Fade to Black: Cont.

Scene 1- Beginnings of Doubt: Jessica. That was her name. It was important she didn’t forget that. Or she might forget everything else. She sighed and rubbed her temples. With the highly polluted atmosphere in Urbania, the toxins in people’s bodies could build up quite fast, not counting all the poisons people were putting in their bodies, what with drugs, fast food shops, and chemical performance enhancers. These myriad toxins could cause any disease imaginable, and several that weren’t. Cancer, Alzheimer’s, and tumors were some of the most common diseases caused by the poisons of Urbania. But toxins weren’t the worst of Urbania’s evils. The World City, Urbania, a city that stretched over five hundred miles, was more corrupt than the most evil of empires. It contained within the Outer City, the third ring of the city, and the poorest, nearly 1.5 million convicted criminals, two hundred thousand drug dealers, and no less than three thousand serial killers. The 1,703,000 people included on this list were about equal to the number of people in both the Inner City and Middle City combined. Of course, Jessica didn’t know about any of that, her living in the Inner City, where all the buildings were chrome and glass, where avenues were so small that all traffic was in the air, where every skyscraper was connected with at least five others by long glass walkways and broad avenues. But even here, in the best part of the city, the foul smog filled the air, choking people up and overcrowding the hospitals. She looked at the clock and gasped. It was already 9 o'clock, and she would be late for work of she didn't hurry. She dragged her coat on, because even in the middle of the summer, the great looming skyscrapers blocked out most of the sun, leaving the lower levels shaded in darkness. She leapt out of her back door onto one of many personal glass walkways hat lead from people's back porches to the wide avenues filled with cars and people.

She dashed down the little walkway, gasping periodically as it shook and twisted at her exertions. Jessica opened the door to her car, the handle instantly recognizing her fingerprints and unlocking the door. She hopped in, flopping heavily onto the thick leather padding of the seat. She punched in the GPS coordinates on the car’s dashboard; hit the max speed button, and the car blasted away, to her work space. When she got to her small office in the one corner of the fifth floor farthest from the bathroom, there was a large yellow envelope. She groaned with fear. What with her being late to work all the time now, and her reports becoming increasingly sloppy and small, she had been expecting the “yellow envelope” of an official firing for weeks. She gasped with shock when she read the contents of the envelope. It was, in fact, something much worse than a mere firing. It was a request for a report on poverty in the Outer City, with data provided by the author coming directly from the source: they wanted her to go into the Outer City and collect information directly from the inhabitants. She was horrified. The Outer City was nothing but a massive ghetto, all Inner City folk knew that. In fact, the Outer City made a ghetto look like a pleasant upper-class neighborhood. At least, that’s what the stories said. You know, those urban legends that everybody swears that are true but are so ridiculous that they’re believable. But there was a tiny bit of good news at the end of the news letter. She was to be given one week of police training (in case of a firefight) and two police “escorts”. Hopefully nothing would happen, but her belly was still tensed as she told herself, over and over again as she lay in her bed, nothing at all would happen. Bu then again, this was the Outer City. And the Outer City was evil. According to the stories. The rumors. Which were completely unbelievable because they were so false.

Fade to Black : Act 1 Urbania/Death

Intro- King of Black: The darkness of space. Huge in its enormity, It is bleak and black, but at its epicenter, a slowly expanding ball of light. From this distance, it appears to be one large lump. But let us go closer. Now we see that this ball of light is not solid. It is made up of little tiny pinpricks of light, all divided into their own little groups. But there is one world in particular we must travel to. There is a little drama occurring on that planet. It's something we like to call "humanity". Wait. What was it that you said? You asked who "we" were. Okay. Umm. Well, that's a long and complicated story, not fit for the little time we have before the show starts. To put it simply, we are the janitors of the universe. The Custodians. That's us. But now, back to humanity. A fragile little race, wouldn't you agree? They go through their little existence, their "life", with no idea of the magnitude of this universe. They are so wrapped up in their heads that they cannot see that they are part of a much larger cycle. They all think they are the star of their own "lives". Naive, don't you think? There is a little drama happening in a country called "Urbania". It will affect the little lives of the humans for generations to come. Oops. I don't want to ruin the plot for you. Back to Urbania. It's quite big, and very dirty. And poor. But that's probably because it's not really a true country. But I've never really understood the nuances of human culture, so the reason for that is pretty uncertain. At least to me. What? Did you just ask "Why isn't Urbania a proper country?” I thought everybody knew about that already. Well, see for yourself.

Urbania/Ruralkistan

White noise
Cars, trucks, vans
they blow
past my window,
leaving othing
but
a smell
a smell of
sulfur
hovering on the night air
oh, how I
wish to escape,
to run away from all this
to escape from this trap
called civilization
this world called Urbania
I wish to escape,
to run away from all this,
to dissapear from
the smog and
hustle and bustle
of Urbania
to escape to the
pastoral
country side, where the
air is clean,
and animals and plants
abound.
to escape to this world of farms
and pastures,
of forests
and trees,
to escape to this
paradise on earth,
we call it
Ruralkastan

Sci-Fi-Story

"We're going down!" Paul screamed as the spaceship plummeted towards the planet. Behind them, a black spacecraft, with a red eagle on its side, swooped down, guns blazing. Bullets flashed past the windows in the pursued ship, while red lights flashed and warning sirens blared inside the cabin. John, the copilot, was the only one at the wheel, Paul, the captain, having run off to warn the other two crew members, Grunge and Spoke, the robots. Outside, the ship had entered the planet's atmosphere, and, seeing the trail of smoke it was leaving, the second spacecraft broke off its attack. The fist ship, entitled Louisiana, was headed straight towards a mountain. It hit the mountain, cutting a chunk clean out of it, and then hit the water of a bay. Inside, the four-man crew scrabbled for the exits. In the end, it was Spoke who got there first. He opened the hatch, letting in a torrent of water, and dived out. The rest, half-submerged in water, quickly followed. One by one, they bobbed up, out of the water, and floundered onto one of the many algae mats that filled the bay's waters. Deep below them, startled by the sinking spaceship, massive predators began to head to the surface. Up above, the robots had gotten to thier feet and were gazing all about them, scanning the mountanous land that rose up around them. John and Paul, meanwhile, were gazing down in the clear, lucid waters for their spaceship. John saw something writhing down there, and then his puils dialated and he fell away from the hole in the algae. He was shaking all over, and Paul asked him waht was the problem. John responded, "I-i-i saw s-something down th-there. It was really, really, big." Then it was Paul's turn to look into the water and he, too, saw the something that was down there. Then, suddenly, over to the far side of their mat, the water exploded. A long, segmented body almost flew out of the water, and a giant water millipede stared down at them, glaring. It howled, an acid-green spittle flying from its mouth. Another one erupted from the water, directly opposite the first one. Then two more, both smaller than the previous two, exploded from the water. Then they turned to the other two, and attacked them. They all screamed, blue blood mixing with the frothed-up water as they writhed about in a primordial battle. The four earthlings sitting on the algae mat dived for the water, and began to swim toward shore. by the time the giant-bug fight was over, they had clamboured out of the bay and had hidden themselves in the forest.

Short-Shorter-Shortest Story

My first memory is of being held up in a glaring white light, and a man in a stretchy, yellow suit picking me up and turning me every-which-way and prodding me in various places. I suppose you may fing it wierd, but for me, that was the routine every day for the first fifteen years of my very, very long life. you see, i wasn't your average boy. I was a test-tube-born, red, scaly, humanish lizard. I had large, black eyes, with no pupils. I had a row of spikes running down my back and my tail- yes, you herd right, my tail. I had no idea that there was anything else in this world beyong my private, bleached-white, room. That, is, until i turned fifteen. That day, the scientists who ran the facility I was born in, admitted a stranger into my room, the first time that they had done that. And the last. He turned out to be he President of the United States, one of the many countries in that tumultous world. He came into my room, sat down, and stared. That's all he did. He stared. he staered and stared and stared until a small girl, blond pigtails askew, tears leakingfrom her blue eyes, burst into the room. She came in with the force of a hurricane, all energy and tears and noise, noise that I had never experienced in my life. I hiss and crouced down, my hands clutching my suddenly, and feircely, aching head.

Iceberg Poem

Snow drifts gently down,
spiraling in circles
and drifting down to
lay on the ice. It stretches
as far as the eye can see,
a blank
expanse of white, that
goes on forever,
from horizon to horizon.
The only
features are
the snowdrifts that
pile up in ten-foot tall stacks,
like a great
hunched back
of some strange monster.
Far to the north,
water crashes against the ice,
sending
great sprays up
that drench the snow and
the penguins huddled in their
great circles. A chunk of ice,
bigger than a car, slowly splits
away from the cliffs that rise
high above the water. It
trembles, holding on
by a strand,
then slowly and ominously creaks.
A short sharp
crack later, and
it falls into the sea. The
iceberg releases a rainstorm
of icy seawater,
dousing the surrounding landscape.
It slowly bobs away,
pulled by strange
ocean currents that drag
it away from its home,
off to travel until it
melts to nothingness.

