So, I was thinking, all of us here are basically storytellers, graneted, we tell stories through our games, but the telling of stories is still there.
It's made me curious though, how many of us here enjoy telling stories outside of games, e.g. short stories, novels, etc... I thought it would be interesting for anyone who feels like it to share his or her (do we even have any hers?) stories.
No prizes, no awards, just sharing interesting original fiction. Who knows? With the amount of talent we have here, it could even be beneficial for the writer as opinions or critique could inspire improve,ents to his work, or even spawn new ideas for more stories or even games.
Anywho, it's 2 in the morning here in the world of three, so I bid you farewell for now, and a very good night, cheers![/code]
The Writer's Thread
Moderators: Bob the Hamster, marionline, SDHawk
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BMR
- Metal King Slime
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- Joined: Mon Feb 27, 2012 2:46 pm
- Location: The Philippines
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The Writer's Thread
Being from the third world, I reserve the right to speak in the third person.
Using Editor version wip 20170527 gfx_sdl+fb music_sdl
Using Editor version wip 20170527 gfx_sdl+fb music_sdl
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Meowskivich
- Blubber Bloat
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I've got a few shorts to share.
Here's one for now:
The hideous space fiend gazed hungrily upon the enormous crowd of people surrounding its landing site.
With great eagerness, its hundreds of tongues lapped up thousands of people and it began chewing with millions of teeth.
Suddenly, almost as quick as the fiend started, it ceased chewing and spat out the bloody mass with disgust,
realizing its dislike of its flavor; and the fiend leaped off to the next planet in search of a better meal.
Inspiration: beside the usual (boredom), I wanted to make a story of an alien being that came to Earth to harvest the people as food....but it turns out it didn't happen to find us as an optimum food source instead.
Here's one for now:
The hideous space fiend gazed hungrily upon the enormous crowd of people surrounding its landing site.
With great eagerness, its hundreds of tongues lapped up thousands of people and it began chewing with millions of teeth.
Suddenly, almost as quick as the fiend started, it ceased chewing and spat out the bloody mass with disgust,
realizing its dislike of its flavor; and the fiend leaped off to the next planet in search of a better meal.
Inspiration: beside the usual (boredom), I wanted to make a story of an alien being that came to Earth to harvest the people as food....but it turns out it didn't happen to find us as an optimum food source instead.
Last edited by Meowskivich on Fri Jun 15, 2012 6:16 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Bob the Hamster
- Liquid Metal King Slime
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Yay! This is the thread where I get to shamelessly plug my book!
<a href=" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/5 ... _.jpg"></a>
But you don't have to buy it to read it, all the stories are free to read here:
http://james.hamsterrepublic.com/writing/
I haven't written anything new lately, but I totally should!
<a href=" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/5 ... _.jpg"></a>
But you don't have to buy it to read it, all the stories are free to read here:
http://james.hamsterrepublic.com/writing/
I haven't written anything new lately, but I totally should!
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BMR
- Metal King Slime
- Posts: 3310
- Joined: Mon Feb 27, 2012 2:46 pm
- Location: The Philippines
- Contact:
Oh, wow, a published author! I've been trying to get published for a while now, but to no avail 
Just read through some of the stories on your site, I particularly like "The Old Man of the Forest", though it makes me rather sad, hehe.
Just read through some of the stories on your site, I particularly like "The Old Man of the Forest", though it makes me rather sad, hehe.
Being from the third world, I reserve the right to speak in the third person.
Using Editor version wip 20170527 gfx_sdl+fb music_sdl
Using Editor version wip 20170527 gfx_sdl+fb music_sdl
Here is one of our stories
Puzzle is actually two of us and this is a story from one of us. Hope you like it.
The Saint and The Angry Sea
This story is drawn from From Slavery to Salvation- Stories Based on The Life of St. Nicholas of Myra. St. Nicholas lived in the 3rd century so these tales are based upon a true story; however, details have been lost in antiquity. Therefore imagination is incorporated to provide for the void of details lost.
Callista was the most beautiful girl in the town of Myra. Yet despite this she was not conceited; perhaps because of her plain and worn clothing as well as her family was outcast by her father’s behavior as the town drunk. Alexander her father took to drinking after the great plague of 342 that killed over half Myra’s population, including both their bishop and Alexander’s wife.
He was left with three daughters and a huge debt. Therefore, he turned to drink while his daughters turned to doing laundry to earn money to provide the modest shelter and food for survival, yet this did not impact his growing debt.
Many of the orders the girls received came from sailors and their orders had to be expedited because their boats usually only stayed over one night and often came in near dusk. They serviced Gregori’s shipmates because it was the least he could do for his old friend. Alexander used to sail with Gregori before he bought and later lost his own ship during that same plague, but that is another story.
Also most of the others sailors avoided them because of their father the drunkard (he was seen often on the pier while drunk). There were exceptions, however, and among these was Daymon, a sailor of a smaller twelve man boat.
At first Daymon stuck with the girls on principle. He knew their father was “bad” by societal views but “Is it the girls fault? What sin did they commit to be forced to starve with hope for a good life”? He had railed his other shipmates when they refused the girls for he had a strong sense of right and wrong even though he wasn’t a Christian per se.
He even joked with the girls from time to time but this was just good-natured fun. Among the girls he seemed to have enjoyed Callista the most because of her quick wit and teasing spirit.
Furthermore, he was highly protective of them all. If a sailor acted improperly and had an imprudent remark Daymon would make certain the sailor apologized and repented. In time the two younger sisters saw him more as a brother than a customer. Alexandra, however, was highly shy around him and usually sent her sisters to him instead of going herself.
