I woke up this morning to discover I had turned into an insect.
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laurel-marie
Literotica Guru
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Stag of Oberon said:
You would be surprised at what some quiet, disinterested seeming females are really like behind closed doors.
Marquis
Jack Dawkins
- Joined
- Jul 9, 2002
- Posts
- 10,462
When I was a young man, the first bed I owned was small, cheap and very uncomfortable. Hardly as large as a twin size, it was more like one of those folding cots you get in a hotel when you have more people sleeping in the room than can comfortably fit in the beds. Broken springs poked me in my tender places and my ankles hung so far off the bottom edge that my toes were routinely frostbitten. In my few moments of rest I dreamed of a bigger bed with plush cushioning and fine linens; a bed that I could be proud of.
I spent many nights alone, afraid to invite company to my miserable lodging. Finally one day I met a girl, beautiful in her spirit and generosity and eyes that opened like an emerald sun rising over the horizon. She asked to spend the night with me and could sense my apprehension. She whispered in my ear and melted my worries away with a voice as honey-like as her caramel skin. We spent the night together and it wouldn’t have mattered how big my bed was because you couldn’t have slipped a lubricated hair between us.
I woke up feeling more rested than I had been since I was a child, perhaps since the days I had slumbered in the womb that came to so rudely reject me. I felt my heels dig into firm mattress and picked my head up from a feather pillow. As I sat up, I looked at my resting place with amazement to see it had grown. Not larger than a full size and hardly luxurious by most standards, I was nonetheless enthralled with this new decency.
We slept together for a while in that bed but eventually the accommodations were more humble than I was prepared to accept. I wondered if my little magic trick could work again and surely enough my bed grew in size and luxury with every new female that I brought into it.
There were women young and old, large and small, simple and sophisticated. Women from every culture, ethnicity and nationality. Women arrogant and humble, conniving and sincere. There were women I can hardly remember and women I will never forget. There were women that crept off the sides off the bed in the middle of the night and women that I asked to leave.
My old cot was now a tremendous four poster monstrosity of ancient mahogany and gold trim, larger than a California king and laden with plush comforters made of exotic fabrics. But as it approached the upper boundaries of opulence it became more and more difficult to make an appreciable difference in its extravagance. I hungered for more and brought in more and more women and enjoyed them in more and more deviant and taboo ways to feed my insatiable appetite to have the largest bed and most lavish bed that ever existed.
More and more of my guests were arriving merely out of the novelty of spending a night with the man with the tremendous cradle and their departure took less and less cajoling. Despite the unparalleled comfort of the resting place I now never left, I rarely slept well anymore and I began to hear haunting whispers of partners in my past. Women who left in the physicality but whose mocking sympathy for my addiction lived on like sarcastic ghosts in my horizontal mansion.
Until one day I met a woman who refused to leave. She saw not the bed, but only the naked boy who slept in it. She would gaze at me with piercing eyes of love that were sure to break the illusory spell that had become the only pleasure I knew. She sensed my intimidation and looked away respectfully. I told her she could stay with me, but could not interfere with my plans and she gave me a half smile which her sad eyes betrayed before she would take the long walk towards one of the huge pillar-like posters that was now miles away from the area I occupied.
As my bed grew and grew, it would take her longer and longer to return to me and despite her seemingly limitless dedication I knew she grew weary of her long travels to and from my center. What once took minutes came to take hours and days and weeks and finally it was many months that she had been gone and I wondered if I would ever see the ever patient one again.
I sat down one morning and calculated the rate of expansion my bed had grown and how long it would take to traverse and came to the precise mathematical conclusion that she should have returned earlier that day. I felt a great panic come over me and I got up and began running across an endless field of impossibly expensive coverings but I couldn’t even see an edge of my bed in the horizon.
I ran until my lungs felt like overinflated tires and my thighs burned and my heart felt like it would burst in my chest, but I was so lost in the uniformity of my surroundings it was impossible to tell if I had moved at all. I collapsed and sobbed quietly to myself as the ghostly whispers murmured to each other cheekily.
But slowly I heard a different sound. A sound like the whooshing of a slow tornado and when I looked up I saw a rescue chopper flying towards me with a person hanging below it from a rope. It was the one that refused to leave.
The helicopter lowered and she reached a hand out and grabbed mine. I felt my magnificent bed descend under my feet and I looked at my savior with infinite gratitude. She turned and looked back at me with those piercing eyes, full of love and perception. All of a sudden I felt as naked as a worm hanging on a hook and wondered who I was without my marvelous, awe inspiring bed. I saw the sadness in her eyes even before I knew what I was going to do.
I let go and the woman who refused to leave felt my fingers slip past hers as I disappeared into a limitless landscape of comfort and melancholy. The voices laughed in a deafening cacophony as I plummeted towards my 400 count satin grave.
I spent many nights alone, afraid to invite company to my miserable lodging. Finally one day I met a girl, beautiful in her spirit and generosity and eyes that opened like an emerald sun rising over the horizon. She asked to spend the night with me and could sense my apprehension. She whispered in my ear and melted my worries away with a voice as honey-like as her caramel skin. We spent the night together and it wouldn’t have mattered how big my bed was because you couldn’t have slipped a lubricated hair between us.
I woke up feeling more rested than I had been since I was a child, perhaps since the days I had slumbered in the womb that came to so rudely reject me. I felt my heels dig into firm mattress and picked my head up from a feather pillow. As I sat up, I looked at my resting place with amazement to see it had grown. Not larger than a full size and hardly luxurious by most standards, I was nonetheless enthralled with this new decency.
We slept together for a while in that bed but eventually the accommodations were more humble than I was prepared to accept. I wondered if my little magic trick could work again and surely enough my bed grew in size and luxury with every new female that I brought into it.
There were women young and old, large and small, simple and sophisticated. Women from every culture, ethnicity and nationality. Women arrogant and humble, conniving and sincere. There were women I can hardly remember and women I will never forget. There were women that crept off the sides off the bed in the middle of the night and women that I asked to leave.
My old cot was now a tremendous four poster monstrosity of ancient mahogany and gold trim, larger than a California king and laden with plush comforters made of exotic fabrics. But as it approached the upper boundaries of opulence it became more and more difficult to make an appreciable difference in its extravagance. I hungered for more and brought in more and more women and enjoyed them in more and more deviant and taboo ways to feed my insatiable appetite to have the largest bed and most lavish bed that ever existed.
More and more of my guests were arriving merely out of the novelty of spending a night with the man with the tremendous cradle and their departure took less and less cajoling. Despite the unparalleled comfort of the resting place I now never left, I rarely slept well anymore and I began to hear haunting whispers of partners in my past. Women who left in the physicality but whose mocking sympathy for my addiction lived on like sarcastic ghosts in my horizontal mansion.
Until one day I met a woman who refused to leave. She saw not the bed, but only the naked boy who slept in it. She would gaze at me with piercing eyes of love that were sure to break the illusory spell that had become the only pleasure I knew. She sensed my intimidation and looked away respectfully. I told her she could stay with me, but could not interfere with my plans and she gave me a half smile which her sad eyes betrayed before she would take the long walk towards one of the huge pillar-like posters that was now miles away from the area I occupied.
As my bed grew and grew, it would take her longer and longer to return to me and despite her seemingly limitless dedication I knew she grew weary of her long travels to and from my center. What once took minutes came to take hours and days and weeks and finally it was many months that she had been gone and I wondered if I would ever see the ever patient one again.
I sat down one morning and calculated the rate of expansion my bed had grown and how long it would take to traverse and came to the precise mathematical conclusion that she should have returned earlier that day. I felt a great panic come over me and I got up and began running across an endless field of impossibly expensive coverings but I couldn’t even see an edge of my bed in the horizon.
I ran until my lungs felt like overinflated tires and my thighs burned and my heart felt like it would burst in my chest, but I was so lost in the uniformity of my surroundings it was impossible to tell if I had moved at all. I collapsed and sobbed quietly to myself as the ghostly whispers murmured to each other cheekily.
But slowly I heard a different sound. A sound like the whooshing of a slow tornado and when I looked up I saw a rescue chopper flying towards me with a person hanging below it from a rope. It was the one that refused to leave.
The helicopter lowered and she reached a hand out and grabbed mine. I felt my magnificent bed descend under my feet and I looked at my savior with infinite gratitude. She turned and looked back at me with those piercing eyes, full of love and perception. All of a sudden I felt as naked as a worm hanging on a hook and wondered who I was without my marvelous, awe inspiring bed. I saw the sadness in her eyes even before I knew what I was going to do.
I let go and the woman who refused to leave felt my fingers slip past hers as I disappeared into a limitless landscape of comfort and melancholy. The voices laughed in a deafening cacophony as I plummeted towards my 400 count satin grave.
naughtygirl69s
Returned from beyond
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- Sep 12, 2004
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- 11,022
brioche said:
wow
I"m speechless
He's gifted at revealing himself without revealing too much
What I wouldn't give to be inside his mind for a day or 2
Marquis
Jack Dawkins
- Joined
- Jul 9, 2002
- Posts
- 10,462
It was an amazing day.
I rode along a winding country road that took full advantage of the german engineered steering on my beloved beamer. The top was down and the sun was shining. The weather couldn't have been more perfect in a dream. The sky was so blue. The clowds were so white. The trees and grass were so green. The road itself could've been made of yellow bricks.
