the last inkers.

The Last Inkers
by Sophie Singer Brahmi










Introduction

Far, far in the future —in the year 4,005 to be precise — the world has reverted back to mostly medieval technology. This is similar to the the way in which the Middle Ages followed upon Ancient Greece. Technology such as aqueducts, the stocks, and castles were mixed with slight traces of futuristic tech like computers, robots, and starships. The world, in terms of tech and aesthetic, was like yin and yang, two opposites coming together.

All these changes occurred before the year 3,000. All before that was forgotten in a fire known as the Forgotten Flames. This fire obliterated all the world’s libraries and knowledge of the past. This fire was planned by a dreaded terrorist organization, the Liberate Pugnantium (Latin for freedom fighters). In the wake of this terrible event, the human race needed to start over and a livable planet had to recreated. At the turn of the millennium, humans began life anew by putting themselves on the solar map. They conquered planets, colonized asteroids and spread their new knowledge, teachings, traditions, and culture to other planets, which became prime real estate for other aliens to migrate to. As a result, a new era of cultural progression and prosperity dawned, one of peace, and harmony. All this glory was due to Queen Comma, queen and ruler of the planet Sphinx, formerly the Earth, which is the capital of Beta, formally the solar system. Sphinx rules our Solar system.

Beta is the proud cultural and industrial center of the known universe. It is a beacon of wellness and prosperity compared to other less fortunate star systems, like Alpha and Omega. After the mass-colonization of 3,008 and the Galactic Renaissance, Beta was doing pretty well. Less fortunate star systems tried to invade, pillage, kill and conquer certain planets in Beta. Pluto suffered the most. There was a huge war between Alpha and Beta, many lives were lost. In the end, Beta came out victorious. There were parades and celebrations to mark the winning of the Solar War, considered a blessing in Beta. There was a cost to this blessing though. Beta (specifically Sphinx's government) had used up so many resources to win the war, and lost so many men, that they were depleted and dangerously close to extinction. Thanks to Queen Comma, to the Royal Family and to Parliament, the human race lived on!

After the war, they devised a game-changing solution. They hired Professor Yunk, an engineer of unbelievable vision. This most brilliant man invented a device, a magic pencil, where anything drawn would become reality. He only had enough materials, however, for four magic pencils. Awed and intrigued by his creation, the government took it and told the professor it would be used as the Professor had originally intended, but it was a trap! They betrayed the professor and sentenced him to exile to live on an ice colony on Neptune. They held a global art competition to choose the artists who would draw all the supplies humans needed to survive. The artists were of course honored to be chosen for this distinguished position. The Queen lied though, and since the Queen was known to backstab and be a powerful manipulator, it came as no surprise what happened next.

The Queen claimed that working for the royal family was a prestigious position. But that was hardly the case, and the three winners—Simon, Peter, and Ermitage—were excited beyond belief at their good luck. Sadly, they would regret that excitement for the rest of their lives...they were stripped of their names and had numbers melded onto their necks. Now named One, Two, and Three - as a group they were called The Inkers - and were rarely addressed separately.

The Inkers were tortured if they misbehaved, although they were well-fed and given many lavish rooms in the castle, women to court, and parades and festivals were held in their honor. No civilians knew what terrors these sorry men would endure behind the castle walls. The Queen strategically kept their abuse hidden. Let’s just say that government transparency was not in play.

The three of them grieved for their own crippling misfortune. The three men were also force-fed S.A.S.Ds (Stimulant for the Immune System Drugs)— a pill the size of a large peanut—that makes it impossible for these men to ever die. The pills were also conceived by Yunk before his banishment. but there’s a catch to this endless life sentence, it wears off by the time these men, are 400 years old. because these pills don't just make you immortal forever, only for a couple hundred years. because when it wears off they age super rapidly in like 3 minutes till there just light traces of flesh and degrading bones, all in one or 2 minutes.

