a nameless soul
among so many others
a scream swallowed by the wind
lightningthunder
borne upon darkest wings
the void of eternity
Showing posts with label lyrical. Show all posts
Showing posts with label lyrical. Show all posts
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Friday, November 21, 2008
Fantasy I
Hail, sleet, snow and ice drove themselves in vain against the strong buttressed double walls of Castle Arakull. Both its armoury and its occupants were unparalleled in the land, for Arakull was home to the most elite of the king’s royal knights. Arakull was built aeons ago, by the kings of the north, and to the north it had always belonged.
Firelight threw a warm orange glow out the frosted windows of the upper hall, as servants scurried to serve pheasant and wine. The great feast was raucous with merriment, so loud that no knight in the upper hall could hear anything at the other end of the hall, let alone at the great outer portcullis. Nor would any have taken the immense effort to clear the window of frost and look out. If any had, they would have seen nothing but a sea of white, for the swirling storm rendered invisible any unlucky travelers still outside.
***
“We’re going to die, aren’t we, Nephamael?” The elf moaned and stumbled again in the snow. A great snow leopard staggered to his master’s side and pressed against the elf’s frozen body. Inch by inch, the daemon managed to prise the elf’s boot from where it was caught in a snowdrift.
“No, master, don’t lose hope. We’ll get there.”
As they continued their struggle up the desolate hill, the wind roared again, determined to thwart their advance to the only avenue of safety they had left.
***
The great snow leopard’s silvery-white coat was matted with dried blood from a deep tear across his left shoulder. Numerous slashes covered his body, and the least, yet now greatest, of his sufferings, was a thorn embedded deep in the pads of his paw. With each step that he took, it stabbed agonizingly into swollen flesh. Yet he fought the pain, concentrating instead on the task at hand.
The elf wanted to be known as sellsword, but looked nothing like one. The elf’s lips were blue with cold, and miniscule icicles hung from pointed ears. Frost clung to the lining of a thick black cloak thrown carelessly about the elf’s shoulders, the sable contrasting sharply with the long silver-blonde hair that trailed down the back. What had once been a golden circlet had been horribly bashed into the side of the elf’s head, covering the pale face with dried blood. It had caked solidly over both the elf’s eyes, effectively rendering the supposed sellsword blind. When the elf put a hand to the wound, it came away bright red. The leopard jumped back as bright red drops fell and stained the snow.
They were barely halfway up the hill when the elf collapsed, breathing laboured.
“Save yourself.. Nephamael.. I can’t..”
“No!”
The leopard growled angrily and went back to the fallen elf. He pushed his noble head under the elf’s left arm and winced as the elf’s hand brushed his torn left shoulder. The daemon felt his own strength ebbing with the collapse of his master. Half lifting, half dragging, he tugged the limp form up the hill, looking over his shoulder from time to time.
***
How long it took them, neither knew, but the journey up was an eternity of stabbing pain and biting cold. The daemon kept stopping more and more frequently as sleet got in his wounds and the elf’s wound froze. Their bodies were wracked with a pain like they had never imagined could exist.
Eventually, when they reached the great portcullis, they were worn out and completely exhausted. The leopard gasped with the effort, collapsing in the snow. Thankfully Castle Arakull now shielded them from the worst of the storm, and they rested for awhile as a strong but bearable wind blew around them.
“Master.. we’re here...”
The leopard’s voice brought the elf out of dazed stupor. He had done the impossible, getting them both to the Castle. Now, pain or no pain, the elf had to gain entrance before they froze to death.
Slowly, agonizingly, the elf fell from the leopard’s shoulder into a kneeling position. The elf swayed slightly, head resting against the daemon’s cold fur. A small tear slowly wound its way down onto the leopard’s neck, where it froze instantly.
“Nephamael.. I love you. Thank you..”
The leopard nosed his master’s shoulder absently, but his senses were tingling. Something was wrong...
As elf turned away from daemon, the snow on the ground shifted, throwing both off their feet. The impact of the elf’s head on the door drove the shining circlet deeper into the wound, elucidating a strangled cry of pain. The daemon winced too, the pain shared in the inconceivable link between elf and daemon. Blood was flowing freely now, falling in crimson splashes over the ground. The elf put every single last ounce of strength into staying upright.
One last heave..
The elf was finally standing, using the door as a support, when the snow cruelly shifted again. It grabbed at the elf’s boots and pulled hard. Every jarring movement amplified the pain of existing wounds as the elf slid back down. One hand was pressed against the door in a futile attempt to stay upright, but to no avail. A streak of dark blood ran down the unmarked wood, and the elf never got back up again.
The leopard moaned, feeling more and more dizzy as his master fainted away. But he had barely opened his mouth to call for help when a long iron shaft punched down and buried itself in his throat. The daemon’s blood arced out instantly to join that of the elf’s on the door. His cry was swallowed by the wind as he fell beside his master.
Firelight threw a warm orange glow out the frosted windows of the upper hall, as servants scurried to serve pheasant and wine. The great feast was raucous with merriment, so loud that no knight in the upper hall could hear anything at the other end of the hall, let alone at the great outer portcullis. Nor would any have taken the immense effort to clear the window of frost and look out. If any had, they would have seen nothing but a sea of white, for the swirling storm rendered invisible any unlucky travelers still outside.
***
“We’re going to die, aren’t we, Nephamael?” The elf moaned and stumbled again in the snow. A great snow leopard staggered to his master’s side and pressed against the elf’s frozen body. Inch by inch, the daemon managed to prise the elf’s boot from where it was caught in a snowdrift.
“No, master, don’t lose hope. We’ll get there.”
As they continued their struggle up the desolate hill, the wind roared again, determined to thwart their advance to the only avenue of safety they had left.
***
The great snow leopard’s silvery-white coat was matted with dried blood from a deep tear across his left shoulder. Numerous slashes covered his body, and the least, yet now greatest, of his sufferings, was a thorn embedded deep in the pads of his paw. With each step that he took, it stabbed agonizingly into swollen flesh. Yet he fought the pain, concentrating instead on the task at hand.
The elf wanted to be known as sellsword, but looked nothing like one. The elf’s lips were blue with cold, and miniscule icicles hung from pointed ears. Frost clung to the lining of a thick black cloak thrown carelessly about the elf’s shoulders, the sable contrasting sharply with the long silver-blonde hair that trailed down the back. What had once been a golden circlet had been horribly bashed into the side of the elf’s head, covering the pale face with dried blood. It had caked solidly over both the elf’s eyes, effectively rendering the supposed sellsword blind. When the elf put a hand to the wound, it came away bright red. The leopard jumped back as bright red drops fell and stained the snow.
They were barely halfway up the hill when the elf collapsed, breathing laboured.
“Save yourself.. Nephamael.. I can’t..”
“No!”
The leopard growled angrily and went back to the fallen elf. He pushed his noble head under the elf’s left arm and winced as the elf’s hand brushed his torn left shoulder. The daemon felt his own strength ebbing with the collapse of his master. Half lifting, half dragging, he tugged the limp form up the hill, looking over his shoulder from time to time.
***
How long it took them, neither knew, but the journey up was an eternity of stabbing pain and biting cold. The daemon kept stopping more and more frequently as sleet got in his wounds and the elf’s wound froze. Their bodies were wracked with a pain like they had never imagined could exist.
Eventually, when they reached the great portcullis, they were worn out and completely exhausted. The leopard gasped with the effort, collapsing in the snow. Thankfully Castle Arakull now shielded them from the worst of the storm, and they rested for awhile as a strong but bearable wind blew around them.
“Master.. we’re here...”
The leopard’s voice brought the elf out of dazed stupor. He had done the impossible, getting them both to the Castle. Now, pain or no pain, the elf had to gain entrance before they froze to death.
Slowly, agonizingly, the elf fell from the leopard’s shoulder into a kneeling position. The elf swayed slightly, head resting against the daemon’s cold fur. A small tear slowly wound its way down onto the leopard’s neck, where it froze instantly.
“Nephamael.. I love you. Thank you..”
The leopard nosed his master’s shoulder absently, but his senses were tingling. Something was wrong...
As elf turned away from daemon, the snow on the ground shifted, throwing both off their feet. The impact of the elf’s head on the door drove the shining circlet deeper into the wound, elucidating a strangled cry of pain. The daemon winced too, the pain shared in the inconceivable link between elf and daemon. Blood was flowing freely now, falling in crimson splashes over the ground. The elf put every single last ounce of strength into staying upright.
One last heave..
The elf was finally standing, using the door as a support, when the snow cruelly shifted again. It grabbed at the elf’s boots and pulled hard. Every jarring movement amplified the pain of existing wounds as the elf slid back down. One hand was pressed against the door in a futile attempt to stay upright, but to no avail. A streak of dark blood ran down the unmarked wood, and the elf never got back up again.
The leopard moaned, feeling more and more dizzy as his master fainted away. But he had barely opened his mouth to call for help when a long iron shaft punched down and buried itself in his throat. The daemon’s blood arced out instantly to join that of the elf’s on the door. His cry was swallowed by the wind as he fell beside his master.
Friday, August 1, 2008
The Last Dance (I)
Inspired by Learn To Do It (Reprise) from Anastasia
It’s one-two-three
And suddenly
I see it at a glance -
“That is my decision. We will discuss it no more.”
“You will be killed!”
“No…”
An evil smile wound its way across Jerael’s face.
“I know the laws of this land. Now take my message to the king.”
His wolf daemon bowed mockingly, then scampered up the stairs to find the head gaoler.
***
She’s radiant
And confident
And born to take this chance.
Stelmaryn looked at the head gaoler, then at her father seated upon his throne, then at the prisoner. Her eyes lingered longest on the great grey wolf, paws bound together with magical bonds, prostrate at the foot of the throne. The Elf's knuckles turned white where her left hand gripped the hilt of Astarael. The longsword that bore the name of her House in fiery letters along the blade.
First the pain of Awakening, the thrill of Nephamael taking fixed shape – a silvery-white snow leopard – and now this.
“She is my only daughter! I will not have her put in such danger!”
The king slammed his fist down on the ornate carvings that ran along the sides of the throne. The noise startled both gaoler and wolf, and they jumped. Only Stelmaryn remained calm, the only outward sign of her emotions being the shimmering violet aura about both her left hand and Astarael.
“The laws that govern your very throne state that upon Awakening, the Princess will have to fight for the State in any trial by combat, Sire. Even you cannot change that. Unless you accept another as heir…”
“The only other heir is locked up in that cell and I will not have him!”
The king’s unicorn daemon pawed her hooves upon the wooden planks and snorted with displeasure as the grey wolf smiled craftily.
“It looks like we leave you no choice then."
The unicorn stamped her hooves again and glared at the wolf.
"Mind your manners before the High King of the Elves, daughter of the West Wind. Bad tidings thou dost bring, yet noble your race was and still is. Do not dishonour thine lineage."
The wolf glared as the unicorn glided over to Stelmaryn. The Elven princess knelt, conscious of her golden circlet starting to slip. She fervently hoped it wouldn't fall off, especially not in front of that wolf... The unicorn smiled, as if she had read the Elf's thoughts, and used her horn to catch the circlet, pushing it back into position on Stelmaryn's brow. Then she lowered the tip of her horn so it rested upon the elf’s breast.
“My blessings upon you,” the unicorn murmured. A silver light shone from the pearlescent horn and descended upon the startled Elf in a brilliant silver-and-gold aura. While the silver light remained surrounding the Elf, the sparkling golden motes disappeared into Stelmaryn's body.
Then the unicorn dropped her voice to the barest of whispers, moving even closer to the Elf. Her breath was warm and urgent in Stelmaryn's ear.
“You are of Astarael, the House of Sorrow, and if you call, Astarael will save you. But she will claim you if you do not stand firm.”
Stelmaryn felt raw power surging through her as the silver light died and the unicorn glided back to the king. Then the Princess turned and held the wolf’s stare until the latter was forced to look away.
“Tell your master that I accept his trial by combat."
"I will fight.”
***
I taught her well
I planned it all
I just forgot -
Romance!
Stelmaryn kept to the shadows as she made her way down the spiraling stairway towards the cells. Her heart was pounding loudly, and she would keep looking back over her shoulder, back towards the warmth of the king's hall, back towards her father, back towards Nephamael...
Nephamael. The snow leopard would not approve of what she was doing. It had taken lots of stealth, skill, and cunning, to escape her daemon's ever-watchful eyes and shut out the psychic bond that linked their minds. She could still feel Nephamael struggling to contact her, but her training had taught her how to focus her mind to the extreme degree where nothing else mattered.
The Elf stifled a cry as she stumbled on the uneven steps. Her hand went to her sword instinctively, belted to her side. The usually-warm gold was now cold and clammy. Even the crystal set in Astarael's hilt had lost its lustre, shining palely in the gloom. Astarael did not approve either. But still she went on.