Taking this road trip was an amazing idea. It hit me like lightning, an impulse to good to deny. I was sitting at home and I said to myself, "It's a beautiful world out there, go see some of it!"
And here I was. I stayed at whatever hotel I saw when I was feeling sleepy (which wasn't often), I ate at quaint local diners and talked to anyone and everyone I ran into. Let me tell you something about me you might not know. I possess an unbelievable energy. I can walk into a room and light it up with enthusiasm. I pull old women out of wheelchairs and make them dance on tables with me. I can get a crying person to start laughing in two minutes flat. What can I say, it's a gift.
I pushed the gas pedal down, hard, just to feel my car lurch forward and hear my engine rev. There wasn't a car in site, and there hadn't been one for miles. The temptation of careening through this beautiful landscape at top speed was too tempting to ignore. I floored it.
50..... 70..... 90!!!
I'd driven faster, but on straight highways. Right now was braking into bends and down shifting as soon as I got back into a short straight away. I don't watch Nascar, so I pictured myself in an old racing video game I liked. What was the name of it again?
Fuck! I used to love that game!
Why can't I remember? I remember blocky 3D graphics, it must've been a playstation game.
Where the hell was my old playstation? I had some good games on that system.
Was it back at my house? No way, I haven't seen it in years.
Wow, how long have I been on this road trip? The days are all blending together. It can't have been more than a few days. A few weeks maybe?
Ridge Racer!
The game was called Ridge Racer and if you did some extra sneaky shit, you could race against this black car and if you beat it you could drive it and it kicked ass.
That was me, I was the black car in Ridge Racer. It was real now and I was kicking ass.
I was probably doing at least 70 when I saw him. I slammed on the brakes as hard as I could. I heard the anti-lock mechanism go click-click-click-click. He was probably 100 feet away, but by the time I screeched to a full stop the nose of my vehicle seemed inches from his legs.
I sat there for a second, wide eyed in shock, then I slammed my fist against the steering wheel. That was so awesome! I almost hit this guy and I stopped inches away from him, it was straight out of a fucking movie!
I looked up at him.
He was standing there calmly, as if he was crossing the street and decided to stop halfway. He turned his head and looked at me as if he was scorning my enthusiasm over not killing him.
What the fuck was he doing out here anyway? There wasn't anything for miles! Why was he stopped in the middle of the street? Why didn't he get out of the way?
We looked at each other for a second; my facial expression puzzled, his bored.
I got out of the car and walked over to him. I put my hand on his shoulder and he didn't react, didn't turn to face me, nothing.
"Hey man, that was a close call! I'm so sorry about that bro, I shouldn't have been going so fast but I didn't expect anyone to be out here."
Finally, he turned and faced me.
"Yeah, well...."
He muttered something I couldn't hear and turned around again. He stood still for a minute, then started walking away.
I watched him walk, completely baffled. He wore ripped jeans (not the stylish kind, the kind that looked like they had seen better days) and a black tank top. He was slouching and held his head low. I wondered who this guy was. What he did for a living. Where he was from. What must he have thought of this arrogant young prick in $300 shoes almost hitting him with his beamer.
The funy thing was, aside from our obvious differences, we looked a lot alike. He was about my height and my complexion. Same basic body type too, although he looked out of shape. We were probably the same age, maybe he was a little older.
I got back in my car, wondering about all these things as I watched him mope ahead in front of me. I started the engine, deciding to cruise at a reasonable pace from now on.
I passed him by and watched as his sillhouette got smaller and smaller in my rearview mirror, but I couldn't get him out of my mind.
I said to myself, "Self, you have got to figure out what's going on with this dude. You almost killed him for God's sakes, the least you can do is offer him a ride."
So I threw it in reverse until I pulled up alongside him.
"Hey man, I'm really sorry about almost hitting you, can I make it up to you?"
He looked at me suspiciously.
"How would you do that?" He asked in a flat monotonous whisper.
"Check it out bro, I've been riding around the country for God knows how long now, just spreading cheer and joy wherever I go. It's a gift from God and I need to give it to the whole world. Hop in and we'll go wherever the wind takes us! It'll be a blast!"
He looked straight ahead and processed what I was saying. I could tell my enthusiasm was encouraging him, although he didn't strike me as the type that was easily encouraged.
He looked at me skeptically.
"Sure man, I got nowhere to be."
I laughed triumphantly, "Yeah, I could've guessed that, hop the fuck in bro."
He forced a polite smile for a half a second as he sat down in the passenger seat.
We drove without saying a word. He stared outside without moving a muscle, except to occasionally rub the back of his neck or adjust his clothes. I would look at him every once in a while, hoping he would turn towards me so we could start a conversation. After twenty minutes of silence, I had to break the ice.
"Hey man, what's up, are you alright?"
He answered without turning. "Yeah bro, I'm fine."
"Hey man, listen. I'm not going to ask you where you're from or what you do or what kind of music you listen to or any of that kind of bullshit. You know what, I don't even know your name, and that's cool, a name is meaningless. But I want to know what's wrong. You were standing in the middle of a road in the middle of nowhere. Your body language is totally negative man, what's up? Just talk to me like an old friend."
He looked at me with an expression of subdued curiousity.
"Are you going to save me or something?"
"Like, ask you to turn to Jesus, naw man, I'm not into that, but funny you should say that because recently I've really been feeling like...."
He cut me off.
"No, I mean are you here to rescue me? Is this what you do, find sad, lonely people, scoop them up in your convertible and teach them to appreciate life?"
I looked at him with as much seriousness as I could muster.
"Yes. That is exactly what the fuck I do."
He looked back at me, and smiled what I considered to be the first real smile I had seen from him so far. I felt a real sense of accomplishment. I was beaming.
"Alright man, well it's cool to meet you."
"Definitely bro, I think we were meant to meet."
"Maybe we've known each other all along."
"I think you're right man, right now we're just hooking back up after a few lifetimes apart. You don't just meet people the way we met, this was all predestined, I'm sure of it."
He let out a laugh. It wasn't much, but he was trying.
"Yeah man, maybe."
We rode silently for another twenty minutes before he said anything.
"So, what's up man, let's have some fucking fun. You seem like a fun guy, you'll have to show me how it's done. I can't even remember the last time I had fun."
I grabbed his shoulder and looked him right in the eye.
"You got it bro. Anything you want. Name your pleasure."
"There's a town coming up in about sixty miles. There's a bar there called Saloon. It's not a fancy joint like you're probably used to, but there's a college in the area so there's almost always a few young cuties. We should stop in and say hi, I'm sure you'd be a big hit."
"Sounds good to me man, we'll just grab a quick bite to eat and by the time we're done eating we can head right over there."
"That sounds good, we don't want to get there too early, it's barely dark yet."
We continued to make small talk as we drove along. I can't remember much of what we talked about, but his mood seemed to be improving and that was all I cared about.
At some point he kinda winked at me and said,
"Hey man, I don't suppose a fine gentleman like yourself would like to share a joint with me, would you?"
"Ummm... no thanks man, that shit always fucks with me. Besides, I'm driving and shit, you know..."
He didn't seem convinced.
"You'll be fine man, just take a few hits. Besides, you're being really awesome to me and I have nothing to offer you but this."
He looked at me eagerly.
I didn't want to do it, but how could I say no?
I was just getting this guy to open up to me. If I refused he would think I was some uptight asshole goodie two-shoes. Our whole connection would be lost.
"Sure thing man, light it up."
He smiled triumphantly.
"My man, I knew you weren't some cornball. You help me stay positive and I'll help you take it easy. Deal?"
He stuck his hand out. I shook it.
"Deal."
He rolled a joint in his lap with papers and weed he had in his pocket. We passed it back and forth until I was sucking on a roach so tiny I thought I was going to inhale it. We both looked at each other and cracked up.
There was a restaurant right next to Saloon, so we went in to grab some dinner. I ordered a chicken ceaser. He had a hamburger. I normally enjoy eating light and healthy, but the munchies were setting in and his juicy hamburger looked mesmerizing.
"You know what your problem is man?" He asked, while dunking his french fries in ketchup.
I was starting to feel really tired. "No man, what?"
"You've got a great life, but you're afraid to live it. You're not taking shit to the edge, you're too scared. You think you're going to be glad you ate all those chicken salads when you're dead?"
He was lecturing me now. He went on.
"Think of how much fun that was when you were speeding along that road when you met me. That was awesome dude. I got in your car hoping we'd be driving around like that, but as soon as I get in, it's like you were too scared to do that Ridge Racer shit."
How'd he know about Ridge Racer?
"Dude, I almost killed a person! You!"
He stopped eating and looked me right in the eye.
"Want to know what I would've done, if I were you?"
"What?"
"You really want to know?"
"Yeah man, what?"
Suddenly he stood up and gestured wildly. "I would've slammed right into me! BAM! That's exactly what I was hoping you were going to do."
I was shocked. "Why the fuck would I want to do that?"
He sat back down and shrugged.
"Why not? Fuck some asshole for getting in your way! I was asking for it! Think of what a story that would've been. You would've had to hide my body, get rid of all the evidence. That shit is fucking exciting bro, you need some shit like that in your life, get the old heart pumping."
I could've sworn my heart was pumping pretty good just a few hours ago. Maybe he was right, but I couldn't admit it so easily.
"No way man, that's not why we met. We met so I could bring some life into your... er... life."
He smiled.
"Maybe we met so I could bring some life into your life. You might've missed your chance, but I'll try to make it up to you."
