~More than 1 billion people around the world live on less than $1 a day.
~A child dies every three seconds from AIDS and extreme poverty.
~Africa has been hit harder by the HIV/AIDS virus than any other region of the world. Sub-Saharan Africa is home to over 70% of the total world HIV-positive population.
~Over one billion people do not have access to clean water.
~2.8 billion people live in poverty.
Go to www.one.org. Help make a difference. It might not seem like much, but at least sign your name, give your e-mail address. If politicians see the number of people who consider this a major problem, they'll be more inclined to do something to help.
When I saw the number of people registered go from 2,387,963 to 2,387,964, I have to tell you, I felt proud.
Think about it. One, two three. A kid just died. One, two three, there goes another. One, two three...One, two,three...one two three...
It won't stop. Unless we make it.
Thanks guys, it means a lot.
~Kate
Oh, and if you want to be moved and motivated on this particular subject, please watch "Girl in the Cafe". Or just watch it cause its got Bill Nighy.
NOTE: A fan-fiction about Davy Jones before his curse, the story of how he came to be a fish face lord of the sea, and his undying love for---Tia Dalma.
~O~
Deep in the storm-struck Caribbean the mighty, cursed ship rocks violently in the night. A score of crew-men scramble on deck, preparing to take the Flying Dutchman below the depths, where the water was sure to be calmer.
May the Gods help them should they fail to get the ship somewhere calm before the Captain woke.
None of the crew particularly fancied the idea of a peeved, sleep-deprived Davy Jones.
But, below the starboard deck, asleep at his haunting organ the Captain rested fitfully, undisturbed by the storm, but trapped deep in the dreams of unwanted memories.
~<>~
Inside a Spanish mansion, during an unusually warm summer evening, the host family dines with their guests at their finest table, with their best china.
The hosts, a very political caballero and his wife, as well as their daughter, whom it was well know was being pressed to marry soon by her father, seemed all too delighted to be entertaining their guests. Behind the caballero's daughter stood his manservant Rukka, his wife's maid, Safara, who was aging but still quite capable, and their daughter's friend and servant, Tia.
Tia was the lone child of the maid, Safara, and had practically been raised as a sister to the eligible bachelorette. She had not, of course, been given the same education. Even so, the young lady of the house would often seek her friend's help at the subjects in which Safara had taught her daughter, such as science and biological studies.
The beautiful, dark-skinned servant seemed to have a natural gift for earth-subjects. When it came to botany, young Tia was more than a match even for her own mother.
Tia's beauty and intellect made her mistress's father nervous to have her around whenever an eligible bachelor was in the house. But then, he would reason, she was a servant, with no money to offer, no bloodline to continue that a man would want to join, and was dark-skinned. Besides. She was merely attractive, and exotically so, whereas his daughter was perfectly proper and gorgeous beyond compare.
The family's guest, a well-established Scottish nobleman, did not seem to agree with his host's opinion. In fact, the successful, imposing man seemed barely able to walk straight whenever he crossed paths with the intriguing servant woman.
Tia, of course, noticed this. As did her mother, and the man of the house. But the caballero naively dismissed it as an absurd notion, and persisted in flaunting his even further clueless daughter to the respected businessman.
Who would have guessed that their guest, the very model of propriety and aristocracy engaged joyfully and frequently in acts of piracy? And above all, who would have fathomed that such a seemly perfect man would fall head-over-heels for a lowly, other-worldly servant girl?
~<>~
Davy Jones jolted awake, jumping as one of his tentacles landed on a key, sending the organ's note blasting into the previously silent cabin. Once he recovered, a look of longing and despair flooded his eyes.
'My beautiful Tia...why could you never love me? Why couldn't you give me the chance to prove I was the man I said I was? After all, it was you who taught me that there was more to a person than their appearance... '
As the cursed man brooded silently, his gaze wandered down to his tiny intricate silver pendant. A tear appeared in the far corners of his eye, and disappeared as quickly as they had come; the pendant had opened and played its single ticking tune, once again sending his back into his painful dreamland.
~<>~
The caballero stood outside the modest library with his guest, Lord Davy Jones. The stone hall that reached from the library and the parlor outside, where flowered arches led to the more lived-in side of the casa, and to the right, the servants quarters, was seeming a bit too small for the British Lord’s comfort at the moment. If Mondago asked him once more about his daughter, he was afraid he might blurt out that he felt not even the slightest bit attracted to the her.
What bothered him most was that he had every reason to be. She was of noble blood. She was rich, beautiful, and a highly respectable young lady. His family would finally establish solid ties to Spain. The maiden even seemed greatly attracted to him, though he doubted it was substantial, even though she couldn’t have been more than twenty-five. He sighed. What had Mondago asked him?
“Pardon?” He tried not to sound too distracted. Mondago fought an impatient sigh. The Scottish Lord was renowned for his strict demeanor and authority, yet lately he had been acting very… dreamy and out of character.
“Rosetta is traveling to the Gardens for an afternoon luncheon. She has asked that I invite you to accompany her.”
“Oh, well, I… I have quite a bit of business to be attending to…” He trailed off, scratching his head. 'I hope that didn’t sound to repelled, or obvious.'
“Oh, come now! It’s just a brief luncheon. Rukka and Tia will be accompanying the two of you.” Davy glanced back at Mondago a bit too quickly. “I am sure your business can wait for later this evening.”
“Well, I…” 'Steady boy, time it…careful…' “I suppose. Tell her that I’d be delighted to join her.” 'Well at least that came out right...' Mondago beamed.
“I shall.” He firmly shook Jones’ hand. They turned and walked their separate ways, the caballero into his parlor, Jones back to the main house. He brushed off his hand as he glanced longingly down the path to the right at the servant’s quarters.
He passed the path, shaking his head, and retired to his room.
~<>~
The squid resembling, seaweed covered captain stirred, his eyes flickering in and out of consciousness.
'Why did you have to die before I could prove to you my soul was true? Why did you have to die? But look at me now… Was I ever worthy of you? At least you’ll never see the monster that I’ve become…'
With that foreboding thought, he faded back into darkness.
~<>~
The earthly witch thumped back against her straw chair in surrender.
'Damn you fortune claws! Chu mock me YET AGAIN!'
The Jamaican woman’s hut was filled with jars and herbs and odd parts of all types of exotic animals. Pagan crafts lay scattered messily throughout. She flipped over her small round table, sending it crashing against the muddy floor of the crudely thatched hut.
'Ah know he’s still alive! I known dat fohevah! Doh he still tinks dat Ah’m dead…'
Captain Barbossa’s undead monkey leapt into her lap and squealed. She glared spitefully at it. She was tired of its games, thinking that it ran the place. She’d show it…
“Yah can’t scare me n’more.” It whimpered and disappeared. She sighed.
'As soon as yah proved dat yah were da man dat yeh claimed at be, yah went and cursed yahself. Don’ yah see? Yah became da very man dat yeh swore yah weren’t. Haunten’ da seas, feelin’ sorry fer yahself…'
Though Rosetta had died many years ago, her servant, Tia, thanks to her inherited magic, had stayed in her mid-twenties for nigh a century.
“Dose who knew yah as a man have died o’ long forgotten yah. But I, Davy Jones, have not.”
~<>~
“Do you think he’ll come?” The Spanish maiden asked her servant girl. She shifted in the warm grass, looking away from the baby blue sky.
Tia studied the flowers in her palm.
“I tink he will. He said he would, no?” Her mistress sighed.
Currently I am wishing someone would do the dreaded last part of my summer AP english reading homework for me. I don't mind the tedious task of typing the tremendosly tumultuos amount of words, (lol), what I mind is figureing out what exactly to write. I hate homework.
Especially when it isn't half as fun as seeing Pirates of the Caribbean Dead Man's Chest for the THIRD time.
^___^
I am also wishing that someone would stumble upon my site here so that I could talk to someone besides myself.
I have to go vacuum my bathroom so my Dad isn't upset when he gets home in half an hour.
Water falls All around me Death and violence So untimely Cruelty, Obscenities Painted around Trapped forever Can't flee to ground
Stuck at sea No one but me These men who serve They don't deserve To suffer here Anymore than me If only I were free
Yet unlike them I welcomed this curse Upon me.
I'm trapped in time In this nautical prison A free life for some Bars existence in for me I can't leave these waters Can't see any farther Than the great blue sea A once beautiful ocean, Became prison to me.
All that was beautiful Haunts and ties me To cruel memories And a dream so kindly That I'd disappear Now and forever To the musical dream Soft as a feather
When I sleep at night I breathe in the promise Of a bright red key Right in front of me I can't release More than the rhythm Such a cruel, cruel dream To only see
I'm trapped in time In this nautical prison A free life for some Bars existence in for me I can't leave these waters Can't see any farther Than the great blue sea My once beautiful ocean, Now a prison for me.
So I'm trapped in time In a beautiful prison With nothing but rhyme And a sad little tune That comes from something precious A sweet little box That won't leave me be...
You sail the seas Drifting far from All you once loved Hide from truth and Hide from love Grief too strong And pain so piercing Love not all it’s made to be
Take your heart and Lock it far away Save the key In case there should come a day You fail to unlock it- Ten long years to wait
For what? For love? For a second chance Did you not lose hope In such a fleeting romance Or fear that the key Should someday be stolen Taking your heart- Taking your soul
Take your heart and Lock it far away Save the key Will there come a day? You fail to unlock it- Ten long years to wait
Cursed to sail the world forever Rule the sea that holds you captive Release will come Flowing gently Do you fear love’s tender touch? Some like it hot You like it cold What will it take? To melt the glacier Can the abyss between be closed?
Stop hiding From what you want the most When you close your eyes Lay asleep at night The fierce organ rests And the gentle box sings Its song of release Its song of love’s promise
Take the key Unlock the heart inside Open your box I’m there inside
You won’t fail I’m there to help you I’m not stuck on land You aren’t stuck at sea Ten years, I could wait a thousand Open me, and finally be free…
We were long gone before the police arrived. We were almost out of the forest now, and the rain was pounding down harder then ever.
“ Here.” I took off my hat. “ Take it, it will keep your head dry.”
“ Thank you.” She said quietly as she put it on. Neither of us had said anything since we left. I figured if she wanted to talk, she would. And when that time came, I would listen.
“ Do you mind if I ask you a couple of questions?” She asked, innocently enough.
“ Not at all.”
“ Why didn’t you kill Rufus?”
“ Rufus?”
“ My husband.”
“ Ah. I don’t believe it would have done any good. It would have been un-necessary.”
“ He would have deserved it.”
“ I’m sorry?” There was no way I had just heard her correctly.
“ I almost wish he would have got his just-desserts.” I smiled lightly.
“ But he will. In the end.” She was quiet for a while, then seemed to accept my answer.
“ And why did you offer to take me home, and not the driver, or anyone else?”
“ You were the only one not directly involved in all that.”
“ I think there were a few guards that didn’t quite know what was going on. Like the young one- the one who killed his partner.” I nodded.
“ I thought so. But I couldn’t very well have gone back for him, what with the police coming and all. Perhaps I will pay him a visit later.” There was another brief moment of silence, and the woman nodded to herself, as if she had just come to a long awaited conclusion.
“ Let me thank you… by making you dinner.”
“ My lady, you don’t have to do that.”
“ Oh but I do! Look, I don’t think you understand. You will be my children’s hero- getting Rufus thrown into jail. He was… mean to them. I wanted a better father for them, but… last time I went to church to confess, I asked about a divorce. I was told to never mention such a thing again.”
We were quiet for a few minutes after that. As we got farther into society, we began to receive a few skeptical and disapproving glances.
I suppose noblemen’s wives don’t go riding around with bandits in the pouring rain too often.
“ It’s up the street from the pub. Up a hill. La Masquerade Villas. Second row up, in behind the rest. You know, private property for the wealthy.”
