Short Story Collection

SHORT STORY COLLECTION

By Daniel Thomas Andrew Daly

www.danielthomasandrewdaly.com

µ A Day in the Life of the Justice League International (Fanfiction)

µ A Train

µ Elam and Asshur’s Lesson

µ Quantum Mechanics

µ Red Rubies

µ The Dark Side

µ The Harmony Bridge

µ The Heart of the Matter

µ The Raven and the Dove

µ The Vortex of Nothingness

A Day in the Life of the

Justice League International

‘I’ve been wondering. What is an antihero?’ said Blue Beetle.

‘Shut up Ted,’ said Black Canary.

‘No, seriously, go with me on this. What is an anti-hero?’

Miracle, sitting at the control panel, finally took an interest in the inane conversation going on between Canary and the Beetle.

‘A bad guy, bluey.’ Said Miracle, confidently.

‘But is it more than that, Mr Mr?’ asked BB in return.

Guy, sitting over next to Ice, trying one of his latest pickup lines, said,

‘Hey – I’m an antihero.’

‘Shut up Guy,’ said Canary.

‘No, seriously guys. It is what I do best. Sort out the wannabes. The commies from the rest of us.’

‘You and your bloody commies’s,’ said Canary. ‘Always with the Commies.’

‘There is always a red under the bed, Canary. But Guy Gardner sorts them out.’

BB continued unperturbed. ‘Lobo. Now he is an antihero.’

‘Lobo!,’ screeched Canary. ‘He is plain evil.’

‘Nah. He has a soft side,’ continued BB.

‘Yeh. As soft as your brain more like it,’ replied Canary.

‘I guess that is an antihero. He, or she, is a hero, in the end. They have a tough time getting there. But they make it.’

Canary looked at him thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps,’ she said after a while

Underneath the sewers of the Justice League Headquarters, Lord Slime was considering his next move. Which sewer to choose? He thought to himself. ‘What the hey, this one will do,’ he said, sliding into one of the pipes heading upwards.

‘Of course, they make heaps of mistakes. But they learn. Even the Fabulous Blue Beetle has made mistakes from time to time, dare I say it.’

‘From time to time?’ Asked Canary?

‘Yeh. Well ok. Lots of little times. But hey, whose counting?’

Miracle, snidely from the corner of his mouth whispered. ‘492 and counting.’ Canary grinned a little, and Bluey blushed.

Lord Slime emerged into a kitchen. Coming into his form he looked around? Nobody present. He would look around then.

‘And they suffer the taunts of the elite so often. As if they had worked it out instantly. I mean, hey, it takes time to be a hero.’

‘Whatever,’ said Canary, playing with a Rubik’s cube. ‘Ooh. I got a side,’ she said, ever so pleased.

‘Yet, in the end, they get the glory as well. Everything, as Big Blue would say, usually works out.’

Just then Lord Slime appeared in the room. ‘Grrrr. He said.’ Everyone looked at him for a moment, and then ignored him, BB returning to his conversation.

‘Yes, life is good for the Antihero in the end.’

Lord Slime looked concerned. What was their problem? He would try again? ‘Grrrrr. Grrrrr,’ he repeated. Again they gave him a cursory look, but returned to what each was focused on.

Bluey spoke. ‘Take Lord Slime over their, for instance. He is probably just an anti-hero in training. Looks like he would be suited to Justice League Antarctica.’ Canary looked at Lord Slime and said, ‘Yeh, I guess.’ Miracle looked at him. ‘Probably feel right at home?’

Lord Slime looked a them and, finally, giving up, walked over and sat down on the table. ‘Got any Oreos?’ He asked, to which Bluey handed him a chockie bikkie, which Lord Slime, finally finding a home, dutifully munched on.

THE END

A Train – Dedicated to Nancy Jo

The train - the human train - pulled up to the station. It felt relief - its passengers would now get off, thankfully, and its work for the day was nearly over. It now only needed to be parked for the night.

........And then, sleeping happily, the invaders - the youthful invaders - attacked him. He felt his sides being belted with stones, like little pin pricks to the more mortal amongst us in comparison.