All was quiet in the gaol, save the slow drip-drip-drip of water from the ceiling. Most of the cells were empty, but the one right at the far end, in the gloomiest corner, was occupied. A bowl of porridge-meal and another with water had been placed just outside the cell. And she could hear the soft sound of someone singing softly to himself.
"Jerael..?"
Her voice quivered as it echoed about the gaol. The singing stopped.
Stelmaryn ran down the corridor.
She cared not for the moss underfoot that threatened to trip her up, nor for the fact that if she were caught here - of all places, for the king's daughter to be! - she would be severely punished. All that mattered to her now was Jerael in that cell.
He seemed shocked to see her, scrambling to get up and dust his tunic off. The tunic of the Royal Guard had suffered during his sojourn in the cell, for the green had faded and the gold trimmings dulled. Yet he still looked more regal than the young girl outside who was inexpertly balancing a coronet and wearing a sword too big for her.
Jerael smiled and reached out his long fingers through the bars to touch her face. She smiled back at him, positively melting with the warmth of his touch as she stretched out her own hand to him. Gently she pushed back the raven-black hair hanging over his face to reveal his eyes.
"Why did you come?"
His voice was soft and sweet as fresh honey. She never could understand why Nephamael would always bristle and growl at hearing him.
"I can't bear.. to see you.. here.. like this..."
Tears began to fall from her cheeks, and Jerael gently brushed them away.
"Don't cry, dearest. Tell me again what I am to you."
It was more command than plea. But Stelmaryn hung onto his every word, and threw herself against the bars in the desperate hope that he would hold her, kiss her, whisper sweet words of love into her ears... "You.. mean everything.. to me..." And as Jerael gently kissed her forehead and ran his fingers through the silver-blonde hair, a malicious gleam shone in his ice-blue eyes.
***
How could you do this
How will we get through this
I never should have let them dance!
Nephaemael was weary from the mental strain of having tried to contact Stelmaryn scores of times. Each time he had been forcefully pushed back, until he eventually gave up. It was not like the Elf to push her daemon to the deep recesses of her mind. There was something that was seriously wrong here.
Outwardly, he was the picture of calmness as he padded noiselessly about the palace. His tail twitched occasionally and he kept perking up his ears, hoping to catch any sign, any lead, any hope.
He eavesdropped shamelessly on gossip about sordid affairs, shook his head in disdain at soldiers complaining about guard duties, and fled from two lovestruck fools pledging troth to each other in a corner of the garden.
On his way past the king's hall, he picked up a familiar scent. He was nosing around the door when he suddenly heard voices within.
"You know I love her more than any other... Trials are dangerous enough with judging morality, but when you mix swordplay and sorcery with justice.."
"Thou overlooks Stelmaryn's skills too much. Is she not known among the people as the Deftblade? Truth be told, if she were a boy, thou wouldst have to have knighted her by no-"
"I care not if she was the best swordbearer in the kingdom! She is my daughter!"
There was the sound of something thrown in anger, and a shattering. Then total silence.
Nephamael had to lean against the door and strain his ears to hear the whispered reply.
"She is both."
Trial by combat?
The leopard had cocked his head to one side, struggling to figure it out. There were only two prisoners, one human caught red-handed in the act of stealing, and that traitorous bastard.
Why would the human demand trial by combat? Elves were one of the best fighters of all races, their quick reflexes and intense stamina making them virtually invincible in battle. With exception of the peace-loving Earth mages, Elves were so adept with the blade that it was almost one of them.
And what did Stelmaryn have to do with this?
Then it all clicked.
O gods!
Like lightning he bounded, past surprised pages and upsetting the Royal Guard at their posts. He leapt, racing as fast as he could to the dungeons - but even then it was too late.
It’s one-two-three
And suddenly
I see it at a glance -
“That is my decision. We will discuss it no more.”
“You will be killed!”
“No…”
An evil smile wound its way across Jerael’s face.
“I know the laws of this land. Now take my message to the king.”
His wolf daemon bowed mockingly, then scampered up the stairs to find the head gaoler.
***
She’s radiant
And confident
And born to take this chance.
Stelmaryn looked at the head gaoler, then at her father seated upon his throne, then at the prisoner. Her eyes lingered longest on the great grey wolf, paws bound together with magical bonds, prostrate at the foot of the throne. The Elf's knuckles turned white where her left hand gripped the hilt of Astarael. The longsword that bore the name of her House in fiery letters along the blade.
First the pain of Awakening, the thrill of Nephamael taking fixed shape – a silvery-white snow leopard – and now this.
“She is my only daughter! I will not have her put in such danger!”
The king slammed his fist down on the ornate carvings that ran along the sides of the throne. The noise startled both gaoler and wolf, and they jumped. Only Stelmaryn remained calm, the only outward sign of her emotions being the shimmering violet aura about both her left hand and Astarael.
“The laws that govern your very throne state that upon Awakening, the Princess will have to fight for the State in any trial by combat, Sire. Even you cannot change that. Unless you accept another as heir…”
“The only other heir is locked up in that cell and I will not have him!”
The king’s unicorn daemon pawed her hooves upon the wooden planks and snorted with displeasure as the grey wolf smiled craftily.
“It looks like we leave you no choice then."
The unicorn stamped her hooves again and glared at the wolf.
"Mind your manners before the High King of the Elves, daughter of the West Wind. Bad tidings thou dost bring, yet noble your race was and still is. Do not dishonour thine lineage."
The wolf glared as the unicorn glided over to Stelmaryn. The Elven princess knelt, conscious of her golden circlet starting to slip. She fervently hoped it wouldn't fall off, especially not in front of that wolf... The unicorn smiled, as if she had read the Elf's thoughts, and used her horn to catch the circlet, pushing it back into position on Stelmaryn's brow. Then she lowered the tip of her horn so it rested upon the elf’s breast.
“My blessings upon you,” the unicorn murmured. A silver light shone from the pearlescent horn and descended upon the startled Elf in a brilliant silver-and-gold aura. While the silver light remained surrounding the Elf, the sparkling golden motes disappeared into Stelmaryn's body.
Then the unicorn dropped her voice to the barest of whispers, moving even closer to the Elf. Her breath was warm and urgent in Stelmaryn's ear.
“You are of Astarael, the House of Sorrow, and if you call, Astarael will save you. But she will claim you if you do not stand firm.”
Stelmaryn felt raw power surging through her as the silver light died and the unicorn glided back to the king. Then the Princess turned and held the wolf’s stare until the latter was forced to look away.
“Tell your master that I accept his trial by combat."
"I will fight.”
***
I taught her well
I planned it all
I just forgot -
Romance!
Stelmaryn kept to the shadows as she made her way down the spiraling stairway towards the cells. Her heart was pounding loudly, and she would keep looking back over her shoulder, back towards the warmth of the king's hall, back towards her father, back towards Nephamael...
Nephamael. The snow leopard would not approve of what she was doing. It had taken lots of stealth, skill, and cunning, to escape her daemon's ever-watchful eyes and shut out the psychic bond that linked their minds. She could still feel Nephamael struggling to contact her, but her training had taught her how to focus her mind to the extreme degree where nothing else mattered.
The Elf stifled a cry as she stumbled on the uneven steps. Her hand went to her sword instinctively, belted to her side. The usually-warm gold was now cold and clammy. Even the crystal set in Astarael's hilt had lost its lustre, shining palely in the gloom. Astarael did not approve either. But still she went on.
All was quiet in the gaol, save the slow drip-drip-drip of water from the ceiling. Most of the cells were empty, but the one right at the far end, in the gloomiest corner, was occupied. A bowl of porridge-meal and another with water had been placed just outside the cell. And she could hear the soft sound of someone singing softly to himself.
"Jerael..?"
Her voice quivered as it echoed about the gaol. The singing stopped.
Stelmaryn ran down the corridor.
She cared not for the moss underfoot that threatened to trip her up, nor for the fact that if she were caught here - of all places, for the king's daughter to be! - she would be severely punished. All that mattered to her now was Jerael in that cell.
He seemed shocked to see her, scrambling to get up and dust his tunic off. The tunic of the Royal Guard had suffered during his sojourn in the cell, for the green had faded and the gold trimmings dulled. Yet he still looked more regal than the young girl outside who was inexpertly balancing a coronet and wearing a sword too big for her.
Jerael smiled and reached out his long fingers through the bars to touch her face. She smiled back at him, positively melting with the warmth of his touch as she stretched out her own hand to him. Gently she pushed back the raven-black hair hanging over his face to reveal his eyes.
"Why did you come?"
His voice was soft and sweet as fresh honey. She never could understand why Nephamael would always bristle and growl at hearing him.
"I can't bear.. to see you.. here.. like this..."
Tears began to fall from her cheeks, and Jerael gently brushed them away.
"Don't cry, dearest. Tell me again what I am to you."
It was more command than plea. But Stelmaryn hung onto his every word, and threw herself against the bars in the desperate hope that he would hold her, kiss her, whisper sweet words of love into her ears... "You.. mean everything.. to me..." And as Jerael gently kissed her forehead and ran his fingers through the silver-blonde hair, a malicious gleam shone in his ice-blue eyes.
***
How could you do this
How will we get through this
I never should have let them dance!
Nephaemael was weary from the mental strain of having tried to contact Stelmaryn scores of times. Each time he had been forcefully pushed back, until he eventually gave up. It was not like the Elf to push her daemon to the deep recesses of her mind. There was something that was seriously wrong here.
Outwardly, he was the picture of calmness as he padded noiselessly about the palace. His tail twitched occasionally and he kept perking up his ears, hoping to catch any sign, any lead, any hope.
He eavesdropped shamelessly on gossip about sordid affairs, shook his head in disdain at soldiers complaining about guard duties, and fled from two lovestruck fools pledging troth to each other in a corner of the garden.
On his way past the king's hall, he picked up a familiar scent. He was nosing around the door when he suddenly heard voices within.
"You know I love her more than any other... Trials are dangerous enough with judging morality, but when you mix swordplay and sorcery with justice.."
"Thou overlooks Stelmaryn's skills too much. Is she not known among the people as the Deftblade? Truth be told, if she were a boy, thou wouldst have to have knighted her by no-"
"I care not if she was the best swordbearer in the kingdom! She is my daughter!"
There was the sound of something thrown in anger, and a shattering. Then total silence.
Nephamael had to lean against the door and strain his ears to hear the whispered reply.
"She is both."
Trial by combat?
The leopard had cocked his head to one side, struggling to figure it out. There were only two prisoners, one human caught red-handed in the act of stealing, and that traitorous bastard.
Why would the human demand trial by combat? Elves were one of the best fighters of all races, their quick reflexes and intense stamina making them virtually invincible in battle. With exception of the peace-loving Earth mages, Elves were so adept with the blade that it was almost one of them.
And what did Stelmaryn have to do with this?
Then it all clicked.
O gods!
Like lightning he bounded, past surprised pages and upsetting the Royal Guard at their posts. He leapt, racing as fast as he could to the dungeons - but even then it was too late.
The Last Dance (II)
It’s one-two-three
And suddenly
I see it at a glance -
At the Deathwood Tree, the prevailing mood was sombre that morning.
The Tree stood tall in one corner, its silver bark and hanging branches arced over more than half of the clearing. A large crowd had already gathered by the time the sun was high, jostling and pressing against the stakes that fenced off an inner circle - the dueling area. The king's throne was brought out and placed under the Tree, and a hush fell over the crowd as the trumpeter blew a salute.
"The High King Jardeleth and Princess Stelmaryn!"
The crowd parted and fell to their knees as the king and his unicorn strode to take their seat. Stelmaryn followed close behind, trembling slightly as she wove her way through the crowd. She noticed that the crowd was made up of not only Elves, but also the occasional human. Nephamael constantly directed disapproving stares at her, and she averted her gaze. In her haste she nearly tripped over the roots of the Tree, and the leopard glided to steady her on the other side.
"Hear ye, that today we have Jerael of the Neralode demanding trial by combat! The Neralode claims innocence of treachery to the High King! Princess Stelmaryn will stand for the King and Neralode for himself!"
Stelmaryn hugged Nephamael, blinking back tears, hot salty drops that the snow leopard gently brushed away with a paw. The daemon let her hold him awhile, then stepped back and surveyed her with his large amber eyes.
The Elf princess was clad in a simple tunic and leggings. She wore soft boots upon her feet and the only armour she had were arm and leg greaves, emblazoned with the royal crest. She also wore light chain mail under her tunic, and a long dark-green cloak completed the look. Astarael hung by her side, crystal softly glimmering, and at her hip was another smaller dagger. Her father would leave nothing to chance. He would have had her wear a helmet, if not for the fact that the irritating coronet had to be worn even for such a duel. She had accepted a ruby-studded bracelet though, each crystal charged with extra power for use in sorcery.
Stelmaryn drew Astarael and handed the scabbard to Nephamael, brushing back more tears that threatened to fall over her cheeks. The leopard nuzzled up to her and gently licked her face. All this while, Jerael had been led out to the circle, and he armed himself similarly. A page handed him his sword Garscent - Elvish for Blizzard. Nephamael relaxed slightly.
