The Twister

I have heard tales of the old ones, who came from the darkness between the stars and ruled before the concept of light could even be understood, and died long before man took its first steps. I know of their worshippers who, even to this day, devise ritual after ritual to give strength to their lost gods, to bring them back. I know of their minions, who still cling to the shadows, stroking the madness that lies at the edge of our collective unconsciousness.

But the Twister is not one of them.

I have heard of the gods, who were there when humanity took its first steps. Tall and proud, these dieties proved that gods were as fallable as the humanity they served, as impractical and unpredictable. They threw mountains, waged war, and committed terrible acts of genocide, and their subjects worshipped, feared, and mocked them. They were driven into the nothingness by the stubbornness of mankind, which insisted that gods had to be beyond understanding, beyond fallability. Some of them still lurk among mankind, with a fraction of their power and almost no followers. They wait for the day when they will be needed again, when humanity will need them. That day may never come.

But the Twister is not one of them either.

I'm not sure what he is, really. Even as I sit in his lair. He is almost human, ten feet tall and skeletal. He is wearing a suit, though I have no idea why, and he avoids eye contact. He has long black hair and wears a talk thin wrinkled hat over it. He seems to have fallen straight from the eighteenth century, though I know he was around before then. There are rumors about him that come from the roman times, stories that attempt to make him into something understandable. They attempted to make him a god, or a demon, but he is neither. He's something greater than the dieties, and something less than the old ones. And he's sitting across from, looking nervous.

"I need your help," he finally says. His voice is harsh, ancient. He draws the words out, hissing and grunting. I don't know what I'm supposed to say, so I say nothing. He stares off into the shadows, shifts, and gives me a quick glance. "I have heard you know of the dreams."

The dreams. It's an ominous declaration, to be sure. Several of my patients had mentioned them six months back. Each dream was unique, but they were connected. Elements seemed to coexist in the subconsciousness of my patients. Of course, they couldn't see it. They hadn't been told the same tale six times from different points of view.

It starts with a series of flashes, every where in the night sky. The stars exploding one by one, or just explosions. Then streaks of falling light, as if the heavens were burning and falling to earth. Then the darkness. Heavy breathing, and a man with a guitar walking down the street. The buildings around him are turning to ash, and people are jumping out of the windows to avoid turning to ash as well. Behind the man, more darkness, and things creeping and crawling, clicking and growling. The ash covers the globe, reducing the green to gray. And then golden birds fall down to the earth. They land on this barren world and they are pleased.

I had written a paper on it, which my colleagues didn't believe. Looking at the Twister, I had the odd feeling that he did.

"Are you dreaming as well?" I asked.

He shook his head. "No. No." He coughed deeply, bending over in his chair, then stared at me for the first time. His eyes were black, swollen. "I'm dying."

Zendel

Cassius' shop was in its usual state of repair, but for once wasn't quite empty of customers. A gentlemen dwarf was assembling something that could, possibly, have been a weapon. It looked like an oversize pipe, covered in runes, with a pistol-grip handle, and six runestones along its side. The top was lined with a pair of flat metal plates, each decorated with dwarven text. The dwarf seemed pleased. Cassius looked like a proud parent.

At the sound of the door jingle, both of them glanced up at me, my presence shattering the mood. The dwarf nodded his thanks at Cassius, mumbled something quietly, and wrapped the item in some rough-knit gray cloth. The package safely tucked under his arm, he gave me half a nod as he stepped past me out through the door. Cassius continued to smile as he cleaned up the paperwork from the sale.

I took the moment to remove my hat and rub my arm across my forehead. It was blistering out there.

"What's on your mind, Greyson?" Cassius asked as I slowly made my way down the steps.

I rubbed my cheek, then tossed my hat on the counter. "I just came to say you were right."

"Great!" Cassius proclaimed, snapping shut the leather suitcase and tucking it out of sight somewhere behind the counter. "About what?"

"The assassin," I said. "Just an elf with a toy, nothing more."

"Yeah, I figured as much," He said without coming up. "No one can simply teleport. It's just not the way the world works."

"But here's the part where I get confused, Cash," I said. "In that Theo Jungle there are recorded, documented sightings of a flickering monkey. It's able to warp from location to location, exactly like our elf."

