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Journal of Evan Marshall III
March 9th, 1926 - East of Cairo, Egypt
If it weren't for men like myself, and Carter before me, the mysteries of these ancient lands would be lost to the ages. Even though I'm just starting out, I feel that I'm destined for great things. My guide, Mahmud, assures me that we'll find something in this barren wasteland besides scorpions and sand fleas. Supposedly, it was his father that led Carter to Tut. We shall see.
March 16th, 1926
We've been digging at this site for days now, I'm getting a bit discouraged. The weather here is unbearable, the insects a plague, and not a single one of the men can make a decent cup of tea. It's not at all how I imagined it. Still, I won't give up yet. That's just what father expects me to do.
March 23, 1926
Mahmud brought me some pieces of pottery this morning. Despite his great excitement, I only date them a few hundred years old. Nothing interesting at all.
March 30, 1926
I can't wait to get home and out of this pervasive sand. I'm sure father will welcome me back with open arms now that I've been gone this long. Besides, I have some lovely bits of broken pottery to show for all my time here. Maybe I can buy something at the bazaar in Cairo.
March 31st, 1926
Mahmud rushed into my tent today claiming that he had found something. It's a crudely made goblet that clearly does not belong in Egypt. Parts of it are gold, and there's a large silver coin inset into the base. This is a great find... I'll be famous!
April 1st, 1926
Considering today's date, I am a fool indeed. Mahmud wants to turn the cup over to the museum. It'll sit there for decades untouched, and I'll come away with nothing. What can I do?
April 2nd, 1926
I've booked my passage for three days hence.
April 5th, 1926 - Cairo
At least I won't be leaving here empty handed. After Mahmud packed the goblet away, I snuck in and pried off the silver coin. It looks Roman in origin.
__________
Evan could feel the weight of the coin in his pocket. It was similar in size to the rest of his coins, and that was what he was counting on in his efforts to smuggle it out of the country. He waited nervously for the call to board the ship.
A commotion at the other end of the dock drew Evan's attention. He could see soldiers rushing his way and, blast it, Mahmud was leading them. He had to get rid of the coin! Reaching into his pocket he hastily scanned the cargo still left on the dock, and stuffed the coin into a crate that was about to be hoisted aboard the ship. Pleased with himself and confident that he'd be able to retrieve the coin later, he stepped forward and awaited the arrival of the soldiers.
An ominous creaking sound and shouting caused Evan to look up. He was just in time to witness the means of his own demise, as the rope hoisting the crate onto the barge snapped, sending it plummeting downwards.
As the dust settled, a tall, thin man approached the scene. To any casual observer, it would appear that he was standing in shadow, but in the unrelenting Egyptian sun, there was no shade to be had. A glint of silver caught the thin man's eye, and, cat fast, he scooped up the missing coin. He opened a small leather pouch on his hip and dropped it in, where it clinked against others of its kind.
With a voice like a freshly opened tomb, the thin man said, "Ten to go."
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Mutually Insured Distraction
The gentle shhhhh noise coming from the kitchen cupboard startled Will fully awake from the almost nap that he had fallen into while poring over the mind-numbing actuary tables of his profession. He pushed himself up, and with a trepidation bordering on abject terror, approached the offending cupboard.
By now, the shhhhh had turned into shhh with a rustling noise. Horrible visions of some neighbour’s escaped pet python, or an infestation of hairy-legged tarantulas brought into his house hidden in a bunch of bananas filled Will’s head. He glanced around the kitchen for anything he could use as a weapon, quickly moving past the bunch of bananas in the bowl beside the fridge. His eyes settled on a nice, heavy, evil-exterminating cast iron skillet. Perfect!
Will grabbed the handle of the skillet and slowly slid it off the stove as he crept toward the cupboard. With his roomie doing all of the cooking, the sheer weight of the cast iron pan was news to Will. News he found out quickly as the pan came swinging down from the stove, like some malicious pendulum, and slammed into his right kneecap. The shock of the blow caused Will to let go of the skillet, which, thanks to gravity, continued its course of destruction by falling straight down and landing on his inadequately protected toes.
