OK Glenn, hold yourself together. You can do this…just don’t look at her eyes…or boobs. Don’t make eye contact or boob contact, and you’ll be fine. Just find out were you can get the Watercress from, and be on your way. Do not get pulled into her bullshit..
Glenn used the key she gave him to open the front door. Years ago she had given him a key that would get him into any home she owned all over the world. Because she showed such inhuman trust in him, he was forced to trust her. She’s in…yeah, upstairs. She likes to watch the sunset this time of day she’d be in the room with the big windows facing the west. He hoped that she didn’t know that he could never betray anyone who showed complete trust in him. It was something his dad taught him that he would never forget. Not that it was hard to remember, his dad never taught him much anyway. So now, he was psychologically oath bound to never betray Julia. H hated her for that.
“I hate you.”, he said as he entered the room. It was a big, decidedly un-Southern style living room. Giant Turkish rugs stretched across the maple wood floors, on which rested chairs and couches of the softest red crushed velvet money could buy. The curtains matched the chairs, of course; pulled to the side by golden ropes that matched the furniture’s gold trim. The room was dark now save for the light of the setting sun. There, silhouetted by the grandeur of the setting sun in the desert, was Julia. All he could see of her was her Coke-bottle curves and her long blond hair. She was 42, but she was by far the sexiest woman he had ever come across. A part of the him was sure that that she was the sexiest woman he would ever see.
“Most people say hello when they enter a room. But not my Glenn, he’s always been different.”
“You know why I hate you. Why do you trust me so much? How are you so sure I won’t kill you and take everything you have?”
She turned from the window and walked towards him. A floor length deep blue evening gown stretched perfectly across her disruptively large breasts. It then fell lazily around her similarly disruptive hips, just stopping short of her perfectly manicured toes. Intricately woven silver roses circled the chest and hips of the dress, drawing more attention to two areas that already needed no introduction.
“I trust you so much because I know you could never betray someone who shows complete, unconditional trust in you.” Fuck, he thought.
“I have the additional comfort of knowing that if you did anything to hurt me, you would have my psychotic father, my four bloodthirsty brothers, and their near limitless monetary resources hunting you down. You know that.”
“Oh yeah”, Glenn retorted. “Well, what did you drag me all the way out here for? You know I hate this state.” Glenn poured himself another drink and sat down. Julia only drank the finest red wine, and he mad sure to mooch as much of it as possible when he was around her.
“Glenn dear, I have to be in Houston sometimes to run the family oil business, now don’t I?” Glenn suddenly remembered all of the oil wells he saw on the way in. “And I can’t maintain the fabulously opulent lifestyle you’ve grown accustomed t if I’m suddenly not the CEO of a Fortune 500 company, can I?”. Glenn also suddenly remembered that she was CEO of Hendrickson Oil, just one small branch of Old Man Hendrickson’s vast multinational corporation. He was losing…badly; he blindly fumbled for a new tactic. Just as he was about to respond she stepped out of the sun’s shadow, and he saw her in all of her glory…glorious silver roses.
“And if I had no money I wouldn’t be able to keep you immersed in that wonderful you’ve been drinking like a fish.” Glenn, suddenly self-conscious about his drinking, hurriedly swallowed the last bit of wine in his glass and set it down. Dammit, I’m a grown-ass man, he thought, this bitch can’t just verbally disarm me like this…
“All of which you are more than well aware of.” Glenn regrouped for a counterattack. “Well Daisy Mae, if that’s your story then why don’t you-all have a Texas accent?” He reclined triumphantly into his red velvet chair. “I’ve never heard you talk with one.” She sat opposite him, the slit in the side of her dress unveiling her long, long legs the same way the Louvre would unveil a never before seen Michaelangelo sculpture. “Weell, silly, Big Daddy sent all us chilluns to some fancy speech therapy center in Dallas when we’all was young.” Glenn became very good at spotting fake accents in his travels around the world; this was not one of them. “He said it made us sound like some backwater hicks when alla his rich European friends came over to bowl. Did you know that we had to wear our stupid compny colors all the daggone time, till ah was eight-teen? Thas wah I never wear red and gold anymore…ever.” She leaned forward, exposing far more cleavage than was psychologically healthy for Glenn. Dropping the drawl as casually as she had pickled it up, she said, “besides, red is such a Hot, Fiery color…Gold too, it symbolizes the sun you know. I’m much more a cool, Water, Moon type of person, don’t you think?”
A small bead of sweat appeared on Glenn’s forehead. She leaned back in her chair just as the last bits of light retreated over the horizon. “Not to sound pompous but I think I’m best lit by a Full Moon. Oh you’re sweating, should I turn up the AC?”
Glenn desperately wanted another glass or six of wine. He remembered why he had sworn to himself to never engage in a battle of wits with Julia. Most of the time he felt completely outgunned, and sometimes, such as now, he felt completely unarmed. He poured himself another glass of wine and sunk, dejectedly, further into his chair. “Are you done?” he sighed.
