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Chapter 4 of (untitled)

Mon, 22 Mar 2010 19:16:12 -0700

I carried on like that for some time: days, and weeks running off to that place whenever I got the chance, even taking books back with me and secretly reading them. Well it had been a while and I hadn’t checked every single book there was to be read yet, there were many books back there. I assumed it was the collection of some other copier like me who lived in the abbey when the last floor was still in usage, maybe it was easier to get your hands on these kinds of books back then, I wondered. At any rate though, as the days progressed something peculiar began to happen. The more books I read, the more vivid my dreams became. I had dreams where I could swear I could feel the sensations of pain and pleasure; I could see and remember things in my dreams as well as I could in the waking life. I rationalized it by assuming the books had been stimulating my imagination, and carried on with life as usual, until one day. This day, I woke up like any other day, it was nothing special, although it was Thursday again, so my master would be out of my hair by afternoon, I expected. Around sunset again, I made my way up to the crawlspace, where the books were and began to browse. I made my way to the farther end of the room and looked on a shelf I had never checked before. I ran my finger across the volumes, a green spine, a blue spine, a brownish beige spine, but when my finger crossed a familiar tattered leather-bound book, a sharp pain surged in my hand. I withdrew it quickly and looked at my palm, there was nothing. A muscle spasm I figured, I looked at the book more carefully… there was something familiar about it so, I pulled it out. It was the book that I had found in the gutter that one fateful evening. I knew it couldn’t have been but it was, tattered in all the same places. There were even singe marks from where my master burned it, although the damage was significantly less now, It was no longer a pile of ashes but a slightly singed book. I opened it up, and just under the title was where I had written my name in black ink: The Dreamer’s Fancy Virgil Somnus I shut the book hard. There was no way this book could be here, I saw it burn, and even if, how would it have made it here, I was sure I was the only one, maybe Marek, no there’s no way, this was just impossible! At that moment my hand began to flare up with an unbearable pain, an icy cold pain from the center of my palm. I looked at it, and something began to emerge. My skin rose up in the shape of a key with no teeth, closer it grew out, as it pushed and stretched my skin. I took hold of it and tore it through. A moment of blinding plain coursed through my soul, and I looked down. In my unharmed hand, laid a perfectly ornate gleaming silver key, I couldn’t explain any of this, but I was absolutely sure something extraordinary was happening. Something sorcerous or miraculous, I could not tell which. I sat on the ground there and breathed heavily, staring at the key. I remembered the dream where I acquired it, from that woman that I felt I knew so well, but could not remember why after waking. I looked at the book in front of me. It surely was the same book. Back from the ashes like a phoenix, it lay there. There was something special about this room I figured, something special about these books. I wondered though, why there were shelves in this room. It would be especially difficult to carry and set up this many shelves in a cutoff room like this, especially for a copier like me. It would make much more sense to pile the books he collected here rather than setting them up in shelves. I began to take down all the books from the shelves and move them. The walls behind them were thick plaster, much like the rest of the building. However at one corner of the room there was one wall that stood out. It was faded, like a window once existed on the opposite wall that shed sunlight on it all day, making the plaster appear a slightly lighter hue than the rest. The faded section was separated by two crossing lines, like that of a window. But it was impossible for such a thing to have been in this room, it was in a crawl space in the attic. I turned around to the general direction the light would have come from and examined the wall. It appeared normal, except for a small hole. I looked down to the object that ripped its way through my skin; a key with no teeth, a useless key I thought. But then again considering the circumstances about how I acquired it, I wondered if it was actually so useless. I pushed the key into the hole and turned with a great amount of effort. The key stuck in the wall and nothing happened. He sighed, and shrugged, what did I think was going to happen? A child’s fancy I supposed, I was letting my imagination get away with me. As I stood and thought though, the wall in front of me caved way to a window. The light that emerged from this window was white, and blinding. I shut my eyes quickly from the sudden pain, like looking into the sun. soon though the light quickly died down, leaving an opening in the old plaster wall the size of a window. Beyond that window was not the sky of the setting sun, however. It was a beautiful night sky, with a dark green field and a forest of silver trees that loomed up before him, and fireflies that drifted to and fro, creating an ambience that warmed his soul.

