Madison’s story

The wind ran through the strands of her hair, a cold touch that spoke of the coming winter that was to soon be upon them in them in the coming weeks. She cared not though, as she gazed across that lake taking in all the sights of the surrounding woods and the breeze that seemed to sweep up from the water, bringing with it the scent of the lake and the late blooming flowers of the season. Despite this, she had been lost in thought, mesmerized by her own strands of hair that seemed to have a life of their own as they weaved and waved about her.

She had been sitting by the lake’s edge for sometime, reflecting on her inner thoughts and where they would take her to. In some cases, it was self reflection on her own life choices. While at other times she found herself dreaming of a fantasy of adventuring alongside those who came before during what was known as the time of the frontier days. Other times she found herself drifting off from the frontier days to the sky ships that were high over head her. Where she wondered what life would be like to return to where life had begun on ancient Terra. 

No matter what level of captivation danced about her, it was those sky ships that always broke her concentration. She would always sweep her hair back with her hands and look up in the evening sky, a sky that was becoming more and more grey by the moment, as a ship would rise up to take its load to the inner orbit ring where the cargo would then be transferred to another more sturdy vessel capable of riding the currents of the stars back to Terra. This was the way of life on Anatres IV, a world that had been terraformed from ages before to become a breadbasket of life for those who continued to live on the home planet, the seat of an intergalactic republic.

After the lifter had moved on, Madison would become lost in another day dream, her amber colored hair resuming a life of its own and her resuming the cycle. That is until the cold become too much and her clothing not enough to stem its growing numbness upon her skin. She could feel it soaking into her bones and it was after she watched the last sky ship descend back groundward, empty of cargo, that she decided to pack it up and return to her home. The evening was late and life on Anatres IV began early. She stood up, stretched and knew by the way her joints felt that she had been there for much too long. Well it was that way every time after all and it had to be accepted. 

It was only then, as she made the trek back home, that she thought of her brother. He was a warjack, a member of the protectors who had brought order to Anatres IV back during the long ago frontier days. They had evolved from a group of vigilantes who had enforced order with warsuits to evolve over the many ages to become the guardian force for the world. Seth had been young when he was accepted into the Order of Raven Knights, younger than most but he had an aptitude that was unlike any before, or so was spoken of in hushed tones around the keep. In either case, Seth had gone to become counted among those honored enough to pilot a warjack. 

It was an honor that Madison had longed would be hers one day and that was what brought her to Macross Lake to daydream and reflect on what she would need to do become a warjack pilot as good as her brother Seth. As she shuffled off to her family keep, she reflected on her most favorite memory of Seth. A day that would not only showcased his sense of charisma but also his ability to make a scene. Despite his predilection to pilot the ancient warjack suits, Seth had always been a larger than life personality. It was this character trait that found him completing a larger than life stunt upon his induction as a full member of the Order.

From on high orbit, Seth dropped his warjack, with amazing skill, into the courtyard of his family’s ancient keep. Both the family and the servants were unsure what had occurred as whallops of dust, debris and a thundering racket had rained down upon all at keep hall of the Fairchilds. It wasn’t until the noise had subsided and the dust had fallen back into place, that those around came to the realization that is was not a crashed lander that had caused such a scene. Rather, upon the triumphant laughing of Seth did they realize that in their keep courtyard stood the most potent warmachine of time and out of its pilot chassis stood one of their own. It was that moment, a younger Madison had looked upon   her brother with proud awe and she rushed forward to climb up into his waiting arms.

The evening was not wasted and soon a feast was made around the warjack, presided over by the Lord of Marcoss, master of the keep and father of both Madison and Seth. Seth regalled them with stories of his life so far in the Order and toast after toast was made with strong liquor as the family reaffirmed their bonds of kinship with one another. Well into the night did Seth play into this larger than life personality that would see him become the future Lord of Marcoss. It was a memory that Madison looked upon fondly as she returned to the keep and too dreamed of one day seeing her on mark made upon the family name. 

The End or …..