........And the human train came alive and spoke to them. 'Children of men. I serve you diligently, each day of my life. I take your parents, your children, your loved ones everywhere they desire to go, and is this how you repay me? Attacking my skin, as if it were a simple play thing for your amusement?'

The one with the skull tattoo spoke. 'Train. What are you to us? You are just a machine. A lifeless entity, with no soul or heart. You are lower than even an animal, are you not?'

........And the human train answered, 'Yet am I not one of man's greatest achievements? A creation dedicated to the glory of humanity? Does that not mean I deserve some respect?'

And the tattooed one replied. 'Yet man, can he rival the most high? Can man, in his wonder, his intelligence, his outstanding ability, can man truley create life? Is man capable of this wonderous feat of invention?'

.........And the human train answered, 'Am I not alive, dear human?'

And the tattooed one replied. 'Nay, say I. The voice you speak with is a computerised response. It is an automated program, answering as it is supposed to do. Nay, you are truely not alive. For what life can there be in 100 tonnes of steel? What life can there be???????????????.............................................................

THE END

Elam and Asshur’s Lesson

(A Very Short Noahide Story)

Grandpa Noah was in the vineyard one fine day, picking grapes. Young Elam and Asshur, his grandsons through Shem, were also busy picking some grapes. Just then, Elam yelled out. ‘Grandpa Noah! Quick! There is a Lion,’ said Elam, pointing to a lion which was approaching them. Noah told Elam and Asshur to stand behind him, and he reached for his spear. The Lion came closer and closer. The situation was tense. And, suddenly, it sprang at Noah. Yet, brave Grandpa Noah, spear in hand, pierced the Lion in the heart, and it died, slowly bleeding to death.

Elam looked at the dying Lion. ‘It might make good food, Grandpa. What do you think?’ Noah looked down at the dying Lion. ‘Lion’s are unclean animals, young Elam. The covenant our great God has made with us does permit us to eat unclean animals, yet I feel it is perhaps not always for the best. And, of course, we may never eat the blood of any animal.’ Asshur looked at his Grandpa. ‘Why can’t we eat the blood?’ Noah came over to Asshur, scruffed him on the head, and replied. ‘The life is in the blood young Asshur. It is what sustains and gives us life. God has forbidden us eating it because of that reason.’ ‘I see,’ replied Asshur.

They dragged the Lion to the edge of the Vineyard and placed stones over the body to hide it from vultures.

‘What was it like before the flood?’ Elam asked his grandfather. Noah, wiping the sweat from his brow, looked down at his young grandson. ‘They were violent times, young Elam. Violent times. People hated each other. They stole from each other rampantly – nobody’s possessions were ever safe. And even some of the wicked men worshipped carved idols made of animals and sea creatures, even the stars and moon. They worshipped these idols and mistakenly believed that these were the spirits of life who ruled the world. Often, such men insulted those of the LORD who tried to teach them the right way, even insulting the glory of the LORD. They blasphemed his holy name and despised our ancient traditions. Men would sleep with other Men’s wives, and even with each other which the LORD hates. It was, young Elam, in truth the most immoral of times in our history. And because of this – because the wickedness was so great – God judged the world and sent the great flood.’ Elam nodded, soberly taking in that information.

‘Grandpa,’ began Asshur. ‘What can we do to make sure the world never becomes like that again?’ Noah looked at him firmly. ‘The LORD commands us to make Law Courts. To have judges who judge our communities to ensure that we obey God and live in peace with each other. My child, we must have mercy and patience with those who transgress God’s holy laws, as he is merciful and patient with us. But, if they continue to disobey, we must punish them to preserve the law, order and peace in the world. By doing such we bring happiness to the world – we continue to make it a better place – returning it to the glory of Eden. Dear Grand-children. Every time you look at the Rainbow, think on these laws, and with your children and your children’s children, teach them, everlastingly so, to be faithful to God and the laws of holiness.’ Elam and Asshur looked up at their wise grandfather, smiled, and returned to picking grapes. And another day passed in the life of Noah and those who God had redeemed from the rest of mankind.

THE END

Quantum Mechanics

'...And I thus propose that E now should be taken as equalling M C Cubed, and not squared.'

Dorfus Humbleheart stood silent, then, as the audience of scientists from over the globe glared
at him.