Two, unlike One and Three, who had come to accept most things that came with there new life, they figured it useless, to protest. relentlessly tried to escape risking the worst punishments. One night after an especially severe beating, when he had almost given up all hope, he took out his pencil to try to break it out of anger, and he realized something peculiar about the object. There were two pencils stuck together. There had been a huge miscalculation! Professor Yunk must have accidentally glued two together! Two hollered, “Great balls of fire!” and the guard screamed back at him, “Quiet!” Since he was quick-thinking, bold and rebellious, Two naturally whistled for his pet crow, Tristan, the whistle being the one thing they hadn’t confiscated, since the queen took all of his other belongings. He blew it quietly, for fear of the guards, though loud enough for Tristan to streak across the crimson sky in response. The bird flew to his cell window and perched itself just within One's reach. He slid his extra pencil into the crow’s talons, and set its coordinates (the bird was part robot) to his cousin's house in Scotland. His cousin was his only known relative. Two recorded a message into the crow’s mouth which was a small microphone. The message was a very to-the-point guide on what to do with the pencil. He said:

“...she lied, it was all a lie! I'm not a portrait artist for the Royal Family, I'm a blasted slave!
Save me! I've been taken captive by the Queen herself! I'm being held against my will, to draw everything, an impossible task!!! All the things we lost in the war, you know, you fought! They’re also lying about it to the world; no one knows what I’m going through, ‘cousin! you need to go in disguise, probably as a delivery boy, bringing us art supplies. pretend you're delivering art supplies and get me and my art school buddies out of this nightmare!
They treat us like cattle, we’re labor machines, and we never get a break! Last week they melded the number two onto my neck, and now, that's all they call me!
they drugged me too, I took S..A.S.Ds, they make you live a couple hundred years, but at the price of enhanced pain for every injury! you need to come before the lunar ellipse festival, i’ll be dead by on ‘cousin!* the Queen’s mad! Help m--...”

Two heard the guards clamber down the chamber hall, and by the light of the pale moon, he ended the recording with haste, pressed it tighter into his claws, and bound it with a rubber band to assure it wouldn't fall, and by the rushed way of things, and the guards right outside the door yelling “To,get some sleep will ya, you’ll need it for tomorrow.” two said “yes sir” and then he let him fly: the crow flew carrying the fate of Sphinx in his claws. Tristan arrived at Kathy's house, in a thunderstorm, and after being struck down by a strong thrash of lightning after rain-water had jacked up his circuits, Tristan sputtered towards his destination and dropped the pencil at Gathu’s feet. He died, broken, there on the soggy bristled welcome matt. Gathu took out the pencil from his claws, and as he held it, trying to figure out what it was, he jumped back at the alarming sound of microphone feedback and knelt down at Tristan’s corpse to listen to the recording. After hearing it, Gathu quickly became very distraught, and was scared to do what Two had requested. He thought about it for a second, but Gathu, being the coward, and being that he had a wife children and a farm run, he just felt he couldn’t do that, as much as he loved Two it was in fact, out of the question. he threw the crow in the river along with message kept the pencil though, and as long as he lived he never saved his cousin. he passed it on to his son, who was also too frightened to do as two had requested, and this seemingly endless cycle of fear and procrastination, continued for 400 years, the pencil went from son to son, till eventually they forgot why they even had it. The queen realized this soon after Two’s deed was done, and of course once the queen realized this, she was livid. she immediately accused him of committing a vile felony, and crime against the republic, punishable by public whipping. They would set lashes on his back until he bled into unconsciousness. Two was not nervous, nor did he plead for mercy; he accepted his punishment knowing, with that ongoing thought of hope, that his cousin would wield the pencil and help them escape. Of course, he waited longer than he had hoped. Fast forward 400 years, and a good 16 generations. Then came along Gathu ignorant descendent, Lyra. He would be the first in the long line of men to wield the pencil before him to try and save the inkers, but he’s only got a year to do it, the last year before the inkers die from a beating the would normally survive, and the year lyra becomes a man,

Chapter One
The Festival.

