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A Lifetime of Preludes. (scrapped story)
The alarm clock buzzed to life and the radio DJ's voice cut through the sound of rain on the windows "good morning all you beautiful people out there in harborvale. its Mac and Cheats in the morning!"
the babbling was interrupted by a stock airhorn noise that made Simon roll over in defiance
it's another dreary day out there but we're here to help you through it with today's Top five, and some Trivia Givaways, But First, The Traffic-"
"ok ok i get it, i'm up"
Simon's hand pressed on the snooze button as he lifted himself up from a coccoon of blankets, and fumbled around half awake for his glasses.
placing them on he heaved a sigh and trudged to the bathroom. ignoring the mirror while he brushed his teeth and went over the mental checklist of his tasks for the day.
1. practice.
2. laundry
3.groceries
he wandered to the small living room and stared at his instrument for a full minute the small amount of light there was to the day glinting off of the strings- he heaved a sigh and forced himself to sit down with it. strumming it once the discordant noise was so out of tune he winced and put it back without even so much as half a thought and decided instead that making a cup of coffee was probably what the best course of action was. and while that was brewing he resigned himself to his fate and went back to tuning the strings. D, A, D, F, it was an open chord. "you can adapt most songs to open chord tunings" he remembered his father say once. "that way even when you forget what you're doing, as long as you keep tempo and look like you do, most people won't give it too much thought" the coffee pot beeped pulling him from his memory he looked around the room, like someone on the hunt for a ghost. and put his instrument back on it's stand.
he was out of milk, at least until later, so an extra spoon or two of sugar would have to cut through the bitterness for now. it was rough going down, but enough to wake him up so he could practice.
he ran through the small handful of songs he was sure of without thinking, only a few minor errors. and did so again and again until his hands hurt. he made a fist with both hands and touched his thumb to each finger to make sure things were still in order, you could never be too careful.
it was when his thumb tapped against the pinky of his right hand the second time a spark ignited from it if only for a moment and then fizzled out a small curl of white smoke eminating from the edge of the nail. "f***" he stared at his hand perplexed. and did his best to convince himself it was just a fluke. the quiet of the place was something he both loved and hated. staying in a place of reflection for too long is enough to drive someone to overthinking . there were little moments through the morning that broke the silence. the sound of a butter knife on toast was one such thing. the next piece of the daily routine. laundry was another. the off kilter rattling of the washing machine created and almost tribal rythym of sorts that often made simon wonder what it would be like if he ever decided to start a full band.
the spark happened again when he was unloading the small dryer's contents into the plastic clothing bin. it was the circular kind. for a moment a memory washed over him, one in which he was a small boy, basket on his head running about making beeping noises, pretending to be R2D2 or something of that nature. he shut his eyes for a moment and reveled in a time when the weight of things was as simple as, getting through the school day to come home and play video games. but things were complex now. for some reason that was both exciting and terrifying, because the rewards were as equally complex as the trials they were assigned to.
this time though, the spark was of a much sharper brighter nature. "jesus, f***!" he exclaimed to not one, looking at his hand "Stop that". as he spoke the alarm on his phone buzzed he glanced down at the cracked screen. for a moment, then rolled his eyes. "half off any large one medium topping pizza!" and then a sequnce of numbers and letters making up the coupon for Pizza Palace.
he went through his contacts and messaged a friend or two the same tone and word choice went for each as follows
"Hey Guys, Doing another show tonight, it would mean alot if you would be there, shouldn't be too long it's at 7:30, at The Bassalisks Cavern
*basilisk's
Typo."
He wasn't sure if anyone would respond But the gesture was enough to make him smile.
The humming of the amplifier echoed through the nearly empty smoke filled room as Simon stood staring not at the crowd, but his shoes, scuffed, worn by time and travel, he stopped for a moment from tuning the strings of his instrument to try to remember how those markings were obtained.
He also remembered when they were new. It was, coincidentally, the day before several things in Simon's small but volatile life at that time would unravel mercilessly like someone pulling at the main thread of an unfinished knit scarf.
"Get On With it!" a surly patron yelled from the back, arms folded leaning against the tattered neon lit back wall. the half orc's arms folded in frustration and impatience
Simon did his best to ignore him, and even more so to collect his thoughts
"I-.. I will" he murmured into the microphone. A small squelch of feedback caused him to wince. This particular moment reminded him how tired and hungry he was, nerves robbing him of sleep once again.
"WELL" the man in back said.
There was a small burst of chortles from the heckler's friends. from what simon's squinted eyes could see one looked to be of dwarven make and the other two elven, probably adorned in the same leather jacket as their boisterous comrade.
A pain welled up in his chest as he lifted his gaze to the crowd. It was small. maybe about 30 people a small handful of which were paying any direct attention to the sad frightened mouselike man trying his best to take steps towards what had been revealed to him as a young boy to be one of his biggest passions.
He exhaled, and then inhaled several times, playing the introductory chords to a song that was not his but one he knew well enough not to screw up even if he was overwhelmed by nervousness.
he shut his eyes, took a deep breath and gave it his all. every strum of a note, every inflection in his tone of voice rang out with the passion of someone who had something to say but held back until just the right moment. This moment, he was no longer meek, but stubborn, he stamped his foot in time with the rythym
Not everyone clapped. Not really anyway but there was a larger handful than expected among them one lone figure in the back Simon had spotted out of the corner of his eye which even still was obscured by the hze of smoke from about 40 or so cigarettes being absentmindedly puffed at. just as soon as his mind registered the presence he blinked and it was gone.
Simon shut his eyes and continued he could feel the metal of the strings cutting into his fingers, they never did form calluses. but he did his best to end on a harsh power chord that waved through the room, and much to everyone's confusion caused the lights to brighten and dim as if there was a power surge some of them even exploded.. which got everyone talking amongst themselves
"What the hell man?"
the MC cut through the chatter and raises his arms toward simon in a "What the f*** Motion"
Simon halted. and leaned into the microphone which fed back as he spoke, "uh, sorry everyone. i'm just as con-fused as you heh, get it cause... cause fuse?" No one laughed. but someone in the way back, a familiar voice called "I get it!" it was Stardok, Rock Golem, Line Backer and one of Simon's closest friends. who was currently holding a kask of beer like a sippy cup.
A gnomish man with a bowtie began to usher simon's lithe faun like frame off of the stage.
"Alright everyone that was Simon Ashe, let's not be too hard on the kid, he's a bit of a space case."
Simon Packed his things and Stardok offered to carry the amp.
he could hold it in a single hand
"so yeah, you're getting better pal"
Stardok always called everyone he liked "Pal" always had, and he probably always will
"except maybe work on timing a bit more, but i think otherwise you nailed it"
When they emerged from the underground tavern the sky was still obscured by clouds by the sun pushed through the curtain the best it could and birds resumed their song.
"ill drop this off at your place, then bolt i gotta get back to work, you know how it is"
They shook hands and simon left towards the grocery store with more of a smile then he woke up with.
The light mist rattled against the concrete of the sidewalk as simon pulled his denim jacket tighter against his frame, he prefered to be overheated rather than shivering most of his wardrobe was built around this one article, frayed covered in patches denoting his various obsessions from books, to movies, video games and beyond. -
he wore what he loved on his sleeve rather than speak of it. Enjoying the quiet moment of respect that comes when two people acknowledge something obscure and in that moment find a small piece of common ground upon which possible friendships are formed.
The walk home was the same pattern every month. He stopped at the local comic book shop to see if anything of note was in stock, mostly collections of stories rather than issues, it saved him the trouble of hunting things down.
Lately he'd mostly been focused on a single series, Spreading out his attention to more than one storyline at a time was currently Something he did not have time for. He wiped a swath of jet black hair out of his eyes and over one of his small ram-like horns as the doors chime signified the entrance of a customer.
"Yo" digby said from behind the counter, his attention not stirring from the laptop screen he was currently leering into.
"Hey digs" Simon responded setting his guitar, resting now in its case against the wall for a few moments in order to rest his shoulders.
The kobold straightened his thick glasses and hopped down from his stool to greet his friend with a handshake. He spoke rapidly. His words themselves were like run on sentences.
"How're you doing, are you hungry, I can get you some coffee, you want coffee I'll make coffee."
Before simon could answer in any sort of manner that was a fully formed response he rushed off to the backroom- there was a poster for DOOM on it held up with scotch tape.