'Is the man insane?' one commented. 'Does he even understand the basics of the theory of
relativity?' commented another.

Later on, Dorfus, having returned to the Lair of Darkness somewere on Manhattan Island, communed
with his demon lord. 'I am afraid, master, they have not fallen for this latest beloved theory of mine.
It seems that the children of science are, finally, coming to terms with our centuries of delusions. They
are no longer so gullible, it would seem.'

The Demon Lord grinned. 'Yet these fools still believe they are children of apes. So persevere, my
young apprentice, with your radical ideas. Call yourself a radical genius, simply misunderstood. Say,
in a thousand years they will look back and call you years ahead of your time. Challenge every notion
of scientific reasoning they throw at you and insist on that marvellous idea of 'lateral thinking'. Proclaim
to them that the mysteries of the universe are unfolding now to mankind and that bold, even illogical
thinking, must be comprehended and understood if we are truly to understand the nature of all that
is. I have, heh heh heh, faith in you young Dorfus. You will succeed were others have failed.'

Dorfus grinned.
'Indeed I shall, dark lord and master.'

And another day in the delusions of the devil, the true ruler of the children of mankind, passed..........

Red Rubies

My mother had Red Rubies. She used to wear them at dinners at home. But she never wore them out. But, of course, she went out rarely. It was not her way.

Father bought the Rubies from a jeweller on Main Street, so mother told me in her latter years. They were expensive, especially on Father’s Salary. Yet, he loved mother, and so made the purchase on layaway.

The Red Rubies came in a set. One on each ear-ring. One on a necklace. And one on a ring. Mother loved those Red Rubies. She loved them awfully.

I sold the Red Rubies to a pawnbroker, just last year. I saw them the other day – they are still available for sale. But I cannot afford to redeem Mothers Red Rubies. For, you see, I am a poor man. Poor and destitute. I can only dream of yesterdays glories of Red Rubies.

Today I live on the streets of my town. I live there, in the muck and filth, getting by on the weekly welfare check, which is half of what it used to be due to budget cuts. But I manage.

I usually get enough to eat – that is were most of the money goes. America still cares about its poor, apparently. Not enough to give us a home – to give us shelter from the wind and rain. But they care about us enough to feed us. And that is something, I suppose.

Still, it would be nice to live in a nice home. To have beds and blankets – tables and chairs – perhaps even servants. It would be nice. And it would be especially nice to have a wife. A loving, loyal and pretty wife. Perhaps, if I were ever so fortunate, I could dress her in red rubies. Perhaps. Perhaps.

THE END

The Dark Side

Prologue

Rivers of blood. Rivers of blood. He stared, almost ready to vomit, at the Rivers of blood. His nostrils were overwhelmed by the vilest stench of the blood, filled with rotting flesh. His fathers head floated past, eyeballs missing, yet his dad still managed a ‘Hello Son’. Then came his mother – or what was left of her – part of her head clinging to a rotting corpse. Finally, his new bride. Beth. She had a dagger protruding from her eye and as she floated past she cried ‘Why John, Why?’

And then he woke from the dream.

Main Story

On the 21^st of July, 1994, John Graham Stoke was not well. He was on the verge of bankruptcy, trying to keep that fact from his new wife Beth and telling his beloved all was well in his business affairs. Apart from that he had a splitting headache, left over from his bad dream the night before, one he had been valiantly trying to put out of his memories all day long. And the cat had shit on his best shirt, the one he had put aside for his dinner engagement. The day, really, had not been going so well.

The dreams had been quite bad of late. For several weeks now nothing but nightmares had filled his head. As if the gods had decided, in a spirit of vengeance, that young John Stoke needed a good haunting and had assigned their various demonic forces. He jokingly thought this, though, as he had no strong belief in the supernatural.

He looked at his shirt, standing in his bathroom of 7 Vesper street, somewhere in east London. Perhaps the crap would wash off. But, taking a sniff, it seemed quite ingrained, so he would have to wash it in the machine again. Beth would be home in about 2 hours so he probably had enough time. Walking to the laundry he thought on the recent decision of his former business partner, Geoff Allott, to split in their accounting business. Geoff had taken most of their customers, but thankfully paid off his share of the loan for the office – he’d had savings, apparently. This had left John in an awkward position. He’d had to let go of Marjorie, their receptionist, as with the small number of customers he had he just couldn’t afford it. And now the bank was sending him nasty letters about late payments for the mortgage on the office.

