King Ratovid
Ratovid, king of the Undercity, sat upon his bone throne and surveyed his subjects arrayed before him. The rat horde stood in ranks upon their hind legs, tail tips pointing straight up behind them. Nary a whisker quivered.
The heady scent of fear filling his warehouse palace gave King Ratovid a thrill of pleasure. All knew the price of defying him. All would do as he required. All were his, to the rat. He allowed himself a few moments to savor the fragrance of subjugation before rising to address the sea of faces before him.
“Rats of the Undercity, my loyal rodents, I address you this night as your true and rightful king. Each of you has pledged fealty to me, and each of you has served me well.” Those who had disappointed him were all dead or starving in the dungeons.
“Tonight, a new era begins. All of your sacrifice and training has led to this moment. We will afflict the humans of this city until they forsake the Usurper ‘king’ they serve and bend their knee to me.
“Sea Rats, are you ready to board the harbor vessels and sabotage the weapons of war and commerce?”
“We serve!” came the reply of a thousand voices.
“Plague Rats, are you ready to spread disease among the human weaklings?”
“We serve!”
“Brood Mothers, are you ready to swell our ranks with new recruits?”
“We serve!”
“Spy Rats, are you ready to sniff out every plan of our enemies?”
This time the reply was given in whispers emanating from every dark corner of the warehouse. “We serve.”
“Supply Rats, are you ready to steal or defile every morsel of food in the city?”
“We serve!”
“Service Rats, are you ready to do any job your king requires of you?”
The remaining thousands gave their hearty reply, “We serve!”
“Rats of the Undercity, tonight we emerge from the shadows. Our days of slinking in darkness are at an end. We will claim what is rightfully ours. The Overlord of the Overcity has returned!”
The rodents broke out in wild cheers, stomping their feet and grinning hideously as they shrieked their approval. King Ratovid allowed the display of fervor to persist for a few moments and then raised a paw.
The warehouse instantly fell silent. His hard gaze swept the crowd. If any rats still harbored thoughts of desertion, they abandoned them when faced with Ratovid’s probing stare.
“Rats, to war!” cried the king, breaking the silence.
The rat horde dispersed, marching out in orderly companies to do their monarch's bidding. King Ratovid returned to his throne, sat, and steepled his claws in in front of his face. He permitted himself a small, cruel smile. It had begun.
Reflection
Mother does not even hesitate before she backhands me across the face.
Ithaigo's POV
I fall backwards, reeling from her blow, and slam into the dusty table.
"Ithaigo! I cannot BELIEVE what you have done. STEALING bread? Have you no SHAME? What next? stealing the ring off of your dead Grandmother's finger?" Mother seethed.
"Ella was hungry." I forcibly kept my expression and voice flat and even. In truth, I am ashamed for taking the loaf of bread, but I must be resolute. Desperate times call for desperate action. " They are already dead, Mother, bread is nothing to the dead." I continued, earning myself another slap from my mother. Good. I deserved it.
A hiccup echoed through the silence as Ella sobbed from her curled position under the window. The dusty afternoon light glinted off the golden strands in her otherwise dark hair, and lit up her silhouette with a halo of light.
Father watched me and mother from his seat next to Ella and the window, he was furious, I can tell, but he is tongueless and unable to convey his anger. A courtesy of the king's dungeon guards. Father's eyes met mine, he looked away and angrily shook his head before leaving with a long, heaving sigh. His disappointment stung more than mother's palm. I took the suffering silently. I did wrong, but it was worth my pride to keep my family fed.
"Ithaigo, you must understand, in this desolate time, the only thing we have left is our pride." Mother's voice shook from her tears, and she paused to swipe at them with a grimy handkerchief. " But you gave up your pride for a single loaf of bread, Ithaigo, what have you done?"
"I feel no remorse." The third time I have ever told a lie, and it was frighteningly easy.
Mother lunged forward, her face twisted into a mask of fury. There are wrinkles on her ageless face now where there used to be smooth skin. Worry and grief had marred her beauty.
"GET OUT !" Mother screamed over Ella's sobs, "GET OUT OF MY SIGHT! YOU ARE NO SON OF MINE!"
I clenched my teeth, but swallowed down the rising tears. I plastered a savage smirk on my features and forced my arm to move in the motion of a mock salute before I stepped out from the shack, keeping my steps jaunty and mocking, even as the tears ran down my face.