Over time, however, his eye caught Callista and once he truly saw her, it was over. Not that he hadn’t “seen” her before but she was a kid, the girl who did his laundry in Myra. But one day she came for his laundry and something had happen. Her figure had grown, and her lips became full. She also walked with a grace and laughed in away he never heard before. She’d become that great beauty above all other women, at least in his eyes.
Almost at once he was caught deeply in her spell and could not find any way away from her. She commanded his mind, his dreams, and his every waking minute. It affected his work up until his captain pulled him aside for a talking.
When he found out the cause of Daymon’s suffering he asked the million-dollar question. “Have you spoken to her father?” Then Daymon told him of Alexander. “You’d be better off without her my son.” The Captain replied, “and she would tell you the same.”
Daymon was so sure this was not true that he decided to ask Callista himself. He had not been shy about his feeling with her before. So the next day, which broke with bright sunshine though cold, he took this was a sign from the gods this was the day.
They came as always as the ships came into dock. He waited until her sister Electra was with another customer from Gregori’s ship so he could speak to her alone.
Then he came up to her carrying his bundle and setting this down beside her he asked her, “Can I speak with Callista; it’s important?”
“What is it Daymon?” She replied with that smile that brightened his life even more than the sun.
He blurted his words out quickly, “Would you marry me Callista?” then rushed on as shock filled her face saying, “You know I love you. I’ve always loved you and nothing else matters to me but you.”
Callista looked at him with a face full of pain. “I can’t marry anyone without a dowry and I have no dowry . . .”
“I said nothing matters, Callista; I don’t care for that, I love you, not money.” Daymon vehemently said trying to control himself. “What matters is if we love each other? So Callista, do you love me?” He said looking her into her eyes and was positive she did.
Callista could not lie to him but shaking her head and turning away from his penetrating gaze she said, “Daymon, I love you …” and looking at him with a face full of pain she added, “I love you with all my heart but …it’s not the way things are done, we… can’t, we can’t change the world!”
A bolt of lighting went through him as tears filled his eyes and he wondered aloud “and is this your God’s rule?” He knew of her faith, in this Jesus character some of the city loved but he grew up with many gods and he suppose of among these he worshipped Poseidon if any other one.
Callista stepped back startled by his words “I . . .I . . . don’t know . . .”
“If your God did not agree with this rule, would you marry me?” asked Daymon.
Callista looked at him confused. “I’m not sure,” She said slowly in almost a whisper, “It’s just not done. O’ Daymon . . .” and with this she rushed away crushing his hopes as she fled to her sister with his bundle still in her hands.
This incident stayed on his mind long after her sister returned his bundle and they set out to sea and was still dogging him when great clouds began to build in the skies above them with enormous speed.
“Baton down the hatches, it looks like a dangerous one,” came a voice outside himself, “Daymon! Wake up and move! Dreaming with be your death son if you don’t move!”
Being a seasoned sailor he immediately jumped into duty even before he fully understood what was happening. He joined others in bringing in the sails and tying these down as others worked to get everything tied down on this small ship.
The winds began to howl and the waves grew dangerously high and rocked them as they worked and one sailor nearly toppled off the edge. Sailors hurried to tie themselves to the ship sides so that waves could not take them- unless the ship sank!
Daymon, however, was preoccupied wondering if the captain was right, and cursed the storm for coming while his mind was on other things. Daymon then pulled himself from his thoughts and worked with the others now trying to desperately empty the boat of water only to have it fill up again after each crashing wave came over its edge.
Maybe it was because he had been so distracted that he totally missed this coming or that the captain had to yell at him again but this storm seemed worse than he had ever experienced before and he had experienced many.
Suddenly a mighty wave burst upon them rocking the ship and for a moment Daymon was free falling as he dropped the bucket and noticed his forgot to tie himself in.
He lunged out for anything attached to the boat and almost gave hope when his hand touched a rope as he was washed over the side and as he was dragged off the boat it tightened.
Water filled his lungs as he dragged back toward the ship along the rope then as the ship was stuck again he found himself thrown against the side.
“Were sinking,” he mourned inwardly, “O God! Help,” not fully understanding why he thought that. Not Poseidon but God- Callista’s God.
He fell bused and weakened as the water moved around him again. Still he started pulling himself up along the rope out into the frigid air to find …snow? Were those snowflakes he saw swirling in the air above him? It was too early for snow!
Yet at the same time as he saw that snow and invoked his love’s God the ship righted itself. Finding new strength he swam while still holding onto the rope till he reached the ship.
He tried to pull himself up but the waves about the ship seemed to be like hands tearing at him to drag him from this delicate perch. Yet how he managed to look at helm at that moment as he hung by that thread he never know; only he did.
A man stood there by the tiller, but it was not the captain who was a short man; he was unlike any man he had ever seen before, indeed he didn’t even look like sailor.
However, this man, sailor or not, was indeed steering the ship into the waves and cutting them with enormous skill even as the same waves swirled around them. It was this tall thin white bearded muscular man who had set this ship right when it had almost overturned. No doubt he saved his life, but who was he?
That question would have to wait, as his life was not certain even now. So inch-by-inch Daymon crawled up the side pulling himself by the rope until the arms of those on the ship caught hold of him and pulled him back aboard.
He was never happier to see the face of his friend Jairus at that moment, “we thought we lost you” was all his frightened friend said.
“Did you see the “captain” the one steering the ship?” Daymon asked his friend as he clung to the side too weak to help them bail the ship.
“It Michael, what do you mean by asking the obvious?”
“No, I mean…” but he didn’t finish instead saying, “its over.”