We soon passed the pub.
“ When was the last time you went to church?”
“ Too long. It’s just, Rufus thinks it’s a bunch of make believe feeble hope rubbish that poisons the mind.”
“ Do you agree?” I asked.
“ Not at all! But you saw what happens when you disagree with that man.” I considered.
“ Do me one favor.”
“ Yes, of course. Anything. I still wish you’d let me cook for you.”
“ Someday, perhaps. But you know the Frelaine police will come to your home soon after they get the news from the neighboring country’s force.”
“ Yes, I suppose you’re right.”
“ I’d like you to start going again. To church. Rufus will be behind bars, he can’t stop you. He doesn’t even have to know.”
“ I heard we have a new priest taking over the old church.”
“ Perfect. Go tomorrow; it’s Sunday. There’ll be a grand opening sermon.”
“ I’ll have to go alone. The children are already planning to visit friends.”
“ There’s nothing wrong with that.” I spotted the lamppost that started the second row of villas.
“ In here.”
“ The large one at the top of the hill?”
“ Home sweet home.” She said dryly. A short while later, we reached the front of the mansion. I rode up to the door, and watched as she clanged the knocker from my horse. She turned around.
“ I almost forgot.” She took off my hat and held it up to me. I took it, put it on slowly, and tipped it.
“ Good evening, m’lady.” I smiled at her, and she smiled back, turned, and rapped on the door.
“ I’m fine now. Our Butler will let me in.”
“ Very well then.” I nodded, and slowly rode away into the darkness, shrouded by fog. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“ Say, ain’t you the new Father in town?” The big, bald, beefy pub master asked me, drying the inside of a wine glass with a towel.
“ Yes.”
“ Um… are you supposed tah be here?” He asked, pouring me a glass of blood red wine in the freshly dried goblet. I sighed.
“ Small treats are not a sin. Habbitatual indulgences are, however.”
“ So is that a yes or a no?” I opened my mouth to answer when the door swung open, letting in a blast of cold air.
“ Close the bloody door!” The only other person in the bar, an elderly man, shouted. Then, realizing it was the police Chief, he quickly apologized. “ Oh, ah… heh. Sorry.”
“ Quite alright chap, I don’t much blame ye. It’s right freezin’ out there.” He walked further in and let the door swing back shut.
“ How can I help ye Chief?” The pub keeper asked, setting another dried glass down. So you know, I had gone to the church, changed and bandaged up before coming here.
I focused harder on my drink.
“ Just here tah ask if ye’ve seen any suspicious characters around. Ye know.” He had one hand on a stool next to me.
“ No ‘un here but Old man Smithers ‘n Father Salvadore here.” They looked at me.
“ You’re the new Priest here?”
“ Yes, sir.”
“ Well good. Maybe you can put this town back together.” I smiled.
“ Maybe.” They kept looking at me for a while.
“ You seem a bit young for a priest.” Old man Smithers spoke up, breaking the silence.
“ Hmm. Well, we don’t all have to be old cronies, do we?” They laughed at that.
“ I like you already.” The officer said, patting me on the back. Then he held out his hand. “ Name’s Clayton Bursch. Nice tah meet you.” ( I noticed how he was trying to straighten his speech around me. I found that amusing.)
“ You too.” I shook back. He sat down next to me and gave a deep sigh.
“ Bring me a pint, would ye?”
“ Gladly.”
“ Ye know, I’m not gonna go chasin’ this Bandit guy. Ye ask me, he did good. You know what he did?”
“ No.” The pub keeper said, filling the mug.
“ He stopped a drug shipment from comin’ into the city, ‘n caught a couple noblemen betrayin’ their classes ‘n positions. I think he may’ve stumbled onto some kinda conspiracy with the National Guard too.”
“ Sounds like a hero.” Old man Smithers said. We jumped every time he spoke; we kept forgetting he was there. Bursch’s drink sprayed from his face.
“ Hah hah. Ye gotta come up here Frolly! Ye’re scarin’ the bajeezus outta us back there!” Frolly slowly got up, pushed in his chair and scooted in next to us.
“ And I agree. Sheesh, with him ’n you in town Father, we might just get this town patched up.”
I let myself chuckle, and took another sip of my wine.
If only he knew.
NOTE: I have to re-type chapter four because it didn't save 80% of it. So, if you would, please look at some of my other writings while waiting. Thanks! <3
The carriage was only a few feet away now, and I bent to leap. The driver didn’t look too pleased to see me there.
“Well what are ye waitin’ fer James? A bloody personal invitation? Get ‘em!” My burly friend shouted. ( I had a feeling he didn’t like me too much.)
At that moment I leapt, and the driver swerved his direction. Frantically, I fumbled for something to hold on to.
I clutched the rim of the top of the coach. As they began to pick up speed, I dangled on the back like a human banner. Careful not to slip off, I crawled onto the top.
“Whew.” I stood up, took off my hat, and wiped my forehead. Then I walked up to the front, crouched down and leaned over. The driver looked up. “Evenin’.” His eyes bulged and the carriage jerked again.
This time, however, I was ready.
“Hey!” One of the two remaining guards shouted unpleasantly. He was standing in the open doorway on the left side of the cab.
“Hello!” I shouted back over the loud hoof beats, tipping my hat. He scowled. We took a sharp turn then, causing me to fall on my back. I rolled once and landed on my stomach face to face with the guard. He grinned, nodded back, and drew his sword.
He was faster than I expected, but not fast enough. I had my sword drawn and up in time to block his attack. I blocked another, and the next. ( It is a very hard thing to do you know, fighting on your stomach.)
Then he made his mistake; he attacked in a mindless rage. I sent his sword flying.
We watched it land on the ground a few feet in behind us.
He slowly turned to face me, now half the man he was when he had a weapon. I placed the tip of my blade on his forehead. He closed his eyes, quivering in fear.
“Jump off. Just jump off and I’ll spare your life.” He shook his head violently then jumped. I watched him roll until he was too far away to catch up.
Of course, I never would have killed him in the first place. But he didn’t have to know that.
I pushed myself up and turned to watch the Captain of the Guards join me.
“I don’t know who you are,” He began, holding his sword out in front of him, “But this ends with me.” He had a crisp British accent.
“I suppose you will have to kill me because I have seen to much, and am a threat to your position.”
“Yes, exactly.”
“And does the ridiculous man in charge of the national guards know of your… escapades?”
“No. He is not involved.”
“And why are you?”
“You must understand, my dear fellow, I am not a bad man.” He smirked.
“Of course not.” I said with sarcasm. “You stand for liberty, justice, and the people, right?” We were circling each other now, swords drawn.
“Precisely.” He grinned, then frowned in false seriousness. “I am simply keeping the… issues, of or land’s richer, more powerful influences at bay by, fulfilling their needs.”
“You mean doing their dirty work.”
“Yes, well… call it what you wish. It is of no consequence. You will not be around much longer anyway.”
“A little confident in yourself, eh?” He smirked.
“As are you.” He lowered his sword and took his stance. I grinned and took mine.
“Your move.” I prompted.
“Gladly.” He stepped forward and sparks flew as our swords clashed and clanged together.
His moves, then mine. His, then mine. This continued for nearly a minute. Then it began to rain and keeping our footing became difficult. Neither of us was willing to fall off. He was going to see the illegal shipment through, and I was going to stop it.
Ignoring the rain, we battled on. As I jabbed at him, he went to move away slightly and slipped. His sword was now out of reach for him, and he was on his back, at my mercy.
Naturally, this is when we took another sharp turn.
As I slid across the top of the coach, my focuses were dedicated to managing to stay on. My sword slipped out of my hands and down onto the driver’s seat.
The Captain leaped up, retrieved his sword and seized the opportunity.
“Thank you for the challenge. I shall miss you- maybe.” He laughed menacingly and raised his sword high above his head. I tried yanking my cape free from the rim along the top; but it wouldn’t budge. And my sword was too far away to get to in time. I was trapped.
And that was when a bizarre force of divine intervention entered the scene.
A bolt of lightning charged from the sky, and, using the sword as a rod, slithered down and sent the Captain spiraling through the air. The carriage came to a screeching halt.
The driver hopped off and rushed over to the fallen man. I found my sword and sheathed it.
“ Captain…Captain Larre?” The man from inside the carriage stepped out.
“ What the devil is going on out here?”
“ Sir,” the driver said, seriously concerned, “ Captain Larre was struck by white lightning.”
“ Why do I care what bloody color it was? Is he alive?”
“ Barely-”
“ Well then put him in the carriage and let’s get a bloody move on!”
“ I think not.”
“ And who the devil are you?” The man obviously had a limited vocabulary.
“ First of all, I would like to clarify that I am about the farthest thing possible from the Devil. Secondly, those that know me call me the Angel of Death. My name is Gabriel, that much I can tell you. Though I have always found that nickname funny as I have, despite my profession, never killed a soul. And I wouldn’t unless I had no other choice. So please, don’t make things difficult for me. Just kindly allow me to dispose of your cargo and be on my way, and I shall be of no further harm.” It took a moment before I got a response.
“ I don’t think you know how much money is at stake here, dear sir.” He said, growing red in the face.
“ Nor do I particularly care.”
“ And I absolutely will not have you take my expensive carriage and send it pummeling into a river!”
“ How did you guess.” I smiled playfully.
“ And I most certainly will not have you embarrass me in front of my superiors!” He was yelling quite loudly now; his wife came stumbling out to calm him.
“ Calm down dearest, I-”
“ Shut up woman! This matter does not concern you! And even if it did, I don’t believe you could even begin to comprehend what is going on here!” There was a pause.
“ I understand that our carriage is carrying illegal substances into the city, and that this man, this- bandit, who would ordinarily be considered a criminal is, under the circumstances, looking quite like the hero.” I grinned, the driver stood grimfaced, and the man just blinked, utterly bewildered.
And then his rage returned; and he became so red I actually thought steam would burst out his ears. He was absolutely livid.
“ How dare you speak out of place!” Then, catching us all off guard, he slapped her- so hard it echoed amongst the trees for a moment. She fell to her knees, clutching her face and crying. The smile was stripped from my face. I unsheathed my sword, and stood ready.
“ Oh you want to fight now, do you?” He piped. “ Well I’m not too good with swords.”
“ A pity for you.”
“ No sir! A pity for you!” The following events happened in quick secession:
The man drew a pistol from his jacket and aimed. The woman looked up and grabbed his arm as he fired. The mislead bullet sliced the very top of my shoulder. I flipped through the air, dodging the others and landing behind my attacker. I grabbed his shoulder and turned him around so I was facing him. I looked him hard in the eyes, paralyzing him with a look of pure terror. I placed my blade on the left side of his neck-
And carved a small lightning bolt into his skin. His knees fell out from under him, causing him to collapse. He lay quivering on the ground.
I took the woman’s hand and led her to the front of the carriage. I cut off the bindings of the lead horse and mounted it.
“ Come on.” I said softly, extending a hand.
“ I- I…”
“ I’ll take you home.” She nodded and slowly took my hand. Once she was safely in front of me, she asked:
“ What about…them?” I cut off the main binding to the carriage, sending the other horses galloping off together to freedom, preventing the cargo from finishing its trip. I heard a large group of hooves approaching, and knew that would be the police. Best to let them figure this out on their own, as this wasn’t the Frelaine police. I turned my body and looked the former noble-man in the eyes.
“ We leave them in the arms of the Archangel Gabriel, and in the hands of fate.” With that, I thrust my sword high into the air, held onto the strap with my other hand, gripped tighter with my legs, and the horse reared up, whinnying loudly.
At that moment, lightning lit the sky, and thunder boomed loud enough to crack open the Heavens.
It was going to rain soon; I could smell it in the air and see it on the eager grass. The sky was a typical gray, and a low fog blanketed the forest floor.
