Prose Writing from the past

Back in the 90s, I started an IRC channel called #Bards, where a group of us would get together every week and share/recite the poems and stories we had written for an appreciative audience. Here are some of the stories I wrote.



Once there were mountains that no longer exist on this planet today, canyons that have long since been filled with dust and earth, and become part of the prairies, and people the likes of which will never be seen on this earth again..

Far out past the mountains and beyond the canyons, a village of people lived, primitive and tribal in their ways, but warm and loving of their fellow man. They worked their fields and raised their families, and joined together with nearby villages for festivals and celebrations of the changing seasons, always calm in the assurance that life was good and would remain so.

Back beyond the canyons and deep in the mountains, a presence awoke, and feeling the air around it, it sensed the peaceful harmony in which the village and its neighbors lived. The presence fed on fear and hate, and realized that it would starve in this serene land, and die if it did not take action swiftly. A swirling wind arose, and the presence was borne aloft into the air, whirling through the canyons and picking up substance as the dust solidified into the shape of a man. Soon the wind could no longer hold the manshape aloft, and he was set on the ground, to walk through the canyons to the peaceful land beyond.

Working in the fields, the people of the village had no idea what was coming toward them, they continued to live, raising their crops, living in harmony with the earth. But one small child knew. He was a dreamer. He dreamed of strife and pain and gory death, all at the behest of a man with red eyes that tore into the souls of any who dared look him in the eye, and running to warn the village elders, the boy was ignored, for he was but a child, 10 years old, and had forgotten his place in the world.

Then one day a figure stepped out from the shadow of the canyon, his long black hair shining in the sun, his beaded clothing flashing, and a lone eagle feather hanging from a lock of his hair. The village elders welcomed the stranger, laying out a feast and offering him the finest lodge in the village for as long as he cared to stay. There was dancing and feasting through the night, and the boy watched from across the clearing, never going within 20 feet of the stranger, for he recognized him from his dream.

As the red dawn spread in the eastern sky, the stranger spread his hands out, and said: "This village is wondrous, the people kind. But where are your defenses?"

"Defenses?" asked one of the elders, "We have no need of defenses. We live in peace with our neighbors."

The man looked serious for a moment, then spoke again. "But I have been to see your neighbors, and they hunger for your land, for the corn you raise here. They think it unfair that the finest land is in your possession." The elders looked baffled, "Possession? None own the land, they are welcome in the fields, to raise the corn and feed themselves."

The boy watched and listened. The man looked into the fire, and said, "Ah, but would they welcome you to the plains where they hunt the buffalo? Or perhaps they keep the plains for themselves, thinking your people not worthy.." The man rose to his feet and said, "Think on what I have said, and when I awaken, I will teach you to defend yourselves and take what rightfully you should have." With these words, the man entered the lodge he had been given and went to sleep, a secret smile playing on his lips.

At this point the boy spoke up, "I have warned you of the evil to come, and here it is, recognize it, drive it out, or our way of life will die." The elders ignored the boy, and looking at one another, they spoke, "The man is RIGHT! Our neighbors hunt the buffalo, leaving us to starve on corn and make our lodges from poles and thatch! We must do something!"

The boy sighed, knowing all to be hopeless, and entering into his own lodge he pulled together a few personal belongings, and stole quietly from the only home he had ever known, back into the canyons, journeying into the wilderness. A girl, just recently become a woman, saw the boy sneaking away, and knowing of his warnings and believing him a messenger from the Spirits, she crept after him, meeting him at the mouth of the canyon and begging him to take her with him, to which the boy agreed.

When the stranger awoke the next day, preparations for war with the neighbors began. I will not tell you of the details here, it is enough to tell you that it was horrible and bloody, and the villages were destroyed, many men strong and brave slaughtered, children orphaned, wives widowed, and those few who survived scattered, becoming wandering plainspeople, never to have a true home again.

Deep in the heart of the canyon, the boy was growing to manhood, the young woman growing more and more beautiful with each passing year. When the boy reached 12 years of age, he sought and found his vision, which told him his destiny, to find and rubout the stranger from the face of the earth. Having found his vision, he passed into manhood, and took his wife into his arms, planting seed in fertile soil, lest he fail in his duty and his child need fulfill it.