Julia’s deep brown eyes sparkled in the now softly lit room, a grin forcing itself onto her lips. “Oh, I’m quat spent darhlin. Do you want to chitchat some more or are you ready to talk shop?”
Glen pulled a tattered, folded up copy of the Recipe from his back pants pocket and placed it on the coffee table between them. “Watercress. What the fuck is watercress and where can I get it?”
Julia leaned forward to examine the paper he produced, again decimating Glenn’s concentration and composure. She squinted at the paper and then looked at him, “your pants did a number this copy, I have to get the original.” She got up and walked over to a large framed picture of a pack of large black wolves charging through the snow. Glenn valiantly tried to avert his eyes, but the silver roses on her behind hypnotized him. They swung to and fro like a field of wildflowers being gently rocked back and worth to sleep by a warm summer breeze. He saw himself climbing blue mountains covered in silver roses, happy, free, satisfied
“GlennGlenn!” Glenn snapped out of his revelry to see Julia trying hard to hide her amusement. “What page is that again?” Glenn hurriedly looked down at the paper to hid his rapidly reddening face, “Twenty-fouryeah, 24.” She smiled again and returned to the table with one of the original pages of the recipe, preserved in four inches of bulletproof Mylar. “Now, y’all didn’t sneak a peek at the combanation did you?” Glenn picked up the page and studied it. “Please. Your old man’s a pervert, I can guess what it is 36-24-36.”
“42-34-40. If you really knew mah daddy you’d know that he liked his women healthy. Now I rememberthis ingredient is the Blessed Watercress of Machu Pichu.”
“Macho Pikachu? What the hell is that?” Julia moved her finger along the ancient text. For all of his bitching and aggravation, Glenn knew that Julia was an indispensable resource, in more ways than one. She may look like a dumb, blond bimbo, he thought, but she’s the only one who knows how to read all of the various dead languages the recipe is written in.
“In the Andes Mountains there’s a ancient city where a rare species of watercress grows. That’s what we need.”
Glenn relaxed a little now that they had left the minefield of interracial relationships and were talking business. “Ok. So what do I have to do, climb a mountain, BASE jump from a chopper? And if so, bungee cord or parachute?” Julia smiled as she studied the page, “none of the above sweetness. All you have to do is drive downtown and pick it up. I found out that somebody already did all of the hard work for us. All you have to do is break into a UPS office downtown and steal it.” Glenn gave her his “I don’t trust you at all” look. She knew it quite well.
Yeah fuckin right. If it’s really that rare and valuable there’s probably something amounting to a small army guarding it. Glenn got over his self-consciousness and poured himself another glass of wine. “And why didn’t it just get shipped to where it was going directly instead of sitting in some brown-boy’s lap all night?”
Julia gave him a stern look, finally becoming exasperated with his constant second-guessing. “Look, I found out about the shipment when I was looking into getting some for us. I blocked up the office it was being shipped through with Hendrickson business so the watercress would get held up. That name carries a hell of a lot of weight in Texas. And there shouldn’t be too much security. I even know where the damn box is in the warehouse. All of this has cost me a lot of time, effort and money. Plus I have to go out on a date with a UPS manager. Daddy’ll shit a pig when he hears about thatand he will.” Glenn didn’t feel any better about the assignment, but he did relax for three reasons: 1. It did sound like an easy job, 2. She had put in as much effort on this as he would have to, and 3. He had finally gotten under her skin. “Ok fine, I believe you. Now when do I go in?”
She stood up and stretched, arching her back dramatically. The initial shock had worn off, but the grandeur and majesty of her breasts still made him feel small and insignificant in comparison. “Five AM. It’s two hours before shift change, and the night crew usually starts goofin off then. You should go get some sleep. I have to study this page some morewe’re so close, I don’t want to make any mistakes when we have to prepare the spice and put it between the mustard and marmoset loaf.” Glenn had to admit that he was pretty tired. The drive to Houston was long and arduous, and all of the wine he had drank was catching up to hi the same way a train catches up to someone tied to its tracks. When it hit him, it would have a similar effect. So he went to his roomhe always had a room in her houses, another little piece of trivia he was sure an assassin would use against him some day. As he was leaving the room, Julia said, “I’ll wake you up around 3 so that you can get ready.” “Wake me with a blow job?” Glenn said in his most locker-room tone. “Only in your most recurring dreams” Julia replied, “now get to bed cowboy, you’ve got a long day ahead of you.” Julia listened to Glenn stumble down the hall, and put her feat up on the coffee table. Her body relaxed like a flower unfurling to welcome the morning sun. Bringing Glenn’s libido to a low boil with nothing but beginner’s flirting alone took a lot of effort. She knew he wanted herthat much was painfully obvious. But what she could not figure out for the life of her was whether he loved her. She loved him for certain, but she could not do or say anything to him until she was sure. Her mind and her heart would abide nothing less than absolute certainty.