Just as this storm whipped up quickly and without warning so too do such storms suddenly end and leave little evidence of being except the damaged pain and suffering they leave in their wake.
Thus the angry clouds quickly receded and the sun broke free from the cloud and shone forth brightly overhead as in defiance, and burned his eyes; his head felt like lead.
“You look like hell,” said Jairus to Daymon.
“Where’s the captain?” He he said meaning the new guy.
“No where…” Jairus said heavily, “He must have been washed over just as the storm was ending though it doesn’t make sense.
Coming more to himself Daymon sat up, “No, he must have been wash over when I was.”
He said looked and Jairus’ confused face, “I must have had my hand on this rope that I was tying when that wave hit and its saved me but he had nothing to catch hold of, it came so quickly and with such a force,” he said heaving a deep sigh.
“But who sailed us? I could have swore it was Michael but I can’t be sure. I was caught in that same wave, we all were. We were rocked across the hull and flooded from above, we thought it was over!” his friend replied.
“So did I,” added Daymon, “but… the ship came right again,” his friend nodded in agreement, “and then in the rain and snow of all things, it might have been my eyes”, he was searching his memory that was fading… “and you think I’m crazy?”
“What do you mean?” Jairus demanded.
“I saw a tall man with a long wet beard and dressed, … dressed like one of those priest guys, like the one we see at Gregori’s ship sometimes…In fact it kind of looked like that guy… you think I’m crazy…” he said looking at his friend who did seem to think so by his look. “…forget it.”
“Your head did knocked around pretty bad…” Jairus said with a smirk. “It was one of the crew.”
“Whatever. That guy, whoever he is, was there then at the helm steering the ship, I don’t know who he was, nor do I care,” Otis anther crew member of the crew replied.
“He saved our lives whoever he was; it’s just too bad he didn’t make it himself. I’d like to thank him.” Said Virgil who was opposite Jairus.
Daymon sighed and stood up to survey the damage. Other members of the crew were coming back to life and starting to get up and look around as well in shock and confusion. These sat or stood in groups of two and three and from the bits and pieces of conversation he could hear they were talking about the same thing he and Jairus had and those around them had.
Then he winced when he saw the mast was just a short post. He realized with a start and the portion his rope had been attached to the part that was the missing.
He shook inside as he reached down and lifted the other end of rope that saved his life and held the broken tip in his hands, staring at this in disbelief.
“What’s wrong?” His friend asked.
“The mast” was all he said looking to the place it should have been standing.
“Yes and the oars and most of the cargo and several mates washed overboard when that first wave hit us. You went the only one who did get tied in fast enough” Jairus said misunderstand why he mentioned the mast.
Then other mate growled added to the former conversation, “well, yes we were saved in one way, however, in another sense, here we are stranded out here and nobody likely to find us until its too late as we are likely far off course because of that storm”.
“We’ll starve or die of thirst out here,” another cried.
Daymon looked out on the Aegean but the sea seemed empty.
Even so he stated, “Gregori might be along here, after all he knew we’d started out before him,” And as if on queue Daymon he saw not that far off a larger ship coming their way where he’d seen only sea moments before.
Jairus followed his gaze, “Hey, speak of Gregori, isn’t that Gregori’s ship?” he said pointing.
“Yes, I believe it is!” Daymon answered, and inside he suspected that too was no accident.
“Should we wave him down?” Jairus asked.
“It seems he heading this way,” Daymon pointed out and indeed he suspected Gregori might not think him crazy or at least not that crazy.
Gregori was indeed heading right toward them. He was sent to find them as they found out by the Bishop of Myra and being a Christian he did believe Daymon telling him he should speak to the Bishop, Nicholas.
It seems Bishop Nicholas was concerned because he knew they had started out too early in morning to have gotten back to dock before that storm hit and that if they survived the ship might have sustained too much damage to be brought in without help, which it did. This was he reason Gregori felt Daymon should seek him out.
So Gregori had the smaller ship tied to his larger grain ship after it was emptied of water and he towed this behind his into dock.
As soon as they reached dock Daymon started off toward the church on hill while Jairus set out to look into the captain’s needs and tried find out what would become of their badly damaged boat and surviving crew.
Daymon came upon the church in the late afternoon and found the church empty and no one answered the rectory door. He turned to leave when he suddenly felt drawn toward the garden and turning in that direction did hear a noise out there, someone was singing.
He went back there and found a man, the very man he described to Jairus, walking down a garden path toward him, though he was no longer singing. He was very tall and strong and he had a thin white beard and thin warm face.
Before Nicholas could even greet him Daymon blurted out, “Were you aboard our ship today, during the storm? I’m not going crazy, am I?”
By now Nicholas reached him and placed his strong and firm hand on Daymon’s shoulder and said, “No my son you are not crazy … not unless I am as crazy as you.”
“But how did you get there and how did you manage to steer the ship in THAT storm?”
Nicholas asked if he wanted to sit down first before he began to relate his part of the tale and Daymon heartily agreed.
Daymon found out that the good Bishop was as surprised as he to find himself upon that sinking ship but as soon as he saw what was happening he rushed to right the ship again and then set to keep her from sinking.
He also saw Daymon in his plight but could not leave the helm but he prayed, “and prayer is very powerful, Daymon,” Nicholas said, “and then your friend appeared from under the water on the boat and he dragged you on board.”
To this Daymon replied, “but I’m not a Christian.”
“But when you were fighting for your life, didn’t you pray?” Nicholas asked curiously, he couldn’t think of doing anything else himself.
“Well, yes,” Daymon stammered, “I don’t believe in your God.”
“He believes in your though. So whom you pray to?” Nicholas asked.
