Magic Carpet Ride...
Written completely by, Casey Ryan
Please note, this was written between the hours of 1 and 4 in the morning the day before it was due. And yes, I did turn it in for a grade.
Magic carpet rides always tend to be on those far off lands, and with those red spits of rug you can buy on the side streets of Egypt. But nay, this is a ride on a real carpet, a tie-die shag rug, with little dangling bells and frayed ends. And this shag rug is the origin of this adventure.
Treacherous waters below me are dashing past in quick disarray. The deep waters that seem so still to a man who is still are passing me like a high-speed chase. No trace of life, unless of coarse you count the microscopic amebas in the water, lollygagging around. If a carpet could have a speedometer, you would need the meter to be ranging from 200 to 600 miles per hour. With the nothingness of the void between the coasts, nothing was to inhibit the speed of this carpet. Not until the distance spat out a yellow brown speck of land. That land was inevitably a beach, at last, the crazed ride on the rug was over. And I could get off its fuzzy surface.
As the land came closer and closer, it hit me, this carpet needs to slow down, or momentum would throw me almost 500 yards. But this carpet was determined to go on, we passed the beach and into some foothills. With a screaming halt, I was thrown almost 500 yards to face plant into a cottony field, almost as if a planned cushion to catch my fall. Once consciousness was regained, and the tumult ceased. I found myself standing waste deep in grass, green as processed baby food with added color (for excitement in the little kid). Miles on miles I see nice inclines and declines. Nothing, nothing but the cool wind in my face, and the bright sun on my back was to stop us from this peace.
Hours past, maybe days, it was as peaceful as Lothlőrien was to the little hobbits in Tolkien’s Fellowship Of The Ring. Carpet and I decided to explore the land a bit. Together we flew to the coast, not back to the beach but rather a more beautiful sight.
Carpet let me off slower this time, and what did I see, to my west was ocean, to my east plains. The plains of land were almost carved like mountains, at the base was the still water, this time, I was still. Coming up from the waters edge was a rich black granite, looking as if it had been scooped out like ice cream, and then left for years in a freezer. A nice mold like grass covered the mountain side as far as one could see. On the tip peak stood a structure completely aloof to all, it appeared a building.
At that tip carpet stopped, the distant gaze was correct, it was a building, a house of stone, a small cozy home built with rock, and clay, it too was moldy as with the mountain side at the water’s edge. The only difference, this was actually mold. The pale green moss covered most of the dilapidated home, but yet it would have been some welcoming site to any weary Celt. A cart stood behind the structure, it had 2 wheels of which 1 was splintered and cracked, but the other was held on with an oxidized axel. It was contained in a fenced off area that was once a garden, but now, just a grim burial ground.
The ground was adorned with a cross, it was near 3 foot tall, and all 4 edges tapered to the center, and it was entangled in a circle. The cross itself was carven with a weaving line that crossed and looped itself until it just stopped, as if the maker of the stone died him self before completion. Next to it laid 3 smaller similar crosses, not as extravagantly etched.
Carpet and I had to move on, mainly because he had become depressed by the overwhelming sadness of the graves. Next stop, Dublin, a historical significance sign stopped me at the gates, it read, Dublin, Come Ye, weary vik. Come and rest. It explained how it had been a port for the meanest of mean Vikings of the high seas and distant lands. Following that was a sign with a harp and an arrow. I turned left and proceeded. A quick stumble brought quick attention to the detail of the cobblestone on the ground, stone that looked as if the Vikings themselves placed it.
After 3 more harp signs, I found my way to a 100% Irish bar. People there were quite merry during happy hour. Especially when they had a nice draft Guinness.
Music seemed to be in the air and in our hearts, as carpet and I traveled Dublin we found that every bar had a different band, and every band was an incredible concoction of harmonious Celtic flavored music. It ranged from flute solos to heavy metal guitars, fast drums to a low jazzy D’jembei player. By about 3 in the morning, carpet was tiered, so we flew out to the country, and made a camp for the night, unfortunately, we woke up 2 days later.
Wondering the countryside, carpet and I encountered a small building and a large wall. The building was easy, it was a Celtic church. The trinity was clearly sculpted in the masonry. All that remained was sanctuary. The wall on the other hand was a might bit different, it was tall almost 2 stories tall. It had sharp edges and holes for bowmen. The likelihood of a church having bowmen, it was slim to none, but the likelihood of a castle having a church, that was much greater. The outer walls were hardened rock, and the door was cut off by a mote, dried, but a mote nonetheless. The inner castle had a courtyard and a barracks. The barracks smelled of people that had been eaten by the slow decay of time.
