Captain Tory
by Jourdan Cameron
"Am I really going to see my her today?"
The old Captain sighed- the boy didn't believe him yet. "Boy" he said in his grizzled old sailor's voice "It's as true as the sea is blue." The boy stared at the approaching schooner that made its way towards the harbor. Through the mist, everything seemed cold, gray, making things feel... Unsure.
The old man held the lantern high above his head and the ship turned into the nearest dock- the same dock where, three years ago, the boy cried goodbye.
The schooner approached the jetty, and its bow neared, the boy caught sight of what could've been a flame burning bright at the fore of the boat.
Though it was hard to tell, the old man bore a smile somewhere deep within his wrinkles. Extinguishing the signaling lantern, he made his way over to the slowly unloading ship that carried with it the hopes and dreams of a thousand days. He shed a silent tear as mother embraced son, and for a moment, all was right in the world
The old man spoke. "Anya, I take it you succeeded?" The red haired woman nodded. At her side was a briefcase that she picked up and, striding up to the old man, opened just a crack for his wearied eyes. The old man grinned, bobbing his head in approval. As quickly as the briefcase was opened, it was shut. "We'd best get this inside" she said "lest we draw any... Unwanted attention." The old man agreed, and the trio made their way through the seaside town to a run-down apartment building three stories high. The old brick building had clearly seen better days, and through the fog its bulk seemed all the more ominous.
The young boy spoke up as the old Captain opened the door of the building and beckoned the pair inside.
"Mother, what's in the briefcase?"
The woman gently tousled her son's hair. "Isn't it obvious? It's a surprise." Slowly and assuredly, the three walked up a couple flights of stairs until they were standing just outside the Captain's apartment, where he and the boy spent the last few years.
"So Captain, still no lighthouse?"
"Nay, Anya, it's as if they want an old man like me swinging a lantern to fro."
The boy hurried inside the apartment as soon as the door had been opened and peeled back the curtains on the far side of the room. Gray light came pouring in, and it soon became evident that the Captain wasn't the most competent of housekeepers. A thin layer of fine dust coated various knick-knacks and tschotskies, mementos of a life at sea. The boy's swift movements seemed to bathe him in a cloud of particulate matter. Politely, Anya averted her attention to the Captain.
"Please, just put the briefcase on the table" he told her. Carefully, she placed the angular luggage the square, squat, wooden table that lay in the center of the room atop a round, threadbare rug. She barely resisted the urge to dust off the table.
"It's quite the precious cargo- I need to get it to the city right away."
"Relax, we have time. We should celebrate, eh? Dinner's on me tonight. Anya sighed, but before she could object, the young boy in the room took the chance to interject.
"Wait, what are we celebrating?"
"The greatest achievement the world of zoology will ever know- it's bigger than the platypus." The Captain seemed serious for a moment, though the boy could tell he was simply putting on airs.
"Max, what Captain Tory's trying to tell you is that we found it."
The boy's eyes grew wide in shocked amazement. He nearly yelped, but was only able to produce a weak whimper. Inwardly, he sighed with relief. Those years- those three years- they were worth it.
After a moment of swapping smiles, the trio left the little abode in search of a celebratory meal. Safe within, the brown little briefcase lay silent atop the wood table.
After a few moments of excruciating boredom, the briefcase managed to toss itself from the table and onto the floor, and its contents crawled out from underneath and headed for the door.
----
I wrote this story some while back for a contest at my local library. I got third place! Sorry I've been taking so long to post the next chapter of Paxcatia- it's coming. I've just been crazy busy, and Lyme disease seems to do a fantastic job at sucking my creative juices dry. The depression that seems to accompany it is really quite an annoyance. Rest assured- I'm still working hard.
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Sunday, May 06, 2012
Book Review: Rural Wealth
Some days, I wish I could go back in time. Far enough back to just enjoy life as it was before things grew... Complicated.
Enough about my life, I suppose I should just tell you about Rural Wealth, a book by Ray Kwiatkowski.
Rural Wealth is a relatively brief but moving collection of poetry and images of life out in the country. Kwiatkowski's style, in its straightforwardness, is reminiscent of Robert Frost. His work is bursting at the seams with beautiful metaphors, and going through his book almost feels like traversing the memories of somebody's life. Whose mind it is I do not know, however I do know that this book is really quite lovely. There's something inviting about it that I can't quite put a finger on- it's certainly a piece worth having on your coffee table. While there was one minor typo (an extra capitalized letter), the book is mostly perfect. My favorite image- Shear Avoidance- was the penultimate picture and it felt like a fitting ending to what had been a brief sojourn across another life.
Overall, it's definitely worth picking up. This book is conversation fuel for your coffee table, and will probably warm your heart. If this Rural Wealth's combination of beautiful imagery and poetry fails to warm your heart, please see a cardiologist.
Enough about my life, I suppose I should just tell you about Rural Wealth, a book by Ray Kwiatkowski.
Rural Wealth is a relatively brief but moving collection of poetry and images of life out in the country. Kwiatkowski's style, in its straightforwardness, is reminiscent of Robert Frost. His work is bursting at the seams with beautiful metaphors, and going through his book almost feels like traversing the memories of somebody's life. Whose mind it is I do not know, however I do know that this book is really quite lovely. There's something inviting about it that I can't quite put a finger on- it's certainly a piece worth having on your coffee table. While there was one minor typo (an extra capitalized letter), the book is mostly perfect. My favorite image- Shear Avoidance- was the penultimate picture and it felt like a fitting ending to what had been a brief sojourn across another life.
Overall, it's definitely worth picking up. This book is conversation fuel for your coffee table, and will probably warm your heart. If this Rural Wealth's combination of beautiful imagery and poetry fails to warm your heart, please see a cardiologist.
Sunday, April 15, 2012
Honesty
Honesty
by Jourdan Cameron
You've stood beside me for countless years,
Resolute and upright throughout the seasons.
We knew well the laughs between siblings,
So few have been the flowing tears,
the cutting words,
so little pain.
We were freer,
We hadn't worries or blinding fears,
We could speak and smile and share important things,
There weren't any of the hurtful reasons,
Just the little childish tussle here and there.