Chapter 3 of (untitled)

Mon, 22 Mar 2010 17:13:31 -0700

I sat at my desk that afternoon until sunset, not even doing work, but sitting with my head propped up by my hand, daydreaming. Daydreaming about nothing in particular, just things, what it would be like if I couldn’t speak, or if I had to sail the seas, or what would happen if all the water in the world turned green, just things and fancies. Well it was about this time that my master’s drinking friend stumbled back to his quarters at the other end of the abbey. I could hear the snores coming from my master’s room, I laughed. He never could handle his plum wine. I walked down the hall at my normal pace, not creeping or running as I normally would have to do when I was sneaking around, because there was no chance of my master waking up until the far reaches of the night. After a few twists and turns of the corridors, I reached a small staircase that led to a ladder and a hole in the ceiling. I walked quietly up the stairs as I was farther from my master’s quarters now, and there was always the possibility of someone hearing my footsteps. I swiftly climbed the ladder into the shadows. The attic was dimly lit by the dying sunlight, but I lit a lantern I carried with me in spite of the illumination. There was nothing special up here, some looking glasses, many old desks chairs and some benches, nothing interesting as one would expect to find in an old place such as this. I crept through the rows dusty furniture and cob webs until I came to a second ladder in the far corner of the room; the upper attic. I had always wondered why this place had two attics, until my master told me that this place used to be much more populous, with many monks clerics and workers such as myself around, always bustling with life and glorious sermons, but then when many of the others left the abbey, they had no need for the last floor and was quickly turned into storage space. I never understood how or why so many people left, but I didn’t care much either way. As I climbed the ladder into the second attic, I could smell the musk and filth up here. Marek really hadn’t done a good job cleaning, but who could blame him? It’s not like the clerics were going to come up here to check if he did it right, in fact nobody came up here. They most likely sent him here just to get him out of their hair. I wish I had the same luxury, privacy: even if it was in a musty old place like this for a few hours every now and then. I stepped up onto the old floorboards; they creaked and groaned under my weight. Looking around I saw masses of books, some in old dusty shelves, however mostly in haphazard piles. I looked at some of the volumes: Markus’ Guide to The Theological, The Crusades of Normenbrooke, Aasimar’s Revision of Ascension… Marek was lucky he couldn’t read, it was just more church books, of course what else would they be? Disregarding the books, I searched out the place that Marek had described. I found it: a couple shelves creating a narrow pathway into a massive pile of old books, with a weak looking wall exposed at the back. As I got closer I could see the space where Marek had knocked through. I stuck my head in with my lantern. It was cold, dark and smelled foul, as if many animals lived in there but either died or just kept on living, dropping their refuse wherever they pleased. “Well” I thought, “it beats taking shit from the clerics” and crawled through. The crawlspace was narrow, and wrapped around the outer edge of the wall for a while. I started to think this was just a regular crawlspace between walls, until I noticed a curvature in the passage. The curve eventually gave way into a larger sloping ceiling, until eventually what one could describe as a long room at the end. There were no windows or anything to discern my location within the building however. There were old bookshelves lined up on the sides of the walls. I wondered how somebody managed to get shelves of this size through the crawlspace, but disregarded, it was trivial and someone clearly did it, they probably disassembled them and dragged them through. I approached one of the bookshelves and looked at the contents. “The story of… Wait, the story of, these books were fiction, something interesting for once!” I began picking through the titles: The curious account of the marbled frogs, The Lament of the Lone Archer, Camelot and its Kings. Wonderful I thought, finally something to lighten up this dreary existence, I finally had things to read and get lost in, no more technical deviations on the existence of Saint Markus, no finally something that didn’t make me want to die of boredom! I read the rest of the night, until my lantern died down, and made my way back to my chambers, I slept more contently than I ever had, being at the abbey.