I couldn't even understand what he was talking about anymore. He didn't seem nearly as high as I felt. We finished our meal in silence and walked over to the Saloon.
He leaned back on the bar and looked around the room with a wicked grin. He immediately ordered us two beers, even though we both knew I'd be paying. I guess that's how it was going to be. He would have all the fun and I would do all the paying. Whatever, I wanted him to have a good time. He seemed so out of it when I met him, it was nice to see him look alive, even if he was turning out to be kind of an asshole.
I sat on a barstool that I ended up never leaving all night. He would buzz around the room, talking to girls with a wicked glint in his eyes that seemed to drive them all away, returning every once in a while to order us another round of beers. Since I was paying, I figured I'd keep drinking them.
The next thing I remember there was a big fist like a ham slamming down in front of me that startled me out of my sleep. How long had I been sleeping against the bar?
"Is that your friend?"
I looked back at this huge barrel of a man in front of me cluelessly. Finally, I followed to where his finger was pointing and saw my "friend" being pushed out of the bar by another husky brute wearing the same clothes as the guy in front of me.
"Uhhh... yeah.. sorry... what happened?"
"He needs to leave, he's causing a disturbance. And you can't sleep at the bar."
He was glaring in my face. I felt pretty uncomfortable.
"Sure thing man, sorry about that. Let me just pay for my drinks and I'll get outta your hair."
I reached for my shirt pocket, where I kept my cash, but I couldn't seem to find it. I looked down at my clothes to find myself wearing a totally different outfit than what I came in with. I couldn't figure it out, so I didn't try.
The bartender looked like she was purposefully avoiding me, so I walked out.
He was waiting for me outside, smoking a cigarette and wearing my clothes. My words were slurring.
"What the fuck dude..."
He smiled his wicked grin back at me. I think it was the most evil looking smile I'd ever seen in my life.
"Did that kick ass or what? You know you're having fun when they gotta kick you out!"
I stumbled around a bit. The whole world was spinning. None of this made any sense.
"Dude, where the fuck are we going to go? What time is it?"
He threw his lit cigarette into a trash can.
"I know an after hours spot, let's hit the road"
I felt like I was going to vomit.
"I'm too drunk to drive man."
He had my keys in his hand.
"Don't worry man, I got it. Hop in."
I watched him climb into the drivers seat of my car and start it up. I couldn't figure any of this out. Was I being robbed?
"Ummmm... well, you've probably had as much to drink as I have, and I don't really feel comfortable with you driving my car, look man, it was nice meeting you and all, but....."
He looked at me icily.
"What are you going to do, stay here?"
I reached into the front pockets of the jeans I was now wearing. There was nothing in either of them. This fucking guy had everything of mine. Everything I needed to survive.
I got in the car, and it's the last thing I ever remember doing.
I rode along a winding country road that took full advantage of the german engineered steering on my beloved beamer. The top was down and the sun was shining. The weather couldn't have been more perfect in a dream. The sky was so blue. The clowds were so white. The trees and grass were so green. The road itself could've been made of yellow bricks.
Taking this road trip was an amazing idea. It hit me like lightning, an impulse to good to deny. I was sitting at home and I said to myself, "It's a beautiful world out there, go see some of it!"
And here I was. I stayed at whatever hotel I saw when I was feeling sleepy (which wasn't often), I ate at quaint local diners and talked to anyone and everyone I ran into. Let me tell you something about me you might not know. I possess an unbelievable energy. I can walk into a room and light it up with enthusiasm. I pull old women out of wheelchairs and make them dance on tables with me. I can get a crying person to start laughing in two minutes flat. What can I say, it's a gift.
I pushed the gas pedal down, hard, just to feel my car lurch forward and hear my engine rev. There wasn't a car in site, and there hadn't been one for miles. The temptation of careening through this beautiful landscape at top speed was too tempting to ignore. I floored it.
50..... 70..... 90!!!
I'd driven faster, but on straight highways. Right now was braking into bends and down shifting as soon as I got back into a short straight away. I don't watch Nascar, so I pictured myself in an old racing video game I liked. What was the name of it again?
Fuck! I used to love that game!
Why can't I remember? I remember blocky 3D graphics, it must've been a playstation game.
Where the hell was my old playstation? I had some good games on that system.
Was it back at my house? No way, I haven't seen it in years.
Wow, how long have I been on this road trip? The days are all blending together. It can't have been more than a few days. A few weeks maybe?
Ridge Racer!
The game was called Ridge Racer and if you did some extra sneaky shit, you could race against this black car and if you beat it you could drive it and it kicked ass.
That was me, I was the black car in Ridge Racer. It was real now and I was kicking ass.
I was probably doing at least 70 when I saw him. I slammed on the brakes as hard as I could. I heard the anti-lock mechanism go click-click-click-click. He was probably 100 feet away, but by the time I screeched to a full stop the nose of my vehicle seemed inches from his legs.
I sat there for a second, wide eyed in shock, then I slammed my fist against the steering wheel. That was so awesome! I almost hit this guy and I stopped inches away from him, it was straight out of a fucking movie!
I looked up at him.
He was standing there calmly, as if he was crossing the street and decided to stop halfway. He turned his head and looked at me as if he was scorning my enthusiasm over not killing him.
What the fuck was he doing out here anyway? There wasn't anything for miles! Why was he stopped in the middle of the street? Why didn't he get out of the way?
We looked at each other for a second; my facial expression puzzled, his bored.
I got out of the car and walked over to him. I put my hand on his shoulder and he didn't react, didn't turn to face me, nothing.
"Hey man, that was a close call! I'm so sorry about that bro, I shouldn't have been going so fast but I didn't expect anyone to be out here."
Finally, he turned and faced me.
"Yeah, well...."
He muttered something I couldn't hear and turned around again. He stood still for a minute, then started walking away.
I watched him walk, completely baffled. He wore ripped jeans (not the stylish kind, the kind that looked like they had seen better days) and a black tank top. He was slouching and held his head low. I wondered who this guy was. What he did for a living. Where he was from. What must he have thought of this arrogant young prick in $300 shoes almost hitting him with his beamer.
The funy thing was, aside from our obvious differences, we looked a lot alike. He was about my height and my complexion. Same basic body type too, although he looked out of shape. We were probably the same age, maybe he was a little older.
I got back in my car, wondering about all these things as I watched him mope ahead in front of me. I started the engine, deciding to cruise at a reasonable pace from now on.
I passed him by and watched as his sillhouette got smaller and smaller in my rearview mirror, but I couldn't get him out of my mind.
I said to myself, "Self, you have got to figure out what's going on with this dude. You almost killed him for God's sakes, the least you can do is offer him a ride."
So I threw it in reverse until I pulled up alongside him.
"Hey man, I'm really sorry about almost hitting you, can I make it up to you?"
He looked at me suspiciously.
"How would you do that?" He asked in a flat monotonous whisper.
"Check it out bro, I've been riding around the country for God knows how long now, just spreading cheer and joy wherever I go. It's a gift from God and I need to give it to the whole world. Hop in and we'll go wherever the wind takes us! It'll be a blast!"
He looked straight ahead and processed what I was saying. I could tell my enthusiasm was encouraging him, although he didn't strike me as the type that was easily encouraged.
He looked at me skeptically.
"Sure man, I got nowhere to be."
I laughed triumphantly, "Yeah, I could've guessed that, hop the fuck in bro."
He forced a polite smile for a half a second as he sat down in the passenger seat.
We drove without saying a word. He stared outside without moving a muscle, except to occasionally rub the back of his neck or adjust his clothes. I would look at him every once in a while, hoping he would turn towards me so we could start a conversation. After twenty minutes of silence, I had to break the ice.
"Hey man, what's up, are you alright?"
He answered without turning. "Yeah bro, I'm fine."
"Hey man, listen. I'm not going to ask you where you're from or what you do or what kind of music you listen to or any of that kind of bullshit. You know what, I don't even know your name, and that's cool, a name is meaningless. But I want to know what's wrong. You were standing in the middle of a road in the middle of nowhere. Your body language is totally negative man, what's up? Just talk to me like an old friend."
He looked at me with an expression of subdued curiousity.
"Are you going to save me or something?"
"Like, ask you to turn to Jesus, naw man, I'm not into that, but funny you should say that because recently I've really been feeling like...."
He cut me off.
"No, I mean are you here to rescue me? Is this what you do, find sad, lonely people, scoop them up in your convertible and teach them to appreciate life?"
I looked at him with as much seriousness as I could muster.
"Yes. That is exactly what the fuck I do."
He looked back at me, and smiled what I considered to be the first real smile I had seen from him so far. I felt a real sense of accomplishment. I was beaming.
"Alright man, well it's cool to meet you."
"Definitely bro, I think we were meant to meet."
"Maybe we've known each other all along."
"I think you're right man, right now we're just hooking back up after a few lifetimes apart. You don't just meet people the way we met, this was all predestined, I'm sure of it."
He let out a laugh. It wasn't much, but he was trying.
"Yeah man, maybe."
We rode silently for another twenty minutes before he said anything.
"So, what's up man, let's have some fucking fun. You seem like a fun guy, you'll have to show me how it's done. I can't even remember the last time I had fun."
I grabbed his shoulder and looked him right in the eye.
"You got it bro. Anything you want. Name your pleasure."
"There's a town coming up in about sixty miles. There's a bar there called Saloon. It's not a fancy joint like you're probably used to, but there's a college in the area so there's almost always a few young cuties. We should stop in and say hi, I'm sure you'd be a big hit."