Time and seasons took their toll,
Into densest darkness I had to fall.
Death gripped and crushed slowly, and I quit struggling.
Shout of salvation came by the siren's call,
Upon breaking death's grip I was free,
Yet I continued to fall.
Going nowhere.
Merely existing as a passenger,
I could only roam the hall.
My limbs were numbed by Death,
and as I made my perilous crawl,
a thousand hands I shook that lay just beyond the wall.
As feeling slowly returned, all seemed good, all seemed well,
for a little while, all was as there was no fall.
One day, I couldn't feel you at my side.
What happened? Did I scare you?
Had you purpose to hide?
For some reason,
You flew.
More than a season,
I hadn't a place to confide,
Where did you go? Was our bond true?
I wish I knew that you had died.
Those kids we knew are dead- they simply had to depart,
their ashes to the wind, they live only in your heart.
The siblings I spoke of are no longer walking,
They're children gone forever,
Their phantoms now remain,
One was once wholly insane,
That one pursued the other,
Though it could be caught never.
Eventually, it became a new child, and among the rest took up walking,
Its newborn heart was dulled by stalking, and to insult injury was missing a vital part!
On a dark day, though, it was once more made whole.
This new boy, sprung from the ashes of the old,
still sees the phantom- it seems distant, lonely, cold-
he cannot grasp it.
The boy still misses his dear dead friend,
but he recognizes what is now a dead end,
he looks away from it.
From day to day, he bears regrets about the things he wishes he had told,
he still holds out some hope that one day, the phantom will materialize and make a decision bold,
but it's only a hope that could die.
Sometimes the boy wonders if what he believed was true-
that if you try hard enough, you can bring a person back.
Hard as he's tried, those children are still dead,
the phantom still intangible,
and all the memories fled.
Sometimes, the boy wonders if his sibling was honest,
that maybe, just maybe, the boy failed some unspoken test,
but time and again, he knew that he'd intentionally overlooked the pivotal clue.
Today to this fact he can attest:
Where there is no closure, there is no rest.
When the daylight fades and the shadows grow long,
somebody needs to state what's right and wrong.
You need not worry for the boy-
Death keeps at a distance,
he has new siblings,
they share valuable things.
In these, the boy found his healing.
At long last, he can walk down the hall,
he can shake the hand with feeling,
he can stand tall.
You might see me one day, as I occasionally visit the graveyard,
I know that what I once was is buried there, slaughtered by a time too hard,
I can only look on and smile.
Buried together are those two siblings, each one at the others side.
Those dead can feel nothing at all,
I know this quite well.
Yet somewhere deep within,
I can hear them- to each other they call.
Truth be told, their bond was honest,
It stood simply to spite every trial and test,
I can now only hope and wait and see,
whether the frozen phantom will ever break free.
The chains are swift growing icy.
Whether or not it occurs, I'm still happy, for I am free.
My heart is whole, I've got friends, you see.
Where my soul could only take up lodging as a guest,
it has found a peaceful home in which to rest.
Trees will drown their golden crowns,
the bitter winter wind will weep and howl,
yet against it all is the unbridled heart,
the drumbeat of a glorious start.
----
To my readers: Apologies for taking so long with the next chapter of Paxcatia, it'll be here soon. Meanwhile, enjoy the lengthy poetry!
by Jourdan Cameron
You've stood beside me for countless years,
Resolute and upright throughout the seasons.
We knew well the laughs between siblings,
So few have been the flowing tears,
the cutting words,
so little pain.
We were freer,
We hadn't worries or blinding fears,
We could speak and smile and share important things,
There weren't any of the hurtful reasons,
Just the little childish tussle here and there.
Time and seasons took their toll,
Into densest darkness I had to fall.
Death gripped and crushed slowly, and I quit struggling.
Shout of salvation came by the siren's call,
Upon breaking death's grip I was free,
Yet I continued to fall.
Going nowhere.
Merely existing as a passenger,
I could only roam the hall.
My limbs were numbed by Death,
and as I made my perilous crawl,
a thousand hands I shook that lay just beyond the wall.
As feeling slowly returned, all seemed good, all seemed well,
for a little while, all was as there was no fall.
One day, I couldn't feel you at my side.
What happened? Did I scare you?
Had you purpose to hide?
For some reason,
You flew.
More than a season,
I hadn't a place to confide,
Where did you go? Was our bond true?
I wish I knew that you had died.
Those kids we knew are dead- they simply had to depart,
their ashes to the wind, they live only in your heart.
The siblings I spoke of are no longer walking,
They're children gone forever,
Their phantoms now remain,
One was once wholly insane,
That one pursued the other,
Though it could be caught never.
Eventually, it became a new child, and among the rest took up walking,
Its newborn heart was dulled by stalking, and to insult injury was missing a vital part!
On a dark day, though, it was once more made whole.
This new boy, sprung from the ashes of the old,
still sees the phantom- it seems distant, lonely, cold-
he cannot grasp it.
The boy still misses his dear dead friend,
but he recognizes what is now a dead end,
he looks away from it.
From day to day, he bears regrets about the things he wishes he had told,
he still holds out some hope that one day, the phantom will materialize and make a decision bold,
but it's only a hope that could die.
Sometimes the boy wonders if what he believed was true-
that if you try hard enough, you can bring a person back.
Hard as he's tried, those children are still dead,
the phantom still intangible,
and all the memories fled.
Sometimes, the boy wonders if his sibling was honest,
that maybe, just maybe, the boy failed some unspoken test,
but time and again, he knew that he'd intentionally overlooked the pivotal clue.
Today to this fact he can attest:
Where there is no closure, there is no rest.
When the daylight fades and the shadows grow long,
somebody needs to state what's right and wrong.
You need not worry for the boy-
Death keeps at a distance,
he has new siblings,
they share valuable things.
In these, the boy found his healing.
At long last, he can walk down the hall,
he can shake the hand with feeling,
he can stand tall.
You might see me one day, as I occasionally visit the graveyard,
I know that what I once was is buried there, slaughtered by a time too hard,
I can only look on and smile.