Venturing out into the plains, the new man smelled the air, peered into the distance, felt with his spirit, and found the stranger far far in the distance. He journeyed for months, finally reaching the edge of the land, and found the stranger sitting on a rock looking out at the waves.

"You destroyed my home and my people, I must now destroy you" he said.

"HA child, think you that I am so easily destroyed by a boy playing at being a man? Braver men than you have tried and failed." At these words, the new man pulled his dagger from its sheath and circled 'round the stranger, darting in occasionally to swipe at him with the blade, and the stranger danced from armsreach, continually darting away just as the blade should have sliced into him. The new man realized that this was futile, that he would never reach the stranger with his blade, but at a loss as to how to defeat the evil being, he continued, circling, and leading the stranger into moving ever back, soon they stood ankle deep in the ocean's water, and the new man swiped again at the stranger, sending him back further, knee depth.

The stranger began to laugh, "You are not a man, you are a boy, never to BE a man!" and saying this he pulled a dagger and moved as if to advance on his opponent. But as he raised his leg up to step forward, it came away, a stump.. for of dust was his body made, and the water had turned the hardened dust to wet clay. The new man realized that he had won his battle, and darted forward quickly, shoving the stranger under the water and wrestling the dagger away from him, pushing at the body until it became a lump of shapeless clay. Gathering a few handfuls of the clay, the man walked from the water and formed a pitcher, and feeling an evil wind surrounding him, he raised the pitcher high into the air, gathering the evil spirit within. Holding the pitcher safe in his arms, the man journeyed home to the canyon, seeking his wife and the child who had surely been born by now.

As he passed the remains of the village he had been born in, the man dug deep into the earth, burying the pitcher deep and safe, aware that some day, some fool would unearth it and release the evil yet again. Then he turned and walked into the canyon, where he found his wife with a small boy of about 2 years of age, his son.

Taking his son into his arms, he charged him as the protector of the world, a charge that has been handed down from that day to this. And now, millennia later, the descendants of the man still fight against the evil presence, trying to harness it yet again. Perhaps one day, we, all of us shall succeed, perhaps not.. but we are charged, it is our duty as the sons and daughters of Man.

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A tale of hope

Once when the world was young and more innocent than it is today, and before the clouds were blackened by smog and the waters of the ocean sullied by filth, a small being came forth to life, sprung from the dreams of a lonely man, a man who had nothing in his life except sorrows and disappointments.. All day long, the man would sit in his chair by the window, watching life pass him by, and he would sigh in sadness, wishing he had the strength to go out and grasp the world and live life to its fullest.

But he was not a strong man, he was beaten down by sorrow, and unable to move, so hard hit was he by it.

And so, he would sit, and he would watch, and then he would go to his lonely bed and sleep, only to waken and face the next day, same as before.

One morning, as he sat there sighing, he heard a small voice, it piped up and said, "fear not, I am on my way to you"

He looked around the room, and saw nothing,

So he dismissed the voice as more proof of his own worthlessness, thinking perhaps now he was also becoming insane. Even so, a small spark lit in his heart, and that night when he went to bed, he thought perhaps tomorrow might be a better day after all. He woke in the morning, performed his ablutions, and sat in his chair by the window, watching and waiting. The morning wore on and drew to a close, and the noonday sun was high in the sky, and still nobody had come. The man sighed sadly, knowing that he had imagined the voice and so he dismissed it.

As evening drew near, a single tear fell from his eye and drifted down hs cheek, and reaching through his sorrow like a crystal bell, he heard the voice again: "Cry not, for soon I will arrive"

This time, he knew that he had heard the voice, because it was clear as a bell, and it echoed through the room

"Who is there?" he asked, "Who speaks to me?" "It is I," said the voice. "Someone who loves you."