Chapter 2 of (untitled)

Mon, 22 Mar 2010 12:49:49 -0700

Later that morning, on my way to the kitchens to fetch his breakfast of bread and milk I ran into my friend, Marek. "Mornin, you sorry excuse for an ink pusher." "Well top of the morning to you, you pathetic pitch pilferer" marek was a stable hand, but for some reason was also called upon to sweep the chimneys in the abbey, among other menial, filthy jobs. "oh your just lucky you get to sit a desk all day and read, while I'm up chimneys coughing my left lung out." I laughed, "well your probably right about that, how goes it for you anyways?" "about as good as any other day, I suppose. haven't ran into any bats yet, god awful things, and don't forget about the possums, in fact just the other day I was cleaning in the upper attic..." "please!" I interrupted him "no more of your dung and bat stories, I'm going to gather my breakfast." "oh I see, perhaps later then. However, there is something I think you might be interested in." I looked at him quizzically. Rarely did Marek ever have anything of interest to tell me, or show me, other than dead possums and pitch stains that looked like this and that... "what is it? did you find a stain of pitch on your clothes that looks like a pile of dung? I hate to brake to you good chum, but they all look like piles of dung, and.." "no you idiot, forget it, forget it, to think I was actually going to show you something that would have made you very happy, well not show you per say.. but close enough I mean, well whatever, you're not going to find it, I reckon." now my curiosity was intrigued. "what is it that you've found, please tell me, I was just kidding around." "hmm." Marek replied, as he liked to do this whenever he had something to hold over someone's head (which wasn't very often at all) "well okay, I'll tell you" he said, "thanks! now wh-" "If, and only if you do a little dance for me" I was cut off by a smiling Marek. “a dance are you serious!? just get on with it and tell me!” “Marek stared smugly at me with his stupid grin. “nope. you have to do a dance. and a good dance, something elaborate.” “you know what?” I replied “I don’t even care about your little secret, you can have it!” Marek still stood there with his grin “fine then, if that’s the way you want it.” Now life was boring enough as it is at the abbey, and any opportunity one had to do something relatively new or exciting, one took, even if it meant dancing. “fine, fine! I’ll do your stupid dance.” I sighed, as Marek looked on in the utmost delight. I then began, what I call the man who can’t dance, dance. swinging my arms from left to right, snapping my finger and shuffling back and forth down the hallway, I stepped into a twirl, and finished the dance of by getting on my knee and raising my hands in the air. Marek was hysterical, he laughed so hard the halls reverberated with uncontrollable laughter, just before he lapsed into a coughing fit. “are you ok?” I asked. He nodded at me, still smiling and coughing. When the coughing finally passed he looked up and said “damn I can’t believe I actually got you to dance.” “don’t mention it ever again” I stared at him crossly. “alright, alright don’t get uppity mr jester, that’s what you should be you know, a jester, you could have any hall of nobles, or peasants laughing at your every dance move.” “shut up! I said “now what is this thing you wanted to tell me about?” “well,” he began “you remember how I mentioned I was cleaning the upper attic?” I sighed, if I had just kept my mouth shut and let him finish earlier I could have avoided the whole dance routine. “well I saw something up there that was quite peculiar.” “what was it?” I asked. “well it would seem that the entire upper attic is filled with books, of all shapes and sizes, can’t read a single one though, that’s probably why they send me to do the cleaning up there. So I noticed as I was moving around stacks of books one day a small crumbling patch of plaster in the wall, hidden among stacks of these old books, and cases.” “so what did you do?” Marek looked at me very seriously and said: “I broke it open.” now I was very intrigued, eyes wide, I asked him “well what was back there?” he stepped back a bit and his expression changed from serious to careless “I dunno, didn’t check. It was dark and there could have been bats.” I could have fell over, so strong was the shock and disappointment of his anti-climax. “you’re kidding. You know it really is ironic that guy like you who sweeps chimneys all day, and cleans ATTICS is afraid of winged rodents.” He looked a bit embarrassed “Well whatever, now you know about it, there’s definitely some sort of crawl space up there if you ever get the chance, probably just a bunch of spiders and bats, but if you check it out, there might be something cool back there, maybe even a place to go to hide from the clerics.” He was absolutely right, maybe later I would sneak up there and check it out, after all it was Thursday. That meant my master would be indulging in his favourite red plum wine, and be falling asleep very early, I laughed in glee. It was the only day really where I got to have a semblance of freedom, I could skip my copying and my master wouldn’t remember at all. “well I have got chimneys to sweep, good luck with you tomb exploring” Marek interrupted my thoughts. “”Yes I’m sure it’s a tomb, it would have smelled for miles if you broke something like that open!” Marek shrugged and walked off down the hall.