The pain was unlike anything that Will had ever experienced in his rather sheltered life up to now, far beyond the pain in his right kneecap, which had caused him to drop the skillet in the first place (second place actually… first was his poorly muscled arms), and was now a memory fondly looked back at. His crushed toes, instead of being debilitating, galvanized Will to action. He picked up the massive frying pan and flung open the cupboard door. A river of little white maggots fell out of the cupboard and into Will’s hair and face. If anything ever creeped him out more than snakes and big, hairy spiders, it was maggots.
In a rage borne of fear and pain and disgust, Will used both hands to hammer the skillet into the cupboard, over and over again. He wanted every last one of those creepy bastards to pay. Adrenaline and fear lost out to poor coordination and weak arms. The first few blows he rained down upon the cupboard had been effective. Effective in utterly destroying the shelf and sending splinters of wood everywhere. Soon enough though, he couldn’t bring the pan high enough and ended up slamming it into his roomie’s blender with the glass carafe. Well, the one that used to have a glass carafe.
The sound of the blender shattering brought Will back to reality. The reality of throbbing toes, a kitchen cupboard destroyed by a skillet, and a box of Uncle Ben’s Rice that would never harm another human again. Earl, his roomie’s hamster, eater of a hole in the rice box, sat unharmed on the remains of the shelf, staring at Will.
Babaluzer
500 words
September 13th, 2007
By now, the shhhhh had turned into shhh with a rustling noise. Horrible visions of some neighbour’s escaped pet python, or an infestation of hairy-legged tarantulas brought into his house hidden in a bunch of bananas filled Will’s head. He glanced around the kitchen for anything he could use as a weapon, quickly moving past the bunch of bananas in the bowl beside the fridge. His eyes settled on a nice, heavy, evil-exterminating cast iron skillet. Perfect!
Will grabbed the handle of the skillet and slowly slid it off the stove as he crept toward the cupboard. With his roomie doing all of the cooking, the sheer weight of the cast iron pan was news to Will. News he found out quickly as the pan came swinging down from the stove, like some malicious pendulum, and slammed into his right kneecap. The shock of the blow caused Will to let go of the skillet, which, thanks to gravity, continued its course of destruction by falling straight down and landing on his inadequately protected toes.
The pain was unlike anything that Will had ever experienced in his rather sheltered life up to now, far beyond the pain in his right kneecap, which had caused him to drop the skillet in the first place (second place actually… first was his poorly muscled arms), and was now a memory fondly looked back at. His crushed toes, instead of being debilitating, galvanized Will to action. He picked up the massive frying pan and flung open the cupboard door. A river of little white maggots fell out of the cupboard and into Will’s hair and face. If anything ever creeped him out more than snakes and big, hairy spiders, it was maggots.
In a rage borne of fear and pain and disgust, Will used both hands to hammer the skillet into the cupboard, over and over again. He wanted every last one of those creepy bastards to pay. Adrenaline and fear lost out to poor coordination and weak arms. The first few blows he rained down upon the cupboard had been effective. Effective in utterly destroying the shelf and sending splinters of wood everywhere. Soon enough though, he couldn’t bring the pan high enough and ended up slamming it into his roomie’s blender with the glass carafe. Well, the one that used to have a glass carafe.
The sound of the blender shattering brought Will back to reality. The reality of throbbing toes, a kitchen cupboard destroyed by a skillet, and a box of Uncle Ben’s Rice that would never harm another human again. Earl, his roomie’s hamster, eater of a hole in the rice box, sat unharmed on the remains of the shelf, staring at Will.
Babaluzer
500 words
September 13th, 2007
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Goat Cheese and Rice
There once was an old, old man. How old, exactly, one cannot be sure, and in fact the old man himself couldn't quite remember. He was fairly sure that he was either four-hundred-ninety-eight or four-hundred-ninety-nine. In any case, he'd decided not to celebrate "the big five-oh-oh" on his birthday next July, nor the one following.