Buried together are those two siblings, each one at the others side.
Those dead can feel nothing at all,
I know this quite well.
Yet somewhere deep within,
I can hear them- to each other they call.
Truth be told, their bond was honest,
It stood simply to spite every trial and test,
I can now only hope and wait and see,
whether the frozen phantom will ever break free.
The chains are swift growing icy.
Whether or not it occurs, I'm still happy, for I am free.
My heart is whole, I've got friends, you see.
Where my soul could only take up lodging as a guest,
it has found a peaceful home in which to rest.
Trees will drown their golden crowns,
the bitter winter wind will weep and howl,
yet against it all is the unbridled heart,
the drumbeat of a glorious start.
----
To my readers: Apologies for taking so long with the next chapter of Paxcatia, it'll be here soon. Meanwhile, enjoy the lengthy poetry!
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Paxcatia: Chapter 3
Well, can you believe it's been a year of me writing Paxcatia and I'm only on chapter 3? I should speed things up a little...
Here's a table of contents to make things easier:
Last Days of Marconis
Prologue/Chapter 1
What's Worse?
Chapter 2
Paxcatia
Chapter 3
Paxcatia
by Jourdan Cameron
Chapter 3
"Right here is where we part ways, Ms. Powton."
"What? Aren't you coming with us?"
"Nope, I've got a different assignment- observe and record working conditions in the factory. Now go on, and be careful. If there's danger-"
Katy laughed a bit at his last statement, and Casey rolled his eyes. "Yes, there's always danger" he continued.
"I know what you mean" replied Katy. She hid her disheartenment well- she'd miss Casey on the mission; he'd been an uncle to her.
"Well good, because if anything happens to you, your old man will murder me. Do we really want murder, Katy?"
"Only if completely necessary."
Even under cover of darkness, Casey's grin was visible. The team was currently waiting atop a roof for a transport ship that could be heard somewhere in the distance. As it approached the simple, circular docking station, its massive, cylindrical base opened, and like a remora sucking to shark skin, the ship attached itself to the docking station. Casey approached the massive tube, which was twice as tall as he was, and walked around it, urging the rest of the team come forward, and quickly. There was an opening on the other side, just large enough to fit a person through. Katy stared down at the crate that seemed to be moving upwards, almost imperceptibly, through the tube. Some invisible force brought it upwards, and Katy climbed quietly onto it.
"Don't forget to-"
"Right, almost forgot." Glancing momentarily at her hands, she clapped them together. Her gloves began glowing, the soft white light illuminating the shaft around her. It was a simple, gray place, boring and steely. A couple other rebels hurriedly made their way onto the surface of the hard, black crate, and soon, the small squad was in the ship's cargo hold. It was somewhat cramped, since it was never built to carry people. Still, as the invisible force carried the crates all the way to the end of the gigantic room, it organized the crates so that there'd be alleys just large enough for a person to squeeze through. The massive, black crates were quite wide but not all that tall, so the massive hold of the ship remained traversable.
This was the beginning of a long, boring trip over an ocean.
“Hey, do they have bathrooms on this thing?” Katy sighed- she wasn’t quite sure why Jonathan was part of this mission to begin with- he’d be nothing but trouble, as he’d always been.
“No, Jonathan, this ship was not built to transport humans.”
"Well are there any holes or something?"
"You mean the airlock, Johnny?" Mr. Peak seemed serious. He always seemed so serious, so sullen, so mysterious to the most of the other rebels that they got so caught up in trying to unravel the enigma behind his eyes, those two windows into the soul that everybody looked up into and managed to get lost. Perhaps that's why almost nobody knew his first name, and thus referred to him as Mr. Peak?
"Uh, I think I'll just hold it until we-"
"Don't you have to go so badly though? You're better off just opening the airlock and-" Johnny's face had quickly become a reddened mask of horror and embarrassment- was Peak serious or joking or seriously joking? He may have even been jokingly serious, for all Johnny could discern.
"Don't worry Mr. Peak, I think I'll be alright until we get there" said the stocky blonde spy.
"Alright" replied Mr. Peak, who began walking back towards the other end of the dim cargo hold, presumably to learn more about its contents.
"That's one scary dude."
Katy sighed. She suspected that this would be the longest ride, most monotonous ride of her life. She walked away from Johnny and the other rebels- something about Mr. Peak had piqued her interest.
"You have arrived at your destination. Thank you for riding with us!" David sighed- he sort of wished the ride could've been longer. It was nice and quiet inside the car. Stepping off the train, he found himself staring up at the massive red building. He remembered, vaguely, how it had been modeled after schoolhouses of old, complete with an odd pointed roof and windows framed with white, with odd bars running through them. As he entered the building, however, it was clear that this place was neither ancient nor outdated.
In fact, it felt very new. Unlike most of the cold, white, sterile institutions of learning, this one was different. David stared up at the ceiling of the great sunlit foyer- the walls were decorated with grand paintings, memories of a time long forgotten...
David decided to stop reminiscing and get about to finding his class. He pulled out his little device, the Unleash, and stared down at the luminous little red arrow that now floated a few centimeters above his palm.
"Guys, come look at this!" Maxwell Robinson had made a discovery aboard the dim cargo hold. He buried an arm in the crate and retrieved a white box of similar composition to the black crate. Robinson lay a hand atop the small container as it slowly seemed to dissolve into the air. The small white box glowed gently as Robinson pulled out what appeared to be a pill no larger than a tooth.
"Welcome to the final frontier" spoke a disembodied voice. The pill pulsed with white light as the words the voice spoke floated in the air, a few inches above Robinson's hand. "We have experienced so much in our lifetimes" the deep, vaguely feminine voice continued. "Is there anything we haven't explored?"
Katy bristled. She had a vague clue as to just where this single-sided conversation was headed.
"Our minds are the last frontier. Are you ready to re-percieve reality? Escape with me..." The voice trailed off as the little white pill abruptly stopped glowing. The word "me" seemed to fade away into white smoke as though this invitation was the last time the pill would dare beckon you forth into whatever world would be created deep within your head.
"Quite the siren's call" sighed Robinson as he dropped the pill back into the little box. Slowly, it re-materialized a cover and grew dark once more.