He would probably have to sell the office, in the end. He had faced that reality. A degree of the loan had been paid off, and he would have some spending money with which to rent somewhere. In all honesty, though, he felt the best decision was to come clean with Beth and just run the business from home. He was sure she would understand. After all – what were wives for if they could not stand by their man.

Just then a knock on the front door interrupted his laundry duties. He left the shirt and went to see who was inquiring. He opened the door to see a van pull off from the streets. A red van, with a blurred license plate. Nobody else seemed to be around. He was about to go back inside when he heard some crying. Looking to his feet he noticed what they go on about in those Hollywood movies – a casket with a baby inside.

‘Bloody hell. Now who has done that then?’ He walked down the path to the front gate and looked up and down the street, but to no avail. Eventually, reaching the conclusion that the occupants of the van must have left the child, he picked up the casket and took it inside.

Later on, when Beth got home, he was satisfied that the child would be now looked after. He had called the local community child welfare centre and they had said to look after the child until the morning, at which point they would send someone around to collect it. These things were not that uncommon, apparently – leaving children on doorsteps. Still happened from time to time, so they claimed.

He had been ready for anything from Beth, except the last yet perhaps most obvious of motherly instincts. She had looked at the child, made the inquiry and he had shared what he new. And then she had started feeding it, changed its nappy, and was holding it and patting its back all evening.

In the morning she had decided. If they could not find the parents she wanted to adopt. The parents had left the child on their doorsteps so it was, perhaps, fates way of telling them that the child belonged with them.

In the end, John didn’t really object. He was not greatly fussed about children one way or another, but did realize his new bride desired them. Perhaps this little bundle from heaven would begin the family she desired. Another mouth to feed, he thought to himself sarcastically, though.

* * * * *

“JACK! Turn down the bloody stereo.’ Beth screamed out to young Jack, her adopted child of 15 years – her one and only child as she herself could not have children – to turn down the music which was blaring from his room. It sounded like Iron Maiden, typical for young Jack.

In his room, Jack and his new friend Roger were in the process of their first summoning. The pentagram had been drawn on the carpet, with black candles placed at each corner. Jack had next to him a copy of the ‘Pseudepigrapha’ – ancient Jewish writings from biblical times.

‘Now, the head of the fallen angels is Azazel. He rules over Semyaza, Urakiba and Kokabiel and the rest of the fallen ones. I think Azazel is some sort of servant of Satan.’ Roger was fascinated at Jack’s knowledge of the dark lords.

‘We’ll probably need these,’ said Jack, producing five small steel crosses, placing one cross next to each candle.

‘They should keep Azazel within the Pentagram. They will prevent him from escaping and harming us.’

‘Right,’ said Roger. ‘So how do we summon him?’

Jack got to his feet and closed the window and curtains, placing a fix blanket over the curtains so no light could get in. One by one he lit the candles and then turned the bedroom light off.

‘Here goes,’ said Jack.

Jack and Roger sat opposite each other, facing the pentagram, and Jack spoke.

‘Lord’s of evil. Lord’s of fouls. Fallen angel of darkness we summon you. Azazel, fallen angel of hell, we summon you.’ He left off speaking.

They were quiet for a few moments, with nothing apparently happening, when a wind, seeming to come from the centre of the Pentagram, started blowing through the room. After a moment it subsided, and an appearance of smoke hovered above the Pentagram. After a few moments the smoke spoke.

‘Who the fuck are you kids? Why the hell have you summoned me?’

‘Shit, it worked,’ said Roger. Jack remained calm.

‘Azazel. I have a task for you. If you complete it, I will give you the souls of my parents. I will sacrifice them to you.’

The smoke was quiet for a few moments, before replying.

‘That sounds good, kid. But mind you, break the deal, suffer the consequences. Ok.’

‘Agreed,’ replied Jack, full of confidence.

‘What is the agenda then, my new master?’