Chapter 1 of (untitled)

Sun, 21 Mar 2010 23:39:48 -0700

Flipping through the pages of the book that was never read, he lamented. He lamented his weakness, his humanity and his helplessness. He had given this book to his grandmother to read but she had never gotten around to it. Why not? He thought, it’s a good book, a very interesting one too and it wasn’t very often that he had the chance to show a book to his grandmother, as she was the one who taught him to read, and consequently had all of the books. Books were hard to come across in those days, he laughed, now being surrounded by more than he could read in a lifetime. He had found this one on the side of the road one day while he was in town picking up turnips of all things, who knew he would find such a treasure? Well a bit tattered but any who was careless enough to drop such a delightful story in the gutter didn’t deserve it, so he scooped it up and brought it home with him. He could remember the nights spent pouring over its pages by the candle light, what an experience it was to get to know the people in this book, an experience he had wanted to share with his grandmother. It was too late though, when one day he got up to rouse his grandmother (who was usually up before him) and she did not wake. Ever since then he was adopted by the fold. His new masters who took advantage of his ability to read and write by making him copy page after page of texts and scrolls, a copy maker, that’s what he was now. He never had too much hope for the future but he had at least hoped he would have a somewhat fulfilling life, maybe even meet someone to share his life with. But no, he was a copy maker and forever it would stay until he became strong enough to run away. To where though? There was nowhere for him to go, he would die a beggar on the streets with no family or wealth to his name. He let out a sigh, but it was quickly drowned out by the sound of his master shouting at him (great he thought, even my most futile expressions of sadness are drowned out by my master, my owner) “what do you think you’re doing boy!? If you’re awake enough to sit there with some book, then you’re awake enough to copy the sacred texts!” He quickly grabbed the book from his fingers and flicked the pages. “Rubbish!” he said, before lighting it ablaze with his candle and letting it smolder on the stonework floor. “You know you’re so ungrateful, not only do we take you in, clothe you, feed you, shelter you, some street urchin who is lucky enough to know how to use a pen, but you are allowed to read an immerse yourselves in the teachings of our great clergy. This is how you show it though, no? reading some rubbish story with no value, if I weren’t a nicer man, I’d exile you for your blasphemy." Yea if you were a nicer man... he dwelled on the words. “now go to work!” He slammed the door to his chamber on his way out. He looked over to his desk, a heavy volume of something or other waiting there for him, with pages ink and quill. “Great” he thought sarcastically as he went about the self destroying task of copying. Dreams were the only place where he could find solace and respite. He knew that no matter how bad his life got or how cruel his masters were, they would never take his dreams. Some nights he dreamed of beautiful girls, girls that were not to be found around the abbey, as they would distract him and the copiers from copying. He dreamed he would run around with them talk of their love, sit on grassy hills, lit by the sun and the moon, and other beautiful things. He cherished these dreams as they were the best, like an escape to paradise. He had other dreams, some mundane, some exciting, some scary, but whatever the dreams were about, he accepted them willingly as an escape from his personal hell, his monotonous existence. He heard many of the other boys talking, that they rarely had dreams, some had no dreams, and some dreamed only of mundane things. He pitied them greatly. Even more than he pitied himself as to live a life such as his, but to have no dreams, truly was hell. Tonight though, after he was finished his copying, although he was never truly finished his copying, he had a special dream. Maybe it was the emotional shock of having his only sentimental possession burned in front of him, an experience he couldn’t fully react to at the time, or just run of the mill chance, this dream he valued more than any other. He awoke in a field, under the stars, a great forest at his back of silver trees and fireflies floated in the air creating a glowing ambience that warmed his soul. He looked to his right, there was a woman there, but he knew her so he wasn’t startled. She had short beautiful hair, which flowed straight down to her neck, wonderful hazel eyes and a small figure. She smiled at him and he smiled back. Then, she took hold of his hand and put something in it, a peculiar thing that was out of place, for some reason he knew it was out of place but couldn’t explain why. The small ornate figure, made of gleaming silver and shaped like a key. Although it was different from any other key he had seen, because it had no teeth, just a silver stick that emerged from the handle. It was freezing, too cold he though, like ice digging into his skin, not matter how hard he tried though he couldn’t get it out of his hand. He looked back to the woman, who he knew so well, but she just smiled at him. He looked into those hazel eyes and drifted off into sleep. Disoriented he shot up from his bed, a sore throbbing in his skull. His master stood at the foot of the door, and from his countenance, and the small block of wood used for propping doors lying at his side, it was apparent he was awoken with a blow to the head. “Get up you urchin, you’ve slept enough for one day, it’s time to do your work.” He thought about his dream, it was more vivid than most that he had, when he awoke it had felt more like he was drifting off rather than coming to. “Yes master, I’ll get to them immediately.” “Only sensible thing you’ve said in your whole damned life. After you’re done the first fifty pages, you may eat breakfast, now get to, and be happy you’re not one of the illiterate boys who have to shovel the stables all day.” That he was happy for, however it was still a small consolation, monotony was monotony, even if one smelled worse. He went to his desk and reached for his pen, and noticed something peculiar about his hand. It had a small key shaped scar on it, he went to look closer, but there was nothing. He wondered if that blow to the head this morning had affected him more than he realized. He shrugged and got to his work.

