saw a man walk into the room from a large doorway behind one of the thrones. He was a tall, muscular man, great in stature. His mighty, manly beard hinted at the power he held. He was followed by other men and women of equally or slightly lesser stature.
Finally, after all but one of the thrones were occupied, the man spoke again.
"Sir Eric the Black of Door of the Odder Shaped Table. You were in an incredibly wicked man in life." His face was hard and stern.
"I had fun though... hehe..." giggled Eric, still rolling about the table, euphoria gripping him in an idyllic stupor.
The man sighed as he sat his forehead in his left hand.
Suddenly, Eric's body became rigid as the euphoria was replaced by a shocking pain.
"Now, where was I? Ah, yes. Sir Eric the Black of Door of the Odder Shaped Table," the man said again. "You were an incredibly wicked man in life. Yet, we have decided to give you a chance to redeem yourself."
"And who are you to give such chances?" Eric spat, his body crumpled on the table top. Pain raced once more though his body as the man stood up from his throne.
"We," his voice boomed, "are your gods. My name is Sol! Do you not wish to redeem yourself? Or would you rather be sent back to Hell? I'm sure there are a million others who would jump at such an opportunity."
"Nope, nope, I'm good," Eric said quickly, as the pain subsided. Slowly he stood up, his body still aching.
"I thought so," he said. He began to pace around the table. "Now, one of our number, in his immense boredom, has taken it upon himself to wage war on humanity." He motioned to the empty throne; it reeked of stereotypical evilness: carvings of crows and snakes adorned it, and a pile skulls of varying sizes served as some sort of makeshift footstool. "Of course, we can't have this, because we love your kind and whatnot. We want you to stop him."
"You're gods, why can't you stop him yourselves?" asked Eric.
"Where's the fun in that?" said another god.
"This seems much more interesting!" said another, a jolly, overweight man. "Your kind can be so delightfully entertaining!"
"I see," said Eric. "What, do you guys, like, bet on us or something?"
"Of course!" said a goddess.
"So, this is a game?" asked Eric.
"Of sorts," she replied. "Don't take it the wrong way though; this is a wholly serious matter. There are human lives and souls at stake."
"Back to business!" said Sol. "Our brother Nestige has taken up residence in a fortress far to the north, in the country of Lebin. Go there and, you know... kill him or something."
Sol and the others ignored the quizzical look on Eric's face.
"Now," Sol continued, "you've been dead for some time, and because this is a covert mission of utter covertness, we can't have you walking around in your old, worm-ridden body. So, blah, blah, blah, reborn, blah, blah, blah, peak physical fitness, blah, blah, blah."
"Wait, I get a new body?" asked Eric.
"Yes! A magnificent one at that!" said a scantily dressed woman as she stood up from her throne.
"Oh, for the gods' sake, Lust, sit down," said Sol.
"Apologies," she said, as she sat down again. She bit her bottom lip and sent a wink Eric's way. Being hit on by a goddess only increased his already swollen ego.
"Now, your mission, if you choose to accept it, is to subvert his efforts to corrupt humanity and kill him. Are you paying attention?!"
"Do what now?" asked Eric, taking his eyes from Lust's legs.
"Humans," Sol sighed. "Good luck!"
Suddenly, the table fell open like a trap door. With a yell, Eric found himself falling through clouds. Faster and faster he fell, his body tumbling in every direction, wind rushing past his ears.
After several minutes, a bright flash blinded him.
When his vision returned, he saw the ground rushing towards him. He could see a small village below, with a lake to the south and a forest to the north.
"Hit the lake! Hit the lake!" he screamed.
Faster and faster he fell. Moments later, he hit the moist earth with a sickening thud, a few yards from the shore of the lake.
Consciousness found him once more. His body ached from the impact.
Standing up, he found himself quite naked, his body caked with grass and mud.
His mind was a haze. He slowly walked forward, his legs wobbling like jelly. He could hear something... familiar.
Clop, clop, clop.
What was that noise?
Clop, clop, clop.
His vision was a blur.
Clop, clop, clop.
Turning, his eyes focused in time to see a large wagon moving towards him, pulled by four horses.
His motor skills did not return to him in time, however, and he found himself being ran over by one of its large wheels.