"I know you're going to ask, so it went, less than great this time." Simon called forth into the seemingly empty store, stretching his arms.
"Sh*t i'm sorry to hear that”, Digby called from the backroom then returned with a mug. Simon noticed the steam rising from it as his short scaled friend drew closer.
"All the creamer and enough sugar to kill somebody, i'm surprised you still have f***ing teeth kid." Digby Remarked, making the same joke he had always made for the past few years.
"Me too."
he took a sip absent mindedly and then scrunched his face a bit.
"Too hot?" digby asked, taking his place again behind the counter.
"Too hot." Simon said before laughing at his own impatience, it was a quiet laugh, the kind most people save for jokes at funerals.
Digby The Kobold had crossed Simon's path a handful of years ago when he was en route home from one of his many semi successful gigs, of which he was usually paid just enough to stave off rent and get some food for the month.
He wandered in wide eyed and ranting almost incoherently about his poor life choices, and how he was working on bettering things. From the looks of things now, he was improving. The younger man had an air of sleeplessness constantly about him that would give any one else a feeling of unease.
Digby however knew that with the right people it would soon fade and also knew the value of having a friend, as well as a potential customer.
"Tou uh, ever considered adventuring?" The shopkeeper cut through the silence with yet another run on sentence in the same moment he was re arranging the newer issues of Batman and Green Lantern on the same cardboard display case he'd had since the store opened. Superman flew proudly over the word "NEW" in big block letters, it's edges frayed by time, showing small bits of white cardboard fluff that lay just beneath it's painted surface.
There was a bit of a pause as Simon took a long drawn out sip from his now cooler drink.
"I'm not that good" he protested, the taste of cream and sugar sitting on his tongue as he gazed out of the storefront window, the cars moving to and fro from store to store. A nail salon. A used book store. A pizza place that had better wings than it had pizza. The small arcade that got barely any visitors, Which the neon glow of the cabinets near the front window reflects the surface.
"I don't know, I think you might be-" his friend smiled a bit as the electronic door chime signified new entrants, talking amongst themselves.
"Ok but seriously I don't understand how you could even put yourself through playing 4E it's like, an embarrassment." the minotaur in the hooded sweatshirt balked frayed holes threadbare at the base of his horns.
"Like i said it was all I knew at the time, and my parents got it for me for christmas." The pixie replied, his tiny arms folded in microscopic defiance, red wings fluttering like a hummingbird
"A dryad, a pixie and a minotaur walk into a comic book store. Stop me if you've heard this one."
The patrons began making their way through the small store now, this put Simon on edge for reasons he himself could not explain. He felt like a rabbit hiding in the underbrush waiting for wolves to pass, in hopes his scent would not be caught. - he was mistaken.
Simon scooped up his instrument and shouldered it quickly pretending to peruse through the back issues of Adam Warlock and Doctor Strange though the act was in defiance of conversation the choice of focus was deliberate. Simon had always been drawn more to characters that were less about brute force, and more adept at things like magic or acrobatics.The only exception of course being, The Incredible Hulk, a character who in Simon's view represented the frustration of someone dealing with heavy emotions their body could not contain, so it overtakes them making them into a living forceful monstrosity.
"Can I get these, And a couple bags of chips?" Simon motioned to the display behind him with his thumb, before placing a few single issues of Daredevil, Doctor Strange and Eerie Magazine
"Taking off?" digby remarked looking up from his computer, he was half working as usual
the other half was solitaire
"Yeah see you next time"
"Next time" digby repeated. Only there was some secret spark in his voice, like the end of an episode of some long forgotten television program, as if he knew something Simon didn't about what "next time" meant.
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The walk home was the usual scenario, cracked sidewalks with grass bursting through Some roads that needed paving, trash cans out on the front lawns of houses that at one point in time held the promise of a fresh start, young love and new families - now faded and neglected and worn like the dreams of some of the people inside the dwellings. Swords and shields held up against garage doors, leaned against long neglected basketball hoops or hung on doors ornamentally, once bright with promise now aged relics of their owners former glory.
"Simon?" a woman's voice called from the front porch of one of the homes. It's color was once a blue that has morphed over time and under the pressure of heavy rain and other natural events into a pale seafoam green. Simon paused to look over as Mrs. Summorford, a half elven woman a few hands shorter than Simon, That made her way to him at a steady pace. She was not in a rush, nor lazy. but somewhere in between. Her hair was the color of wheat with a small strike of faded grey near the edges of her bangs; Most of the time it was held up in a bun clipped in place, or held by any number of scrunchies or hair ties, usually some form of canary yellow, the kind that reminded Simon of spring.
The path before her sandaled feet paved by large squares of some stone material Simon could not remember the name of, on either side of that though, things were practically their own ecosystem. Large patches of flowers and grass formed miniature jungles around lawn flamingos and other ornaments.
"How are you?" she asked, placing her eyeglasses which were thicker than simon's and from the looks of them weighed a ton "we haven't spoken in ages" she continued a slight concern weaving through her tone as her impromptu guest stared off into the horizon, watching the street lights come on one by one, their low orange hum intermingling with the song of the cicadas and crickets creating an undercurrent of sorts. the symphony of suburban dusk.
"i'm alright"
he lied. "heading home, i think it might rain soon"
he returned his gaze to his host, blinked a few times took a small breath to speak once again and was promptly cut off
"how are things at home? is your dad still working at that factory"
Simon did his best not to say anything that would give away the fact that he had left home for his own safety.
"i wouldn't know" he averted his gaze
Mrs. Summorford took note of the shift in the young man's tone and immediately changed the subject
"on your way back from another performance i see" the tone she now carried was that of a schoolteacher speaking to an enthusiastic student whom they were proud of.
"how did it go?"
"alright" he mused, hearing thunder roll in the distance
"well, that's not very convincing Mr. Buddy Holly "
she gave the satyr a nudge in the arm just as the rain decided to poor down from the sky like an open wound.
"i-" simon was about to tell the woman in front of him that he should be heading home before things get bad and he gets sick sadly his timing was almost as poor as the weather itself
"Come on in and wait out the storm!" she spoke above the rain.
it seemed like the only available option.
Mrs Summorford was, as Simon had long expected. the sort of woman who kept a personal library on all manner of things. small plants made their tiny homes on windowsills and a black and white cat declared it's domain's epicenter to be that of an old unused sewing basket near a fireplace. it was unlit. but the remnants of soot and ash gave off the impression that it had been used, possibly during the winter months or even just colder than usual evenings.
He sat across from her, a puzzle lay over its surface, the replicated image of Van Gogh's Starry Night was nearly at it's completion - though she would take breaks because of general weariness, Mrs Delilah Summorford was a woman of great determination. her home was decorated in trophies of past accomplishments - though they found themselves hidden among the trappings of a new life at home, one with children now grown - a husband lost to mage plague. and before then seemingly countless memories of friends and far off places that simon was still only daydreaming of.
cradling a small red coffee cup in his hands. too much sugar, too much cream. just as he requested.
"how long have you been here?" Simon asked out of nowhere. trying his best not to sound rude after all, she had already told him a great many tale of heroism when he would come in as a boy from mowing her lawn. even letting him attempt to shoot her bow "silverdawn" a few times before he accidentally took out a window.
"oh, about 140 or so years, " she continues her work on the puzzle, a contented and proud smile making itself known to everyone in the room. a far off echoed "mew" escaped from the cat
"that's crazy to think about, before The Shift and all the tech stuff"
"The Shift" as Simon had come to understand it from his time in school was the era in which the kingdoms discovered electricity, advanced magic, and other things thought lost for nearly thousands of years - it was a small span of ten or so years before then where things were still medieval or in some cases feudal - this leap in progress was jarring to some, and welcome to others, some people protested in fear of losing their livelihoods but in the end the move forward seemed to be for the best, the most logical of situations was to leave heavy sources of magic such as patches of feywilde that are scattered throughout in large quantities undisturbed. -- Though things progressed to a point where most lived comfortably, there were still threats, necromancer's raising armies of the dead, Liches, Beholder's and their usual hoards of minions. this truth was and always has been, a hidden boon to the people who made their living going on adventures to dispatch such creatures. ,
at least that's what Simon could remember. he was too busy scribbling the names of bands in the margins of his notebook, dreaming of something beyond academia
He finished his drink in a peaceful and respectful silence, had a handful of cookies, so as not to be rude and rinsed his cup in the sink. his eyes caught a glimmer of something he didn't notice before. above the fireplace. under glass was "Silverdawn'' perfectly preserved as a butterfly in amber. a wave of silent admiration for feats he had only heard about swept over him once again.