Showing posts with label action/adventure. Show all posts
Showing posts with label action/adventure. Show all posts
Monday, April 7, 2008
The Sandwich pt1
Glenn wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead as he surveyed the ingredients Roast Beef, American, Gouda, Swiss, Genoa Salami (from Genoa) Provolone…
The list went on and on, but he had already gathered almost all of the most pertinent ingredients, accept for one last crucial element: “Watercress? What in the fuck is Watercress?
Glenn had circled the globe many times over . He had killed more men than he could remember for the Sandwich. For a time he spiraled downward into an abyss of depression and alcohol abuse because he was unable to obtain the perfect bologna. Eventually he climb out of that hole and took the bologna by force, resulting in $4 million dollars worth of property damage. He was 39 now, the last 20 years of his life dedicated to the construction of this Sandwich. His body was tan and athletic, a testament to his Italian/Polish heritage. His black hair was just a starting to gray at the temples, and his hands had known more deli meats than female bodies.
Not that he had never had a romantic tryst or two. Be sure, his skills as a lover were legendary to women both foreign and domestic. But no woman could hold his heart for long, for there was always the Sandwich. Eventually every lover he had realized that whatever her charm, beauty, or intelligence, she could never replace Glenn’s first, truest love. And now, after 20 years, he was close, so very close to reaching the realization of his life’s dream. All he needed was watercress, and he did not know what the hell it was.
The worst part was that he ion Houston, TX. He wasn’t sure why he was in Houston but he was damn well sure that he would not find any watercress there. Whatever it was. Texas is one of the worst sandwich states in the Union, mostly because there were no sandwich shops to be found. Independent pizza shops were rare, so there went that option. He normally would not be caught dead in such a cultural wasteland if not for one person. One woman actually (it always is isn’t it?): Julia.
“Fuckin’ Julia. Why did she drag me way the hell out here for. She knows I hate this state. Oh, there, I answered my own question now haven’t I?”
Julia watched Glenn’s 98 Chevy Impala pull into her driveway.
Hmph. He always comes crawling back now doesn’t he?
Glenn was the only other person in the world who knew as much about The Great Recipe as she did, maybe more. At 42, she was closer to completing the Sandwich than he, but she never would have gotten so far without his help. Whether she was using him, or he her, neither of them were sure.
Soon Glenn, soon we’ll eat the Sandwich together…then we can finally put this Hell behind us and move on with our lives.
End pt. 1
OK Glenn, hold yourself together. You can do this…just don’t look at her eyes…or boobs. Don’t make eye contact or boob contact, and you’ll be fine. Just find out were you can get the Watercress from, and be on your way. Do not get pulled into her bullshit..
Glenn used the key she gave him to open the front door. Years ago she had given him a key that would get him into any home she owned all over the world. Because she showed such inhuman trust in him, he was forced to trust her. She’s in…yeah, upstairs. She likes to watch the sunset this time of day she’d be in the room with the big windoiwns facing the west. He hoped that she didn’t know that he could never betray anyone who showed complete trust in him. It was something his dad taught him that he would never forget. Not that it was hard to remember, his dad never taught him much anyway. So now, he was psychologically oathbound to never betray Julia. H hated her for that.
“I hate you.”, he said as he entered the room. It was a big, decidedly un-Southern style living room. Giant Turkish rugs stretched across the maple wood floors, on which rested chairs and couches of the softest red crushed velvet money could buy. The curtains matched the chairs, of course; pulled to the side by golden ropes that matched the furniture’s gold trim. The room was dark now save for the light of the setting sun. There, silhouetted by the grandeur of the setting sun in the desert, was Julia. All he could see of her was her Coke-bottle curves and her long blonde hair. She was 42, but she was by far the sexiest woman he had ever come across. A part of the him was sure that that she was the sexiest woman he would ever see.
“Most people say hello when they enter a room. But not my Glenn, he’s always been different.”
“You know why I hate you. Why do you trust me so much? How are you so sure I won’t kill you and take everything you have?”
She turned from the window and walked towards him. A floor length deep blue evening gown stretched perfectly across her disruptively large breasts. It then fell lazily around her similarly disruptive hips, just stopping short of her perfectly manicured toes. Intricately woven silver roses circled the chest and hips of the dress, drawing more attention to two areas that already needed no introduction.
“I trust you so much because I know you could never betray someone who shows complete, unconditional trust in you.” Fuck, he thought.
“I have the additional comfort of knowing that if you did anything to hurt me, you would have my psychotic father, my four bloodthirsty brothers, and their near limitless monetary resources hunting you down. You know that.”
“Oh yeah”, Glenn retorted. “Well, what did you drag me all the way out here for? You know I hate this state.” Glenn poured himself another drink and sat down. Julia only drank the finest red wine, and he mad sure to mooch as much of it as possible when he was around her.
“Glenn dear, I have to be in Houston sometimes to run the family oil business, now don’t I?” Glenn suddenly remembered all of the oil wells he saw on the way in. “And I can’t maintain the fabulously opulent lifestyle you’ve grown accustomed t if I’m suddenly not the CEO of a Fortune 500 company, can I?”. Glenn also suddenly remembered that she was CEO of Hendrickson Oil, just one small branch of Old Man Hendrickson’s vast multinational corporation. He was losing…badly; he blindly fumbled for a new tactic. Just as he was about to respond she stepped out of the sun’s shadow, and he saw her in all of her glory…glorious silver roses.