"It's not even ensorcelled steel. Astarael will chop him to ribbons."
Stelmaryn wasn't listening. She was concentrating, falling into a world where nothing else mattered except her and Jerael. And their two swords.
The crowd roared as the Princess of the Elves stepped out into the arena.
***
She’s radiant
And confident
And born to take this chance.
Jerael raised Garscent in a mocking salute. Stelmaryn had no retort save a low growl, a feral snarl that seemed to break something within him. Without warning, Jerael charged.He swung Garscent in a crescent that threatened to cleave Stelmaryn at the waist. She jumped back, then brought Astarael down in a punishing blow that crashed upon Garscent and sent tremors rippling through its wielder's arm.
Jerael backed off, bewilderment showing in those dreamy eyes. That one moment of distraction was enough to cost Stelmaryn, and her opponent suddenly lunged forward. She parried awkwardly as Jerael brought his sword down hard upon her. The clash of steel rang about the clearing, echoing away in the silence as they separated, circling each other warily.
Impulsive by nature, the princess suddenly leapt towards her opponent, but Jerael was ready. He executed a perfect stop-block, as Stelmaryn struggled to cleave his sword with Astarael. Their faces were almost touching each other, and beads of sweat began to fall to the ground.
"I thought you told me something last night? Something about.. oh, love? And how much I meant to you?"
Jerael's whisper was innocently layered with honey. With a quick twist of the blade, he pushed Stelmaryn to the opposite side of the arena, and she stumbled, falling to one knee. Anger like she had never experienced before coursed through her. Without second thought, she raised her hand and made a throwing motion at her opponent.
"Mithro!"
The spell formed a violet ring of fire that flung itself at Jerael. The older Elf's eyes widened and he fumbled for his magic, barely casting a shield in time. The colliding of both magics resulted in a blinding flash of light, which Stelmaryn quickly took advantage of.
"Telsa! Lorni! Quaro!"
As a swarm of golden blades flashed towards Jerael, Stelmaryn swung Astarael.
"Ne'ra!"
Jerael brought Garscent up in a strong parry that sent Astarael thudding harmlessly into the ground. His spell threw up a wall of blue ice, sending the golden blades rebounding back towards the princess. Stelmaryn moaned in frustration as she dug Astarael back out from the ground. Then she made a deft motion with her hand, destroying the spell and absorbing what energy she could salvage.
"Temna!"
"Chira!"
A bolt of blue energy punched towards Stelmaryn as a violet one streaked in the opposite direction. Both Elves fumbled for the strongest shielding spells they knew. While Stelmaryn's absorbed the bolt; Jerael's not only absorbed it, but reflected it back. The princess ducked, wincing as a loud explosion rent the air and a hole appeared in the boundary fence where there was none before.
"Resmar!"
Jerael followed up with a swift attack of hail that pelted Stelmaryn on all sides. She passed her hand in front of her face to form a shield, then lifted Astarael and charged again.
"Ne'ra!"
Stelmaryn crashed into the wall of ice and fell again, dazed. She shook her head to clear her senses and saw Jerael pounding towards her, sword raised.
"Arrathelima Rhodir!"
The complex spell left her, and Jerael was thrown backwards. Garscent was flung into the far corner, where it stood upright, quivering in the ground. Stelmaryn was up and on him in a heartbeat, bringing Astarael up for the killing blow.
And stopped.
***
I taught her well
I planned it all
I just forgot -
Romance!
As she looked down upon her opponent, all she saw was the Jerael she loved. The Jerael who she dreamt would hold her, and kiss her, and make everything perfect in her life. Remorse filled her heart and Astarael wavered.
Astarael, High Elven for fidelity in love. And representative of Death himself.
She let the sword drop as the crowd gasped. It thudded harmlessly into the earth by Jerael's head.
But her senses screamed a warning, and she instinctively threw herself to the ground. The commotion in the crowd had not been for her almost-victory. A Dwarf had run through the hole in the perimeter, into the arena, defying all commands to halt.
He was wielding a great battleaxe.
"Telsa! Lorni! Quaro!"
Stelmaryn sent the golden blades flying towards him as she dove for Astarael - but Jerael was quicker. He tugged the sword free and faced her, double-bladed. Garscent hovered dangerously near, and she took a step back. Behind her, the Dwarf had parried the blades and was advancing upon the Elves.
Both charged at the same time.
"What quarrel do you have with me?!"
Stelmaryn cried out as two swords and a battleaxe descended upon her. The axe thudded into the wooden fence as she parried the sword slashes with her arm greaves. As the Dwarf struggled to free his weapon, she unceremoniously punched him in the face, then spun around and dealt a roundhouse kick to Jerael's jaw.
He staggered back, and Stelmaryn followed with a set of punishing blows - left hook, right hook, a double punch straight to the solar plexus, and a final scissor that dropped him. Stelmaryn took Astarael back from his unresisting hand, then used Garscent to pin his tunic to the ground.
"Ze'rael," she murmured, and violet links fell upon her foe, effectively immobilising him as he glared murderously up at her. Then his eyes widened. Stelmaryn felt nothing but the sharpest of pain as the Dwarf swung his axe and caught her full in the back. The mail turned the blade, but the impact sent her tumbling to the ground, crying out in pain.
"What.. is your.. quarrel.. with me.." Stelmaryn was gasping for breath as her fingers sketched runes for recovery and strength over her chest.
"Can you not see I am hurt enough alr-"
Apparently it was the wrong thing to say. The Dwarf swung the axe again, slicing off part of the Elf's cloak as she attempted to leap away. No blade, not even ensorcelled steel, would stand a chance against a heavy axe. Stelmaryn had to avoid a confrontation at all costs.
"You think you feel bad? How about a Dwarf, who tries so hard to change in order to get the girl he likes, only to find out that she wanted someone else? And that she lied, gods, she LIED, when she loved the Oracle? You never thought for another’s feelings, did you? Or was your whole life just about the Oracle and your precious Jerael?"
Stelmaryn’s mind went numb as the dwarf, face livid with anger, disengaged his axeblade and swung it at her again.
"No girl is gonna like that guy, eh, especially the little elf princess, after seeing all the bad things that he has done?"
Then it clicked.
Yrakka.
The dwarf had been imprisoned by her father, and she had been the one who had tracked his blundering path through the forest and brought him back. To face justice for slaying an innocent peasant. Back then his familiar had been an albino mole. But now...
Whatever dark magic he had used to change its form had warped his mind.
"I’m going to take you now by force! After all, you don’t have your precious Jerael, or your Oracle, any more, do you?"
"How did you know about.."
"There’s nothing you can keep from me now, Princess."
Was he mocking her?
"Either that, or you shall never live to love again."
Stelmaryn parried awkwardly. She felt detached from her sword. It was parrying, it was riposting, it was thrusting, but she thought nothing. Felt nothing. Heard nothing.
All that echoed in her mind was the thought of the Oracle and Jerael. The only two people she had ever loved more than Nephamael.
And so it was that she never noticed the breaking of her binding spell, nor heard Jerael as he sprang up behind her and drove his blade straight into her side.
***
How could you do this
How will we get through this
I never should have let them dance!
It was over.
Blood stained the field of combat, the site of the last dance of death.
The dwarf had long since left, for even he was unwilling to watch as Jerael took out his anger on the fallen princess, kicking her in the back, in the stomach, in the face, as she writhed and cried out, blood flowing out over her body, onto his boots... The crowd accepted the judgement, and drifted away. Yet Jerael didn't stop, continuing to beat the princess with the flat of his blade. No ears save that of the unconscious Stelmaryn were close enough to hear his words.
"Love? You loved me? Ah, fool that you were!"
The king bit his lip until it bled, and the unicorn bowed her head. Neither dared to look as Jerael used his bloody sword to lift the coronet from Stelmaryn's head and flung it away contemptuously.
And suddenly
I see it at a glance -
At the Deathwood Tree, the prevailing mood was sombre that morning.
The Tree stood tall in one corner, its silver bark and hanging branches arced over more than half of the clearing. A large crowd had already gathered by the time the sun was high, jostling and pressing against the stakes that fenced off an inner circle - the dueling area. The king's throne was brought out and placed under the Tree, and a hush fell over the crowd as the trumpeter blew a salute.
"The High King Jardeleth and Princess Stelmaryn!"
The crowd parted and fell to their knees as the king and his unicorn strode to take their seat. Stelmaryn followed close behind, trembling slightly as she wove her way through the crowd. She noticed that the crowd was made up of not only Elves, but also the occasional human. Nephamael constantly directed disapproving stares at her, and she averted her gaze. In her haste she nearly tripped over the roots of the Tree, and the leopard glided to steady her on the other side.
"Hear ye, that today we have Jerael of the Neralode demanding trial by combat! The Neralode claims innocence of treachery to the High King! Princess Stelmaryn will stand for the King and Neralode for himself!"
Stelmaryn hugged Nephamael, blinking back tears, hot salty drops that the snow leopard gently brushed away with a paw. The daemon let her hold him awhile, then stepped back and surveyed her with his large amber eyes.
The Elf princess was clad in a simple tunic and leggings. She wore soft boots upon her feet and the only armour she had were arm and leg greaves, emblazoned with the royal crest. She also wore light chain mail under her tunic, and a long dark-green cloak completed the look. Astarael hung by her side, crystal softly glimmering, and at her hip was another smaller dagger. Her father would leave nothing to chance. He would have had her wear a helmet, if not for the fact that the irritating coronet had to be worn even for such a duel. She had accepted a ruby-studded bracelet though, each crystal charged with extra power for use in sorcery.
Stelmaryn drew Astarael and handed the scabbard to Nephamael, brushing back more tears that threatened to fall over her cheeks. The leopard nuzzled up to her and gently licked her face. All this while, Jerael had been led out to the circle, and he armed himself similarly. A page handed him his sword Garscent - Elvish for Blizzard. Nephamael relaxed slightly.
"It's not even ensorcelled steel. Astarael will chop him to ribbons."
Stelmaryn wasn't listening. She was concentrating, falling into a world where nothing else mattered except her and Jerael. And their two swords.
The crowd roared as the Princess of the Elves stepped out into the arena.
***
She’s radiant
And confident
And born to take this chance.
Jerael raised Garscent in a mocking salute. Stelmaryn had no retort save a low growl, a feral snarl that seemed to break something within him. Without warning, Jerael charged.He swung Garscent in a crescent that threatened to cleave Stelmaryn at the waist. She jumped back, then brought Astarael down in a punishing blow that crashed upon Garscent and sent tremors rippling through its wielder's arm.
Jerael backed off, bewilderment showing in those dreamy eyes. That one moment of distraction was enough to cost Stelmaryn, and her opponent suddenly lunged forward. She parried awkwardly as Jerael brought his sword down hard upon her. The clash of steel rang about the clearing, echoing away in the silence as they separated, circling each other warily.
Impulsive by nature, the princess suddenly leapt towards her opponent, but Jerael was ready. He executed a perfect stop-block, as Stelmaryn struggled to cleave his sword with Astarael. Their faces were almost touching each other, and beads of sweat began to fall to the ground.
"I thought you told me something last night? Something about.. oh, love? And how much I meant to you?"
Jerael's whisper was innocently layered with honey. With a quick twist of the blade, he pushed Stelmaryn to the opposite side of the arena, and she stumbled, falling to one knee. Anger like she had never experienced before coursed through her. Without second thought, she raised her hand and made a throwing motion at her opponent.
"Mithro!"
The spell formed a violet ring of fire that flung itself at Jerael. The older Elf's eyes widened and he fumbled for his magic, barely casting a shield in time. The colliding of both magics resulted in a blinding flash of light, which Stelmaryn quickly took advantage of.
"Telsa! Lorni! Quaro!"
As a swarm of golden blades flashed towards Jerael, Stelmaryn swung Astarael.
"Ne'ra!"
Jerael brought Garscent up in a strong parry that sent Astarael thudding harmlessly into the ground. His spell threw up a wall of blue ice, sending the golden blades rebounding back towards the princess. Stelmaryn moaned in frustration as she dug Astarael back out from the ground. Then she made a deft motion with her hand, destroying the spell and absorbing what energy she could salvage.
"Temna!"
"Chira!"
A bolt of blue energy punched towards Stelmaryn as a violet one streaked in the opposite direction. Both Elves fumbled for the strongest shielding spells they knew. While Stelmaryn's absorbed the bolt; Jerael's not only absorbed it, but reflected it back. The princess ducked, wincing as a loud explosion rent the air and a hole appeared in the boundary fence where there was none before.
"Resmar!"
Jerael followed up with a swift attack of hail that pelted Stelmaryn on all sides. She passed her hand in front of her face to form a shield, then lifted Astarael and charged again.
"Ne'ra!"
Stelmaryn crashed into the wall of ice and fell again, dazed. She shook her head to clear her senses and saw Jerael pounding towards her, sword raised.
"Arrathelima Rhodir!"