"Are you in a party yet?" her voice was almost inaudible over the rush of the sink,
"i think getting out more could be good for you"
"i get out enough" he said trying his best to sound sure of himself
"to what, The Mailbox?" she joked, after which, she proceeded to laugh
Thunder rolled outside still but it seemed a bit more distant now
Simon found himself laughing too.
"in all seriousness" he said, sitting back down
"i don't think i'm good enough to-"
Delilah Summorford gave him a stern look with a raised, "Stop right there" palm expression and set down her mug.
"that's your first problem right there"
she stood up and motioned for him to follow her to the kitchen where she opened the fridge and began getting out bread, sliced meats and cheeses and various condiments
"I've known you long enough to know you are, i've seen you perform, be charismatic, relay information.- " she points a butter knife at him, her eyes fixed upward to his brow furrowed so she knows he's serious. her eyes glittering with a determined conviction in what she was saying that he could not ever in this life or any after it, summon up the will to argue with. a drop of mayo hit the floor her cat rushes in lapping it up after sniffing it a few times dancing around their legs
"your trouble is, you think and you think and you think." she begins to spread the mayo onto a hearty slab of thick cut bread with the grace of a person who had done it nearly a million times prior to this moment
"and you don't DO anything when I know full well you're capable of not only keeping a level head, but casting magic as well as anyone else"
"i mean, You did teach me a few things" he leaned against the counter as she placed a few slices of lettuce followed by what appeared to be a mountain of roast beef along with a small handful of jalapeno and pepper jack cheese. before coating the topside of the bread with mayo and closing the sandwich "you're damn right I did, and that's another thing, you're a quick learner"
she cuts the dish in half and wraps it in cellophane and hands it to simon
"you just lack confidence"
"i'm plenty confident" he protested
she simply smirked and raised an eyebrow
"mhmmm" she reaches up and pats him on the shoulder before finishing her remark
"you just don't know it yet"
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------II
The rain had lifted in enough for Simon to make his way home, his clothing stuck to his frame. and small puddles of water formed beneath his feet. Overwhelmed with exhaustion he simply collapsed on the nearby couch. the stacks of VHS tapes on the table he would watch over and over again in order to create some background noise while trying to write lay scattered, still needing to be rewound. Tim Burton's 1989 adaptation of Batman, A bootleg dub copy of Akira
He fell into a dream guided by the end credits music to Blade Runner, a movie he often put on so much that it felt as if the entire work had lost all meaning except for that of the function of Sleep aid.
In this dream, Simon is in school again, 12th grade english sitting in back staring out of the window and over the horizon there is a small hill, and a large oak tree with a small cluster of masked figures sitting under it, all adorned in white robes. one of them waving in his direction, as if to beckon him over to their place of congregation
the buzzing of his phone woke him from his slumber. He unwrapped the sandwich that Mrs. Summorford had made for him, it tasted better than if he were to make it.
It was very possible that the secret ingredients she put in there when he was busy being belligerent were patience and understanding. maybe even if he was lucky, a little bit of wisdom
he washed it down with yet another cup of coffee, removed a notebook from the bag in which he carried his instrument and began to write while he still had words rolling in his brain that connected well together.
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WE SHIFT OUR FOCUS NOW to that of a much larger town much further outside of the city in which simon is currently religated to, a dirty cocaphonus far cry from his home town it is compact, crowded eternally busy and for the under prepared a place without any sort of mercy -
Helena Caldwell stood in the line at the soup kitchen doing her best to only make eye contact with the people she knew or trusted some of which were close, others mere acquiantences however her current standing postion today however was admidst a sea of familiar strangers. they were all waiting for the same thing a decent meal. maybe a place to wash their hands and faces and fill canteens, a small but fleeting moment in an othewise dreary existence where everyone felt a brief spark of normalcy before it faded as they were sent on their way, their parting gift being a few provisions to hold their hunger off through the evening "5 minutes to open" someone from the front of the building called. the line shifted a bit a thrum of eagerness swept through the hungry gathering. Helena began to pat her hands in a pattern against her legs, a nervous tic she had held onto from childhood - Ra ra-tatat ta- a voice cuts through her rythym "god this humidity is something don't you think?. she looked up to see a dwarven man shifting his footing from side to side, his old brown coat fraying at the sleeves. he was wearing mismatched shoes. Helena had seen him a few times before handing out pamphlet's to passersby. she offered up one of her automatic responses, to engage him in light but meaningless conversation, for all she knew she was the only real social interaction he might get for a while. even the creeps deserve some form of connection unless they reveal themselves to be truly iredeemable "yeah, but hopefully it rains soon or something" she said. "oh yes, a storm is on it's way most certainly, for sure" he grinned a bit and stepped closer, his scent carried forward with him, it was the smell of cheap cigarretes and whiskey "oh man," she said watching him wipe his sweat soaked brow with his tattered sleeve
the breeze picked up as everyone ushered quietly inside. and found places to sit, in soup kitchens such as this one there was a forumula of unspoken rules that most follow
upon entering you are given a ticket that qualifies you for one free meal, and some small things to take with you when you go, a box of crackers and a can of soda, or a pastry and pre made sandwich. there is no consistency in these care packages or in the meal that you are served upon your arrival. those with mobile issues or severe disabllities go first. followed by those who are caring for children - then the rest.
Helena found a seat after making her way down the line and recieving a helping of shepard's pie, corn, a small box of animal crackers, a cup of cranberry juice and black coffee with two packeges of sugar and a small plastic cup of coffee creamer, unflavored. a piece of toast and a pre packaged snack cake that looked like it was beginning to melt. it's plastic wrapping showing signs of being exposed to humidity.
there she sat, elbow to elbow in that small brick building with people who had fallen from grace, squandered their lives or ended up there by a blow from the cruel and unyielding fist of circumstance.
she continued drumming her hands against her legs. her eyes silently scanning the room as more people grabbed their servings and found there seats on the fringes of the building. the man she encountered before took his place across from Helena and bowed his head to whisper some sort of prayer. and slowly began to eat his beard reflecting in the harsh daylight like aged copper wiring bristling the edges of the table momentarily now and again- his eyes worn and tired gazed up at her he had the look of someone who was on the cusp of falling asleep
"yeah?" she asked trying to hide the annoyance in her tone
he responded, slowly carefully choosing each word in his sentence
"Do you have somewhere to go?"
he scooped another mouthful of food up with the plastic spork that came pre packaged with a single and all but useless napkin that the servers place on everyone's tray. if you were paying closer attention you might hear a soft but barely audible , Click. could be heard as his teeth yellowed and scarred by time and lack of proper dental care collided with it's surface.
"i'm dredarius, by the way I uh, know a few places." he added, wiping his mouth with the napkin in question and then presenting her with a non threatening half smile of acknowledgment signaling that he was done speaking for the moment
"yeah" she responded in a nearly emotionless monotone
to be perfectly honest she was not sure, she had some friends around town that might be able to offer a couch if she was lucky, some of the closer one's would be able to put her up at least for a few days.
"like what?"
Helena then mentally prepared herself for all kinds of promises that would eventually prove to be either false or at most half truths. she continued to drum upon her legs as he slid a piece of paper across the table. it was folded over three times, she gazed down
A pamphlet it's image was a sunflower, the paper was a pastel blue, it looked like a photocopy of a photocopy and so forth and so on. the sort of thing one does in order to cut costs, it reminded her of the handouts she used to get in highschool. which in turn sent her spiraling down a rabbit hole of vague flashbacks of before she moved out .
The brochure promised a warm bed, food. and friends.
"All are welcome, All Are Family"
dredarious wretched a cough into his elbow and quietly stood before placing his small container of jello cubes onto helena's tray wordlessly and then walking off. sunlight glittering on his copper beard, the edges and cracks of his time whethered skin shown in the silhouette of the light pouring in from the windows. a small bell rang letting people know it was time to leave so more hungry unfortunates could enter.
she stood from the table. carried the pamphlet and the container of desert out into the humid street and made her way to a nearby public park the sky was bright the sun trickled through the trees onto a statue of a former hero his stone visage cracked by time and covered with moss some of it blooming flowers which brought to it a strange and sorrowful beauty.