“And if I had no money I wouldn’t be able to keep you immersed in that wonderful Error! Bookmark not defined. you’ve been drinking like a fish.” Glenn, suddemnly self-conscious about his drinking, hurredly swalloewed the last bit of wine in his glass and set it down. Dammit, I’m a grown-ass man, he thought, this bitch can’t just verbally disarm me like this…
“All of which you are more than well aware of.” Glenn regrouped for a counterattack. “Well Daisy Mae, if that’s your story then why don’t you-all have a Texas accent?” He reclined triumphantly into his red velvet chair. “I’ve never heard you talk with one.” She sat opposite him, the slit in the side of her dress unveiling her long, long legs the same way the Louvre would unveil a never before seen Michaelangelo sculpture. “Weell, silly, Big Daddy sent all us chilluns to some fancy speech therapy center in Dallas when we’all was young.” Glenn became very good at spotting fake accents in his travels around the world; this was not one of them. “He said it made us sound like some backwater hicks when alla his rich European friensd came over to bowl. Did you know that we had to wear our stupid compny colors all the daggone time, till ah was eight-teen? Thas wah I never wear red and gold anymore…ever.” She leaned forward, exposing far more cleavage than was psychologically healthy for Glenn. Dropping the drawl as casually as she had pickled it up, she said, “besides, red is such a Hot, Fiery color…Gold too, it symbolizes the sun you know. I’m much more a cool, Water, Moon type of person, don’t you think?”
The list went on and on, but he had already gathered almost all of the most pertinent ingredients, accept for one last crucial element: “Watercress? What in the fuck is Watercress?
Glenn had circled the globe many times over . He had killed more men than he could remember for the Sandwich. For a time he spiraled downward into an abyss of depression and alcohol abuse because he was unable to obtain the perfect bologna. Eventually he climb out of that hole and took the bologna by force, resulting in $4 million dollars worth of property damage. He was 39 now, the last 20 years of his life dedicated to the construction of this Sandwich. His body was tan and athletic, a testament to his Italian/Polish heritage. His black hair was just a starting to gray at the temples, and his hands had known more deli meats than female bodies.
Not that he had never had a romantic tryst or two. Be sure, his skills as a lover were legendary to women both foreign and domestic. But no woman could hold his heart for long, for there was always the Sandwich. Eventually every lover he had realized that whatever her charm, beauty, or intelligence, she could never replace Glenn’s first, truest love. And now, after 20 years, he was close, so very close to reaching the realization of his life’s dream. All he needed was watercress, and he did not know what the hell it was.
The worst part was that he ion Houston, TX. He wasn’t sure why he was in Houston but he was damn well sure that he would not find any watercress there. Whatever it was. Texas is one of the worst sandwich states in the Union, mostly because there were no sandwich shops to be found. Independent pizza shops were rare, so there went that option. He normally would not be caught dead in such a cultural wasteland if not for one person. One woman actually (it always is isn’t it?): Julia.
“Fuckin’ Julia. Why did she drag me way the hell out here for. She knows I hate this state. Oh, there, I answered my own question now haven’t I?”
Julia watched Glenn’s 98 Chevy Impala pull into her driveway.
Hmph. He always comes crawling back now doesn’t he?
Glenn was the only other person in the world who knew as much about The Great Recipe as she did, maybe more. At 42, she was closer to completing the Sandwich than he, but she never would have gotten so far without his help. Whether she was using him, or he her, neither of them were sure.
Soon Glenn, soon we’ll eat the Sandwich together…then we can finally put this Hell behind us and move on with our lives.
End pt. 1
OK Glenn, hold yourself together. You can do this…just don’t look at her eyes…or boobs. Don’t make eye contact or boob contact, and you’ll be fine. Just find out were you can get the Watercress from, and be on your way. Do not get pulled into her bullshit..
Glenn used the key she gave him to open the front door. Years ago she had given him a key that would get him into any home she owned all over the world. Because she showed such inhuman trust in him, he was forced to trust her. She’s in…yeah, upstairs. She likes to watch the sunset this time of day she’d be in the room with the big windoiwns facing the west. He hoped that she didn’t know that he could never betray anyone who showed complete trust in him. It was something his dad taught him that he would never forget. Not that it was hard to remember, his dad never taught him much anyway. So now, he was psychologically oathbound to never betray Julia. H hated her for that.
“I hate you.”, he said as he entered the room. It was a big, decidedly un-Southern style living room. Giant Turkish rugs stretched across the maple wood floors, on which rested chairs and couches of the softest red crushed velvet money could buy. The curtains matched the chairs, of course; pulled to the side by golden ropes that matched the furniture’s gold trim. The room was dark now save for the light of the setting sun. There, silhouetted by the grandeur of the setting sun in the desert, was Julia. All he could see of her was her Coke-bottle curves and her long blonde hair. She was 42, but she was by far the sexiest woman he had ever come across. A part of the him was sure that that she was the sexiest woman he would ever see.