"What do you think it does?" Mr. Peak was standing a few feet away- nobody had noticed his form in the dim light of the cargo hold.
"I'm not quite sure" replied Robinson as he shoved the box into one of his jacket pockets. "Something tells me we shouldn't-" The same strange voice was speaking up again. It seemed to be coming from the other side of the cargo hold. Robinson gasped- and Katy dashed to the other side of the ship, towards the voice.
She arrived in time to watch Jonathan swallow the pill, surrounded by a few other rebels who watched with wide eyes and eagerly clenched fists.
Jonathan collapsed, his limp form laying still at the base of the big, black crate he was sitting on.
"David, you're late. Ah well, it's your first time here, isn't it?" A wrinkled gray old woman sat behind a large, brown desk. Disregarding the urge to restrain himself, David touched the striated surface- it was real wood. The woman behind the desk sighed. "Why does everybody do that?" David, startled from his trance, decided to sit down. He stared out at the classroom- there were five other youth staring back at him. Well, they weren't staring at him so much as through him. Their attention was focused quite closely on the actor standing inches away from David's doe-eyed wonder.
David walked right on through the educational illusion into his chair- it was comfortable, and from what he'd heard, the least accurate part of the whole experience.
"Begin" the old woman said, as the actor began moving. The man's face was covered in makeup- his face was pure red, his nose black.
"Now" the woman said "Who can tell me about how the art of postmodern street performance began anew?"
One of David's classmates at the far end of the room piped up. "Wasn't it after the anti-fantasy movements?"
The teacher nodded, the bun in her hair seemingly bouncing in agreement.
"Now, what other movements co-incided with the anti-fantasy movement? Julie, perhaps you can explain how the March towards Militarism set the ball rolling?"
Unlike the first student to speak, this one stared down at her fingers, nervously fidgeting. David sighed, and began. "The March towards Militarism marked a period of animosity towards any art that wasn't firmly rooted in the very reality that was driving the early Paxcatian Empire forward..." David's voice trailed off as he stared back towards Julie.
"The emperor thus decided that it was the people's imagination that spurred the growth of new weapons, and thus he decided to halt the March before the arts were wiped out altogether."
Julie's ears stuck out as bright red against her black hair- she was never a big fan of public speaking. Even though she was acquainted with everybody in the room, she just didn't feel comfortable in such a formal setting. After speaking, she stared down at her desk's blank surface. The teacher sighed quietly- she'd been trying to help the girl get over her fear, albeit with little success.
"An early activation?"
"That's correct, Ace, and it come from the transport ship mere minutes ago." Black Ace and Red Baron were communicating again, this time over the matter of an unusually early product activation.
"Can you get a visual?"
"No, the activator is still unconscious."
"I'll have the transport intercepted once it reaches the ground."
Near instantly, the command went out to Paxcatia's Defense Squad in the city of Nauda- an attack may be inbound on a transport ship. They were to be ready to defend their homeland with any means necessary.
"Have the slaves been behaving? There may have been an escapee."
"I haven't overlooked the possibility, which is why I ran a thourough scan of the facility a few minutes ago. One foreign body was detected and destroyed."
"Keep me informed of any further developments."
An ocean away, a group of slaves stood huddled around the body of a man they didn't know. One of them wept gently. With foolhardy hope, she put a finger to his neck, and gasped dramatically- "He's still got a heartbeat" she shouted. The man's bluish skin slowly regained color as one of the other slaves began breathing life into him anew.
In the corner of the garishly bright room sulked a weathered old man. "It's pointless" he sighed.
"What? How could you say that, this man's going to live!" The old man sighed again.
"When Red Baron finds him during the next sweep, he's going to get another does of the gas. He won't survive a second round."
A hush descended upon the small group- somehow, this man had gotten himself into the factory, and the slaves had no idea how to get him out.
Back in the transport ship, another group was huddled around a body. This body, though, had managed to sit up and whine about being crowded.
"Do you feel different?" "Why did you take it?" "Did you see anything?"
Jonathan stared dumbly into the the curious, concerned faces. One seemed kind of angry- he averted his gaze swfitly.
"I don't feel much different" he replied with a shrug. "Could you guys give me some room? I can hardly breathe with you guys pressing in so close."
"Jonathan, we're almost at the drop point." The angry face spoke to him. "Jonathan do you recognize me? It's Katy. You need to snap out of it!"
"I'm with you, don't worry" he replied quickly. Katy breathed a sigh of relief- annoying as he could be, he was like a younger brother to her. Katy could hardly believe it had been a mere couple of years since she'd joined the rebels with her father.
"Johnny, get ready to jump. And please, don't do anything that stupid again."
Jonathan stared back at her and nodded.
He wasn't looking at her. He was looking through the crate behind her. He could see its contents and he wasn't sure why, though he suspected it had something to do with the pill he swallowed.
Here's a table of contents to make things easier:
Last Days of Marconis
Prologue/Chapter 1
What's Worse?
Chapter 2
Paxcatia
Chapter 3
Paxcatia
by Jourdan Cameron
Chapter 3
"Right here is where we part ways, Ms. Powton."
"What? Aren't you coming with us?"
"Nope, I've got a different assignment- observe and record working conditions in the factory. Now go on, and be careful. If there's danger-"
Katy laughed a bit at his last statement, and Casey rolled his eyes. "Yes, there's always danger" he continued.
"I know what you mean" replied Katy. She hid her disheartenment well- she'd miss Casey on the mission; he'd been an uncle to her.
"Well good, because if anything happens to you, your old man will murder me. Do we really want murder, Katy?"
"Only if completely necessary."
Even under cover of darkness, Casey's grin was visible. The team was currently waiting atop a roof for a transport ship that could be heard somewhere in the distance. As it approached the simple, circular docking station, its massive, cylindrical base opened, and like a remora sucking to shark skin, the ship attached itself to the docking station. Casey approached the massive tube, which was twice as tall as he was, and walked around it, urging the rest of the team come forward, and quickly. There was an opening on the other side, just large enough to fit a person through. Katy stared down at the crate that seemed to be moving upwards, almost imperceptibly, through the tube. Some invisible force brought it upwards, and Katy climbed quietly onto it.