"Sounds good to me man, we'll just grab a quick bite to eat and by the time we're done eating we can head right over there."
"That sounds good, we don't want to get there too early, it's barely dark yet."
We continued to make small talk as we drove along. I can't remember much of what we talked about, but his mood seemed to be improving and that was all I cared about.
At some point he kinda winked at me and said,
"Hey man, I don't suppose a fine gentleman like yourself would like to share a joint with me, would you?"
"Ummm... no thanks man, that shit always fucks with me. Besides, I'm driving and shit, you know..."
He didn't seem convinced.
"You'll be fine man, just take a few hits. Besides, you're being really awesome to me and I have nothing to offer you but this."
He looked at me eagerly.
I didn't want to do it, but how could I say no?
I was just getting this guy to open up to me. If I refused he would think I was some uptight asshole goodie two-shoes. Our whole connection would be lost.
"Sure thing man, light it up."
He smiled triumphantly.
"My man, I knew you weren't some cornball. You help me stay positive and I'll help you take it easy. Deal?"
He stuck his hand out. I shook it.
"Deal."
He rolled a joint in his lap with papers and weed he had in his pocket. We passed it back and forth until I was sucking on a roach so tiny I thought I was going to inhale it. We both looked at each other and cracked up.
There was a restaurant right next to Saloon, so we went in to grab some dinner. I ordered a chicken ceaser. He had a hamburger. I normally enjoy eating light and healthy, but the munchies were setting in and his juicy hamburger looked mesmerizing.
"You know what your problem is man?" He asked, while dunking his french fries in ketchup.
I was starting to feel really tired. "No man, what?"
"You've got a great life, but you're afraid to live it. You're not taking shit to the edge, you're too scared. You think you're going to be glad you ate all those chicken salads when you're dead?"
He was lecturing me now. He went on.
"Think of how much fun that was when you were speeding along that road when you met me. That was awesome dude. I got in your car hoping we'd be driving around like that, but as soon as I get in, it's like you were too scared to do that Ridge Racer shit."
How'd he know about Ridge Racer?
"Dude, I almost killed a person! You!"
He stopped eating and looked me right in the eye.
"Want to know what I would've done, if I were you?"
"What?"
"You really want to know?"
"Yeah man, what?"
Suddenly he stood up and gestured wildly. "I would've slammed right into me! BAM! That's exactly what I was hoping you were going to do."
I was shocked. "Why the fuck would I want to do that?"
He sat back down and shrugged.
"Why not? Fuck some asshole for getting in your way! I was asking for it! Think of what a story that would've been. You would've had to hide my body, get rid of all the evidence. That shit is fucking exciting bro, you need some shit like that in your life, get the old heart pumping."
I could've sworn my heart was pumping pretty good just a few hours ago. Maybe he was right, but I couldn't admit it so easily.
"No way man, that's not why we met. We met so I could bring some life into your... er... life."
He smiled.
"Maybe we met so I could bring some life into your life. You might've missed your chance, but I'll try to make it up to you."
I couldn't even understand what he was talking about anymore. He didn't seem nearly as high as I felt. We finished our meal in silence and walked over to the Saloon.
He leaned back on the bar and looked around the room with a wicked grin. He immediately ordered us two beers, even though we both knew I'd be paying. I guess that's how it was going to be. He would have all the fun and I would do all the paying. Whatever, I wanted him to have a good time. He seemed so out of it when I met him, it was nice to see him look alive, even if he was turning out to be kind of an asshole.
I sat on a barstool that I ended up never leaving all night. He would buzz around the room, talking to girls with a wicked glint in his eyes that seemed to drive them all away, returning every once in a while to order us another round of beers. Since I was paying, I figured I'd keep drinking them.
The next thing I remember there was a big fist like a ham slamming down in front of me that startled me out of my sleep. How long had I been sleeping against the bar?
"Is that your friend?"
I looked back at this huge barrel of a man in front of me cluelessly. Finally, I followed to where his finger was pointing and saw my "friend" being pushed out of the bar by another husky brute wearing the same clothes as the guy in front of me.
"Uhhh... yeah.. sorry... what happened?"
"He needs to leave, he's causing a disturbance. And you can't sleep at the bar."
He was glaring in my face. I felt pretty uncomfortable.
"Sure thing man, sorry about that. Let me just pay for my drinks and I'll get outta your hair."
I reached for my shirt pocket, where I kept my cash, but I couldn't seem to find it. I looked down at my clothes to find myself wearing a totally different outfit than what I came in with. I couldn't figure it out, so I didn't try.
The bartender looked like she was purposefully avoiding me, so I walked out.
He was waiting for me outside, smoking a cigarette and wearing my clothes. My words were slurring.
"What the fuck dude..."
He smiled his wicked grin back at me. I think it was the most evil looking smile I'd ever seen in my life.
"Did that kick ass or what? You know you're having fun when they gotta kick you out!"
I stumbled around a bit. The whole world was spinning. None of this made any sense.
"Dude, where the fuck are we going to go? What time is it?"
He threw his lit cigarette into a trash can.
"I know an after hours spot, let's hit the road"
I felt like I was going to vomit.
"I'm too drunk to drive man."
He had my keys in his hand.
"Don't worry man, I got it. Hop in."
I watched him climb into the drivers seat of my car and start it up. I couldn't figure any of this out. Was I being robbed?
"Ummmm... well, you've probably had as much to drink as I have, and I don't really feel comfortable with you driving my car, look man, it was nice meeting you and all, but....."
He looked at me icily.
"What are you going to do, stay here?"
I reached into the front pockets of the jeans I was now wearing. There was nothing in either of them. This fucking guy had everything of mine. Everything I needed to survive.
I got in the car, and it's the last thing I ever remember doing.
Trinique_Fire
Daddi's Princess
- Joined
- Dec 15, 2004
- Posts
- 10,550
im in love with marquis and his posts..... 
gingermango
Goddess's Bitch
- Joined
- Oct 4, 2004
- Posts
- 1,057
Trinique_Fire said:im in love with marquis and his posts.....
What can he say? It's a gift from God.
Marquis
Jack Dawkins
- Joined
- Jul 9, 2002
- Posts
- 10,462
So tonight I was watching Deal or No Deal, the gameshow that has apparently swept the nation.
I have to admit, the concept is pretty good.
It's basically straight gambling, no answering questions, no tests of skill or anything like that. You just pick suitcases and hope you get lucky while the American public watches you go nuts over how much money you could be winning or losing by your decisions.
In case you're not familiar with the show, I'll tell you how it works. They show you a certain number of suitcases, I think 25. These suitcases contain various amounts of money from a penny to a million dollars. You initially pick one and then the rest of the show is about you eliminating suitcases, hoping to eliminate the smaller dollar amounts so the suitcase you actually picked initially proves to be full of big money.
There is a twist though, they will offer you a chance to take a certain amount of money that "the banker" will buy your suitcase for, based on the probability of how much money it will contain.
If, for example, you have eliminated all the big money suitcases, chances are good that the suitcase you picked initially will hold a small amount, and the banker's offer will reflect that.
So the banker will offer X dollars and the contestant has to choose whether or not they want to take that deal, or keep opening suitcases. The banker's offers drops and rises as the probability of your suitcase containing big money drops and rises.
The irony is that anyone with an even basic understanding of math should know how to beat this game. You merely have to wait for the banker to offer you a number higher than the arithmetic mean of the remaining suitcases.
I started thinking about how clueless these people were, and started daydreaming that I was on the show.
There I was, cool as a cucumber, plan in mind. No tension, no excitement, merely waiting for the banker to offer me a sum higher than the statistical probability of my potential earnings. I could tell my calm demeanor wasn't making a big hit with the audience. The audience wants to see you cry and yell and celebrate.
Finally, I was down to just 10 suitcases, including the one I had initially chosen. The $10 suitcase, the $100 suitcase, the $500 suitcase, the $1,000 suitcase, the $5,000 suitcase, the $10,000 suitcase, the $20,000 suitcase, the $50,000 suitcase, the $100,000 suitcase and the $1,000,000 suitcase were the only ones that hadn't been eliminated.
The host, Howie Mendel, says to me, "Well Lawrence, you've eliminated a lot of the big money suitcases, but the million dollar prize is still in play. Let's see what the banker has to say."
The phone rings and Howie picks it up. "Yes, I see." He says.
"Well Lawrence, the banker has decided to offer you $200,000 for your suitcase. Deal or no deal?"
The audience is all screaming at once.
DEAL!!!!
NO DEAL!!!!
DEAL!!!
NO DEAL!!!!
"What's it going to be Lawrence?"
I do some quick calculations in my head. "Well Howie, the banker is offering me almost twice my statistic potential. From a mathematical point of view, I think I'd have to be crazy not to take this deal."
The crowd yells and jeers.....
"But!" I interrupt, "For a long time, since I was very young, I've believed I was very special. That I had a gift. I've often told people this and they haven't believed me. But today, I'm going to prove it to the world. I don't need to see any more suitcases Howie, I have the million dollars right here."
The audience goes wild. Howie himself seems shocked.
"So you're saying you don't want to see any of the other suitcases? No deal whatsoever?"
"That's right Howie."
There is a dramatic pause as Howie talks slowly into the camera.