“Most people say hello when they enter a room. But not my Glenn, he’s always been different.”
“You know why I hate you. Why do you trust me so much? How are you so sure I won’t kill you and take everything you have?”
She turned from the window and walked towards him. A floor length deep blue evening gown stretched perfectly across her disruptively large breasts. It then fell lazily around her similarly disruptive hips, just stopping short of her perfectly manicured toes. Intricately woven silver roses circled the chest and hips of the dress, drawing more attention to two areas that already needed no introduction.
“I trust you so much because I know you could never betray someone who shows complete, unconditional trust in you.” Fuck, he thought.
“I have the additional comfort of knowing that if you did anything to hurt me, you would have my psychotic father, my four bloodthirsty brothers, and their near limitless monetary resources hunting you down. You know that.”
“Oh yeah”, Glenn retorted. “Well, what did you drag me all the way out here for? You know I hate this state.” Glenn poured himself another drink and sat down. Julia only drank the finest red wine, and he mad sure to mooch as much of it as possible when he was around her.
“Glenn dear, I have to be in Houston sometimes to run the family oil business, now don’t I?” Glenn suddenly remembered all of the oil wells he saw on the way in. “And I can’t maintain the fabulously opulent lifestyle you’ve grown accustomed t if I’m suddenly not the CEO of a Fortune 500 company, can I?”. Glenn also suddenly remembered that she was CEO of Hendrickson Oil, just one small branch of Old Man Hendrickson’s vast multinational corporation. He was losing…badly; he blindly fumbled for a new tactic. Just as he was about to respond she stepped out of the sun’s shadow, and he saw her in all of her glory…glorious silver roses.
“And if I had no money I wouldn’t be able to keep you immersed in that wonderful Error! Bookmark not defined. you’ve been drinking like a fish.” Glenn, suddemnly self-conscious about his drinking, hurredly swalloewed the last bit of wine in his glass and set it down. Dammit, I’m a grown-ass man, he thought, this bitch can’t just verbally disarm me like this…
“All of which you are more than well aware of.” Glenn regrouped for a counterattack. “Well Daisy Mae, if that’s your story then why don’t you-all have a Texas accent?” He reclined triumphantly into his red velvet chair. “I’ve never heard you talk with one.” She sat opposite him, the slit in the side of her dress unveiling her long, long legs the same way the Louvre would unveil a never before seen Michaelangelo sculpture. “Weell, silly, Big Daddy sent all us chilluns to some fancy speech therapy center in Dallas when we’all was young.” Glenn became very good at spotting fake accents in his travels around the world; this was not one of them. “He said it made us sound like some backwater hicks when alla his rich European friensd came over to bowl. Did you know that we had to wear our stupid compny colors all the daggone time, till ah was eight-teen? Thas wah I never wear red and gold anymore…ever.” She leaned forward, exposing far more cleavage than was psychologically healthy for Glenn. Dropping the drawl as casually as she had pickled it up, she said, “besides, red is such a Hot, Fiery color…Gold too, it symbolizes the sun you know. I’m much more a cool, Water, Moon type of person, don’t you think?”
The Crow's Song pt2
I pondered this new turn of events as I left the wood and scanned the moonlit plains. The field was pregnant with grain, and I suspected it would be harvested soon. I chose a path through the think grasses and made my way across. My horde, the sum total of all I was, followed with no argument. The white Raven on my shoulder dug it’s claws into my shoulder. The pain was not unbearable just enough to make sure that I did not forget his presence. Like I could anyway. This trip had become very, very strange, but the white Raven was by far the strangest thing that had happened to me tonight. This was supposed to be an uneventful trip, more of a walk really, to clear my head. I was not expecting to come face to face with all that was good and bad about me. But it happened, and here they were, flying all about me, as if they were controlled by the winds more than they rode them. I supposed I was quite the site, coming down from the forest, my generic trench coat blowing in the breeze created by innumerable crows circling me, cawing and crowing in every possible way. I have to admit, I felt quite powerful, in command of my own one-man universe. Everything I thought I could see and think and feel was out in front of me to manipulate and study. Self discovery does seem to be ultimate power. The pain in my shoulder seemed to verify that.
The birds were so thick round me I wondered how I saw where to walk, but somehow I did anyway. The moonlight reflected off of their feathers the same as it would a deep black lake. At night everything is black, white, or some shade of grey. It makes things simpler, to my eyes. I do better with shades of grey than with color anyway. The Raven on my shoulder eyed me like I had stolen something from him. I ignored him and concentrated on seeing through my new eyes. Though they only saw in shades of grey, I saw everything much more clearly, in refined detail; kinda like HDTV. Somehow, with all of my newfound senses, I missed the Coyote directly in front of me. As I noticed him, my horde of crows circled him like a tornado, then swirled back to me and calmly settled around us. Again, there was a black night all around us, flecked with a million pairs of starry black eyes reflecting the moonlight. The Coyote, strangely, was unperturbed by this display. Similarly, I was unperturbed when the Coyote began to speak. “Feed me.” He said, simply. Finally, I was greatly perturbed by the vacuum of perturbability that had formed around us, and decided to be perturbed for everyone present. “I beg your pardon, did you just talk?” The Coyote gave me a sideways glance and responded, “Did you?”