I ran, denting the dirt as I sprinted across the rolling hills, I ran so fast the rush was exhilarating to a point where I tripped on a tree root, and my knee began to bleed, but, I was so late I had to walk off the pain, and running from nothing but the breeze behind me, blowing my hair into my face, I was oh so dead.. naturally when you're late for your own birthday party, you worry at least a little. The next couple of days, our town will celebrate the blue moon lunar eclipse, and my birthday just happens to fall on the eclipse as well. so this year, the party’s usually about the eclipse, and how in some ancient scripture, it said that, like some weird shtick, like a good man will die and a new child will be born, or some weird thing like that. i honestly forgot why it happens, but it only happens every hundred years, and look i've never liked the party all my friends get intolerably intoxicated, and i usually suffer from being a gross, uneventful introvert, and sit in the grass under the mother oak, west of the festival grounds reading philosophy, and complaining about how everything sucks. like a sad, lonely wallflower. away from all the action. and not even noticing my whole life is going by without me, regardless my art keep me sain, and i’m good at it so i guess it's okay. the problem is I can't do that this year, because the sad fact is this year, since I turn 18, (what most townsfolk consider a grown man) I don't think my mum would let me go run off and enjoy my own peaceful serenity under that willow tree by the stream, where each ripple is more entertaining to watch than the theatre troupe at the party, and this year, it's going to be all about me, because clearly the townsfolk are getting bored of having these balls be not themed. We're a coastal town, but this village is so quiet and uneventful, even the mighty ocean is nice and relaxed on our shore. as it is a fjord, with a small village, a very small village, well compared to neighboring cities at least across the ocean.

It's a peasant festival where the tankards of ale are raised to the moon, and the ladies are hotter than the sun, and the night is still young. it's basically the most fun you're gonna have in the tired cow town. down by the river the fjords. It's a time where the robot jesters entertain the costume kings and even the wild wind can't sit still, it's a time when the Dragon-Gods watch from their heavenly thrones, and applaud at the fireworks, held in their honor, where the ocean and the fishes and the mermaids and all can hear the music too so they come out from the water and party, people come from the neighboring villages. The wandering nomads stop for a dance, dreams come true left and right. and even the people on the little winners on the moon, will also get fizzy on their mead, and dance even up there till the stars become set apart, even they have to make way for the majesty that is this party. Okay I admit it that was a bit an exaggeration, but it is pretty great.

Anyway, I kept running. I knew the festival was not going to start till later in the afternoon. Of course, I still had to get there in time to help prepare. I ran and suddenly realized I was not going to be able to run that far, that fast, without getting a hernia. So, naturally, I rushed to strap on my rocket boots. I flew across the grass, faster than I could have ever gone on foot, and made it just in time for my mother to scold me harshly for being tardy. “Lyra!” she shrieked, “where have you been? Reading in the field again? Come on, it’s time to prepare the decor, and tell the baker what flavor cake you want!” I groaned, strolling past her quickly, and realized I had already made other plans. I dashed past her, whizzing her hair, behind her neck. “Where are do you think you’re going, young man?!” she hollered after me. I resentfully turned around and hollered back, “Mum, I made plans with Luger to go get salmon buns by the boardwalk, and paint the sunset!!!” She just sighed and waved her finger as if to motion, “Go ahead, but be back by 4:00.”

So, I ran on the sandy, yet dirty road to the beach. I’d have to pass through the glen, the thorn bush statue garden, and fountain. a popular spot for leisure, for the more financially content. I zipped all the way down the hill into town. I passed vintage, market street lanes filled with distant memories from when I was a child. I passed the baker, and the fishermen and the merchants and their relics from distant lands and galaxies. And I also passed the butcher, the starship commander, and his travel agency, and my favorite vendor in the market square: the town mystic. He claims to have traveled all across time and space, and has a higher understanding of existence as a whole. I’m the only one in town who believes him. He doesn’t sell cheese or armor, but advice, wisdom, and palm readings. It's a decent market, but I had to keep moving, no getting distracted, I told myself.

I arrived and all the people at the boardwalk were putting up banners and blowing balloons and wrapping gifts, and were setting-up the sand-filled, ivory beach with palm trees that were taller than columns, and coconuts bigger than double-chinned heads. And it looked more like it did in the square for the big bash than I thought it would all the way down here. “Jesus,” I muttered under the cover of my long grey scarf, and I felt guilty. This town shouldn’t be doing this—how can they afford this party but I can’t even afford nice soap?“ Answer me that!” I said out loud.