3rd Nature Poem

Wind whistles over the plain, a thousand voices speaking in unison. Dark clouds, mottled in grays and blacks, race over the prairie, bringing with them an eerie silence as the air stills. An intake of breath, a single cricket chirps forlornly. The summer storm breathes in once, and then roars its fury as rain begins to fall. First one drop, then another, until the prairie grass was matted and wet, like the hair of some massive animal. The lone tree on a hill bends over in the gale, its green leaves fluttering in the wind. A crackling fork of lightning streaks across the sky, jumping from one cloud to another. Then came the clap of thunder, shaking the ground, and startling a family of field mice living in a woven grass nest. A rickety old cottage sits in a dip in the ground. Inside lives an old man, creaking and clattering as much as the house itself. The floorboards squeal, a pig howling as feet tromp over him. The old man groans, as he sits in his rocking chair, a grumbling noise rather like a pot of boiling water with a frog in it. A young woman sleeps on a dusty couch, her raspy snores bouncing around the room like the thunder crashing outside.

Nature FreeForm Poem

An endless white desert glares under the noonday sun. A lone cactus rises out of the sand, verdant against the unremarkable background. In the distance, a mountain rises. It breaks the skin of the desert, rising high into the sky. A grey snake suns itself on a gray rock. A scaly lizard crawls across the sand. High above, hanging below the yellow sun, grey vultures circle. One shrieks, letting loose an unearthly call that chills a patchy white owl. The owl quickly retreats into its hole, one of many in the shifting sands. A grey-black rabbit hops to and fro, scanning the ground for any signs of vegetation. It spots a lone dirty shrub, and hops over to its dinner. As its head descends to snatch up the plant, a falcon swoops down and grabs it in its talons. The rabbit’s squeal echoes around the dusty plain. A low rumbling fills the ears of all and sundry, a plane swoops low over the desert, its flashy colors shining brightly against the blue sky. Night fall, a crescent moon rises over the sand. A wash of pale light slowly slides across the sand, an owl hoots. First one scorpion, then another, emerges from a thin crack in another white rock, until a flood of black bodies and scuttling hairy legs pours from the tiny crack. A flurry of activity in this sun-bleached, arid, white world, here at the median of the world.

Nature Poem

A tall stone tower, a monolith rising to slide through the clouds. Rising to greet the first light of dawn as the sun slowly creeps upwards. A twisty path winds around, a snake slowly sliding upwards. Two people, ants on the mountainside, climb ever upwards, green packs larger than their heads weigh them down. One slips and almost falls. A small pebble leaves the path, twirling down into darkness. It lands into a pool, a small splash, barely audible, yet it resonates across the world. Far away, amid concrete towers on concrete hills in a bleak jungle, a young boy awakens, green eyes snapping open in the night. From a pool much like the pebble fell into, a dragonfly rises upward, Blue wings snapping open, to lift itself into the boundless sky, green body glinting in the mist. Two butterflies spin round each other, a never-ending dance in the sky, a pale blue and a fiery red, opposites in this divided world. A swarm of flies hovering over a brine lake suddenly flits away, one coherent whole dissolving into a many-headed beast. A grey lizard sunning itself on a rock, slowly turning a contented green. A catcall in the wild, a flurry of activity as dawn approaches. A flock of parrots flying off into the sunset. Green grass swaying on the wind. Deer bounding over a babbling brook. A seagull flying high above the roaring waves. A bear, huge in its enormity, rears on its hind legs. Everything runs when no-one cries. A pebble rouses the world, and a boulder creates a lullaby to lure all creation back into slumber. And Earth drifts on, in the trackless wastes of the empty void. Slowly turning about a bright star, yellow and gold, lighting up our world.

Pessimistic Poem.

A lone wolf stalked across the rocky outcropping.
She stopped at the edge
of the precipice and howled
at the moon.
Far below her, in a cave on the
bottom of the cliff face, a young boy shudders.
Winter wind bites at his toes,
as it groans in the night air. A grey pallor
overtakes the
face of a friend,
and the stench of death
descends upon the camp. An air of fear
coats the cave, turning the
air to butter and time to molasses
as the second’s inch by.
Soon the flies gather, and maggots writhe
on the hard stone. A
red fox steps
into the cavern, eyes like gemstones.
But a cold wind
has been gathering outside,
and now it rushes in, and the fox darts out.
The wind collides with smoke,
rising embers from the fire. The smoke,
caught in a vortex shapes itself into a death mask.
A leering skull
juts out of the smoke, writhing
on a thin neck. The
smoky apparition descends on the dead man,
and blood drenches the floor,
as death feeds. '
Carrion spatters the ground,
and a young woman screams.
Death has come for his payment.
This man has been
freed from his debt, the debt that all men must pay.
Nothing is immortal; all is ephemeral,
hold tight to time, as it slips from your
fingers like sand. Lost chances,
deadened loves,
still-warm pains,
all drifting down to rest, forgotten, l
ike dust on a top shelf.
Possessions
are an illusion, we own nothing,
nothing is ours, and we are merely borrowers.
Home is a false word,
it is like dust on the wind as we,
with all of our bravado, stumble along to our end,
aware that each step
we take is lethal, yet no one cares,
for life is so much easier. Memory
is untrustworthy,
for our minds are
reflections of ourselves,
and are we not liars?

Ocean Haiku

a blue wave shatters
on a slice of rock sticking
up out of the sea.

Tree Haiku

A petrified tree
stands alone on a barren
chunk of sea-worn rock.

FutureStory

Tom stood in a room larger than the city he had left behind. It rose high above Tom’s head, filled with strange ships and scurrying people. He, along with twenty-two others from the plane were planned to get on the seven-thirty and seven-thirty-five shuttles to the moon colonies. The first shuttle, the seven-thirty shuttle was red and white, and shaped rather like a turtle. The seven-thirty-five shuttle was a monotone black, and shaped like a teardrop. It was sleek and new, shiny and polished to perfection. On the other hand, though, the other shuttle was large, awkward and dented, with grubby windows, and a little burnt at the edges. Over all, Tom would rather have ridden on the seven-thirty-five shuttle, but they had been split in groups of 11, and Tom was in the first group, which would be riding on the seven-thirty shuttle. While on the plane, he had made a new friend, a young girl with an eye patch and a long scar on her cheek. She seemed nice enough, though small for a girl of seven years, who appeared to be only five. Of course, Tom new nothing of this, because he had grown up knowing only two human faces: his and his grandfather’s. As a consequence, he had bad people skills for a ten-year-old.

FutureStory

Tom gasped and doubled his speed, but no matter how fast he ran, the robot always stayed right behind him. He could see the gears inside its head turning, rotating the robot’s head, twisting its eyes in all directions, and turning other gears to make the robot move. Frayed wires hung; limp, sparking, from holes in the robot’s exoskeleton. The Red Crosses’ airplane’s door opened right as Tom reached the plane. He clamored on, but right as the door closed and the plane prepared for takeoff, the robot opened fire. Bullets ricocheted off of the plane’s armor, with only a few bullets piercing through the plating. But it was too late, and the plane took off, heading in the direction of California, where all commercial spaceships left for the moon or Mars.

FutureStory

The next evening, around four thirty in the afternoon, Tom left the apartment building with a single rotting backpack containing all of his worldly possessions, including Rodney the rat. He walked through the city, gazing at the crumbling buildings, all that remained of one of the greatest cities in the USA. For the next half hour, he walked through Chicago, slowly making his way to the edge of the city. As he neared the end of his little jaunt, he heard a clanking. He twisted to look behind him and, there, appearing from around a corner was a humanoid figure. From the waist up, it was a humanoid robot, albeit with four arms, two of which had large blades coming out from their wrists, and a rocket launcher on its shoulder. But from the waist down, it was a tank, without the turret and cannon. Tom screamed, and the robot turned in his direction. “You are not authorized to be in this area.” The robot said in a flat tone. “I will escort you to the city center and wait there for further or-or-or-orders” as it said that final word sparks flew from its metal head. Tom picked up his backpack and ran in the opposite direction from the robot. As he ran, a white and gold airplane with a red cross on its side landed on the uneven ground, about a half-mile away. Tom adjusted his course so he was heading directly at the plane. He turned to look behind him, and found him facing the robot, because it was barely a foot behind him!

Freeform Poem

Fearsome winds,
howling in their fury,
sweep across the lonely plains
of misery,
bringing with them
a plague of
despair,
with a plate of holocaust
and a side
of destruction.

A lonely house stands on a hill
overlooking those
dreadfully boring
plains,
Within, a merry fire blazes,
and a small family
gathers around a
bubbling
pot of joy,
a stew of cheer,
an elixir of hope.

Hope, for a better life
tommorow,
for sunny days
spent playing games in a
green field,
but under the door
creeps a
tendril
of dissent,
unhappiness,
and dangerously
short tempers.