...
I used to be a wealthy merchants son. But that was a long time ago, before this kingdom went to hell. It's funny really, our kingdom used to be the trade center of the realm, our streets were once filled with travelers, revelers, and nobility from other lands. Our king loved his people, and we praised him in the manner akin to worship. But I suppose all things fall and crumple and dies, and so our kingdom did. As soon as the dastardly prince stepped onto the throne, the land had died. And since then, dust and the desert had slowly swallowed our once lush oasis of a kingdom as the newly crowned king watched from the leisure of his golden palace.
Mother was a lady of high breeding, born and raised in the beautiful garden's of Grandmama's orchards. Father was a trader of silks and jewels and the most sought after across the realm. They would never survive this harsh, fallen kingdom, having lounged, all their life, in pillows of silk and taffeta, with servants for everything. They still believe that everything will go back to the way they were before. They are naive. This world that i live in now is the harsh reality, where everyone is at everyone else's throats, where the strong prevails and the weak rot in the dust. But they prefer to dream of days long past and dead.
I sighed, lowering myself onto the rooftop's surface with a grunt. My back aches from manual labor in the king's docks and stables.
The stars overhead are coldly bright, and the moonlight is sallow, as if sick with fever. I stretched and closed my eyes. One day, I will personally flay the bastard who calls himself our king with his own teeth, but now, it is time for me to rest. I hope my family fares well tonight. It's the best for them not to see me anymore, not until I have killed the king.
They will never understand me.
...
Damian's POV
The swords met with a metallic ringing as me and my brother dueled. My shirts is bloody and gashed, while he is immaculate and grinning from ear to ear. I'm losing strength, and he sensed it like a hound after a hare. At the next strike, when our swords me again, he brought his foot up and kicked me in the throat.
My sword dropped to the ground with a clang as I flew backwards, landing on a blasted golden column. My spine snapped in half with a sickening crack against the gilded floors. I could feel bone protruding from the skin of my back as I lay, moaning and bleeding on the palace's pretty floors.
Brown boots stepped into my field of view, and cloth rustled as my brother bent down and took my severed spine with his hands. Another crack echoed in the silent room as he set the bones straight, and I laughed in my pain as my body slowly knit itself back into my wretched self.
"Had enough yet? Damian?" I didn't have to look up to know that he is still grinning.
"Never." I growled. "Come here, you son of a bitch, kill me if you dare, coward." I spat. "Come on," I mocked, "if you kill me, you can get this wretched throne. The people love you anyways." I laughed mirthlessly. "They would love to have their Silver Prince as king, wouldn't they? They pray for my death every night. You can hear it, you know, if you listen closely. " I hacked up a lungful of blood but continued with my teeth bloody and broken, "all that hatred, for me, their bastard king, but little did they know," I wagged my finger at him, "little did they know that their beloved Silver Prince is the one behind it all!" I roared with hysterical laughter. "Imagine their faces when you finally murder me and step on the throne! Oh how I would howl with mirth from the heavens!" I was crying with my insane laughter.
My brother just shook his pretty silver haired head and sprawled out besides me, in the pile of my blood and bone shards. It doesn't seem to bother him much. We used to lie like this upon the castle roofs, and count all the stars in the sky. But those were the good and happy moments of days long past, we are no longer brothers in my eyes, a
and after what he has done to my kingdom and my people. He rolled his head around and peered at me through silver lashed eyes. "Are you done yet?" He asked after a moment, calm and unmoved by my insanity.
"Done? Why, my dear brother! I've just started! If you want to finish it, why don't you do it yourself?" It's dangerous to goad him on, but his pretty blue eyes are just too pretty and perfect. I want to pluck them out like grapes with my bare hands. " Go on, do tear out my heart, see if I'll die. If I don't, well then, lucky you! I'll come back to kill you again tomorrow ! Isn't that fun?"
His gaze darkened. And he bared his teeth menacingly.
I erupted into another bought of hysterical laughter.