"Well, here we have a guy with a lot of confidence America. He's figured out that the banker offered him a great deal, but he's going to open the suitcase he initially picked. There's a 10% chance it contains one million dollars, but there's a 60% chance it contains $10,000 dollars or less. Are you sure you want to do this Lawrence."
"Yes Howie, I'm sure."
They open my suitcase, oh so slowly....
and it contains....
....
10 dollars!!!!!
The audience erupts in sighs of disappointment. I am expressionless.
"Well Lawrence, you had me going for a second there. I figured you might be pyschic, but you passed up a very good deal."
"Did I Howie? That 200 grand would've been nice, I can't lie, but I took a 10% chance on way more than a million dollars. Even though the chance was slim, I took it because there was a 10% chance that I could've proved to everyone watching today that I have an amazing gift."
"But Lawrence, you were wrong. You don't have a gift, it's a lie."
I smile.
"It's only a lie because it wasn't true, Howie."
I walked off stage with ten dollars of cash, but a million dollars of pride that I don't think anyone will ever be able to understand but me.
I have to admit, the concept is pretty good.
It's basically straight gambling, no answering questions, no tests of skill or anything like that. You just pick suitcases and hope you get lucky while the American public watches you go nuts over how much money you could be winning or losing by your decisions.
In case you're not familiar with the show, I'll tell you how it works. They show you a certain number of suitcases, I think 25. These suitcases contain various amounts of money from a penny to a million dollars. You initially pick one and then the rest of the show is about you eliminating suitcases, hoping to eliminate the smaller dollar amounts so the suitcase you actually picked initially proves to be full of big money.
There is a twist though, they will offer you a chance to take a certain amount of money that "the banker" will buy your suitcase for, based on the probability of how much money it will contain.
If, for example, you have eliminated all the big money suitcases, chances are good that the suitcase you picked initially will hold a small amount, and the banker's offer will reflect that.
So the banker will offer X dollars and the contestant has to choose whether or not they want to take that deal, or keep opening suitcases. The banker's offers drops and rises as the probability of your suitcase containing big money drops and rises.
The irony is that anyone with an even basic understanding of math should know how to beat this game. You merely have to wait for the banker to offer you a number higher than the arithmetic mean of the remaining suitcases.
I started thinking about how clueless these people were, and started daydreaming that I was on the show.
There I was, cool as a cucumber, plan in mind. No tension, no excitement, merely waiting for the banker to offer me a sum higher than the statistical probability of my potential earnings. I could tell my calm demeanor wasn't making a big hit with the audience. The audience wants to see you cry and yell and celebrate.
Finally, I was down to just 10 suitcases, including the one I had initially chosen. The $10 suitcase, the $100 suitcase, the $500 suitcase, the $1,000 suitcase, the $5,000 suitcase, the $10,000 suitcase, the $20,000 suitcase, the $50,000 suitcase, the $100,000 suitcase and the $1,000,000 suitcase were the only ones that hadn't been eliminated.
The host, Howie Mendel, says to me, "Well Lawrence, you've eliminated a lot of the big money suitcases, but the million dollar prize is still in play. Let's see what the banker has to say."
The phone rings and Howie picks it up. "Yes, I see." He says.
"Well Lawrence, the banker has decided to offer you $200,000 for your suitcase. Deal or no deal?"
The audience is all screaming at once.
DEAL!!!!
NO DEAL!!!!
DEAL!!!
NO DEAL!!!!
"What's it going to be Lawrence?"
I do some quick calculations in my head. "Well Howie, the banker is offering me almost twice my statistic potential. From a mathematical point of view, I think I'd have to be crazy not to take this deal."
The crowd yells and jeers.....
"But!" I interrupt, "For a long time, since I was very young, I've believed I was very special. That I had a gift. I've often told people this and they haven't believed me. But today, I'm going to prove it to the world. I don't need to see any more suitcases Howie, I have the million dollars right here."
The audience goes wild. Howie himself seems shocked.
"So you're saying you don't want to see any of the other suitcases? No deal whatsoever?"
"That's right Howie."
There is a dramatic pause as Howie talks slowly into the camera.
"Well, here we have a guy with a lot of confidence America. He's figured out that the banker offered him a great deal, but he's going to open the suitcase he initially picked. There's a 10% chance it contains one million dollars, but there's a 60% chance it contains $10,000 dollars or less. Are you sure you want to do this Lawrence."
"Yes Howie, I'm sure."
They open my suitcase, oh so slowly....
and it contains....
....
10 dollars!!!!!
The audience erupts in sighs of disappointment. I am expressionless.
"Well Lawrence, you had me going for a second there. I figured you might be pyschic, but you passed up a very good deal."
"Did I Howie? That 200 grand would've been nice, I can't lie, but I took a 10% chance on way more than a million dollars. Even though the chance was slim, I took it because there was a 10% chance that I could've proved to everyone watching today that I have an amazing gift."
"But Lawrence, you were wrong. You don't have a gift, it's a lie."
I smile.
"It's only a lie because it wasn't true, Howie."
I walked off stage with ten dollars of cash, but a million dollars of pride that I don't think anyone will ever be able to understand but me.
Marquis
Jack Dawkins
- Joined
- Jul 9, 2002
- Posts
- 10,462
It was an exciting day for the people of Kalaallit Nunat.
After months of living in perpetual darkness and freezing temperatures, the Caribou would soon be returning, the ground would soon be visible again, and most importantly, the sun would bless the tortured and weary Kalaallit with her radiance.
The Kalaallit life was defined by fear and unpredictability. A village that flourished for years could be eliminated in a month. The seals offered no warning or explanation for their disappearance, and did not apologize for the starvation their absense would cause. Appeals to the spirits of game were often ignored, but were always offered regardless. It would be bad enough to starve, without having to wonder if it was your fault.
With so little certainty in the Kalaallit world, it was often said that the people did not believe, they only feared.
But after countless generations of living on the frigid tundra of Kalaallit Nunat, the Kalaallit people had come to have great faith in two of their gods. Every year, the appearance of Malina, the sun goddess, and the departure of Anningan, her brother the moon god, has come to be predicted with greater and greater accuracy.
There was a time when all the men of the village would travel to the East coast to sit by the shoreline with outstretched hands, begging Malina to return. With the most unscientific estimations of her arrival, they would often be waiting for days, even weeks before her light would peek out over the horizon.
But those days were long past. The shamans and historians of the village had become adept at keeping accurate calendars without the benefit of daily sunrises and sunsets, and the precision of their prediction of Malina's return was measured in hours, not days.
But with this greater certainty, came a lack of apprehension, and as could almost be expected, a lack of concern for this once mysterious and ethereal event. Although greatly appreciated by all, Malina's return was thought of as guaranteed, and few cared to spend the energy to implore her to do what she was bound to do anyway.
So on this day, there were not 1000 Kalaallit hunters, not 100 or 10, but only 3 men who had chosen to take the journey towards the East and show their respects towards Anningan's sister. They were the sons of the village shaman, Irniq, Nauja and Amaruq.
During the long trip, they discussed amongst themselves the changing ways of the Kalallit people. As devout spiritualists, they were ashamed of their brethren who no longer joined them in this journey. There was no conversation regarding the relevance of this ritual, it felt right to them and that was enough.
They arrived at the coast with a few hours to spare and decided to erect an idol of bones and furs to please the goddess Malina. They kneeled by their idol and waited with outstretched hands for Malina's return. For the season when Caribou would be plentiful and children could be born more safely and their igloos would be traded for more comfortable tents.
They waited, silenty and as frozen as their icy surroundings for what eventually seemed like suspiciously too long. But they continued to wait and wait for hours without daring to disrespect Malina by moving even a single muscle or displaying the slightest hint of doubt on their faces.
Almost a full day passed before Irniq spoke what was on all of their minds.
"Something is wrong. Father has not been off by more than a single meal in the last 20 seasons. Malina has been the most kind and gracious of all spirits, but she can no longer tolerate the disrespect shown to her by our people."
There was a long silence before Nauja spoke his mind.
"Who is to say what Malina's temperament may be. She has never, in all the history of Kalaallit Nunat, failed to return. There is no man here who fully comprehends the methods our father uses to predict her return. He could've sent us early as a test of our faith. He is getting old and he could've made a mistake. Malina is not a vengeful goddess."
Amaruq thought for a while, and shared his thoughts with his brothers.
"Be it a test from our father or Malina herself, let us rise to the challenge. Let us not further shame our people by allowing Malina to arrive with our backs turned. We still have a few days provisions, we can wait until she or father is satisfied by our faith."
And they waited. They waited in the cold, dreary, uninhabited wasteland, wondering what those back at thier village might be thinking. Did they now wish they too had come to show proper respects to Malina? Would this be sufficient warning for seasons to come?
What could be happening?
It was unlike their father to intentionally beguile his sons as was suggested. He was so proud of his sons for taking this journey, why would he make it more difficult than necessary? As one of the most respected and sharp witted shamans, it was equally unlikely for him to have made a mistake. In all their lives, nothing like this had ever happened. It had been generations since Malina's return was predicted so inaccurately.
Was it possible...
Could it be....
that Malina was truly forsaking the people of Kalaallit Nunat?
For how long?
How deep was her resentment?
How justified?
The brothers pondered these questions in silence for three days. When the last of their rations was finished, Irniq spoke again.
"There can no longer be any doubt as to Malina's disposition. We have offended the greatest of all spirits by treating her as the least, and now we will be reminded of her importance. I accept and invite any cruelty Malina wishes to offer. Never will it be said that Irniq was a man of weak will or little faith. I will remain here until Malina returns or I will expire a more satisfied man than he who is condemned to live in eternal darkness."