Julia Skipram had a question for the old man on the hill. Making sure she'd packed the necessary offering, and lacing her comfortable boots for the trek, she pondered her phrasing.
The old man wasn't tired of goat cheese and rice. More precisely, he was tired of the idea of goat cheese and rice. For ninety years now, people had retained a notion that these were his favourite foods, and while this had become true enough, it still irked him to no longer have a taste for much else.
He was thinking all this as he watched the pretty blonde girl from the corner of his eye. She was finishing her trek up the hill, and when she arrived at last he sat upright in his hammock to greet her.
Without haste, Julia laid out bowls and spoons on a reed mat, and joined him cross-legged on the lush groundcover beneath the elm. They ate together silently, and once they had finished she carefully packed the bowls and reed mat away again.
After a not-uncomfortable pause, the old man began. "To what do I owe this fine meal on this fair day?"
"To a fair-haired maiden and good walking boots," she smiled.
He returned the smile. "I'll be sure to direct any repayment to the former."
Julie had no doubt in the value of the old man's wisdom, and so did not hesitate:
"What effect do my thoughts have on others?"
The old man almost frowned. Almost. After a brief moment he responded, carefully:
"I like goat cheese."
It wasn't a request for more cheese; it was an answer. Nonetheless, Julia was frustrated. As she turned to leave, knowing his wisdom was often cryptic and unlikely to be explained, the old man's voice stopped her.
"I wish someone had asked me earlier." He almost looked sad. "I'd like to ask a favour of you, which perhaps will help you understand."
Julia frowned, but nodded. The old man continued, "when you go home, tell this to your family and friends: When I was younger, it was prophesied that I would die on the morning of my 500th birthday, which is tomorrow. I wish a burial, and nothing more."
Her frown stayed with her, but when Julia returned to her family and friends in the village at the base of the hill, she did as the old man had asked.
The villagers, quick to believe the words of a wise old man, made arrangements for a proper burial. When they arrived the next day, they did indeed find that the old man had died peacefully in his hammock.
Julia finally understood.
-Faiora
494 Words
August 28, 2007
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Only the Lonely
In the two hundred and twenty years since his wife and daughter had died in a fire meant to take him, the march of time hadn’t touched Matthew Simpson. It was a gift with dark wrapping. He hadn’t thought it possible when his family had died, but now he was sure; he was lonelier now than he ever had been. What use this gift of eternal youth if all of your friends aged and died? He had stopped getting close to people after the first 50 years. For the most part he had also stopped asking why… Why him? Why did he get to live when his family, when everyone else, died?
In what was once a yearly pilgrimage but had now become once every decade, Matthew again found himself standing in front of the crumbling pile of rock that marked the grave of his family. As he had done before, he tried to recall everything he could about them. Just like previous times, he was able to remember less and less. He could no longer picture their faces, but recalled that they both had hair the color of wheat at harvest time.
Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a figure in a robe that looked like a piece of pre-dawn sky. He turned and stood face to face with what could only be Death. A voice like boulders grinding together issued forth from the cowl covering its face. “Matthew... I’ve been waiting for you.”
Not caring about the consequences, he grabbed at Death’s robe and blurted out, “Take me. Give me peace.”
Death reached up its skeletal hands and lifted the hood off of its face. The transformation was instantaneous. Where the archetypal skeleton had been was now a young woman dressed in the same slate grey robe. “I am so terribly sorry, Matthew, but there’s nothing I can do. You missed your time to be taken all those years ago. It was my mistake taking your daughter, your wife and your unborn son.”
Matthew gasped and fell to his knees. Ruth had been pregnant? The hurt and emptiness welled up in him stronger than it had in over two centuries. Death reached down and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, instantly reducing his pain with a small measure of her power. He looked up at Death and asked, “Why?”