"Don't forget to-"
"Right, almost forgot." Glancing momentarily at her hands, she clapped them together. Her gloves began glowing, the soft white light illuminating the shaft around her. It was a simple, gray place, boring and steely. A couple other rebels hurriedly made their way onto the surface of the hard, black crate, and soon, the small squad was in the ship's cargo hold. It was somewhat cramped, since it was never built to carry people. Still, as the invisible force carried the crates all the way to the end of the gigantic room, it organized the crates so that there'd be alleys just large enough for a person to squeeze through. The massive, black crates were quite wide but not all that tall, so the massive hold of the ship remained traversable.
This was the beginning of a long, boring trip over an ocean.
“Hey, do they have bathrooms on this thing?” Katy sighed- she wasn’t quite sure why Jonathan was part of this mission to begin with- he’d be nothing but trouble, as he’d always been.
“No, Jonathan, this ship was not built to transport humans.”
"Well are there any holes or something?"
"You mean the airlock, Johnny?" Mr. Peak seemed serious. He always seemed so serious, so sullen, so mysterious to the most of the other rebels that they got so caught up in trying to unravel the enigma behind his eyes, those two windows into the soul that everybody looked up into and managed to get lost. Perhaps that's why almost nobody knew his first name, and thus referred to him as Mr. Peak?
"Uh, I think I'll just hold it until we-"
"Don't you have to go so badly though? You're better off just opening the airlock and-" Johnny's face had quickly become a reddened mask of horror and embarrassment- was Peak serious or joking or seriously joking? He may have even been jokingly serious, for all Johnny could discern.
"Don't worry Mr. Peak, I think I'll be alright until we get there" said the stocky blonde spy.
"Alright" replied Mr. Peak, who began walking back towards the other end of the dim cargo hold, presumably to learn more about its contents.
"That's one scary dude."
Katy sighed. She suspected that this would be the longest ride, most monotonous ride of her life. She walked away from Johnny and the other rebels- something about Mr. Peak had piqued her interest.
"You have arrived at your destination. Thank you for riding with us!" David sighed- he sort of wished the ride could've been longer. It was nice and quiet inside the car. Stepping off the train, he found himself staring up at the massive red building. He remembered, vaguely, how it had been modeled after schoolhouses of old, complete with an odd pointed roof and windows framed with white, with odd bars running through them. As he entered the building, however, it was clear that this place was neither ancient nor outdated.
In fact, it felt very new. Unlike most of the cold, white, sterile institutions of learning, this one was different. David stared up at the ceiling of the great sunlit foyer- the walls were decorated with grand paintings, memories of a time long forgotten...
David decided to stop reminiscing and get about to finding his class. He pulled out his little device, the Unleash, and stared down at the luminous little red arrow that now floated a few centimeters above his palm.
"Guys, come look at this!" Maxwell Robinson had made a discovery aboard the dim cargo hold. He buried an arm in the crate and retrieved a white box of similar composition to the black crate. Robinson lay a hand atop the small container as it slowly seemed to dissolve into the air. The small white box glowed gently as Robinson pulled out what appeared to be a pill no larger than a tooth.
"Welcome to the final frontier" spoke a disembodied voice. The pill pulsed with white light as the words the voice spoke floated in the air, a few inches above Robinson's hand. "We have experienced so much in our lifetimes" the deep, vaguely feminine voice continued. "Is there anything we haven't explored?"
Katy bristled. She had a vague clue as to just where this single-sided conversation was headed.
"Our minds are the last frontier. Are you ready to re-percieve reality? Escape with me..." The voice trailed off as the little white pill abruptly stopped glowing. The word "me" seemed to fade away into white smoke as though this invitation was the last time the pill would dare beckon you forth into whatever world would be created deep within your head.
"Quite the siren's call" sighed Robinson as he dropped the pill back into the little box. Slowly, it re-materialized a cover and grew dark once more.
"What do you think it does?" Mr. Peak was standing a few feet away- nobody had noticed his form in the dim light of the cargo hold.
"I'm not quite sure" replied Robinson as he shoved the box into one of his jacket pockets. "Something tells me we shouldn't-" The same strange voice was speaking up again. It seemed to be coming from the other side of the cargo hold. Robinson gasped- and Katy dashed to the other side of the ship, towards the voice.
She arrived in time to watch Jonathan swallow the pill, surrounded by a few other rebels who watched with wide eyes and eagerly clenched fists.
Jonathan collapsed, his limp form laying still at the base of the big, black crate he was sitting on.
"David, you're late. Ah well, it's your first time here, isn't it?" A wrinkled gray old woman sat behind a large, brown desk. Disregarding the urge to restrain himself, David touched the striated surface- it was real wood. The woman behind the desk sighed. "Why does everybody do that?" David, startled from his trance, decided to sit down. He stared out at the classroom- there were five other youth staring back at him. Well, they weren't staring at him so much as through him. Their attention was focused quite closely on the actor standing inches away from David's doe-eyed wonder.
David walked right on through the educational illusion into his chair- it was comfortable, and from what he'd heard, the least accurate part of the whole experience.
"Begin" the old woman said, as the actor began moving. The man's face was covered in makeup- his face was pure red, his nose black.
"Now" the woman said "Who can tell me about how the art of postmodern street performance began anew?"
One of David's classmates at the far end of the room piped up. "Wasn't it after the anti-fantasy movements?"
The teacher nodded, the bun in her hair seemingly bouncing in agreement.
"Now, what other movements co-incided with the anti-fantasy movement? Julie, perhaps you can explain how the March towards Militarism set the ball rolling?"
Unlike the first student to speak, this one stared down at her fingers, nervously fidgeting. David sighed, and began. "The March towards Militarism marked a period of animosity towards any art that wasn't firmly rooted in the very reality that was driving the early Paxcatian Empire forward..." David's voice trailed off as he stared back towards Julie.
"The emperor thus decided that it was the people's imagination that spurred the growth of new weapons, and thus he decided to halt the March before the arts were wiped out altogether."