Copyright 2011 by Eric Greer. All rights reserved.
For Boredom's Sake: Eric's Tale - Chapter I: Hell is Hell
For Boredom's Sake: Eric's Tale
Chapter I: Hell is Hell
By Eric Greer
Sir Eric the Black of Door of the Knights of the Odder Table was dead, stabbed eighty seven times, hanged from a tree, drowned, poisoned, and hit in the head with a hammer. It wasn't these things that killed him; no, twas the donkey that sat on him: he was smothered and crushed to death. When he awoke again, he found himself standing in a long line, so long that he couldn't see the end. Looking around, he saw only rolling hills of grass as far the eye could see, the sun hanging motionless in the sky amidst happy, puffy white clouds. It looked suspiciously similar to the default background from Windows XP.
He stood there for what felt like days, as the line didn't seem to be moving. From time to time a plump woman would walk down the line, passing out refreshments and treats, though these drinks weren't very refreshing; they actually seemed to make him thirstier. The candies and cakes they passed around were also strange, as they made him hungrier.
After standing in this unmoving line for some time, he decided to get to the bottom of this mystery. So he waited for the plump woman to come by and asked her where the Hell he was.
"In Hell, of course, dear," she said with a smile.
"In Hell?" he yelled. "What the Hell am I doing in Hell?"
"Well, you are dead, dear, and you were a very terrible person in life," she said. "And, you know, Hell is reserved for terrible people!"
"How was I a terrible person?!" demanded Eric.
"Hmm, let me see," she said, taking out a small black book. After turning the pages for some time, she stopped. "Here we are, dear. Hmm, murder, tax fraud, black mail, burning of a church, not giving homeless people any change (which you had plenty of), attempts to contact the dead, and you danced with the Devil. Mind you, that is just the first paragraph! I must admit, you were good to your parents, and you didn't commit any adultery: good for you, dear."
"Ah, good point...." said Eric, considering this. "Well, Hell is... different than what I expected. Rolling hills of green grass, blue skies, white, puffy clouds; what was with all of the brimstone and hellfire stuff I always heard about?" he asked.
"We're trying something different, at the moment. Less, 'eternal suffering,' more, 'How do you do? Could I interest you in some tea?' The Dark Lord's gotten kind of tired of being the bad guy, so he's trying to change his image," she said with a smile.
"I see," said Eric. "Well, what's at the end of this line?"
"Nothing," she said with a smile.
"Nothing?"
"Nothing," she said.
"Nothing?"
"Nothing," she said, her smile not changing one bit.
"Why are we in line, then?" he asked.
"As punishment, of course; we don't want everyone thinking they can go about killing and raping each other without some consequences!" she smiled.
"So, you put us in a line?" asked Eric, sinking deeper and deeper into confusion.
"Of course! You humans are a very impatient lot; what could be worse than being stuck in line for eternity?" she said with her horrible smile.
"Good point," said Eric.
"Could I interest you in some refreshments?" she asked.
"No, thanks," he said glumly.
And with that, the woman moved on down the line, pushing her little trolley of drinks and treats.
So, this was it; he was in Hell.
It's not that bad, he thought to himself. No lakes of fire or demons with pitchforks poking you in the ass. It's actually kind of, I don't know, pleasant.
And so Eric stood in line. But the woman was right; humans were impatient. After some time, Eric started to get very angry. Soon, he was cursing at those in front of him, telling them to hurry their asses up and what not.
There was no sleep in Hell, no food or drinks to quench hunger and thirst, only what the woman passed out, which only increased their desires.
He soon found himself crying for mercy, though there was no answer. There were no sounds, actually. His fellow damned were all silent, and, upon looking at them closer, found that their faces were expressionless, their mouths hanging open some. Eric began to question whether or not they were actually real. Upon questioning the trolley lady, he found that they were, in fact, real people, but they had been in line for so long that they had gone insane, retreating to their minds. This prospect frightened Eric even more. Would he, too, be reduced to nothing more than a standing shell, doomed to be trapped in his own mind in madness?
And so he stood, rather disheartened and glum, quiet and still.
After some time he began to talk to the voices in his head.