His hand plunged deep into my chest and poked through my rib cage like I had bones of butter. He gripped my still beating heart and ripped the steaming organ out of my body with a savage smile. I stretched my lips into an imitation of his expression, just to mock him. I had sworn, to never, ever, let him see my cry out in pain, and so I complied to my oath, even as my lungs struggled to knit together. He pried open my mouth and shoved a still pulsating hunk of my own heart into my mouth. I gagged and spat, but he held my nose until I swallowed, then fed me another piece.
I hate him, I hate him so much. There's not enough ways in the world to torture him to satisfy my hate. But I hate myself more. This body that I have that never dies, this hunger in my belly that is never sated until I taste blood and flesh. He knows how much I loath myself. That's why he feeds my my own heart to keep me alive.
He forced me to swallow the last piece before he left, with an order to the sentries to bring him another wrench to entertain his bed and torture devices tonight. No doubt I will find another mangled body of an innocent girl in the morning. He has taken to putting those bodies outside my chamber door to greet me every morning. As if he is being kind by offering me a meal of freshly slaughtered virgin.
I wiped my own blood off my lips and my tongue. One day, I'll defeat this bastard, and I'll follow him to hell. But until then, I live and wallow in my hate.
Me and him, we are the last two of an ancient breed that feeds on all things living. Our mother passed this cursed blood that runs through our veins, and when father realized that we weren't human enough to be his heirs, he had us murdered in the middle of the night. He was very surprised to see us again in the following morning, and even more surprised at the time of his demise. I would know, I slaughtered him as I would a pig.
I hate him.
I hate mother and brother too.
But I hate myself the most.
The people hate me too, but they adore the true monster.
They will never, ever, understand me.
The Future Kingdom
The king was not the most powerful person in the kingdom. He controlled the army and the vast majority of wealth, but he himself was controlled. If somebody has great enough influence over the king, they are the one of real importance. In this case, the most powerful person in the kingdom was only 10 days old.
The queen had died giving birth to her only child, a son. The king adored his son and named him Jovo, which he heard meant "future." Above all else, he wanted Jovo to take over a thriving kingdom when it was time. As the territory was currently flourishing, this didn't seem like it would be a problem. But when the king took a walk one day, he realized just because things are one way now, does not mean they will be that way in the future.
"Great, King!" a man shouted as he saw the ruler pass.
The man in tattered clothes spoke of a worry. His job was to carve wooden sculptures, but he feared that in a few years there wouldn't be enough trees for him to provide his service.
"Nonsense," the king declared, "We've never run out of trees before."
Quietly listening, he realized that they were cutting down trees much faster than they were planting them. At this rate, it was unlikely his son's kingdom would have enough trees to burn for warmth, much less for carvings. And so the ruler decreed that, for now, social bonfires would only be held once a month, to help conserve trees. Furthermore, taxes would temporarily be raised to plant more.
Another resident approached the king.
"Oh mighty King!" she called.
The woman with worried wrinkles on her forehead spoke of how she lived in the woods nearby. Lately, she noticed the rare spotted owl had seemingly become even more rate. This lady feared that soon there would be none. Their ruler frowned at the idea that Jovo might never see this beautiful owl. And the king decreed all owl hunting cease immediately.
While the king's latest rules made many of the townspeople happy, others were very upset. Less bonfires and no owl hunting? Why, the king was taking away things they enjoyed doing! They insisted he was a tyrant and was threatening to take all the fun away from the realm.
"I am doing this for our land and our animals," the thoughtful ruler explained, "I am doing this for the future. I am doing this for Jovo."
But the people cared none for future consequences. They didn't realize is leadership isn't about what people want at the moment. It's about what they need for the future. What we do today will affect others long after we're gone.
Jabba dabba do
Remind me never ever never to cop off a Jawa again.
This shit is obviously laced with bile of tauntaun. Should've listened to the wookie. What the fuck am I saying? I can't understand a damn thing that wook says, he might as well have been talking to me about having sex with ewoks and I wouldn't know the difference. Whose idea was it to let shag carpets fight for the Alliance anyway? The Princess? She's done enough space dust to fill a Death Star with... Ohhh, hellion no, looks like JarJar is coming on hard, I think he took twice the dose! May the force be with you muthafucka, oh gosh, he is so screwed... just don't talk to me... the spit is bad enough when you aren't lit to the gills... This is getting freaky enough that I shouldn't have to worry about explaining Gungan spit slime stains on my uni to the council in the morning... hope I get my shit together before the meeting.