Helena Caldwell made her way down the beaten and treaded path of a sidewalk, it too was cracked crumbling and tired. as was she.
she sat on a bench and for reasons far beyond her understanding she began to cry, not a sob, not and outpouring of tears backed by the top of her skull being so flooded with emotion that he body could not hold it in.
simply a small river of tears trickled down her cheeks. her mind clouds out the birds, and the animals, dogs and ducks and other avian's it walls off the feeling of sunshine and the sound of kids running around being ridiculous and all of this is
happening because, Can she even bring herself to remember. she hugged herself a bit as the wind ran through the trees.
As her mind went back to the news reports of the dragon attack that took her home, her things, her family and the life she once knew from her. this feeling never left her it followed her like a stray dog looking for the promise of food, whenever she thought she was free of the past it would nip at the back of her mind. much like now. something about today seemed very tired and very hungry. she looked at the pamphlet again. and then sat there drumming her hands in 3/4 time in thought before finally giving in out of weariness and curiosity and heading to the brightmore building.
it was a repurposed hotel. a brick building with many floors, the walls of the entryway were covered in cork boards for various recovery and religious groups. recruitment posters for adventuring parties that reminded the onlooker of an old handmade zine for a band looking to make it "The Black Dragon Fighting Society (Seeking Cleric)" "Nova and The Boys - Looking for Loot in All The Right Places, Want in?" scattered among all of it was the same sunflower in pastel blue only this time it had a pair of antlers above it almost like a crown, with a time and several dates and below it in simple text it read "Seeking guidance? Meet with Us" Something about this drew Helena in. nearly transfixed by curiosity she pulled it from the cork board and stuffed it into her pocket. and went further into the building to check in. For brevity's sake the process is as follows. you give the clerk your name, what you would like to do in lieu of rent, wash dishes, do laundry etc. and what goals you may have along with a realistic timetable and whether or not you have an adventurer's license or history. this too was also followed by any criminal histories. or next of kin and emergency contacts. Helena was then given a room number. and a coupon book of food vouchers and told that she must at least attend a "Sunflower Club Meeting" at least once each month in order to secure her stay. miss three and she's out.
the room was beautiful by her current living standards, a twin bed, a small dresser. a half bath. small TV. a few channels. mostly static though, A VCR and a couple of tapes. a battered copy of Homeward Bound Two. Lethal Weapon, Predator. The Sound of Music with a blockbuster sticker still on it the edges frayed with time. and a home recorded copy of Fantasia, it's label written in faded pen. now yellowed. it was unrewound. she collapsed on the bed, it's plush surface practically enveloping her like a cloud and for the first time in a while she did not worry what tomorrow might bring, and instead looked toward it with open and hopeful curiosity
This is the last we will see of Helena For a While.
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III: WE RETURN Once Again to Simon, several weeks have passed. he is in a field on a hilltop tht is part of a public hiking trail practicing rough undignified versions rudimentary sword manuvers with a heavy branch as a stand in, it's leaves sprig outward this way and that and make a whooshing noise when the sudden motion of a swing causes air to pass over them, he is less tired. somewhat clean shaven, a heavy pair of headphones atop his now less unruly but still chaotic mop of charcoal hair it's band tucked carefully beneath the crux of his horns it is smoothed back, his face meeting the horizon overlooking the town. his arms are heavy from doing the same motions over and over for what feels like hours though in reality it has more than likely only been around 25 minutes or so. left, right. down. up. left angle right angle and so forth. he is the furthest thing from intimidating and from a distance looks absurd to anyone who might pass by to look at him, in fact some do, a few laugh to themselves. a half orc hand in hand with her mate smiles a moment before chuckling a little and offering a hearty thumbs up. and continuing on the trail. he smiles to the two women with a heavy breathed nod before continuing, sweat beading against the roots of his hair. this particular moment blossomed from a single thought that was planted one night while simon lay awake staring at the ceiling. if he was to find anything he felt beyond the stagnency of his current situation he should at the very least start with his physical health . the hard part was of course the fact that his mind had a habit of wandering when his limbs were in repetetive motion.
he paused to rest his mind still wandering from one imaginary place to another. at this point in time he was at the mouth of a cave, torch in hand. instrument slung over his shoulder connected to a battery powered amplifier that was tethered to his backpack which was filled with the neccessary provisions they tell you about in school. first aid kit. flares. food. rope. a collapsable ten foot pole they sell different varieties of. a basic book of cantrips some for defense others were utilitarian- his phone buzzed pulling him from his haze.
Simon blinked several times and found that the sun was begining to set.
he figured enough had been done for the day and began his jouney down the hill homeward.
the sound of passing cars and streetlamps coming to life . his footsteps carried him to an intersection. he pushed the button for the stoplight and as he waited for the cars to slow down so he could cross the road. a few people gathered behind him seemingly waiting for the same thing.
"have you heard the news?" one of them said politely, it was the voice of a young woman,
simon turned to reply but by the time he did the streetlights changed and they had passed him in the midst of his spin. where he felt their presence a few scattered leaflets lay upon the ground.
the rush of wind brought on by the passing cars absconded with them before he could register what they said. and quickly crossed the street when he saw an opening. evading the handful of rainfilled potholes to the best of his ability,
it was another evening of staring blankly at the screen and empathizing more with the monster than the villagers, things usually got this way once the sun went down and the idle quiet hours began to creep in . he started to feel sick to his stomach , nervous. anxious thoughts. he needed to move. just get up and move his legs , a cup of coffee into a thermos. his instrument slung over his shoulder and he was out and off into the night.
the babbling was interrupted by a stock airhorn noise that made Simon roll over in defiance
it's another dreary day out there but we're here to help you through it with today's Top five, and some Trivia Givaways, But First, The Traffic-"
"ok ok i get it, i'm up"
Simon's hand pressed on the snooze button as he lifted himself up from a coccoon of blankets, and fumbled around half awake for his glasses.
placing them on he heaved a sigh and trudged to the bathroom. ignoring the mirror while he brushed his teeth and went over the mental checklist of his tasks for the day.
1. practice.
2. laundry
3.groceries
he wandered to the small living room and stared at his instrument for a full minute the small amount of light there was to the day glinting off of the strings- he heaved a sigh and forced himself to sit down with it. strumming it once the discordant noise was so out of tune he winced and put it back without even so much as half a thought and decided instead that making a cup of coffee was probably what the best course of action was. and while that was brewing he resigned himself to his fate and went back to tuning the strings. D, A, D, F, it was an open chord. "you can adapt most songs to open chord tunings" he remembered his father say once. "that way even when you forget what you're doing, as long as you keep tempo and look like you do, most people won't give it too much thought" the coffee pot beeped pulling him from his memory he looked around the room, like someone on the hunt for a ghost. and put his instrument back on it's stand.
he was out of milk, at least until later, so an extra spoon or two of sugar would have to cut through the bitterness for now. it was rough going down, but enough to wake him up so he could practice.
he ran through the small handful of songs he was sure of without thinking, only a few minor errors. and did so again and again until his hands hurt. he made a fist with both hands and touched his thumb to each finger to make sure things were still in order, you could never be too careful.
it was when his thumb tapped against the pinky of his right hand the second time a spark ignited from it if only for a moment and then fizzled out a small curl of white smoke eminating from the edge of the nail. "f***" he stared at his hand perplexed. and did his best to convince himself it was just a fluke. the quiet of the place was something he both loved and hated. staying in a place of reflection for too long is enough to drive someone to overthinking . there were little moments through the morning that broke the silence. the sound of a butter knife on toast was one such thing. the next piece of the daily routine. laundry was another. the off kilter rattling of the washing machine created and almost tribal rythym of sorts that often made simon wonder what it would be like if he ever decided to start a full band.
the spark happened again when he was unloading the small dryer's contents into the plastic clothing bin. it was the circular kind. for a moment a memory washed over him, one in which he was a small boy, basket on his head running about making beeping noises, pretending to be R2D2 or something of that nature. he shut his eyes for a moment and reveled in a time when the weight of things was as simple as, getting through the school day to come home and play video games. but things were complex now. for some reason that was both exciting and terrifying, because the rewards were as equally complex as the trials they were assigned to.
this time though, the spark was of a much sharper brighter nature. "jesus, f***!" he exclaimed to not one, looking at his hand "Stop that". as he spoke the alarm on his phone buzzed he glanced down at the cracked screen. for a moment, then rolled his eyes. "half off any large one medium topping pizza!" and then a sequnce of numbers and letters making up the coupon for Pizza Palace.
he went through his contacts and messaged a friend or two the same tone and word choice went for each as follows
"Hey Guys, Doing another show tonight, it would mean alot if you would be there, shouldn't be too long it's at 7:30, at The Bassalisks Cavern
*basilisk's
Typo."