FutureStory

In the year 2029, the world is very different than it is now. Let me give you a brief synopsis: China and Russia have been bought out by a Microsoft/Apple conglomerate. Pakistan and Afghanistan are both ruled by the Taliban and the remaining free counties live in fear of a powerful nuclear strike. America has been reduced to a shadow of its former self. Only the west coast has escaped most of the evils that plague the rest of the states. The world teeters on the brink of a major ecological disaster, and as a consequence both the moon and Mars have been settled and less than an eighth of the human population remains on a slowly dying Earth. Virgin Galactic is unofficially the most powerful entity in our solar system. It controls most of the atmosphere, along with the moon and Mars. This story begins with a young boy living in the ruins of Chicago, in an abandoned apartment building.
Tom sat on a moth-eaten sofa, the only piece of furniture other than the bed left. He sat twiddling with an old radio, trying to get a message out. He lived by himself, in this apartment building. As far as he knew, he was the only remaining human inhabitant left in Chicago. He had lived here for as long as he could remember, with no way to contact the outside world until he found an old police radio in the wreckage of a house a couple of weeks ago, and since then he had tried night and day to get an SOS out to somebody, hopefully a charity group. When he was younger, he had a friend, an older man, who had told him about when the world was bright and hopeful, and then how everything had gone sour. The collapse of the world ecosystem, the self-destruction of many countries, and the decline of the economy, until everyone was virtually broke. He kept twiddling the rusty dials on the radio, when something suddenly happened. Instead of the usual hissing and crackling, a voice, gravely, suddenly appeared. It was saying, “So we have the transport ship ready for takeoff, and once we leave we will collect all of the residents and have them report back here. Then we will load them all on the rocket and… Hey, John, someone’s on this channel. Uhhh… Hello? What do you want?” Tom responded, “ H-Hi. I’m Tom. I live in Chicago.” “Chicago? I thought Chicago was abandoned?” “I guess I’m the only one here. Other than the rats, I mean. I’m only ten years old. Is there any chance that someone could come and get me?” “Of course, little buddy! We are the Red Cross, after all. We help those that need helping. Or something like that… Well, be at the city’s edge on 5 o’clock Thursday evening. We’ll pick you up there.” “Thank you so much!” Tom said.He set down the radio and cheered, his face lit up in a joyous smile. “Did you hear that, Rodney? We’re finally leaving this rotten old place!” He said to a camera-sized rat with crooked whiskers and a runny nose. He hugged the little rat smiling in spite of the smell.

The Tale of Old Sir Placid

And so Sir Turbidity rode out on his little adventure with his squire, Echolalia, on his fat little donkey, beside him. They rode to the south, crossing a grassy plain filled with golden wheat. As they were riding along, they heard faint cries for help. They turned and headed in the direction of the commotion. When they reached the source of the cries, they found a young boy of five being strangled to death by a grass snake the size of a horse. The snake turned to face Turbidity and hissed at him, “Ssssstay away. Thissss boy isssssss my food. Leave me to my meal, unlesssss you want to be my meal too.” “How about this?” Sir Turbidity asked. “We’ll play a game of riddles, and whoever wins gets the boy and the loser won’t attack the winner and vice versa. That sound okay?” The snake sat there for a minute, thinking. “I guessss sssssso. Letssss play.” Sir Turbidity went first. “Okay, here goes. What is red in the morning, yellow at noon, and red in the afternoon?” The ssssssun.” The snake answered. The snake went next. “In a year, a quarter I am pink, a quarter I am green, a quarter I am red, and a quarter I am brown. What am I?” Sir Turbidity answered, “An apple tree.” And so they went on, for two days, exchanging riddles of increasingly difficult quality. Until, on the morning of the third day, Sir Turbidity asked, “I walk on four legs in the morning, two legs at midday, and three legs at sunset. What am I?” The snake answered, “A bear.” “Wrong!” Sir Turbidity shouted triumphantly. “It’s a man! I get the boy!” And so Sir Turbidity took the boy from the snake and back to his parents, where he was thanked splendidly.

Rabbit Haiku

Brown rabbits gnawing
on dried green grass, hidden in
their underground den

Good Weather Haiku

Fair blue skies, a brisk
breeze, a single cloud buzzing
high above the water.

Stromy Haiku

Dark, brooding clouds sheild
blue sky from human eyes, rain
falling upon us

The Tale of Old Sir Placid

And so on it went, first one, then the other, until all the knights in King Narcolepsy’s court had been sent off and had returned, all incapitated in various ways. After one fool called Sir Petrology had returned as an unmoving stone statue, the King had all but given up on the idea of any sort of talks between the Evil Paradox and himself. But there was one last knight, an old man, who was just entering his fortieth year, and an old childhood friend of King Narcolepsy. He was called Sir Turbidity, or the Old Fogey by his children. So the King sent for Sir Turbidity and his squire, Echolalia. When turbidity stood in front of him, King Narcolepsy asked “Will you do this one thing for me, Sir Turbidity? Will you go to the Evil Paradox and talk with him, try to convince him to turn himself in?” “Sure I will.” Sir Turbidity answered.

The Tale of Old Sir Placid.

So King Narcolepsy sent for Duke Magnate, a Mountain of a man whose several-sizes-to large armor made him look like an inhuman giant. His strength was legendary, and it was reported that he once lifted a boulder the size of his warhorse. Duke Magnate was charged with a new task: to find the Evil Paradox, challenge him to a duel, slay him and bring back his head. So Duke Magnate rode to the Evil Paradox’s castle, through the coldest winters and the hottest summers, and arrived at Paradox’s fortress. “Paradox!” Magnate shouted up. “Come down here and we shall have a duel to see who is the stronger!” Paradox leaned out of a window high above the Duke’s head. He let loose another bone-chilling cackle, raised his arms, and a bolt of green light spiraled down to hit Duke Magnate in his head. On the day after Duke Magnate left, a large pigeon landed on King Narcolepsy’s windowsill. It dropped something barely an inch tall on the sill, and vanished in a puff of evil-looking green smoke, leaving a foul odor. King Narcolepsy strode over to the sill and peered down. There stood Duke Magnate, in miniature. He shouted something in his squeaky little-person voice. King Narcolepsy sat down heavily and said, “Send for the next one.”

The Tale of Old Sir Placid

A long time ago, there was a large and prosperous kingdom, ruled by a wise king, King Narcolepsy. But his kingdom wasn’t that happy. Far to the south, in the desert countries, there lived a masterful sorcerer, known as the Evil Wizard Paradox. For the past three years, he had slowly been spreading his territory throughout the world. One day, King Narcolepsy summoned Sir Vermiphobia, the handsome new young knight, to his courtroom. “Sir Vermiphobia,” the king said, “we have need of your services. Will you ride out to the sorcerer Paradox’s castle and order his immediate surrender?” “Sure!” Sir Vermiphobia responded enthusiastically. So Sir Vermiphobia rode out on his white steed, and braved the coldest winters, the hottest summers, and the speediest winds. When he arrived at the wizard’s tower, he called up to the Evil Paradox, “My master, King Narcolepsy, demands your immediate surrender f all your territories to their previous owner!” The Evil Paradox cackled menacingly, as storm clouds gathered over his tower, swirling violently. The next day, at King Narcolepsy’s castle, a dragon had landed. In its front paws it clutched Sir Vermiphobia. The dragon let go of him and flapped back off to the south, smoke billowing in plumes from its nostrils. King Narcolepsy turned to Sir Vermiphobia. He was shaking like mad in his sooty armor. King Narcolepsy lifted his visor and peered in Vermiphobia’s helmet. A pound of live worms fell out of his helmet, and Vermiphobia’s face had a horrible half-smile pasted on it, as one eye twitched dangerously. King Narcolepsy sighed, “it looks like we’re going to need a new champion.”

The Dead Leigon

A long time ago, in Rome, something strange happened. It was in 1654 when a massive storm sweapt in from the Mediterranean. Great dark clouds swirled as tennis ball-size hail pummeled the city. In the Coliseum, a single, white-hot lightning bolt struck the muddy ground. it traveled under layers of sediment until it hit a mass of skeletons, some in the uniforms of roman officers, some in the meagre armor of gladiators, and others great elephants and lions. It there the lightning tip hovered, building up energy. there was a brilliant flash, and a gigantic crater was formed in the groud, extending down to the skeletons. after the flash, when the storm had cleared up, and everything was sunny again, one of the skeletons, in dented bronze armor and a with a crushes bronze centuron's helmet, it moved.

Bumblebee Haiku

A bumblebee floats,
hovering right above a
thorny bright red rose.

The Last Clock

Back with George, he was laying splayed out against the cold dirt floor, with bars on all sides, but only one with the outside world shining through. He groggily sat up. At first, he didn’t know what was going on, but then he realized that the floor was rocking. Then he realized everything was rocking. In fact, it was swaying quite violently. Then, he realized that there were others in the cage. There was a burly bald man with tattoos all over his arms, a weedy-looking balding man with expensive-looking glasses, and a thin girl with long and straggly hair. “Who are you?” George yelled as he sat, staring at the motley group. “Who are you?” George asked again. “Where am I? What’s going on? Wh-“ “Hush.” He was chided by the weedy-looking man. “We are in a cage, being loaded onto a boat that is going to take us far away. I believe that answers your second and third questions. And now for your first question. I am Xavier Quintelphus, former head of geology and geography at Kingstown International University. That is Huevos y Bacon, former wrestler and mine worker.” He said, motioning to the bald tattooed man. “And that is Marie Sherry, a girl whose parents were killed during a raid and who has lived in that mine for most of her life.” He said, nodding at the thin girl. “Hi.” She said nervously to George.