I honestly pitied the group of party men, on those ladders carrying supplies. I really did pity them, honestly, I’m not the only dirt poor person in this town. Most likely, half the people throwing this party are going bankrupt in the process. Because as as you know most of us spend most of our time in the city, only a hop skip and a ride in a starship away from the fjord, I mean you can see it after all. Anyway, it’s not like I had much say in what went into the party. My sisters were doing most of the planning, despite the fact that they were six. They were talking so loud and so much, I just got kinda overwhelmed mainly because they were asking me a ton about what I thought of things. Why would they ask me, I’m a blacksmith not some sort of playboy, party animal, master of seduction, someone that would know? Yeah, not me. Thought they would have gotten the memo that I prefer the quiet life, although sometimes I long for adventure and a life full of danger, and excitement, and traveling, and fighting and caring about a cause you’d die for!!!

Like those brave warriors in those old Scottish legends anyway, but it's not like a pathetic blacksmith like me would ever be doing that. Oh sorry, I’ll stop with the pity. So anyway, I strolled down the dead and empty boardwalk with broken boards that you could fall into the sea if you're not careful. I was going there to wait for my best friend, Luger, who’s always been a brother to me. He calls me a wandering spirit, a stranger in a stranger place, you know, he’s a very poetic lad, he writes books on the human condition, and how people think and stuff, he’s a real bright lad, brighter than me anyway, he always talks about finding salvation, like there’s something more, something you can’t find on Sphinx, or anywhere else in Beta. Something...more. Then again, he’s most likely over-thinking it, he’s known to do that. He’s brilliant anyhoo and I love him to death. But I feel like he found his “salvation” like inner peace, or some shtick, in well, writing, words and the art of crafting language is his way of taking refuge, his sanctuary with which to escape the unforgiving world he felt trapped, in. We both feel trapped, that's probably why we're such close friends. I found salvation in art, but as defiant and assumed to be opposite things, these two things are, surprisingly the differences, and the nature of literature, and art, are actually where they start becoming more similar. See, me and luger, yin and yang. Honestly I sometimes feel trapped because of the whole longing for adventure, thing. But luger keeps me sane, you know, I come to the beach and sit on the edge of the boardwalk, in my sleepy village town, to think, ponder the meaning of things, pluck barnacles from the undersides of the dock. I also enjoyed performing mostly incorrect autopsy on dead crabs. And most of all, oil painting the ocean at sunset, oh how many times I’ve drawn that same scene. Anyway, as I slowly became lost in my own mind, and had a fair amount of trouble finding my way out, so much so I fell asleep dangerously close, to the age of the docks and falling into the warty depth’s, and as I deduced into a sudden, slumber a dream began. I was looking at myself through I guess my own eyes but at another time, I was not really sure because I was asleep. But it was all the more odd, the more the dream progress, it seemed, as if I was ghost outside of my own body and it was of some sort of party, I assumed it was mine. everyone was singing happy birthday, luger and his sister claude , were telling me to smile, I got up on their stage, where the troop just was, I got up on that shining, pedestal and blew out my 18 candles, then I turned slowly, and uncomfortably shifted for a present dream predicting the future, to a full blown nightmare, I saw, me holding up some kind of pen, and I saw the towns folk gasp and my mum started to beat me, for some reason, it( like most dreams made no scene) and then as I squirmed on the dock from this nightmare, I heard my name faintly being called at me, faint then genuine, then loud then louder! I shuddered as I felt a hard slap against my cold cheek, I tumbles of the edge of the dock with a start! And I was thrust into the ice cold, ocean, and like it would with anyone else, it woke me up. Luger aggressively kicked me one the side, into the ocean to be hit like a iron fist I flailed my arms and legs in the water, as luger stood there like he knew that was gonna happens, so sure of himself and confident. It made me want to throw a fish right in that smug bastard’s face. “So how’s the water, cold was it, might if I join in?” I nervously twitched as I desperately tried to ignore the freezing cold biting me like a dog. It might just give you a fresh taste of the true belligerence of my friend, what happens next, luger leaps in the water and we played cat and dog for a good 4 spitting in each others eyes, like you know mature men do. Might I add, that it, was so, so very gay. Anyway he pulled each other out of the water and took off our shirts, to ring them out and dry them out .as passing fishermen began to stare, I bet they also got the wrong impression of what was going on. Anyway he began to make awkward conversation. “ Sorry Lyra, don't mean to do that” he must be kidding, I thought to myself, I responding quick with my wits about me, “ yes you did” “he just threw his arms in the air and hugged me, I as much as I seemed annoyed that he pushed, In the water, I really was happy to see him, he and I began to stroll towards, the bun shop. “so Lyra, he said, are