‘There is a girl at school. Geraldine. I want her. I must have her. She must do everything that I want her to for me, in that way, if you know what I mean.’

‘I sure as hell do, master. Leave it to me. And remember, break the deal, suffer the consequences. Don’t forget lad.’

‘I won’t.’

‘I’m out of here.’ After that the smoke disappeared and Jack turned the lights back on, blowing out the candles.

‘Fuck!! That was intense,’ said Roger.

‘Yeah, whatever,’ said Jack, full of confidence.

* * * * *

‘Yeah, she is fucking hot.’ Roger acknowledged Jack’s point as they both gawked at Geraldine Sunderwell, the foreign exchange student from America, who was getting books out of her locker on the lower level of Brixby School, somewere in East London.

‘She’ll never fuck you, though. You are way too dorky for someone as hot as her.’

‘Your forgetting our supernatural friend.’

Roger grimaced a little. ‘I am still not sure if that wasn’t one of your hoaxes.’

‘It was the real thing. Believe me. Anyway, I figure the demon will probably need a few days to do whatever it is he does. He is probably following us right now.’

‘You think?!,’ said Roger, looking around nervously.

‘Relax, idiot. He doesn’t care about us. He just wants my parent’s souls.’

‘You are so fucking cold, you know,’ said Roger. ‘I mean, I know my parents suck and are a real drag. But sacrificing them? Fuck man, that is cold.’

‘Yeh, well they are not my real parents anyway. And they don’t really give a shit about me. They’re better off dead as far as I am concerned.’

‘Cold man. That is really cold.’

‘Whatever.’

He looked at Geraldine as she walked down the hall past them, and gave her a slight nod, which she totally ignored.

‘You’ll never get her,’ said Roger once more.

‘We’ll see,’ said Jack.’

* * * * *

The demon Azazel was pleased. New souls would give him a buzz. Demons fed on souls sacrificed to them, taking in the new spiritual energy and savouring its feel. They were, in human comparisons, just like illicit drugs. And Azazel had not fed for some time now, so, having identified the Geraldine in question from following his new client, Azazel got to work.

* * * * *

‘Is there something wrong, Geraldine?’ Miss Quimby looked anxiously at her student in English, who had started moaning.

Jack and Roger looked on, as the lass, after some moaning, vomited up on her desk, her lunch disappearing from her.

‘Ooh, gross,’ said one of the students.

‘Bloody awful,’ said another.

Miss Quimby came down to Geraldine and gently escorted her out of the schoolroom to the sickroom.

Roger looked at Jack.

‘Coincidence? Asked Roger.

Jack smiled. Hopefully, the wench would soon be his.

* * * * *

Azazel, having settled in his new home, of Geraldine Sunderwell, unsurprised by the common vomiting which took place upon a new possession, began the slow work of converting her mind. She was young, naïve, so it probably wouldn’t take long. He got to work on various synapses and memory banks and, with some fiddling, began his task of turning her affections to his new master.

* * * * *

‘I don’t know what caused it, Mrs Dalton. I just suddenly felt really nauseous. And then I puked.’

Mrs Dalton, the mother of the family Geraldine was staying with patted Geraldine’s head.

‘Don’t worry about it, luv. You will be better in the morning.’

‘I hope so.’

‘You try and get some sleep, alright. I will check on you in a few hours.’

Geraldine laid down on her bed, pulled up a light blanket, and tried to find some sleep. Mrs Dalton looked on anxiously, but tried to put any worries from her mind. ‘I am sure she will be fine,’ she thought to herself.

* * * * *

The demon Razion, hovering near the sleeping body of Geraldine, spoke to Azazel. ‘Here’s the stuff,’ he said. Immediately a pale green smokey substance emanated from Razion’s hand and entered the mouth of the sleeping Geraldine.

‘Thank’s punk,’ said Azazel. ‘Now get the hell out of here.’

‘Remember, I want a piece of his parents.’

‘Yeh, yeh. I’ll remember. Now scram.’

The demon Razion dutifully left the room as Azazel got to work with the new intoxicating substance.