I could hear their thundering hooves. The carriage led by six black Andalusians drew nearer. My interests were drawn to the left one in the front. Though it was not overly chilly, a white mist sprayed from its nose when it snorted.
They were slowing down. I had estimated twelve guards protecting whatever it was that was to be delivered. The carriage stopped. I watched as the driver jumped off and made his way to the front guard. I thought this odd; usually it’s the people inside the carriage that do the business.
“ Are they ready?”
“ Yes sir, all of them.”
“ Good. Have them put in with Mr. Vellrock.” The driver turned and opened the door to the coach, revealing its occupants. Inside was a well-dressed couple. The man wore a wicked sneer, as though he were up to no good, and expected that nothing would stop him. The woman was younger, somewhere in her twenties, I guessed. She appeared to have no idea what was going on. She radiated innocence and purity, her husband quite the opuesto.
Eight guards began carrying the shipment over on two stretchers. The first group had only just begun to load when the second stretcher collapsed, spilling the contents of each box all over the dirt and pine covered ground. I noticed many small bags containing a white, powdery substance. The man inside the coach jolted up and shouted:
“ Quickly! Put those back in the boxes! Someone could be watching!” The guards scrambled to pack away the bags- drugs, I noted. It’s a good thing I decided to stay and “supervise.” Always trust your intuition.
In the moment of panic, I decided I was right to interfere, and made my move. I jumped from my high perch on a tree and landed right in front of a bent over guard. He slowly gazed upward until he was looking me in the eye.
“ Good evening!” I said overenthusiastically, then piled-drived my elbow into his skull, sending him collapsing back into the ground. (He had been on his knees, getting up.) I waited for a moment as everyone’s shock subsided. It wouldn’t be a fair fight unless they were fighting in their right minds. One, two, three…
“ Get him!” And so the shouting barbarians began rushing at me.
“ You four! Help me load these so we can get this thing moving!” Three boxes left.
I figured I had plenty of time to have a little fun.
The nearest guard jabbed at me with his slender saber. I shifted with little effort.
“ Missed.” He jabbed again; this time I dodged moving only my hips.
“ Aw, look! You missed again!” Now he was furious, and slashed at me. My grin was wiped off; I couldn’t dodge this one. So I leaped into the air. His sword got stuck in the tree, and he looked up just in time to see stars as I aerial-kicked him into the dirt.
I could tell I was being charged from behind, so as I landed I began a spin-kick that hit my next lucky contestant square in the chest. He bent over, clutching that hit area, and I pounded him on the head. Three down, nine to go. Though there were really only five, as four were loading boxes. They were on box two.
“ Only two left! Come on!” The main guard shouted.
In my moment of distraction, three guards, swords drawn, had surrounded me.
“ I see… we’re playing like this now.” I drew my saber. “ You know, you should have stuck with fist fighting. While you still would’ve lost, your odds are worse now. Now you don’t stand a chance.” One particularly ugly brute began his charge at me barely after I’d finished.
“ You’re going down Bandit!” I knocked his sword away with a lightning quick, hardly noticeable movement. Using only my right hand, fist still in the sword’s handle, I punched him hard in the face. He went spinning to the ground.
“ You just broke every bone in his face!”
“ Yes, but trust me… I’ve improved his looks. He’ll look significantly better when he heals.”
“ You scum.” He snarled. I matched my sword with his above my head. It was then I knew that my lucky break of one-on-one matches were over. This guy’s partner was right behind me, the other two were closing in. Not to mention that the four loading were on the last box.
The one behind me, a rather young and inexperienced looking guard, jabbed fiercely. I flipped into the air and landed behind the guard I was just fighting, and watched as the young man shish-ka-bobbed him instead.
“ No! Oliver!” He franticly yanked his sword out, and Oliver fell wide eyed to the ground.
“ Ye blasted idiot! I knew you weren’t ready to be in the National Guard!” A rather burly guard with a thick, Scottish accent smacked the kid unconscious. I only had a total of two guards left, but the other four were done loading. The Captain and another took positions by the doors, the other two stayed.
“ Hi-yah!” The driver cried, cracking his whip.
“ Come on! Fight me yah dirty worm!”
“ Sorry, no time.” I turned to leave and glanced back. “ And isn’t that a bit redundant? Worms live in dirt, so…” Satisfied with his blank stare, I positioned myself to jump onto the roof of the carriage when it passed.
Heat blasted outside and an orange light flooded the darkness, placing a spotlight on each individual snowflake that ventured near it as I opened the tarnished, creaky pub door. A young woman and her child sitting near the door shivered as I walked in, and with a quiet apology I quickly latched it shut again.
“Evening ma’am! How may I help yah?” The rather large, bearded and balding pub keeper greeted.
Though I was used to the ways of man, I had grown used to rarely speaking. Living with wolves teaches you the meaning of a silent conversation.
While I knew what to say to the man- I was a writer before I left mankind for nature and therefore had a rather extensive vocabulary and a certain way with words- I never had been very good at expressing myself. But I had to try.
“May I have. A drink?” My voice sounded metallic from disuse, and I knew I hadn’t punctuated that correctly when I’d said it. Not to mention that the last part had sounded squeaky as I’d tried to raise my voice to be heard better.
You see, speech is a thing very easily forgotten.
He raised an eyebrow, then seemed to let it go.
“You look cold. How about something warm?” I nodded in a yes, not particularly eager to speak again.
“Coffee sound good?”
“Thank you.” I had managed that alright, but I still sounded like a metal nail on a chalkboard. I winced.
“I’ll get you our special.” I smiled at him with a gracious look, but was distracted by the feeling that I was being watched. I turned my head subtly to the left corner of the room, where a man dressed in black was sitting, and somehow managed to almost blend in with the dark wood walls. As my eyes met his hidden face, which looked straight at me, a cold chill went down my spine. I saw something shimmer, his eyes I guessed, and he looked back down at his piece of parchment, disappearing completely behind his charcoal fedora.
He’s an odd customer.” The pub keeper whispered, setting my coffee in front of me. “He’s been coming in here a lot lately.” I turned my attention to him and cocked my head in a quizzical look, urging him on.
He doesn’t usually get anything; he just sits in the corner- reading. I think he reads the same thing every day…”
“A letter?” I suggested.
“Maybe. But he doesn’t look sad, as if he were reading a goodbye note from an ex- wife or something; or curious, like it were mail from a pen pal. He just acts…distanced. I saw his eyes once. They gave me chills… just like you. They were scary, weren’t they?”
“I didn’t see them.”
“Oh.” He seemed shocked that I had shivered without seeing his eyes. “Well there was definitely something strange.” Then he looked past me. “Take care Daisy! Tell old Mr. Tomm I said hi!” He shouted across the room at the woman and child who were rising to leave.
“I will!” Daisy replied. She nudged her son. “Say goodbye Taylor.”
“Bye Jim! Thanks for the hot chocolate!” The pub keeper chuckled.
“You’re very welcome lad. You be sure to come see me soon!”
“We will Jim.” Daisy smiled at him and prodded Taylor out the door, then stepped out herself, latching it shut from outside. An awkward silence fell over the pub after they were gone. I could hear every tic from the clock in the back; I could feel Jim’s heart beating, and could make out each shallow, measured breath of the man in black.
“You from out of town?’ Jim asked to break the silence. “I haven’t seen you around before.”
“Yes.”
“You staying overnight?” I nodded positively in response.
“Where at?”
“I don’t know…” I answered, realizing I would need to find somewhere to stay.
“Want a recommendation?” He smiled, leaning across the bar, drawing a glance from the man in the corner, who seemed to be supervising our conversation now.
“Yes, thank you.”
“Try the Bywater Inn.” He leaned back, sounding normal again. The shadow man relaxed in his chair. “It’s about a mile up the street, right in the middle of town.”
“How convenient!” It sounded snug! Bywater Inn… It made me think of my Grandfather’s old cabin up in the mountains and warm, fluffy pancakes.
That was one of the few things I missed about life amongst men. Pancakes. What I wouldn’t give for a big stack of pancakes.
“Yeah, it is. Cheap too. Reminds me of Grandma’s house. That warm, unconditionally welcome feeling. Of course, it kind of smells like her too…” As he reflected, my stomach sank.
Cheap. Money. That was a problem.
“I eh… don’t have any… money with me.” I spoke hesitantly. He blinked out of his memory.
“Well it’s no big deal about the coffee. But ah… where will you stay?”
Neither of us had noticed the shady man approach until he placed a leather gloved hand next to my coffee.
“Oh ah… hello sir. May I help you?” He removed his hand, revealing a five dollar bill.
“For the lady’s coffee.” His accent was deep, thick with culture, crisp, and proper; yet, it seemed inwardly at peace. “Keep the rest as a tip.”
“Sir, her coffee was two dollars and fifty cents-”
“I am aware of that.” He just stared at the pub keeper until Jim realized he was serious. He was obviously a man of few words.
“Thank you sir!” Jim said, in shock, going into the back of the shop with it, leaving us for the moment. I gave the man a look of thanks, with a hint of curiosity.
He gave me an attractive, small toothed grin and nodded, tilting his head to the side in recognition. It was as if he were inwardly amused at the fact that I also preferred a lack of words, or that I had shown a interest in him at all. I figured most people probably just ignored him.
Jim returned and looked at me with sympathy.
“If you need a place to stay the night, I have a spare cot in the back. It isn’t much but I wouldn’t charge you. I can’t just let you go out there and freeze to death.”
My eyes lit up at the idea of sleeping indoors where it was warm and on something other than frozen rock. The shadow man noted my expression and looked at Jim, his smile approving of Jim’s courtesy, showing a pleasant surprise that a bartender of all people would be one of few anymore to show it.
People have a tendency to be so rude these days, one of a long list of things I did not miss about humanity.
“You are a member of a dying breed, my good man.”
“Thank you sir, but I don’t deserve it.”
“Why do you say that?” Something about the way the man spoke to him made me place him a few years older than Jim, therefore somewhere between his late forties and early fifties. The man also had an air of higher status, and of being aware of it, though not pompously so.
“If I were a true gentleman I’d have given her the keys to my home and taken the cot myself.” For that, Jim received the man’s unique and slightly un-nerving grin.
“Then do not bother with either. Your good will is noted. But I must ask that you let me save both of you a great deal of back pain in the morning.” He then turned to me, still grinning, and held out a gloved hand. “I’d be flattered by your company.” He tilted his head back ever so slightly, and I looked into his eyes. As I did, I could feel him gaze right through mine. I shivered, the odd feeling of being read like a book in mere seconds flooding over me. But I didn’t break eye contact, and even tried to gaze back. I could tell this was a new experience for the man. His eyes, an icy, electric blue twinkled in approval. He lowered his head again, and I placed my hand in his. As we left slowly, I could feel Jim watching us, both in a cautious stare and a glance that was still trying to figure out what exactly just happened, since barely a word had been spoken he undoubtedly felt like he had missed something.
We had very much had a silent conversation. One of those that only wolves can have, and understand, and that no human ever could. For every human that was capable of them was not a human at all, by nature anyway, but a wolf, a moon child, child of the Earth, and of emotion. A sort of reader of souls blessed with an almost supernatural understanding of a persons thoughts.
I pondered the soul of this mysterious man as we walked toward town.
>O<
We walked in silence for quite some time, getting further into town. Eventually the cold began to get to me. I guess I was spoiled with being snuggled up against mass quantities of fuzzy warmness when it got cold like this at night. As a result, we stopped.
“Cold?” The man asked, although it was more in a way of asking permission to do something to help me, since it was pretty obvious that I was frozen half to death.
Apparently he hadn’t noticed that it was freezing out.
“Yes.” I figured he would take off his rather toasty looking, custom tailored, long, button up jacket and try to put it on me; in which case I would refuse to let him freeze in place of me. But what he actually chose to do caught me off guard, as it was definitely not in my Book of Human Interactions with Strangers by Introverted Gentleman that Enjoyed Anonymity.