He wasn't sure if anyone would respond But the gesture was enough to make him smile.
The humming of the amplifier echoed through the nearly empty smoke filled room as Simon stood staring not at the crowd, but his shoes, scuffed, worn by time and travel, he stopped for a moment from tuning the strings of his instrument to try to remember how those markings were obtained.
He also remembered when they were new. It was, coincidentally, the day before several things in Simon's small but volatile life at that time would unravel mercilessly like someone pulling at the main thread of an unfinished knit scarf.
"Get On With it!" a surly patron yelled from the back, arms folded leaning against the tattered neon lit back wall. the half orc's arms folded in frustration and impatience
Simon did his best to ignore him, and even more so to collect his thoughts
"I-.. I will" he murmured into the microphone. A small squelch of feedback caused him to wince. This particular moment reminded him how tired and hungry he was, nerves robbing him of sleep once again.
"WELL" the man in back said.
There was a small burst of chortles from the heckler's friends. from what simon's squinted eyes could see one looked to be of dwarven make and the other two elven, probably adorned in the same leather jacket as their boisterous comrade.
A pain welled up in his chest as he lifted his gaze to the crowd. It was small. maybe about 30 people a small handful of which were paying any direct attention to the sad frightened mouselike man trying his best to take steps towards what had been revealed to him as a young boy to be one of his biggest passions.
He exhaled, and then inhaled several times, playing the introductory chords to a song that was not his but one he knew well enough not to screw up even if he was overwhelmed by nervousness.
he shut his eyes, took a deep breath and gave it his all. every strum of a note, every inflection in his tone of voice rang out with the passion of someone who had something to say but held back until just the right moment. This moment, he was no longer meek, but stubborn, he stamped his foot in time with the rythym
Not everyone clapped. Not really anyway but there was a larger handful than expected among them one lone figure in the back Simon had spotted out of the corner of his eye which even still was obscured by the hze of smoke from about 40 or so cigarettes being absentmindedly puffed at. just as soon as his mind registered the presence he blinked and it was gone.
Simon shut his eyes and continued he could feel the metal of the strings cutting into his fingers, they never did form calluses. but he did his best to end on a harsh power chord that waved through the room, and much to everyone's confusion caused the lights to brighten and dim as if there was a power surge some of them even exploded.. which got everyone talking amongst themselves
"What the hell man?"
the MC cut through the chatter and raises his arms toward simon in a "What the f*** Motion"
Simon halted. and leaned into the microphone which fed back as he spoke, "uh, sorry everyone. i'm just as con-fused as you heh, get it cause... cause fuse?" No one laughed. but someone in the way back, a familiar voice called "I get it!" it was Stardok, Rock Golem, Line Backer and one of Simon's closest friends. who was currently holding a kask of beer like a sippy cup.
A gnomish man with a bowtie began to usher simon's lithe faun like frame off of the stage.
"Alright everyone that was Simon Ashe, let's not be too hard on the kid, he's a bit of a space case."
Simon Packed his things and Stardok offered to carry the amp.
he could hold it in a single hand
"so yeah, you're getting better pal"
Stardok always called everyone he liked "Pal" always had, and he probably always will
"except maybe work on timing a bit more, but i think otherwise you nailed it"
When they emerged from the underground tavern the sky was still obscured by clouds by the sun pushed through the curtain the best it could and birds resumed their song.
"ill drop this off at your place, then bolt i gotta get back to work, you know how it is"
They shook hands and simon left towards the grocery store with more of a smile then he woke up with.
The light mist rattled against the concrete of the sidewalk as simon pulled his denim jacket tighter against his frame, he prefered to be overheated rather than shivering most of his wardrobe was built around this one article, frayed covered in patches denoting his various obsessions from books, to movies, video games and beyond. -
he wore what he loved on his sleeve rather than speak of it. Enjoying the quiet moment of respect that comes when two people acknowledge something obscure and in that moment find a small piece of common ground upon which possible friendships are formed.
The walk home was the same pattern every month. He stopped at the local comic book shop to see if anything of note was in stock, mostly collections of stories rather than issues, it saved him the trouble of hunting things down.
Lately he'd mostly been focused on a single series, Spreading out his attention to more than one storyline at a time was currently Something he did not have time for. He wiped a swath of jet black hair out of his eyes and over one of his small ram-like horns as the doors chime signified the entrance of a customer.
"Yo" digby said from behind the counter, his attention not stirring from the laptop screen he was currently leering into.
"Hey digs" Simon responded setting his guitar, resting now in its case against the wall for a few moments in order to rest his shoulders.
The kobold straightened his thick glasses and hopped down from his stool to greet his friend with a handshake. He spoke rapidly. His words themselves were like run on sentences.
"How're you doing, are you hungry, I can get you some coffee, you want coffee I'll make coffee."
Before simon could answer in any sort of manner that was a fully formed response he rushed off to the backroom- there was a poster for DOOM on it held up with scotch tape.
"I know you're going to ask, so it went, less than great this time." Simon called forth into the seemingly empty store, stretching his arms.
"Sh*t i'm sorry to hear that”, Digby called from the backroom then returned with a mug. Simon noticed the steam rising from it as his short scaled friend drew closer.
"All the creamer and enough sugar to kill somebody, i'm surprised you still have f***ing teeth kid." Digby Remarked, making the same joke he had always made for the past few years.
"Me too."
he took a sip absent mindedly and then scrunched his face a bit.
"Too hot?" digby asked, taking his place again behind the counter.
"Too hot." Simon said before laughing at his own impatience, it was a quiet laugh, the kind most people save for jokes at funerals.
Digby The Kobold had crossed Simon's path a handful of years ago when he was en route home from one of his many semi successful gigs, of which he was usually paid just enough to stave off rent and get some food for the month.
He wandered in wide eyed and ranting almost incoherently about his poor life choices, and how he was working on bettering things. From the looks of things now, he was improving. The younger man had an air of sleeplessness constantly about him that would give any one else a feeling of unease.
Digby however knew that with the right people it would soon fade and also knew the value of having a friend, as well as a potential customer.
"Tou uh, ever considered adventuring?" The shopkeeper cut through the silence with yet another run on sentence in the same moment he was re arranging the newer issues of Batman and Green Lantern on the same cardboard display case he'd had since the store opened. Superman flew proudly over the word "NEW" in big block letters, it's edges frayed by time, showing small bits of white cardboard fluff that lay just beneath it's painted surface.
There was a bit of a pause as Simon took a long drawn out sip from his now cooler drink.
"I'm not that good" he protested, the taste of cream and sugar sitting on his tongue as he gazed out of the storefront window, the cars moving to and fro from store to store. A nail salon. A used book store. A pizza place that had better wings than it had pizza. The small arcade that got barely any visitors, Which the neon glow of the cabinets near the front window reflects the surface.
"I don't know, I think you might be-" his friend smiled a bit as the electronic door chime signified new entrants, talking amongst themselves.
"Ok but seriously I don't understand how you could even put yourself through playing 4E it's like, an embarrassment." the minotaur in the hooded sweatshirt balked frayed holes threadbare at the base of his horns.
"Like i said it was all I knew at the time, and my parents got it for me for christmas." The pixie replied, his tiny arms folded in microscopic defiance, red wings fluttering like a hummingbird
"A dryad, a pixie and a minotaur walk into a comic book store. Stop me if you've heard this one."
The patrons began making their way through the small store now, this put Simon on edge for reasons he himself could not explain. He felt like a rabbit hiding in the underbrush waiting for wolves to pass, in hopes his scent would not be caught. - he was mistaken.
Simon scooped up his instrument and shouldered it quickly pretending to peruse through the back issues of Adam Warlock and Doctor Strange though the act was in defiance of conversation the choice of focus was deliberate. Simon had always been drawn more to characters that were less about brute force, and more adept at things like magic or acrobatics.The only exception of course being, The Incredible Hulk, a character who in Simon's view represented the frustration of someone dealing with heavy emotions their body could not contain, so it overtakes them making them into a living forceful monstrosity.
