Hero's choice

            The final blow was delivered. The beast, large and terrifying, roared in pain as he fell backward.  This large monster shook the ground as he fell then let out one last breath before dying. The tremors caused by the beast were felt across the land and instead of being afraid, the people rejoiced. They knew that after years of hardship and fear, they could now live in peace.

            A boy around sixteen stood over the body of the beast, sword in hand and gasping for breath. He was burnt, bleeding and covered in dirt, but he was alive. The boy dropped his sword, it fell forward and stuck into the ground, making the location of the final battle. The boy shook as he walked, the day was saved, he completed his training, found the magic sword, traveled the land, all for this one moment. He was relieved and happy it was over, but in a way a little sad too. As he walked toward the town he wondered what he was supposed to do next. His family had been avenged and the land was saved. Did he keep on fighting? Spending the rest of his life returning to this moment. Or was he supposed to settle down, start a family and say goodbye to the glory and praise that came with saving the world.

            When a young boy sets out on a journey with an adventurous spirit and a map, with the sole purpose of defeating a great evil, he doesn’t need to think about choices. But now its over and he has all the choices in the world. He was a boy who grew up too fast and thrust into battle. He was still a kid, but acted like an adult. If he went back to being a normal, goofy sixteen year old would people be shocked that the savoir of the world is acting like a kid? Or if he started a life and a family would it be strange for a kid to have his own house and kids of his own? The boy was the only one destined to wield the magic blade and slay the beast, but what about the rest of his destiny? Are heroes even supposed to live past their desired purpose?

            The Boy was very troubled as he walked into town. These questions haunted him and his head swirled. Fighting a monster was easy compared to making tough life decisions. He snapped out of his deep thoughts as the crowd cheered on his arrival.

“The hero has returned! He saved us all!” people in the village shouted.

            That night, there was a party in his honor. The boy drank wine with the adults, he danced with the children and ate with the village elder. He was trapped between worlds, but enjoyed each one in its own way.  During the party The Boy saw a girl about his age. He smiled at her and she blushed. Being a hero had its benefits.

            The night slowly ended and morning stretched over the land. The Boy woke up, he was in rough shape from all the fighting and then he drank too much wine at the party. He wished he could sleep for days. He got up out of bed and left the inn he slept at. It was still early and The Boy wanted to make a decision before anyone had a chance to talk to him. He wanted the decision to be his and not influenced by the first person he met in the morning. He stood at the gate to town, ahead of him was the unknown, a life of traveling and fighting for the good of the land, behind him the town and a life of being praised as a hero as he lived his life and settled down.  If he traveled, he would have the adventure he wanted, but he would be alone and always in battle. If he stayed, he would be celebrated for past glories as he raised his family and worked like a normal villager. The third option would be settle down on his own. His life would be quiet, no fanfare and he could do what he wanted without expectation. He thought very seriously about either becoming a traveler, a hermit or a town hero.

            Then the town elder walked up behind the Boy and put a hand on his shoulder. “Whatever you choose will, you have my support. So what will you do now?” The elder asked.

The Boy didn’t answer, he just stood staring out at future.

The Old Stone Tower

            Merek wrote feverishly, trying to scribble down every word onto his piece of parchment. He sat in an old wooden chair at a wooden desk, in a stone tower built on the side of a hill. The whole tower was dark except for the room at the very top. Merek’s study was lit with torches, creating plenty of light for reading and writing. The abundance of light also kept the night at bay.

            Over the years Merek had seen something moving and shifting out in the darkness. In the black of night, something would emerge from the forest and creep up the hill. The writhing darkness would surround the tower and Merek would light his torches and keep them lit till morning when it was safe again. This didn’t happen very often and when it did, it could be managed by keeping torches lit. But tonight, a night with no moon, the strange moving darkness emerged from the forest, larger and faster than before. Merek wasn’t sure if he was going mad or there really was something out there.

            Merek wrote what down everything he heard and saw, he wrote his thoughts and his last words, just in case. Merek kept seeing movement in the corner of his eye, always by the window. Almost as if something was trying to get in, but couldn’t. He heard the sound of his stone tower creaking as if a large snake were coiling around it. Merek tried to concentrate on his writing. He needed to write his last words to anyone who found this, he needed to document what was happening, but most of all he needed to write to stay sane. He couldn’t allow himself to focus solely on the slithering darkness or the creaking noises. Every time he looked out the window, he saw nothing, but whenever he passed the window he felt something watching him.