“You are living all the potential life from your son and daughter and all of their descendants. That you haven’t aged since that day is proof that you would have had a strong, prolific line. Again, I can’t apologize enough.” Death stepped back from him, gathered up her scythe and adjusted her hood back up on her head. She was again the skeletal figure.
“This may sound unorthodox, but if you’re interested I sure could use an assistant.” She held out a hand to help him to his feet. “You are uniquely qualified and to tell you the truth, I’ve been a bit lonely…”
-Babaluzer
499 words
August 19th, 2007
In what was once a yearly pilgrimage but had now become once every decade, Matthew again found himself standing in front of the crumbling pile of rock that marked the grave of his family. As he had done before, he tried to recall everything he could about them. Just like previous times, he was able to remember less and less. He could no longer picture their faces, but recalled that they both had hair the color of wheat at harvest time.
Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a figure in a robe that looked like a piece of pre-dawn sky. He turned and stood face to face with what could only be Death. A voice like boulders grinding together issued forth from the cowl covering its face. “Matthew... I’ve been waiting for you.”
Not caring about the consequences, he grabbed at Death’s robe and blurted out, “Take me. Give me peace.”
Death reached up its skeletal hands and lifted the hood off of its face. The transformation was instantaneous. Where the archetypal skeleton had been was now a young woman dressed in the same slate grey robe. “I am so terribly sorry, Matthew, but there’s nothing I can do. You missed your time to be taken all those years ago. It was my mistake taking your daughter, your wife and your unborn son.”
Matthew gasped and fell to his knees. Ruth had been pregnant? The hurt and emptiness welled up in him stronger than it had in over two centuries. Death reached down and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, instantly reducing his pain with a small measure of her power. He looked up at Death and asked, “Why?”
“You are living all the potential life from your son and daughter and all of their descendants. That you haven’t aged since that day is proof that you would have had a strong, prolific line. Again, I can’t apologize enough.” Death stepped back from him, gathered up her scythe and adjusted her hood back up on her head. She was again the skeletal figure.
“This may sound unorthodox, but if you’re interested I sure could use an assistant.” She held out a hand to help him to his feet. “You are uniquely qualified and to tell you the truth, I’ve been a bit lonely…”
-Babaluzer
499 words
August 19th, 2007
Thursday, August 16, 2007
A Palace
Meya had learned four loaves ago that is was better to stoke up the oven fires after putting her baking into the oven. That way, when her bread rose, it took on a lovely consistency very like the bread from the bakery in town, but with a nice added crisp.
Right now though, Meya wasn't baking her regular recipe, but working on a project for the Palace. She often did paid work in the palace kitchens when extra hands were needed, and had friends there, too. She slid a pan into the oven, upon which sat a small clay bowl of liquid, and a medium-sized and slightly pink-tinted round lump of dough.
This I can help with. Meya considered herself somewhat of an inventor, so when Alina (fond of her complexion) complained of grease in the air from the lard boilers, Meya had begun inventing a loaf which could absorb oils and grease from the air into its crust.
Not that she minded the kitchen air so much, herself.
The lump of dough and bowl of oil now in place, Meya closed the oven door, and using a candle, took a flame from the wick of her oil lamp to stoke the fire.
On the other side of the wall backing Meya's little oven, sat a wiry and oddly jittery older man.
I've been waiting too long for this. He pulled stacked firewood from the wall, revealing an opening he'd created, and wedged his hands in along the sides to lift the backing from the oven. He pulled the lump of dough from the oven, replacing it with a similar lump he'd bought in town, this time mixed with a touch of magical colouring agent. He quickly took a brush and spread some oil from the bowl onto the loaf, then carefully wiped out the bowl with a cloth and put it, then the oven's back wall, back in place.
When the next Palace feast came about, Meya had perfected the recipe. The oil-absorbing properties of her new loaf were astounding, its gentle pink tone delightful, and its flavour tantalising.