"Can I get these, And a couple bags of chips?" Simon motioned to the display behind him with his thumb, before placing a few single issues of Daredevil, Doctor Strange and Eerie Magazine
"Taking off?" digby remarked looking up from his computer, he was half working as usual
the other half was solitaire
"Yeah see you next time"
"Next time" digby repeated. Only there was some secret spark in his voice, like the end of an episode of some long forgotten television program, as if he knew something Simon didn't about what "next time" meant.
---------------------------------------
The walk home was the usual scenario, cracked sidewalks with grass bursting through Some roads that needed paving, trash cans out on the front lawns of houses that at one point in time held the promise of a fresh start, young love and new families - now faded and neglected and worn like the dreams of some of the people inside the dwellings. Swords and shields held up against garage doors, leaned against long neglected basketball hoops or hung on doors ornamentally, once bright with promise now aged relics of their owners former glory.
"Simon?" a woman's voice called from the front porch of one of the homes. It's color was once a blue that has morphed over time and under the pressure of heavy rain and other natural events into a pale seafoam green. Simon paused to look over as Mrs. Summorford, a half elven woman a few hands shorter than Simon, That made her way to him at a steady pace. She was not in a rush, nor lazy. but somewhere in between. Her hair was the color of wheat with a small strike of faded grey near the edges of her bangs; Most of the time it was held up in a bun clipped in place, or held by any number of scrunchies or hair ties, usually some form of canary yellow, the kind that reminded Simon of spring.
The path before her sandaled feet paved by large squares of some stone material Simon could not remember the name of, on either side of that though, things were practically their own ecosystem. Large patches of flowers and grass formed miniature jungles around lawn flamingos and other ornaments.
"How are you?" she asked, placing her eyeglasses which were thicker than simon's and from the looks of them weighed a ton "we haven't spoken in ages" she continued a slight concern weaving through her tone as her impromptu guest stared off into the horizon, watching the street lights come on one by one, their low orange hum intermingling with the song of the cicadas and crickets creating an undercurrent of sorts. the symphony of suburban dusk.
"i'm alright"
he lied. "heading home, i think it might rain soon"
he returned his gaze to his host, blinked a few times took a small breath to speak once again and was promptly cut off
"how are things at home? is your dad still working at that factory"
Simon did his best not to say anything that would give away the fact that he had left home for his own safety.
"i wouldn't know" he averted his gaze
Mrs. Summorford took note of the shift in the young man's tone and immediately changed the subject
"on your way back from another performance i see" the tone she now carried was that of a schoolteacher speaking to an enthusiastic student whom they were proud of.
"how did it go?"
"alright" he mused, hearing thunder roll in the distance
"well, that's not very convincing Mr. Buddy Holly "
she gave the satyr a nudge in the arm just as the rain decided to poor down from the sky like an open wound.
"i-" simon was about to tell the woman in front of him that he should be heading home before things get bad and he gets sick sadly his timing was almost as poor as the weather itself
"Come on in and wait out the storm!" she spoke above the rain.
it seemed like the only available option.
Mrs Summorford was, as Simon had long expected. the sort of woman who kept a personal library on all manner of things. small plants made their tiny homes on windowsills and a black and white cat declared it's domain's epicenter to be that of an old unused sewing basket near a fireplace. it was unlit. but the remnants of soot and ash gave off the impression that it had been used, possibly during the winter months or even just colder than usual evenings.
He sat across from her, a puzzle lay over its surface, the replicated image of Van Gogh's Starry Night was nearly at it's completion - though she would take breaks because of general weariness, Mrs Delilah Summorford was a woman of great determination. her home was decorated in trophies of past accomplishments - though they found themselves hidden among the trappings of a new life at home, one with children now grown - a husband lost to mage plague. and before then seemingly countless memories of friends and far off places that simon was still only daydreaming of.
cradling a small red coffee cup in his hands. too much sugar, too much cream. just as he requested.
"how long have you been here?" Simon asked out of nowhere. trying his best not to sound rude after all, she had already told him a great many tale of heroism when he would come in as a boy from mowing her lawn. even letting him attempt to shoot her bow "silverdawn" a few times before he accidentally took out a window.
"oh, about 140 or so years, " she continues her work on the puzzle, a contented and proud smile making itself known to everyone in the room. a far off echoed "mew" escaped from the cat
"that's crazy to think about, before The Shift and all the tech stuff"
"The Shift" as Simon had come to understand it from his time in school was the era in which the kingdoms discovered electricity, advanced magic, and other things thought lost for nearly thousands of years - it was a small span of ten or so years before then where things were still medieval or in some cases feudal - this leap in progress was jarring to some, and welcome to others, some people protested in fear of losing their livelihoods but in the end the move forward seemed to be for the best, the most logical of situations was to leave heavy sources of magic such as patches of feywilde that are scattered throughout in large quantities undisturbed. -- Though things progressed to a point where most lived comfortably, there were still threats, necromancer's raising armies of the dead, Liches, Beholder's and their usual hoards of minions. this truth was and always has been, a hidden boon to the people who made their living going on adventures to dispatch such creatures. ,
at least that's what Simon could remember. he was too busy scribbling the names of bands in the margins of his notebook, dreaming of something beyond academia
He finished his drink in a peaceful and respectful silence, had a handful of cookies, so as not to be rude and rinsed his cup in the sink. his eyes caught a glimmer of something he didn't notice before. above the fireplace. under glass was "Silverdawn'' perfectly preserved as a butterfly in amber. a wave of silent admiration for feats he had only heard about swept over him once again.
"Are you in a party yet?" her voice was almost inaudible over the rush of the sink,
"i think getting out more could be good for you"
"i get out enough" he said trying his best to sound sure of himself
"to what, The Mailbox?" she joked, after which, she proceeded to laugh
Thunder rolled outside still but it seemed a bit more distant now
Simon found himself laughing too.
"in all seriousness" he said, sitting back down
"i don't think i'm good enough to-"
Delilah Summorford gave him a stern look with a raised, "Stop right there" palm expression and set down her mug.
"that's your first problem right there"
she stood up and motioned for him to follow her to the kitchen where she opened the fridge and began getting out bread, sliced meats and cheeses and various condiments
"I've known you long enough to know you are, i've seen you perform, be charismatic, relay information.- " she points a butter knife at him, her eyes fixed upward to his brow furrowed so she knows he's serious. her eyes glittering with a determined conviction in what she was saying that he could not ever in this life or any after it, summon up the will to argue with. a drop of mayo hit the floor her cat rushes in lapping it up after sniffing it a few times dancing around their legs
"your trouble is, you think and you think and you think." she begins to spread the mayo onto a hearty slab of thick cut bread with the grace of a person who had done it nearly a million times prior to this moment
"and you don't DO anything when I know full well you're capable of not only keeping a level head, but casting magic as well as anyone else"
"i mean, You did teach me a few things" he leaned against the counter as she placed a few slices of lettuce followed by what appeared to be a mountain of roast beef along with a small handful of jalapeno and pepper jack cheese. before coating the topside of the bread with mayo and closing the sandwich "you're damn right I did, and that's another thing, you're a quick learner"
she cuts the dish in half and wraps it in cellophane and hands it to simon
"you just lack confidence"
"i'm plenty confident" he protested
she simply smirked and raised an eyebrow
"mhmmm" she reaches up and pats him on the shoulder before finishing her remark
"you just don't know it yet"
------
------II
The rain had lifted in enough for Simon to make his way home, his clothing stuck to his frame. and small puddles of water formed beneath his feet. Overwhelmed with exhaustion he simply collapsed on the nearby couch. the stacks of VHS tapes on the table he would watch over and over again in order to create some background noise while trying to write lay scattered, still needing to be rewound. Tim Burton's 1989 adaptation of Batman, A bootleg dub copy of Akira
He fell into a dream guided by the end credits music to Blade Runner, a movie he often put on so much that it felt as if the entire work had lost all meaning except for that of the function of Sleep aid.
In this dream, Simon is in school again, 12th grade english sitting in back staring out of the window and over the horizon there is a small hill, and a large oak tree with a small cluster of masked figures sitting under it, all adorned in white robes. one of them waving in his direction, as if to beckon him over to their place of congregation
the buzzing of his phone woke him from his slumber. He unwrapped the sandwich that Mrs. Summorford had made for him, it tasted better than if he were to make it.