            If he looked down toward the forest he would see a squirming motion, if he looked out toward the sea he could catch a glimpse of something moving past his window. None of it made sense, but every sense he had told him to stay indoors and stay in the light. The logical part of his brain kept trying to tell him it was all superstition and nonsense, but fear sure has a way of making every horrible thing seem real.

            Merek paced through his room, muttered to himself. Trying to think calming thoughts and speaking reassurances. Then the torchlight dimmed and he looked out the window one final time. He saw a face staring in from the darkness. It was a face from his nightmares, smiling in at him. Merek screamed and the windows burst open, a chill wind blew out the torches. All went dark and quiet.

            Days later a deliveryman from the town rode up to the tower with supplies. Old Merek was always busy working up in his tower, Writing or trying to invent new things. So deliveries were made to his home. The Man knocked on the large door to the tower and waited. He looked around and gasped at what he saw, Merek, dead at the base of the tower. At the top of the tower a window was open and it looked like he jumped.

            The deliveryman went back to town and told the mayor. The mayor send town guards to investigate. The guards found pages and pages of ramblings. Insane rants about shadows and demons. Merek could have been crazy, no one really knew him, so every just assumed he was crazy. A crazy old solitary man, scared so badly by his own imagination that he jumped from his own tower. That was the official story anyway. What really happened was a mystery. No one ever saw the moving darkness, or at least if they did, they didn’t live long enough to talk about it.

Rain Rain

Rain rain come today, wash all my cares away. Let me forget the sins of yesterday, Rain rain come today.

The rain pours down upon my face, comforting me with its cool embrace.

            Rain poured down from the heavens and wind whipped through the trees. Sam sat by the large window in the living room, staring outside, mesmerized by the rain. To him, rain was dramatic, it changed the way the neighborhood looked, it changed the smell in the air and it always brought a refreshing cool breeze with it. Sam stared out at the rain, wishing he could go outside. He wanted nothing more than to be right there in the middle of it all every time it rained.

            Sam was always sick, at least as long as he could remember. So not only did he have to deal with normal parental restrictions of not going out in the rain or playing in the mud, he also had the extra worry that kept him from doing other fun things, like running around, or playing outside all day. Sam started into a coughing fit. Pain struck through his head and chest. His cat Kuro ran to his side and began to purr frantically to comfort the small boy. Sam stared out at the rain, loving the sound, smell and sight of it all. The gentle sound of raindrops falling on the roof mixed with Kuro purring lulled Sam into a relaxed state.

            So many people complain about the rain. It makes driving difficult sometimes and if your clothes get soaked it can ruin the rest of your day, but to a small child staring outside at the majesty of nature, none of that mattered. On his worst days and sickest nights Sam would hold onto Kuro and imagine the sound of rain outside. Even as Sam grew older, he loved rain. He couldn’t describe it and many people didn’t understand, but that wasn’t important. It didn’t change his love for rain or the glee he felt every time he heard a crackle of thunder or a sprinkling of raindrops.

Writers block

            Edward Stitch scratched his head as he tried to think. He sat impatiently at his typewriter, a cigarette burning between his first and middle fingers on his left hand. Smoke swirled through the air, rising ever upward until it disappeared completely. Ed’s editor was expecting another book sometime that year but Ed was having a tough time coming up with ideas. Ed had short cut black hair and brown eyes, he wore a buttoned up white shirt that was only half buttoned and had a crushed collar.  Since he was at home he wasn’t wearing pants, just boxers.

            Edward stretched out, wondering how much longer he could delay is writing and how much longer this infernal writers block would last. Ed let out a loud sigh and reached for his drink. He drank down his mix of whiskey, soda and half melted ice. Determined to write something he began typing away. He hoped as he wrote, something would come to him. He hoped to get a brilliant idea. He just needed one idea, then he could build on it more and more until he had a book.

            “The toughest part of writing is getting that first sentence” Ed grumbled. He typed on his typewriter for a few minutes. Trying out different ideas and plots. “Sam was a builder by trade…” Edward began to write. “No, that wont do” he muttered, then pulled the paper out of the machine and crumbled it up. “Think, think!” he said, bumping his fist against his forehead. The cigarette he held with that hand sprinkled ash all over his desk. Edward sprang up and wiped the ashes off before anything was burnt. Then he continued to bump his forehead with his fist, but with his other hand, as to not make a mess or burn his house down with stray ashes.