Story

Xavier stood alone on the hilltop, his dark brown apprentice's robes fluttering behind him in the fierce wind. He had been standing like that for the past hour, all alone, not moving. Inside a white-walled building, another boy stood watching Xavier. He walked out and but his hand on Xavier's shoulder. "Is everything all right?" he asked. "The fall is eminent." Xavier said in a deep, commanding voice. "Even the gods cannot stop it this time. The Enemy's forces have gathered, and march south. They come calling at the white bell, and they shall enter the Black Gate, and terror and death shall fall on the golden lands, and the world will weep, and all shall die." "what do you mean?" the other boy asked, his tone meek. "Look down, and see your doom." The other boy looked down then, and gasped. spread out, for hundreds of miles, as far as the eye could see, a rolling sea of black-armoured men and blood-drenched demon beasts.

The Final Clock

“But… how do we stop the end of the world? I mean, do we even know how everything will end?” she asked. “Well, I don’t know exactly how it will end, but I do know something: the gods are angry. You see, in the kingdom of Harridian, they have discovered an extensive diamond mine. They don’t know this, but it is the legendary ‘Cave of Souls’, where, it is said, the souls of all the deceased come to rest for all eternity. And the gods dislike both those who disturb the deceased and those who trespass on the god’s property. So they are really angry at the Harridians.”

Back with George, he was laying splayed out against the cold dirt floor, with bars on all sides, but only one with the outside world shining through. He groggily sat up. At first, he didn’t know what was going on, but then he realized that the floor was rocking. Then he realized everything was rocking. In fact, it was swaying quite violently. Then, he realized that there were others in the cage. There was a burly bald man with tattoos all over his arms, a weedy-looking balding man with expensive-looking glasses, and a thin girl with long and straggly hair.

Ocean Haiku

Saltwater rocking,
great waves crashing against the
beach, white foam sprayed.

The Final Clock

Far away, back in the tower, a young woman had just entered through the doorway. The old man sat at a large oak table, directly opposite the door. She greeted him as she took her coat off. “How was your trip?” he asked. She replied, “Good. You look troubled. Is something wrong?” “Sit down.” He motioned for her to sit down. She took a seat. He removed his glasses and looked at her, his gaze fiery. She gasped, for one of his eyes was completely normal, a vivid green. The other wasn’t an eye at all. It was a miniature clock, yellowed with age. “What I am about to tell you must never go beyond these walls. Understand?” She nodded once.


“A long time ago, I fought in a great war. It ranged from the freezing north to the balmy south. Millions of people died in that war. I was one of the lucky ones. I just lost this eye.” He tapped the clock-eye. “After the war was over, I traveled up here and built this tower. Here I made my fortune as a clock-maker. But before I built my first true clock, even this one, where my lost eye should be, I built a great golden clock, unlike any other in the world. It does not tell the time, but tells the remaining time left to this world. On either size there is a giant hourglass. The hourglass on the left contains the Sands of Time, where one grain of sand falls every ten years. The hourglass on the right is called the Sands of the Dead, and one grain of that sand falls every time someone dies. And there isn’t much time left till the clock reaches midnight. But that can be prevented. If someone stops the end of the world, the clock will reset, and so will the two hourglasses.”

The Last Clock

Later, that night, George sneaked out of the youth hostel where he lived and headed out of town. After clearing the last houses, he came upon the mine entrance. The night darkness was everywhere, except down in the mine. From the mine shaft, came a spill of golden light, the sound of metal hitting stone, and a putrid smell, a mixture of old sweat and blood. He walked down the earthen steps, passing gas lamps and candles set in tiny alcoves. He stepped off of the last step after what seemed like an hour. Three different tunnels branched off from the circular cave he was standing in. He chose the middle tunnel and walked for a little bit unnoticed, passing small gas lamps and churned-up dirt on the floor, the walls, and the ceiling. He had been walking for a while when he ran slap-bang into an emancipated man in rags, with a thin graying beard and a shovel. He turned towards George, eyes blazing, and asked, “What are you doing here, snot-bag?”

The Last Clock

George peered around the corner. He was watching an old man with a large potbelly in vibrant orange robes sitting cross-legged in front of a temple. He was chanting something under his breath, something about forgiveness and evil men. A group of men dressed in red and black armor walked up to the temple. All of them were clutching knives in one hand. One walked up to the fat man and jabbed him in the belly. “You know you’re not supposed to worship your stupid gods, filthy heathen!” he turned to his cronies. “Burn it down!” He shouted, spittle flying from his mouth. The other men each lit a match, and tossed them on the temple. As it burned, the first man grabbed the fat man under the arm and began dragging him away. “You’re coming with me, fool.” He snarled. George gasped. It was bad enough that he was burning the temple, but now he was going to kill or maim or torture the fat man! The first man and his friends dragged the fat man a ways out of town, with George following them the whole way. They eventually reached a large hole in the ground, with timbers on all sides and earthen steps descending into the underground darkness. The first man roughly shoved the fat man down the stairs, laughing as the sounds of the fat man tripping and falling down those black dirt steps. “You’ll work until you die down there. In these mines, it’s work and die, or just die. We prefer you do the first so we get some of those diamond that fund our glorious emperor’s empire.” ‘Diamonds?!’ George gasped. ‘That’s a diamond mine,’ George mused, ‘so that’s the secret of Emperor Chin’s great wealth!’ George ran away from the laughing man, his cronies, and the diamond mine, back to the town.

The Last Clock.

Once, in a land far away, there was an old man stumbling up a rickety set of wooden steps of a tower, so high that the top was lost in the clouds, and situated on a steep cliff, with bridges sticking out every-which way. He had thick green half-moon glasses, perched precariously on his long nose with a large white beard dangling limply from his chin. He was mumbling to himself, something like this: “It’s getting closer… time’s getting shorter… got to get that… tell her… ticking, always ticking… ticking away… stop ringing, infernal alarm!” A small alarm clock sat in the palm of his right hand, and in the other he held a small screwdriver and was twiddling with a screw on the back of the clock. He reached the top an hour later, and sat down on the top step, with a resentful creaking from his old bones. “Hush.” He growled at his stomach, as it let loose a fearfully loud growl. He got back up and walked over to a large golden clock. It was unlike any other in the world, for there were no hands, and no numbers. Instead there were three rings of nicks around the edge, in between the center and the edge, and at the center. A blue light flitted from one tick to another every second on the outer ring, another blue light switched from one tick to another on the second ring, and a red light that switched ticks every ten years. On top was a bug-like creature with the body of a grasshopper, and the head of a dragon. The old man looked at the clock and said, “Hmm. This isn’t good. There’s not much time left.”

Anti-War Haiku

bodies strew across
the desert, when will the
world come to its senses.

Star Haiku

glittering stars, so
tantilizingly close, strewn
across the night sky.

River Haiku

muddy water flows
down the river, towards its
destiny: the sea

Bonsai Haiku

minuscule needles,
small branches, a little trunk,
a small bonsai tree.