The complex spell left her, and Jerael was thrown backwards. Garscent was flung into the far corner, where it stood upright, quivering in the ground. Stelmaryn was up and on him in a heartbeat, bringing Astarael up for the killing blow.
And stopped.
***
I taught her well
I planned it all
I just forgot -
Romance!
As she looked down upon her opponent, all she saw was the Jerael she loved. The Jerael who she dreamt would hold her, and kiss her, and make everything perfect in her life. Remorse filled her heart and Astarael wavered.
Astarael, High Elven for fidelity in love. And representative of Death himself.
She let the sword drop as the crowd gasped. It thudded harmlessly into the earth by Jerael's head.
But her senses screamed a warning, and she instinctively threw herself to the ground. The commotion in the crowd had not been for her almost-victory. A Dwarf had run through the hole in the perimeter, into the arena, defying all commands to halt.
He was wielding a great battleaxe.
"Telsa! Lorni! Quaro!"
Stelmaryn sent the golden blades flying towards him as she dove for Astarael - but Jerael was quicker. He tugged the sword free and faced her, double-bladed. Garscent hovered dangerously near, and she took a step back. Behind her, the Dwarf had parried the blades and was advancing upon the Elves.
Both charged at the same time.
"What quarrel do you have with me?!"
Stelmaryn cried out as two swords and a battleaxe descended upon her. The axe thudded into the wooden fence as she parried the sword slashes with her arm greaves. As the Dwarf struggled to free his weapon, she unceremoniously punched him in the face, then spun around and dealt a roundhouse kick to Jerael's jaw.
He staggered back, and Stelmaryn followed with a set of punishing blows - left hook, right hook, a double punch straight to the solar plexus, and a final scissor that dropped him. Stelmaryn took Astarael back from his unresisting hand, then used Garscent to pin his tunic to the ground.
"Ze'rael," she murmured, and violet links fell upon her foe, effectively immobilising him as he glared murderously up at her. Then his eyes widened. Stelmaryn felt nothing but the sharpest of pain as the Dwarf swung his axe and caught her full in the back. The mail turned the blade, but the impact sent her tumbling to the ground, crying out in pain.
"What.. is your.. quarrel.. with me.." Stelmaryn was gasping for breath as her fingers sketched runes for recovery and strength over her chest.
"Can you not see I am hurt enough alr-"
Apparently it was the wrong thing to say. The Dwarf swung the axe again, slicing off part of the Elf's cloak as she attempted to leap away. No blade, not even ensorcelled steel, would stand a chance against a heavy axe. Stelmaryn had to avoid a confrontation at all costs.
"You think you feel bad? How about a Dwarf, who tries so hard to change in order to get the girl he likes, only to find out that she wanted someone else? And that she lied, gods, she LIED, when she loved the Oracle? You never thought for another’s feelings, did you? Or was your whole life just about the Oracle and your precious Jerael?"
Stelmaryn’s mind went numb as the dwarf, face livid with anger, disengaged his axeblade and swung it at her again.
"No girl is gonna like that guy, eh, especially the little elf princess, after seeing all the bad things that he has done?"
Then it clicked.
Yrakka.
The dwarf had been imprisoned by her father, and she had been the one who had tracked his blundering path through the forest and brought him back. To face justice for slaying an innocent peasant. Back then his familiar had been an albino mole. But now...
Whatever dark magic he had used to change its form had warped his mind.
"I’m going to take you now by force! After all, you don’t have your precious Jerael, or your Oracle, any more, do you?"
"How did you know about.."
"There’s nothing you can keep from me now, Princess."
Was he mocking her?
"Either that, or you shall never live to love again."
Stelmaryn parried awkwardly. She felt detached from her sword. It was parrying, it was riposting, it was thrusting, but she thought nothing. Felt nothing. Heard nothing.
All that echoed in her mind was the thought of the Oracle and Jerael. The only two people she had ever loved more than Nephamael.
And so it was that she never noticed the breaking of her binding spell, nor heard Jerael as he sprang up behind her and drove his blade straight into her side.
***
How could you do this
How will we get through this
I never should have let them dance!
It was over.
Blood stained the field of combat, the site of the last dance of death.
The dwarf had long since left, for even he was unwilling to watch as Jerael took out his anger on the fallen princess, kicking her in the back, in the stomach, in the face, as she writhed and cried out, blood flowing out over her body, onto his boots... The crowd accepted the judgement, and drifted away. Yet Jerael didn't stop, continuing to beat the princess with the flat of his blade. No ears save that of the unconscious Stelmaryn were close enough to hear his words.
"Love? You loved me? Ah, fool that you were!"
The king bit his lip until it bled, and the unicorn bowed her head. Neither dared to look as Jerael used his bloody sword to lift the coronet from Stelmaryn's head and flung it away contemptuously.
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
The Pirate Lord of the Rings: The Return of Jack Sparrow
Gandalf Greyhame, noted wizard, discovered that a certain Frodo Baggins of the Shire was in possession of a Great Ring of Power. Acting upon his advice, Frodo set off on a Quest to destroy the One Ring, picking up enough to complement a Fellowship of Nine from Rivendell.
Meanwhile, pirate captain Jack Sparrow plunged over the great waterfall at World’s End, only to discover that his crew had been reduced to nothing but dead men in boats. Depressed, he tacked the Pearl round and brought her into a sheltered cove by that waterfall, the Rauros. He trekked across swamp and marshland, across green plains and rocky road, until, teeth chattering, he tumbled into a snowy cave by the Pass of Caradhras and fell asleep.
He awoke five hours later to find a company of four – no, five – shorties, a blonde sissy, an old man, and two young men, all staring down at him.
At Caradhras
Aragorn: *explains about why they must destroy the Ring*
Gimli: *hefts ax* So are you with us, or against us?
Legolas: You must choose now!
Jack: Er…
Aragorn: Why should we trust you to help us?
Jack: Me? I’m dishonest, and a dishonest man you can always trust to be dishonest. Honestly. It’s the honest ones you want to watch out for, because you can never predict when they’re going to do something incredibly… stupid.
Boromir: Okay, you’re in.
Jack: Something just like that.
Gimli: [aside to Legolas] I don’t like this. I don’t trust him one bit.
Jack: You mistrust me? Listen, you can mistrust him, trust me.
Jack: *points to Boromir*
Boromir: *shifts uncomfortably*
Caradhras: *throws lots of snow at them*
Gimli: If we can’t go over the mountain… let’s go under it.
Mines of Moria
Fellowship: *opens doors of Moria*
Pippin: *throws stone in water*
Water: *ripples*
Jack: Perhaps this isn’t a good time to tell you a huge sea beast is after me?
Boromir: So if we let it eat you, it’ll spare us?
Legolas: Shut up.
Aragorn: For the good of the Fellowship, we must bind you here.
Aragorn: *chains Jack to the rock*
Jack: Pirate.
Aragorn: Ranger, actually.
Merry: *burns off a few of the Watcherkraken’s tentacles* Did we kill it?
Pippin: No… I think we just made it angry.
Watcherkraken: ROARRRR
Jack: *covered in mucus* Not so bad…
Jack: *wipes the mucus from his face*
Jack: *sees his hat in Watcherkraken’s mouth*
Jack: *puts on his hat with pride*
Jack: ‘Ello, beastie.
Jack: *smiles and draws his sword*
Sauron: *sees the whole incident in the palantir*
Sauron: Our debt will be settled soon.
Watcherkraken: *drags Jack off to Sauron*
Sauron: *dangles Jack over the pit full of Orcs*
Sauron: Do you fear death?
Jack: You have no idea.
Sauron: Lower the prisoner!
Jack: *descends towards waiting Orcs*
Jack: Goodbye, beastie.
Watcherkraken: *tentacles Sauron’s arm*
Watcherkraken: [sotto voce] He might do more harm helping the Fellowship than if they were without him.
Sauron: I’ve changed my mind. Take him down to the cells.
Warg: *holds ring of keys in mouth*
Warg: *watches Jack and growls*
Jack: *holds out bone*
Jack: Here doggy, here doggy doggy… bring the keys, good doggy…
Warg: *sits there and refuses to move*
Jack: *hurls bone at the floor*
Jack: Stupid mangy cur, you-
Warg: *hurls self at the bars, growling and snapping jaws*
Jack: Good doggy gooddoggygooddoggy!!
Keys: *slide down Warg’s throat*
Sauron: You are neither dead nor dying. What is your purpose here?
Legolas: [quickly] Jack Sparrow sent me to settle his debt.
Sauron: What is your purpose here?
Legolas: Jack Sparrow sent me to settle his debt.
Sauron: *laughs* Did he, now? I’m sorely tempted to accept that offer.
Legolas: I can get you out of here.
Jack: How?
Legolas: Where’s the key?
Jack: *points*
Warg: *growls and picks teeth*
Legolas: Oh noo…
Meanwhile…
Aragorn: Jack! We need you back something fierce!
Gimli: The Nine are now horsed on fell beasts!
Legolas: Gandalf has fallen into the Shadow in Moria!
Boromir: Sauron’s malice is about to be unleashed!
Jack: I leave you people alone for just a minute. Look what happens, everything’s gone to pot!
Amon Hen
Uruk-hai: RAHHHHH.
Jack: *leaps up on the Seeing Seat*
Jack: Gentlemen, you will remember this as the day you almost caught Ja-
Jack: *falls back off the Seeing Seat*
Uruk-hai: *slay Boromir and make off with hobbits*
Aragorn: [in imitation of Jack] I leave you alone with two hobbits and Boromir for just a minute. Look what happens, everything’s gone to pot!
Drinking Game In Rohan
Old man: The die is cast. I bid three twos.
Aftermath of Drinking Game In Rohan
Jack: *sits up and stares at empty barrels*
Jack: Why is all the rum gone?
Jack: *stands up and staggers drunkenly*
Jack: Oh… that’s why.
Wild Men
Jack: ‘Scuse me, but you wouldn’t happen to have seen my friend Legolas about?
Wild Men: *grunt in a puzzled manner*
Jack: Well… Lum se se, eunuchy. Snip snip?
Legolas: What about Jack? I can’t leave without him!
Legolas: *turns and sees Jack chased by the Wild Men*
Legolas: Time to go, Aragorn.
Helm’s Deep
Gimli: *sits on dead Orc*
Gimli: Forty-two!
Legolas: *draws bow and shoots the Orc Gimli is sitting on*
Legolas: Forty-three.
Gimli: He was already dead!
Legolas: He was twitching.
Gimli: He was twitching because he had my ax in him!
Gimli: *moves ax to prove his point and Orc twitches again*
Gimli: See, I told y-
*Gunshot*
Jack: Don’t argue, ladies.
Jack: *beheads Orc*
Jack: But Legolas was right – he was still twitching.
Jack: *sheathes blade*
Jack: Forty-four.
After Helm’s Deep
Jack: *walks onto the balcony in Edoras*
Legolas: *turns to look at Jack as he leans on the rail next to Legolas*
Jack: My tremendous intuitive sense of the female creature informs me that you are troubled.
Legolas: Sauron’s presence is growing.
Sam: *throws Elven-cloak over him and Frodo*
Easterling 1: Now we’re being followed by rocks.
Easterling 2: Never had that before.
Easterling 3: Stop it, you sound like that crazy pirate captain.
The Corsairs of Umbar
Jack: Okay, now we stand here and stop the ships.
Aragorn: This better work.
Jack: I’ve captained an undead crew before. Your whole band isn’t any different.
Corsairs: *sail up the river slowly*
Legolas: [whispers] This is either madness… or brilliance.
Jack: It’s remarkable how often these two traits coincide.
Aragorn: You will go no further. You will not enter Gondor.
Corsairs: Who are you to deny us passage?
Aragorn: Legolas, fire a warning shot past the bosun’s ear.
Gimli: Mind your shot.
Legolas: *draws bow*
Gimli: *nudges bottom of the bow*
Jack: *nudges top of the bow*
Arrow: *falls dismally in the water*
Legolas: *blushes*
Jack: Let me handle that, darling.
Jack: *fires pistol and kills two corsairs*
Aragorn: You weren’t supposed to kill them. It’s a warning shot.
Jack: *about to shoot Aragorn but turns back towards the ship*
Jack: This shot isn’t meant for you.
Jack: *fires pistol and kills corsair captain*
Gimli: Right, that’s it. We warned you. Prepare to be boarded.
Corsairs: Boarded? By you and what army?
Aragorn: This army.
Army of the Dead: *CHARGE!*
Gimli: Why do you get to steer the ship?
Legolas: *dreamily* because he’s a pirate.
Gimli: I thought we were supposed to kill all the pirates?
Gimli: *hefts ax*
Jack: Actually, you killed the corsairs. Cor. Sair. I’m a PIRATE, savvy?
Aragorn: That actually makes sense.
Gimli: So let me steer the ship now!
Aragorn: But I want to steer the ship now.