He unbuttoned it and took out his left arm. Then he placed it around my left shoulder. Slightly unsure of how to react, I slipped my arm in it and wrapped my other arm, my right one, around the man’s waist as he had done with his left arm to me. We snuggled in the coat together, and, leaving it unbuttoned for the sake of easier movement, were silently thankful for each others’ warmth.
I soon grew as relaxed and comfortable as he had been from the start, and, deciding that this man was undoubtedly a wolf in a man’s body, rested my head against his chest. As I inhaled his divine, rather expensive scent, I felt his mouth form that now trademark grin of his.
Being, in the end, only human, I couldn’t help but feel just the slightest bit attracted to him. Although that would be a severe understatement. This man had awoken in me an instinctive curiosity that topped even what nature had provided me. In the bottom of my stomach I felt something I could only compare to the thrill of hunting in the moonlight- always resulting in a delicious prize.
And yet, I always considered the prize to be the promise of a future reward- another great hunt. For me, the hunt was almost greater than the prize itself. I suppose you could say, for me, it was the prize. What we won, was just a bonus, a perk of sorts, even if the point of hunting was for the food to survive, it never seemed half as important as the thrill I got from running with the wolves, working with them, helping them.
It seemed it was the same with blue eyes.
“May I ask where we’re going?”
“Of course.” I waited for him to say more, but nothing came.
“Where are we going?” I humored him.
“I’m afraid if I told you, you’d leave the journey before we even began.”
“Well now, that would take all the fun out of getting there”
“It would indeed. Especially since the journey to where we are going is the best part of traveling there.” I smiled. My thoughts exactly.
“We seem to hold a similar opinion there.”
“I thought we might.” He pulled away from me, as we were now about a half mile out of town, and winked. There was something oddly magical about the way his jacket fluttered around him in the snowy wind, with the dark, jagged, mist covered foreboding mountains as a backdrop to his confined soul. I could sense a great deal of supernatural power behind those piercing eyes.
“I must ask… do you like to fly?”
>O<
He had just asked me if I liked to fly, but I didn’t see or hear anything coming for us from above. Although with the ever growing intensity of the storm, it was becoming difficult to do either.
Not to mention that I seemed to have a way of missing things from above.
“Of course, why?” I had to half shout, as it was growing louder by the second, and he was backing away from me without turning around.
“Would you fly with me?” He posed this more as a rhetorical question. As a particularly strong gust blew through us, he swiped off his hat, tossed his head back, and threw his arms far out by his side, letting his coat billow fiercely around him like a flag on its pole during a tornado; he opened his eyes wide towards the skies. At the moment, like a ray blasting from his eyes, a blue light pierced the heavens and formed a column of light shooting back down to him. Snow began swirling around him, then crawled up the column towards the sky. I shielded my eyes from the bright rays and spurts of snow.
I could see why this required leaving town.
I somehow managed to stay rooted to the ground, feeling like a deer caught in the headlights. Suddenly an enormous burst of electric blue light and powdery snow exploded, tossing me a few feet backwards onto the ground. I closed my eyes.
And then, all was freakishly still. A final wisp of snow blew across me, disappearing into the darkness of the night. I blinked and looked up. I saw wings. Beautiful, magnificent wings that could only belong to a truly divine specimen. I fainted, and felt warm arms catch me before I drifted into a dream more vivid than the Earth itself.
~
We flew upward for an immeasurable amount of time, the newborn snowflakes dancing upon our faces. I was not sure if it was a man, a bird, or an angel that held me. But I did know that it was very much the same spirit of the man before, unconfined.
We twirled upwards, dancing in the thick clouds, no cold, no fear, no worry able to reach us as we embraced each other. We continued soaring until we finally broke through the heavy storm clouds. And where once the night had kept its base, day was being birthed. He sat atop the cloud, and I lay against him as we watched the sun rise; somewhere between Heaven and Earth, we had found the most beautiful place in the universe.
If God was anything, he was beauty in all of its forms.
I realized then how far humanity had strayed, blindly, in the wrong direction; where to avoid being stamped out completely, beauty had to risk disguising itself in the body of evil.
“You have transcended the others. There is much work we have to do, you realize this, I see. But I must ask, do not dwell on our duties right now. Embrace the beauty while you can. It will not make our task ahead any less daunting, my child, but assure our success in some form or another.”
I felt wings begin to spread from my shoulders, and my body bathed in light. I was both completely drained and filled to the point of combustion at the same time. With each ray of light that broke through night’s darkness I grew more powerful, and gained more knowledge of the universe. But man’s soul can only take so much. I collapsed onto my mysterious angel. He smiled, with all the radiance of that beautiful sun, and caressed my cheek as I wrapped my arms around his neck.
“Do not be afraid.”
“What if I can’t fly back down? I don’t want to fall…”
“You will make it back down.”
“Promise me I won’t fall. Promise me I’ll learn.”
“You will learn. But I would be lying if I told you that you wouldn’t fall.”
“I’m afraid of falling.”
“Don’t be. I will catch you. We will make it back fine.” I smiled and we sat there like that, content in our embrace for a while, the sun completing its journey. Then I decided to ask the question that was bubbling inside of me.
“Why do we ever have to fall? Why can’t we just know how to fly from the very beginning?”
“Falling is how we learn to fly, my dear.”
“Yes, I know, but…”
“You said yourself that the best part of reaching the prize is the hunt itself.” I looked up from his shoulder, and looked him in the eyes.
“How did you know I-”
“I know a lot of things.” He chuckled. I smirked, and we lay down together. Snuggled close, we fell asleep on the cloud, and I dreamed in a peaceful sleep unlike any I’d imagined possible, the silence of the universe music to my ears. And I heard him singing before I completely drifted off- my angel, my love.
NOTE: I love you Grandpa. I can't wait to meet you in whatever comes after this life.I don't know what I'd do if you weren't my angel.
~The Garden~
Inside the garden, Where the sun beats down, I remember-- All those cherished times.
We’d play together, He’d laugh forever. And whenever I’d fall-- He’d kiss the bruise and it healed right away, through-- My tears of joy. They, still, stream down my face as the
Wind, flows away through my hair like a breeze… on the Ocean, sweet as the candy we shared there, Alive as the flowers that bloomed there; Then faded away.
And the wind flows, Flows like the memories, made here. As I travel through time. The birds sing, They sing me the song that we Made up the words to I join in their melody and I feel, I feel him gaze down on me Smiling, that grin of his up above me, and I Sit on his favorite stone cross my legs and lean back, Embracing the sun and I know, once again…
NOTE: A Hannibal/ Clarice Fan-Fiction. It is very bizarre, but if you read the whole thing, I bet you'll at least consider it having been worth your time. It was a dream I had. I just added more readable dialogue. Enjoy.
~Twisted Fantasy, Dream-like Reality~ A Hannibal fan fiction by Kate Wilcox
Ten passenger crammed, thick wooden ships pushed away from the harbor of the uncharted, timeless island, sailing off into the increasingly moody sea, raising masts to the heavy sky.
All the men onboard knew a storm was brewing. Some knew they wouldn’t make it home. Some didn’t even know where home was. Few had a captain of their ship who actually knew a decent bit about sailing.
This was, after all, the 21st century, and they were, for some unfathomable reason, journeying home on 17th century pirate ships.
The men onboard the ships were prisoners pardoned from the harsh life on the frightening, mysterious island. The prisoners stuck on shore watched them leave, eyes empty of all emotion except an almost un-noticeable glint of regret. There was no going back now. No turning there lives around.
FBI agents formed a circle around the prisoners on shore, watching the pardoned sail away, not really caring whether they figured out how to sail or died in the unforgiving sea.
All except one. Special Agent Clarice Starling averted her eyes as the only prisoner with an IQ above forty aboard a particularly doomed ship stared from his perch atop the highest mast. His cold, sweating hands gripped the wooden railing of the look-out post tighter.
“Clarice…” Had she come to see his fate, or did she have no choice in being there? She looked up briefly, and their eyes met. Her expression told him her reason for being there was the first.
“I’m sorry Hannibal…” It had been many years since their meeting in Krendler’s vacation home, and his narrow escape. He had managed to maintain freedom for quite some time before he got messy in his brooding and managed to get caught by, wouldn’t you guess it, the Canadian border patrol for not having his green card. Once he was back in the US, he was sentenced with life on the Island, the government’s way of being ‘sympathetic’ to prisoners who managed to rile up the citizens into gathering in front of the building he was being sentenced shouting out for mercy and waving signs reading “No death sentence’ and the like. Not that the island was any better.
“I wouldn’t have wanted it this way…” Somehow Hannibal understood her, though her whisper was inaudible even to the agent beside her. He could read it in her eyes. He smiled, that personal smile that was only for Clarice as the winds of warning caused his orange, long sleeved prison shirt to billow like a flag. Her eyes seemed to sparkle for a moment, then a huge wave rattled the ship, tossing him from his perch.
Almost without knowing it, Hannibal groped at the mast as he fell, gripping a loose bit tightly. He swung to the left, using all his strength and let go, risking his hold, splintering his hands as he grabbed the main pole and slid down. He stood, shaky for a moment and brushed him self off. The prisoners on board stopped fighting and stared at him, silent.
“Old guy’s got skill.” A large, grubby man commented, glancing down his nose about three feet at the superior Doctor Lecter.
“What’s yer name?” He grunted.
“Gideon Wolf.” Hannibal replied, smoothly.
“Really.” The man looked and sounded immensely skeptical. “Watcha here fer?”
“Oh, bits and bites of all sorts of things.” He didn’t feel like explaining his past to this smelly, rude, obviously brainless man.
“Bullshit.” He replied. “You don’t come here fer no ‘bits ‘n bites’ o’ things. What’d yeh really do?” Hannibal opened his mouth to reply, the man seemed genuinely interested in him, which was saying something as he seemed the type to rip your head off before letting you speak your name. But he was cut off by a shout from a pale, panicky looking man struggling with the wheel.
“Can anyone here sail?” They just stared at him.
“Lower the masts, the wind will blow us off course.” ‘Gideon’ replied when no one spoke up. “And have more than one person steer.” A few cooperative prisoners did as he told.
“How do we know which direction to go?” One of the steering helpers asked.
“Well,” Hannibal began, assuming command of the ship, stepping on starboard. “Start by going the opposite direction of the others. They’re headed Northwest. We want Northeast.” They began to turn.
Before their course could be notably altered, the ships ahead, all but one, which were about three ships’ length away began rising with the waters, until their fronts tipped upward dangerously and they slid downwards, crashing back into the sea.
The crew stopped steering and all around, even those on shore, stared in awe as 70-foot metal tripods that looked straight out of “War of the Worlds” rose like gleaming Titans from the ocean. Hannibal, being the first to recover, turned sharply towards the shore and witnessed, wide-eyed as at least ten more rose from behind the sentenced prisoners and FBI agents.
His shout of concern, which he uttered unknowingly, seemed to stir the others and send Starling into a screaming frenzy of orders as she used her mike to call in the helicopters minutes away. He turned back to his crew, who seemed to look at him as if he were the only one capable of saving them, as if he were God, their eyes begging him to tell them what to do.
Screams of pain split the air as ships were picked up, awkwardly, by the machine’s crushing pinchers.
“Turn around!” Someone shouted.
“No! We cannot turn in time. Get below deck!” Hannibal ordered.
“What good will that do? Why go below deck?”
“Because those things are evaporating anyone they see with some type of laser. If we go below deck, when they crush our ship we can grab onto something and swim to shore beneath the wreckage. As long as they don’t see us we could make it back to shore!” He had to shout to be heard now. Many started heading below deck.
“Back to shore?” The man seemed to be wondering what difference it made.
“Back to shore, yes. Slowly and carefully.” The man and the majority were still staring at him.