The man was astounded, and he looked around the room, trying to find the person who spoke. "Come forth then, if you love me. Let me see you"

"I will come soon..." said the voice, and it drifted off into silence The man went to his bed and slept that night with a peaceful smile, and awoke well rested and with a spring in his step. Walking to the washstand, he performed his morning ritual, washing his face until it shone, shaving, combing his hair He opened the door to his house and stepped out into the street for the first time in months, and as the sun sparkled in his eyes, he smiled He strolled down the street, greeting his neighbors, who were astounded to see him cheerful, and walked to the marketplace to purchase a loaf and some fine cheese and wine. Seeing a poor beggarwoman, he flipped her a coin as he walked out of the citygates to the meadow where he gathered a beautiful bunch of wildflowers, the colors of which are unknown in today's bland and grey world.

With a sparkle in his eye, he nearly ran back to his quiet home, where he spent the remainder of the morning scrubbing and washing and dusting, until his small cottage gleamed. He opened all the windows wide, and flung the door open as well, he placed the wildflowers into a pitcher on his small table, and he spread the fare he had got at market on some chipped but clean crockery.

And then he sat in his chair and waited, calling cheerful hellos to the people as they passed as the afternoon wore on, neighbors drifted in his door, surprised to see that this sad man could smile and be happy, and soon a joyful gathering was being held in his home.

The day wore to a close, and the neighbors left, the man cleared the table off and closed his door and windows. He sat in his chair, chuckling happily as he thought over the events of the day, and he heard the voice again.. "I told you I would come, and so I did." The man said, "I did not see you" And the voice said, "Nobody has ever seen me, nobody ever will.” "I am the hope that lives inside you, the hope you had lost. And now you have found me again, and I shall never leave."

The man smiled happily, and went to his bed, dreaming wonderful dreams, and when he woke the next morning his heart was happy and full of hope.

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The Best Medicine

Kate looked over the rim of her coffee cup and into the eyes of Elias, the busboy, who was removing the empty bagel plates from in front of herself and her "best friend", Lisa. A thin and perfect blonde, Lisa was sitting at the perfect table in the trendy cafe, rambling on and on about the latest sale at Bonwit's, and boring Kate to tears. But then, everything seemed to bore Kate these days. More and more she was starting to get the impression that this world she was living in was not real, that there was something bigger, something deeper.. something that made this all look so... well. So mundane.

Shopping, Lisa was rambling, was just to die for. There was no finer feeling in the world than getting hold of the latest Scaasi fashion at 10% off of its exhorbitant price, no sense of accomplishment greater than finding the perfect sequinned evening bag to go with that Coco Chanel evening gown from Saks, blah blah blah. Kate just nodded and made the appropriate noises as her mind took a stroll to a quieter place.

These dreams she had been having lately, they were strange, almost eerily realistic, and yet they weren't frightening. She was finding herself looking forward to bedtime, a first for her. Going to bed in her youth had been something to fear, her nightmares had been far too real, and bedtime had not been something she had relished.

Now, though, hmmm. It was strange.

Her thoughts wandered on to the first dream. She had fallen asleep, and found herself in a small room, containing a cot, a stool, a few hooks on the walls, and a chest of drawers. The door was closed, and she walked over and opened it.

Voices hung in the still air of the hallway, a jumble of mismatched sounds that she couldn't filter, although the occasional word leaped forward, words like, "Another ale!", "....he said", nothing that she could really string together to make sense of.

Stepping into the hall, she had pulled the door to the room closed behind her. Turning back suddenly, the door had disappeared, and in its place was a narrow flight of stairs leading downward. The voices were coming from the bottom of the steps. She took the first step hesitantly, and found that each succeeding step was all the easier to take.

The bottom of the stairwell opened out into a large room, a tavern filled with people of all shapes and appearances. A long bar ran the length of the room, a small white kitten sitting quietly at one end of it, its eyes sweeping the room as if it understood everything being said in the place, but that was impossible, wasn't it?

Kate stepped up to the bar, close to the kitten, and absentmindedly reached out a hand to stroke its soft fur as she tried to catch the eye of the bartender. The kitten backed away somewhat, watching her closely as she requested a Coke. The bartender glanced at her, then filled a tall tumbler from a spigot, plopped a cherry into it, and handed it to her. Reaching for her purse, she discovered it was missing, and began to hand the Coke back. And the kitten spoke.