            Ed felt like he had hit a wall and couldn’t get around it. The next step was to plow through it, keep trying things until something works. “Such difficult work requires another drink!” Edward announced and got up from his desk and walked to the kitchen. His bare feet slapped against the tile in his kitchen. The chill in the air that night settled on the tile, making every step through the kitchen make Edward wish he wore socks more often. Or had slippers just to walk through the kitchen with.

            After a few minutes Ed returned to his desk and sat down with a fresh drink. He cracked his knuckles and began to type again. Whether he finished by the deadline or not, it didn’t matter. Writing was his passion, it was his work and his hobby. He loved it and hated it all at the same time. Trying to write when he had no ideas or worrying about editing was like torture but being able to write pages and pages after being struck with a good idea was his ultimate joy. As long as he had his typewriter and a working mind, he would continue to write.

Anger

Anger throbs in my head. It has its own heartbeat. On a daily basis I keep it at bay. Like a caged animal locked away, I keep it from the world. We live in a civilized world. There is no need for thoughts of violence. Yet, here I am. A ‘normal’ guy, polite and kind hearted, some would say even happy. I hold onto this anger. It is not polite to yell and against the law to kill, but what should I do? Every fiber in my being urges me to fight, urges me to kill. The world is a harsh place and those who say otherwise are lying to themselves.

I try everything. I let it go, I hold back, I breath deeply, calm myself, see things from the other persons point of view and I bite my tongue. I have been biting my tongue so much that its starting to bleed. Idiots, lowbrow knuckle draggers feel the same anger, how do they survive? Lord knows they don’t have self-control. The eleven kids and daily addictions prove that. Either they are too stupid to realize how fucked up the world is, or having sex with everything in sight and drinking every night keeps them too preoccupied to be angry. Then again, I see plenty of angry people, some drink, some don’t, some have kids, and some don’t.

I wonder what is the source of my anger and why is it so difficult to control? I pray for peace, I don’t want to be angry, but the anger is there. Like a voice that keeps telling me to lose control. Oh how good it would feel. This anger voice is not alone. How many of our bad traits have its own voice. Too much eating, sex or alcohol, gambling and anger to name a few. How seductive the voice “Go for it, its what you want”. A religious person might say it’s the devil, I don’t believe this. how easy it would be to say it’s the devil and he is tempting you. No, this voice is you. It’s the deep part of your brain that doesn’t reason, it wants what it wants. It’s the animal in you that has no regard for anything else. This isn’t evil, its nature. So when you hear the voice, the urge to let go, its just your own voice, echoing what you really want. Which means I am fighting myself. I don’t know how much will power I have left sometimes. The urge is always there, its constant.

In Christian religion there are seven deadly sins. Lust, Greed, Pride, Envy, Sloth, Gluttony, and Wrath. Everyone has a little of each seven. How often have you been slothful? Not wanting to get out of bed, or off the couch. Moving is a pain, make someone else do it. Or envious? Smith from work has the latest Iphone and you are stuck with a little cheap phone that barely gets service. His has games and apps, yours has an address book and maybe a clock. I feel every single sin a little of each every so often. Humans embrace sin and so they feel the burden of it. I used the think my sin was Lust. How lonely I was and sex was all I could think about. That was just hormones. My whole life, the real sin for me was Wrath. I remember being five and having indescribable anger. I didn’t know why I felt it or how to handle it. I just remember from an early age. I wanted to hurt things. I wanted others to hurt as much as I did.

I’ve found some resemblance of peace since then, I can control myself and am in constant control. But the anger is there. Its my oldest friend. Crohn’s disease and anger, my two buddies. They both sit and wait for me to slip up. Then they strike. Every day is a new challenge, every day I hear the whispers from angers cage. “let me out, I can help you” says the seductive voice, and maybe some day, I will.

The last Duel

            Sir Williams traveled alone an empty road on his horse. He was sent by the king to investigate a sinister looking keep. This large stone building was old but sturdy and normally would be left alone. It was said the Keep was haunted and a black knight on a ghostly horse would ride out of it every night and prey on helpless travelers. Sir Williams didn’t believe in ghosts, but it was entirely possible that a disgraced knight lived there.