The Gazing Spirit by the Big Two-Hearted River

The Gazing Spirit by the Big Two-Hearted River

The Spirit of the Pine had found herself to be further restricted due to the burning of the forest and this caused her much distress. In the late past when the people, whom she had guided, provided for and protected, had ran through her woods like that of the brother trout through their streams, she too had much space to pass through. This freedom had allowed her to guide and shepherd both her forest and the ancient peoples who had dwelled within her. Yet as time went and the pale ones had pushed her sacred people out and away from the pines and into the reservations and cities, parts of her forests had been torn down to make room for the pale ones and thus she found herself limited. If anything she felt lonely as the forest had shrunk from its former glory. Most disconcerting was that the Spirit of the Pine had found herself cursed as the fire only seemed to take even more away of her and her Sister of the Sky had failed to give aid during her time of need.

Though fire is always significant for rebirth and renewal of the forest, this fire had been costly and had taken a great toll upon the Spirit of the Pine. It had caused her to retreat into the forest’s deepest interior, where she resided in a state of semi-conscious only vaguely aware of the state of her forest. From this enclosed vantage, she was brought news from both the whispering winds and swaying pines as they relayed the destruction to her day after day. As time went though, she eventually shut herself out from these trusted advisers as she could no longer bare the news anymore and in an attempt to block the pain of loss she further cocooned herself.

It was only after what had seemed an eternity that the Spirit of the Pine was finally stirred from her slumber and as she brushed the sleep from her eyes did she happen to view a pale one. She was astounded and instantly frighten that more of her precious forest would be taken from her. Yet with a quiet calmness she held her fright in check and promptly decided it was prudent to observe the creature. Also though, she was curious. It had been many a season since she had last laid an eye upon humanity, pale or not, and she found herself intrigue with this pale creature who had ventured out from the burned plains beyond the pine islands of the forest.

With the aid of the pines and the beasts that had survived within the remaining forest, she had come to learned that the nearby human dwelling outside her boundary had too been lost (Hemingway, 253). The wind had whispered to her, telling the Spirit that the village had burned to the ground with little left but old cinders. So from a comfortable distance she observed the pale one and discovered it to be a man. He was as pale as the drifting clouds and upon his back he was laden with a heavy pack, a pack that “was much too heavy” (254). Yet despite this burden he was seemingly happy and the Spirit watched from the islands of pine as he made his way through the forest.

The Spirit sensed something from this pale man. He was young in appearance but his manner and the movement of his body as he stalked across the pine was different. He was no hunter like the sacred people whom she had so missed and desired but instead he did contain the air of a warrior who had seen much battle. This much she could gage as he trudged with ease “walk[ing] through [the] clumps of jack pines; a long undulating country with frequent rises and descents” (255). With every step he took of the “sandy foot” she in turned felt more compelled to come closer and ever closer to observe him not through the eyes of the pines but rather through her own of the spirit (255).

Both as he had napped in the earth and later when he had eventually reached his destination she watched, high above, among the interlocked branches. Without realizing it she had coalesced the whispering winds to cool the pale man warrior, as she had come to accept his presence, and one point among the branches she had been certain that he had seen her as a “wind high up in the branches” had gently shook causing him to stir and open his eyes for a brief moment (255). The Spirit of the Pines held her breath in disbelief but realized quickly that he had not seen her and with another cool breath she exhale among the pines.

From that point she watched him with curious intensity as he made camp and proceeded to farm for grasshoppers the following day, preparing to fish the brother trout. As he waded out among the fish of the meadow stream, the Spirit peaked out from the trunk of a pine along shore. She found that she admired the way his body looked despite the obvious paleness to his skin and this was a feeling that had been unknown to her for quite some time. That is to desire the company of a human creature and surely this would be a first to have such a feeling of curiosity towards that of the pale man whose ancestors had come from across the ocean of many waters. She found this creature, who would on occasion would startle her as he would speak aloud at different times taking to himself with reassurances, different as he seemed very at home within forest (254,256 and 257). It was a feeling that she had missed from when her sacred people had resided among her. The speech of man.

She wasn’t sure if he knew of her presence. If he knew that she was watching him he didn’t let it be known but she had felt the impression that perhaps even if he was unaware that maybe he would eventually feel her presence among him. As the Spirit of the Pines studied this pale man warrior she came to understand that he was here to reconnect not with just nature but with himself as well. He was here to heal both his mind and body from the rigors of the conflict that he had survived. She could smell it. The dirt of the land and blood of people from across the ocean of many waters was still upon him and though he did not realized it he cleansed unknowingly in the waters of the brother trout (260). What had surprised her the most though was his inherent wiseness as he subconsciously concluded that to heal his body and mind would take more than a day. He returned to the shore with only what he needed and when he reached the camp “he looked back” and she correctly surmised that “there were plenty of days coming when he could fish” and heal himself, both body and mind. The Spirit of the Pines would do so too, healing herself as she would continue to watch on this little bit of humanity that had come to heal within her.