“Go, now!” They scrambled below, pushing over each other, illustrating the lowest of human behavior. Hannibal knew that once they got back, they’d still have plenty of problems to deal with, but at least they’d be on solid ground and have the trees for cover. Before going below, he turned once more to observe Clarice, slightly worried it might be his last image of her. She was still shouting orders, making sure that every last person got on board a helicopter. She’d stay on the island with those who didn’t fit, he knew.
“Brave Clarice…” He had to get back, and quickly. He wouldn’t let those things reduce her to dust as if she were nothing but a speck in time.
He turned, bug eyed at the machine about to sweep them up, and gritted his teeth as he kicked a prisoner below deck and frantically jumped after him, narrowly missing being evaporated.
After badly bumping his head, he began to stand, shouting for everyone to be absolutely silent. Before he had stood all the way up, the ship lurched violently, and everyone who wasn’t holding onto something fell, then slid across the floor. As Hannibal grabbed hold of the leg of a bolted table, he could feel the suction of the heavy ship being lifted from the unrelenting waves.
One of the prisoners threw up, thankfully far from the good doctor. As the ship began to tear, he gave his last order:
“Find something to float on! Stay under cover! Head for the shore!” A few nodded, others seemed to already have left this world.
He stood, barely balancing himself, and ripped the top of the bolted table off, which was easier than he had imagined, and braced himself as the ship split in three different pieces. While others were closing their eyes, praying, repeating the plan in their minds, Hannibal could only think of one thing, one name, one person.
Could he get there in time?
To what, save her? Somehow he the idea of ‘Hannibal versus Big Bad Evaporating Machine’ didn’t leave much room for question as to the victor. Maybe he could help her hide.
It didn’t matter. He knew what he had to do, which was get back to shore, even if once he had managed that, if he managed that, the most he could do was die.
At least then he’d die with her and not a bunch of brainless, reeking oafs.
>O<
“Starling, get in, now!”
“Take the girl!” She shouted over the sounds of chaos and the spinning helicopter blades. “She couldn’t have done anything that bad!”
“We’re not coming back, Starling, get the fuck in!” Starling shoved the girl in his face and slammed the helicopter door shut. The man who had been talking to her pounded against the window. The helicopter took off, already risking getting away.
She watched it take off, then jumped backwards, covering her head as it evaporated in a split second right before her eyes.
She hit the sand, covered in dust and minute fragments of metal. Only two helicopters had managed to successfully disappear onto the clouds, and with an un-full gas tank and machines of death everywhere, who knew how far they’d make it.
Suddenly someone yanked Starling to her feet, shouting:
“We have to go! They’re coming!”
“In there?” She nodded to the forest.
“Cover, Starling!” She snapped back to life.
“Right, of course!” As she checked to make sure that she still had her gun, not that it mattered, she glanced back out at the ocean. She felt her heart sink and choked down a sudden sob when she saw all the wreckage, and heard all the screams.
“He’s dead…”
“What?” The bulky, black officer shouted. He was the only other agent left.
“Nothing.” They entered the forest, reluctantly. Starling’s mind had been racing in too many directions to notice the large piece of ship wreckage not far from the shore.
>O<
"Are we gonna make it?" The frail man turned to the panting Hannibal.
"I think so. Just keep swimming." They were both paddling the table to shore from underneath a piece of the side of the ship.
"How far are we?"
"I don't know, just keep paddling." He guessed not far by the seaweed sticking to them and the sand visible on the top of the water.
"I hope some of the others are behind us... there was more wreckage to hide in..."
"Save your breath boy, we need it." He nodded and focused on swimming. Suddenly they felt the water rising near them. They looked at each other.
"Grab onto the ship!" Hannibal yelled. The creature's horn blew loud and they grabbed the rails of the side of the ship as best as they could before the machine picked them up, sending them hurtling for the shore even closer than they'd thought.
"Ride it almost all the way!" He shouted in the deafening wind as they sped for shore. "Let go!" They would die unless they could somehow manage to land in the water before scrambling to shore. Hannibal fell backwards towards the water. The other man looked to scared to move.
"LET GO!!" He shouted, not wanting the young man to die. But it was too late. As Hannibal crashed hard into the shallows near the shore, the man crunched into the trees with the piece of ship. An angry wave threw Hannibal against the soft, warm sand.
Wanting to lie there and sleep, he managed to rise up and hobble away towards the forest, keeping out of sight from the machines. He brushed aside hanging branches and vines, refusing to look behind him. His clothes were tattered, his head felt compressed and heavy, his body ached and his side stung. He noticed he was bleeding, and went to check his side when an ear-piercing squeal of metal on metal erupted into the air, sending him to his knee, covering his ears and shouting out loud for it to stop. Suddenly all the machines tumbled to the ground, shaking the Earth, spitting Hannibal further into the Jungle.
For a moment, when he opened his eyes, all he could here was the sounds of the noise, and the previous screams. It took a minute for the noise to fade. Then there was nothing. Just the soft splash of the clam waves, and the sounds of birds and animals in a tropical forest.
He blinked, stood, and shivered. Then he began moving further into the freakish, foreboding greenery, on edge, sensing more danger now than ever before. About a half a minute later, he froze at the sound of some type of reptilian right behind him. He turned, slowly, face-to-face with what appeared to be a dinosaur of some breed.
Being no fool, he knew it to be one of the cleverest, most dangerous breeds as well. It was about an inch taller than him. It moved foreword, snapping at him. He quickly leaned back, hobbling on one foot backwards to keep his balance. It cocked its head, as if admiring his quick reflexes, than stuck its head out, staring at him. When he stretched his neck and stared back, big eyed, the creature made a high pitched, guttural noise.
When Hannibal stepped forward, snapping his teeth back at it and growling, (much as he'd done with the nurse ant the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane), it jumped back. It hissed and shook, then hopped away into the trees and jungle brush. Hannibal stood, still on an adrenaline high, his shoulders heaving, breathing heavily, teeth clenched and eyes large, the hairs on the back of his arms and neck standing up straight.
Suddenly he could feel something sneaking up besides him. If it was another one of those creatures, his only hope was to react quickly, tackling it, keeping its deadly toe away from his stomach. He knew there would be no room for hesitation.
He turned, immediately pounced, twisting the creatures ankle and pinning it below him, keeping its legs trapped safely beneath his. It screamed in pain and shock, and his blurred vision cleared.
He leapt off and let out a horrified shout when he saw before him a pained looking Clarice Starling.
"What the fuck, I almost shot you!" She yelled, her eyes not open yet, only aware that she had found another human.
"Clarice?"
"Hannibal?" She asked in disbelief, looking him over.
"How are you-" "How did you-" They spoke at the same time.
"I'm so sorry..." He knelt down, helping her sit up, although she didn't really need help, then scooted over to her leg.
"Dr. Lecter, I thought..."
"I got back." He assumed an apathetic, doctor mood and touched her leg, making her twitch. "Clarice, I'm going to need you to bare a few moments of pain." She could tell he was going to pop her ankle back in place.
"Dr. Lecter, I've spent my life baring pain. I don't think this will be too much different." He nodded his head, got ready to twist, then looked back up.
"You know Clarice, this is really going to hurt..." She smiled.
"I thought that might end up being the last thing you ever said to me." He smiled too, then gritted his teeth, popped her ankle back in and turned, proudly at the wincing Clarice, who hadn't made a sound.
"Thank you doctor." She thanked him quietly, looking at a leaf near her foot.
"I think it would be alright if you called me Hannibal now." He said, moving a courteous distance from her leg. She remembered their last encounter, at the lake house...
"Your hand..."
"I got it fixed." He replied, nonchalantly. She nodded.
"I'm glad you're still alive." She was focusing rather intently on the leaf. "This isn't how I wanted things to end."
"It's not over yet, Clarice." He smiled with his eyes, looking touched by what she'd said. "But we can't stay here. Can you walk?"
"Yeah, probably. Doctor L-- Hannibal, you've got a piece of wood in your side..." He leaned back and looked down at it.
"Well that's going to have to change." He said casually, moving around, attempting to figure out how to best pull it. Clarice scooted forwards.
"Here, let me--" She yanked it out, without warning to the timing. He uttered a small sound of pain. "There. You know, you made more noise than I did." He chuckled, then grabbed his side as laughing hurt. For a moment, the two forgot about their pasts and laughed, like friends. When they stopped, and she was holding her hand against him to help stop the bleeding, and his hand was on hers doing the same, and they were dangerously close, smiling at each other, he looked away.
He had taken too much of her to steal her smile too. He let his hand fall into his lap.
"I'm sorry, Clarice..." He sounded so sincere, his voice trembled.
"For what." She whispered in the same hushed tone. The way she said it mad it sound more like a statement than a question, one of genuine forgiveness. All he ever had to do was show her that she was more to him than just a game. That he could do more than patronize her. Last time they had met, he had started, but alongside his diner feast and the events of that adventure, she just couldn't quiet give in. But it made her cry for many nights, in wonder.
All he ever had to do, was be human.
There was shaking from the brush around them. Something was coming.
"Hannibal, we need to leave..." He looked at her, she looked at him, and they helped each other up. Supporting each other, they hobbled deeper into the forest. And then it began to pour rain.
He stopped, wincing for a moment as his side exploded, then reached up and, despite the pain, plucked a giant leaf from a tree next to Clarice.
He held it over his head, supporting her ankle despite his own pain, and started walking again, not speaking a word. Walking next to him, beneath the leaf, staying dry as he got drenched, she couldn't help but smile. When she glanced over at his face, she was glad to see him staring straight ahead, scouting...he hadn't noticed. Then he smirked and tried to hide it. They laughed, lightheartedly despite their surroundings and got closer, looking like a tired couple walking through Paris in the rain. She rested her head on his shoulder, he placed his head on hers.
"Has it been a thousand years?" He asked, not exactly sure where they were going, not exactly caring. She smiled into his shoulder.
"It looks as if it's been more than 600 million." His eyes grinned.
"Yes, but backwards in time. Wouldn't that make it 600 million one thousand years now?" She smirked.
"I don't think we ever clarified if that was forward or backward in time."
"Should we?"
"Never."
"Now there is something I can work with." He spun around, cautiously pinning her against a huge, droopy tree, and bared his teeth, lunging playfully, stopping his face an eyelash from hers. Something about this place brought out a primal beast inside of him, and at the same time, calmed him of the monster within. His body was pressed so tight against hers it might have been rude, had her tension and slow, heavy breathing not silently permitted it. He looked into her eyes, which were blazing as playfully as his, with amusement, then bit the space right before the tip of her nose, an action that would have caused anyone else to wet themselves. The empty, loud 'click' of his teeth forced another smile on her tired, pretty face.
"I have to tell you, Clarice, I almost wonder if I never made it back to shore. If I died halfway, perhaps when that machine threw us, and am living somewhere beyond Earth, where all my wildest fantasies come true."
"That sounds a little too Disney for you Doctor."
"Must you insist upon calling me that?"
"I kind of like it. It's that authority thing. God knows I have had enough authoritative men in my life, but none of them have actually been able to lead me around. For some reason, you've always been able to."
"Mmmm..." He closed his eyes, inhaling her scent, then looked at her as he'd done when they'd first met, after sniffing her handbag from the other side of the glass, reminding her that he was very much the same man, not some fake version that looked like him, just older. "Does it 'turn you on'?" He spoke slow, teasingly, as he'd done then.
"Besides," She said, avoiding the question. "You and I both know that it isn't Heaven you'll go to when you die."
"Who said anything about Heaven?" He asked, closing his eyes and leaning down towards her neck, running the tip of his tongue along her slightly damp, sweet skin.
"Hannibal..." She tried to hide her desire by sounding like a mother about to catch her child doing what she just got through scolding them about, a warning tone, that just didn't quite cut it as sincere to him.
Even here, where she could love him in peace, and now that she wanted to, she still resisted.