            The sun slowly set over the hills as Williams approached. All was silent except for the nervous sounds coming from Williams’ horse. The keep stood up ahead, being old and made of dark stone, it was easy to see why people were afraid of it, especially at night. The sound of another horse could be heard, the slow trotting of the horse and then the clinking of heavy armor from the rider. Just as the towns people said a knight in black armor riding a pale horse came out of the keep and like a ghost appeared on the other side of the field. The two knights looked at each other. The Black knight shouts, his voice sounds like a lion’s roar. It certainly wasn’t a noise human’s make. Williams is stunned for a second, by the time the shock of the roar wears off, the evil knight is half way across the field. He put his sword out stretched, ready to strike when within range. The Dark knight’s sword was a jagged blade with a slight curve. It could make a messy stab wound or cause a slice strong enough to take off an arm.

            Sir Williams charged forward his sword raised up above his head. His sword was brilliantly shiny steel, with a gold hilt. This sword wasn’t legendary or magical. But it was made by the best blacksmith in the land and was given to Williams as a reward for all of his bravery and service. The two knights charged forward, the horses ran faster and faster at each other. Sir Williams readied his sword and at the last second swung it downward at the Black Knight. Both of their swords clanged together with such force it almost threw Williams off his horse. They both continued to run in opposite directions for a moment to recover. Then, as if they had rehearsed this, they turned around at the same time and when in for another charge. Sir Williams lifted his sword again ready for another strike. The Black knight veered off to the right and began whirling his sword around in the air like a madman. Sir Williams slowed down and turned his horse to face the Black knight. the dark knight’s sword began spinning quickly through the air as it did, the shadows around him began to grow. The shadows stretched out and began reaching up from the ground. In seconds the shadows pulled themselves from the ground and now floated above the Shadow-summoning Knight.

            Sir Williams barely had a chance to react before the Shadows flew straight at him. They howled a ghastly noise as they flew. They outstretched their arms and attacked with claw like fingers. Williams pulled back on his horse to avoid the strike, but his horse was scare and reared up on two legs, throwing Sir Williams off. His horse ran off and he quickly got to his feet as the shadow creatures circled him. Then he heard the shadow knight galloping on his horse. In a fair fight two knights would fight with lances or swords on horseback and if one rider was dismounted a noble knight would also dismount and engage in ground combat. This was not a fair fight, and Williams did not expect the Shadow knight to dismount.

            To even the odds, Williams reached into his boot and pulled out a dagger, which he quickly threw, striking the knight with such force that it made him lose his balance and fall off his ghostly horse. Without a rider, the horse simply vanished into thin air.

While the Shadow knight was disoriented, Sir Williams dodged the oncoming attacks from the shadow creatures. He swung his sword in the air, slashing at the shadows as they swooped down, but he was unable to hurt them. He would have to defeat the Shadow Knight to get rid of these minions. The Shadow knight stood up and lifted a flail and began swinging it. The spiked metal ball spun through the air, building up speed and stopping power.

            Sir Williams got his sword and shield ready. He moved in closer, dodging shadow claws and holding up his shield to block any flail attacks. He ran forward, knowing if he was going to strike, he would need to strike fast. The Shadow knight swung his flail down on Williams, luckily Williams blocked it with his shield, unluckily the force of the strike broke several bones in Sir Williams’ wrist. He winced in pain and dropped the shield. His eyes grew wide as the metal ball came back around toward his face. Sir Williams leaned back and moved his head just in time to dodge the attack. While the Shadow knight recovered from his last swing and before he attacked again. Williams lunged forward with his sword, striking an opening in the Black knights armor. Sir Williams managed to stab in the space between the chest armor and the bottom of the helmet, a tiny little slit that leads right to the throat. With one final move, the Shadow knight struck Sir Williams in the chest with his might flail and at the same time the shadows all attacked at once. Sir Williams had his armor ripped and his back scratched up by the shadows and the flail dented his armor and broke a few ribs. the strike to the ribs knocked Williams off of his feet and from the ground he saw the Shadows fade away and the Shadow Knight let out another roar before he too faded away. No trace was left of the enemy, as if they never existed at all.