Works Cited

Hemingway, Ernest. “Big Two-Hearted River: Part I and Part II”. The American Tradition in

Literature. Vol. 2, 12^th ed.  Boston: McGraw Hill. Creat eText. http://create.mcgraw-hill.com.

Parker, Janet and Julie Stanton, Eds. Mythology: Myths, Legends and Fantasies. Australia:

Global Book Publishing. 2003. 422-472. Print.

Note to Readers: My short story work is based upon Ernest Hemingway’s short story the “Big Two-Hearted River: Part I and II. The premise of his story is that his character, Nick, returning home from the First World War wanders the woods. The purpose of my short story was to give a different point of view Nick through the eyes of a Native American spirit of my own creation. I do however give credit to Hemingway as I properly cite him, where applicable, in both the body as well as Works Cited. I intended to give a view of a Native American spirit that observes Hemingway’s character, Nick, as a comparing view and is intended to build upon the notions of Nick’s inherent PTSD from the First World War. Despite the conclusion of the First World War nearly 100 years ago, dealing with the effects of PTSD from combat was just as relevant in Hemingway’s time as it is now at the concluding moments of these two long wars that the United States and its allies have fought. The source material for the use of Native American mythology is meant to be vague as there a great deal of sources to utilize but also I fear that I may disrespect a certain tribe of peoples whose beliefs may not be these. I did conduct research but I crafted my own words in order to do my best to avoid disrespecting a dying and fading culture. Expect though to see the Spirit of the Pine in future stories.

Emerson J. Sullivan

30 January 2014

The Death of an Olympian

The Death of an Olympian

            Have you ever been beaten by a god, an immortal with seemingly unimaginable power and strength? I’m not talking about losing a bout to misplaced faith to a deity or lack of belief to any particular religion that promotes a divinity. No, instead I’m truly speaking of a hands down, old fashion fight where two people put it on the line and pummel each other until only a victor stands. I like to think that perhaps this how any war should be fought, those with the problems should get together and either pick out a date or maybe let it happen right then and there but alas that is not the case. Imagine though a scrap that is not between two men but rather between a mortal and immortal. One with finite life and strength while the other contains the infinite energies of the universe.

            I had once read in the Old Testament were the patriarch Jacob of the Israelites had found himself wrestling with a “dark angel”. In the course of this story he wrestles with this angel throughout the night until the near breaking of dawn where the angel requests to be released despite throwing Jacob’s hip out of joint. In spite of this injury Jacob manages to hang on and agrees but only on the condition if his opponent would bless him. This “dark angel” obliges Jacob and in the process renames him Israel saying to him “you have striven with God and with men and have prevailed”. As I found myself beaten and broken on the cool marble floor of Temple of Apollo, I remembered back to this story and I kept hoping that perhaps Apollo would instead bless me rather than ending my life. On the other hand though I suppose if I were in his shoes I wouldn’t have much mercy either if a mortal had thought he could end me.

            Standing menacingly across from me I could barely make out any of his features due to the shining radiance that seemed to gush from his body but also because of my smashed eye. Despite the blurring of my vision, I could tell he was pissed, not through his facial features but rather the brilliance of reddish purple that raged out from his being. It seemed that my attempt at his life not only infuriated him off but it truly had gotten under his skin. He seethed with anger at the perceived disrespect that a puny human had attempted to visit upon him and as I laid there he made his way to me closing the distance between us. I could tell that he was shouting and yelling at me but because of the building pressure of the concussion that I had received from that last blow but also the ringing in my ears I had no idea what he was saying to me. I actually felt like I was Beethoven because I could feel the vibrations of his powerful words instead of hearing them. I actually felt humor from this or rather would have if I hadn’t felt so numb from the terrific beating that I had received.

             As Apollo continued to berate me with what appeared unabated chastisement, I struggled to look upon him with my one good eye. Despite him coming closer to me, his brilliance was much too bright and the vision in my remaining good eye had become much like that of the skipping of an old fashion movie reel. It reminded me of being too drunk and I found myself turning my head to the right and throwing up onto the marble floor.  I looked down on the pooling of the vomit and when I looked up I found my vision to somewhat stabilized.