Julie's ears stuck out as bright red against her black hair- she was never a big fan of public speaking. Even though she was acquainted with everybody in the room, she just didn't feel comfortable in such a formal setting. After speaking, she stared down at her desk's blank surface. The teacher sighed quietly- she'd been trying to help the girl get over her fear, albeit with little success.
"An early activation?"
"That's correct, Ace, and it come from the transport ship mere minutes ago." Black Ace and Red Baron were communicating again, this time over the matter of an unusually early product activation.
"Can you get a visual?"
"No, the activator is still unconscious."
"I'll have the transport intercepted once it reaches the ground."
Near instantly, the command went out to Paxcatia's Defense Squad in the city of Nauda- an attack may be inbound on a transport ship. They were to be ready to defend their homeland with any means necessary.
"Have the slaves been behaving? There may have been an escapee."
"I haven't overlooked the possibility, which is why I ran a thourough scan of the facility a few minutes ago. One foreign body was detected and destroyed."
"Keep me informed of any further developments."
An ocean away, a group of slaves stood huddled around the body of a man they didn't know. One of them wept gently. With foolhardy hope, she put a finger to his neck, and gasped dramatically- "He's still got a heartbeat" she shouted. The man's bluish skin slowly regained color as one of the other slaves began breathing life into him anew.
In the corner of the garishly bright room sulked a weathered old man. "It's pointless" he sighed.
"What? How could you say that, this man's going to live!" The old man sighed again.
"When Red Baron finds him during the next sweep, he's going to get another does of the gas. He won't survive a second round."
A hush descended upon the small group- somehow, this man had gotten himself into the factory, and the slaves had no idea how to get him out.
Back in the transport ship, another group was huddled around a body. This body, though, had managed to sit up and whine about being crowded.
"Do you feel different?" "Why did you take it?" "Did you see anything?"
Jonathan stared dumbly into the the curious, concerned faces. One seemed kind of angry- he averted his gaze swfitly.
"I don't feel much different" he replied with a shrug. "Could you guys give me some room? I can hardly breathe with you guys pressing in so close."
"Jonathan, we're almost at the drop point." The angry face spoke to him. "Jonathan do you recognize me? It's Katy. You need to snap out of it!"
"I'm with you, don't worry" he replied quickly. Katy breathed a sigh of relief- annoying as he could be, he was like a younger brother to her. Katy could hardly believe it had been a mere couple of years since she'd joined the rebels with her father.
"Johnny, get ready to jump. And please, don't do anything that stupid again."
Jonathan stared back at her and nodded.
He wasn't looking at her. He was looking through the crate behind her. He could see its contents and he wasn't sure why, though he suspected it had something to do with the pill he swallowed.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
2011- 'Twas a Good Year Writing
Ah, the passing of time. Makes a man wax poetic on the nature of existence, doesn't it? As I contemplate the complex implications of... Never mind. I just wanted to thank all my readers this year, along with several other people who helped me write harder, better, faster and stronger over 2011. One of them is a wonderful librarian, Mrs. Fisher- she's responsible for much of what goes on at my local library. This includes the writing club, and the production of our magazine, The Aura. She's been a great help and encouragement to both myself and the members of the club, and I cannot thank her enough for giving me something to look forward too every month.
I'd also like to thank Wesley Long, the owner of http://blackmannrobin.com- it's from that website that I really got to experience life as a video game reviewer. His encouragement and feedback has made me a better writer, and it's nice to have him, and the staff of BNR on my side.
This year, I made great friends, and they too have just been so motivating- these people just make me want to keep living, keep getting better. They're inspirational. Inspirational!
My family most certainly deserves a mention as well- they constantly encourage me to keep writing and moving forward. My mother in particular is currently helping me edit and publish my first fantasy novel- keep your eyes open for it!
I could go on and on and on about all the great people who made me a better writer, who made 2011 one of the best years of my life and who made me a better person. Regrettably, the length of the article could potentially crash thousands of servers worldwide, thus resulting in chaos, so I won't do that. Instead, I'm just throwing out one big thank you.
THANK YOU EVERYBODY. YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE.
I'd also like to thank Wesley Long, the owner of http://blackmannrobin.com- it's from that website that I really got to experience life as a video game reviewer. His encouragement and feedback has made me a better writer, and it's nice to have him, and the staff of BNR on my side.
This year, I made great friends, and they too have just been so motivating- these people just make me want to keep living, keep getting better. They're inspirational. Inspirational!
My family most certainly deserves a mention as well- they constantly encourage me to keep writing and moving forward. My mother in particular is currently helping me edit and publish my first fantasy novel- keep your eyes open for it!
I could go on and on and on about all the great people who made me a better writer, who made 2011 one of the best years of my life and who made me a better person. Regrettably, the length of the article could potentially crash thousands of servers worldwide, thus resulting in chaos, so I won't do that. Instead, I'm just throwing out one big thank you.
THANK YOU EVERYBODY. YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE.
Monday, November 14, 2011
Paxcatia: Chapter 2
Paxcatia
by Jourdan Cameron
CC-BY-NC. Details here:
http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/3.0/
Chapter 2
by Jourdan Cameron
CC-BY-NC. Details here:
http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/3.0/
Chapter 2
In a forest of Markonis, not too far
from Ace's factory, two men were having a discussion.
“I tell you, she already pulled her
weight.”
“Which is precisely why she'll be
fighting.”
“No, she's done enough, I think that
now she needs a break.”
The larger man
sighed. “Vinny, I know she's young. I know she's already seen
enough. But think, man, we need her!”
“Casey” sighed
Vinny “I don't want to see her get hurt. She's my daughter.”
“And
I'll care for her like my own. But why don't you think about what we
means, why don't you?”
Vinny looked
around. They were mostly alone in the forest, but about a half mile
behind them lay the rebel encampment, made up of the strongest,
smartest rebels. It was a relatively small; about eighty people
inhabited it. It was mobile, made up of the massive, rolling
battle-tents. Each “tent” was made if titanium a couple inches
thick, and was like a massive centipede on treads, heavily armed, and
home to ten rebels, complete with hammocks strung from the ceilings
and refrigeration for perishable items. Each was gray, inside and
out, and was twice as tall as the soldiers they contained, though
they were also much wider than tall, thus they didn't usually tip
over.