"We don't use money here," it said. "Don't worry about it."

Kate jerked as if struck, some of her Coke sloshing onto the bar, which the barman quickly wiped with a damp rag.

"You're new here," the kitten said (and this was a statement of fact, not a question).

Kate looked around, fighting the panic that was welling up in her breast, as she suddenly hit on the strange thought that maybe she was Alice and maybe she had fallen through the looking glass after all.

"What's your name?" asked the kitten.

And Kate found her voice. "Bronwen."

She didn't know where the name had come from. It just came, and that was that, it was her name.

"Nobody comes to the White Kitten who doesn't need to be here, Bronwen. You'll find your own answers soon enough."

Saying that, the kitten hopped behind the bar and disappeared.

Bronwen looked around at the people in the tavern, and then at the tavern itself. Spotting an empty table in a corner, she took her Coke and sat in one of the chairs surrounding it. Then jerked again, startled, as she realized that the table was not empty, there were two men there, and both were familiar to her, although she could not place their faces.

"And I say that it is wrong, damn you!" one of the men seethed, "Wrong to betray a trust like that, wrong to bring harm to others, wrong to cause that sort of pain!"

The other man sneered, "It was only dayside, and dayside isn't real, you know that."

The first man, young and slight, glared across the table. "It is real to those who live there exclusively. It is real to me, with a foot in each. The damage you cause there is REAL to those people, and you sit there and you declare that it is a playground for the darker side of your soul. Be damned to you, Aarn!"

The older man glared back, "Those people, Jakob, are living less than half a life, they don't know what lies beyond the gate, and they are lower than the animals. Don't you even...!" and then he noticed the small woman sitting at the table. "Where the hell did YOU come from?"

Bronwen felt icicles piercing into her soul as Aarn glared at her. A deep, primitive fear welled up inside of her. This man terrified her. She knew that he had the ability to hurt her, and badly, and that he would enjoy doing so.

She drew herself back into the corner as far as she could, trying to hide herself in the shadows. Jakob reached out, grabbing her wrist, pulling her back into the circle of light thrown by the candle on the table. "THIS, Aarn, THIS is the result of your dayside work. LOOK at her, you bastard!" And Bronwen suddenly saw herself as seen by other's eyes in this tavern, scarred and small, hopeless and helpless, frightened of her own shadow.

Then she saw something else, a flickering in Aarn's eyes, a face hidden in their depths, a face she knew from childhood, from her darkest nights, the nights of fear. She saw something else there too, recognition in Aarn's own eyes, and a hint of fear in them as well, and something began to grow inside of her.

Jakob looked into her eyes, and said, "You got it, now you need to decide what you're going to do with the knowledge. I can't help you with that one."

Bronwen sat there, feeling the THING in her gut swelling, growing, she felt like she was about to explode, about to scream, about to do something so totally unlike her that it would change her forever.

And she opened her mouth, and laughed.

She laughed and laughed, riotously, raucously, peals of laughter ringing from her and bouncing from the walls and ceilings of the tavern. Her laughter grew and grew, and as it grew, strange things happened.. it caught on, spreading like wildfire through the tavern, from table to table, until everybody in the bar was laughing, everybody except for Jakob and Aarn..

And Aarn... well. He seemed to be shrinking. Growing smaller as the laughter wrapped around him, forcing him back and down, away from the table, away from Bron. He began to shriek, screaming.

And Bronwen stopped laughing. With her silence, the tavern quieted, every eye in the room looking toward the table in the corner. The kitten sat on his spot on the bar again, gazing straight at Bronwen.

Looking at Aarn, Bronwen shook her head. "I know you, somehow. And yet I don't know you at all. But this I know - You Are Not Worth It."

She looked at Jakob. "I know you too, I think.."

Jakob shrugged, "Here, we never know who we know, and we often know those that we don't."

Bron smiled, "A riddle?"

"If you want it to be. This place," and Jakob gestured towards the room in general, "it's different. There is magick here, and rebirth, for those of us who want it. Do you?"

Bronwen nodded hesitantly, "I think so."