            Standing over me Apollo was above me and despite the angry light that split from him it I still found it warm to the touch. Actually from his head shone a light of brilliance that I seriously could only describe as biblical as it ensconced his head. Attached to his back was a bow that was not only a mechanical but also very compact bowt. Aside from that I noticed that he had the appearance of a young man with an athletic shape like that of a runner combined with the broad shoulders of a professional archer. As I looked upon this youthful though unimaginably aged immortal I found humor in my situation.

Through my swollen lips I spoke with the most bravado that I could possible muster, “For a god… you hit like a bitch….” I spat as blood drooled slowly from my lips.

This seemed to catch him off guard as his jaw had stopped working and was now wide open as he stood there in mild surprise. For a god of prophecy I would have figured it difficult to catch him off guard. This didn’t last though as Apollo’s confusion was short lived as he realized that I had managed to get the best of him. So he returned the favor with a swift kick to the ribs, which sent me flying further across the temple yet again. This last blow not only flung me into a corner of the temple but also seemed to crush my insides with the force of his kick.

Against the wall I slowly propped myself up with my good arm and watch as Apollo once again made his way to me. Calmly he walked and he seemed to be once again talking aloud about his greatness. Something along the lines of how he had not only defeated me but how humanity would also be defeated. He tone carried a calmness that reverberated with his command of voice as he spoke and which could be further felt through the vibrations through the floor. Once again I felt much like Beethoven though this comparison is far and few between from his experience.

Despite being unable to truly hear what he had to say, I had gathered from his inflection and tone that I had not only obviously failed but I had also guaranteed  my own death at his hands and my eternal damnation to Hades. Or at least something like that as I prepared myself for him to deliver to m my death as surely he would be my killer. As he approached I could see that he was very much fully armored from foot to his neck. In fact his armor made my own, which I had inherited, looked like child’s play compared to his own and I knew looking over my armor with my failing eye that it had seen better days but also I knew this was my only chance to perhaps make a difference.

When he had reached my body, Apollo knelt down and slowly looked over the damage he had rent upon my body. He halted his gaze on my face and took within his hand my jaw, forcing my barley functioning eye to look upon him. He had a genuine look of concern on his face as he studied me as he leered only perhaps a foot away from my own face. Also though his brilliance seemed to shift and it shined all upon me as he as so close to me being. Yet this was the very opportunity that I desired with which to strike and with a speed I had not known since my early youth I shot out my strong arm grabbing him at the neck.

I encased his throat, the one area of his body other than his face not covered by his exquisite armor, between the strength of my fingers. With what strength I had left I squeezed with all my might and I crushed his wind pipe. Not only that though but I further felt his spinal cord literally shatter under my grip as I ended his life. As his life force ebbed from him, the brilliance of his golden iris eyes seemed to lose their luster as the color of life left his face. Furthermore, his face seemed to have a look surprise at the moment of his death.  His face showed true shock and as I slowly I release my grip from his tender throat Apollo’s body fell over mine.

After struggling to remove his body, I rose and had the feeling that this must be what a victor would feel after facing a fight to the death and surviving to live. Only in this case not only had I seemingly survived but I had also killed an immortal. Seeing Apollo dead, I came to the realization that he was like any other person I had seen die in this senseless war between man and the return of “immortal” beings as I step over his body and struggled to make my way out his temple. The brilliance of light seemed to fade from his being much like that of the embers of a dying flame.

 However though with a great exhale of breath I tossed back my head and closed my good eye, as the other had permanently closed from swelling, and I tried to calm the inner fury that I felt. It was a blood lust unlike any I had experienced but the need to survive was much greater than spilling blood. I slowly walked but before I made my way to the entrance, I stopped and stooped down to retrieve Apollo’s quiver and bow. I felt that perhaps not only my life but these trophies of war would be proof enough of my deed in the first death of the returned gods of Hellenic antiquity. Yet when I reached the limits of Apollo’s now tomb, I found myself at this point facing an army of dismayed worshippers and priests.  They intrinsically knew what had occurred and looked upon me with hatred as well as the desire to end me.  Thus having no other choice, in order to survive I strung my bow and with my remaining eye let lose a storm of etheric arrows.