It was very possible that the secret ingredients she put in there when he was busy being belligerent were patience and understanding. maybe even if he was lucky, a little bit of wisdom
he washed it down with yet another cup of coffee, removed a notebook from the bag in which he carried his instrument and began to write while he still had words rolling in his brain that connected well together.
-----------------------------
WE SHIFT OUR FOCUS NOW to that of a much larger town much further outside of the city in which simon is currently religated to, a dirty cocaphonus far cry from his home town it is compact, crowded eternally busy and for the under prepared a place without any sort of mercy -
Helena Caldwell stood in the line at the soup kitchen doing her best to only make eye contact with the people she knew or trusted some of which were close, others mere acquiantences however her current standing postion today however was admidst a sea of familiar strangers. they were all waiting for the same thing a decent meal. maybe a place to wash their hands and faces and fill canteens, a small but fleeting moment in an othewise dreary existence where everyone felt a brief spark of normalcy before it faded as they were sent on their way, their parting gift being a few provisions to hold their hunger off through the evening "5 minutes to open" someone from the front of the building called. the line shifted a bit a thrum of eagerness swept through the hungry gathering. Helena began to pat her hands in a pattern against her legs, a nervous tic she had held onto from childhood - Ra ra-tatat ta- a voice cuts through her rythym "god this humidity is something don't you think?. she looked up to see a dwarven man shifting his footing from side to side, his old brown coat fraying at the sleeves. he was wearing mismatched shoes. Helena had seen him a few times before handing out pamphlet's to passersby. she offered up one of her automatic responses, to engage him in light but meaningless conversation, for all she knew she was the only real social interaction he might get for a while. even the creeps deserve some form of connection unless they reveal themselves to be truly iredeemable "yeah, but hopefully it rains soon or something" she said. "oh yes, a storm is on it's way most certainly, for sure" he grinned a bit and stepped closer, his scent carried forward with him, it was the smell of cheap cigarretes and whiskey "oh man," she said watching him wipe his sweat soaked brow with his tattered sleeve
the breeze picked up as everyone ushered quietly inside. and found places to sit, in soup kitchens such as this one there was a forumula of unspoken rules that most follow
upon entering you are given a ticket that qualifies you for one free meal, and some small things to take with you when you go, a box of crackers and a can of soda, or a pastry and pre made sandwich. there is no consistency in these care packages or in the meal that you are served upon your arrival. those with mobile issues or severe disabllities go first. followed by those who are caring for children - then the rest.
Helena found a seat after making her way down the line and recieving a helping of shepard's pie, corn, a small box of animal crackers, a cup of cranberry juice and black coffee with two packeges of sugar and a small plastic cup of coffee creamer, unflavored. a piece of toast and a pre packaged snack cake that looked like it was beginning to melt. it's plastic wrapping showing signs of being exposed to humidity.
there she sat, elbow to elbow in that small brick building with people who had fallen from grace, squandered their lives or ended up there by a blow from the cruel and unyielding fist of circumstance.
she continued drumming her hands against her legs. her eyes silently scanning the room as more people grabbed their servings and found there seats on the fringes of the building. the man she encountered before took his place across from Helena and bowed his head to whisper some sort of prayer. and slowly began to eat his beard reflecting in the harsh daylight like aged copper wiring bristling the edges of the table momentarily now and again- his eyes worn and tired gazed up at her he had the look of someone who was on the cusp of falling asleep
"yeah?" she asked trying to hide the annoyance in her tone
he responded, slowly carefully choosing each word in his sentence
"Do you have somewhere to go?"
he scooped another mouthful of food up with the plastic spork that came pre packaged with a single and all but useless napkin that the servers place on everyone's tray. if you were paying closer attention you might hear a soft but barely audible , Click. could be heard as his teeth yellowed and scarred by time and lack of proper dental care collided with it's surface.
"i'm dredarius, by the way I uh, know a few places." he added, wiping his mouth with the napkin in question and then presenting her with a non threatening half smile of acknowledgment signaling that he was done speaking for the moment
"yeah" she responded in a nearly emotionless monotone
to be perfectly honest she was not sure, she had some friends around town that might be able to offer a couch if she was lucky, some of the closer one's would be able to put her up at least for a few days.
"like what?"
Helena then mentally prepared herself for all kinds of promises that would eventually prove to be either false or at most half truths. she continued to drum upon her legs as he slid a piece of paper across the table. it was folded over three times, she gazed down
A pamphlet it's image was a sunflower, the paper was a pastel blue, it looked like a photocopy of a photocopy and so forth and so on. the sort of thing one does in order to cut costs, it reminded her of the handouts she used to get in highschool. which in turn sent her spiraling down a rabbit hole of vague flashbacks of before she moved out .
The brochure promised a warm bed, food. and friends.
"All are welcome, All Are Family"
dredarious wretched a cough into his elbow and quietly stood before placing his small container of jello cubes onto helena's tray wordlessly and then walking off. sunlight glittering on his copper beard, the edges and cracks of his time whethered skin shown in the silhouette of the light pouring in from the windows. a small bell rang letting people know it was time to leave so more hungry unfortunates could enter.
she stood from the table. carried the pamphlet and the container of desert out into the humid street and made her way to a nearby public park the sky was bright the sun trickled through the trees onto a statue of a former hero his stone visage cracked by time and covered with moss some of it blooming flowers which brought to it a strange and sorrowful beauty.
Helena Caldwell made her way down the beaten and treaded path of a sidewalk, it too was cracked crumbling and tired. as was she.
she sat on a bench and for reasons far beyond her understanding she began to cry, not a sob, not and outpouring of tears backed by the top of her skull being so flooded with emotion that he body could not hold it in.
simply a small river of tears trickled down her cheeks. her mind clouds out the birds, and the animals, dogs and ducks and other avian's it walls off the feeling of sunshine and the sound of kids running around being ridiculous and all of this is
happening because, Can she even bring herself to remember. she hugged herself a bit as the wind ran through the trees.
As her mind went back to the news reports of the dragon attack that took her home, her things, her family and the life she once knew from her. this feeling never left her it followed her like a stray dog looking for the promise of food, whenever she thought she was free of the past it would nip at the back of her mind. much like now. something about today seemed very tired and very hungry. she looked at the pamphlet again. and then sat there drumming her hands in 3/4 time in thought before finally giving in out of weariness and curiosity and heading to the brightmore building.
it was a repurposed hotel. a brick building with many floors, the walls of the entryway were covered in cork boards for various recovery and religious groups. recruitment posters for adventuring parties that reminded the onlooker of an old handmade zine for a band looking to make it "The Black Dragon Fighting Society (Seeking Cleric)" "Nova and The Boys - Looking for Loot in All The Right Places, Want in?" scattered among all of it was the same sunflower in pastel blue only this time it had a pair of antlers above it almost like a crown, with a time and several dates and below it in simple text it read "Seeking guidance? Meet with Us" Something about this drew Helena in. nearly transfixed by curiosity she pulled it from the cork board and stuffed it into her pocket. and went further into the building to check in. For brevity's sake the process is as follows. you give the clerk your name, what you would like to do in lieu of rent, wash dishes, do laundry etc. and what goals you may have along with a realistic timetable and whether or not you have an adventurer's license or history. this too was also followed by any criminal histories. or next of kin and emergency contacts. Helena was then given a room number. and a coupon book of food vouchers and told that she must at least attend a "Sunflower Club Meeting" at least once each month in order to secure her stay. miss three and she's out.
the room was beautiful by her current living standards, a twin bed, a small dresser. a half bath. small TV. a few channels. mostly static though, A VCR and a couple of tapes. a battered copy of Homeward Bound Two. Lethal Weapon, Predator. The Sound of Music with a blockbuster sticker still on it the edges frayed with time. and a home recorded copy of Fantasia, it's label written in faded pen. now yellowed. it was unrewound. she collapsed on the bed, it's plush surface practically enveloping her like a cloud and for the first time in a while she did not worry what tomorrow might bring, and instead looked toward it with open and hopeful curiosity
This is the last we will see of Helena For a While.