It wasn’t a bad question. “I believe I did. And I believe you did. This would mean that we are having a conversation, you and I.”
“Well I’m glad you’re all caught up to speed there Flash. So what are you going to do about feeding me?”
I was still trying to come to terms with the fact that my consciousness had taken the form of a murder of Crows. I had just come to terms with the idea that all of my sins, fears, and misgivings had coalesced into the form of a large white Crow. And now, I was being confronted by a rather uppity Coyote who was demanding dinner.
“These Crows of yours look mighty tasty.”
I hadn’t considered the tastiness of my inner thoughts. “Um, I suppose so. I uh, guess I could spare one… But I wouldn’t know which one to offer; you see they’re all rather close to me.”
The Coyote’s mouth began to water. Now that I looked directly at him, he was a scrawny, mangy thing; he must not have eaten in days. “Good. I knew you looked like a gracious guy. I’ll take the white one.”
“The white one?”
“The white one. He looks the fattest and juiciest. Yes I’ll take him if you don’t mind.”
Now, I am a firm believer in the phrase beggars can’t be choosers, but in this case I was happy with the beggar’s choice. It meant that I could get rid of this persistent pain in my shoulder, and ass for that matter. “Um ok. Let me just… just…re-move-him from my shoul-der…” As I tore the Crow from my shoulder, he left bloody marks on my flesh. I offered him to the Coyote, who swallowed him down hole… that little bastard glared at me with his blue eyes all the way down the Coyote’s throat.
“Mmm, just as good as he looked. Well, I’ll be off then. You uh, you take care of yourself. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” And with that he trotted off, looking far healthier than when he arrived.
It was a strange occurrence, but at least now I was closer to normal than I was since I left the forest. That damned Crow was off of my shoulder, and I felt far lighter, and far… stronger than I did before. My horde had changed as well. They seemed to swell with… confidence? They seemed livelier, rowdier, more like normal crows. They still did as I commanded, but with a lot more gusto than before. As they took to the air to continue our travels, I felt as if I would take off with them. My swirling mass of thought and action had come alive, and the world would be wise to stay out of our way. Seemingly on cue, a town appeared on the horizon. I would go there, and see what my journey had done to me, and what effects I would have on others. Even though the dawn was approaching, night was just falling on this small village.
The birds were so thick round me I wondered how I saw where to walk, but somehow I did anyway. The moonlight reflected off of their feathers the same as it would a deep black lake. At night everything is black, white, or some shade of grey. It makes things simpler, to my eyes. I do better with shades of grey than with color anyway. The Raven on my shoulder eyed me like I had stolen something from him. I ignored him and concentrated on seeing through my new eyes. Though they only saw in shades of grey, I saw everything much more clearly, in refined detail; kinda like HDTV. Somehow, with all of my newfound senses, I missed the Coyote directly in front of me. As I noticed him, my horde of crows circled him like a tornado, then swirled back to me and calmly settled around us. Again, there was a black night all around us, flecked with a million pairs of starry black eyes reflecting the moonlight. The Coyote, strangely, was unperturbed by this display. Similarly, I was unperturbed when the Coyote began to speak. “Feed me.” He said, simply. Finally, I was greatly perturbed by the vacuum of perturbability that had formed around us, and decided to be perturbed for everyone present. “I beg your pardon, did you just talk?” The Coyote gave me a sideways glance and responded, “Did you?”
It wasn’t a bad question. “I believe I did. And I believe you did. This would mean that we are having a conversation, you and I.”
“Well I’m glad you’re all caught up to speed there Flash. So what are you going to do about feeding me?”
I was still trying to come to terms with the fact that my consciousness had taken the form of a murder of Crows. I had just come to terms with the idea that all of my sins, fears, and misgivings had coalesced into the form of a large white Crow. And now, I was being confronted by a rather uppity Coyote who was demanding dinner.
“These Crows of yours look mighty tasty.”
I hadn’t considered the tastiness of my inner thoughts. “Um, I suppose so. I uh, guess I could spare one… But I wouldn’t know which one to offer; you see they’re all rather close to me.”
The Coyote’s mouth began to water. Now that I looked directly at him, he was a scrawny, mangy thing; he must not have eaten in days. “Good. I knew you looked like a gracious guy. I’ll take the white one.”
“The white one?”
“The white one. He looks the fattest and juiciest. Yes I’ll take him if you don’t mind.”
Now, I am a firm believer in the phrase beggars can’t be choosers, but in this case I was happy with the beggar’s choice. It meant that I could get rid of this persistent pain in my shoulder, and ass for that matter. “Um ok. Let me just… just…re-move-him from my shoul-der…” As I tore the Crow from my shoulder, he left bloody marks on my flesh. I offered him to the Coyote, who swallowed him down hole… that little bastard glared at me with his blue eyes all the way down the Coyote’s throat.