            Sir Williams was badly injured, not near any town and was without a horse. He traveled for days on his own, heading back to town, but he never made it. The king was informed that Sir Williams defeated a knight in black armor, and then died in battle. In the report the black knight was just a rogue knight without a king. The truth was the Black knight was much more than that and was more of a ghost knight or some kind of evil spirit. As for Sir Williams, he didn’t die in battle. He walked for days, injured and alone, until he found a small farmhouse. The family there took care of him and nursed him back to health. Once he was healthy again he decided not to return to his kingdom. He was tired of war and fighting and figured that after his last battle he deserved a break.

            Days went on, then weeks, then years and Williams never went back. Eventually he started his own farm, made his own family and changed his last name to Williamson. He and his family remained friends with the farming family that helped him and from that point on he led a nice peaceful life.

Jack's adventures - through the rift

Jack was a thief from humble beginnings and a complicated past. For reasons that I shall not get into right now, Jack had three unique traits. First, he was incredibly fast and agile and strong enough to pull his weight as he climbed the side of a building. Secondly, he had a voice in his head. Jack was unsure if this voice was his imagination or some kind of spirit that possessed him. Third, he had a short sword that he received from his father. This blade is sturdy and sharp even though it is a very old sword and the carvings on the blade are in an ancient language. Jack’s full story and explanations are being put into a book that I have been working of for years. Last five years or so, off and on.  But without further delay, let us enjoy a new set of short stories called. “Jack’s adventures”

In the distant hills of Garogh kingdom, a lone thief and traveler walked, muttering to himself. This man was Jack. He wore sturdy brown boots, black pants, white shirt, thick, fingerless work gloves and a green cloak. the cloak was the only piece of clothing that he had since he was a child. Two things Jack always had with him, were his sword and his cloak.

“I don’t know why I agreed to this” Jack muttered to himself. “Because of all the reward that await us, Jack” Replied a strange voice in Jack’s head. The voice was named Ack. Jack named ‘him’ when he first started hearing the voice.

Jack was on his way to a grand tournament, if he found a way to register then beat all of the fiercest warriors in the kingdom, he would get a magical artifact as a prize. Jack didn’t care about power, but Ack insisted that this item would help in their travels and keep Jack alive longer in these dangerous times.

The terrain was all hills and rocks even the roads were uneven. Jack was in good shape, but walking uphill all day on a rocky surface was starting to wear on him. The city of boulder ridge came into view. Jack would be able to rest here, then head onto the capital city of Gor.

“Are you a contestant in the arena?” Asked a tall man, standing between Jack and the city. this man was seven feet tall and weighed more than twice what Jack weighed. The Garogh people were naturally big though. “Who are you and why would you randomly assume that?” Asked Jack, trying his best to avoid trouble. “Name is Ulk and I am competing in the tournament. You are armed, you are foreign and your headed toward the city where the tournament is being held. Tourists wouldn’t come out this far. The land is too rough. This means we are both competing and though I am sure I could beat you in a fair fight, I would rather not take this risk. If you do not mind, I will have to kill you before you enter the city” Ulk replied.

Jack sighed heavily “I told you this was a bad idea” Jack muttered to Ack. Then he drew his sword, an ancient blade, but still incredibly sharp. Ulk didn’t seem to be armed and since Ulk only wore short leather pants and a tunic, he didn’t have a way to conceal a weapon. Jack wouldn’t go easy on the guy, Ulk mentioned not wanting a fair fight, so Jack was on guard.

Ulk charged toward an already exhausted Jack. The ground shook under the giants stomping feet. In an instant, Jack was gone. Like a wolf, he moved swiftly along the ground, running behind Ulk before the giant could blink. Jack slashed across Ulk’s legs. Instead of yelling or falling to the ground, ulk swung around and swatted Jack like a fly. Jack toppled backward, smacking against rocks as he went.

Ulk smiled “alright, enough fun. I will not waste my energy on you. I need it for the tournament in two days” He said. then from behind Ulk, more men came into view. They were smaller than Ulk but still large. They held clubs and axes and walked menacingly closer.

“This is bad” Jack muttered. For some reason Ack didn’t respond. This was bad because as a last resort Jack would depend on Ack for a quick boost in strength. Jack charged at the group, his out, ready to fight for his life. The group of men smashed their weapons down on Jack, missing each time. their attacks slowly got more accurate and Jack was running out of places to run. Dodge an axe, then he would slash one of them, then jump away from a club, then he would slash, then roll, then attack, then dodge. He kept this up but was getting so tired.