“I guess…” Daymon faltered, “I never thought about that, I guess …whoever made me.” He couldn’t say, “my girlfriend’s God.”
“Well”, Nicholas added, “we Christians pray to that same Creator.”
“I’m not here to convert.” Daymon said quickly but Nicholas just smiled and reassured him that he wasn’t looking for a convert just trying to be a good friend.
He was just giving what he perceived as a fact, that his God was the Creator of all things so if he prayed to that God then he must have prayed to the same God.
Daymon laughed, “I never thought of it that way”.
“Were you afraid?” Daymon asked, looking over at the older man beside him, “how did you know what to do?”
“I’m an old seaman myself,” Nicholas explained, and then he told Daymon of his past sea fairing days and how this sailor became the Bishop of Myra and Daymon listened with surprise and wonder, “so that’s how you know Captain Gregori?” Daymon asked intrigued and Nicholas affirmed this.
Soon the two of them started talking of the sea and sailing like old friends. Finally, as the sky started to darken and the dusk started to approach Daymon became silent and introspective.
“What’s troubling you my son?” Nicholas asked gently.
“Does your God demand dowries? Because if he does I can’t believe in HIM! ” Daymon asked firmly.
Nicholas was taken aback by this change, “Why do you ask about dowries?” Nicholas asked.
Then it came pouring out, everything Daymon had kept inside rushed out in a flurry and pain and suffering. Nicholas listened carefully until Daymon was finished and exhaustedly collapsed in his seat; it had been a very eventful day both physically and spiritually.
“You know I’ve been a very poor host, have you eaten?”
For the first time Daymon noticed he wasn’t hungry but quite famished as he hadn’t eaten since before that storm. Still he responded, “I don’t want to impose, perhaps I should go...” but Nicholas would not hear of this and led him inside and set him down to a warm simple meal of soup and bread.
To Daymon this simple meal was a feast though eat as he did the soup pot never seemed to empty. Still Daymon was getting sort of used to this, at least in this house, and he also felt firmly Nicholas couldn’t convert him because in his heart he suspected God already had though he told none of this to Nicholas.
Over supper Nicholas explained her father’s connection to him and Gregori. Daymon was particularly fascinated that Alexander was also a former seaman.
As they talked Daymon began to see why society demanded dowries, and also realized Nicholas’ words were very true in his case. As a young seaman he needed no place to live and his food came mostly from the ship. True, he could save some money, which Daymon had but not enough to care for wife and children.
Still Nicholas assured him that if such was needed in their case the Lord will find a way, “like getting a seaman back abroad a sinking ship with an unconnected rope?” Daymon added, and they both laughed.
This story could go on as stories such as these often do. Still, it may be best to leave it to saying those dowries appeared not only for Damon and Callista but also for each of those three girls and the men who loved them. However, that part of this tale really belongs to another more familiar tale and too long to enumerate within this pages.
The Saint and The Angry Sea
This story is drawn from From Slavery to Salvation- Stories Based on The Life of St. Nicholas of Myra. St. Nicholas lived in the 3rd century so these tales are based upon a true story; however, details have been lost in antiquity. Therefore imagination is incorporated to provide for the void of details lost.
Callista was the most beautiful girl in the town of Myra. Yet despite this she was not conceited; perhaps because of her plain and worn clothing as well as her family was outcast by her father’s behavior as the town drunk. Alexander her father took to drinking after the great plague of 342 that killed over half Myra’s population, including both their bishop and Alexander’s wife.
He was left with three daughters and a huge debt. Therefore, he turned to drink while his daughters turned to doing laundry to earn money to provide the modest shelter and food for survival, yet this did not impact his growing debt.
Many of the orders the girls received came from sailors and their orders had to be expedited because their boats usually only stayed over one night and often came in near dusk. They serviced Gregori’s shipmates because it was the least he could do for his old friend. Alexander used to sail with Gregori before he bought and later lost his own ship during that same plague, but that is another story.
Also most of the others sailors avoided them because of their father the drunkard (he was seen often on the pier while drunk). There were exceptions, however, and among these was Daymon, a sailor of a smaller twelve man boat.
At first Daymon stuck with the girls on principle. He knew their father was “bad” by societal views but “Is it the girls fault? What sin did they commit to be forced to starve with hope for a good life”? He had railed his other shipmates when they refused the girls for he had a strong sense of right and wrong even though he wasn’t a Christian per se.
He even joked with the girls from time to time but this was just good-natured fun. Among the girls he seemed to have enjoyed Callista the most because of her quick wit and teasing spirit.
Furthermore, he was highly protective of them all. If a sailor acted improperly and had an imprudent remark Daymon would make certain the sailor apologized and repented. In time the two younger sisters saw him more as a brother than a customer. Alexandra, however, was highly shy around him and usually sent her sisters to him instead of going herself.
Over time, however, his eye caught Callista and once he truly saw her, it was over. Not that he hadn’t “seen” her before but she was a kid, the girl who did his laundry in Myra. But one day she came for his laundry and something had happen. Her figure had grown, and her lips became full. She also walked with a grace and laughed in away he never heard before. She’d become that great beauty above all other women, at least in his eyes.
Almost at once he was caught deeply in her spell and could not find any way away from her. She commanded his mind, his dreams, and his every waking minute. It affected his work up until his captain pulled him aside for a talking.
When he found out the cause of Daymon’s suffering he asked the million-dollar question. “Have you spoken to her father?” Then Daymon told him of Alexander. “You’d be better off without her my son.” The Captain replied, “and she would tell you the same.”
Daymon was so sure this was not true that he decided to ask Callista himself. He had not been shy about his feeling with her before. So the next day, which broke with bright sunshine though cold, he took this was a sign from the gods this was the day.