“Mmm, just as good as he looked. Well, I’ll be off then. You uh, you take care of yourself. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” And with that he trotted off, looking far healthier than when he arrived.
It was a strange occurrence, but at least now I was closer to normal than I was since I left the forest. That damned Crow was off of my shoulder, and I felt far lighter, and far… stronger than I did before. My horde had changed as well. They seemed to swell with… confidence? They seemed livelier, rowdier, more like normal crows. They still did as I commanded, but with a lot more gusto than before. As they took to the air to continue our travels, I felt as if I would take off with them. My swirling mass of thought and action had come alive, and the world would be wise to stay out of our way. Seemingly on cue, a town appeared on the horizon. I would go there, and see what my journey had done to me, and what effects I would have on others. Even though the dawn was approaching, night was just falling on this small village.
The Crow's Song pt1
I walked alone in the woods one night. It was dark, as it should be at night, and a crisp wind blew, striking me dead in the face. It hurried around me, apologetically, and went about its way; apparently it had business elsewhere. I walked through this wood, and heard the raven’s cry; wait, no, it’s a crow. I wonder why the crow never gets as much respect as the raven. The Raven is always the one people seem to have a hard-on for. It’s like the Raven is the high end bird of choice for pagans and writers, and the Crow is the ghetto-brand bird. I suppose the Raven is thought to be more dramatic because it often flies alone, whereas Crows fly in huge hordes, descending en masse wherever they go. Rather common, people think. Of course, there was the movie, “the Crow” which obviously featured a Crow, but when the character was adopted by the wrestler Sting, he became the Raven.
I was jolted out of this revelry as I looked up and noticed that I was surrounded by what seemed to be thousands of crows. They were everywhere; it being autumn, I could see each and every one of them on the leafless trees of this deserted wood. They most certainly could see me, because each of them had an eye trained on me, relentlessly staring me down. As I pondered this new event, the Crows began to sing. Well, most people call it cawing, but to me it was singing, a million crows singing at once directly into my consciousness everything I had ever done and would do. I know there where one million because I heard each and every song individually, even as they sung at once I processed every note and every note was a symphony unto itself. It overwhelmed me so that I fell to my knees, clutching my head to keep it from exploding from everything that was rushing into me. The song of the horde caused a sort of orgasmic implosion of knowledge into my heretofore empty mind. I had previously thought that I knew things. I thought that I knew quite a bit about the world and the way things work, and why we love and hate and kill just to bring new life into the world. I had thought that I was pretty up to speed with such things, but now I knew that I knew nothing about the most important subject to me. Everything I gleaned from the Symphonic Crows I already knew, but never acknowledged, and so now my mind was truly alive with knowledge of self and other.
I opened my eyes when the singing stopped; whether it was an eternity or a fraction of a second, I cannot tell you. I was physically unharmed, but as I looked around I thought I had gone blind, for everything was black. Then I looked up and saw that the trees were empty. The blackness before me shifted slightly, and thousands of shining eyes trained themselves on me again. The horde was still there, but now they shared the earth with me, so close I could touch them, and spreading for what seemed like miles in every direction. They stared unblinking at me, almost expectantly, as if they were waiting, waiting for me to give a command. I felt different, like the years of "adulthood" had been sandblasted off of me, and something shiny and valuable underneath emerged from that shell of my self. I looked into their shining black eyes, and in their reflection saw that my eyes too were shining Ebony. My own dark pits were reflected at me, and in them I saw the symphony of discord and harmony that my legion had sung to me, the symphony of everything the human soul can contain. It was a beautiful melody.
I did not feel as if the birds were other now; I felt as if I flowed through them, as much as my blood flows through every cell in my body. They were I and I was them, and by extension, the entire forest was contained within me. I was content, as I sat and communed with the crows, singing them little songs to repay them for the songs they sang me. Through the myriad eyes and senses I now possessed, I felt an other that was as altogether familiar a it was foreign. I looked up and saw yet another crow staring at me, this one white as a snow bank, with a similar disposition. The crow’s crystal blue eyes gored me, bringing the cold in with them like an inconsiderate child leaving the front door open on a freezing winter morning. I shivered and rose to my feet. As the shiver ran through me and reached the ground, it rippled through my assembled horde as if they were a pool of ebon water with me at their center. The white crow flew down and hovered before me, daring me to defy it. Then to my horror, it opened its beak and began to sing, sing a song of discord, tragedy and woe. It was a macabre masterpiece of misery, mutilation, and morbidity. It rattled me to my core, because it was horrible, yes, but more so because it was familiar. I knew this feeling as intimately as I knew my own mind, and worst of all, I knew that somehow I had, or would, cause this nightmare to happen. I was the instrument of my own destruction, whether in the present or past I did not know, but it was clear. The white crow’s cacophonous song filled all of the spaces the other crows didn’t, like a mad storm looking for victims. The song roamed the woods, and then settled on me, and into me. I was not aware of myself, but when the song was over, the white crow was on my shoulder. None of the other crows had touched me, but the white one sat on my shoulder, as if he alone were my mascot.