"Yep. The Flickering Monkey, Shade Deer, Kennans, and Yurin Sponge are all teleporters," He said, standing again. He was covered in dust.

"What were you doing down there?" I asked, worried about derailing the conversation, but at the same baffled to the point of curiousity.

He nodded towards the door, grinning. "The dwarf was a preferred customer. Lots of paperwork that needs to be kept hidden." He grabbed a rag and used it to rub clean his hands, either unaware of the dust on his face, or unconcerned. "But let's not get off track," He said, gesturing. "What's your question?"

"How come animals can teleport, but the sentient races can't?"

He grinned. "Have you heard of the Zendel?" I shook my head. "They were a race that lived on South Liena, back when that area was largely unclaimed wilderness. They actually fought with the Zanti, back in the day."

The Zanti were a dead race, reaching their prime before humans set foot on South Liena. Before the dwarves, even. I whistled. "That's surprising. I thought the Zanti basically had run of the continent."

"Of the habitable continent, yeah," Cash said. "But South Liena was and is still mostly a jungle. Too dangerous for large scale habitation. The Zendel live at the edge of the forest, and like your flickering monkey, they were teleporters.

"However, unlike them, and most of the races alive today, they were also sentient. It made fighting them difficult, and the Zanti never really did more than harass them. Of course, the opposite was also true. The Zendel were able to flicker in and out, but once they arrived at a place, they were just as easy to kill as the Zanti they surprised. For a long time, that stalemate persisted."

He took a long drink of water and I waited, then clearing his throat, Cassius continued. "Now, this changed dramatically one day."

"What happened?" I asked.

"Humans arrived," He said with an ominous grin. "The Dwarven nations had already set up shop to the north, preferring the slightly chiller climates. Humans came south, encountered the Zanti, and defeated them."

He was summing up five hundred years of prolonged conflict in a few quick sentences. I was impressed. He wasn't done, though.

"Now, after the battle of Fin Xixi, the whole of the Zanti land essentially laid in human hands. Colonists flowed out, set up shop, and began to grow crops. It was then that the Zendel attacked.

"At first these attacks were devastating. Human settlements burned by the dozen. As quick as a farmhouse or mill could be constructed, the Zendel would attack, and it would get burnt down. This went on for ten, twenty years maybe."

"And then?" I prompted, just to feed his ego. He smiled.

"And then the humans burned down the forest, and slaughtered them whole sale. The Zendel teleportation only worked over a set distance, so the humans created tactics that essentially forced the Zendel to leap into traps. And the Zendel eventually, were wiped out."

I waited. Cash took another sip of his water.

"And then?" I asked, when it became clear we were waiting for nothing.

"That's it. Teleporting sentients, and they were killed off. Every last one of them. Even the Zanti fared better."

"Okay. Why did you just tell me this?" I asked.

"Isn't it obvious?" He said. "The  Zendel had one thing they did well. They teleported. Who knows what price this took, what cost it put onto their shoulders. Teleporting is tricky, and from an energy point of view, very very expensive. We can get away with it magically because we cheat. We tap into the earth, or the heavens, or even the ether to help power our devices. Heck, in a pinch, you can extract a good amount of mana from gasoline, if you burn it just right. The Zendel evolved to teleport, which meant they also had to evolve all the necessary supporting bits for it to happen, in the same way a bat had to evolve hollowed wings.

"Now, all this work to make them teleport means they relied on it. From a survival standpoint, being able to teleport was amazingly useful. However, humans, dwarves, elves, skithan... we defy evolutionary advantages. We're adaptable. We can use sticks, stones, guns, swords, magic, technology. We can do whatever we can, and we can find ways to let us teleport. We can also find ways to eliminate that as an advantage.

"In short, Mr. Greyson. There are no sentient races with magic powers because every time they show up, we, the collected jackasses of the world, find a way to kill them. We let the monkeys live because they don't threaten us." He was grinning in a way that made me want to hit him. "Isn't it beautiful?"

I shook my head, then placed my hat back on my head. "No, Cassius. That's terrible."

He shrugged, tossed his rag away. "That's the world we live in."

Scrap Writing (from a notebook I found)

The college advisor
wore glasses
pink plastic with
hello kitty in the corner

Her lips were pinched
as if in thought

She didn't seek eye contact
preferring instead
the comfort of her
computer screen

"So," She said quietly

I sat in a beige chair
canvas and metal supports
It was identical
to the one next to it

except this one
lacked arm rests

My hands sat
uncomfortably
in my lap

"What do you see
in your future?"