Plant Haiku

small green leaves, vibrant
magenta petals, a small,
insuspicious plant

Faerie Ring, the Complete Story

Once, long ago, there lived a young boy. His father had left his family for the fires of war, so he took up some of his father’s duties, like gathering firewood. It was on one such trip that his adventure began. It was early on a Monday morning, and frost was in the air. His mother had woken up with a bad head cold, so he had left to gather firewood. He headed into the forest that lay about ten yards from their little cottage. He had been into this forest, and knew the best places to hunt for firewood. So he headed for a little hill towards the center of the forest. As he proceeded towards the hill, gathering twigs and broken branches all the while, he began to feel warmer. He that saw the forest was becoming greener and was flowering. When he reached the hill, he was drenched in sweat, as the forest felt like it was in the prime of summer, not in the middle of winter. He saw that the forest floor around the hill was coated with mushrooms and toadstools. Some of them reached up to his knee. He leant towards one and was surprised to see a diminutive man, barely up to his thigh, wearing a tall pointed red cap that made him look a foot taller, sitting on the mushroom. He was smoking a tiny wooden pipe, tiny smoke rings floating up into the forest canopy. He turned to smile at the boy, and said in a surprisingly deep voice, “Go on, sonny, there’s a little party up on the hill I think you’d like to see.” His curiosity piqued, he started up the hill, with a soft tune playing in his ears, growing louder as he reached the summit. When he reached the top, there was a flute and a guitar playing in perfect unison. He saw a circle of small green men with two pairs of cicada wings per fairy. They were spinning in a circle, their tiny green faces facing the sky as joy flowed like water throughout the hill. The young boy was caught up in it all, and was swaying from side to side, his eyes filled with joyous tears. He began to feel quite drowsy; his eyelids drooping like a disappointed dog’s ears, and sleep tugging at the corners of his vision. He toppled over backwards as the relentless tide of sleep overtook him. He woke suddenly, with his fur jacket providing little protection from the cold as he floundered out from a snow bank with a chill wind ruffling his hair. He picked himself up, and scoured the land around him for any sign of the fairies or the little man. He saw nothing but snow, bare black trees, and a few startled deer. He reached up to a tree above him and pulled off a few branches and began the trudge back to his mother’s cottage. Later that night, with a roaring fire and a thick blanket tucked snugly about his toes he began to drop off. Just as the deadness of sleep was creeping over him, the fire was blown out. He eyes opened with a snap, and he scoured the bare board around the fire. He saw nothing. Then he heard a knocking. He looked at the door, but there was nothing interesting there. He turned to the single window and saw that it was open. A small figure, with a tiny woolen cap sat on the windowsill. It hopped in, and twisted its head from side to side, apparently taking in the cabin. Then the door burst and a rush of those tiny figures with their small woolen caps tumbled through the doorway. The young boy sat upright in his bed, his eyes opened wide by these midnight apparitions. The flood of little things immediately stopped. They slowly backed out, making each step was painstakingly slow and deliberate as humanely possible. When they had left, he got up, replaced the door, and restarted the fire. He finally relaxed, falling into a deep and dreamless sleep. The next day, the young boy woke early, at dawn, took a small knife from the wall and headed out into the forest. He finally found a good tall ash tree, and began to climb. He cut a sprig of mistletoe and ran back to the cottage. He found a single rusty nail and nailed the mistletoe to the front door. That night, as the boy drifted away into sleep, he heard a faint rustling outside, but nothing entered the house, unlike the previous night.

Faerie Ring, Part 2

He began to feel quite drowsy; his eyelids drooping like a disappointed dog’s ears, and sleep tugging at the corners of his vision. He toppled over backwards as the relentless tide of sleep overtook him. He woke suddenly, with his fur jacket providing little protection from the cold as he floundered out from a snow bank with a chill wind ruffling his hair. He picked himself up, and scoured the land around him for any sign of the fairies or the little man. He saw nothing but snow, bare black trees, and a few startled deer. He reached up to a tree above him and pulled off a few branches and began the trudge back to his mother’s cottage. Later that night, with a roaring fire and a thick blanket tucked snugly about his toes he began to drop off. Just as the deadness of sleep was creeping over him, the fire was blown out. He eyes opened with a snap, and he scoured the bare board around the fire. He saw nothing. Then he heard a knocking. He looked at the door, but there was nothing interesting there. He turned to the single window and saw that it was open. A small figure, with a tiny woolen cap sat on the windowsill. It hopped in, and twisted its head from side to side, apparently taking in the cabin. Then the door burst and a rush of those tiny figures with their small woolen caps tumbled through the doorway. The young boy sat upright in his bed, his eyes opened wide by these midnight apparitions. The flood of little things immediately stopped. They slowly backed out, making each step was painstakingly slow and deliberate as humanely possible. When they had left, he got up, replaced the door, and restarted the fire. He finally relaxed, and fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Grass Haiku

Green blades ruffling,
freshly mown grass bends before
a great storm's brute force.

Faerie Ring

Once, long ago, there lived a young boy. His father had left his family for the fires of war, so he took up some of his father’s duties, like gathering firewood. It was on one such trip that his adventure began. It was early on a Monday morning, and frost was in the air. His mother had woken up with a bad head cold, so he had left to gather firewood. He headed into the forest that lay about ten yards from their little cottage. He had been into this forest, and knew the best places to hunt for firewood. So he headed for a little hill towards the center of the forest. As he proceeded towards the hill, gathering twigs and broken branches all the while, he began to feel warmer. He that saw the forest was becoming greener and was flowering. When he reached the hill, he was drenched in sweat, as the forest felt like it was in the prime of summer, not in the middle of winter. He saw that the forest floor around the hill was coated with mushrooms and toadstools. Some of them reached up to his knee. He leant towards one and was surprised to see a diminutive man, barely up to his thigh, wearing a tall pointed red cap that made him look a foot taller, sitting on the mushroom. He was smoking a tiny wooden pipe, tiny smoke rings floating up into the forest canopy. He turned to smile at the boy, and said in a surprisingly deep voice, “Go on, sonny, there’s a little party up on the hill I think you’d like to see.” His curiosity piqued, he started up the hill, with a soft tune playing in his ears, growing louder as he reached the summit. When he reached the top, there was a flute and a guitar playing in perfect unison. He saw a circle of small green men with two pairs of cicada wings per fairy. They were spinning in a circle, their tiny green faces facing the sky as joy flowed like water throughout the hill. The young boy was caught up in it all, and was swaying from side to side, his eyes filled with joyous tears.

Fall Cinquain

Red and
brown, drifting down
gently, to rest on the
green forest floor, with a leafy
carpet

Puffin Haiku

Puffin, its orange
beak contrasting sharply with
the snow, as its dives

Dragonfly Cinquain

gliding
over the grass
its wings humming gently
a dragonfly flits, its blue shell
shining

The God of the Sea

Once, there was a god of the sea. He lived in complete harmony with the animals of the ocean. He ruled from a massive coral palace in a bay. He had been master of the waters of the world from the dawn of time, and was extraordinarily patient. One day a group of humans settled at his bay. At first he liked them. They worshipped him like the other animals could not. But the tribe grew and grew, until a city was built there. The city grew great and powerful, and they abandoned their worship of him, caught as they were by the trappings of modern civilization. The city became so great, the poisons from their factories leaked into the bay, killing all life. The god of the sea grew angry. Something had to be done with these humans, he thought. And so he gathered the greatest and most vicious of his beasts of the sea, and set them on the city.

It was a calm day in Coral city, which lay beside downing bay. Fishing boats sat on the peaceful waters, gently trawling for fish. Everything was quiet, as the city had just begun to wake up. An old man sat on one of those fishing boats, fishing pole in hand, and cigar clamped in his mouth. He had been sitting in his little folding chair since four in the morning, and his back was beginning to ache. He stood up and stretched when he noticed a dark shape in the water. It was streamlined, and extraordinarily long. He peered at it, as it slowly moved forward. Suddenly, it sped up, going at least thirty miles an hour. He continued to peer at it, until it vanished below his boat. Two great walls rose out of the water and closed on the boat. Then, a shark, big enough to eat a minivan in one bite, leapt up out of the water, as an oil tanker ploughed into the bay. Suddenly, an orange tentacle wrapped itself around the prow of the boat. A second, a third, a fourth, a fifth , a sixth, a seventh, and then an eighth tentacle wrapped itself around the boat. Then, a massive head broke the water. It was an octopus bigger than an airplane! It proceeded to eat the boat, bit by bit. The citizens of Coral city watched this with growing horror. They watched as a massive head, then shoulders, then torso and arms emerged from the water. This gigantic man was made out of water! He then proceeded to speak in a deep, resonating voice, about mankind’s horrible atrocities against the living creatures of the ocean. He then raised one great watery arm. He brought it crashing down on the city, leaving nothing but splinters behind as he and his pets descended back into the depths of the bay.

The Great Carp

Once, in a time long forgotten, there was a great warrior named Otaru. He was a leaderless samurai who lived outside of a coastal fishing town. This small town lied in between two Daimyo’s lands, and lay close to a forest filled with spirits and dangerous animals. Time and time again he was called upon by the villagers to protect them from a malevolent spirit, or a warring band of samurai, or great demon-beasts from the forest. This is a tale from when Otaru was new to the village, before they knew too much about him.

On a pleasant summer day, Otaru set out for the harbor. He had woken with a taste for fish lingering in his mouth. So he walked to the harbor and set out in his small coracle. He stopped about a mile from the shore and got out his net. Laden as it was with bait it would attract a great many fish, he thought. So he cast it out and trawled for a while. He soon built up a mass of fish in his boat, and it began to ride quite low in the water. He threw the last great net full of fish into his boat and thought to himself, “This will keep me for a long time. So he set out for home. When he was halfway home, and was passing a grouping of craggy rocks sticking out of the shore, the water began to heave. Great waves threw themselves at the little boat and it tipped frightfully back and forth. Otaru was quite frightened, but remained composed. But then he suddenly blanched, for he had spotted a massive streamlined black shape heading with great speed toward him. He began to paddle furiously towards the shore, but the massive black shape leapt out of the water, revealing itself to be a great carp, twice the size of a man, with a long snout full of bladelike teeth. It crashed onto Otaru’s boat, smashing it to bits. He immediately began paddling to the rocks, which were only ten feet from him. He climbed onto a rocky outcropping, and just in time, too, as the massive carp leapt up out of the heaving water and landed next to Otaru. It thrashed around for a bit, its tail slamming into the rocks time and time again, knocking great chunks into the ocean. It twisted on its side and pounced, to take a bite out of Otaru. But Otaru was too quick for it and grabbed its jaws, slicing his fingers on its teeth. He shoved a sizeable chunk of rock in its mouth, keeping its great jaws open. Then he drew his small sword, which he always kept at his side. In one quick movement, he cut off the carp’s head. As soon as the carp was dead, the seas calmed. A bit later, one of the fishermen saw Otaru sitting on the rocks and retrieved. That night Otaru feasted on the flesh of the great carp. He went to bed content, his sizeable girth filled with fish, his hunger sated.