The bread was started the morning before the feast, and Meya stepped in to add the necessary Vigwort to half of it (as discussed with Alina). The dough was left to rise through the afternoon, which Meya spent stuffing and preparing the catches of this morning's hunt.
By late afternoon the bread was ready for the ovens.
By duskfall, the palace was reduced to a crumbling pile of rock.
But who was to blame?
-Faiora
500 Words
August 17, 2007
Sunday, July 29, 2007
The Castle Dark
The knight searched both far and wide,
Looking for his lady fair.
But she was trapped in the castle dark,
Where the smell of lilacs filled the air.
When he noticed that his daughter, Lizzie, had already fallen asleep, Sam closed the book that he was reading. ”One of these days,” he thought, “She’s going to stay awake long enough that I’ll get to finish that story.”
---
Liz was running late. Again. It was the third time this month. Much more of that and the boss would fire her. That always made her giggle. Working for her father sometimes had its benefits. Sure, she’d get “The Frown” and she’d promise to do better, but she knew she wasn’t in any real trouble. She threw her keys, make-up and perfume into her purse and ran out the door. This wouldn’t be the first time she finished getting ready in the women’s washroom.
Sam hid a smile when he saw Liz rush in and head straight to the ladies’ room. She was so much like her mother. Suddenly, his ears popped and the picture frames on his desk started to shimmy towards the edge. That was his only warning before the world turned upside down.
The explosion that ripped through the basement originated in the boiler room. Despite the damage caused to the floors above the boiler, the building was still standing. Rescue workers had pulled everyone that they could find in the building out.
The worst injury was to Sam, when he clipped his head on his desk. Groggily, he looked around at the other evacuees when it dawned on him that Liz wasn’t there. He grabbed the arm of a fireman and tried to tell him, but his head was threatening to turn the lights out. All he could get out was a feeble, “My daughter… Still…” before his vision started to go dark and he sank to the ground with the help of the fireman.
Ed ran back into the building after helping the old guy sit down. Where to look? Remembering where they found him, he carefully climbed over debris and made his way up. When he got to what was left of the third floor, all he could smell was flowers. It reminded him of being a kid on his aunt’s farm in the springtime. The smell seemed to be coming from behind a chunk of ceiling that had fallen down. With a little effort, he was able to move it without making more of it collapse and could see a doorway behind it.
“Is anyone there?” he shouted. He forced open the door and shone his flashlight in. He found Liz no worse for wear, except for the smell of flowers that seemed to be coming from her. Broken bits of bottle sparkled in the light.
Sam looked up and saw the fireman helping Liz over to where he sat. Her perfume filled his nose and he smiled. He finally knew how the story ended.
-Babaluzer
500 words dead on!
July 29th, 2007
Looking for his lady fair.
But she was trapped in the castle dark,
Where the smell of lilacs filled the air.
When he noticed that his daughter, Lizzie, had already fallen asleep, Sam closed the book that he was reading. ”One of these days,” he thought, “She’s going to stay awake long enough that I’ll get to finish that story.”
---
Liz was running late. Again. It was the third time this month. Much more of that and the boss would fire her. That always made her giggle. Working for her father sometimes had its benefits. Sure, she’d get “The Frown” and she’d promise to do better, but she knew she wasn’t in any real trouble. She threw her keys, make-up and perfume into her purse and ran out the door. This wouldn’t be the first time she finished getting ready in the women’s washroom.
Sam hid a smile when he saw Liz rush in and head straight to the ladies’ room. She was so much like her mother. Suddenly, his ears popped and the picture frames on his desk started to shimmy towards the edge. That was his only warning before the world turned upside down.
The explosion that ripped through the basement originated in the boiler room. Despite the damage caused to the floors above the boiler, the building was still standing. Rescue workers had pulled everyone that they could find in the building out.
The worst injury was to Sam, when he clipped his head on his desk. Groggily, he looked around at the other evacuees when it dawned on him that Liz wasn’t there. He grabbed the arm of a fireman and tried to tell him, but his head was threatening to turn the lights out. All he could get out was a feeble, “My daughter… Still…” before his vision started to go dark and he sank to the ground with the help of the fireman.