Going to have to lay low. Swim in. Swim out. Try not to look like my face is melting off. Hold on. My face always looks like it is melting off what the fuck do I have to worry about? I'm good. I'm good.
All good.
Why worry?
Worry? What worry? What was I worrying about?
Damn, this stuff set my brain to echo. No worries...w'rries...rries.
Look at that sweet little tadpole on the other side of the cantina. Check her out of my right eye. Ok, now the left... wish I could look at her with both at the same time without looking cross-eyed. That just kills it every time. Oh damn, she may be a few tentacles short of being legal; last thing I need is to get busted in the cantina gumming on an underage handjobmaiden while tripping my gills off on tauntaun bile. I can just see my career going down the hatch... have to stop stressing this stuff or I will end up looking like a nemoidian who smokes too many deathsticks...
Just have to let it ride. Jusssssssst have to chilllllllllllaxxxxxxx...
Damn I wish Solo was here. He always knows how to slide a fella through a dose like this. CRAP! Jabba dabba do not do that! JarJar! YOU CAN'T JUST START HUGGING EVERYONE IN THE CANTINA!
Fuck...
Now everyone knows. Stop staring at me... No I'm not tripping, you just look like I'm tripping...
Sage and Pupil get some Lunch
Pupil had taken only twenty steps, counted backwards to forwards, so as to land on the first notion rather than falling back on the last afterthought, hopes that would make the right impression. However, the master of all things left undone, unsaid, and unfettered, was less than impressed. Pupil didn't need to see or hear any critique to know. Trying harder next time would be in order. Otherwise no stamp of approval to seal the deal.
"O Great Sage, who knows where the sky is falling, when the goose was cooked, and why a watched pot never boils, please tell me how I can know what is unknown, be what has never been, and grasp the infinite as easily as if it were a game of ball and jacks?
The ONE who peels the onion without shedding a tear, who sets the pace for the rat race, and loves salad even without dressing replies:
"You walked a mile in those moccasins but you never found a good place to eat so all you know is that you are hungry and need a new pair of shoes"
With that, the two of them pulled into a burger joint and ordered at the drive through window.
Vice
It was odd, the man walked in like he owned the placed. It is a saying that is often overused, but in this drifter’s case it rung true. Each booted foot seemed to slam into the wood floor solidly at every step. As if he were claiming the tavern as his fiefdom with his tread. The man wasn’t that big, he would have met the eye of anyone present, though, he was more stout of stature then most. His clothes were neither fine nor new, but rather well-worn and patched. The broad spun cloth added texture that could almost be felt with the eyes. They were dyed dark forlorn colors more befitting a wake then a tavern. The garb appeared bespoke. The cut and drape, despite the destitute fabric, fit him tightly and still allowed free movement.
His wasn’t handsome or ugly, just ordinary. Yet, he commanded attention. While everyone would look up from their respective vices to judge any new customer’s worthiness to drink in their presence, it was a more gradual thing, fluid almost. A slow ripple of attention amongst the lot of them on any new patron who entered the wayward establishment. It had started like that; a few men looked up to peer at the man who dared to pierce their sanctum. Since the stranger had moved into the bar without hesitation, not even a slight pause that allowed for the unspoken permission of the crowded room, that slow tide of study turned into a crashing wave of heads snapping up to stare.
The man’s gaze slashed across the shadowed room as he walked. It challenged the men occupying the tavern, most of those heads which popped up, quickly jerked back down. Those who dared to return the new comer’s stare hastily looked away, uncertain as to why they felt the need to break the contact, but break it they did. Darkness clung to this man, light was lacking in his eyes. The flicker of the nearby lanterns didn’t help.
The man continued his peculiar stamping stride to the bar, a queer smugness upon his face. He had just marked this place as his.
The bartender thus far had ignored the drifter, as was his custom with any new patron. With a practice façade of boredom the bartender look up to belatedly greet his newest customer.
The man just stared at the bartender and said nothing. The din of the room staggered to a null with the stranger’s silence. The drifter gave no indication or even a willingness to acknowledge the hush that descended at his undeclared request. He smiled, the bartender looked unnerved.
With a slow grace the man lean forward and place his left elbow on the bar top, once settled he made a come here gesture with his left index finger. The bartender reluctantly approached and mirrored the stranger’s stance on the bar trying to regain what was formerly his. He waited for an order, but none came.