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III: WE RETURN Once Again to Simon, several weeks have passed. he is in a field on a hilltop tht is part of a public hiking trail practicing rough undignified versions rudimentary sword manuvers with a heavy branch as a stand in, it's leaves sprig outward this way and that and make a whooshing noise when the sudden motion of a swing causes air to pass over them, he is less tired. somewhat clean shaven, a heavy pair of headphones atop his now less unruly but still chaotic mop of charcoal hair it's band tucked carefully beneath the crux of his horns it is smoothed back, his face meeting the horizon overlooking the town. his arms are heavy from doing the same motions over and over for what feels like hours though in reality it has more than likely only been around 25 minutes or so. left, right. down. up. left angle right angle and so forth. he is the furthest thing from intimidating and from a distance looks absurd to anyone who might pass by to look at him, in fact some do, a few laugh to themselves. a half orc hand in hand with her mate smiles a moment before chuckling a little and offering a hearty thumbs up. and continuing on the trail. he smiles to the two women with a heavy breathed nod before continuing, sweat beading against the roots of his hair. this particular moment blossomed from a single thought that was planted one night while simon lay awake staring at the ceiling. if he was to find anything he felt beyond the stagnency of his current situation he should at the very least start with his physical health . the hard part was of course the fact that his mind had a habit of wandering when his limbs were in repetetive motion.
he paused to rest his mind still wandering from one imaginary place to another. at this point in time he was at the mouth of a cave, torch in hand. instrument slung over his shoulder connected to a battery powered amplifier that was tethered to his backpack which was filled with the neccessary provisions they tell you about in school. first aid kit. flares. food. rope. a collapsable ten foot pole they sell different varieties of. a basic book of cantrips some for defense others were utilitarian- his phone buzzed pulling him from his haze.
Simon blinked several times and found that the sun was begining to set.
he figured enough had been done for the day and began his jouney down the hill homeward.
the sound of passing cars and streetlamps coming to life . his footsteps carried him to an intersection. he pushed the button for the stoplight and as he waited for the cars to slow down so he could cross the road. a few people gathered behind him seemingly waiting for the same thing.
"have you heard the news?" one of them said politely, it was the voice of a young woman,
simon turned to reply but by the time he did the streetlights changed and they had passed him in the midst of his spin. where he felt their presence a few scattered leaflets lay upon the ground.
the rush of wind brought on by the passing cars absconded with them before he could register what they said. and quickly crossed the street when he saw an opening. evading the handful of rainfilled potholes to the best of his ability,
it was another evening of staring blankly at the screen and empathizing more with the monster than the villagers, things usually got this way once the sun went down and the idle quiet hours began to creep in . he started to feel sick to his stomach , nervous. anxious thoughts. he needed to move. just get up and move his legs , a cup of coffee into a thermos. his instrument slung over his shoulder and he was out and off into the night.
thoughts on the concept of Love
people have often as i understand it been enraptured by the romantic poets perception of love, that it is merely this force for good, and even therapeutic traditions we are taught that it's not love if it feels bad, but i have come to know that my perception of this emotion is that it can often times be a selfish an destructive force that merely wishes the cut through everything if only for the sake of it's own expression, which is at times both good and bad, as children when our parents tell us " this is for your own good" or do things we see as hurtful later on forget the reasons why they are frustrated. or angry. it is because they love us and are simply trying to do there best, that is not to say that all actions taken by some parents are out of love, some are out of spite or greed or in some very sad cases inherent evil or wickedness -
then there are young men and women who want very much to be with someone they think is right for them so they brush aside all faults and flaws and place their potential mate upon a pedestal bending over backwards and ignoring their own health for a singular goal they end up being drained of spirit and self by said point of affection. - in the pursuit of making someone "love" them even though all the signs bright and glaring tell them they should avert their gaze and find a healthier path
So many people I know think that love is this great and wondrous thing that should be accompanied by strings 24/7 when in fact it is much like fire, it is wild and destructive if left unhampered and can be very damaging to everyone if you're not careful.
it is bright, it is beautiful, it is awe-striking but is is at it's core dangerous at times. it is hard work, but in the end most of the time, whatever form it comes in if you do it right it's worth it.
then there are young men and women who want very much to be with someone they think is right for them so they brush aside all faults and flaws and place their potential mate upon a pedestal bending over backwards and ignoring their own health for a singular goal they end up being drained of spirit and self by said point of affection. - in the pursuit of making someone "love" them even though all the signs bright and glaring tell them they should avert their gaze and find a healthier path
So many people I know think that love is this great and wondrous thing that should be accompanied by strings 24/7 when in fact it is much like fire, it is wild and destructive if left unhampered and can be very damaging to everyone if you're not careful.
it is bright, it is beautiful, it is awe-striking but is is at it's core dangerous at times. it is hard work, but in the end most of the time, whatever form it comes in if you do it right it's worth it.
Stream of Consciousness II
i keep having this dream, but the people in it change every time it happens. it's a summer day, i'm sitting eating with a group of friends at a large table, the summer sun pouring through the windows in an almost ethereal way, - just calm conversation amongst like minded people. then a hand takes mine, and then that hand, soft, warm, somehow familiar becomes an arm and shoulder wrapping itself around my own limb like some sort of affection riddled serpent. and for a moment, this dream becomes the most vivid thing in the world. i taste the remnants of food on my tongue, a plane hamburger with ketchup. i smell the air, the candles lavender. i feel my eyes adjust to the shifting of the light.- and i turn to the person holding my arm as they say a pet name, i hear a voice her voice. it always changes, and before i can get a good look i always wake up.
sometimes i wonder if this is the dream and not the other way around.
youtu.be/TXvQANGNDQQ
sometimes i wonder if this is the dream and not the other way around.
youtu.be/TXvQANGNDQQ
ideas. open to interpretation
For The Record: an insurance sales rep for a recording company goes on a strange quest to find a reclusive, theorized dead musician- and get much much more than they bargain for.
Guttermouth: strange voices start echoing upward through the pipes from one personae's fancy new home. a mystery reveals itself along with a series of underground tunnels thought long lost to time
The Passenger: undercover law enforcement gets entangled in the inner workings of a cult, and is swayed by it's charismatic leader
Satanic Panic: The boy in the back of the class, during lectures, lunch hours, and even free periods always has his nose in a book,. he says few words and seems to have even fewer friends. one day something just clicks. and it seems like any other day from then on, something just might snap.
Serial # CUP1D: the far distant future everyone has an A/I assistant tailored to their personal needs. some even house them in android's when not wearing them on their wrists or in their communications device. someone got their's at a discount. slowly they find out why.
Guttermouth: strange voices start echoing upward through the pipes from one personae's fancy new home. a mystery reveals itself along with a series of underground tunnels thought long lost to time
The Passenger: undercover law enforcement gets entangled in the inner workings of a cult, and is swayed by it's charismatic leader
Satanic Panic: The boy in the back of the class, during lectures, lunch hours, and even free periods always has his nose in a book,. he says few words and seems to have even fewer friends. one day something just clicks. and it seems like any other day from then on, something just might snap.
Serial # CUP1D: the far distant future everyone has an A/I assistant tailored to their personal needs. some even house them in android's when not wearing them on their wrists or in their communications device. someone got their's at a discount. slowly they find out why.
a stream of consciousness
[www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xiz__mYGrGc
"Love never fails. If there are prophecies, they will be brought to nothing; if tongues, they will cease; if knowledge, it will be brought to nothing. For we know partially and we prophesy partially, but when the perfect comes, the partial will pass away" ]
write a sentence, erase, write again and again erase. this method has served few people well. and yet it is once again something that persists. seemingly as set in stone as the weather or the passage of time,
yet some would say to hold close those fragments for over time they might be able to form some form of a whole . in an unexpected manner. to this end, should we not embrace our flaws?, our faults and scars and personal imperfections for they too at times for some are fragments we wish to remove, and yet, if we remove them, are we not less than whole?
"Love never fails. If there are prophecies, they will be brought to nothing; if tongues, they will cease; if knowledge, it will be brought to nothing. For we know partially and we prophesy partially, but when the perfect comes, the partial will pass away" ]
write a sentence, erase, write again and again erase. this method has served few people well. and yet it is once again something that persists. seemingly as set in stone as the weather or the passage of time,
yet some would say to hold close those fragments for over time they might be able to form some form of a whole . in an unexpected manner. to this end, should we not embrace our flaws?, our faults and scars and personal imperfections for they too at times for some are fragments we wish to remove, and yet, if we remove them, are we not less than whole?