Gimli: *charges at the wheel to gain control of it*
Aragorn: *charges at the wheel to gain control of it*
Legolas: *charges at the wheel to protect Jack*
Jack: *spins the wheel and sets all three high up in the masts*
Jack: Now as long as you three are up there, pay attention -
Aragorn: You’re not playing by the rules.
Jack: The only rules that really matter are these: what a man can do and what a man can’t do. You didn’t play by the rules when you woke up that whole army back there, did you? And me, for example. I can let you drown, but I can’t bring this ship into Gondor all by me ownsies, savvy? So can you sail under the command of a pirate, or can you not?
Legolas: *falls into water*
Legolas: Help!
Jack: *looks at Gimli* can you swim?
Gimli: *dumbly shakes head*
Jack: *looks at Aragorn* can you swim?
Aragorn: I doubt the doggy paddle counts?
Jack: You’re insults to the Fellowship, both of you.
Jack: *thrusts hat at Gimli*
Jack: *thrusts sword and compass at Aragorn*
Jack: *dives in and rescues Legolas*
Legolas: [thinks] mouth to mouth resuscitation…
Legolas: *opens eyes suddenly to find a fish on his face*
Aragorn: I never knew you could do that.
Jack: Clearly you’ve never been to Rohan.
Legolas: *shoots mumakil*
Legolas: *looks pro*
Gimli: That still counts as one!
Jack: He’s too pro. Now where’s that monkey? I need to shoot something.
Jack: *chases monkey across battlefield*
Mumakil: *trumpet* *bellow*
Haradrim: *yell*
Battlefield: *crash* *bang*
Jack: *unaware that he trips up five mumakil as he chases the monkey*
Gimli: That… still counts as five.
Jack: *chases monkey through the forest*
Monkey: *runs up tree*
Jack: *reaches the base of tree*
Ent: *looks down at Jack with monkey in branches*
Sauron: [to Watcherkraken] They know they face extinction. All that remains is where they make their final stand.
Watcherkraken: *points tentacle at Black Gate*
Sauron: I know.
Jack: We must fight, to run away!
Aragorn: No, we will fight for the good of all Middle-Earth!
Jack: But we won’t be killed in that fight, will we?
Aragorn: No…
Jack: *wearily* So we ARE fighting, to run away.
Aragorn: Sons of Gondor! Of Rohan! My brothers!
Men: *silence*
Aragorn: I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me. A day may come when the courage of Men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship, but it is not this day! An hour of wolves and shattered shields when the Age of Men comes crashing down, but it is not this day! This day we fight! By all that you hold dear on this good earth, I bid you stand, Men of the West! Are you all with me?
Men: Yo ho, all together, hoist the Colours high; Men of Rohan and Men of Gondor, never say we die.
Banner of the White Tree: *is raised by thousands of Gondoreans*
Banner of the Silver Swan: *is raised by thousands of those from Dol Amroth*
Banner of the White Horse: *is raised by thousands of Rohirrim*
Banner with skull and crossbones: *is raised by one solitary Jack Sparrow*
Aragorn: There’s not been a gathering like this in all our lifetime.
Jack: And I owe them all money.
Mouth of Sauron: Parlay!
Aragorn: We’re here to fight, not to talk. I’ll slay.. who was it who invented that word anyway?
Jack: Er, that would be the French.
Mouth of Sauron: You can fight and all of you will die, or you can surrender, in which case only most of you will die.
Aragorn: *fondles the Evenstar lovingly*
Jack: You know, for having such a bleak outlook on pirates you are well on your way to becoming one: capturing a ship of the Corsairs’, sailing with an undead crew out of Dunharrow, and you’re completely obsessed with shiny treasure.
Gimli: [aside to Legolas] Do not make the mistake in believing that you’re the only one who cares for Jack.
Jack: You may kill me but never insult me! Now, who am I?
Orc: *stops in mid-swing and blinks, puzzled*
Jack: [weakly] I’m Captain Jack Sparrow…
Orc: *blinks, puzzled*
Jack: *stabs orc and runs away*
Fellowship: *gets totally whacked up by lots and lots and lots of orcs*
Cracks of Doom: *spit lava and bits of molten Ring everywhere*
Sauron’s army: *runs*
Sauron’s lighthouse: *crumbles*
Everyone else: *cheers*
Back in Minas Tirith
Jack: Legolas, you may throw my hat.
Legolas: *throws Jack’s hat into the air with everyone else’s to celebrate the victory over Sauron*
Jack: Now, you go get it.
Hobbits become ringbearers for weddings
Aragorn: *kisses Arwen*
Will: *kisses Elizabeth*
Faramir: *kisses Eowyn*
Jack: Ooh weddings. I love weddings.
At the Port
Jack: *flourish* Come, ladies and gents, all aboard the Black Pearl for the undying lands!
Elrond: It’s real!
Gandalf: So you actually were telling the truth.
Jack: *eyes closed* I do that quite a lot. Yet people are always surprised.
Aragorn: With good reason.
Bilbo: That thing… that’s what we’re sailing on to the Undying Lands?
Jack: *looks at crude Orc-raft*
Jack: This is not my vessel. My vessel is magnificent, and fierce, and huge-ish, and gone. Why is it gone?
Legolas: *argues with Gimli*
Gimli: *quarrels with Legolas*
Jack: Ladies, will you please shut it and listen to me!
Jack: [to Legolas] You can’t shoot for nuts.
Jack: [to Gimli] You’re short and fat.
Jack: [to Legolas] Your hair is so sissy.
Jack: [to Gimli] I killed two of the orcs you claimed to have killed.
Jack: And all this pales to utter insignificance in light of the fact that my ship.. is once again gone. Savvy?
Gimli: *slaps Jack*
Legolas: *slaps Jack*
Both: *stalk off*
Jack: *slaps Aragorn*
Jack: *pushes Aragorn into the water*
Jack: Paddle out and fetch it back.
Jack: All passengers for Valinor, all aboard the Black Pearl!
Elves and two hobbits: *file up the gangplank*
Jack: Drink up, me hearties, yo ho!
The great ship unfurled its sails and headed off into the sunset, as the hobbits watched from the pier. Suddenly, there was a green flash of light, and the Elves were never seen in Middle-Earth ever again. But of Jack Sparrow.. ah, that is another story altogether.
Meanwhile, pirate captain Jack Sparrow plunged over the great waterfall at World’s End, only to discover that his crew had been reduced to nothing but dead men in boats. Depressed, he tacked the Pearl round and brought her into a sheltered cove by that waterfall, the Rauros. He trekked across swamp and marshland, across green plains and rocky road, until, teeth chattering, he tumbled into a snowy cave by the Pass of Caradhras and fell asleep.
He awoke five hours later to find a company of four – no, five – shorties, a blonde sissy, an old man, and two young men, all staring down at him.
At Caradhras
Aragorn: *explains about why they must destroy the Ring*
Gimli: *hefts ax* So are you with us, or against us?
Legolas: You must choose now!
Jack: Er…
Aragorn: Why should we trust you to help us?
Jack: Me? I’m dishonest, and a dishonest man you can always trust to be dishonest. Honestly. It’s the honest ones you want to watch out for, because you can never predict when they’re going to do something incredibly… stupid.
Boromir: Okay, you’re in.
Jack: Something just like that.
Gimli: [aside to Legolas] I don’t like this. I don’t trust him one bit.
Jack: You mistrust me? Listen, you can mistrust him, trust me.
Jack: *points to Boromir*
Boromir: *shifts uncomfortably*
Caradhras: *throws lots of snow at them*
Gimli: If we can’t go over the mountain… let’s go under it.
Mines of Moria
Fellowship: *opens doors of Moria*
Pippin: *throws stone in water*
Water: *ripples*
Jack: Perhaps this isn’t a good time to tell you a huge sea beast is after me?
Boromir: So if we let it eat you, it’ll spare us?
Legolas: Shut up.
Aragorn: For the good of the Fellowship, we must bind you here.
Aragorn: *chains Jack to the rock*
Jack: Pirate.
Aragorn: Ranger, actually.
Merry: *burns off a few of the Watcherkraken’s tentacles* Did we kill it?
Pippin: No… I think we just made it angry.
Watcherkraken: ROARRRR
Jack: *covered in mucus* Not so bad…
Jack: *wipes the mucus from his face*
Jack: *sees his hat in Watcherkraken’s mouth*
Jack: *puts on his hat with pride*
Jack: ‘Ello, beastie.
Jack: *smiles and draws his sword*
Sauron: *sees the whole incident in the palantir*
Sauron: Our debt will be settled soon.
Watcherkraken: *drags Jack off to Sauron*
Sauron: *dangles Jack over the pit full of Orcs*
Sauron: Do you fear death?
Jack: You have no idea.
Sauron: Lower the prisoner!
Jack: *descends towards waiting Orcs*
Jack: Goodbye, beastie.
Watcherkraken: *tentacles Sauron’s arm*
Watcherkraken: [sotto voce] He might do more harm helping the Fellowship than if they were without him.
Sauron: I’ve changed my mind. Take him down to the cells.
Warg: *holds ring of keys in mouth*
Warg: *watches Jack and growls*
Jack: *holds out bone*
Jack: Here doggy, here doggy doggy… bring the keys, good doggy…
Warg: *sits there and refuses to move*
Jack: *hurls bone at the floor*
Jack: Stupid mangy cur, you-
Warg: *hurls self at the bars, growling and snapping jaws*
Jack: Good doggy gooddoggygooddoggy!!
Keys: *slide down Warg’s throat*
Sauron: You are neither dead nor dying. What is your purpose here?
Legolas: [quickly] Jack Sparrow sent me to settle his debt.
Sauron: What is your purpose here?
Legolas: Jack Sparrow sent me to settle his debt.
Sauron: *laughs* Did he, now? I’m sorely tempted to accept that offer.
Legolas: I can get you out of here.
Jack: How?
Legolas: Where’s the key?
Jack: *points*
Warg: *growls and picks teeth*
Legolas: Oh noo…
Meanwhile…
Aragorn: Jack! We need you back something fierce!
Gimli: The Nine are now horsed on fell beasts!
Legolas: Gandalf has fallen into the Shadow in Moria!
Boromir: Sauron’s malice is about to be unleashed!
Jack: I leave you people alone for just a minute. Look what happens, everything’s gone to pot!
Amon Hen
Uruk-hai: RAHHHHH.
Jack: *leaps up on the Seeing Seat*
Jack: Gentlemen, you will remember this as the day you almost caught Ja-
Jack: *falls back off the Seeing Seat*
Uruk-hai: *slay Boromir and make off with hobbits*
Aragorn: [in imitation of Jack] I leave you alone with two hobbits and Boromir for just a minute. Look what happens, everything’s gone to pot!
Drinking Game In Rohan
Old man: The die is cast. I bid three twos.
Aftermath of Drinking Game In Rohan
Jack: *sits up and stares at empty barrels*
Jack: Why is all the rum gone?
Jack: *stands up and staggers drunkenly*
Jack: Oh… that’s why.
Wild Men
Jack: ‘Scuse me, but you wouldn’t happen to have seen my friend Legolas about?
Wild Men: *grunt in a puzzled manner*
Jack: Well… Lum se se, eunuchy. Snip snip?
Legolas: What about Jack? I can’t leave without him!
Legolas: *turns and sees Jack chased by the Wild Men*
Legolas: Time to go, Aragorn.
Helm’s Deep
Gimli: *sits on dead Orc*
Gimli: Forty-two!
Legolas: *draws bow and shoots the Orc Gimli is sitting on*
Legolas: Forty-three.
Gimli: He was already dead!
Legolas: He was twitching.
Gimli: He was twitching because he had my ax in him!
Gimli: *moves ax to prove his point and Orc twitches again*
Gimli: See, I told y-
*Gunshot*
Jack: Don’t argue, ladies.
Jack: *beheads Orc*
Jack: But Legolas was right – he was still twitching.
Jack: *sheathes blade*
Jack: Forty-four.
After Helm’s Deep
Jack: *walks onto the balcony in Edoras*
Legolas: *turns to look at Jack as he leans on the rail next to Legolas*
Jack: My tremendous intuitive sense of the female creature informs me that you are troubled.
Legolas: Sauron’s presence is growing.
Sam: *throws Elven-cloak over him and Frodo*
Easterling 1: Now we’re being followed by rocks.
Easterling 2: Never had that before.
Easterling 3: Stop it, you sound like that crazy pirate captain.
The Corsairs of Umbar
Jack: Okay, now we stand here and stop the ships.
Aragorn: This better work.
Jack: I’ve captained an undead crew before. Your whole band isn’t any different.
Corsairs: *sail up the river slowly*
Legolas: [whispers] This is either madness… or brilliance.
Jack: It’s remarkable how often these two traits coincide.
Aragorn: You will go no further. You will not enter Gondor.
Corsairs: Who are you to deny us passage?
Aragorn: Legolas, fire a warning shot past the bosun’s ear.
Gimli: Mind your shot.