There was Dave, and Chuck, and John, and Henry, and Dave the Second, and Chuck the Second, and John the Second, and Henry the Second, and Dave the Small, and Chuck the Texas Ranger guy, and John the Tall, and Henry the Seahorse Hearted, and so forth.
There was also a girl, named Julietta, though she didn't talk much.
And so he descended into madness, talking to his new friends.
"I'm bored," said John.
"Me too," said Dave.
"Me three," said Henry and Chuck at the same time.
"I said it first!" yelled Chuck.
"No you didn't, you liar!" yelled Henry.
"Yes he did!" yelled Chuck the Texas Ranger guy, kicking Henry in the side of the head.
"Thanks!" said Chuck, a smile on his face.
Bang! and Chuck went to the ground as Chuck the Texas Ranger guy punched him in the face.
"Me three," he said, looking down at Henry and Chuck, now motionless on the white floor.
They all sat in a black expanse in Eric's mind, a white light coming from somewhere above shining light on the group.
"This sucks," said Eric. "Why did I have to go to Hell?"
"You've asked that about two hundred times, now," said Henry the Seahorse Hearted. "We're getting kind of tired of it, really."
"Oh, sorry," said Eric.
"So, anyone want to play a game of Go-Fish?" asked John the Tall, pulling out a pack of playing cards.
"Can't we play poker or something?" asked Chuck, slowly getting up from the floor.
"Go-Fish is the only game I know how to play," said Eric flatly, "so, in turn, Go-Fish is the only game any of you know how to play."
"Damn," said Chuck. "I'll pass."
And so John the Tall dealt out the cards.
"I'm so depressed," groaned Eric after awhile. "This is boring."
"Oh, shut up!" yelled everyone together.
"Sorry."
After some time, these people began to grow tired of Eric altogether. And so they decided to get rid of him. Grabbing him, they all held him down in the center of the light. Chuck the Texas Ranger guy pulled a large axe from behind his back and lifted it over his head, about to swing.
"Stop!" yelled Julietta.
I'm saved!
"Why?!" yelled the group.
Good old Julietta.
"Because," she said slowly, "we should burn him!"
Oh, poo.
And so they erected a tall pole in the center of the light, and tied Eric to it. They all walked out into the shadows, out of sight, coming back with wood and branches in their arms, which they piled below him.
"You don't have to do this!" pleaded Eric. "I'll shut up! I promise! Look! I'm being quiet! Please let me down? Pleeeeaaaaaase?! Oh god, I don't want to die again! Please! Someone let me down! I'll leave the light spot! I'll go and live in the shadows! Please! PLEASE!"
But it was no good. After awhile the pile below him was quite large and they all went back into the shadows. They didn't return for some time, and Eric began to think that he was saved. But out in the darkness he could see small lights appear, mere pinpricks in the shadows. But they began to grown larger. They were all around him, as far as he could tell, all coming closer and closer.
Soon they were back, wearing black robes- and carrying large torches.
"Bye, Eric!" they all said, smiling insanely.
"No!" he yelled. "No bye! Hello! Hello! No bye!" He began to wriggle against the ropes holding him to the pole.
"Bye, Eric!" they said again.
He began to wriggle harder and harder, feeling the ropes slacken some, but too late!
With another "Bye, Eric!" they threw their torches into the pile of timber below him. Soon the pile was ablaze, the flames tickling Eric's feet. He kept wriggling and lo! the ropes gave way. And so he fell into the fire, his eyes closed.
But he didn't feel the burn he was expecting. He didn't feel anything, actually.
Opening his eyes, he found that he was back in Hell.
"That was scary," he said to himself, wiping the sweat from his face.
Looking around him, he noticed that everyone in front of him and behind him were no longer still and expressionless, but were pushing away from him, and the trolley lady was running away in the opposite direction, her trolley lying on it's side, drinks and treats scattered across the grass.
"Hmm?" he said, looking around in confusion. And, looking up, he saw it: a giant hand reaching down from the sky, coming right at him. He stood there, quite alone, looking very much like a moron, an expression of utter horror on his face, his arms hanging limp at his sides. He managed to say, "Oh, fu-" before it wrapped it's huge fingers around him, pulling him back up into the sky.