Her fingers were poised
hovering over the keys
I cleared my throat

tried to lean back
but the chair was
not accommodating

"I'm going to be a writer"
I said

The clock ticked
ticked
ticked

"So," She said quietly

Her fingers began to move
words were entered
out of sight

"English then?"

The Haze

Mother says we should never get too close to it, but parents are all like that. Tommy's mom says the exact same thing. The Haze is dangerous, they say. Dark things lurk out there. It's just waiting for you to wander into it and then Snap.

But it's not true. Tommy and I threw rocks into it, and the haze puffed slightly as it accepted them. Later, we tried using sticks, both of us pushing against them until they pierced the skin of the haze and disappeared into nothingness, and then pulling until the end came back. The stick was always unharmed, though it was cold to the touch. If something was lurking there, we would have seen it. The fact is that the haze doesn't want us. You have to throw a rock as hard as you can before it'll disappear, and it took both of us to get the stick to pierce the skin.

One thing that's fun to do is to throw yourself against it. It feels almost like a sheet made of ash. It'll stop you, and push you back. Tommy and I did that all day once, taking turns sprinting towards it and throwing ourselves upside down into it. We stopped when Tommy's mom caught us. She freaked out.

She's different than my mom. My mom grew up in Old Town, and didn't ever touch the haze, play with it. Tommy's mom, though, grew up near the haze, and she learned all about it.

The haze, she said, is where the Distant City ends. There is nothing beyond it, and the haze is just a barrier that keeps us safe and alive. It's designed to protect the whole of the city, so it will accept things that are pushed hard into it, because the shield would sooner be pierced than risk failing. Apparently, if it failed, we'd all be thrown into the nothingness.

Tommy isn't so sure. He has seen men in suits who are able to enter and leave the haze at will. He's tried to tell his mom, but she doesn't listen to him. He wants us to follow them, and discover what really is on the other side.

I don't know what to believe, so I'm leaving you this note. If I come back safely, you can just ignore it. I'll know by then what's on the other side.

But if I don't come back, please don't come after me. It's possible Tommy's mom is right, and if she is, I think we'll be dead.

I won't want to be dead, but I do want to see what's on the other side. Wish me luck.

--Roger Ian Post, Age 10

The Murder

"Do I know you?" The RPF's voice barked out from his yellow hooded raincoat. The storm was making a mess of the light, so the question may not have been as sarcastic and hostile as it sounded. I smiled politely.

"Just the guy who found the body," I said, jerking my thumb over my shoulder. The Cop nodded, shaking free a small spray of water from his head, and looked at his clipboard. A small attractor burned blue, and water that would have fallen on the board collected there instead. It was an expensive trick, but useful on days like this.

He scanned down the page with his finger, then said, "Greyson?"

"That's me," I said. "Thomas Greyson, man of no real importance."

The cop grunted at that. He made a mark on his clipboard, flipped to a new page, then said, "Alright, so what happened?"

"My," I paused and looked over at Rynna, who was leaning against the lamppost looking board. She was dressed in tailored elven explorers garb, which consisted a customized leather jumpsuit and black shoes. She had more pockets on that then a peacock has tail-feathers. Most of them had knives. Words continued to fail me, and when I finally grasped at something, I knew it was a poor choice. "My date and I were walking home from the movies, when we came upon two individuals fighting in the street. I had her wait while I rushed forward to stop them. As I approached, the first gentlemen ran, and the second," I said pointing to the corpse, "Collapsed. I tried to administer first aid, and Rynna called you guys."

The cop wrote this down with quick strokes, then said, "What's your full name?"

"Thomas Greyson," I said.

"And your occupation?"

I stopped, cleared my throat. "I'm unemployed."

"Really?" The cop said quietly. "Unemployed." I shrugged. There was an uncomfortable pause, then he said. "So what did you do?"

"I was mostly recently working for the Harbo Guard Service," I said. "But that was a few years ago. Before I came into money."

"Money?" He perked up.

"Do you want me to describe the individual?" I asked.

"Maybe in a moment," The cop said. "Let's talk about the money. Where did it come from?"