Ed ran back into the building after helping the old guy sit down. Where to look? Remembering where they found him, he carefully climbed over debris and made his way up. When he got to what was left of the third floor, all he could smell was flowers. It reminded him of being a kid on his aunt’s farm in the springtime. The smell seemed to be coming from behind a chunk of ceiling that had fallen down. With a little effort, he was able to move it without making more of it collapse and could see a doorway behind it.
“Is anyone there?” he shouted. He forced open the door and shone his flashlight in. He found Liz no worse for wear, except for the smell of flowers that seemed to be coming from her. Broken bits of bottle sparkled in the light.
Sam looked up and saw the fireman helping Liz over to where he sat. Her perfume filled his nose and he smiled. He finally knew how the story ended.
-Babaluzer
500 words dead on!
July 29th, 2007
Friday, July 27, 2007
A Princess
Once upon a time, in a kingdom doubtless very far away, there lived a young girl of negligible importance. She was the oldest child of seven and looked much like her brothers and sisters. Above her upturned, freckled nose were two pale brown eyes set slightly too far apart. Above these was a set of somewhat-too-bushy eyebrows in the same mousy, mucky colour as her tangled mop of hair.
She wasn't a terribly bright young girl, nor was she very strong or agile; when she came of marriageable age her parents, unwilling or unable to keep her at home, were at a loss. They argued far into the night on her fourteenth birthday. Her mother mostly sobbed, and she could hear her father's bellows through the walls. When the bellowing died down to urgent and quiet conversation, the girl relaxed and fell asleep.
She awoke to find her mother, tired and disheveled, sewing in the main room. Her father was nowhere in sight but there was a hammering noise outside. Undisturbed, she went out with her six siblings to do household chores for the day.
The following day was much the same until, in the evening, her mother pulled her aside. "We're going to play a game," her mother told her. So on the third day, bright and early, the girl was stitched into a new dress. The cheap fabric was draped around her, decorated with flower garlands from the garden. She delighted in the smell of lilacs. She loved the cheap, shiny jewelry at her neck and wrists.
When her parents carried her on a litter handcrafted by her father, she imagined she was a princess on a magical journey; thus she was not surprised much at all when they arrived at the doorstep of His Grace the Duke.
The Duke's gaze never once left her as he spoke with her parents. She was sitting calmly in the litter, chin tilted upwards as she imagined a princess's chin would be. Her mother had told her she must act like a princess for the whole day, and she knew for a fact that a princess's chin was very important.
The Duke was obviously very impressed with her chin. He invited her to stay for tea, and she told him "that would be lovely," as a princess might. The girl's parents didn't stay for tea. Instead, they picked up the litter and began the journey home. When their daughter's screams rang out sharply over the field, the mother turned to her husband, smiling as her gaze passed over the silks and gold jewelry loaded onto the litter. "Six to go," she said. And they lived happily ever after. The End.
-Faiora
450 Words
July 27, 2007
She wasn't a terribly bright young girl, nor was she very strong or agile; when she came of marriageable age her parents, unwilling or unable to keep her at home, were at a loss. They argued far into the night on her fourteenth birthday. Her mother mostly sobbed, and she could hear her father's bellows through the walls. When the bellowing died down to urgent and quiet conversation, the girl relaxed and fell asleep.
She awoke to find her mother, tired and disheveled, sewing in the main room. Her father was nowhere in sight but there was a hammering noise outside. Undisturbed, she went out with her six siblings to do household chores for the day.
The following day was much the same until, in the evening, her mother pulled her aside. "We're going to play a game," her mother told her. So on the third day, bright and early, the girl was stitched into a new dress. The cheap fabric was draped around her, decorated with flower garlands from the garden. She delighted in the smell of lilacs. She loved the cheap, shiny jewelry at her neck and wrists.