Nauja spoke next.
"From the day I was old enough to take this journey to show my respects to Malina, I have taken it. I continue to take it when all others have forsaken her and let there be no question in either of your minds that I would've taken this journey for as long as my health allowed. If Malina wishes to punish me along with those that have forsaken her, then it seems that my efforts have been in vain. If I cannot have the light of Malina, I will learn to love Anningan's darkness all the more. I will forget the taste of Caribou and the warmth of summer and I shall be just as content."
Amaruq looked across the ocean pensively for a long time, then shared his thoughts.
"Malina is not a wicked goddess, but we have given her reason to question our faith. Let us do our best brothers, Malina will be reasonable."
The three brothers sat there for another day, hungry, tired and depressed before Irniq stood up and ran towards the idol they had built.
"I curse you Malina! I have loved you above all other spirits when others barely remember your name, and you care to punish them more than to reward me! You are the goddess of whores!"
And with that he toppled over the idol and left it in broken pieces. Nauja stood up as well.
"You are too emotional Irniq. It is obvious Malina cares nothing for you, so why do you offer her the pleasure of seeing you in pain? My brothers, I am returning to the village. You may join me and embrace this new life or you can choose to sit here until you die in the name of a goddess who will not save you."
Nauja dusted snow off his parka and did just as he said he would. Irniq cried into the snow while Amaruq sat still. Finally, Irniq spoke again.
"It is men like Nauja that have caused this to happen. Does he not realize that Malina can see through his lack of dedication? I have said and done horrible things, but only out of my passion and love for Malina. Surely she will recognize this. I am resolved to die in this spot and I throw myself entirely to her mercy."
Amaruq responded,
"It cannot be said whether Malina has a greater respect for men of pride, passion or reason. I cannot live past another day without eating, and there may not even be enough game on the way home to guarantee my survival if I wait that long. I will not abandon Malina, but after a day, she will have to understand that I must offer myself a chance to live. I do not want my children to grow up in a world without light, but a world without a father would be just as dark."
And the two men sat there and waited for Malina's return while their brother was getting closer and closer to home. Nauja wondered how he would be greeted by his fellow villagers when he arrived. He wondered about his brothers and what they would do.
Amaruq wondered if he could convince Irniq to come with him should Malina allow the time he set to elapse. He wondered if he should convince him, or let him choose his own death.
Irniq was the most free of them all, for he wondered nothing. He merely sat, and waited to be either Malina's blessed child and the hero of his village, or perhaps just a lucky snack for a wandering wolf.
How long would you wait?
After months of living in perpetual darkness and freezing temperatures, the Caribou would soon be returning, the ground would soon be visible again, and most importantly, the sun would bless the tortured and weary Kalaallit with her radiance.
The Kalaallit life was defined by fear and unpredictability. A village that flourished for years could be eliminated in a month. The seals offered no warning or explanation for their disappearance, and did not apologize for the starvation their absense would cause. Appeals to the spirits of game were often ignored, but were always offered regardless. It would be bad enough to starve, without having to wonder if it was your fault.
With so little certainty in the Kalaallit world, it was often said that the people did not believe, they only feared.
But after countless generations of living on the frigid tundra of Kalaallit Nunat, the Kalaallit people had come to have great faith in two of their gods. Every year, the appearance of Malina, the sun goddess, and the departure of Anningan, her brother the moon god, has come to be predicted with greater and greater accuracy.
There was a time when all the men of the village would travel to the East coast to sit by the shoreline with outstretched hands, begging Malina to return. With the most unscientific estimations of her arrival, they would often be waiting for days, even weeks before her light would peek out over the horizon.
But those days were long past. The shamans and historians of the village had become adept at keeping accurate calendars without the benefit of daily sunrises and sunsets, and the precision of their prediction of Malina's return was measured in hours, not days.
But with this greater certainty, came a lack of apprehension, and as could almost be expected, a lack of concern for this once mysterious and ethereal event. Although greatly appreciated by all, Malina's return was thought of as guaranteed, and few cared to spend the energy to implore her to do what she was bound to do anyway.
So on this day, there were not 1000 Kalaallit hunters, not 100 or 10, but only 3 men who had chosen to take the journey towards the East and show their respects towards Anningan's sister. They were the sons of the village shaman, Irniq, Nauja and Amaruq.
During the long trip, they discussed amongst themselves the changing ways of the Kalallit people. As devout spiritualists, they were ashamed of their brethren who no longer joined them in this journey. There was no conversation regarding the relevance of this ritual, it felt right to them and that was enough.
They arrived at the coast with a few hours to spare and decided to erect an idol of bones and furs to please the goddess Malina. They kneeled by their idol and waited with outstretched hands for Malina's return. For the season when Caribou would be plentiful and children could be born more safely and their igloos would be traded for more comfortable tents.
They waited, silenty and as frozen as their icy surroundings for what eventually seemed like suspiciously too long. But they continued to wait and wait for hours without daring to disrespect Malina by moving even a single muscle or displaying the slightest hint of doubt on their faces.
Almost a full day passed before Irniq spoke what was on all of their minds.
"Something is wrong. Father has not been off by more than a single meal in the last 20 seasons. Malina has been the most kind and gracious of all spirits, but she can no longer tolerate the disrespect shown to her by our people."
There was a long silence before Nauja spoke his mind.
"Who is to say what Malina's temperament may be. She has never, in all the history of Kalaallit Nunat, failed to return. There is no man here who fully comprehends the methods our father uses to predict her return. He could've sent us early as a test of our faith. He is getting old and he could've made a mistake. Malina is not a vengeful goddess."
Amaruq thought for a while, and shared his thoughts with his brothers.
"Be it a test from our father or Malina herself, let us rise to the challenge. Let us not further shame our people by allowing Malina to arrive with our backs turned. We still have a few days provisions, we can wait until she or father is satisfied by our faith."
And they waited. They waited in the cold, dreary, uninhabited wasteland, wondering what those back at thier village might be thinking. Did they now wish they too had come to show proper respects to Malina? Would this be sufficient warning for seasons to come?
What could be happening?
It was unlike their father to intentionally beguile his sons as was suggested. He was so proud of his sons for taking this journey, why would he make it more difficult than necessary? As one of the most respected and sharp witted shamans, it was equally unlikely for him to have made a mistake. In all their lives, nothing like this had ever happened. It had been generations since Malina's return was predicted so inaccurately.
Was it possible...
Could it be....
that Malina was truly forsaking the people of Kalaallit Nunat?
For how long?
How deep was her resentment?
How justified?
The brothers pondered these questions in silence for three days. When the last of their rations was finished, Irniq spoke again.
"There can no longer be any doubt as to Malina's disposition. We have offended the greatest of all spirits by treating her as the least, and now we will be reminded of her importance. I accept and invite any cruelty Malina wishes to offer. Never will it be said that Irniq was a man of weak will or little faith. I will remain here until Malina returns or I will expire a more satisfied man than he who is condemned to live in eternal darkness."
Nauja spoke next.
"From the day I was old enough to take this journey to show my respects to Malina, I have taken it. I continue to take it when all others have forsaken her and let there be no question in either of your minds that I would've taken this journey for as long as my health allowed. If Malina wishes to punish me along with those that have forsaken her, then it seems that my efforts have been in vain. If I cannot have the light of Malina, I will learn to love Anningan's darkness all the more. I will forget the taste of Caribou and the warmth of summer and I shall be just as content."
Amaruq looked across the ocean pensively for a long time, then shared his thoughts.
"Malina is not a wicked goddess, but we have given her reason to question our faith. Let us do our best brothers, Malina will be reasonable."
The three brothers sat there for another day, hungry, tired and depressed before Irniq stood up and ran towards the idol they had built.
"I curse you Malina! I have loved you above all other spirits when others barely remember your name, and you care to punish them more than to reward me! You are the goddess of whores!"
And with that he toppled over the idol and left it in broken pieces. Nauja stood up as well.
"You are too emotional Irniq. It is obvious Malina cares nothing for you, so why do you offer her the pleasure of seeing you in pain? My brothers, I am returning to the village. You may join me and embrace this new life or you can choose to sit here until you die in the name of a goddess who will not save you."
Nauja dusted snow off his parka and did just as he said he would. Irniq cried into the snow while Amaruq sat still. Finally, Irniq spoke again.
"It is men like Nauja that have caused this to happen. Does he not realize that Malina can see through his lack of dedication? I have said and done horrible things, but only out of my passion and love for Malina. Surely she will recognize this. I am resolved to die in this spot and I throw myself entirely to her mercy."
Amaruq responded,
"It cannot be said whether Malina has a greater respect for men of pride, passion or reason. I cannot live past another day without eating, and there may not even be enough game on the way home to guarantee my survival if I wait that long. I will not abandon Malina, but after a day, she will have to understand that I must offer myself a chance to live. I do not want my children to grow up in a world without light, but a world without a father would be just as dark."
And the two men sat there and waited for Malina's return while their brother was getting closer and closer to home. Nauja wondered how he would be greeted by his fellow villagers when he arrived. He wondered about his brothers and what they would do.
Amaruq wondered if he could convince Irniq to come with him should Malina allow the time he set to elapse. He wondered if he should convince him, or let him choose his own death.
Irniq was the most free of them all, for he wondered nothing. He merely sat, and waited to be either Malina's blessed child and the hero of his village, or perhaps just a lucky snack for a wandering wolf.