"My uncle," I said. "He worked some plantations up in Arana, and split them among my cousins and I. I sold mine off."

He looked at me. I looked back. I was lying and we both knew it, however there was a chance he'd let it go.

It was a small chance, apparently. "Good land up in Arana," He said, making a mark with his notebook. "Lots of grain."

I shrugged. "I'm not much of a farmer," I said.

"So what are you?"

I opened my mouth, then closed it. I could see Rynna getting inpatient. "I'm the guy who saw someone commit murder," I said. "You remember the murder, don't you?"

The cop glanced at the body, then grinned at me. "Doesn't look like he's going anywhere."

Rynna pushed herself off the lamppost and began to walk over.

"Look, officer," I said, making one last ditch effort before Rynna arrived. Things had a tendency to get worse when she got involved. "I think the man who ran was a member of the Rothi Crime Syndicate. I'm reasonably confident that this was a hit."

"Oh are you?" He said, crossing his arms. Rynna moved to stand behind him, but his attention was focused squarely on me. "And how would you know anything about the Rothi Crime Syndicate?"

It was too late. "Look, just be gentle," I said, looking right at the cop.

He laughed. "I'm just asking you some-"

There was a thump, audible over the sound of the rain falling. And the cop collapsed. Rynna looked at me, holding the knife backwards so that its weighted hilt made contact with the back of his skull. "Gentle enough?" She said.

I shook my head, then bent down and ripped the cop's sheet from the clipboard. Then for added measure, I took his wallet and and gems, including the attractor. Freed from it's focus, the gem darkened and water started dotting the remaining pages on the clip-board. I tucked it all away and stood. "Shall we go?" I asked.

"About time," Rynna said. "Why did you bother calling them in anyways?"

I shook my head as we began to walk off. It was difficult to explain to Rynna, a child born and raised in the Etherrealm, knowing everything of the Distant City and little beyond. "I'll tell you about it later."

We walked into the rain, the silence between us heavy.

Let's Call You Cara (Flash Fiction)

Let's call you Kara.

You're beautiful. I think I tried to tell you that once. We were at a party, and I had probably a little too much to drink. I wanted to impress you by not using a pick up line, so I started to make my way over to you. You were sitting on the second-floor balcony, your legs dangling carelessly over the party below. I sat down next you, and smiled. You turned your head slightly and returned the smile. I don't think I ever said the words I wanted to say.

Let's call you Mary.

You're a genius. At least, from my perspective. We shared a class one semester, and during tests I would race to finish before you. Sometimes I did, and sometimes I didn't. You always got the better grade, though. I asked if I could borrow your notes on the day I was sick. You said no, but you said it with a smile.

Let's call you Sarah.

You're unique, dressed in a green gogo dress, with furry artic boots in the middle of september. Your sunglasses were star-shaped, and glittered in the pale light. Your backpack had SoundWave stuffed in a mesh pocket, and I asked you politely if he still transformed. You replied that he did, and played music besides. I envied you.

Let's call you Jennifer.

You helped me jump my car in the parking lot, even though I had no cables and no way of showing my appreciation. It was well after last call, and most of the other patrons had gone home. I was having a bad day, and the battery dying was almost the last straw. You were smiling, showing me where to attach the cables. You drove away when it was all done, and I felt much better, even though I didn't make it home.

Let's call you Alice.

I heard you were getting married, and I'm sure it's going to be great. The man, from what I hear, is simply fantastic. He's nothing like me, and maybe that's okay too. Your wedding should be spectacular. I've always imagined you'd have a rockstar life.

Let's call you Diana

I've never told you how I really feel, even after we slept together, and I've never let anyone know who you are. That night, while you slept, I tried to stay away, drinking in every moment. You were having a bad week, and needed release. I was a quick lay, nothing more. I knew this, and so I held you and eventually slept. You were gone when I woke up.

Let's call you Wendy

Maybe we'll see each other again. And maybe I'll find someone who can erase all these beautiful memories. Until then, I'll let myself think of you just before I sleep, when everything is quiet, dark, and hidden. I hope you're happy now, wherever you've wandered off to. I want you to be.

Another Writing Exercise

To this day, I have no idea how to court a woman. Do they even call it courting anymore? I went to a bar once, with a group of friends. They suggested I go talk to this girl, because her eyes sparkled like blue fire gems. I didn't want to, but I figured this would be something I'd need to learn, so eventually I let them drag me over.