Monkey

Once, in an era long forgotten, in a land far away, there was a mountain. It dwarfed all others, and rose to such heights that the tip pierced the fabric of space. There was a small village, no more than three hundred people that lived on a plateau on the eastern side of the mountain. They worshipped the spirit of the mountain, named Monkey. There they farmed rice and sweet corn, and they were content. Every morning they woke to a golden sun, and every night they slept in small hovels, under a starry canopy. They were called the Peaceful Folk, for they were never angry, and were never touched by greed, lust, or anger. They lived in complete ignorance of the world below, and the world below lived in complete ignorance of them, as they were hidden by thick clouds. This was fortunate for them, for the fires of war were spreading across the world. Blood ran in thick rivers, as the violent races from below competed for control.


But, there was a race from below who knew the secret of flight. “If we control the skies, eventually the entire world will be bowing at our feet.” So they built a mighty armada of sky-ships, and they began to take control. A hundred years, there were only two great nations left to do battle. The engineers of flight needed something to fund their war, as they were suffering heavy losses and they needed more weapons. So they set out to find a suitable source of funds. They eventually came upon the mountain called Monkey. They landed on the plateau, and men in dark black coats and black glasses descended into the Peaceful Folk’s lives. They stayed hidden, hiding behind trees and rocks. They watched carefully as the Peaceful Folk went about their lives. They did not know that the strange people were hiding near them, as they were blind. Soon, the strange people made their way to a cavern deep in the mountain. There, they found a horde of diamonds. Somehow, these strange folk found the Well of All Souls, were the souls of the deceased go to rest. As they mined the rich seam, fueling their bloody war, the Peaceful Folk grew uneasy. They knew that something was disturbing Monkey’s sleep, and soon he would wake. Then, one day, the Peaceful Folk and the strange people felt the mountain called Monkey begin to shake. Then, the mountain called Monkey woke from his deep sleep. His wrath was terrible when he fund the strange people were mining in the Well of All Souls. He released the terrible fire from his belly. There were no screams. There was no time. There was fire… then nothingness.

Mountain Haiku

Mountains, rising from
the ground tower high above,
capped with ice and snow.

Weed Haiku

a splash of color
in the golden sand, a small
weed, under the sun.

Green Turtle Haiku

green turtle, resting
on the golden sand, his green
shell a splash in the sand.

Haiku

a lily pad sits
on blue water like a polished
stone, under the sky.


a weeping willow
hangs over the glassy pond,
as night approaches

a milky yellow
sits, floating just above
the green horizon.

Haiku

a bustling large
city squats, growing under
an austere blue sky.

Caliban.

The diminutive, cherry-red man pushed the remaining rubble down the cliff and carefully made his way out into the sunlight. His horns quivered as he shielded his abnormally large eyes from the bright glare of the midwinter sun. He glanced down to a small village several miles below, surrounded by snowdrifts. He turned and motioned to indistinct figures massing in the darkness at the back of the cavern through which the man had come through. As the first dwarf ran down the hillside, a wooden pitchfork grasped in one hand, a great red wave started to flood down the mountainside as his fellows followed his decent.

Down in the little village, a elderly man, around sixty, with a massive grizzly beard, had heard a rumbling. He grabbed his rifle, clumsily loading a slug into the barrel, while dimly wondering if John the Milkman’s cows were stampeding again. He opened his door and stepped into the frigid cold. Seeing no cows, stampeding or grazing, he looked up at the mountain. He gasped as he saw the mighty red army pouring down the mountainside. He raised his gun and shot one. It fell headlong down to the foot of the village. Still, its fellows came.

They fell onto the village with the force of an avalanche. The lead dwarf-man stabbed the old man with his pitchfork, and the old man began to shrivel up. In a second, he was just skin and bones. He slid off the end of the pitchfork, and the diminutive man began to swell. His muscles began to grow. They eventually grew so big that it looked as if his skin would split from the strain. A vein beat a tattoo in his forehead. He shot up like a rocket. Soon he was seven feet tall. He bellowed, a roar of primal savagery, as he watched his horde tear apart the village like tissue paper.

The massive man opened his mouth for another roar, but it was drowned out by a massive rumbling coming from the mountain. He whipped his head around to stare at the peak, which began to shudder. Suddenly, the top of the mountain exploded. The black smoke pouring out of the peak took the form of a man’s head, torso, and arms. Its face had a long, flowing beard and windswept hair. It opened it mouth and said, in a deep, gravelly, commanding voice, “Caliban, you and your kind have caused to much trouble. Today, you shall die!” It raised one arm, and grabbed the mass of diminutive red men in one fist. It squeezed, and they turned to dust. He opened his fist, and the dust drifted away on the wind. The smoke vanished. The rumbling stopped. Everything was quiet. Then the mountain exploded. Fire rained down from the heavens. Smoke clotted the skies. There was flame… then nothing.

The Raft of The Medusa

The small raft floated away from the red-tinged sand. Loaded with people, it bobbed up and down, its red sail slowly growing smaller as it was swept into the distance. Its passengers looked backwards, to the beach with a look of fear. They could see a lone figure, wreathed in shadow, standing on the shore, surrounded with small army of stone figures. She held a spear in her hand, and red pinpricks glared out from her eyes. Slowly, mist began to obscure their vision. Soon, the island was wreathed in mist. They each turned inwards, and thought of the events of the past twenty-four hours. One man, his body netted with bandages, started to speak in a horse whisper.

“Once, there was a mighty army. They were clothed in golden armor and red capes, and those who resisted them were swept aside like leaves in a summer storm. After many years of fighting, their homeland lay before them, kneeling to their might. But their lust for battle was too great. Their hunger for blood and conquest was not sated. They wanted new lands to explore. They were blinded by their bloodlust, they couldn’t see they wonderful land they already had a wonderful land to populate. But they needed new lands to conquer. There was a great land, wreathed in mist, not thirty miles from where they stood. They saw it and wanted it for themselves.
“So they built a great ship, like no other, unmatched in size and speed. They loaded themselves in and headed for this new misty land. They sailed for days and then they came to a bay. They anchored themselves there, and set out to pillage and conquer. They had barely marched a hundred strides when three women, all garbed in animal skins and rags. They each had a spear, rusting and ancient. Their hair was green and iridescent, like the finest emeralds. It hissed and moved of its own accord, for their hair was hundreds of swaying snakes. They lifted their heads, and the first of the army to see their red eyes went still and silent, turned into the hardest stone. Then the three women fell onto the army with the fierceness of wild beasts. They slaughtered them, but two of the she-beasts were killed in the fierce combat. In the end, there was only one of the snake women and ten remaining of the great army. She sent them away on a small raft, with a warning ‘Tell your masters,’ she had hissed ‘Tell them, the Last of the Gorgons, The Medusa, waits to tear their flesh and shred their lifeless carcasses. ‘ She sent them away, to float for all eternity on the water. She left them to Death, the merciless witch!”
He cursed and shook his fist at the retreating island. “We, the remnant of the mightiest of armies, rid ourselves of the Island of Gorgons, and its accursed inhabitant!”
For many months the raft drifted, floating in the ocean. One day, it drifted into the port that the army had left from. A small boy ran to the edge of the bay and peered into the morning mist. “Hey, there’s something out there!” Then, with a bump, the raft hit the shore. The boy dropped to his feet and screamed. On the raft, there stood a woman with rags for clothes, snakes for hair, and carried a rusty spear. Surrounding her were ten corpses, their bodies covered in stab wounds, and dried blood coating the wood.

Desert Haiku

Shifting sand, the wind
blows across the barren dunes
here, in the desert.

Last Living Soul

Yesterday, I was reading when the bomb raid sirens began their blaring. We (me & my family) ran to get into the bomb shelter. I was the first inside, but before my family got in, a bomblanded right in front of them. They were gone in seconds. I was locked in that shelter for a long, long time. When the shaking had stopped I climbed out. For miles around me I could only see mountains of rubble and dunes of silt. My house was gone. Everyone was gone. I was the last living soul for miles around.

Invasion Chapter 25.

They stepped, carefully, into the inky darkness. It seemed to constrict their breathing, this stale air, this thousand-year-old stale air, with a malicious intent swirling within that filled their hearts with a racing fear, and their minds with images of various bloody deaths. The blond man stopped about fifteen feet from the tunnel that they had previously exited, and stooped to place the bomb. He pressed a red button next to the screen, and a glowing red fifteen appeared. “Okay, we have 15 minutes to get out.” They ran back to the tunnel and entered. The blond man ran on ahead, but Mr. Davies stopped. He glanced at the floor, and, to his surprise, he saw the head of the beast that the blond man had decapitated. It had sprouted small, crab-like legs and was scuttling around in a circle. He stomped on it and it went still. He picked it up and tucked it in his coat. He ran over to the end of the tunnel, saw a rope hanging down from above, grabbed that and began to climb. He appeared at the top of hole, and a medic ran over, asking, “Are you okay, sir?” He clutched at his coat and smiled, “Fine. Just perfect.”