When her parents carried her on a litter handcrafted by her father, she imagined she was a princess on a magical journey; thus she was not surprised much at all when they arrived at the doorstep of His Grace the Duke.
The Duke's gaze never once left her as he spoke with her parents. She was sitting calmly in the litter, chin tilted upwards as she imagined a princess's chin would be. Her mother had told her she must act like a princess for the whole day, and she knew for a fact that a princess's chin was very important.
The Duke was obviously very impressed with her chin. He invited her to stay for tea, and she told him "that would be lovely," as a princess might. The girl's parents didn't stay for tea. Instead, they picked up the litter and began the journey home. When their daughter's screams rang out sharply over the field, the mother turned to her husband, smiling as her gaze passed over the silks and gold jewelry loaded onto the litter. "Six to go," she said. And they lived happily ever after. The End.
-Faiora
450 Words
July 27, 2007
Thursday, July 26, 2007
The Piece of Silver
It was old, there was no denying that. Gerry turned the coin over in his fingers and looked at it more closely. Over the centuries, countless hands had nearly rubbed all traces of identifying features from the silver disc, but, if angled just right, he could make out what looked like a laurel wreath on one side and the profile of some long-dead king on the other. It felt slick in his hands, and for some reason, that made Gerry a bit uneasy.
Looking at the expensive display that the coin had been housed in, Gerry decided that in the old man’s collection, this was surely the most prized. If anything would hurt the old man, losing his pride and joy would be it. And Gerry definitely wanted to hurt the old man, especially after being betrayed as harshly as he had been. “A man shouldn’t have to go through that,” thought Gerry as he carefully retraced his steps out of the office and relocked the door.
It was just after midnight when Gerry finally got home. That uneasy feeling hadn’t left him since he had taken the old piece of silver and he vowed to get rid of it in the morning.
The dreams that plagued Gerry that night were vivid… brutal… and in all of them: Death. Bloody death. The last dream had the old man, covered in blood that wasn’t his own, standing over the wreckage of what was once another person. He looked different though… younger, and with more hair.
When he crawled out of bed, Gerry felt worse than he did the night before. The uneasy feeling was now a sense of dread. He had to get rid of that coin! He rushed out of his house, deciding to cut through the vacant lot at the end of his street and over to the pawn shop on Weston.
In his haste, Gerry tripped over a half-unearthed root at the back of the lot. He threw out his hands to save himself from the fall, but the impact was still hard enough to send the contents of his shirt pocket flying towards the street. He watched in horror as the ancient coin bounced twice on the sidewalk then rolled into the street. Without even standing up, he scrambled over the sidewalk and dove for the coin. He never saw the car that killed him.
---
The car opened and the man within, despite having the sun almost directly in front of him, seemed to be bathed in shadow. He looked down and saw the flash of silver from the old coin. He reached out a thin hand and snatched it from the road with a movement almost too fast to see. He opened up a small leather bag beside him and dropped it in, where it made a pleasing clink against the other coins that were there. His voice rumbled out, sounding far too big to come from someone that thin, “Six to go.”
-Babaluzer
498 Words
July 26th, 2007
Looking at the expensive display that the coin had been housed in, Gerry decided that in the old man’s collection, this was surely the most prized. If anything would hurt the old man, losing his pride and joy would be it. And Gerry definitely wanted to hurt the old man, especially after being betrayed as harshly as he had been. “A man shouldn’t have to go through that,” thought Gerry as he carefully retraced his steps out of the office and relocked the door.
It was just after midnight when Gerry finally got home. That uneasy feeling hadn’t left him since he had taken the old piece of silver and he vowed to get rid of it in the morning.
The dreams that plagued Gerry that night were vivid… brutal… and in all of them: Death. Bloody death. The last dream had the old man, covered in blood that wasn’t his own, standing over the wreckage of what was once another person. He looked different though… younger, and with more hair.
When he crawled out of bed, Gerry felt worse than he did the night before. The uneasy feeling was now a sense of dread. He had to get rid of that coin! He rushed out of his house, deciding to cut through the vacant lot at the end of his street and over to the pawn shop on Weston.