He loved that about her.
"It just doesn't seem real... Did they already put me back in that cell? Am I lost inside my head?" He removed her FBI jacket with ease, but slow enough to stop if she asked him.
He was nibbling her neck now, distancing his body so he could undo her belt. When she gave a soft moan he flung it aside.
"Is it safe here?" She asked.
"I don't know." His voice was husky, hers was filled with lust.
"Still living dangerously?"
"Clarice, I'm the most dangerous thing here..."
"I believe that." She'd seen the velociraptor flee from him. That just managed to turn her on even more.
"Hannibal, King of Beasts." She announced. He laughed, and her rugged cargo pants slid to the ground.
"Me Tarzan." He grunted. She snickered.
"Are you gonna pat your chest and holler?" He did the Tarzan chest beat, without noise as that would have been a very bad idea in this particular forest, and she lunged at him. She seemed to have forgotten about her ankle and his side. He attempted to catch her and they both fell hard to the ground.
"Well this is nice." He remarked sarcastically, out of breath. "Just you and me, lying here, half naked, incapacitated..."
"Helpless to attack."
"Great job."
"I know." She removed her shirt and straddling him. She could feel his hardness increase when she slid her hands up his abdomen, throwing his prison shirt against the tree. She leaned off him for a moment to slip his draw-string, shredded pants off too.
"Nice underwear. Not the brand I pictured you in, but, it works."
"Prison garb. I prefer thongs."
"Really." She looked highly entertained, glancing in his eyes to check for sincerity.
"Yes actually, they're airy... much more comfortable."
"I'm so glad you shared." He grinned evilly.
"You know," He began. "If you--" He was cut off then by Clarice's shout of warning. They rolled to the side, Hannibal ending up on his knees, arms outstretched to 'defend' Clarice, barely missing being gutted by the leader of a pack of five velociraptors.
The five made a circle around them, recognizing Hannibal’s dominant, defensive position. Clarice held onto Hannibal’s shoulder, eyeing her gun, too far to reach before being attacked, lying against a tree.
The leader approached slowly, taking the intruders in, and faced Hannibal, who stared back, clearly willing to commence in full out violence even if it meant his own bloody death just to keep Clarice safe. The creature seemed to note that. In respect for his Hannibal’s character, it tilted its head, as if granting him permission to speak.
“We don’t mean to intrude, but unfortunately, we are stuck here.” He spoke slowly. “We can’t leave. We mean you no harm.” The leader’s tail feathers ruffled violently and it let out a high pitched squeal, making the humans’ ears hurt. Hannibal winced.
“Look, I’m sorry.” Clarice covered her ears. “We don’t speak--”
“You do not have to.” It spoke. Hannibal and Clarice looked dumbfounded.
“You did not come to our island by choice. You were forced to stay. You got rid of the metal-skinned sea creatures. I do not know how, but you survived. All of the others are dead. Your species is weak, but you are different. I recognize this of you. You are stronger than some of us.” He looked at Hannibal, then turned to the creature that Hannibal had out-witted earlier.
“You are brave, intelligent, and honorable. You could be as useful to our pack as our shelter and protection could be to you. I am giving you the chance to make a safe home here. I am choosing to let you earn my trust, something I risk letting no stranger do, because of your skill and honor. I believe that someday, strange pale-skinned one, that you would make a great alpha.” The leader was speaking specifically to Hannibal.
“And your Queen is beautiful beyond words, and strong beyond comparison. She killed my brother.”
“I’m sorry…” Clarice attempted to apologize.
“Do not be. Survival of the fittest, Noble stranger. My brother killed your companion, the dark one, and would have killed you. But you were greater than he. I apologize for your loss.”
“Don’t worry about it. He’s probably happier wherever he is now.”
“You are courageous and fair.” The leader nodded. “The deaths that have partaken make us even. And you, Alpha male of your species, are proud and clever. Both of you have shown skill and loyalty rare to all creatures. What are you called?”
“Well I’m Hannibal, and this is Special Agent…” Clarice smiled. “This is Clarice.”
“Hannibal and Clarice. Your names are as noble as you are. Hannibal the Proud and Clarice the Fair. I welcome you with great honor. But you must be given the names of our people before you can join us in spirit.” They nodded.
“However, I must observe you first. Will you follow us to our nest?” At this point, Clarice noticed her lack of clothing, and Hannibal his quite obvious erection.
“Yeah…” He replied. “I think that would be fine.”
“Do not worry about your colored skins. You will not need them to become one of us. We will give you what you need.”
“What about what we have on?” Clarice asked.
“Leave them, you do not need them. You will be one of us. We will supply you shells to protect you and tools for hunting as you have no claw and easily penetrable skin. But you do not need the colored skins. We do not use them.” The two finished undressing.
“Now do you feel like Tarzan?” Clarice asked. “Cause I certainly feel like Jane.” Hannibal smirked and put his arm around her. Supporting each other still, they followed the creatures into the deep forest, wondering what bizarre turn of events would come up next. Aliens? It didn’t seem unlikely, after the space-like technology and the dinosaurs. Hannibal kissed the top of Clarice’s head.
It didn’t really matter. They’d manage to survive. Besides, dying was okay too, now that they had each other.
NOTE: We were supposed to pick an area of the school and write a description with our own style, while mimicing Dickens.
The performing arts hall near the theatre was a rather dull place, even in the year two thousand and six, when technological advances were abundant, and most rooms in schools as well established as this one were elaborately decorated all throughout. However, the performing arts hall remained deceptively bland. It was very long, very polished, very stale, very white. It was a very institutional looking place, moreover, the loving views of the actors fostered by the place were fond of its long-ness, fond of its whiteness, fond of its polished-ness, and fond of its staleness . They were even proud of its excellence in those attributes, for it almost appeared to follow the theme of the growing actors and artists. The very hallway seemed to boast the heartfelt motto of the youths themselves, that which was to never judge a book by its cover. This was more than just common belief, but a fact in which they notably flaunted amongst their peers. While the outside was less cheerful than a retirement home for politicians, inside held with the up-most care the scattered creative brainstorms of musicians, actors, directors, and singers themselves. It held the beauty of the earth, of life, the next generation elixir of daily stress in its cold, painted-white, poster-less hallways.
The artists insisted on keeping the hall the same, even when offered decorations, or carpeted flooring. They enjoyed the challenge it placed on those who’s eyes saw only an over-lighted, under-furnished, tiled hallway; or those who saw an institution corridor, what with its cage-resembling lockers on the left side, its brightly pale walls on the left. They enjoyed the knowledge that only other gifted artists would see beyond the hall, and into the rooms it held. They enjoyed what it drew, and what it repelled. It was a cozy place to them, as perhaps a hospital is not so much an intimidating, over-sterile place to one who works there, but a comfortably clean, easy to navigate system of paths and metal double doors with coded keys. It is an appreciation for what the hall lead to, the rooms it held and what they produced, a sort of humble respect that had them not only shrugging at the money offered to making their hall more ‘inviting’- whatever that meant- but actually protesting the idea of carpeting, and putting up anything more than a small poster ad for the upcoming play. Those who knew the hall loved it for what it was; a tropical fruit smelling, uninviting, cold tiled, asylum-colored, long and skinny passageway separated from the beaten path that those unaware of traveled down from class to class, oblivious to the excitement within.
CG-Aye! Steve Daly talks to effects supervisor John Knoll about how he made Davy Jones, Bill Nighy's creepy villain in the ''Pirates'' sequel, look so real by Steve Daly .
For years, Hollywood folks have been talking about creating ''virtual actors.'' But every time someone uses CG trickery to try creating photographically real humans — for instance, in Final Fantasy and The Polar Express — the characters wind up looking like creepy automatons with weirdly dead eyes. Realistic? More like cadaverous. (Princess Fiona and her parents in the Shrek movies have come closer to the mark than anything else so far.) Meantime, in the realm of more fantastical, only-vaguely-humanoid characters, filmmakers have already hit the so-real-you-believe-it jackpot. The trail was blazed by a nervy experiment that didn't quite work: the widely reviled Jar-Jar Binks, the Stepin-Fetchit-esque, Jamaican-patois-spouting sidekick from George Lucas' Star Wars prequels. He wasn't ever physically convincing — that limbs-akimbo walk looked too rubbery — and he wasn't likable. But then Peter Jackson and company, far away in New Zealand, picked up the baton by really nailing Gollum for the Lord of the Rings films, using a mix of CG and ''performance capture'' done with actor Andy Serkis. Jackson pushed the trick further in King Kong, making a 24-foot-tall ape look incredibly simian in some shots — again based on performances by Andy Serkis. Now the bar's been set higher still with Davy Jones, the Octopus-faced undersea villain from Disney's phenomenally popular Pirates of the Caribbean sequel, Dead Man's Chest. Whatever you think of the film overall — and many critics, including our own Lisa Schwarzbaum, have not been fans — you'd have to agree that something dazzling happens every time Davy Jones strides onscreen. Sporting beardlike, sucker-covered tentacles that wriggle and writhe and can even be used to play mean organ-keyboard licks, Davy looks more alive, more real, more solidly spatial, than any CG character in history.
GREAT CG STARTS WITH GREAT ACTORS. What's the most important ingredient in the extremely complicated Davy Jones technical sandwich? Two words: Bill Nighy. He's the deliciously dry English actor who played an over-the-hill pop star so memorably in Love, Actually, and Pirates director Gore Verbinski believed Nighy could bring the same insouciant air to Davy Jones.
But before Nighy could get to work on set, John Knoll's crew at ILM had to invent an entirely new way of doing an established trick called ''motion capture.'' Explaining all the details would make your eyes glaze over faster than a dead buccaneer’s. But basically, the profound improvement that Knoll and company hit upon was a way to do the motion-capturing right on the main movie sets, instead of trying to re-create all of Davy Jones' actions on an isolated blue screen soundstage months after principal photography was finished. Ever wonder why so many performances in the Star Wars prequels sound and look so stifled, so robotic? It's partly because the actors typically had nothing physical to work off of, since every part of the scenery and the CG-creature supporting cast was put in later. (There was an on-set stand-in for Jar-Jar, actor Ahmed Best, but somehow that didn't help much.)
Not so with Dead Man's Chest. The actors were almost always working on either physical sets or actual locations, and their fellow cast members were right there next to them, interacting in real time with them, to keep line readings and physical bits of business much fresher. That means you get moments like Nighy's Davy Jones making an odd popping sound with his upper lip to express puzzlement, or jerking his head in certain querulous, highly humorous ways. ''On a soundstage with 25 technicians staring at Bill and nobody to play off of, that quirkiness would all have gotten ironed out,'' says Knoll. ''Somebody would say, That gesture is too off or too odd. It could have become a real sort of committee effort.'' Instead, Nighy had to please only one chief — Verbinski — and thus gave an especially lively performance. Working on stunning-looking locations instead of dull blue screen stages also made the action choreography much more dynamic. For instance, there's a shot of the Flying Dutchman pirate crew coming out of the milky-blue Caribbean waters to charge after Johnny Depp and Keira Knightley, who are in the midst of a swordfight on a white-sand beach. The shot looks as photo realistic as an island-vacation commercial — a breathtaking step forward in CG imagery. Knoll and company achieved it by first putting real actors in sensor-studded outfits right there in the water on a real beach, in the crazy-beautiful Exuma Islands of the Bahamas. That worked a lot better than trying to animate a CG group from scratch because the FX crew, which later CG-ized each actor into a barnacle-encrusted pirate monstrosity, had tremendously helpful details to work with. They could study the live-action footage carefully to see exactly how the light should look, exactly how the water should run off the pirates' bodies, exactly how they should shift their weight while stepping into sand as they became CG figures instead of actors in suits. The result, by and large, is more convincing CG character movements — and better CG lighting effects — than we've seen before.