World Haiku

Oh green forests, oh
verdant trees, oh wonderful
oceans, oh green world.

Invasion chapters 23 & 24

In front of Big Ben, two men, one in a long cloak, the other in a lab coat, prepared to descend through a gaping hole in the concrete to a black, foul, pit, filled with creatures out of a nightmarish fantasy-land. The first man bent forward, his blond hair tumbling down his shoulders, and was lost in the blackness. The second man, with a nervous expression plastered on his face, peered into the darkness, quickly looked up, and then disappeared into the void.

Mr. Davies tumbled down the earthy tunnel, hitting rocks and the like that jutted out from the tunnel walls. He heard a crunch below his trainers, and he then, unexpectedly, hit the ground. He was in a slightly sloping channel that extended twenty feet before plunging into a massive, black cavern. In front of him, though, was the blond man, with ten of the beasts facing him, snarling in their guttural language. The blond man stood, impassive, one hand hidden in the folds of his cloak. He suddenly whipped something out, and one of the beasts head tumbled to the earthen floor. Its fellows stared blankly at the skull for a second, but the blond man was already moving. One by one, the beasts fell backwards, their upper body separated from its lower counterpart. “Come on.” The blond man said, his expression passive.

Goodbye Haiku

tears run down my face,
sadness leaking from my eyes,
farewell, my good friend.

Haiku

Moonlight shines on the
whispering green grass that rests
on the large mountain

Invasion chapter 22

Back with the blond man and Mr. Davies, there was a full-scale argument going on. One of the older professors had demanded to go home, the crew cut man said no, and everything just boiled over. Everyone was yelling at once. The blond man had sat, silent, throughout the argument, but now, he rose and spoke. “Excuse me.” His words had no impact on anyone. “EXCUSE ME.” He said once more, and this time everyone stopped to look at him. “Now that the beasts are dead, we must destroy their hive. I will need a bomb. I shall plant the bomb in their central chamber, and it shall destroy them.” “What?” The crew-cut man asked, looking bemused. “You’re telling me YOU are going into the center of their operation, ALONE, and destroy them in one fell swoop, by yourself?” “That is precisely what I am saying.” The blond man said. Mr. Davies suddenly sat up. “As man of science, I demand to be taken down to their hive with you. I have everything I need.” He reached inside his coat and pulled out a knife, a handgun, several bullets and a video recorder. “Are you sure?” The blond man whispered. Mr. Davies nodded. “All right.” He sighed.

Night Haiku

Darkness steals over
the green countryside, the moon
rises, night has come.

Invasion chapter 21

A green army jeep with a chain gun mounted in the back and two Ford pickup trucks with a rocket launcher in the rear end stopped outside Westminster Abbey. An unremarkable man shouted something from the jeep, and a rocket was launched at the wall. It blew a hole about ten feet wide and ten feet tall in the stone, and they could see the beast. It heard their engines and turned to face them. It snarled at them, luminescent green saliva dripping in tentacles from its mouth. The beast dropped to all fours and bounded at the trucks. The man at the chain gun twisted sharply to face the beast and started to shoot. The gun blew off its arm and set the thing ablaze. It fell to the ground, writhing in pain. It crumbled to ash in less than a minute.

Invasion chapter 20

A score of men, all carrying flamethrowers, ran towards the front door of the office building occupied by the creatures. A lone helicopter touched down on the building’s roof. Suddenly, the door to the roof burst open and two women burst out, and ran to the helicopter. They climbed in as two of the beasts scrambled out to the roof. As the helicopter left, they descended into the main building. The men below kicked down the front door, rushed in and started spraying fire. Once the room was nicely ablaze, then ran out the door and turned facing the building as the fire spread. After five minutes, a beast, screaming horribly and burning badly, burst through the glass and leapt from a fifth-story window to fall to its death. After ten more minutes, the building had collapsed, and the wreckage smoked feebly.

Invasion chapter 20

A few minutes later, a score of helicopters hovered above the road where a gang of the beasts were trying to catch them. They trained their machine guns, loaded with incendiary rounds, on the beasts. A muffled shout of “Fire!” from the lead helicopter and
The ground exploded in flame. They let up after thirty seconds of bombardment and looked down on the carnage. It was mostly ash, but there were two or three still writhing on the ground, slowly burning to a crisp.

Invasion chapter 19

Down below, the crew-cut man’s cell phone beeped. “What is it?” he growled impatiently. “Good God! They’ve engaged civilians? I’ll be right on it.” He turned to the blond man. “Darn it! We need a way to kill them, and fast! Will you help, or just stand there?” “I’ll help.” The blond man whispered. In a slightly louder voice he said, “Fire is one way to kill them. You need flamethrowers or incendiary rounds. Tell that to your troops before they engage the beasts.”

Minabushi, Part 2

He grew up strong, but
At the tender age of five,
His town was raided.

Korean raiders
Took everything and left
Not a thing behind.

His parents were gone.

Sleep Haiku

sleep droops my eyelids
down a tad, overcome by
tiredness, sleep takes me

Invasion chapter 19

Above their heads, the beasts were causing havoc in London. One group had run directly into a road and subsequently began tearing apart cars, trucks, and whatever was in those vehicles. Another group had broken their way into an office building and were terrorizing the occupants. The extra-large one had entered Westminster Abby, and was in the process of tearing down the great stone building. The beast’s claws shredded the stone like paper as it knocked down one pillar after another.

Invasion chapter 18

“So you’re saying these beasts are ancient humans, upon which a great and terrible curse has been placed? Rubbish!” The crew cut man snorted. “I am a high-ranking officer in Great Britain’s Army! I do not believe in fairy tails!” “As you wish.” The blond man said.

pain Haiku

Liquid pain, seeping
from above, dripping on me,
my broken body

Invasion Chapters 17 & 18

“I know exactly what they are.” A voice said. A black shadow stood in the doorframe, his face hidden by a long cloak. He stepped forward into the light, and they were able to see his face. It was the blond man with the cloak that goes from the tips of his toes to his eyes. His one visible eye roamed over all of them, stopping briefly on Mr. Davies, and continuing on to rest on the man with the crew cut. “I know exactly what they are. And if you sit down for a moment, I will tell you.”

He walked to the front of the room, then turned so he was facing the group. He said to them, “Over ten thousand years ago, a group of men thought that they could usurp the gods and rule in their place. They gathered around them a following, and then began a bloody and terrible war that lasted for ten years. They swept across the countryside of Europe, destroying all the temples they came across and burning the land they had previously traversed. They eventually came to Britain, and they began anew what they had done countless times on the mainland. They fought and burned their way to the Great Holy Temple, which stood where London stands now. They came upon it like a tidal wave, but the High Priest and his Oracles used the powers bestowed upon them by the gods to cast upon the evil army a terrible curse. They wound be confined to the earth till they were awoken, and that their bodies would shrivel, their mortality slip away and become like beasts, with only a primeval hunger to guide them. They would possess only the meager intelligence they would need to survive. Before they were transformed and sucked into the bowels of the earth, one of their leaders attempted a counter-curse. All it did was increase their strength and agility twofold."

Minabushi Part 1

A long time ago,
In a little seaside town
A young boy was born.

He had shocking black
Hair, laughing blue eyes, and a
Strong little body.

They called him Minabushi.

Random Word Haiku

it he what who when
how why she do that good god
dad is a fly ha

Invasion chapter16

“Haven’t the foggiest.” A rather flabby, pipe-smoking old biology professor said cheerfully. “Can we go home now?” “Absolutely not.” The crew cut man uttered with a sense of finality. “D’oh!”, an ancient, white-maned, stick of a man wheezed.
“I was looking forward to those ‘Monty Python’ reruns tonight!” “Ugh.” Mr. Davies sighed. Stuck in a room with a bunch of old fogies for god-knows-how-long. Not the way I had planned tonight.

Tree Haiku Part 2!!!!!

an ageing tree bends
almost double in the great
fearsome blowing wind

Tree Haiku

bright green leaves sway in
a pleasant, cooling breeze, the
rustling resounds

Invasion chapter 15

In an underground chamber, situated directly beneath the Parliament building, a group of scientists sat around a circular table, watching footage of the events progressing above them. A man in a dark blue suit with a crew cut paused and zoomed in on a picture of one of the beasts. He then turned to the aforementioned seated men, and asked, “Well? Any idea what they are yet?”

Water Haiku

The wind ruffles the
sedate water, drifting in
spiraling currents

Arctic Haiku

Cold, frigid wind sweeps
over the desolate plain,
the barren Arctic

Cherry Blossom Haiku

Cherry blossom sway,
their heavy fragrance hanging
in the scented air

Invasion chapters 12 & 13

Back at the scene of the horrible carnage, the beasts had finished their gruesome feast. They stumbled around in circles, aimlessly wandering, looking forlornly lost. Suddenly, from the ground a low growl reverberated. The beasts jumped as one, and quickly formed into four rows, with five per row.