Inside, they were
relatively bright, their control panels flashing and flickering, with
rows of simple, black, plastic seats, ready to load groups upon
groups of troops, taking them deep into the heart of battle.
Overall, it was a
machine to be feared. Several of a rebel army's finest were calling
it home.
These rebels were
mostly survivors of Paxcatia's invasion who escaped slavery chose to
fight. Many had been revolting against the crooked government in
Markonis. They'd chosen to run when Paxcatian forces attacked, rather
than stand and fight. Most had been rioting in the streets against a
government that no longer exists. Indeed, in a twist of poetic
justice, the former leader of said government now works as a slave,
mistreated alongside his corrupt police force and sham election
organizers.
“It's been five
years, Vin. She's grown now.”
“She's still my
daughter.” Vincent ran a hand through his dark, messy hair. Mr.
Sere was right, of course; Katy was a woman now. Decisions were hers
to make. He just didn't like the idea of sending her on such a
dangerous mission.
“And
we're still hiding, running, and scared at night, Vincent. Do you
think other daughters, other sons, deserve to grow up like that? Do
you think I want to spend the rest of my life
like this? Growing old, watching the young go to their graves before
I do?”
Vincent stared down
at his shoes. They were in shabby shape, and at one point they were
brand new running shoes, white and contoured. Now, they were barely
recognizable, a tattered pair of duct-tape tubes. The black tape that
held theme together was beginning to show its age, faded and brittle
in some spots.
In all, the two
men, in their beaten attire, were quite a sight. Their conversation,
however, was far more interesting.
“Tell me the plan
again.”
“We go to
Paxcatia, we spy on the land, find a weakness, and return with
results. We'll launch a full assault in a year.”
“You can take
her” said Vincent after a while. “Just bring her back breathing.”
Casey nodded, a
leaf falling from his greasy brown hair, deciding to change the
subject.
“So did you hear?
They found a stockpile of shampoo. It's great stuff from what I
heard, smells like coconut.”
“Doesn't that
stuff dry out your hair?”
“Really?
I could probably use that right about now” he lamented, rubbing a
hand against the back of his head. The two returned to their camp. It
was in a clearing, one large enough for the battle-tents to be hidden
safely, yet still small enough that the light coming in was somewhat
dappled, the dim light gently bouncing off the metal surfaces of the
tanks. Leaning against a tree was Katy. Her dirty blonde hair in a
bun behind her head, and she was wearing the standard rebel army
uniform. The simple dark green canvas shirts, pants, and shoes that
were practical, easily obtained, and relatively comfortable now
adorned Vincent's daughter. A single red band encircled her right
sleeve along the bicep.
“Well?” she
asked. She seemed slightly excited. Not entirely out of character,
really, though her level of enthusiasm wasn't exactly common among
the rebels.
“Just like when she was little”
thought her father. Markonis as it once was certainly had problems; a
bad educational system, however, was not one of them. The educators,
who'd spent most of their time carefully explaining things to other
children found that such cautious teaching methods weren't needed
with young Katy. She advanced at frightening speeds, excelling in
lessons requiring complex strategies, doing things and saying things
that seven year olds ordinarily wouldn't. Her teachers, quite simply
put, loved her.
She loved them
back, and it showed in her work ethic.
“You're going to
have to be careful” said Vinny, watching his daughter grin for but
a moment, returning immediately being serious, intense.
“Under no
circumstances should you take any unnecessary risks, and if you feel
like you're in danger, you get out.”
She nodded.
“Understood” she replied.
“Casey, brief her
please.”
“Katy, you're
going to be an integral part of this mission. You need to perform
like you never have before. Here's what we'll need you to do...”
A mere few miles
away was a factory, the workers within manufacturing goods, primarily
putting together control panels for Ferroform surfaces, large ones
used in stylish restaurants, bars, and every so often by artists.
A group of these
workers sat in a gray, dimly lit room, hunched over a wooden table,
each with a slightly different piece of black plastic and glass.
These were their creations, their ideas for control panels; one was a
simple elongated box with a glass covered surface. Another was quite
similar, but it had rounded corners. Yet another was arch shaped,
something users would reach into.
Only one of these,
however, would be used by Ace as a design. The creator of the winning
design would receive the most coveted prize of all: a day off from
toiling beneath the machines! Instead of laboring, soldering pieces
of metal, one to the other, they'd have the opportunity to sit back
and watch their friends working to assemble their creation. Quite a
grand prospect!
“Do you have any
questions?”
“When do I get to
go to Paxcatia?” she grinned.
“In a mere few
days” replied Mr. Sere.
“Yes mom, I'll be
home on time tonight, you don't need to worry.”
The streets of
Paxcatia were among the safest in the world. David strolled down
them, heading away from his home to the nearest train station. Like
many things in Paxcatia, transportation was mostly free; a network of
trains, simple silent steel tubes criss-crossed the nation.
The street David
traveled along was peaceful and mostly quiet. The sidewalk was
simple, gray concrete; it never seemed to change, age, and almost
never seemed dirty. This was due to the rather high number of those
willing to clean it, maintain and upkeep it. The work was somewhat
challenging due to the amount of debris that tends follow gravity,
but the work was considered important and thus payed well. David
smirked whenever he thought about how seriously the job of keeping
concrete clean was taken. Sure, it looked nice, but there were
some bigger things to be cared for.
For starters, the
trails through Paxcatia's forests were barely maintained, and were
typically overgrown and impassible. Sure, they were barely used,
but David had a special affinity for nature, and he enjoyed
retreating to the forest from time to time. Unfortunately, much of it
was inaccessible. The thought of the forest was enough to make him
sigh; why didn't more Paxcatian citizens take interest in nature?
They all seem so preoccupied with the constant shipments of devices
everybody already seemed to own. Nobody really cared that most 'new'
gadgets were just repackaged, rebodied versions of old machines, they
simply consumed, seemingly stuck in an endless cycle of purchasing,
updating, mindlessly.