How long would you wait?
Marquis
Jack Dawkins
- Joined
- Jul 9, 2002
- Posts
- 10,462
On a very ordinary day at a very ordinary Starbucks, there were three patrons with no clue they were about to have a life changing experience. Each completely wrapped up in their own world, it was a miracle that any of them talked at all, but enough time had gone by and Laurie Lancaster was ready for the affirmation that comes from being desired by a man.
It was the middle of the day, the middle of the week and Laurie was at Starbuck's in her makeshift pajamas. Any man would do.
She flipped her hair at Melvin Smiles, who was looking sarcastically at his double skim latte. He turned around and pretended not to notice, then thought better of it and managed to turn and stare right at her. Unfortunately, it was only a fraction of a second before his eyes were again in the comfort of his beverage's indiscriminate love, sighing pitifully.
Victory, thought Laurie to herself, with a sadistic leer. She approached Melvin with her chest pushed as far out as she could manage without looking like she was pushing her chest as far out as she could manage......
she paused for a moment, frozen by this infinite paradox of infinitesimal importance. All of a sudden she felt quite cold and the entire place felt very uncomfortable, as if it were full of angry people, barely (but convincingly) masking their hostility.
Melvin saw Laurie stutter in her approach and was disappointed but unsurprised. His awkward response to her perfectly executed glance had clearly shot any chance he had at being respected by this exotic beauty.
Laurie was now walking towards the door as quickly as she could manage without appearing like she was walking towards the door as quickly as she could manage. She was stopped by a familiar voice. It was Brandon Powers, her upstairs neighbor, asking her why she was leaving her coffee and if she was ok.
Laurie looked over Brandon's shoulder to see if she still had Melvin's attention. Sheepish men like Melvin were a consistent and reliable source of the validation that Laurie needed to survive. Brandon had seen her get nervous before and figured she just needed a good strong shoulder to cry on, someone who would listen. He made it clear that he wanted to know what was wrong, because he knew how some people would only open up upon tenacious insistence. Being a good Samaritan made Brandon feel like a good person, which was important to him, being Mormon.
Today was not a good day for Brandon though and he became impatient with Laurie's short answers. All he was trying to do was help this poor confused woman and she couldn't even see he wasn't like the other guys around here who only wanted to fuck her. He did want to fuck her also, of course, and had on many occasions.
She was hot (and kinda easy), what the fuck?
Mormons can fuck. It wasn't like he was fucking everything walking like most guys his age, either. In fact, Brandon was proud to be rather reserved with his sexuality, despite his high libido.
Melvin couldn't have been more confused. Had he offended this strange woman somehow? Why was she leaving right after seeing him? Was his very presence that offensive? He suspected so. What could a woman like that possibly see in a short, balding man like him?
Here's what happened. She was looking in disgust, like an idiot, he thought she might be flirting with him. His ignorant glance had forced her to deal with the idea of him as a mate, or even a brief conversation partner, and she was violently seized by repulsion.
Still, there was no harm in double checking. It would certainly only mean further humiliation, but at this point he was used to that. His self esteem was so far gone in fact, that confirming his suspicions would only bring him to that marvelous breaking point that would allow him to grow and change.
Melvin walked towards Laurie Lancaster and Brandon Powers, brimming with neurotic confidence and self destructive gumption.
For Laurie Lancaster, a potentially positive situation was turning disastrously negative. Under normal circumstances, running into either of these fine gentlemen at Starbucks would've been a pleasant diversion. Having both of them there to compete for her attention could've been an orgy of false affirmation for an attention starved whore like Laurie. But Laurie had already fallen into a mini-anxiety attack and desperately craved the ability to disappear into thin air. But since she couldn't vanish she would have to repel, a task for which she was acutely talented.
A whirlpool of attraction and repulsion, was Laurie Lancaster. Rarely unnoticed and favored less than half of the time, certainly.
It was somewhere around this thought that Melvin's voice interrupted with his best impression of a concerned, sensitive, masculine stranger.
"Why can't I go anywhere without being hit on!" shrieked Laurie, loud enough for everyone to hear, but with enough insanity in her voice to keep anyone from looking up from the coveted protection of laptop computers, newspapers and their insipid, flaccid company.
Brandon and Melvin stood back in shock while they considered whose fault this was, a cerebral rationalization to prove what the lizard brain already knew. It was the other guy. Each of them knew that if the other hadn't stuck his fat face in there would be pleasant conversation by now….. maybe during a walk towards somewhere more private.
Melvin decided to show Laurie how considerate and unthreatened by Brandon he was by speaking to both of them kindly. Brandon couldn't be sure how Laurie felt, so he decided it was in his best interest to follow suit. The two of them eased a sobbing Laurie into a comfortable sofa seat, one on each arm, cooing like love birds.
For a long time nobody said anything. Everyone exchanged quick and furtive glances and you could've cut the tension among the three of them with a knife, or between any two of them for that matter.
Laurie cursed herself. She cursed her cute pajamas and her fattening Pumpkin Spice Vanilla Caramel Macchiato. She cursed her breasts and her ass and her lips and her hair. She cursed the pile of mail waiting for her at home and she cursed her beat up old Mercedes. She cursed her mother and her father, and the personality traits she had inherited from them.
Utterly pointless, she thought to herself. I am so depressed.
Melvin mourned himself. He mourned his moderate height and his receding hairline. He mourned the sleepy little town where he grew up and he mourned his faggoty skim latte. He mourned his inability to remember where he left his keys and he mourned his docile nature. Mostly he mourned his mother and his father, who had never been of particular use to anyone.
Nothing can be done, he decided. His depression was completely justified.
Brandon was filled with regret. He regretted moving to this God-forsaken land. He regretted his devotion to God and his inability to join the rest of the world in its crapulence. He regretted his wasted good looks and his humble, meaningless life. He regretted putting himself in positions to be humiliated by people he didn't think highly of in the first place. Secretly, he deeply regretted his parents and his inability to be his own person.
He had to do better with himself than this, he concluded. He was completely depressed.
It was at that moment that a man walked into the coffee shop with a red plastic container of gasoline in one hand and began pouring it over himself. The smell was the first thing everyone noticed, and this was an insanity too invasive to ignore.
"To protest the poverty in the United Arab Emirates," he said, and lit himself on fire with a smile.
It was the middle of the day, the middle of the week and Laurie was at Starbuck's in her makeshift pajamas. Any man would do.
She flipped her hair at Melvin Smiles, who was looking sarcastically at his double skim latte. He turned around and pretended not to notice, then thought better of it and managed to turn and stare right at her. Unfortunately, it was only a fraction of a second before his eyes were again in the comfort of his beverage's indiscriminate love, sighing pitifully.
Victory, thought Laurie to herself, with a sadistic leer. She approached Melvin with her chest pushed as far out as she could manage without looking like she was pushing her chest as far out as she could manage......
she paused for a moment, frozen by this infinite paradox of infinitesimal importance. All of a sudden she felt quite cold and the entire place felt very uncomfortable, as if it were full of angry people, barely (but convincingly) masking their hostility.
Melvin saw Laurie stutter in her approach and was disappointed but unsurprised. His awkward response to her perfectly executed glance had clearly shot any chance he had at being respected by this exotic beauty.
Laurie was now walking towards the door as quickly as she could manage without appearing like she was walking towards the door as quickly as she could manage. She was stopped by a familiar voice. It was Brandon Powers, her upstairs neighbor, asking her why she was leaving her coffee and if she was ok.
Laurie looked over Brandon's shoulder to see if she still had Melvin's attention. Sheepish men like Melvin were a consistent and reliable source of the validation that Laurie needed to survive. Brandon had seen her get nervous before and figured she just needed a good strong shoulder to cry on, someone who would listen. He made it clear that he wanted to know what was wrong, because he knew how some people would only open up upon tenacious insistence. Being a good Samaritan made Brandon feel like a good person, which was important to him, being Mormon.
Today was not a good day for Brandon though and he became impatient with Laurie's short answers. All he was trying to do was help this poor confused woman and she couldn't even see he wasn't like the other guys around here who only wanted to fuck her. He did want to fuck her also, of course, and had on many occasions.
She was hot (and kinda easy), what the fuck?
Mormons can fuck. It wasn't like he was fucking everything walking like most guys his age, either. In fact, Brandon was proud to be rather reserved with his sexuality, despite his high libido.
Melvin couldn't have been more confused. Had he offended this strange woman somehow? Why was she leaving right after seeing him? Was his very presence that offensive? He suspected so. What could a woman like that possibly see in a short, balding man like him?
Here's what happened. She was looking in disgust, like an idiot, he thought she might be flirting with him. His ignorant glance had forced her to deal with the idea of him as a mate, or even a brief conversation partner, and she was violently seized by repulsion.
Still, there was no harm in double checking. It would certainly only mean further humiliation, but at this point he was used to that. His self esteem was so far gone in fact, that confirming his suspicions would only bring him to that marvelous breaking point that would allow him to grow and change.
Melvin walked towards Laurie Lancaster and Brandon Powers, brimming with neurotic confidence and self destructive gumption.
For Laurie Lancaster, a potentially positive situation was turning disastrously negative. Under normal circumstances, running into either of these fine gentlemen at Starbucks would've been a pleasant diversion. Having both of them there to compete for her attention could've been an orgy of false affirmation for an attention starved whore like Laurie. But Laurie had already fallen into a mini-anxiety attack and desperately craved the ability to disappear into thin air. But since she couldn't vanish she would have to repel, a task for which she was acutely talented.