The coldness left me, and I felt as one again. The Black Crows and the White Crow were all me, somehow, and I was all of them now. I began my travels anew. As I took my first step, when my boot hit the ground every bird took to the air as if they were an extension of my own self… every bird, of course for the one that decided that it would be different. The rumble of one million crow’s wings beating the air easily dwarfed the rumble of any helicopter. The white crow kept its perch as steadfastly as if it had been born there. The sum of all of my sins, faults, doubts and transgressions decided that it would stay closest to my heart. In retrospect, I could not think of a better place for my ivory cohort to be. Together we… I… continued on our journey, a cloud of crows moving towards the plains, with my white friend and me at its center.
I was jolted out of this revelry as I looked up and noticed that I was surrounded by what seemed to be thousands of crows. They were everywhere; it being autumn, I could see each and every one of them on the leafless trees of this deserted wood. They most certainly could see me, because each of them had an eye trained on me, relentlessly staring me down. As I pondered this new event, the Crows began to sing. Well, most people call it cawing, but to me it was singing, a million crows singing at once directly into my consciousness everything I had ever done and would do. I know there where one million because I heard each and every song individually, even as they sung at once I processed every note and every note was a symphony unto itself. It overwhelmed me so that I fell to my knees, clutching my head to keep it from exploding from everything that was rushing into me. The song of the horde caused a sort of orgasmic implosion of knowledge into my heretofore empty mind. I had previously thought that I knew things. I thought that I knew quite a bit about the world and the way things work, and why we love and hate and kill just to bring new life into the world. I had thought that I was pretty up to speed with such things, but now I knew that I knew nothing about the most important subject to me. Everything I gleaned from the Symphonic Crows I already knew, but never acknowledged, and so now my mind was truly alive with knowledge of self and other.
I opened my eyes when the singing stopped; whether it was an eternity or a fraction of a second, I cannot tell you. I was physically unharmed, but as I looked around I thought I had gone blind, for everything was black. Then I looked up and saw that the trees were empty. The blackness before me shifted slightly, and thousands of shining eyes trained themselves on me again. The horde was still there, but now they shared the earth with me, so close I could touch them, and spreading for what seemed like miles in every direction. They stared unblinking at me, almost expectantly, as if they were waiting, waiting for me to give a command. I felt different, like the years of "adulthood" had been sandblasted off of me, and something shiny and valuable underneath emerged from that shell of my self. I looked into their shining black eyes, and in their reflection saw that my eyes too were shining Ebony. My own dark pits were reflected at me, and in them I saw the symphony of discord and harmony that my legion had sung to me, the symphony of everything the human soul can contain. It was a beautiful melody.
I did not feel as if the birds were other now; I felt as if I flowed through them, as much as my blood flows through every cell in my body. They were I and I was them, and by extension, the entire forest was contained within me. I was content, as I sat and communed with the crows, singing them little songs to repay them for the songs they sang me. Through the myriad eyes and senses I now possessed, I felt an other that was as altogether familiar a it was foreign. I looked up and saw yet another crow staring at me, this one white as a snow bank, with a similar disposition. The crow’s crystal blue eyes gored me, bringing the cold in with them like an inconsiderate child leaving the front door open on a freezing winter morning. I shivered and rose to my feet. As the shiver ran through me and reached the ground, it rippled through my assembled horde as if they were a pool of ebon water with me at their center. The white crow flew down and hovered before me, daring me to defy it. Then to my horror, it opened its beak and began to sing, sing a song of discord, tragedy and woe. It was a macabre masterpiece of misery, mutilation, and morbidity. It rattled me to my core, because it was horrible, yes, but more so because it was familiar. I knew this feeling as intimately as I knew my own mind, and worst of all, I knew that somehow I had, or would, cause this nightmare to happen. I was the instrument of my own destruction, whether in the present or past I did not know, but it was clear. The white crow’s cacophonous song filled all of the spaces the other crows didn’t, like a mad storm looking for victims. The song roamed the woods, and then settled on me, and into me. I was not aware of myself, but when the song was over, the white crow was on my shoulder. None of the other crows had touched me, but the white one sat on my shoulder, as if he alone were my mascot.
The coldness left me, and I felt as one again. The Black Crows and the White Crow were all me, somehow, and I was all of them now. I began my travels anew. As I took my first step, when my boot hit the ground every bird took to the air as if they were an extension of my own self… every bird, of course for the one that decided that it would be different. The rumble of one million crow’s wings beating the air easily dwarfed the rumble of any helicopter. The white crow kept its perch as steadfastly as if it had been born there. The sum of all of my sins, faults, doubts and transgressions decided that it would stay closest to my heart. In retrospect, I could not think of a better place for my ivory cohort to be. Together we… I… continued on our journey, a cloud of crows moving towards the plains, with my white friend and me at its center.
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