* * * * *

Geraldine dreamed a strange dream that night. She was alone in her room, naked, and with strong urges towards masturbation. Her mind was flooded with thoughts of sex. And then, suddenly, the ‘Jack’ lad, one she had liked a little anyway, entered her room. And her sexual appetite was suddenly too much. She got up, grabbed him, and found her way to his manhood. And, in her dream, started partaking of her dark and forbidden desires.

* * * * *

Waking from her dream, it was still dark outside. And the urge towards sex was still with her. She turned on the lampshade next to her bed and, feeling down under the blanket, brought forth her one and only pornographic magazine of naked men. She got up, locked the door, and proceeded to engage in that act that people for thousands of years have undertaken in the dead of night.

* * * * *

‘Jack. Would you like to have lunch with me today?’ Jack turned to see, luckily enough, his lustful desire of Geraldine Sunderwell speaking to him.

‘Well, if you insist.’

‘I certainly do. See you in the cafeteria.’

Jack smiled as the object of his lust walked down the hallway, disappearing into a room. ‘Thank fuck,’ he thought to himself. The demon had done the trick.

* * * * *

They were alone, in Jacks room. She started unbuttoning her top, looking at him with lust in her eyes. ‘I am a virgin you know. Can you remedy that?’

‘I sure can babe.’

He got up, helped her with the rest of her top, and proceeded to those things which usually come by instinct.

* * * * *

Azazel, sensing his work was done, gradually separated from the girl. He would leave them now, but return in a week. He would, when the kid had been satiated, remind him of his deal. He would remind him and claim his prize.

* * * * *

Over the next few days, Jack felt he was falling in love. He and Geraldine made love each night, and she even came into the boys’ toilet with him at school to relieve him once. It was carnal sex, and it was fucking fantastic. In all of this he had forgotten his deal with Azazel. He had forgotten the promise he had made, yet he would soon be reminded.

* * * * *

‘She fucks well,’ said Jack to Roger. ‘Really, she is fucking awesome in bed.’

‘Braggart. I can’t believe it fucking worked. Do you think something can be arranged between me and Azazel.’

‘Depends on what you offer him, I suppose.’

‘You haven’t forgotten what you offered him, have you. He’ll probably want to speak to you about that soon.’

Jack looked at Roger, suddenly remembering his deal. ‘Shut up Roger.’

‘You have forgotten, haven’t you.’

‘Shut the fuck up.’

‘If you don’t keep the deal the demon will kill you, probably. But, fuck, man. I couldn’t kill my parents. I think your fucked, really.’

‘Shut up,’ said Jack, now worried about his predicament.

* * * * *

Jack laid down on his bed. Geraldine was busy tonight, but she would see him tomorrow. He could hardly wait.

‘Hey loser. I hope you haven’t forgotten our deal. Your parent’s souls, right?’

Jack jumped, startled at the voice of the demon which he had not summoned.

‘Were are you?’ he asked.

‘That’s for me to know, punk. Now, I will give you 3 days to make the kill. Otherwise, you better watch your ass. Literally.’

The voice left off.

Jack returned to lying on his bed. Like Roger had said, he was totally fucked, and he knew it.

* * * * *

‘What is the knife for, Jack?’ Gerladine asked about the sharp blade which was on his bedroom desk.

‘Forget about that, Gerry. Come over here.’

Geraldine contemplated the blade one last time, and returned to her new lover.

Jack, caressing her arse, looked nervously at the knife. Tonight was the night. Tonight he would do the devil’s work.

* * * * *

At 12 Midnight, the devil himself walked down the hallway of 7 Vesper street, dressed in the guise of 15 year old Jack Stoke. He came to the doorway of his parents’ room and slowly turned the knob. He opened the door and looked at them, blissfully sleeping. First him, in the heart, and then her. She might struggle, but he was stronger.

He came to the side of the bed and looked down at the man who had raised him. While in truth, he had no great love for John Stoke, the man had done the right thing by him and given him the start to life he needed. He looked at him, then, and slowly lowered his dagger. It came to him then – the reality of what he was doing. And a blind lust left his head and he, woke up, almost, as if seemingly from a dream. He left the room and returned to his. Whatever else, as sick as he had become in his heart, he was not a killer. The demon would have to exact its vengeance upon him instead. Jack himself would have to partake of the dark side.