As Jack fought for his life, his sword began to glow a pale blue. Energy surrounded it and all of Jack’s attacks grew stronger. Each slash would send one of the giants stumbling, no matter were the strike was located. Blue energy then started to surround his body. The sword was protecting Jack when the situation looked dire. Despite having this new ability, Jack still wasn’t winning, just surviving. He injured a few men, but there were so many he couldn’t fight them all.

Then he heard thunder crack and clouds formed over Jack, then in a blink of an eye, lighting shot down, striking Jack and electrocuting the surrounding giant men, leaving only Ulk alive. Ulk stared in terror. Lighting struck, killing everyone and there wasn’t even a cloud in the sky.

Moments later Jack reappeared in a flash of light. Ulk ran off, afraid it might be witchcraft or sorcery. Jack stumbled along the ground, worn from the fight and now with a fresh wound. Someone shot a metal ball at him and it went deep into his arm. Jack had never seen such a weapon and hoped to never see one again.

Needing rest and medical attention, Jack walked to the town of boulder ridge. He made it safely there and had his wounds treated and mysteriously, no one wanted to fight him. Jack even heard about a few contestants dropping out of the tournament, Ulk being one of them.

Quiet train ride

            Fog settled in the night air. All was quiet and still. In the distance a train could be heard chugging away. The sound grew louder and louder, soon bright lights pierced through the darkness and the roar of a train echoed through the trees. Then, in an instant, the train was gone.

            Jim stared out the window, looking out into endless darkness. If it were during the day he would have some lovely forest scenery to look at, but at this hour all there was to do was sleep. All was quiet in the train and the muffled chugging of the train was relaxing. Jim was lucky enough to get a compartment to himself. He was traveling on business through a mountain range to the next city over. It was hardly a hot vacation spot and the late night trips were usually pretty dead.

            To ward off boredom, Jim decided to take a walk around the train. He could walk up and down a few isles, check out another car and then his exciting adventure would be done. He stood up and went out the door of his compartment, he didn’t even take two steps before he heard a scream. Jim was much of a hero, but a mix of concern and curiosity urged him to go. He ran into the next train car, it was just two long rows of seats with a little isle in the middle. When Jim arrived on the scene he saw several passengers curled up in their seats, staring terrified at a strange man in the middle of the isle. The man had strange clothing, looked as if he had just come from a medieval festival. Wearing mostly green and brown, with pale skin and dark hair. The man looked as worried as the train passengers. In his hand he held a sword, it pulsed with a strange blue light.

            “He just appeared out of this air!” someone yelled. Another man entered the train car, pushing his way past Jim. This man wore a trench coat and a hat. “My name is detective Murphy. Put down the sword” Murphy said to the medieval man. Murphy was traveling on business and heard the scream. Train security wouldn’t be able to handle this situation so it was a good thing he was here. The swordman didn’t reply, so Murphy raised his gun. The guy with the sword didn’t seem to understand what was going on but knew enough to see Murphy was a threat. Acting on instinct the swordsman dashed forward and slashed, at the same time Murphy fired his gun. The sword sent a rush of energy out destroying the bullet and sending Jim and Detective Murphy flying back against the train car door.

            The swordsman looked terrified but held a fighting pose. Murphy drew his gun again and fired. The swordsman didn’t even see the shot, but now staggered backward with a bullet wound in his gut. “I-I am sorry” said the swordsman, looking confused. The blade he held started to glow, then the light spread and engulfed the swordsman’s entire body. Thunder crack loudly in the sky and a bolt of lighting shot down from the heavens, striking the train, it torn the ceiling off the train car and hit the swordsman. In an instant the swordsman was gone.

            Lucky none of the passengers were hurt and except for the trail roof, there wasn’t any damage done. Jim looked around bewildered. After a few moments when everyone calmed down, Jim finally broke the silence and said. “At least the ride wasn’t boring”

On strike

On Wednesday, January 18th, websites across the internet go on strike for one day against the SOPA and PIPA bill. a bill that is supposed to prevent piracy, but is so loosely worded that it could shut down many popular sites due to piracy or copywrite laws.
So this little blog is on strike too. I might not have a million followers, but i am showing my support.
No stories this week, stories will continue next week.


to keep the internet the way it is, check out the links below.

for more information watch this. http://youtu.be/Bp8S8eJkMW8

to sign the pettition sign this!http://sopastrike.com/strike

Stephen and Nathan vs the night

            Stephen was driving along in his old go-cart of a car, riding with him was his wonderful cousin Nathan. They were coming from a ceramic tile convention and took a dirt road as a short cut home. The two of them had been at the convention all day, they had to drive home in the dark. The little green car’s high beams cut through the darkness and fog, revealing a clear path ahead of them as they drove on happily, singing show tunes along the way.