And so, he knew no more.
Copyright 2008-2011 by Eric Greer. All rights reserved.
Chapter I: Hell is Hell
By Eric Greer
Sir Eric the Black of Door of the Knights of the Odder Table was dead, stabbed eighty seven times, hanged from a tree, drowned, poisoned, and hit in the head with a hammer. It wasn't these things that killed him; no, twas the donkey that sat on him: he was smothered and crushed to death. When he awoke again, he found himself standing in a long line, so long that he couldn't see the end. Looking around, he saw only rolling hills of grass as far the eye could see, the sun hanging motionless in the sky amidst happy, puffy white clouds. It looked suspiciously similar to the default background from Windows XP.
He stood there for what felt like days, as the line didn't seem to be moving. From time to time a plump woman would walk down the line, passing out refreshments and treats, though these drinks weren't very refreshing; they actually seemed to make him thirstier. The candies and cakes they passed around were also strange, as they made him hungrier.
After standing in this unmoving line for some time, he decided to get to the bottom of this mystery. So he waited for the plump woman to come by and asked her where the Hell he was.
"In Hell, of course, dear," she said with a smile.
"In Hell?" he yelled. "What the Hell am I doing in Hell?"
"Well, you are dead, dear, and you were a very terrible person in life," she said. "And, you know, Hell is reserved for terrible people!"
"How was I a terrible person?!" demanded Eric.
"Hmm, let me see," she said, taking out a small black book. After turning the pages for some time, she stopped. "Here we are, dear. Hmm, murder, tax fraud, black mail, burning of a church, not giving homeless people any change (which you had plenty of), attempts to contact the dead, and you danced with the Devil. Mind you, that is just the first paragraph! I must admit, you were good to your parents, and you didn't commit any adultery: good for you, dear."
"Ah, good point...." said Eric, considering this. "Well, Hell is... different than what I expected. Rolling hills of green grass, blue skies, white, puffy clouds; what was with all of the brimstone and hellfire stuff I always heard about?" he asked.
"We're trying something different, at the moment. Less, 'eternal suffering,' more, 'How do you do? Could I interest you in some tea?' The Dark Lord's gotten kind of tired of being the bad guy, so he's trying to change his image," she said with a smile.
"I see," said Eric. "Well, what's at the end of this line?"
"Nothing," she said with a smile.
"Nothing?"
"Nothing," she said.
"Nothing?"
"Nothing," she said, her smile not changing one bit.
"Why are we in line, then?" he asked.
"As punishment, of course; we don't want everyone thinking they can go about killing and raping each other without some consequences!" she smiled.
"So, you put us in a line?" asked Eric, sinking deeper and deeper into confusion.
"Of course! You humans are a very impatient lot; what could be worse than being stuck in line for eternity?" she said with her horrible smile.
"Good point," said Eric.
"Could I interest you in some refreshments?" she asked.
"No, thanks," he said glumly.
And with that, the woman moved on down the line, pushing her little trolley of drinks and treats.
So, this was it; he was in Hell.
It's not that bad, he thought to himself. No lakes of fire or demons with pitchforks poking you in the ass. It's actually kind of, I don't know, pleasant.
And so Eric stood in line. But the woman was right; humans were impatient. After some time, Eric started to get very angry. Soon, he was cursing at those in front of him, telling them to hurry their asses up and what not.
There was no sleep in Hell, no food or drinks to quench hunger and thirst, only what the woman passed out, which only increased their desires.
He soon found himself crying for mercy, though there was no answer. There were no sounds, actually. His fellow damned were all silent, and, upon looking at them closer, found that their faces were expressionless, their mouths hanging open some. Eric began to question whether or not they were actually real. Upon questioning the trolley lady, he found that they were, in fact, real people, but they had been in line for so long that they had gone insane, retreating to their minds. This prospect frightened Eric even more. Would he, too, be reduced to nothing more than a standing shell, doomed to be trapped in his own mind in madness?
And so he stood, rather disheartened and glum, quiet and still.
After some time he began to talk to the voices in his head.