According to John Knoll, Bill Nighy was at first leery of the whole motion-capture-to-CG process. He was jealous that his costume consisted only of what he called ''pirate pajamas.'' Depp and company got to wear resplendent outfits on set, complete with feathers, boots, period pantaloons, blackened teeth, you name it — all of which can greatly help an actor in formulating a believable character. All Nighy got to wear, says Knoll, was ''this bizarre Devo jumpsuit sort of thing.'' It was a track-suit-type ensemble, topped by a skull cap with a sort of headband in front — and all of it marked with bold, black-and-white checkered patterns. (In unfinished raw footage, Nighy looks almost like he's playing an escaped prison convict or a harlequin clown in a striped outfit.) But Nighy's less-than-piratical duds were crucial for helping the animators later track his body movements into a CG version of Davy Jones.
FROM ACTUAL TO VIRTUAL. Because of ILM's deployment of a revolutionary, on-the-spot ''mo-cap'' system, director Gore Verbinski could use hand-held cameras a lot, and could also frame close-ups that lasted a long time onscreen. Both elements help convince an audience they're seeing something real and off-the-cuff, not something staged and planned and noodled to death. And make no mistake: Every shot with Nighy involved months of noodling each tiny little movement and expression and gesture. An animation crew led by Hal Hickel (a CG veteran who worked on the first Toy Story film) performed insanely laborious work translating all of Nighy's on-set actions into a final performance, but always using the actor's work as their guiding light.
Frankly, says Knoll, it all came out much better than director Verbinski expected — especially Davy Jones' eyes. ''There was a lot of concern at the beginning that since we had to do tight close-ups with Davy, the CG eyes would never hold up. Gore was really concerned about that. He felt nobody had done CG eyes that had the kind of life you get from an actual film performance by an actor.''
Knoll and crew made elaborate preparations to blend Nighy's actual eyes into an otherwise CG figure, just as they'd done for certain moments in the first Pirates movie. Remember the shot when Captain Barbosa, played by Geoffrey Rush, steps into a shaft of moonlight for the first time and becomes a living skeleton? ''I did a trick there,'' says Knoll. ''I hung on to Geoffrey Rush's live-action eyes for about two or three seconds after that transition. So for a few moments after he becomes a skeleton, it's all CG except his eyes. They're Geoffrey's eyes right up until the first time Barbosa blinks, and then they become CG. That really helped sell the transition.''
Verbinski initially wanted the same sleight-of-eye trick for Davy Jones, Knoll recalls. ''He felt like, when we're in tight, if the CGI doesn't turn out to work well, I want to be able to use Bill's real eyes.'' But ILM's crack team did so well at creating watery, sparkly orbs in CG form, simply using Nighy's darting eyes as reference, that Verbinski never demanded the real thing. As convincing as the eyes look in those close-ups, according to Knoll they are not the actor's actual eyes.
Pardon me for gushing, readers, but that just blows my mind. Every time Davy Jones fills the frame in close-up, I am amazed, stunned, transported. It's the kind of rhapsodically convincing visual wizardry you seek in summer movies but so seldom find. Sure, Dead Man's Chest has tons of other effects and showcase moments: the fight on the water wheel, Johnny Depp's pole-vault with the shish kebab stick, the attacks of the huge Kraken beastie that snaps ships' hulls like walnuts. But it's only Bill Nighy's octopussy-faced Davy Jones that makes me yell, like a giddy kid sucking on sugary candy, ''Oh my God — that is so money shot!''
"If there were, in the world today, any large number of people who desired their own happiness more than they desired the unhappiness of others, we could have paradise in a few years."
This quote, by Bertrand Russell, pushes our minds to embark on a personal journey. For some, it may be trying to fathom helping someone besides themselves, for some it is how to forgive that ex- friend that stabbed them in the back so hard they could never possibly fathom forgiving them. (Sounds a bit harsh, but it is the way many people in our age act.) But for a few, it provokes a question they cannot seem to answer, which is not if they should help others, but how. A serious dilemma indeed, and one that deserves some attention.
Sometimes people get angry with you when you try to help them, and some people don’t know how to take constructive criticism, as some people can’t seem to figure out how to properly administer it. Other people just don’t want to admit flaws that are stopping them from reaching happiness, or are afraid to see into their problems. So many a wise person would tell you that if the most you could do is smile at a person in the halls, or brighten their lives for the one class period they share with you, or pat them on the shoulder with an understanding, empathetic gesture, that is plenty. And it may work temporarily. But just as it is not enough to permanently make the blue person happy, it is not enough to satisfy the bringer of joy.
Not to mention yet another predicament, which would be that happiness is different for every person. You may enjoy being with a large group of friends laughing about what a joke your English speech was today, while getting high on caffeine and painting nails. But my idea of a happy- high is when I am free of all petty obligations such as stress and homework, and can think freely and disappear into my world of music and literature. A friend of mine seems to only reach happiness in her own not so little world. Happiness is an escape from the harshness of reality. So how can we help a person reach happiness without the knowledge of what they consider it to be?
But further still there is the potentially- problematic case of the stubborn and naive little balls- of- love that tend to be the friend that comes to you for help, and cannot see the problem that is preventing their bliss. Sometimes they have another conundrum added to that, which is that all they know is that they are not happy. They don’t even know what it is they seek; what sends them into a world of contentment. This is bad, as the only person capable of that knowledge is themselves. These people pose the problem of eternal temporary glee. Cursed to constantly know the feeling, but be forever trapped in a never ending, paranoid love affair with the flitting emotion of joy. Quite a pickle these people put us in.
So we have discovered that the world would be a better place if everyone was happy. But we tend to create mental combustion when we try to solve everyone else’s problems, even if we are extremely intuitive and perceptive, and even if we are entitled because we have fixed ourselves. Spontaneous combustion must be avoided or we all go insane in the membrane, and are forced to move to the Mental Institution. Some of us already have reserved positions there. But what then, do we do to continue breeding joy? Sometimes we can help others just by letting them know they are loved. But for permanent joy… what for that? It is as Mr. Russell’s quote implies: there is more to this deal then wishing happiness on others; we must bring joy upon ourselves. Make yourself happy. If everybody did this, everybody would be happy. This is, as fun as the idea is, not a debate about if a person is capable of making themselves happy, but a search for the formula to peace and love. I think it looks like this: Me+ my happy place+ my happy people+ my happy things= Heaven on Earth.
And for those who bring depression upon yourselves, keep in mind, “We create the world, in the act of perceiving it.” It is, no matter how cliché this sounds, all what we make of it. I know, I know. ‘But my Mom won’t let me be myself.’ I didn’t say it would be easy. Heck, if we were just given everything we longed for, would it be as satisfying? The more you salivate over those mouth-watering, rich, fluffy, little swirling pieces of holiness called “brownies”, the better they taste when you finally get them. It goes along with the “licking the batter” theory. Every time Mom makes brownies, you ask to lick the spoon. You then go for the whole bowl, and Mother dearest says ‘no, you’ll get a stomach ache.’ Then you grow up, and, feeling particularly devilish, eat the whole bowl of brownies just as batter. Oh sure, fun-fun. I am doing something baaaaad. Mom would have killed me! And then you are up all night puking your brains out. Lessoned learned. Too much of a good thing can be bad. This would be the polar opposite of having to work hard for what you want, believe me, it tastes better if you work for it, or wait patiently. Even if it can be torturous. Remember, “All good things to those that wait.”
In the end, as much as I wish I could help others,( in which case to fix the world I would need to be God, which would get really tedious after a while since everything would be exactly as you want it and therefore nothing is unique and entertaining), it is up to each individual to determine their own state of being. To be or not to be? That is the question…
NOTE: I am a nerd. Not as much fun without the italics for where he stresses the words. But then, those who would actually look at this can probably hear Bill saying the lines anyways. :p
“What’s… this… tumult?” (in the book the line is tumult, in the movie, raucous, but I like tumult, it fits better)
“Leave us.”
“Do you know why I have been awakened, servant?”
“You mean when you find her.”
“You must let her come to me. We have much to discuss, Selene and I. She has shown me a great many disturbing things. Things that will be dealt with soon enough. This coven has grown weak, decadent. Perhaps I should have left someone else in charge of my affairs.”
*pants*“Still…her memories are…chaotic, there’s no sense of time.”
“I’ve rested enough. What you will do, is summon Marcus.”
*humbled scoff*“Come closer, my child…”
“It is the oldest story in the book. He desires most the one thing he cannot have… Now. Tell me. Why have you come to believe that Lucian still lives?”
“Incoherent thoughts and images, nothing more. Which is precisely why the Awakening is performed by an Elder. You do not possess the necessary skills.”
“The chain has never been broken. Not once. Not in fourteen centuries. Not since we Elders first began to leap-frog through time. One awake, two asleep, that’s the way of it. It is Marcus’ turn to reign, not mine.”
“Ah yes…the lycan.”
“I will leave it to Kraven to collect the proof. If there is any.”
“Because he is not the one who has been tainted by an animal. I love you. Like a daughter but you leave me no choice… These rules are in place for a good reason and they are the only reason we have survived this long. You will not be shown an ounce of leniency. When Amelia arrives, the council will convene and decide your fate. You have broken the chain, and the covenant! You must be judged!”
“I sent for Selene. Not you.”
“Your incompetence is becoming most taxing.”
*chuckle*“The sons of the Corvinus clan. One bitten by bat, one by wolf, one to walk the lonely road of mortality as a human it’s a ridiculous legend, nothing more.”
“There is a descendant of Corvinus lying there. Not three feet from you.”
“There can be no such thing. And to speak of it is heresy.”
“Lucian is dead.”
“I can assure you, my child… Kraven will pay with his life.”
“Abomination.”
“What of Amelia?”
“I am sorry I doubted you. Fear not, my child, absolution will be yours… The moment you kill the descendant of Corvinus, this… Michael.”
“Where is he? Where’s Kraven?”
“Forgive me my child…”
“Leave us.”
“Yes. I have taken from you. But I have given so much more. Is it not a fair trade the life I have granted you? The gift of immortality?”
“I loved my daughter! But the abomination growing in her womb was a betrayal of me and of the coven. I did what was necessary to protect the species, as I am forced to do, yet again!”
While on a date with a beautiful woman, Bill searches for something to compare her beauty to. Sadly, all he sees is a piece of bread. But this proves no challenge to his superior poetic mind. Sadly, he gets a bit off the romantic side halfway through, and mirrors his bloodier writings.
“Thou bread ist but a fragment of thine beauty, thine beauty liketh the yeast which resigneth in thy tiniest slab of wheat meal. Whenst thou addest thine milky butter, tis liketh thine golden hair on a fair spring morn, luscious and smooth. The crust of thine yeasty scrumptiousness is liketh thine moist skin, a delicacy to nibble on, a feast for mine eyes, and a scent so pure and irresistible mine eyes must looketh away, my nose be cut off, spewing blood o’er the realm, and my heart ripped out, still beating in thine hands, which are so fair my soul can barely stand, but to fall in divine despair.” He says, staring wide-eyed at his heart, which the pale and frozen stiff woman holds, shaking. Then he falls and dies, soon to be revived in the name of love. Again.
Thus is the ever occurring dilemma of a romantic, violent, crazy poet.