            Then a deer scampered out of the forest and onto the dirt road. Stephen slowly came to a stop and marveled at the deer. He loved woodland animals and always found them fascinating. The two cousins sat in the car and stared at the deer. They were both impressed by wild animals and didn’t mind waiting patiently for the deer to get out of the road. Time passed and several songs played through on the car radio. The majestic nature of this beast was wearing off and Stephen grew impatient. “Whats with this deer? Out of all the places to stop, he decided to stop on the road. What a jerk!” Stephen complained. Nathan nodded, but then got an idea.” Lets just scare it off” He suggested. “Good idea” Stephen replied. “hey, Jerk Deer. Get out of the road!” Stephen yelled. Nathan shook a plastic bag filled with soda cans and assorted garbage, hoping the rattling noise would scare the beast away. The plastic bag was the car’s trash bag for the road trip.

            After a few minutes of that the deer looked up at the car and then smashed the front headlights with its antlers. Stephen’s eyes went wide. “Th-that’s it!” he said sounding shocked. He got out of his car and walked toward the deer. “careful man, it is a wild animal” Nathan warned. “I don’t care. This thing can’t abuse my car and waste our time like this” Stephen replied angrily. Then with all his force he punched the deer in the face. The deer reared back in shock, as if someone dared stand against the majestic nature of this animal. “Deers aren’t all that tough” Stephen said. Just then the deer came back down with his hooves and stomped Stephen to the ground. Thinking quickly Nathan tackled the deer and held him down. Then Stephen punched the deer a few more times.

            Satisfied with their victory, Nathan and Stephen began to walk away. Rustling could be heard in the woods, then a bear and two more deer stepped out of the forest. “I didn’t know bears were friends with deer” Nathan said sounding puzzled. Stephen was also not sure how this team up happened. But they both knew they had a fight on their hands. The two deer charged in and the bear roared. “Fight!” said a loud voice booming through the sky. Stephen and Nathan knew what they had to do, they must activate their ancient fighting abilities, passed down to them by Melvin the drifter. Fire and electricity surged through the air and slammed into the ground, right in front of the charging animals. Nathan held a fire axe and his body surged with lighting. Stephen was holding a shovel, shadow energy and ice swirled around him and his weapon. “Time to show these stuck up animals whos in charge around here” Nathan said. Then swung his axe, sending a torrent of flames at the deer, roasting them and the burning the ground they stood on. “Death, comes for all who stand in our way” Stephen muttered. He slammed his shovel on the ground and an icy hand sprang up and grabbed the bear, then pulled him underground. “They never stood a chance” Stephen smirked. Nathan hesitated. “don’t you think we should be using these powers for more than just picking fights with animals and trying to get you a girlfriend?” Nathan asked. “No, no I don’t” Stephen replied. If picking up chicks and beating up wild animals was wrong, he didn’t want to be right.

            So now that they defeated the creatures of the night, it was time to go home. “Hey, maybe if we get home in time we can play a video game before bed.” Stephen suggested. “Yeaaah!” Nathan replied. The two friends high-fived then drove home. It was just another normal night in the life of Stephen and Nathan.

The end…probably.

Herbert the brave farmer

            It was dark and raining. The windmill of an old farm creaked as it moved by the force of the wind. Inside the farmhouse was Herbert, the farmer. He sat comfortably by the fire as he listened to the rain. His crops had been harvested already and his animals were safe in the barn, it was time for him to relax. Despite his relaxed state, one thought burned in the back of his mind. Something he said he wouldn’t worry about. The threat of attacks on farms. Some farmers said they were attacked by bandits, others claimed giant wolves came after their sheep. Herbert didn’t know if the attacks were linked or the land had gotten so dangerous that he had to worry about multiple threats.

            Then he heard howling and his blood went cold. It could just be wolves passing in the forest, but it was also likely that he was about to be under attack. In times like this, most farmers would hide in their houses and wait for a knight or someone from the castle to come down and clear out the beasts, but Herbert knew by the time anyone came, it could be too late.