There was Dave, and Chuck, and John, and Henry, and Dave the Second, and Chuck the Second, and John the Second, and Henry the Second, and Dave the Small, and Chuck the Texas Ranger guy, and John the Tall, and Henry the Seahorse Hearted, and so forth.
There was also a girl, named Julietta, though she didn't talk much.
And so he descended into madness, talking to his new friends.
"I'm bored," said John.
"Me too," said Dave.
"Me three," said Henry and Chuck at the same time.
"I said it first!" yelled Chuck.
"No you didn't, you liar!" yelled Henry.
"Yes he did!" yelled Chuck the Texas Ranger guy, kicking Henry in the side of the head.
"Thanks!" said Chuck, a smile on his face.
Bang! and Chuck went to the ground as Chuck the Texas Ranger guy punched him in the face.
"Me three," he said, looking down at Henry and Chuck, now motionless on the white floor.
They all sat in a black expanse in Eric's mind, a white light coming from somewhere above shining light on the group.
"This sucks," said Eric. "Why did I have to go to Hell?"
"You've asked that about two hundred times, now," said Henry the Seahorse Hearted. "We're getting kind of tired of it, really."
"Oh, sorry," said Eric.
"So, anyone want to play a game of Go-Fish?" asked John the Tall, pulling out a pack of playing cards.
"Can't we play poker or something?" asked Chuck, slowly getting up from the floor.
"Go-Fish is the only game I know how to play," said Eric flatly, "so, in turn, Go-Fish is the only game any of you know how to play."
"Damn," said Chuck. "I'll pass."
And so John the Tall dealt out the cards.
"I'm so depressed," groaned Eric after awhile. "This is boring."
"Oh, shut up!" yelled everyone together.
"Sorry."
After some time, these people began to grow tired of Eric altogether. And so they decided to get rid of him. Grabbing him, they all held him down in the center of the light. Chuck the Texas Ranger guy pulled a large axe from behind his back and lifted it over his head, about to swing.
"Stop!" yelled Julietta.
I'm saved!
"Why?!" yelled the group.
Good old Julietta.
"Because," she said slowly, "we should burn him!"
Oh, poo.
And so they erected a tall pole in the center of the light, and tied Eric to it. They all walked out into the shadows, out of sight, coming back with wood and branches in their arms, which they piled below him.
"You don't have to do this!" pleaded Eric. "I'll shut up! I promise! Look! I'm being quiet! Please let me down? Pleeeeaaaaaase?! Oh god, I don't want to die again! Please! Someone let me down! I'll leave the light spot! I'll go and live in the shadows! Please! PLEASE!"
But it was no good. After awhile the pile below him was quite large and they all went back into the shadows. They didn't return for some time, and Eric began to think that he was saved. But out in the darkness he could see small lights appear, mere pinpricks in the shadows. But they began to grown larger. They were all around him, as far as he could tell, all coming closer and closer.
Soon they were back, wearing black robes- and carrying large torches.
"Bye, Eric!" they all said, smiling insanely.
"No!" he yelled. "No bye! Hello! Hello! No bye!" He began to wriggle against the ropes holding him to the pole.
"Bye, Eric!" they said again.
He began to wriggle harder and harder, feeling the ropes slacken some, but too late!
With another "Bye, Eric!" they threw their torches into the pile of timber below him. Soon the pile was ablaze, the flames tickling Eric's feet. He kept wriggling and lo! the ropes gave way. And so he fell into the fire, his eyes closed.
But he didn't feel the burn he was expecting. He didn't feel anything, actually.
Opening his eyes, he found that he was back in Hell.
"That was scary," he said to himself, wiping the sweat from his face.
Looking around him, he noticed that everyone in front of him and behind him were no longer still and expressionless, but were pushing away from him, and the trolley lady was running away in the opposite direction, her trolley lying on it's side, drinks and treats scattered across the grass.
"Hmm?" he said, looking around in confusion. And, looking up, he saw it: a giant hand reaching down from the sky, coming right at him. He stood there, quite alone, looking very much like a moron, an expression of utter horror on his face, his arms hanging limp at his sides. He managed to say, "Oh, fu-" before it wrapped it's huge fingers around him, pulling him back up into the sky.
And so, he knew no more.
Copyright 2008-2011 by Eric Greer. All rights reserved.
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