Lisa. A name. A name is an interesting thing. You are Lisa, be Lisa, let no one and no thing stop you from becoming Lisa entirely. But what is Lisa? Lisa is a thing. A name. You are you, a creature of existence whose species is known as “homosapians” and “humans”. Your name is Lisa, Lisa Marrs, but Lisa is not you, or who you will become. When someone says, “Lisa, you are very talented.” You immediately doubt them, you say, “No, I’m not.” You feel restrained because the name they called you represents both the good and the bad. Good and bad. Broad, classifying words those are as well. Good and bad, words describing and determining what the reaction to an act should be based off of the majority of people, or societies moral standards. Society, a homogenous blob that loves you one moment, and hates you the next. It is a fickle ally, and a dangerous foe. Lisa. The name your parents gave you, and a lovely one at that. The idea of your name came from favorite names they had heard, and also in consideration of names that fit you according to what you looked like, seemed to be, and they imagined you would become. Who they imagined you would become draws from wanting you to have all the ‘good’ things in life they had, avoid the ‘bad’ things they’d experienced, and most of all, be blessed with the ‘wonderful’ things they missed out on. Whether a parent will admit it, knows it, or not, the second their child is born, they have a vision of their life planned out for them. They have dreams for them; goals for them. And they will raise the child off of the path that they feel will best get them to where they envisioned them being, going. But often the path they have been given to walk on is not the path the child wishes to travel, or needs to travel in order to move further along the journey of their lives in the direction that they would prefer. You see, I am sure, the problem here. You know, a mother bird will feed her chicks, but they must learn to fly on their own. Some leave earlier than others. Some are stubborn and refuse to leave, in which case the mother pushes them off. Fly, fly, fly, little birdie, or die, die, die. Not unlike humans. Snakes are born, and immediately feed, then they go off on their own, meaning most won’t survive the first day. But should they fail to leave, the mother snake eats them. But this is really besides the point. Animals have discovered that the best way to learn is to experience. Humans are such control needing creatures they will ruin their own children just because they are their children, and they decide what they can and cannot, will and will not do. A very sad thing indeed.
We as a species also feel the need to name and condense everything more complicated then our little thirsty minds will let us immediately understand. Things we cannot even begin to grasp or understand. Things we cannot come to terms with are deemed, insane. That of course, applies more to people and actions. That is really all insane is, the name given to describe the un-definable; a thing determined to be dangerous, or ‘bad’. I also know of a ‘good’ thing we will never be able to scope, or even begin to comprehend. The determined value of ‘good’, on this particular thing being the only thing that separates it from the definition of insane. That thing? God, my friend. If you believe in him, God. He sees all, knows all, is all. He is therefore everywhere at all periods of time, and in everything. He is everyone and everything, and no one and no thing. This is not solid, and we cannot begin to picture how this is possible. But being un-satiable control freaks, we need a vision. We crave an embodiment for something that does not have one. But he is such an important thing in our lives… We must understand him in as many ways as possible, considering that as it is, we are very limited in this area. So we draw him as a man, a human with a shiny aura and fatherly looks, resembling our modern day view of Santa Claus. Oh goody- goody, a connection! Now we can follow him and love him and trust him and believe in him. But now we need a name for this embodiment. How else will we talk about him? That glowy powerful man thing? No. Thus, “God”. Or “Mohammed” or “Buddha”, depending on who you are talking to. Those are all names. A mere name. A reference. A commonly viewed embodiment. Lisa. A name. An embodiment, a vision of your parents. You see? Your body could have any name. But for simplicities sake you are referred to as Lisa. I personally think you look like a Nicole. So there, take that. So be yourself, be Lisa. Ah, but that would mean being the restrained reference that others see you as. But you are more than that, so much more. You are a soul, vast and complicated, beautiful and intense. Simple, and yet a complete conundrum. That is why, no matter if they share a name or not, each human is unique, special, and different in every way. Inside, anyways. You are your soul. But what is your soul? Who can say? You cannot define it. It is a mix of everything you are, everything you were, and everything you will be. When I analyze you to help you, I am observing the parts of you that we are able to view. Your past and present. As for who you will become… who knows where the wind will blow you as you soar through the skies. But do just that- soar. Don’t lustfully watch the sky from the ground, don’t bury your head in the dirt and pretend the sky doesn’t even exist. And for God’s sake, don’t let any one tie you down. And if you feel like you have been tied, and fear flying for the fear of falling, don’t. I will fly with you, and you will never fall. I will lift your stony burden whenever you need me to. I was tied down a long time ago. Know that the stone doesn’t go away, you just get strong enough to carry it on your own. But you can’t start off alone, you need someone to be there in case it gets too heavy. Fly with me, let me teach you. I have found that while I am perfectly capable of floating around and enjoying the captivating beauty of the skies on my own, they are really much more beautiful if you share them with someone else.
Regards,
Kate Wilcox
P.S. You know, last night I was gazing up at the sky on my balcony, admiring one particularly bright star. At first I was remorseful; I finally had time to star gaze, and there was only one out? Then I tuned back my focus and I noticed that there were quite a few, many, actually, stars in the sky. And I realized then that they were all just as bright, some were just farther away. But were they farther away, or was that one merely closer? Perhaps the others were the closest stars on another planet, and this bright star was one of the ones that appeared farther away. I suppose how the stars are viewed, depends on where you are standing.
Elwood Brown’s description of profound traits that are applied to genius are a perfect attempt to define ingenuity. His idea would be easier to understand and relate to, and therefore more widely accepted if he had taken the traits he described, and directed them to a specific person we all know to be a genius, or that he considered to be one.
Through a world-wide known and accepted figure, we find the most efficient way to illustrate genius, because we see the relevance of his quote as we know why the figure is admired, and what they did to gain such prestigious status. For example, Leonardo Da Vinci “impressed and confounded mortals” of his time, as well as ours with his uncanny medical knowledge and breathtaking artwork. He was also considered, as he was ‘abnormally’ advanced for his time, and a scientist during the time when church ruled all, to be ‘insane’. Today he is more so an extremely intelligent, albeit eccentric fellow, who is responsible for much of our great art and technological success. A more modern example is Albert Einstein. We all know who he is. He’s that old guy with the bug eyes, funny German accent, and the hair that looks like the aftermath of Napoleon Dynamite meeting an angry electric eel. We came to know Einstein as a genius through our first half of schooling, for some even as a baby through being brainwashed into hopeful intelligence with the “Baby Einstein” programs. There is no doubt that he deserves the title he is considered to be, and he was a courageous one at that. After all, he survived the beginning of the Holocaust, escaped to America, and played a vital role, (in my opinion), in helping the Allies win WWII. But some have also considered him insane. After all, how could a man who thought that building the world’s most destructive weapon, (at the time), would create peace, not be so? “With great power comes great responsibility,” and how could he not know that the world’s wealthiest, and in a sense, most prosperous nation wouldn’t take advantage of his ‘gift’? Or are we labeling him the wrong way? Was he simply the man with the answers, or who thought he had the answer, to the world’s current problems; who couldn’t just sit back as it, quite literally, tore itself apart? And when they let him, was he simply so willing to help, that he was maybe just the slightest bit naive? Or is it because of his selfless naivety that he is insane?
In the ‘intelligent’ sense, these people obviously pass with flying colors. In they ‘insane’ sense, perhaps they did too, if you can explain why. But then, name one ‘genius’ that wasn’t a few cans short of a six pack in the land of societal dubbed ‘simple, everyday, common-sense” functions. Name just one who didn’t have his moments where he, (or she), failed to be half as ingenious as they were in the areas they excelled in with something we consider an extremely obvious act. Einstein’s wife had to remind him to eat and sleep, he would get so absorbed in his work. (This always reminds me of what my friends or family do when I am in the middle of working on a story.) The man who assisted in giving the world its first dictionary, the Oxford Dictionary, who worked with a Professor at Oxford through letters, and supplied most of the words, definitions, and designed the layout, was locked away in an insane asylum during the whole project. His colleague, the Professor, didn’t know until he went to the address he’d been writing to so often too personally thank his partner, and saw before him a mental ward that his friend was crazy.
But who are we to dub these rare gifts to our universe insane? Who are we to call them genius? If by genius we are implying that they are ‘marvelously intelligent and advanced’ for their period of time, then we could explain that. But what about the ‘strange and intangible’ part that Brown claims comes with genius? It would appear that with genius comes insanity, and that since insanity is something we stubbornly refuse to attempt to define for fear of discovering that we may, (heaven forbid), have crazy tendencies and qualities our perfect little selves, then genius is and will forever be exactly as Brown describes it to be.
“Genius is a strange, intangible force. It is an indefinable [sic], peculiar something that possesses a certain class of extraordinary human beings and gives vent to itself in a manner that impresses and confounds mortals.” Genius is something that we are all capable of, but that few will achieve. Genius is letting go of your fear of the unknown, and becoming it. Only then can you be extraordinary. And extraordinary is a word that could only be adequately defined by that madman who wrote our first dictionary.
I'm going to post some of my writings, not fiction, just stories and such. I write them to see other people's thoughts and reactions, so please, post back! Argue if you wish, just be polite. I eat rude people.
Most were for English class. The teacher read my essays because I sounded like I was actually interested in the topic, and like a would have written it whether she'd told me to or not.
Once on this website, go to games under Menu, then choose Pirate’s Dice for practice!
Rules ~Pirate’s Dice is a game of deception, where skills such as reading other people and a quick decision/ deduction process is key.
~Each player has a cup and five die. The die will not be seen by any one but their owner.
~Here is an example round. Davy, Jack and Will are playing. Davy goes first. His die are three 4’s, a one and a six. He calls four fours because the odds are very high that at least one other player has another four. You can under bet but you cannot over bet. Say Will calls “liar” because his turn is next. He doesn’t bet. He calls Davy’s bluff. If neither Will nor Jack has another 4, and there are only three fours on the table, Davy looses one die. If there is four 4’s, Will looses a die because he wrongly called the bluff.
Ever play BS the card game? AKA Bullshit?
It is very similar to that.
Back to the example. If there are more than four 4’s, Davy is not a liar. Will still looses his die. You can under bet, just not over bet.
~If you loose all your die, you are out. If you bet anything, you loose what you bet to the final winner.
~Strategy is useful, you start to pick up on common sense thoughts after playing. For example, when you are down to two players and each only has three die, you should call what you have to start, unless you are bold and people are afraid to call your bluff, because odds that the other player has at least one more of whatever you called are getting smaller.
~If the other player has one die and you have two or more, they basically loose automatically. Think about it. You have, say, two 1’s and a five. They have one die. You call two 1’s because you know they are going to call your bluff. They have to. They can’t possibly have what you do. Or they could. Wouldn’t that be fun.
~If you have four fives and another like, it doesn’t matter, a 4, and the other player has say three die, and you call four fives, odds are fairly good they are going to call your bluff, but if they don’t and they raise to five fives, that is possible. However, you can’t bet any lower than six fives next round. Like poker, you always have to raise. This leaves you with no choice but to call them a liar. If there are 8 die because you had five and the other player has three, and you have to call 6 fives, that is ridiculous. You have a better chance of them lying. So call it.
That is why Davy Jones was so confident that Will’s Dad was a liar second time he bet. He raised too high, and Jones only had two threes. Will had three, I believe. His dad said seven or something ridiculous. I don’t remember.
~Oh, and you only shake and roll once. The rest is betting and deception. Honesty is not always the best policy. It’s fun to lie every now and then, and helpful, especially when there are more players.
~No less than two players. Three and four are the recommended amount. The more the harder, but the more interesting it gets.
Aye matey! Have a blast!
NOTE: That was entertaining to write. Go check out the site. Go to MENU once all the introductory stuff is done, then go to games, then 'Pirate's Dice.'
I am doing way too much at once. I am running a website, leading another, writing for the newsletter of yet another, a main member of YET another, doing summer Ap homework, seeing friends, writing the rules to that confusing dice game from Pirates of the Caribbean, and when my brain should be spontaneously combusting from all that, it's not. While severly stressed, I found a possible path that would take generations to acheive, but acheive nontheless, WORLD PEACE and POVERTY.
Jesus God my brain hurts.
And I'm not even religious so it says something that I have resoted to saying 'Jesus God'.
Oh, and Monday I am seeing Dead Man's CHest for the third time.
Do me a favor and join my website so I feel better. Lol. You won't be dissapointed.
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif?v=92.1){kind=small}
katerinawilcox's journal