            Luckily Herbert was prepared. After hearing so many stories from the neighboring farms, he used his savings to buy weapons. So he went into the storage room in his house and grabbed his new crossbow and a sharp hand axe made for chopping off limbs, not splitting wood. He also brought along a lantern so he could see in the dark. So Herbert went outside in the rain. He held up his lantern and walked around, but stayed close to his house. He watched closely for movement. When suddenly he spotted large wolves in his fields accompanied by rough looking men. So it seemed the bandits were connected to the wolf attacks. Without saying a word, Herbert loaded a bolt into his crossbow and fired it. The bolt flew straight and hit one of the men in the chest. The bandit’s eyes went wide and he fell to the ground, dead.

            The other bandit saw the light from the lantern and realized he was under attack. Then to Herbert’s surprise, the bandit growled and then began to change shape. In seconds the bandit went from being a man, to a wolf. Just as the bandit changed into a wolf, the other wolves stopped sniffing the ground and began to growl, then stood up on two legs. It seemed these weren’t bandits with wolves, but a band of werewolf bandits. Herbert sighed “Just great”. He didn’t need this stress, maintaining a farm was hard enough work already.

            The werewolves ran straight for Herbert, growling and snarling as they went. Out of reflex he threw his lantern, which hit the first werewolf and broke, splashing flaming oil all over the beast. The wolf man howled in pain and then dropped to the ground in a fiery mass. It was true that silver hurt werewolves, but burning them alive, stabbing them in the heart or cutting off their head would also do the trick. In fact, those methods worked on almost all creatures.

            Herbert loaded his crossbow and tried to take aim, but the wolves had closed in and one of them smacked the crossbow out of his hand. The force of the hit, jolted the bow and fired a bolt into the werewolf’s leg. While the one wolf was distracted by it’s leg wound, Herbert attacked the other wolf with his axe. Herbert’s axe came down and sliced into the shoulder of the nearest wolf. The werewolf countered by swiping Herbert with his claws, which knocked Herbert back, making him slam into the outer wall of his home. Besides the impact against the wall, Herbert was now bleeding from the claw marks. As long as he didn’t get bit, he wouldn’t have to worry about turning into a wolf. But Herbert was more concerned with bleeding to death right now.

            While the two remaining wolves recovered from their injuries, Herbert scrambled into his house and back into the storage room. He needed new weapons and had an idea. The wolves walked in through the open door, the door was left open because Herbert didn’t want them to break the door down. If he survived this, not having a door would really be a bother. Herbert ran out of his storage room and into the living room where the wolves sniffed around to look for him. Herbert now held a sledgehammer he used for breaking rocks and two small glass bottles of lamp oil and a torch. He ran at the wolves, then past them back outside. He was determined not to burn his own house down. When the wolves followed him outside they were both hit with small bottles of oil, which broke and got oil on their fur. Herbert then swung his torch. Lighting the wolves on fire. He only had a little oil left so the fire didn’t engulf the creatures it just burned and distracted them. While they were distracted he swung his hammer, cracking the skull of the one, then his the second in the chest, breaking ribs. Werewolves could heal their injuries quickly, so Herbert had to act fast. He ran out and grabbed his axe, which was now in the mud. He lifted his muddy axe and brought it down on the first werewolf, who was bent over with a cracked rib. The force of the axe chopped the monsters head clean off.

            The second wolf recovered from his skull injury and tried to bite Herbert, but ended up biting down on the blade of his axe as Herbert swung the axe into the creature’s mouth, slicing off the top part of its head, which was the most important part of the head. The wolves had been defeated and Herbert sank down in his doorway to rest. Herbert was proud of himself for not only surviving a fight with a werewolf pack, but winning the fight too.

            Herbert’s farm had taken relatively little damage and the rain washed away almost all of the blood, so the only work now, was cleaning up the bodies. Instead of burying them right away, he put them off in a large pile outside of his farm. He would leave them there for a day as a warning to any would be intruders and providing proof of his battle, so he could brag to other farmers. The pile of werewolf bodies stayed out just long enough for word to spread of Herbert’s harrowing experience.

            Since that night, Herbert never had to fight another living soul. No werewolf, bandit, or pesky intruder would dare enter the homestead of Herbert the werewolf slayer. If they did, Herbert kept his trusty crossbow and axe around, just in case.