Instead the drifter nodded, mostly to himself.
With a suddenness the startled the attentive crowd, the stranger grabbed the bartender by the back of the head with his left hand and opened the man’s throat with a knife in his right. Blood sprayed the drifter and the bar, he didn’t seem concerned, but rather he focused on the maintaining eye contact with the dying man. Life gushed and spurted through the widening rent bleeding the light from the bartender’s eyes.
As death took his victim the man nodded slowly, accepting the life taken. Once the stream of blood trickled to a sluggish dribble the killer released the corpse and let it fall to the floor.
And just as he came, the stranger left. No one stopped him.
Nativity Nuance
And lo, Palestinian government's hold
Extended to checkpoints about.
In charge, Vera Baboun, a woman extolled-
The first female mayor with clout ...
Her place over Bethlehem filled her with cause-
A city where poverty shone.
Yet so many obstacles' unwanted pause
Rebuked her desire to atone.
The hopeful arrived, Rachel Checkpoint, the place,
In thousands and thousands each day.
They called it "300," a foul, rotten space,
Insertion, for jobs they would pray.
And still there were many, so many, indeed
The barbed railings caused quite a stir.
Those desperate hands clenching on, forced to bleed
In this way would daily occur.
So many desiring employment within,
But the walls and powers around
Refused those who waited, downbeat in chagrin ...
But the masses stood fast to their ground.
There Joseph held out for "the ticket to life"-
Permission to work in the land.
The line smelled of feces and urinal strife;
He reached out to hold Mary's hand.
The bicycle held her remote, tattered shape;
Her belly spoke, "I am with child."
Above all the shouting, she could not escape;
The people were all going wild.
Her faith filled her spirit, though they were denied,
And Joseph looked back with regret.
A scene full of sorrow, she quietly cried.
Her water broke, leaving her wet.
A brief stint of anger, the child was not his,
Yet Joseph had promised his love.
The two would soon marry, and sadly, like this-
Around them, the crowd gave a shove.
The terrified look on her face broke his trance.
Beneath her, the soil told a tale.
The walls kept them outside of Bethlehem's glance;
He prayed they would still yet prevail.
As Mary looked on, Joseph parted the crowd,
Insisting they gave them some room.
She slid from the bike, as they were not allowed
Inside there, her heart full of gloom.
A mixture of fear and emotional joy
Came on her as they found a spot.
A voice whispered, "Soon will arrive here your boy-
A savior for those who have not."
While Joseph pushed on to an alley ahead,
She listened beyond the crowd's wrath.
"The child you are birthing will raise up the dead;
A crown for all nations, his path.
His name shall be wonderful counselor, king!
The light of the world; Son of Man.
And food to the needy and hungry, he'll bring
By gift of the prophecy's plan.
Above, God exalted had chosen your womb;
His Spirit selected your worth.
Oh, glory to you and your soon to be groom!
The messengers herald his birth!"
Now Mary broke down in a heaving sob's snare,
Her mind finding such a new peace.
Nobody believed her; her innocence bare,
Her child had been given release.
For months she insisted no man stole her youth.
The world cast aside her soft pleas.
Believe it or not, the voice offered her proof.
She shared this with Joseph in ease.
He loved her, accepting her ludicrous speech.
And then the voice spoke in his mind.
"Now, Joseph, take heed for your Mary, in reach,
Is truthful; the world has been blind."
A trash dump turned over with old cloth and wood
Became her hotel in the street.
The shelter provided the two understood-
They had nothing with them to eat.
A Muslim man came forth and offered his aid;
A couple of shepherds did, too.
Together the magical scene they displayed
Gave charity far gone renew.
The Jews and the Muslims had long been at war,
And still they were human design.
The grace of that moment would be sung in lore;
The birth of the child was divine.
A couple of rats, then a dog and a cat
All gathered; the crowd came to see
The boy who compelled them to quiet their spat,
Imparting on them joyous glee.
The stars in the sky shined a brilliant bright light;
By now the dark followed the sun.
A beggar announced this was their holy night,
And people felt kinship as one.
The news reached the mayor who came to endorse
A standard for setting the stage.
She pulled out her cell phone- a picture, of course-
This image would make the front page ...