They came as always as the ships came into dock. He waited until her sister Electra was with another customer from Gregori’s ship so he could speak to her alone.
Then he came up to her carrying his bundle and setting this down beside her he asked her, “Can I speak with Callista; it’s important?”
“What is it Daymon?” She replied with that smile that brightened his life even more than the sun.
He blurted his words out quickly, “Would you marry me Callista?” then rushed on as shock filled her face saying, “You know I love you. I’ve always loved you and nothing else matters to me but you.”
Callista looked at him with a face full of pain. “I can’t marry anyone without a dowry and I have no dowry . . .”
“I said nothing matters, Callista; I don’t care for that, I love you, not money.” Daymon vehemently said trying to control himself. “What matters is if we love each other? So Callista, do you love me?” He said looking her into her eyes and was positive she did.
Callista could not lie to him but shaking her head and turning away from his penetrating gaze she said, “Daymon, I love you …” and looking at him with a face full of pain she added, “I love you with all my heart but …it’s not the way things are done, we… can’t, we can’t change the world!”
A bolt of lighting went through him as tears filled his eyes and he wondered aloud “and is this your God’s rule?” He knew of her faith, in this Jesus character some of the city loved but he grew up with many gods and he suppose of among these he worshipped Poseidon if any other one.
Callista stepped back startled by his words “I . . .I . . . don’t know . . .”
“If your God did not agree with this rule, would you marry me?” asked Daymon.
Callista looked at him confused. “I’m not sure,” She said slowly in almost a whisper, “It’s just not done. O’ Daymon . . .” and with this she rushed away crushing his hopes as she fled to her sister with his bundle still in her hands.
This incident stayed on his mind long after her sister returned his bundle and they set out to sea and was still dogging him when great clouds began to build in the skies above them with enormous speed.
“Baton down the hatches, it looks like a dangerous one,” came a voice outside himself, “Daymon! Wake up and move! Dreaming with be your death son if you don’t move!”
Being a seasoned sailor he immediately jumped into duty even before he fully understood what was happening. He joined others in bringing in the sails and tying these down as others worked to get everything tied down on this small ship.
The winds began to howl and the waves grew dangerously high and rocked them as they worked and one sailor nearly toppled off the edge. Sailors hurried to tie themselves to the ship sides so that waves could not take them- unless the ship sank!
Daymon, however, was preoccupied wondering if the captain was right, and cursed the storm for coming while his mind was on other things. Daymon then pulled himself from his thoughts and worked with the others now trying to desperately empty the boat of water only to have it fill up again after each crashing wave came over its edge.
Maybe it was because he had been so distracted that he totally missed this coming or that the captain had to yell at him again but this storm seemed worse than he had ever experienced before and he had experienced many.
Suddenly a mighty wave burst upon them rocking the ship and for a moment Daymon was free falling as he dropped the bucket and noticed his forgot to tie himself in.
He lunged out for anything attached to the boat and almost gave hope when his hand touched a rope as he was washed over the side and as he was dragged off the boat it tightened.
Water filled his lungs as he dragged back toward the ship along the rope then as the ship was stuck again he found himself thrown against the side.
“Were sinking,” he mourned inwardly, “O God! Help,” not fully understanding why he thought that. Not Poseidon but God- Callista’s God.
He fell bused and weakened as the water moved around him again. Still he started pulling himself up along the rope out into the frigid air to find …snow? Were those snowflakes he saw swirling in the air above him? It was too early for snow!
Yet at the same time as he saw that snow and invoked his love’s God the ship righted itself. Finding new strength he swam while still holding onto the rope till he reached the ship.
He tried to pull himself up but the waves about the ship seemed to be like hands tearing at him to drag him from this delicate perch. Yet how he managed to look at helm at that moment as he hung by that thread he never know; only he did.
A man stood there by the tiller, but it was not the captain who was a short man; he was unlike any man he had ever seen before, indeed he didn’t even look like sailor.
However, this man, sailor or not, was indeed steering the ship into the waves and cutting them with enormous skill even as the same waves swirled around them. It was this tall thin white bearded muscular man who had set this ship right when it had almost overturned. No doubt he saved his life, but who was he?
That question would have to wait, as his life was not certain even now. So inch-by-inch Daymon crawled up the side pulling himself by the rope until the arms of those on the ship caught hold of him and pulled him back aboard.
He was never happier to see the face of his friend Jairus at that moment, “we thought we lost you” was all his frightened friend said.
“Did you see the “captain” the one steering the ship?” Daymon asked his friend as he clung to the side too weak to help them bail the ship.
“It Michael, what do you mean by asking the obvious?”
“No, I mean…” but he didn’t finish instead saying, “its over.”
Just as this storm whipped up quickly and without warning so too do such storms suddenly end and leave little evidence of being except the damaged pain and suffering they leave in their wake.
Thus the angry clouds quickly receded and the sun broke free from the cloud and shone forth brightly overhead as in defiance, and burned his eyes; his head felt like lead.
“You look like hell,” said Jairus to Daymon.
“Where’s the captain?” He he said meaning the new guy.
“No where…” Jairus said heavily, “He must have been washed over just as the storm was ending though it doesn’t make sense.
Coming more to himself Daymon sat up, “No, he must have been wash over when I was.”
He said looked and Jairus’ confused face, “I must have had my hand on this rope that I was tying when that wave hit and its saved me but he had nothing to catch hold of, it came so quickly and with such a force,” he said heaving a deep sigh.
“But who sailed us? I could have swore it was Michael but I can’t be sure. I was caught in that same wave, we all were. We were rocked across the hull and flooded from above, we thought it was over!” his friend replied.