* * * * *

Silent observers, angels from heaven, noted the choice Jack Stoke had made in his heart. Those who judge eternal life noted Jacks choice and how he returned to his room.

One of the Angels notified Azazel, reminding him of the divine mandate regarding repentance. Jack, while a long way from being forgiven, had made the right choice. And now he would be free from the demons attack. Free to live in peace.

Epilogue

Jack and Geraldine dated for several months before they school year ended, and she returned home. They lost touch after that, but Jacks lust had been satiated. From time to time he thought on Azazel, who had never showed up. He thought on what that demon could do to him if it ever got hands on him, and continued in the prayers to God which he had earnestly begun.

Jack, it seemed, had indeed escaped the dark side.

THE END

The Harmony Bridge

a very short story

Callodyn surveyed the bridge. The strands were not in harmony. They were not in harmony. The dark lords of the Necronomicon - the ancient adversaries - in their latest attack on the realm, had corrupted the bridge through their infiltrators, the savagers. The savagers had invaded 'Haven' - home of the 'Harmony Bridge' - and corrupted the strands which kept the bridge together. The Harmony Bridge - Alturus' only defence against the dark lords of the Necronomicon. Without the strands flowing in harmony with each other - thus enabling the power of the 'spellsongs' woven by the 'spellmages' of Haven to have effect - Alturus would inevitably feel the wrath of the dark lords of the Necronomicon.

Callodyn, now Pontifex over Haven, had faced this danger before. In his youth, all those years ago, he had defeated the Necronomicon at that time, weaving the new strand which kept away the dark lords for now, nearly, a full century. But now, as his 120th year began, in the frailness of an age of antiquity in the realm of Alturus, the legend of Callodyn was to be put to the test.

He began singing the new song he had been working on for nearly 70 years. A spellsong with the intent, when needed, to bring completion - culmination - to the entire harmony bridge. He had planned on entering the spellsong to the bridge on his 125th birthday. He knew, as the prophet foretold, he would live to at least 130 years - years beyond mortal men in a sense - so had planned the culmination of his songmagery for his 125th year. But, due to the threat of the Necronomicon, that time could not wait.

He entered the bridge. The song alive around him. His spirit sought out the strands needed to be woven together. Vissinhock, Gaeldwhelm and Vauniquet all hummed around him - ancient strands put together by the ancient songlord to protect Alturus. His song alive in his spirit, the strands began flowing. They began flowing in a new, strange, yet beautiful symmetry. And then, at the climax to the song, unification began. The song merged into the spirit of the bridge, imparted from his own spirit, and sought out harmony - the unifying of the spellsong with the bridge.

* * * * *

The Necronomicon looked on. Their attack, about to happen, would now not come to be. Around the planet Alturus, the wave of new songspirit came forward, attacking their being - their nature. They were creatures of evil - of chaos. Dark lords of destruction. When faced with purity - with goodness - they could only retreat. Only in the darkness of evil could they triumph. So, for now they would retreat. Yet, one day, one dim and distant day in the future, they would attack Alturus again, and claim victory over their ancient adversaries.

* * * * *

Peace. The heart of Callodyn Songmage, Pontifex of Haven, was at peace. Alturus had celebrated his victory, and peace and joy rang through the realm. Yet Callodyn, despite the joy in his heart, knew that one day - one dim and distant day in the future - war would come again. And for that day he would need to prepare the children of Alturus, and the songmages of the Harmony Bridge.

THE END

The Heart of the Matter

(A Tongue in Cheek, very short story)

I suppose, in truth, and all things considered, it comes down to this. I am against the homosexual movement because, in my faith, it is a sin and against God’s laws.

My brother is a homosexual. He has been for seventeen years now. And the sad thing is, like me, he was raised in a god-fearing and bible believing home. Really, he should have known better.

I mean, these sodomites. If we allow them into our own family, hey church, how can we ever justify calling them sinners. I mean, wouldn’t we be the hypocrites. And, church, you know how Jesus hates hypocrites.

The sad thing is, even I am guilty now. I have looked through my brothers gay magazines and got excited. I went and masturbated over a picture of a guy going down on another guy. And, boy, was it a rush. Really, it almost had me convinced that these gay guys knew something which they had not been sharing with the rest of us.