Legolas: *draws bow*
Gimli: *nudges bottom of the bow*
Jack: *nudges top of the bow*
Arrow: *falls dismally in the water*
Legolas: *blushes*
Jack: Let me handle that, darling.
Jack: *fires pistol and kills two corsairs*
Aragorn: You weren’t supposed to kill them. It’s a warning shot.
Jack: *about to shoot Aragorn but turns back towards the ship*
Jack: This shot isn’t meant for you.
Jack: *fires pistol and kills corsair captain*
Gimli: Right, that’s it. We warned you. Prepare to be boarded.
Corsairs: Boarded? By you and what army?
Aragorn: This army.
Army of the Dead: *CHARGE!*
Gimli: Why do you get to steer the ship?
Legolas: *dreamily* because he’s a pirate.
Gimli: I thought we were supposed to kill all the pirates?
Gimli: *hefts ax*
Jack: Actually, you killed the corsairs. Cor. Sair. I’m a PIRATE, savvy?
Aragorn: That actually makes sense.
Gimli: So let me steer the ship now!
Aragorn: But I want to steer the ship now.
Gimli: *charges at the wheel to gain control of it*
Aragorn: *charges at the wheel to gain control of it*
Legolas: *charges at the wheel to protect Jack*
Jack: *spins the wheel and sets all three high up in the masts*
Jack: Now as long as you three are up there, pay attention -
Aragorn: You’re not playing by the rules.
Jack: The only rules that really matter are these: what a man can do and what a man can’t do. You didn’t play by the rules when you woke up that whole army back there, did you? And me, for example. I can let you drown, but I can’t bring this ship into Gondor all by me ownsies, savvy? So can you sail under the command of a pirate, or can you not?
Legolas: *falls into water*
Legolas: Help!
Jack: *looks at Gimli* can you swim?
Gimli: *dumbly shakes head*
Jack: *looks at Aragorn* can you swim?
Aragorn: I doubt the doggy paddle counts?
Jack: You’re insults to the Fellowship, both of you.
Jack: *thrusts hat at Gimli*
Jack: *thrusts sword and compass at Aragorn*
Jack: *dives in and rescues Legolas*
Legolas: [thinks] mouth to mouth resuscitation…
Legolas: *opens eyes suddenly to find a fish on his face*
Aragorn: I never knew you could do that.
Jack: Clearly you’ve never been to Rohan.
Legolas: *shoots mumakil*
Legolas: *looks pro*
Gimli: That still counts as one!
Jack: He’s too pro. Now where’s that monkey? I need to shoot something.
Jack: *chases monkey across battlefield*
Mumakil: *trumpet* *bellow*
Haradrim: *yell*
Battlefield: *crash* *bang*
Jack: *unaware that he trips up five mumakil as he chases the monkey*
Gimli: That… still counts as five.
Jack: *chases monkey through the forest*
Monkey: *runs up tree*
Jack: *reaches the base of tree*
Ent: *looks down at Jack with monkey in branches*
Sauron: [to Watcherkraken] They know they face extinction. All that remains is where they make their final stand.
Watcherkraken: *points tentacle at Black Gate*
Sauron: I know.
Jack: We must fight, to run away!
Aragorn: No, we will fight for the good of all Middle-Earth!
Jack: But we won’t be killed in that fight, will we?
Aragorn: No…
Jack: *wearily* So we ARE fighting, to run away.
Aragorn: Sons of Gondor! Of Rohan! My brothers!
Men: *silence*
Aragorn: I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me. A day may come when the courage of Men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship, but it is not this day! An hour of wolves and shattered shields when the Age of Men comes crashing down, but it is not this day! This day we fight! By all that you hold dear on this good earth, I bid you stand, Men of the West! Are you all with me?
Men: Yo ho, all together, hoist the Colours high; Men of Rohan and Men of Gondor, never say we die.
Banner of the White Tree: *is raised by thousands of Gondoreans*
Banner of the Silver Swan: *is raised by thousands of those from Dol Amroth*
Banner of the White Horse: *is raised by thousands of Rohirrim*
Banner with skull and crossbones: *is raised by one solitary Jack Sparrow*
Aragorn: There’s not been a gathering like this in all our lifetime.
Jack: And I owe them all money.
Mouth of Sauron: Parlay!
Aragorn: We’re here to fight, not to talk. I’ll slay.. who was it who invented that word anyway?
Jack: Er, that would be the French.
Mouth of Sauron: You can fight and all of you will die, or you can surrender, in which case only most of you will die.
Aragorn: *fondles the Evenstar lovingly*
Jack: You know, for having such a bleak outlook on pirates you are well on your way to becoming one: capturing a ship of the Corsairs’, sailing with an undead crew out of Dunharrow, and you’re completely obsessed with shiny treasure.
Gimli: [aside to Legolas] Do not make the mistake in believing that you’re the only one who cares for Jack.
Jack: You may kill me but never insult me! Now, who am I?
Orc: *stops in mid-swing and blinks, puzzled*
Jack: [weakly] I’m Captain Jack Sparrow…
Orc: *blinks, puzzled*
Jack: *stabs orc and runs away*
Fellowship: *gets totally whacked up by lots and lots and lots of orcs*
Cracks of Doom: *spit lava and bits of molten Ring everywhere*
Sauron’s army: *runs*
Sauron’s lighthouse: *crumbles*
Everyone else: *cheers*
Back in Minas Tirith
Jack: Legolas, you may throw my hat.
Legolas: *throws Jack’s hat into the air with everyone else’s to celebrate the victory over Sauron*
Jack: Now, you go get it.
Hobbits become ringbearers for weddings
Aragorn: *kisses Arwen*
Will: *kisses Elizabeth*
Faramir: *kisses Eowyn*
Jack: Ooh weddings. I love weddings.
At the Port
Jack: *flourish* Come, ladies and gents, all aboard the Black Pearl for the undying lands!
Elrond: It’s real!
Gandalf: So you actually were telling the truth.
Jack: *eyes closed* I do that quite a lot. Yet people are always surprised.
Aragorn: With good reason.
Bilbo: That thing… that’s what we’re sailing on to the Undying Lands?
Jack: *looks at crude Orc-raft*
Jack: This is not my vessel. My vessel is magnificent, and fierce, and huge-ish, and gone. Why is it gone?
Legolas: *argues with Gimli*
Gimli: *quarrels with Legolas*
Jack: Ladies, will you please shut it and listen to me!
Jack: [to Legolas] You can’t shoot for nuts.
Jack: [to Gimli] You’re short and fat.
Jack: [to Legolas] Your hair is so sissy.
Jack: [to Gimli] I killed two of the orcs you claimed to have killed.
Jack: And all this pales to utter insignificance in light of the fact that my ship.. is once again gone. Savvy?
Gimli: *slaps Jack*
Legolas: *slaps Jack*
Both: *stalk off*
Jack: *slaps Aragorn*
Jack: *pushes Aragorn into the water*
Jack: Paddle out and fetch it back.
Jack: All passengers for Valinor, all aboard the Black Pearl!
Elves and two hobbits: *file up the gangplank*
Jack: Drink up, me hearties, yo ho!
The great ship unfurled its sails and headed off into the sunset, as the hobbits watched from the pier. Suddenly, there was a green flash of light, and the Elves were never seen in Middle-Earth ever again. But of Jack Sparrow.. ah, that is another story altogether.
Sunday, June 11, 2006
World War III
A young soldier crouched, bold and yet afraid, in the deep trenches. He looked out over the battlefield, dotted with many craters from exploding shells. Several more bombs whistled by overhead, and the scream of shell and soldier mingled into a hideous song, the song of death and blood.
But the soldier still watched from the relative safety of his trench, as the gates that held back both armies suddenly opened. Steel met steel and shells were launched from both sides, as soldiers rushed to meet each other in mortal combat. All about, blades flashed in the air, as if participating in a well-choreographed dance of injury and death.
One of the soldier’s comrades was cut down by his opponent, and the dark blood stained the ground. The enemy soldier was in turn gunned down by a flurry of bullets from a nearby truck. The stench of death lingered in the air, and the soldier clutched his bayonet, wincing as the wind brought with it the cloying smell of blood. His knuckles turned white from the ferocity of the grip. Before he changed his mind, he charged swiftly out of the trench, into the thick of the battle.
An illuminating shell flew through the air, landing with a dull plop in a bed of mud. But the soldier had seen enough of war to know that this was not a mere dud. The shell suddenly exploded, sending shafts of brilliant white light slicing in all directions. Temporarily blinded, the soldier dropped to his knees, letting the bayonet fall by his side. But when he regained his sight, it was to a living hell – littered all around him were charred corpses.
Another shell soared in a graceful parabola before landing right next to him. His eyes suddenly widened in fear, and he made as if to run. However, the sudden scorching heat of the explosion got to him first. The force picked him up as if he were but a rag doll, and flung him a few metres away.
Worse still, the shrapnel from the blast tore into his arm, slashing at muscle and sinew to expose the white bone beneath. Blood dripped straight down, covering his arm in the thick, sticky liquid. Brushing away hasty tears from his eyes, the soldier moaned and doubled over slowly, leaning on his bayonet and gasping for breath.
But as time passed and the bombs still raged, filling the air with their assertive shouts, he knew he had to be brave. Stripping off his shirt to expose the thin chain mail beneath, he mechanically tore the cloth into strips. Caring not for the oil, blood, and grimy dirt caked in layers upon it, he laid the strips over the jagged wound and bound it tightly. It would do – for the moment.
Gritting his teeth against the burning pain in his arm, he picked up the bayonet again. The soldier crawled commando-style into one of the blast craters nearby, cradling his bayonet in his arms. He peered over the rim of the crater, surveying his surroundings.
The sky was stained a blood-red, and smoke was everywhere all over the battlefield. He watched open-mouthed as one of their trucks daringly rolled towards the enemy fortress, and lined up both a portable cannon as well as a gigantic tank up in its gunsights. Then the tank moved out of the line of fire, and in a kamikaze motion, the truck slammed into the cannon, both vehicles exploding in a large fireball.
But there was little time left for him to gape at the battle, for he heard others approaching. His heart pounding wildly in his chest, he gripped his bayonet even tighter and flattened himself against the rim of the crater. Seconds stretched into eternities, as the footsteps approached closer. He timed himself, and then made his move. Both his legs slammed hard against the dirt-packed ground, and the action propelled his entire body vertically upwards, straight into the enemy soldier before him.
The bayonet blade flashed for an instant, before burying itself deep in the enemy soldier’s chest. The poor guy never saw that one coming. Bright blood fountained out instantly, and the enemy soldier gave several dying gasps before collapsing upon his killer. The soldier, on the other hand, could not tear his eyes away from the dark blood all over him, all over the ground… He turned aside just in time before he threw up all his army rations.
But eventually, he rose and pushed the body aside, trying to force down the rising taste of bile in his throat. His arm was going numb, and he wondered if he could survive this war.
This was war. It was kill-or-be-killed. He had no choice. But even if he survived this war, what was it for? To fight another one on the same battleground? And more after that?
A sound from behind startled him, and he whipped around. The king’s war vehicle was pulling up behind him, slowly drawing closer. It was only then that he understood the enormity of the situation, and he stiffly drew his bayonet up into the guard position. In his wounded state, he could do nothing but stagger forward at a snail’s pace. But stagger he did, slowly and surely forward, with the gigantic vehicle following behind.
Now he could see the enemy king and two trucks closing in on them. A blast from the great behemoth behind him, and one of the trucks exploded in a ball of flame. But the enemy king was faster, and planted his vehicle straight in the soldier’s path. The great gun muzzle swiveled round, and pointed straight at the soldier. He felt so small and vulnerable in the face of such power.
The soldier closed his eyes tightly and expected to be blasted to pieces. After an eternity, however, he opened his eyes and stared once again down the muzzle of the enemy king’s gun. The enemy dared not to blast him into oblivion, knowing all too well that to do so would be sending an open invitation to be blasted.
In that standoff, no one noticed the small portable cannon which inched along slowly, hiding behind mangled vehicles and shattered craters.
The soldier held his bayonet straighter. He could not move his arm any more, but he knew that the war would end soon, and that he would be playing a part in it, whatever it took him. Just then, the portable cannon suddenly made its move, shooting across the blasted wasteland, coming to a halt right behind the enemy king’s tank.
The soldier stood up straighter, knowing that he was the one guarding the small cannon. The enemy king stared at the soldier before him, then at the cannon behind him, and then at the king against him. He knew now that there was no escape, for his allied truck was too far away to help out. The soldier, on the other hand, was immensely relieved, and leveled his bayonet, in case the enemy king tried to break out at the last second.
The soldier saw, out of the corner of his eye, the cannon preparing to blast the vehicle into smithereens. In a matter of minutes, the tank would be a raging fireball.
But in the calm before the storm, no one heard the soft voice of the soldier.
“Checkmate.”
But the soldier still watched from the relative safety of his trench, as the gates that held back both armies suddenly opened. Steel met steel and shells were launched from both sides, as soldiers rushed to meet each other in mortal combat. All about, blades flashed in the air, as if participating in a well-choreographed dance of injury and death.