David wondered, but
never quite enough to put any serious effort into finding out who
owned the the companies that were always importing, never looking
past the highfalutin legal terms that enshrouded the terms of use of
so many tiny machines, the complex legal language that seemed in
itself a heavy padlock over the general understandability of the
nature of a device's existence.
David never
followed his curiosity quite far enough.
Soon he was walking
up a hill, flanked by bright, glassy, and supposedly 'modern'
buildings. He glanced into the window of one and could see brightly
coloured electronic wares contrasting heavily with the minimalistic
motif established in the shop. His view was suddenly blocked by the
back of an employee as he shifted his gaze back towards his goal. The
train station near, and he could just make out the faint murmur of
human voices on the air.
In what seemed to
be no time, he was standing in the shade of the large booth that was
next to the track. The train track was a simple, smooth metallic
surface, just as clean as the sidewalks. It was about one hundred
feet long in either direction, and at either end was a hole that lead
the train back underground. The track rose up through holes at either
end, where the train surfaced and picked up passengers.
David braced
himself as a telltale rumble made the ground beneath his feet
vibrate, and the crowd around him seemed suddenly prepared. Like a
massive steel earthworm, the train came into view, tunneling upwards,
headfirst. It was a simple, elongated cylinder, but broken into
individual cars, little joints where the train bent and twisted
through the subterranean tunnels.
The crowd eagerly
spread out alongside the thirty-foot serpent and waited, impatient
for the doors to swing open. Each segment on the train had a simple
door, rather silvery from the outside, but as they slid open, would
reveal a simple, comfortable seat made of some strange, silky black
material. As David sat in one at the end of the train, the door slid
shut as he stared back out at the buildings along the street; the
doors were transparent from within. In a few short moments, the train
began to move, and David relaxed in his seat as simple black walls of
the car began glowing a gentle black, and what appeared to be a row
of multicolored symbols made their way across the top.
“Ah, a classic”
he remarked, as he stuffed a hand into the right pocket of his jeans,
extracting a black device roughly the size of his palm.
“The Ardonap
Unleash” he mused to himself, opening the clamshell-styled machine
to reveal a keyboard flanked by flat black control pads on either
side. David loved this little device; it had been created by an
independent company on the other side of the country. Ardonap, the
company responsible, wasn't quite like the other faceless Paxcatian
megacorporations: its founder lived a relatively normal life among
the Paxcatian people, choosing to create among the masses rather than
for the masses. Needless to say, his devices weren't very
popular, but David didn't really care. He was just glad to know where
something came from.
He relaxed in his
seat as the jewel-bright invaders began converging on the car's door,
then blitzing towards him. He grinned, and with a few quick
keystrokes, was ready to play. Pointing his device at one of the
symbols shaped rather like the letter 'M', slid his thumb down the
right control pad of his device as a beam of light sliced the 'M' in
half.
“This never seems
to get old” he thought aloud.
A half world away
in Markonis, a small group of people trod through a forest, speaking
among themselves.
“So when did we
find out about the factory?”
“A couple months
ago. We'd have spoken about it sooner, but there's the matter of
the...”
“The slaves?”
“Yeah, that. We'd
only draw attention to ourselves if we overran the factory and cut
everybody loose.”
“I understand, so
you kept quiet about it as a preventative measure against
vigilantism. Completely logical.”
The group advanced
towards the factory, their practical black clothing contrasting
sharply against the greens and browns of the forest around them.
Their march was rather like a funeral procession, quiet and solemn.
Much like those marching in a black parade so were these people, mere
shadows of the loud, joyous Markonis natives who once roamed this
land, lived in it and loved it. Those people had been forced into
hiding deep within themselves.
Soon, they neared
the gray, concrete bulk of the factory. It was a simple, oblong block
full of misery, mistreatment and mostly hard labor. The flat roof
doubled as a docking station: when a transport arrived, it would
rise, the cargo being pulled into the belly of the ship by powerful
magnets.
After that, the
ship would shut its hull and fly back to Paxcatia. The process took
mere seconds, and involved no humans; it was completely automated.
“So why do we
have to climb the building, exactly?” A random rebel
dissented. “Wouldn't it have been easier to just use Flights?”
“Wouldn't have
been easier to just show up with a marching band?”
“But Commander
Sere, Flights are so quiet!”
“They also show
up as generating a massive electro-magnetic pulse, just the kind of
thing we don't want on a reconnaissance mission!”
“Can we just get
this over with?”
One rebel stepped
out of the crowd. He surveyed the wall, feeling it, smacking his
palms against it and considering it for a good thirty seconds before
he finally reached into one of the many compartments of his black,
heavy jacket and removed what appeared to be a handful of long,
thick, white nails, the type used for building things. Casey smirked-
he'd been to some of the more rural areas of Markonis where things
were still being built with wood. Wood.
“How times
have changed” he thought to himself, as his comrade loaded the
nails into what looked like some sort of small, orange pistol. The
rebel took a shot at the wall and a nail sunk itself halfway into the
concrete with little more than a click and a scrape.
The process was
repeated, and the man proceeded to stand on the two nails he'd
placed. He then created a pair of handholds above himself, climbed
onto these, and continued until he'd reached the top of the simple,
flat roof. Katherine could hear her heart pulsing in her head- this
felt different, definitely different from rushing into battle.
This was slow, deliberate and dangerous, and it didn't seem to sit
well with her. She glanced back into the forest, away from the
building- surely Mr. Sere would understand if she wanted to go home,
wouldn't he? The mission could continue.
“What's the
point of this miss-” Somehow, she'd managed to cut herself of
in mid-thought. She knew precisely what the point of the mission was.
A great injustice had occurred- it affected her, and her family and
all the already oppressed citizens of Markonis. This was not the time
for looking back in fear- it was the time for action.
“I'll go next”
she said, making quick strides towards the makeshift ladder.
The Hunger Games Trailer- It's finally here, and I'm very, very happy.
I'm sorry I haven't updated this blog in such a long while, life has been mad busy, but do not despair! Work on the next chapter of Paxcatia is still underway, stick with me!
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