Her name was Kimmy, and she worked as a teller at a bank. She had a cat, which gave her a lot of cat-related tales to relate. I nodded politely, joked a little bit, and then walked away. It wasn't unpleasant, and I did get to know Kimmy better, but it's not like she was ever going to be the one. She didn't know anything about computers, even though she used one daily, and jokes I made went completely over her head. She believed that that the monitor and the computer were exactly the same.

This is making me sound like a snob, isn't it? I should start again.

There was a girl named Manadepessive, and she was the first girl I ever really loved. She was a Mage (obviously), and we met on the plains of Rindole, a mid-level region on the continent of Gonnora. She was a human, exotic in the elven rich zone, and she was everything I could have wanted. She was smart, easily smarter than me. She was clever, and let none of my jests by without an equally witty rejoinder. We joined a guild together, named the Conquerors of the Ancient Road, and soon after both of us became officers.

Now obviously, Manadepressive wasn't real. Which is to say, that her name wasn't Manadepressive, but was actually Tanya. Likewise, my named wasn't Jimixia, but that's just how we met. It was possible, and even likely, that Manadepressive was actually a guy, but my suspicions were eased during a raid on some mid-level dungeon, when our guild leader set up a voice chat. Tanya had a beautiful voice, and her laugh (when I could make her laugh) was rich and full. I would have gladly done anything to hear that laugh again and again.

I had started playing Majestic Realms because I was bored. Soon, I was playing it for the sake of her. We spent many hours raiding, pushing deep into computer-generated, monster filled tunnels, questing after some misplaced armor, or the king's crown, or whatever the gimmick was. The story was less important than the journey, the quest deeper and deeper into that forbidden zone. The journey soon became important because of the time I spent, chatting with ManaDepressive and using my rogue to scout out the next big trap, the next challenge. Mana, in turn, was almost giddy when she made the bad-guys burn. We made a good team, especially when working with other guild members.

And better, I learned more about Tanya, the girl behind the mage. Tanya was about my age, and lived almost within driving distance. That would've been awesome, had I a car. She was in advanced studies in her school, and was essentially getting a chance to pick her college. She had a sister, Stacey, who was not into games, and her parents were divorced.

Her favorite movie was The Empire Strikes Back, though she later confessed to hating all of Star Wars, on account of Lucas selling out. After that, she proclaimed her new favorite movie to be 2001. She had a Super Nintendo, which she had inherited from an uncle, and she played it nearly every night. Her favorite book was Foundation, and she had read everything Asimov had written, including the non-fiction.

We talked and disagreed about the works of Phillip K. Dick, Poul Anderson, Orson Scott Card, and others. It was beautiful, geeky, and fun.

And then one day her dad's credit card expired, and she never logged on again.

Writing Exercises

Prompt: A brass door handle, three oranges, and a chocolate doughnut. (not used at all)

Maybe I should have stayed in bed. It's a nice thought. The rest of my apartment was covered in frost, cold and blue-toned for no identifiable reason. My feet crunched the carpet, and microscopic shards of ice stabbed into me with each step. I tried to ignore it, though. It seemed unimportant.

The window was broken, and the wind outside whistled against the glass. The sound was constant, entirely unwindlike, and at a tone and volume which was very distracting. Outside the world was dead, neglected under the frost. I could see, just barely, the broken shell of a car, it's roof collapsed and its insides gutted.

My breath was cold, cloudy as it surrounded me. I watched it hang in the air after each exhale.

**************************************
Prompt: "Write a post-apocalyptic story"

I woke in the false night of noon to the sound of a dog barking. My back was hurting, complaining from a long night slept against a wall, and I was sorely tempted not to move. Instead, though, I pushed through it, wincing, as I got to my feet. My world shifted uncomfortably as I stood, and I resisted the urge to cry out. A second dog had started barking. I pushed myself into the back room of the apartment, and favored a quick glance out of the window. The sunlight faintly illuminated the ground below, and the dogs' forms were spots of blackness against the ash. They were searching, scavaging for anything resembling food.

That, unforunately, included me.

I checked my pistol's ammo, then tucked it away. If there were more than three of them out there, I'd be out of luck, and besides, I had plans for those bullets.