One of the soldier’s comrades was cut down by his opponent, and the dark blood stained the ground. The enemy soldier was in turn gunned down by a flurry of bullets from a nearby truck. The stench of death lingered in the air, and the soldier clutched his bayonet, wincing as the wind brought with it the cloying smell of blood. His knuckles turned white from the ferocity of the grip. Before he changed his mind, he charged swiftly out of the trench, into the thick of the battle.
An illuminating shell flew through the air, landing with a dull plop in a bed of mud. But the soldier had seen enough of war to know that this was not a mere dud. The shell suddenly exploded, sending shafts of brilliant white light slicing in all directions. Temporarily blinded, the soldier dropped to his knees, letting the bayonet fall by his side. But when he regained his sight, it was to a living hell – littered all around him were charred corpses.
Another shell soared in a graceful parabola before landing right next to him. His eyes suddenly widened in fear, and he made as if to run. However, the sudden scorching heat of the explosion got to him first. The force picked him up as if he were but a rag doll, and flung him a few metres away.
Worse still, the shrapnel from the blast tore into his arm, slashing at muscle and sinew to expose the white bone beneath. Blood dripped straight down, covering his arm in the thick, sticky liquid. Brushing away hasty tears from his eyes, the soldier moaned and doubled over slowly, leaning on his bayonet and gasping for breath.
But as time passed and the bombs still raged, filling the air with their assertive shouts, he knew he had to be brave. Stripping off his shirt to expose the thin chain mail beneath, he mechanically tore the cloth into strips. Caring not for the oil, blood, and grimy dirt caked in layers upon it, he laid the strips over the jagged wound and bound it tightly. It would do – for the moment.
Gritting his teeth against the burning pain in his arm, he picked up the bayonet again. The soldier crawled commando-style into one of the blast craters nearby, cradling his bayonet in his arms. He peered over the rim of the crater, surveying his surroundings.
The sky was stained a blood-red, and smoke was everywhere all over the battlefield. He watched open-mouthed as one of their trucks daringly rolled towards the enemy fortress, and lined up both a portable cannon as well as a gigantic tank up in its gunsights. Then the tank moved out of the line of fire, and in a kamikaze motion, the truck slammed into the cannon, both vehicles exploding in a large fireball.
But there was little time left for him to gape at the battle, for he heard others approaching. His heart pounding wildly in his chest, he gripped his bayonet even tighter and flattened himself against the rim of the crater. Seconds stretched into eternities, as the footsteps approached closer. He timed himself, and then made his move. Both his legs slammed hard against the dirt-packed ground, and the action propelled his entire body vertically upwards, straight into the enemy soldier before him.
The bayonet blade flashed for an instant, before burying itself deep in the enemy soldier’s chest. The poor guy never saw that one coming. Bright blood fountained out instantly, and the enemy soldier gave several dying gasps before collapsing upon his killer. The soldier, on the other hand, could not tear his eyes away from the dark blood all over him, all over the ground… He turned aside just in time before he threw up all his army rations.
But eventually, he rose and pushed the body aside, trying to force down the rising taste of bile in his throat. His arm was going numb, and he wondered if he could survive this war.
This was war. It was kill-or-be-killed. He had no choice. But even if he survived this war, what was it for? To fight another one on the same battleground? And more after that?
A sound from behind startled him, and he whipped around. The king’s war vehicle was pulling up behind him, slowly drawing closer. It was only then that he understood the enormity of the situation, and he stiffly drew his bayonet up into the guard position. In his wounded state, he could do nothing but stagger forward at a snail’s pace. But stagger he did, slowly and surely forward, with the gigantic vehicle following behind.
Now he could see the enemy king and two trucks closing in on them. A blast from the great behemoth behind him, and one of the trucks exploded in a ball of flame. But the enemy king was faster, and planted his vehicle straight in the soldier’s path. The great gun muzzle swiveled round, and pointed straight at the soldier. He felt so small and vulnerable in the face of such power.
The soldier closed his eyes tightly and expected to be blasted to pieces. After an eternity, however, he opened his eyes and stared once again down the muzzle of the enemy king’s gun. The enemy dared not to blast him into oblivion, knowing all too well that to do so would be sending an open invitation to be blasted.
In that standoff, no one noticed the small portable cannon which inched along slowly, hiding behind mangled vehicles and shattered craters.
The soldier held his bayonet straighter. He could not move his arm any more, but he knew that the war would end soon, and that he would be playing a part in it, whatever it took him. Just then, the portable cannon suddenly made its move, shooting across the blasted wasteland, coming to a halt right behind the enemy king’s tank.
The soldier stood up straighter, knowing that he was the one guarding the small cannon. The enemy king stared at the soldier before him, then at the cannon behind him, and then at the king against him. He knew now that there was no escape, for his allied truck was too far away to help out. The soldier, on the other hand, was immensely relieved, and leveled his bayonet, in case the enemy king tried to break out at the last second.
The soldier saw, out of the corner of his eye, the cannon preparing to blast the vehicle into smithereens. In a matter of minutes, the tank would be a raging fireball.
But in the calm before the storm, no one heard the soft voice of the soldier.
“Checkmate.”
Sunday, October 23, 2005
<3
The moon shineth bright tonight
White orb in the dark sky;
And a globe of silver light
For me to thus see by.
At this how the clock strikes twelve
A soft sonorous chime;
I take my books from my shelf
And marvel at the time.
What drove me to do all this
I whimper a soft whine;
With no payment, save a kiss
From lips so soft, so fine.
That should be reward enough
Enlightenment strikes me new;
Better than material stuff
Is a heart to me true.
I care for my dearest knight
I am concerned for him;
‘Tis why I sit here all night
And slave in light so dim.
A sacrifice of my sleep
My effort and my time;
For his love that runs so deep
Soul devoted to mine.
True love, only in this land
Is meant for flesh and bone;
Its rules are not etched in sand
But carved deeply in stone.
White orb in the dark sky;
And a globe of silver light
For me to thus see by.
At this how the clock strikes twelve
A soft sonorous chime;
I take my books from my shelf
And marvel at the time.
What drove me to do all this
I whimper a soft whine;
With no payment, save a kiss
From lips so soft, so fine.
That should be reward enough
Enlightenment strikes me new;
Better than material stuff
Is a heart to me true.
I care for my dearest knight
I am concerned for him;
‘Tis why I sit here all night
And slave in light so dim.
A sacrifice of my sleep
My effort and my time;
For his love that runs so deep
Soul devoted to mine.
True love, only in this land
Is meant for flesh and bone;
Its rules are not etched in sand
But carved deeply in stone.
Monday, October 10, 2005
Insert Title Here
The leaders of the country
When sworn in, never swore
That our distaff of history
Be plagued with wrong no more.
A tumult and a rising
Hath risen up of late;
Where brothers dear and men at arms
Voiced out against the state.
Where goods were fairly traded
Both bartered with and sold;
Our brothers were as brothers true
In the brave days of old.
Then one was for a party
Then all were for the state;
Then the great man helped the poor man
And the poor man loved the great.
But man to man is now
More spiteful than a beast;
And discounts make a lady wild
And thrice as hard to please.
Such cravenly behaviour
Is respected and revered;
And spreads its quality through the land
As when it first appeared.
A nation gripped with hunger
Is forevermore in need;
Curse the hand that made my land
A fine nation indeed.
When sworn in, never swore
That our distaff of history
Be plagued with wrong no more.
A tumult and a rising
Hath risen up of late;
Where brothers dear and men at arms
Voiced out against the state.
Where goods were fairly traded
Both bartered with and sold;
Our brothers were as brothers true
In the brave days of old.
Then one was for a party
Then all were for the state;
Then the great man helped the poor man
And the poor man loved the great.
But man to man is now
More spiteful than a beast;
And discounts make a lady wild
And thrice as hard to please.
Such cravenly behaviour
Is respected and revered;
And spreads its quality through the land
As when it first appeared.
A nation gripped with hunger
Is forevermore in need;
Curse the hand that made my land
A fine nation indeed.
Sunday, October 2, 2005
Motorcycle Helmet
At first
It was only a series
Of dots
Orange points of light
10010101000101100101
Forming the words
Accident
On
ECP
It was with trepidation
That we entered that highway
All seemed fine
Until we topped
The crest of a hill
A whole mass of gridlocked cars
Unmoving before us
Points of red light
Brake light
We joined the ever-growing crowd
More cars piling behind us
We were just another three lights
In a sea of red spots
We were just another silver car
In that mass of
Silver and gold and green and blue
Metallic bodies under the sun
We inched forward
Inch by inch by inch
Then we saw it
The first of the red cones
Its brothers lined up
Diagonally across each lane
Eventually spanning two lanes
Two and Three
We edged into lane One
I couldn’t see anything
Not from my place at the back
But my parents at the front
They spoke urgent words
“Don’t look”
Why?
I looked
I soon found out why
Upon the ground
A white body sheet
A police car near it
The policemen
And policewoman
Standing around the boot of the car
Talking together in a
Quiet huddle
As Death still lingered
Over the scene
The car that caused it
Snuffed out a life
And the motorcycle
Wrangled
Torn apart
Crushed
And the helmet
Upon the road
As still as its rider
As I gazed
I saw in my mind’s eye
A rider
A car
Impact
The whine
Of a police siren
Then hands
Tearing the helmet
Turquoise-green metal
Off his head
Throwing it aside
Recklessly
As life ebbs away
From under their hands
It rolls upon the tarmac
Slowly spinning
In a concentric circle
The helmet makes its
Final round
Teeters upon its edge
That brief, flashing moment
A delicate balance
Then it keels over
Upon its side
Comes to a stop
As still as its rider.
It was only a series
Of dots
Orange points of light
10010101000101100101
Forming the words
Accident
On
ECP
It was with trepidation
That we entered that highway
All seemed fine
Until we topped
The crest of a hill
A whole mass of gridlocked cars
Unmoving before us
Points of red light
Brake light
We joined the ever-growing crowd
More cars piling behind us
We were just another three lights
In a sea of red spots
We were just another silver car
In that mass of
Silver and gold and green and blue
Metallic bodies under the sun
We inched forward
Inch by inch by inch
Then we saw it
The first of the red cones
Its brothers lined up
Diagonally across each lane
Eventually spanning two lanes
Two and Three
We edged into lane One
I couldn’t see anything
Not from my place at the back
But my parents at the front
They spoke urgent words
“Don’t look”
Why?
I looked
I soon found out why
Upon the ground
A white body sheet
A police car near it
The policemen
And policewoman
Standing around the boot of the car
Talking together in a
Quiet huddle
As Death still lingered
Over the scene
The car that caused it
Snuffed out a life
And the motorcycle
Wrangled
Torn apart
Crushed
And the helmet
Upon the road
As still as its rider
As I gazed
I saw in my mind’s eye
A rider
A car
Impact
The whine
Of a police siren
Then hands
Tearing the helmet
Turquoise-green metal
Off his head
Throwing it aside
Recklessly
As life ebbs away
From under their hands
It rolls upon the tarmac
Slowly spinning
In a concentric circle
The helmet makes its
Final round
Teeters upon its edge
That brief, flashing moment
A delicate balance
Then it keels over
Upon its side
Comes to a stop
As still as its rider.
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
Shock of a Teenager (1)
I remember still that night
As vividly as I do
Of my graduation day.
My graduation day.
I was sweet sixteen.
Innocent.
Carefree.
That day
Was full of flowers
And laughter.
All of us in our
New, pressed, smart black uniforms.
We threw off our mortars
Let the wind toy
With them as it pleased.
And my parents in the crowd
Tears in shining rivulets on their cheeks
Watching their dear little daughter
Finally grow up.
But that night
Robbed me of my flower
Deflowered me
Took my maidenhead.
No laughter,
Only a harsh panting of excitement.
Shrouded in darkness
Because we wore nothing
Nothing at all.
Tears stained my cheeks
My parents’ cheeks
For their dear little daughter
Had grown up too soon
Had entered the world
Of lust and sex and sordid hell
Tasted the forbidden fruit
The terrible truth.
You have Hepatitis B
You have Hepatitis B
You have Hepatitis B
Drumming into my skull.
Again and again.
I screamed.
There is no cure at all
There is no cure at all
There is no cure at all
Drumming into my skull.
Again and again.
I screamed.
I was in a living hell.
I was sixteen!
I was not some drug pusher
Who snorted cocaine on the streets
And shared needles with others.
I was not some freak
Who lay with other girls.
I was a normal
Living
Breathing
Sixteen
Year
Old.
What could be worse?
You’re pregnant.
As vividly as I do
Of my graduation day.
My graduation day.
I was sweet sixteen.
Innocent.
Carefree.
That day
Was full of flowers
And laughter.
All of us in our
New, pressed, smart black uniforms.
We threw off our mortars
Let the wind toy
With them as it pleased.
And my parents in the crowd
Tears in shining rivulets on their cheeks
Watching their dear little daughter
Finally grow up.