But, no. I will stand my ground. Despite my sin – which is grievous – of which, praise the Lord, I have repented, I must wholeheartedly condemn the Sodomite race to the eternal fires of hell for which, due to the corruption they have brought upon us holy ones, they utterly deserve.

So no, friend. Gay is not okay by me. I suppose, the Heart of the Matter is this. God created Adam and Eve – NOT Adam and Steve.

Your friend

S. A. Tan

The Raven and the Dove
Dedicated to Nancy Jo

The Raven sat on the branch, contemplating the scene below. Three tireless workers, and the older father figure, toiling away, working on the big boat. The raven heard the term, often, 'Ark of Salvation', which it seemed to understand as referring to the Ark but, as Raven's were not as smart as humans, was not quite sure.

The Dove, sitting up the branch a little, also surveying the scene, turned to the Raven and asked. 'Why is the boat so big? Are they planning on travelling far, do you think?'

The Raven considered the question before responding 'God only knows.'

Months came and went, and the Raven and the Dove, having come aboard the Ark, were up near the side window, which the old man had opened that day, as it had finally stopped raining. 'Freaky,' said the Raven, looking out. 'There is water everywhere.'

'It is all the rain, dear Raven,' replied the Dove.
'You know, Dove, if this is the only boat and all the others have drowned, then I don't think I will ever leave the boat. It will probably end in no good, if you know what I mean. Leave this boat and who knows what trouble you could get in to.'
The dove considered the Raven's point, yet replied. 'I will take my chances. I mean, how possibly bad could it be? What, would they kill me or something?'
'Maybe,' said the Raven. 'But this God thing the old man speaks about, I think he sent all the rain. You better not be too cocky, or he will punish you as well.'
'Oh, I am not worried. There are plenty of doves here, and I think we will be fine.'
'Whatever,' said the Raven.

And time passed.

And the old man opened the window, and let the Raven go. The Raven flew out and looked all around, finding no safe land anywhere, so returned to the Ark. The old man took him back in, and petted his head lovingly. The Raven looked at the dove. 'I am never leaving, you know. Never leaving the old man. He has taken care of us when everything else was destroyed.' The dove nodded, starting to understand.

A little later on the Dove was released, found an olive leaf, but in considering the words of the Raven returned to be safe and sound.

Yet, in the testing of the dove, the dove was released again, and decided, because of the newness of the world - how it had been refreshed - that it would leave the man and take its chances. It would see just were its own freedom in life could take it.

Yet the Raven remained. And as years past, and as the communities of Ravens and Doves grew once more, the Raven kept in mind the lesson of the Ark and the Flood and, seeing the Old man's descendants sacrifice doves regularly, it wondered to itself just how long it would take before the Dove realized that, at the end, when the second and final punishment came, that there would be only one safe place then, and that was with the old man and the Ark.

THE END

The Vortex of Nothingness

The Shadow.

The Shadow, of his soul, hidden.

Hidden.

Frank looked into the vortex of nothingness. It lay hidden within. The Shadow of his soul lay hidden within.

And why?

Because Frank was a shadow of a man. A shadow of a man he used to be.

His wife dead, killed by his own blunders, along with his children.

Sacked as unreliable and a threat in his only lifelong occupation.

And the watcher – the divine watcher – it had claimed Frank’s soul, and cast it into the vortex of nothingness. A vortex, the watcher claimed, full of such souls. Souls of nothing people.

This was the end. The end.

Unless he dared the vortex – unless he dared with his final spirit of decency – he would remain nothing. Eternally nothing.

Eternally damned to a soul of no value. Of no reputation. Of no hope.

And so he dared the vortex.

He swam, demons playing tricks on his mind. Will-O-The-Wisps attempting to lead him astray. But he swam. He swam, suddenly, and ultimately realizing that this was it. If he lost his soul, life would be over.

And a determination entered him. A determination born of desperation. And he swam. He swam.

Later, later, later………….much later………years later………

He stood on the deck of HMS Valiant Warrior – latest in the British Imperial Space Fleet. He was a hero. A decorated hero. And because, when the testing came, he had defeated the nothing within. And found the answer to his life.

THE END