In his haste, Gerry tripped over a half-unearthed root at the back of the lot. He threw out his hands to save himself from the fall, but the impact was still hard enough to send the contents of his shirt pocket flying towards the street. He watched in horror as the ancient coin bounced twice on the sidewalk then rolled into the street. Without even standing up, he scrambled over the sidewalk and dove for the coin. He never saw the car that killed him.
---
The car opened and the man within, despite having the sun almost directly in front of him, seemed to be bathed in shadow. He looked down and saw the flash of silver from the old coin. He reached out a thin hand and snatched it from the road with a movement almost too fast to see. He opened up a small leather bag beside him and dropped it in, where it made a pleasing clink against the other coins that were there. His voice rumbled out, sounding far too big to come from someone that thin, “Six to go.”
-Babaluzer
498 Words
July 26th, 2007
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
A Penny
Haran, literally down to the last and least coin from his shallow pockets, sat down heavily on the unpaved walk. He was hungry; that didn't stand to argument, but the last coin from his pocket was the coin that would someday lead to his own immense fortune. In this he had faith unwavering.
Turning the penny over and over in his palm, he squinted, imagining a time when the Great Magician Sonne was but the errand-boy of some minor mage, sitting as he was now at the edge of the walk, and pondering the magical potential of the circle. Surely a coin, formed into the purest of all shapes, was the ultimate vessel of power, for despite its size it possesses a strength of both material and form unequaled by any other ordinary object.
Still squinting, mostly to keep the sun and dust at bay, he rubbed at the penny with the corner of his tattered shirt, removing an age-old layer of caked-in grime. On one side, now, the penny symbol shone through. On the other, foreign lettering slowly appeared; surely this was no ordinary coin.
Haran was pulled brusquely from his daydreams by the tantalizing scent of honey-smoked ham from a nearby deli. Clutching the coin in his fist, he stood, hesitating only a moment before turning decidedly away. He must not think of food just now. He had only to harness the power stored in the coin by its previous owner, and the entire village would fall happily at his feet. He'd have all he needed, then.
He ran like the springtime rapids, far from the smells and sounds of the village. Down the forest pathway, his flight was interrupted by a root. A single, solitary root marred his path, and his hands splayed out before him to break his fall.
When Haran lifted his scraped palms from the dusty forest trail, he mourned over the loss of his beloved magic coin; for all he could find was a lone penny, no doubt dropped from the pocket of a long-gone passer-by.
-Faiora
350 Words
July 25, 2007
Turning the penny over and over in his palm, he squinted, imagining a time when the Great Magician Sonne was but the errand-boy of some minor mage, sitting as he was now at the edge of the walk, and pondering the magical potential of the circle. Surely a coin, formed into the purest of all shapes, was the ultimate vessel of power, for despite its size it possesses a strength of both material and form unequaled by any other ordinary object.
Still squinting, mostly to keep the sun and dust at bay, he rubbed at the penny with the corner of his tattered shirt, removing an age-old layer of caked-in grime. On one side, now, the penny symbol shone through. On the other, foreign lettering slowly appeared; surely this was no ordinary coin.
Haran was pulled brusquely from his daydreams by the tantalizing scent of honey-smoked ham from a nearby deli. Clutching the coin in his fist, he stood, hesitating only a moment before turning decidedly away. He must not think of food just now. He had only to harness the power stored in the coin by its previous owner, and the entire village would fall happily at his feet. He'd have all he needed, then.
He ran like the springtime rapids, far from the smells and sounds of the village. Down the forest pathway, his flight was interrupted by a root. A single, solitary root marred his path, and his hands splayed out before him to break his fall.
When Haran lifted his scraped palms from the dusty forest trail, he mourned over the loss of his beloved magic coin; for all he could find was a lone penny, no doubt dropped from the pocket of a long-gone passer-by.
-Faiora
350 Words
July 25, 2007
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