But that night
Robbed me of my flower
Deflowered me
Took my maidenhead.
No laughter,
Only a harsh panting of excitement.
Shrouded in darkness
Because we wore nothing
Nothing at all.
Tears stained my cheeks
My parents’ cheeks
For their dear little daughter
Had grown up too soon
Had entered the world
Of lust and sex and sordid hell
Tasted the forbidden fruit
The terrible truth.
You have Hepatitis B
You have Hepatitis B
You have Hepatitis B
Drumming into my skull.
Again and again.
I screamed.
There is no cure at all
There is no cure at all
There is no cure at all
Drumming into my skull.
Again and again.
I screamed.
I was in a living hell.
I was sixteen!
I was not some drug pusher
Who snorted cocaine on the streets
And shared needles with others.
I was not some freak
Who lay with other girls.
I was a normal
Living
Breathing
Sixteen
Year
Old.
What could be worse?
You’re pregnant.
Shock of a Teenager (2)
Twenty years ago,
An accident happened.
Pearl Yeo
Twenty-four
Walked under a taxi
On her way to work.
She was rushed to the
Hospital; blood pouring from her
Head.
The doctors gave her a
Blood transfusion.
And everyone thought:
That’s the end of it.
Not so.
Five years later,
An accident happened.
Benjamin Yeo
Just born
Entered into this world
From his mother’s womb.
He was rushed through the
Hospital; her blood staining his
Head.
The doctors gave him a
Vaccination.
And everyone thought:
That’s the end of it.
Not so.
***
The blood that was given
Pearl Yeo
Was tainted.
Hepatitis B
But no one knew
Until Benjamin existed.
***
It was only then
That I noticed the crack
The crack spanning the
Ceiling.
Craning my head upwards
I watched it
Traced it slowly
As it disappeared into
Nothingness.
Just a plain line
Crooked in some places
Straight in others
But running towards the door
Which opened to admit
The doctor.
I’m sorry
You have Hepatitis B
You have Hepatitis B
You have Hepatitis B
“Is… it curable?”
My voice
Cracking
Splitting like the ceiling
Above my head.
My world was tumbling
Falling
All about me.
I’m sorry
There is no cure at all
There is no cure at all
There is no cure at all
Why, O Lord?
Why me,
Of all people?
***
He was guiltless.
Still chaste.
Yet he was burdened
With a deadly
Disease.
An accident happened.
Pearl Yeo
Twenty-four
Walked under a taxi
On her way to work.
She was rushed to the
Hospital; blood pouring from her
Head.
The doctors gave her a
Blood transfusion.
And everyone thought:
That’s the end of it.
Not so.
Five years later,
An accident happened.
Benjamin Yeo
Just born
Entered into this world
From his mother’s womb.
He was rushed through the
Hospital; her blood staining his
Head.
The doctors gave him a
Vaccination.
And everyone thought:
That’s the end of it.
Not so.
***
The blood that was given
Pearl Yeo
Was tainted.
Hepatitis B
But no one knew
Until Benjamin existed.
***
It was only then
That I noticed the crack
The crack spanning the
Ceiling.
Craning my head upwards
I watched it
Traced it slowly
As it disappeared into
Nothingness.
Just a plain line
Crooked in some places
Straight in others
But running towards the door
Which opened to admit
The doctor.
I’m sorry
You have Hepatitis B
You have Hepatitis B
You have Hepatitis B
“Is… it curable?”
My voice
Cracking
Splitting like the ceiling
Above my head.
My world was tumbling
Falling
All about me.
I’m sorry
There is no cure at all
There is no cure at all
There is no cure at all
Why, O Lord?
Why me,
Of all people?
***
He was guiltless.
Still chaste.
Yet he was burdened
With a deadly
Disease.
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
Boundaries
Physical progression in a relationship is what actually makes the difference between “falling in love” and “falling in lust”. Love and lust have but a fine line dividing them; in any case they must coexist in a perfect balance within any romantic relationship. Such a close interlink between the two only serves to reinforce the idea that physical intimacy is undeterminable by a boundary. Instead, it is an entire direction, and sometimes a focus, upon which a relationship is dependent upon.
Sooner or later, a pressing problem will emerge within each relationship. From its dormant position in the depths of the romantic lake, it will ascend slowly as boy and girl grow closer over time. Eventually its monstrous head will break the surface, and all hell would break loose.
How does one define a suitable boundary for this purpose?
Let us assume then that a boundary is chosen, whether because of religious reasons, or influence from their family or peers. Now, in most relationships in today’s society, young teenagers nurture their relationship with each other and set kissing as their boundary. Right.
But then, what is the difference between a chaste peck upon the cheek, and half an hour of passionate liplocking? Both are, indeed, toeing the line of the boundary.
Boundaries, unlike what most people think, are not infinitely fixed. They are capable of shifting under pressure. Sometimes they move slightly, slowly, so slowly that it is hardly noticeable; sometimes they progress in great leaps and bounds onward. But it is undeniable that they move, usually without any conscious knowledge.
And this is what is the most scary of boundaries.
A young man goes to the park with his girlfriend. It is late in the night and there are no prying eyes to view what passes between them.
“Dear, you’ve been letting me hold your hand all this while and I am ever grateful… May I kiss you goodnight?”
He then proceeds to give her a chaste kiss upon her cheek, at which she blushes. Both know in their hearts that they have reached their pre-set boundary and are now defiantly toeing it.
However it is undeniable that both of them had enjoyed that fleeting moment of intimacy that they had shared. Like young children who had tasted strawberries for the first time, they wanted more, deep down in their hearts.
And the monster, lying asleep at the bottom of the great lake, is aroused by that longing.
“Dear, may I kiss you again, but this time upon your lips?”
Any attempt at refusing the offer is patiently met with the request again and again. Eventually she caves, and the monster flaps its flippers faster.
“Dear, come here. I want to pet you in my lap.”
Hormones have clouded thinking. Now the monster can see the light, see it, as the boundary, their golden rule, disappears into nothingness. With an almighty roar its ugly head smashes the tranquil surface of the lake, bearing the weight of the final question.
“Dear, come lie with me.”
What went wrong? Well, it is wrong to instantly point fingers at either the young man or his girlfriend. It is the inner nature of humans, that they are constantly unsatisfied with what they have. They always wish to try for more, to enjoy that one fleeting moment of wonder and then daringly try again. It is not a question of where these two lovers should have set their boundary either, for wherever it was set it would have been pushed again and again before being smashed by youthful, innocent curiosity.
They had unknowingly unleashed that monster upon themselves, entered the Autobahn, that limitless highway of passion. They were pushed to go further by the example of those around them – upon a highway, the cars tend to go with the flow, even if the flow is above the speed limit. Furthermore, their own curiosity at how far they could go and what it would feel like thus overrode any logical and rational thinking. The worst of it is that this highway is full of speed trap points – points of no return.
We should not base a relationship upon any form of physical attraction, but rather savour a person’s character and inner beauty. When marriage traverses time and spans over the years, age pulls beauty away like another little demon. Now, if that beauty was what had driven one to marry, would the two still stay happily married when wrinkles and white hair spring up on a once-youthful countenance?
Marriage is the only fast roadster that the Autobahn of passion can cater to best. Before marriage, it is best to steer well clear of the direction, any road that leads towards this great highway of physical intimacy. But after marriage, when two are joined in holy matrimony and their bodies now belong to each other, only then can full consummation take place. For in marriage, things are allowed, meant to, get out of control.
If traveling upon this highway is only meant for a thrill, what would happen in each relationship that people go through? What would happen in the future when they truly stand at the altar? Imagine a church, all decorated with white and silver, ready to receive a groom and bride.
But as the two walk together down the long red-carpeted aisle, something bizarre happens. Slowly, one man gets up from the congregation and takes the bride’s hand. Then another joins him. Then another and another and another, until there is a string of at least seven men in procession with the couple.
How then, if you were that groom, would you feel? Especially because your wife-to-be had already given part of her heart to these men, had touched their lips and arms and strong bodies, and all you had now in marriage were the pieces left to yourself? Only the pieces? Like a present nicely wrapped, but unwrapped by others and then carelessly rewrapped?
Or if you were that bride, even if these men were not physically present, they would still be there. Like ghostly shades, bent upon haunting with emotional and physical bonds that were once existent. Imagine having to look upon their faces again, feeling the embarrassment creep in a red flush up your body at knowing that you had once bared yourself before such a man, such a man who is not your husband.
And that look upon your future husband’s face, that look of sad disappointment when he finds out, all the while having thought that you were his alone…
Sooner or later, a pressing problem will emerge within each relationship. From its dormant position in the depths of the romantic lake, it will ascend slowly as boy and girl grow closer over time. Eventually its monstrous head will break the surface, and all hell would break loose.
How does one define a suitable boundary for this purpose?
Let us assume then that a boundary is chosen, whether because of religious reasons, or influence from their family or peers. Now, in most relationships in today’s society, young teenagers nurture their relationship with each other and set kissing as their boundary. Right.
But then, what is the difference between a chaste peck upon the cheek, and half an hour of passionate liplocking? Both are, indeed, toeing the line of the boundary.
Boundaries, unlike what most people think, are not infinitely fixed. They are capable of shifting under pressure. Sometimes they move slightly, slowly, so slowly that it is hardly noticeable; sometimes they progress in great leaps and bounds onward. But it is undeniable that they move, usually without any conscious knowledge.
And this is what is the most scary of boundaries.
A young man goes to the park with his girlfriend. It is late in the night and there are no prying eyes to view what passes between them.
“Dear, you’ve been letting me hold your hand all this while and I am ever grateful… May I kiss you goodnight?”
He then proceeds to give her a chaste kiss upon her cheek, at which she blushes. Both know in their hearts that they have reached their pre-set boundary and are now defiantly toeing it.
However it is undeniable that both of them had enjoyed that fleeting moment of intimacy that they had shared. Like young children who had tasted strawberries for the first time, they wanted more, deep down in their hearts.
And the monster, lying asleep at the bottom of the great lake, is aroused by that longing.
“Dear, may I kiss you again, but this time upon your lips?”
Any attempt at refusing the offer is patiently met with the request again and again. Eventually she caves, and the monster flaps its flippers faster.
“Dear, come here. I want to pet you in my lap.”
Hormones have clouded thinking. Now the monster can see the light, see it, as the boundary, their golden rule, disappears into nothingness. With an almighty roar its ugly head smashes the tranquil surface of the lake, bearing the weight of the final question.
“Dear, come lie with me.”
What went wrong? Well, it is wrong to instantly point fingers at either the young man or his girlfriend. It is the inner nature of humans, that they are constantly unsatisfied with what they have. They always wish to try for more, to enjoy that one fleeting moment of wonder and then daringly try again. It is not a question of where these two lovers should have set their boundary either, for wherever it was set it would have been pushed again and again before being smashed by youthful, innocent curiosity.
They had unknowingly unleashed that monster upon themselves, entered the Autobahn, that limitless highway of passion. They were pushed to go further by the example of those around them – upon a highway, the cars tend to go with the flow, even if the flow is above the speed limit. Furthermore, their own curiosity at how far they could go and what it would feel like thus overrode any logical and rational thinking. The worst of it is that this highway is full of speed trap points – points of no return.
We should not base a relationship upon any form of physical attraction, but rather savour a person’s character and inner beauty. When marriage traverses time and spans over the years, age pulls beauty away like another little demon. Now, if that beauty was what had driven one to marry, would the two still stay happily married when wrinkles and white hair spring up on a once-youthful countenance?
Marriage is the only fast roadster that the Autobahn of passion can cater to best. Before marriage, it is best to steer well clear of the direction, any road that leads towards this great highway of physical intimacy. But after marriage, when two are joined in holy matrimony and their bodies now belong to each other, only then can full consummation take place. For in marriage, things are allowed, meant to, get out of control.
If traveling upon this highway is only meant for a thrill, what would happen in each relationship that people go through? What would happen in the future when they truly stand at the altar? Imagine a church, all decorated with white and silver, ready to receive a groom and bride.
But as the two walk together down the long red-carpeted aisle, something bizarre happens. Slowly, one man gets up from the congregation and takes the bride’s hand. Then another joins him. Then another and another and another, until there is a string of at least seven men in procession with the couple.
How then, if you were that groom, would you feel? Especially because your wife-to-be had already given part of her heart to these men, had touched their lips and arms and strong bodies, and all you had now in marriage were the pieces left to yourself? Only the pieces? Like a present nicely wrapped, but unwrapped by others and then carelessly rewrapped?
Or if you were that bride, even if these men were not physically present, they would still be there. Like ghostly shades, bent upon haunting with emotional and physical bonds that were once existent. Imagine having to look upon their faces again, feeling the embarrassment creep in a red flush up your body at knowing that you had once bared yourself before such a man, such a man who is not your husband.
And that look upon your future husband’s face, that look of sad disappointment when he finds out, all the while having thought that you were his alone…
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