“So did I,” added Daymon, “but… the ship came right again,” his friend nodded in agreement, “and then in the rain and snow of all things, it might have been my eyes”, he was searching his memory that was fading… “and you think I’m crazy?”
“What do you mean?” Jairus demanded.
“I saw a tall man with a long wet beard and dressed, … dressed like one of those priest guys, like the one we see at Gregori’s ship sometimes…In fact it kind of looked like that guy… you think I’m crazy…” he said looking at his friend who did seem to think so by his look. “…forget it.”
“Your head did knocked around pretty bad…” Jairus said with a smirk. “It was one of the crew.”
“Whatever. That guy, whoever he is, was there then at the helm steering the ship, I don’t know who he was, nor do I care,” Otis anther crew member of the crew replied.
“He saved our lives whoever he was; it’s just too bad he didn’t make it himself. I’d like to thank him.” Said Virgil who was opposite Jairus.
Daymon sighed and stood up to survey the damage. Other members of the crew were coming back to life and starting to get up and look around as well in shock and confusion. These sat or stood in groups of two and three and from the bits and pieces of conversation he could hear they were talking about the same thing he and Jairus had and those around them had.
Then he winced when he saw the mast was just a short post. He realized with a start and the portion his rope had been attached to the part that was the missing.
He shook inside as he reached down and lifted the other end of rope that saved his life and held the broken tip in his hands, staring at this in disbelief.
“What’s wrong?” His friend asked.
“The mast” was all he said looking to the place it should have been standing.
“Yes and the oars and most of the cargo and several mates washed overboard when that first wave hit us. You went the only one who did get tied in fast enough” Jairus said misunderstand why he mentioned the mast.
Then other mate growled added to the former conversation, “well, yes we were saved in one way, however, in another sense, here we are stranded out here and nobody likely to find us until its too late as we are likely far off course because of that storm”.
“We’ll starve or die of thirst out here,” another cried.
Daymon looked out on the Aegean but the sea seemed empty.
Even so he stated, “Gregori might be along here, after all he knew we’d started out before him,” And as if on queue Daymon he saw not that far off a larger ship coming their way where he’d seen only sea moments before.
Jairus followed his gaze, “Hey, speak of Gregori, isn’t that Gregori’s ship?” he said pointing.
“Yes, I believe it is!” Daymon answered, and inside he suspected that too was no accident.
“Should we wave him down?” Jairus asked.
“It seems he heading this way,” Daymon pointed out and indeed he suspected Gregori might not think him crazy or at least not that crazy.
Gregori was indeed heading right toward them. He was sent to find them as they found out by the Bishop of Myra and being a Christian he did believe Daymon telling him he should speak to the Bishop, Nicholas.
It seems Bishop Nicholas was concerned because he knew they had started out too early in morning to have gotten back to dock before that storm hit and that if they survived the ship might have sustained too much damage to be brought in without help, which it did. This was he reason Gregori felt Daymon should seek him out.
So Gregori had the smaller ship tied to his larger grain ship after it was emptied of water and he towed this behind his into dock.
As soon as they reached dock Daymon started off toward the church on hill while Jairus set out to look into the captain’s needs and tried find out what would become of their badly damaged boat and surviving crew.
Daymon came upon the church in the late afternoon and found the church empty and no one answered the rectory door. He turned to leave when he suddenly felt drawn toward the garden and turning in that direction did hear a noise out there, someone was singing.
He went back there and found a man, the very man he described to Jairus, walking down a garden path toward him, though he was no longer singing. He was very tall and strong and he had a thin white beard and thin warm face.
Before Nicholas could even greet him Daymon blurted out, “Were you aboard our ship today, during the storm? I’m not going crazy, am I?”
By now Nicholas reached him and placed his strong and firm hand on Daymon’s shoulder and said, “No my son you are not crazy … not unless I am as crazy as you.”
“But how did you get there and how did you manage to steer the ship in THAT storm?”
Nicholas asked if he wanted to sit down first before he began to relate his part of the tale and Daymon heartily agreed.
Daymon found out that the good Bishop was as surprised as he to find himself upon that sinking ship but as soon as he saw what was happening he rushed to right the ship again and then set to keep her from sinking.
He also saw Daymon in his plight but could not leave the helm but he prayed, “and prayer is very powerful, Daymon,” Nicholas said, “and then your friend appeared from under the water on the boat and he dragged you on board.”
To this Daymon replied, “but I’m not a Christian.”
“But when you were fighting for your life, didn’t you pray?” Nicholas asked curiously, he couldn’t think of doing anything else himself.
“Well, yes,” Daymon stammered, “I don’t believe in your God.”
“He believes in your though. So whom you pray to?” Nicholas asked.
“I guess…” Daymon faltered, “I never thought about that, I guess …whoever made me.” He couldn’t say, “my girlfriend’s God.”
“Well”, Nicholas added, “we Christians pray to that same Creator.”
“I’m not here to convert.” Daymon said quickly but Nicholas just smiled and reassured him that he wasn’t looking for a convert just trying to be a good friend.
He was just giving what he perceived as a fact, that his God was the Creator of all things so if he prayed to that God then he must have prayed to the same God.
Daymon laughed, “I never thought of it that way”.
“Were you afraid?” Daymon asked, looking over at the older man beside him, “how did you know what to do?”
“I’m an old seaman myself,” Nicholas explained, and then he told Daymon of his past sea fairing days and how this sailor became the Bishop of Myra and Daymon listened with surprise and wonder, “so that’s how you know Captain Gregori?” Daymon asked intrigued and Nicholas affirmed this.