Out of the hole in the ground appeared a head. It looked almost the same as the beasts, but it was twice the size, its eyes were red, and there were three vertical slashes over both eyes. It pulled itself completely out, and it stood three meters tall. Its body rippled with lean muscle. It towered over the other beasts, and barked twice in its guttural voice. The group standing before it split into two groups, and they dashed off, one to the right and one to the left. The great beast was left alone, and then dashed off, heading straight.

Turtle Haiku

jade turtle, of a
violently flashing green,
drifting sedately.

Mountain Haiku

Mountain forest, great
towering trees, high above
my astonished head.

Revised Invasion chapters 9 & 10 & Invasion chapter 11

The policeman slid to the stony ground, his mouth open wide with shock. The fiend’s fist had punctured three inches into the brick. It twisted its head around, yanked its hand out of the brick, and leapt at the policeman. He screamed and scrabbled at the radio hooked to his waist. It landed on the man and, with a soft hiss, began the slow, slow process of eating him alive. He managed to grab the radio and screamed into it, “HELP MEE! SOMETHINGS GOT ME! I CAN’T GET IT OFF OF ME! HELLLLlllllppppp…” the beast had bitten into his throat, and red blood now coated the ground around him.

The onlookers screamed and a few retched, the green sick spattering the ground around them. At the sound of the falling sick, the mass of the creatures surged to their right, heading for the crowd. They hissed and a fog of green mist rose and drifted over the group of humans, and they were obscured from view. From within the cloud came the sound of muffled coughing, and then the steady thump, thump, thump of falling bodies.
A middle-aged man toppled out of the cloud, this face a funny magenta color and his hands clasped around his neck. The mass of things leapt forward into the cloud and from within it came the slurping and the gnashing and tearing of teeth against flesh, and the middle-aged man’s body was dragged back into the cloud and more, louder slurping and gnashing and tearing of teeth against flesh.

Back with Mr. James Davies, the seminar he had been attending had just broken up and he was heading towards his flat in his Corvette. He switched on the radio, and sat back as American Jazz swept over him. Suddenly, a voice came over the radio. “We interrupt this program to tell you that a minor disturbance has occurred near Big Ben. We advise you to stay away from this area for your own safety.” A moment later, his cell phone rang. “Hello, this is the British Government. We need you to report to Parliament immediately. This is a matter of national security.” Mr. Davies performed a u-turn and headed in the opposite direction, aiming for the Parliament building.

Limeraiku. by me uncleo. (uncle, in case you were wondering.

"Limeraiku" is the marriage - or elopement - of haiku and limerick. From haiku take the structure 5-7-5; from limerick, take the rhyme scheme A-A-B-B-A. Now put them together, "limeraiku". As for themes, topics, etc., the inventor of limeraiku (poet and historian, Ted Pauker [1917- ]) looked to limerick for inspiration. Sarcastic, vuglar, even naughty themes, involving a person or place or thing -- or all three. One could instead turn to traditional haiku for limeraiku topics and themes.

Revised Invasion paragraph 9 & Invasion paragraph 10

The policeman slid to the stony ground, his mouth open wide with shock. The feind's fist had punctured three inches into the brick. It twisted its head around, yanked its hand out of the brick, and leapt at the policeman. It landed on the man and, with a soft hiss, began the slow, slow process of eating him alive.

The onlookers screamed and a few retched, the green sick spattering the ground around them. At the sound of the falling sick, the mass of the creatures surged to their right, heading for the crowd. They hissed and a fog of green mist rose and drifted over the group of humans, and they were obscured from view. From within the cloud came the sound of muffled coughing, and then the steady thump, thump, thump of falling bodies.
A middle-aged man toppled out of the cloud, this face a funny magenta color and his hands clasped around his neck. The mass of things leapt forward into the cloud and from within it came the slurping and the gnashing and tearing of teeth against flesh, and the middle-aged man’s body was dragged back into the cloud and more, louder slurping and gnashing and tearing or teeth against flesh.

Frog Haiku

the beast, it blinks, one
serene, red eye at a time, ah,
but 'tis a green frog

Invasion paragraph 9

The policeman slid to the floor, his mouth open wide with shock. The feind's fist had punctured three inches into the brick. It twisted its head around, yanked its hand out of the brick, and leapt at the policeman.

Invasion paragraphs 7&8

The rest of it emerged and began to stumble towards a group of tourists huddled against an iron railing. One of its fellows appeared behind him, and another, and another. Soon there was a stream poring out of the bowels of the Earth, bringing the stench of a thousand years' decay.

A policeman who was standing near to the hole saw the first one to emerge heading to the huddled group of tourists. He raised his handgun and fired at its head. It turned and saw the bullet heading towards him, and he ducked down so the bullet passed neatly above his head. He leapt up, flying ten feet into the air, coming down right in front of the man, and, with inhuman speed, struck out at him. At the last second, the policeman ducked, and the being's fist smashed into the wall behind him, cracking the brick.

Invasion paragraph 6

A few minutes later, the ground erupted, right where the cracks had stopped. Several people screamed. A gnarled hand broke through the pavement a few meters away. It was the hand of a long-dead person, all dried flesh and bone. It scrabbled around for a moment, then got a grip and began to hoist up something. First a knobby elbow, connected to the arm, then a greasy shoulder, all bone. Then came the head. It was the same size as a normal human's head, but the back of the skull extended a couple more inches than usual. What was worse was the face. It appeared greasy, a translucent film obscuring most of its face. The skin that could be seen was drawn in towards the bone. The eyes were sunken in deep, and were little more than a centimeter in diameter. They were black and beady, and no light was reflected from them. There was no nose on its hideous lump of a head.

Invasion paragraphs 4&5

He raised his hands to the heavens, and yelled in a grunting sort of scream, "Arise ye condemned! Once again walk this earth that holds you prisoner! Feast on the flesh that rejected you! Reclaim what is yours! Experience, finally, the joys that of which were forbidden to you ten thousand years ago! Bwa Ha Ha Ha Haaaaaaa!"He lowered his arms, and a sinister smile broke out on his face as a rumbling noise filled the air and spiderwebby cracks began to spread out from his feet and ran out towards the center of London. The cracks halted suddenly at the foot of Big Ben, the famous clock tower.

Deep below, in the belly of the earth, something stirred. It opened its eyes, white in the midst of darkness, twin pinpricks in the darkness. It opened its mouth and let out a sinister hiss. Green mist swirled out of its mouth and flowed through what little air remained in its dark prison. It raised one clawed hand and scratched at the earth above it. A satisfying scratch had been gouged. It began to tunnel its way up, as its fellows who surrounded him began to rise from their thousand-year sleep.

Invasion paragraphs 2&3

A man, of middling height, with a great coat that extended up to his considerable mustache and a hat that fell down to the tip of his nose strode along the edge of the overflowing Thames, unaware of another man, this one wearing a cloak that extended from the tips of his toes to his eyes. His elbow-length hair was tied up into a ponytail and tucked into his shirt, with a couple of strands fell into his face, obscuring one eye in a mysterious fashion. The other eye was a vivid blue, with a spark of red in the center of his pupils. The first man stopped at a small mound of garbage, twisted around, shed his cloak, and howled a bone-chilling howl. The second man stiffened, his visible eye growing wide with shock.

The first man's body was a biologist's nightmare. His two right arms were blue-furred, with claws and inch long extending from its fingers. His face was a network of scars. The left side was human, but barely, being more bestial than anything else. The right side was a metal mask, with no distinguishing features, just a half-moon of metal. His three left arms were mechanical, with wires dangling from every socket, and it was sparking violently, foot-wide purple globes jumping from exposed wires. His torso was that of a goat's with a four-foot long lizard's tail extending from his shaggy grey rear.

Invasion

The day was entirely normal. The sky was overcast, there was a steady drizzle beating a tattoo against the roof, and Mr. James Davies, biologist and man of science, was utterly bored. He had been sitting in a stark white conference hall for the past five hours, listening to some old quack drone on about the nature of the primate's brain. How it was oddly shaped, and how it must have been tampered by aliens at one point or another. It was quite tedious for Mr. Davies because he accepted no nonsense, witch you got quite a lot of in the field of biology. Such fantasy tales like reanimating the dead, cloning dinosaurs, and the like. He stared out at the River Thames, swelling its borders as the rain poured down. He turned away from the river, unaware that there was a terrible force lurking under London, and another force of great measure was going to stir its mind, and boggle the minds of scientists for the next century.

Bwa Ha Haaaa

Bwa ha haaa! Your Pegasus is no match for my Super Ultimate Robot Ninja Majic Monkey-o-bot 2000! It will destroy you with its Super-Ultimate-Robot-Ninja-Majic-Monkey-o-bot-2000-Death-Ray-Super-Ultimate-Energy-Blast 3000!