And inside the barracks, that was the case, there were near 100 bodies, all cobwebbed and dead, but all graciously adorned with armor of a blue temper, and a sword 36 inches long. A leather wrapped hilt extended from a brass cross guard, and held a wheel style pommel. A door in the back of the barracks led to the stable of the kingdom. Bones and bones, mounds of bones like generous scoop of mashed potatoes.
Crossing the courtyard once again, I entered the once guarded citadel of the castle. It too smelled rank, the walls were much brighter than the barracks, for the walls were covered with a nice fabric. Up the wall there was a single window, it was cut so at all times it would shine light onto the thrown, which was now empty. The thrown of wood, and silk was carefully intertwined so that it would last a lifetime. It was green crushed velvet and it gave a luster of gold when just the right ass sat in it.
The thrown room housed the kings affects, which was a sword much like that of the barracks but not brass, gold and silver. An armor display stand stood like a statue, with articulated gauntlets, and sabotons as longs as my forearm. A Mallie shirt was under the blackened iron breastplate. All was sparkling.
Through the thrown room and down the corridor, a hall, the great hall lies. Nearly the size of a football field, the colossal room stood, with tables to feed many. On each table, a different helmet, not that of their own, but most likely that of there defeated. On the top of each helm sat a candle to light the passage from plate to mouth. The walls were filled with banners, and ribbons and decorations for war. The tables had a white tablecloth, a fine linen, but not that well washed. The stains vary in size, but were mostly ales of the ages. And some of them even had that distinct not detestable stench. Off the north most wall, a long table sat facing all the others, it had yet another thrown, duplicate in size, shape, and color. There were 2 smaller chairs on each side of the thrown, carpet thought they were guards, and he’s probably right. On the table directly in front of the thrown, an early Corinthian helm lay hewn in half. My guess is, it was there last defeat. Over to the adjacent wall, a small door almost a trap door, and a larger door next to it.
The larger door was a strait walk way to the dungeons, a dark and dreary place. Were someone could spend there entire life for a capitol crime. A long corridor, with 3 cells separated only by iron gates, was all that held these beasts back. At a quick glance a skeleton wrapped in a rag was handing still chained to the wall. Beside him lay a dagger, but just out of reach. The corridor seemed to go on and on forever, and then it took a 10 degree incline coarse. Strait up that was a large swinging door. The following of that door was the kitchen.
The dungeon was located in just a way that it was easy to take prisoners from their cell. Strait up to the kitchen, and skin them, and cook them for the nights feasts. The kitchen did have an eerie tent of dulled red on the walls and floor.
The counter was made with a drain probably to catch blood when the head of the victim was severed. The counter top also had a slight slope to it, with a wicker basket at the end, for catching the head. A sword danced above the meat table (fastened to a wall). A closet sized room with a chilly breeze held 2 skeletons and maybe 1000 maggots. A wood-burning stove occupied the corner, with a large shaft for smoke. The coals of the stove could be placed in the oven and used to cook a body. Each oven was about 6 foot in length and 3 ft in depth. The walls were inscribed with various recipes for the king’s favorite human side dish. Along with the pictures, many violent pictures were illustrated to show the proper way to behead someone, to skin them alive, and to cook them to perfection. On the left most wall, a door that led strait back to the great hall swung on its hinges. The tour continued out and through the kingdom grounds.
Once we entered the quaint homes of the peasants, we found it quite hospitable. Straw beds and pillows with cotton blankets were quite luxurious. The houses were all furnished with the king’s symbol on the wooden front door and back door. Each house was very small, but they were said to house up to 9 people.
On our way out, carpet decided to take another nap in the mountains with
all the tall green grass, and elegant trees. It finally the last day, and carpet
wanted to take another trip to Dublin so he could grab some not so violent
souvenirs. Once again, carpet was grabbing Guinness in the bars and hobbling
around like a drunk man covered in carpet.
Carpet and I decided to take one last fly over Ireland to see all the sights from a magic carpet. We flew over the mountains and across to the sea, we flew over the Guinness breweries, were 73% of the Guinness made is consumed on the island. We raced over the churches, and across to the castle. And we dashed out to the sea. Carpet started his speed up and up. And once again, all you could see was the sea, and an Ireland disappearing in the back ground.
As time moved on, carpet was coming up to home, the good ole USA. Were all is fair and good. We came in for a final landing, and carpet launched me near 200 yards, and now I am home. It is neigh on 12:03 on September the 27th and I am summing up carpet and my trip on the magicalness of my magical flying carpet to Ireland.