About Me

Fri, 19 Mar 2010 15:08:06 -0700

Hey I'm an English student at my local university. I love Anime and I will read the occasional Manga albeit i'm not an avid reader. I'm always up for a discussion or talk about anime so comment me if you'd like to know more. Also, speaking of english, if you're into poetry, I recommend you check out the Poets of Darkness on MAL, or the official website http://livin-it-up.webs.com/ ~More Coming~

My Clubs

Fri, 19 Mar 2010 15:05:59 -0700

The complete list of my clubs Officer of: Club Potato Admin for: MAL Profile Stalkers Club (P.k) (metal version) The Saeko Busujima Fanclub Legend of the galactic failure Hate Club Supernatural! Randomizer Club The Claim a Videogame Character Club Creator of: The Internet Memes Club Table Top RPG'ers

My Writing

Fri, 19 Mar 2010 14:54:40 -0700

Poetry The Traveler Longing Untitled Jewels of The Seasons Fiction The Hand That Wields The Blade ignore the interchanging first person/third person narration, I'll edit it properly sooner or later Chapter 1 of untitled Chapter 2 of untitled Chapter 3 of untitled Chapter 4 of unititled Editing and Misc Poem Edit

Banners/Misc

Fri, 19 Mar 2010 14:43:49 -0700

Create your own visitor map! Happy St. patrick's day!

Member Cards

Fri, 19 Mar 2010 14:41:59 -0700

The Traveler

Wed, 20 Jan 2010 18:26:23 -0800

Soft padded footfalls saturate the air like sweet sounding music, Echoing over the song of the hills, trees, lakes and roads. Hubristic memories plague the wind and earth, some buried, some aloft. Odes of good riddance and farewell are sung by friends not following. To the lonely traveler these are no hindrance, but inspiration, Trudging on in storms of dear vivification, invigoration; Abstraction to the plague of memories untrue, Repudiation to the kindly verses, ever grudging. Gates tall standing, the yearning fear, to cross combating the fate of Lear. They force no tarry, no sleep, no rest, no calm and tranquil, sloth arrest. Near the threshold, the old, and bold rejoice with laughter and mock their fates; Attest to haunt and home, lest the risk of roam they be prey. Winds of change blow through the gates, Thinned the stay that fate creates. That footsore feeling, now come and gone: Free to follow roads at dawn.