Soon the two of them started talking of the sea and sailing like old friends. Finally, as the sky started to darken and the dusk started to approach Daymon became silent and introspective.
“What’s troubling you my son?” Nicholas asked gently.
“Does your God demand dowries? Because if he does I can’t believe in HIM! ” Daymon asked firmly.
Nicholas was taken aback by this change, “Why do you ask about dowries?” Nicholas asked.
Then it came pouring out, everything Daymon had kept inside rushed out in a flurry and pain and suffering. Nicholas listened carefully until Daymon was finished and exhaustedly collapsed in his seat; it had been a very eventful day both physically and spiritually.
“You know I’ve been a very poor host, have you eaten?”
For the first time Daymon noticed he wasn’t hungry but quite famished as he hadn’t eaten since before that storm. Still he responded, “I don’t want to impose, perhaps I should go...” but Nicholas would not hear of this and led him inside and set him down to a warm simple meal of soup and bread.
To Daymon this simple meal was a feast though eat as he did the soup pot never seemed to empty. Still Daymon was getting sort of used to this, at least in this house, and he also felt firmly Nicholas couldn’t convert him because in his heart he suspected God already had though he told none of this to Nicholas.
Over supper Nicholas explained her father’s connection to him and Gregori. Daymon was particularly fascinated that Alexander was also a former seaman.
As they talked Daymon began to see why society demanded dowries, and also realized Nicholas’ words were very true in his case. As a young seaman he needed no place to live and his food came mostly from the ship. True, he could save some money, which Daymon had but not enough to care for wife and children.
Still Nicholas assured him that if such was needed in their case the Lord will find a way, “like getting a seaman back abroad a sinking ship with an unconnected rope?” Daymon added, and they both laughed.
This story could go on as stories such as these often do. Still, it may be best to leave it to saying those dowries appeared not only for Damon and Callista but also for each of those three girls and the men who loved them. However, that part of this tale really belongs to another more familiar tale and too long to enumerate within this pages.
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Pepsi Ranger
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Puzzle, the story reads like a treatment for a greater work. Are you stretching this out to a novella or a full-fledged novel? It's difficult to keep track of all the players prior to the storm at sea, so it might be nice to see this built up to something bigger, yet well-paced. I get the sense that you have several stories interwoven into a main plot here, and yet none of them are given adequate time to develop.
James, I still have your original paperback version of Dubious Tales from when it had a bomb on the front cover. I've recently found it stored in one of my old book boxes that I still have yet to unpack after eight years. I still love "The Great American Novel." So absurd.
James, I still have your original paperback version of Dubious Tales from when it had a bomb on the front cover. I've recently found it stored in one of my old book boxes that I still have yet to unpack after eight years. I still love "The Great American Novel." So absurd.
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Shadowiii
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I've written ten novels. Two are current out with a handful of agents and editors (keeping fingers crossed).
I also e-published a book. You can buy it if you want. Fenrir did the cover art.
http://www.amazon.com/Paradise-Seekers- ... se+seekers
I write full novels, and one novella which was a side-story from a longer novel I wrote. I usually write adult fantasy or young adult fantasy/urban fantasy. My next novel will be a middle grade whimsical novel about a boy with two dapper british uncles who happen to be time-travelling werewolves hired by parliament to fix the timeline. It's educational.
It's a stressful thing to try and get novels sold to people, but also a lot of fun. It's especially enjoyable to go to writers con and meet famous peeps (Brandon Sanderson's a close pal). I sometimes post on my writer's blog which has more information (http://nathanmajor.blogspot.com)
I actually started writing for the OHR, mostly because I had stories I wanted to tell but didn't feel like I had enough skill as either a graphics or gameplay designer to fully implement my story ideas. So I started writing instead (Lacrymosa, which was originally slated as an OHR game between me and Mr. B, was my first novel). So hey, it's pretty awesome how the OHR worked into that!
I also e-published a book. You can buy it if you want. Fenrir did the cover art.
http://www.amazon.com/Paradise-Seekers- ... se+seekers
I write full novels, and one novella which was a side-story from a longer novel I wrote. I usually write adult fantasy or young adult fantasy/urban fantasy. My next novel will be a middle grade whimsical novel about a boy with two dapper british uncles who happen to be time-travelling werewolves hired by parliament to fix the timeline. It's educational.
It's a stressful thing to try and get novels sold to people, but also a lot of fun. It's especially enjoyable to go to writers con and meet famous peeps (Brandon Sanderson's a close pal). I sometimes post on my writer's blog which has more information (http://nathanmajor.blogspot.com)
I actually started writing for the OHR, mostly because I had stories I wanted to tell but didn't feel like I had enough skill as either a graphics or gameplay designer to fully implement my story ideas. So I started writing instead (Lacrymosa, which was originally slated as an OHR game between me and Mr. B, was my first novel). So hey, it's pretty awesome how the OHR worked into that!
Last edited by Shadowiii on Wed Jul 25, 2012 4:52 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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BMR
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You guys make me envious, hehe. I've been trying to get short stories and stuff published, but to no avail. My main writing project is a supernatural noir featuring an undead (not vampire, too many of those guys) psychopomp/hitman. Hasn't gotten published yet, but in the future, who knows. Here's me with my fingers crossed, hehe.
/me runs off to read the other works posted here
/me runs off to read the other works posted here
Being from the third world, I reserve the right to speak in the third person.
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PR: Puzzle, the story reads like a treatment for a greater work. Are you stretching this out to a novella or a full-fledged novel? It's difficult to keep track of all the players prior to the storm at sea, so it might be nice to see this built up to something bigger, yet well-paced. I get the sense that you have several stories interwoven into a main plot here, and yet none of them are given adequate time to develop.