A whirlpool of attraction and repulsion, was Laurie Lancaster. Rarely unnoticed and favored less than half of the time, certainly.
It was somewhere around this thought that Melvin's voice interrupted with his best impression of a concerned, sensitive, masculine stranger.
"Why can't I go anywhere without being hit on!" shrieked Laurie, loud enough for everyone to hear, but with enough insanity in her voice to keep anyone from looking up from the coveted protection of laptop computers, newspapers and their insipid, flaccid company.
Brandon and Melvin stood back in shock while they considered whose fault this was, a cerebral rationalization to prove what the lizard brain already knew. It was the other guy. Each of them knew that if the other hadn't stuck his fat face in there would be pleasant conversation by now….. maybe during a walk towards somewhere more private.
Melvin decided to show Laurie how considerate and unthreatened by Brandon he was by speaking to both of them kindly. Brandon couldn't be sure how Laurie felt, so he decided it was in his best interest to follow suit. The two of them eased a sobbing Laurie into a comfortable sofa seat, one on each arm, cooing like love birds.
For a long time nobody said anything. Everyone exchanged quick and furtive glances and you could've cut the tension among the three of them with a knife, or between any two of them for that matter.
Laurie cursed herself. She cursed her cute pajamas and her fattening Pumpkin Spice Vanilla Caramel Macchiato. She cursed her breasts and her ass and her lips and her hair. She cursed the pile of mail waiting for her at home and she cursed her beat up old Mercedes. She cursed her mother and her father, and the personality traits she had inherited from them.
Utterly pointless, she thought to herself. I am so depressed.
Melvin mourned himself. He mourned his moderate height and his receding hairline. He mourned the sleepy little town where he grew up and he mourned his faggoty skim latte. He mourned his inability to remember where he left his keys and he mourned his docile nature. Mostly he mourned his mother and his father, who had never been of particular use to anyone.
Nothing can be done, he decided. His depression was completely justified.
Brandon was filled with regret. He regretted moving to this God-forsaken land. He regretted his devotion to God and his inability to join the rest of the world in its crapulence. He regretted his wasted good looks and his humble, meaningless life. He regretted putting himself in positions to be humiliated by people he didn't think highly of in the first place. Secretly, he deeply regretted his parents and his inability to be his own person.
He had to do better with himself than this, he concluded. He was completely depressed.
It was at that moment that a man walked into the coffee shop with a red plastic container of gasoline in one hand and began pouring it over himself. The smell was the first thing everyone noticed, and this was an insanity too invasive to ignore.
"To protest the poverty in the United Arab Emirates," he said, and lit himself on fire with a smile.
Marquis
Jack Dawkins
- Joined
- Jul 9, 2002
- Posts
- 10,462
I woke up this morning to find myself floating in space, surrounded by brilliant galaxies light years away. I tried to remember if I had always been a mind floating in space and could not recall if I had a different sort of life once. As I drifted through the darkness I imagined myself a pristine environment to exist in and it came into being around me as quickly as I thought of it.
I created a body for myself and walked among the gardens and groves of my self-created paradise, running through plains of emerald green grass and jumping across frothy waterfalls. I became bored and invented friends and lovers and spoke empty words to them that they responded to with peels of laughter or choked sobs, whatever emotions I desired to see in them and their love for me was all consuming and worshipful.
I became bored and created vile, menacing creatures which I slew with a long thin blade I made out of my desire to be dangerous. As I cut them down one by one and their bodies disappeared into nothingness I became bored again and created a fantastic monster of tremendous size and strength and keen cunning and the ability to defeat me. I mounted my winged horse and swooped down on it with my golden armor glinting in the manufactured sunlight. The monster watched my approach with red hateful eyes and a disdainful curl to its fang filled mouth. With one sudden snap of it's claw it squeezed both my mount and myself like an overripe fruit and I returned again to nothingness.
I created a body for myself and walked among the gardens and groves of my self-created paradise, running through plains of emerald green grass and jumping across frothy waterfalls. I became bored and invented friends and lovers and spoke empty words to them that they responded to with peels of laughter or choked sobs, whatever emotions I desired to see in them and their love for me was all consuming and worshipful.
I became bored and created vile, menacing creatures which I slew with a long thin blade I made out of my desire to be dangerous. As I cut them down one by one and their bodies disappeared into nothingness I became bored again and created a fantastic monster of tremendous size and strength and keen cunning and the ability to defeat me. I mounted my winged horse and swooped down on it with my golden armor glinting in the manufactured sunlight. The monster watched my approach with red hateful eyes and a disdainful curl to its fang filled mouth. With one sudden snap of it's claw it squeezed both my mount and myself like an overripe fruit and I returned again to nothingness.
Aurantica
Beloved and Devoted Pet
- Joined
- Oct 22, 2010
- Posts
- 4,115
Same here. Kafka's was depressing. And weird. I mean, we dont even get to fiind out what turned him into an insect.
Marquis
Jack Dawkins
- Joined
- Jul 9, 2002
- Posts
- 10,462
I absent-mindedly bite into the knuckle on my right index finger as I think of what to say. Coming up with nothing, I bite harder and am surprised at my own tolerance for this abuse. I bite a little harder, and a little harder still.
I am fascinated by the deep indentations.
I am fascinated by the deep indentations.
Lord_Steve
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- May 12, 2011
- Posts
- 1,128
world
of
war
craft
You're
welcome
!!
oh man that didn't format at all like I planned *kicks can wistfully, dust devils dance in the background*
Marquis
Jack Dawkins
- Joined
- Jul 9, 2002
- Posts
- 10,462
A warrior sharpens his blade a week before battle. He wakes up early to do it, his wife and young child sleep through the distinct whine of the stone running along the edge of his killing tool.
I don't know where the warrior is from or when. I don't know if he holds a bronze sword or an iron axe in his hand or a bludgeon of wood and bone. He prepares his weapon in an absentminded way while his family sleeps, and he dreams of battles gone and yet to come. He dreams of the screams and the cries and the blood splattering his face and accidentally tasting a little bit of human blood after splitting the skull of a man that doesn't look too different from him.
He runs a stone along his blade and his bicep remembers exactly how much pressure it takes to pierce a man's sternum and plunge death into him. The sound a blade makes slithering out of a chest is not so different from the sound a stone makes against a blade. The warrior chops off heads and hands and hacks at people and he feels a lightness in his body as he thinks about it. He feels the fatigue of the heavy training lift off of him as he imagines a man's jaw split in half and his tongue wagging loosely in the dirt amongst crushed teeth and split bones. Let not man be dishonored by lazy defeats.
And he dreams of a soldier, brave and true. Stout about his mid-section and firm in his jaw. A drinker of milk and water, or even a swill, so gifted as to make his habits.....
Our warrior dreams of another warrior. He dreams of that warrior cutting him down. He runs his stone along his sword and dreams of a warrior outsmarting him in battle and overpowering him and he swoons with ecstasy at the thought of his own chest being plunged with steel. He feels the deep rest and the honor and he wishes for it with all of his might and hope, that the next battle be one of honor. More than anything that the battle be one of honor. Kill or be killed matters not to the warrior, but to kill or die with honor.
More than the woman and child that lay sleeping by his feet, the warrior wants to die with honor. To be slain in battle by a warrior greater than he at the maximum of his own ability. To froth at the mouth and go mad in the eyes and let go of everything that makes him human and be slain by a destiny greater than his own.
I don't know where the warrior is from or when. I don't know if he holds a bronze sword or an iron axe in his hand or a bludgeon of wood and bone. He prepares his weapon in an absentminded way while his family sleeps, and he dreams of battles gone and yet to come. He dreams of the screams and the cries and the blood splattering his face and accidentally tasting a little bit of human blood after splitting the skull of a man that doesn't look too different from him.
He runs a stone along his blade and his bicep remembers exactly how much pressure it takes to pierce a man's sternum and plunge death into him. The sound a blade makes slithering out of a chest is not so different from the sound a stone makes against a blade. The warrior chops off heads and hands and hacks at people and he feels a lightness in his body as he thinks about it. He feels the fatigue of the heavy training lift off of him as he imagines a man's jaw split in half and his tongue wagging loosely in the dirt amongst crushed teeth and split bones. Let not man be dishonored by lazy defeats.
And he dreams of a soldier, brave and true. Stout about his mid-section and firm in his jaw. A drinker of milk and water, or even a swill, so gifted as to make his habits.....
Our warrior dreams of another warrior. He dreams of that warrior cutting him down. He runs his stone along his sword and dreams of a warrior outsmarting him in battle and overpowering him and he swoons with ecstasy at the thought of his own chest being plunged with steel. He feels the deep rest and the honor and he wishes for it with all of his might and hope, that the next battle be one of honor. More than anything that the battle be one of honor. Kill or be killed matters not to the warrior, but to kill or die with honor.
More than the woman and child that lay sleeping by his feet, the warrior wants to die with honor. To be slain in battle by a warrior greater than he at the maximum of his own ability. To froth at the mouth and go mad in the eyes and let go of everything that makes him human and be slain by a destiny greater than his own.
intothewoods
Truth seeker
- Joined
- Jan 12, 2007
- Posts
- 10,966
Did you read Game of Thrones, or watch the series on HBO? That reminds me a bit of the Dothraki.