"Don't think, Bronwen. Decide. This is your chance, and it only passes once."

Bronwen looked across the table at Aarn, and then said, "Yes, I want it. I definitely want it."

Aarn stood up, slinking toward the door.

"Don't let it hit your ass on the way out, Aarn!" she shouted.

And the tavern exploded in laughter again, a different laughter, a healing sound.

The kitten strolled over to the table and jumped daintily to its top.

"Welcome to our world, Bronwen. You'll do."

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Faith of our Fathers

Not very long ago at all, but before television was the norm, and far before those magical beasts known as computers, a child was born to a man and his wife. This child was strong and beautiful, his hair was golden curls, his eyes the color of the sky on a clear day, and his laughter was like the sound of bells chiming off in the distance.

The boy's father was an Episcopal minister, called to the pulpit by God, and ordained by man to lead the flocks. The babe grew to a boy, beautiful, bright and charming, and when he reached the age of four years, disaster struck.

There was polio rampant in those days, the boy was struck, his body stiffened by the dread disease, his breathing tortured, and he hovered on the edge of death for several days. The boy's father spent hours kneeling on the floor beside the small hospital bed, praying and pleading for the life of his son, the boy who lifted his heart. On the third night, the doctors came to the father and told him somberly that by morning he would no longer have a son.

The boy's father wept, his heart breaking into smallest pieces, and he climbed into his car and headed home to prepare his wife for the morning. On the way, the man tried to pray again, one last time, but nothing would come.. he was bereft of everything, son, faith, hope.

As he drove down the street he saw a small church, a light in its glorious stained glass window, and he came to an immediate halt. Opening the door of the church, the man knelt down in a pew, thinking that perhaps, here in a house of God, he could at least find his faith again and not be so empty.

He knelt, and he waited, not trying to pray, just being calm and peaceful.. Soon, inspiration struck, and he began to pray, vowing his life to god, and the life of his son, his prayer was beautiful, eloquent, moving, although heard by none but the man and his Lord. The man's heart spoke to God, and said, "Take him if you must, Lord, it will hurt me, but I will see him again when I too come home to rest with you.."

"Not my will, but thine be done"

The man stayed there for hours, the priest of the church (for it was a Catholic place) came through the vestibule and saw him, and from the set of the man's shoulders and head, he was aware that there was serious business of the soul being conducted, and although the time had long since passed for the church to be closed for the night, the priest left the man be, and sat back in a far pew to wait.

Hours passed, and finally the man rose from his knees, turning, he walked down the aisle to the doors of the church, and the priest must have seen a look of absolute peace and submission to the will of God on the man's face The man stepped outside of the church, and into the dawn of a new day.

He had prayed through the night, unaware of the passing hours. He stepped into his car, drove home, and got his wife, and together they went to the hospital to collect the body of their small son.

Stepping into the hospital lobby, they went to the desk and asked for the doctor who had cared for their child. The receptionist looked up, "Reverend Thomas, Dr. Wood is in his office, waiting to speak with you." Together the man and his wife walked down the long corridor, he holding her up, because her heart was broken, and he himself at peace with the will of God. They stepped into the doctor's office, and were greeted. As they sat, the doctor began to speak, telling them about how their son had passed a terrible night, growing worse and worse, and then all at once, his limbs had relaxed, a smile had struck the child's lips, and his breathing had calmed. "There is no medical explanation," said the doctor. "Spontaneous recovery, perhaps? All I know is that your son does not have polio, and seems to be perfectly fine." and the doctor broke forth into an enormous smile.

The man and his wife burst into tears, overwhelmed by the emotions welling up, and they ran, sped, RACED down the hall to see their boy, and walking thru the door, they pulled the child into their arms, his laughter ringing like bells in the distance, his smile warming the world, and his eyes sparkling like the stars in the sky. This is how this story was told to me..

This is how my grandfather came to be at peace with the will of his God And this is how my father was granted a chance to live and grow and bring forth his own two children and leave a living legacy behind him when he finally passed at the age of 42.

(Note: I do not know how true this story is, it's more of a family legend than real history, I think. Either way, I love it.)

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