Puzzle: Yes, this is a part of a larger story but to create this version of a short story I wrote those details integral to this tale in sketch form and then followed with the tale.
Puzzle: Yes, this is a part of a larger story but to create this version of a short story I wrote those details integral to this tale in sketch form and then followed with the tale.
The high and mighty confused queen of the thirteenth tile on the bathroom floor
I have to be honest, I didn't finish reading the story. But from what I did read, regardless of the ideas, Puzzle, you need an editor. You have lots of sentences that take time to decipher, which interrupts the reading experience. I suppose there's a chance that this is intentional and there is a purpose behind this that is revealed as the story progresses, in which case I just sound like a giant fool. If that's the case, I will admit I didn't have the patience to reach the revelation.
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James, on Monday December 8 2004 wrote:(Robot Crane)
The performance took place in an enormous room with a ceiling as high as the walls were wide. The audience (and myself among them) stood variously around the room, with no separation between them and the performance-- and due to the fast and violent nature of the show, we had to run frequently from one corner to the other to avoid being crushed. It was an exciting performance, but one only suitable for those who were sharply attentive and light on their feet.
The gigantic robot crane began by rearing up to the dizzy heights of the rafters and then slamming down resoundingly on the floor. It flipped over a parked car, which bounced lightly end-over-end, pounded the floor again, smashed sideways into the prop wall, and generally threw a destructive tantrum that left the set as crumpled wreckage. Then it faded from view.
There was a moment for the audience to catch their breath, and then the next scene appeared, similar to the first, an alleyway intersecting a street with a building on the corner. The robot crane smashed down with thunderous force, cracking pavement, smashing apart a dumpster, scarring the building. The details of the destruction differed from the first scene, but it was really just a repetition of the same event in a different violent place. And then it faded away.
The third scene was different, indoors now, although in mood and composition it could have almost been the same place. A grungy bar took center stage, with a bartender standing behind it. A few dark tables with seated bar patrons lurked in the periphery. The robot crane hovered passively over the bar, hydraulic neck folded, massive mechanical jaws hanging loosely open over an open bottle of beer on the countertop.
The narrator spoke: "What makes this scene different?" he asked rhetorically.
There was some muted murmuring from the audience, most of whom were put off-guard by the unexpected calm of the scene.
The narrator paused for dramatic effect, and then answered himself. "The first two bars didn't allow Robots."
There was a ripple of laughter from the audience, followed by the ambient sound of people turning to their nearest neighbour and saying things like "So profound!" and "It's funny because it is true!"
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BMR
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I wrote this:
wrote: Nostradamus Guessed
There’s something about crossroads that I can never quite figure out. It seems as if at each crossroad we too become, in a way, prophets, foretelling the future and seeing down paths that only we are privy to. It doesn’t matter who we are with, we are the only ones that can see down the path that we want to take.
But then I start walking, and the spell is broken. It’s just the corner of Fifth and Main again, and there are no more mysteries. I’m just another commuter on the way to a dull 8 to 5, and all thoughts of clairvoyance are pushed from my mind.
I’m passing by the drugstore now, but I don’t go in. There it is again: prophecy. What if I had just missed the moment of my life? What if she was there, the one I’ve loved all my life but have never met? I could turn back wandering in nonchalantly. But I don’t.
Did I just miss her? Did I just lose my chance of ever meeting the one person I could ever truly love? I don’t know, and I never will, because I’m walking down Fifth Avenue again, and the crossroad has passed.
But what if I had gone in there? Perhaps the one I was to meet is actually along this road? Or maybe I made the wrong choice at the library. She could have been waiting in an alley for me, beset by a gang of rapists, lustful and wild. I could have been there behind the library to fight them off with my umbrella and briefcase.
I could have.
But I didn’t.
And I may have just lost the one chance in my life to be happy.
The sun shines off of my balding head, sweat glistening off of my skin. I’m forty-five years old, fat, single, and balding. My life is going nowhere. Yet here I am again at a crossroads. I could enter the building and go up to my office, or I could turn around throw my papers to the winds and be free.
The Jones and Dewey case would fly in the breeze like doves playfully swimming through the air. Alan Kovordjek Jr., Gertrude Humberg, and Kyle Smith vs. Alan Kovordjek Sr. and Jennifer Kovordjek would be nothing more than random pieces of paper to be lost to the jungle of the city. A child would pick one up, and it would become an airplane, a boat, maybe even the latest fashion from Paris in the form of a paper hat.
I walk through the door and the moment is lost again. The place is very familiar to me. The fake Persian rug, the polished bronze plaques that shine like gold, the tacky smell of crushed dreams and crisp money. I work here, and I have worked here for the past twenty years. So many crossroads then, so many chances at becoming someone, at being free and happy.
I’m fat and thirty pounds overweight. The next crossroad is easy; I take the elevator. But what if I had taken the stairs? My boss might have been there, with a broken leg after slipping and falling. He always takes the stairs even though we all say that he shouldn’t because of his age. I could save him, and I would get a higher position in the company. But it’s not going to happen is it?
I really can’t figure it out. I could be a Nostradamus with these. Each crossroad is something new, something grand. I can look down one path and see all the things that could possibly happen. We all do. But once we start walking down a path, it is blind to us, but paths we haven’t walked are clear.
I’m in my office now. I sit at the desk, reach into the drawer and pull out the .357 I’ve been keeping there. I put it to my temple and blow my brains out all over the room.
There’s something magical about crossroads. I think I’ve just figured it out.
Being from the third world, I reserve the right to speak in the third person.
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