you pumped or what?” he said, “ no, I’m actually quite, sad.” He just looked at me like i had just committed treason, “ what, because you might not like your presents, if you ask me, I think you're lucky the party is about you, and not the silly moon again, right?” I just sat down at the cafe table under the town waning as the salty smell of lobster husk, and clam shell, payed for my bun at the counter and we sat in the silky sand, hand around his shoulder like this was a fairy tale, and we talked as the sun set, and it got colder, dipsite the fact the sun was quite close, you know because of the eclipse. anyway as the day became darker and the hour on which the party would start drew closer and closer to them. “luger, shouldn't we be heading back now, it's gonna start soon, like 20 minutes soon.” luger just stared at me up and down, and fiercely crossed his arms and said ‘LYRA!, i thought you weren't excited for the party. “ well i thought you were supposed to be the quiet one, luger, the philosopher” he then grabbed me, and looked me right in the eyes, and said with the most stupidly straight face, contouring what he said, he just clutched my palm, like he was about to lock lips with me or somethin!? i just breathed heavier than i do when i run, and i stared into his turquoise eyes,and he said, as he dipped me back, and cut his finger on my robot wrist and hollered “ oh let's dance, lyra!” and we danced to imaginary song in both of our heads that somehow had the same beat. until one of my mom's prepper minions, came running like a dog on fire, so frantically he ran to the docks, in the lighted darkness, we saw him, as dark as a shadow because of the heavy dose of atmosphere, holding a dripping candles, witch kept slipping, when we saw his wissing and gasping, the poor men looked completely out of breath. i started to assume my mom sent this guy, now i won't shoot the messenger, but she really could have just come herself. and we naturally stopped dancing out of pure raw embarrassment. he spoke with the voice as hearty and whole as the party itself. “are, *gasp* are, you two kids, coming to the party or not, i think you should go Lyra,” i heard luger giggle, and i punched him in the shoulder, as followed the blow with a well deserved flinch. the man, clad in a flowing black cloak, that blended with the night so well i could neall only see his thin and boney face, and hi even thinner and ven boney hands. then said “common boys, let me be your chaperone!” he grabbed us both by the hands, and ran, up the cobblestone road, despite the lanterns hanging from the arch above us, we couldn't see the top of the hill, so he lead to the festival, it was dark so we couldn't see, like, atall, but once we made it to the top of the hill, with this mysterious messenger as our guide, we could finally see, quite well actually when i and luger arrived at the top of the hill, with the whole town, in costume! Some were dressed (quite convincingly) as roality, some as circus performers, or maybe the it was the real circus! i couldn't tell! i saw fireflies in jars being let out, to light my way, the let out a torn and ratty red carpet for me to walk on as if i was the king, i saw chicken fights on tables people betting on their respective chicken. i saw gypsy dancers and people flicking small golden coins in the hat, and i saw pole riding shepherds with their staffs, and their kids, riding rams atop the floyd looking over the festival, i ran up ahaned and all the townsfolk handed me cards and presents! tonight was gonna, it was a marvelous spectacle, luger, like him, didn't seem amused, he rolled his eyes at things i gawked in amazement at! whatever, he’s not impressed at anything. I looked up to see hot air balloons, and starships higher in the sky blasting and shooting glow in the dark smoke out of there exist engines, spelling happy birthday me. i saw people drop sparkling magic and sacks that exploded around me as i wondered utterly distracted and awed and blown away, buy my surrounding i slowly and strolling to the town square, there were lights were the lamposts usually were streamers and banners hanging from every house, and tower. i finally made it to the green, and boy, was it a sight to behold. the music i heard at the bottom of the hill, slowly as i walked up the hill the music, it sounded like a full orchestra which progressively got louder and louder, then finally when we reached the top, my jaw dropped and smacked the dirt ground with a thud, there was a staged band, bass, trumpet, drums, and oh stars even a gilded harp! i was blown away! i mean the festival is literally just like this evry year, but this year it wasn't the festival, it was my big, booming birthday party! cripes i was stoked! i stepped into the dance, people were dancing in circle, there were step dancers, and lovers doing the tango, it other men and women, and children alike, just shot it freestyle. i then looked to my left and in the mists of the blaring band and all the flailing and rapidly moving figures and faces, i’d lost luger in the hoard of dancing bodies, the moon rose and shinned a blue light over the dance floor, to cue the swaying romantic music, for the the romantic slow dance. i rushed to find luger who had mostly likely wondered off to merely get a drink, i ran pushing through people, swarms of them like a flock of pesky seagulls. i looked all over the dance floor,for luger, even at and behind the bar, he was nowhere to be found. and then i saw him, standing atop the stage right in between the drummer and the pianist, i half died inside he held a microphone in his hand and bellowed into it, “is this thing on” i was right there, confused yet slightly aroused, but still mostly pissed he ditched me before. he bellowed “ this one goes out to the birthday boy, LYRA GETTINGS!” the entire crowd of people in the square there there hats in the air, crowding in closer to the stage, and the ever growing swarming sea of bodies just slammed me up against the stage. i heard luger shout with all his gut into the mic, “ oooooooh yea! hit it boys!” the band suddenly to beast and boom with musical eruption of triumphant sound! the sound traveled and flushed off the stage like a title wave, and luger began to swoon and sing, with his stupid black hair, i looked him up and down and thought to myself as all the town girls screamed and bawled in a toxic love swept frenzy, as if sensationally ear busting noise of the band wasn't enough to make a man wish he was in bed. Look, my point is as joyus it was it was incredibly loud, louder then thunder louder than an asteroid, or even an earthquake! no the sound of a true man of age was louder than even the mighty elements. okay maybe not, but you get it. anyway, luger turned around till the spotlight hit him like a staff to the core. and he turned around a winked right at me, now it was my turn to not be impressed. the noise, and all the spread cacophony suddenly paused, as the crowd went silent all eyes on luger he sang:

“ i knew a man when i was younger
we would play and fight
i was strong but he was stronger
when i go out, i go out to see the water
and when i go it only gets even harder
being there without my right hand man
now baby let me meet your demand
he’s so precious like a diamond ring
and hear me out and let me sing!-
*chorus*
oh he’s as cool as ice but he’s not for everyone
he’s only for those with class now shake that-
common boys, we done!?
hit the beat!”

the band went even louder and livelier, he did an annoying little jig, i swear to god sometimes. who did this guy think he is, the head jester? he was not doing a very good job playing the heartthrob, he needed tos top using my bvirthday to fawn over me soon or i was just gonna straight up leave. and then he snickered right about me. to as if he genuinely thought i would believe this phoney “oh lugers a teen heart throb just because it's my birthday” thing, well he’d be wrong, i'm way hotter than that swooning bastard, always fawning over my art skills and my badass robot arm, and my hot body. i do love him, despite the fact he’s a overly pretentious writer and a nerve grindingly skilled wit who is somehow blind to the fact that we live in a 3rd world serf village and not the town from footloose, i mean really he’s acting like we live in a goddamn fairytail, but sometimes shit like that grows on you too. and held down his hand to me as if i was going to dance with him. “ get up here, birthday boy, it's you hour, to live to be alive! common don't you want to show em your moves. “no, you know flattery doesn't work on me, you iconthe amuses me, dance i'd rather be dead!” i said, that man just looked at me smirking with such perfect confidence, like he knew exactly what was going to happen, and as the story goes, he did. luger replied as always, up and arms and ready to swoon, and entrance. “ yanked my arm and pulled me like and anchor onto the bright and broad stage, as the moon was in just the right place for the slow dance in the blue light, it was like a big blue chandelier, hanging glamorously from the ceiling of all the regal ballroom were the most revered lords and ladys from all across sphinx, it was like that, it really was. it was like for the just one day for just one hour, i wasn't lyra peasant and dreamer. i was duke lyra, raggs to riches success story.and let me tell you, it felt fricking fantastic! just that pure immersive feeling coursing through your veins like fine wine, man this feels so good even my drawn compositions are wealthy sounding! , aw i gushed, that feeling of raw elegance, all sourced and rooted in the moon, it seemed to have this sort of otherworldly significance, such significance to remember, and probably something that you will remember till you die the inevitable death you eventually will, as temporary as it is, it's worth never forgetting and worth living and worth drawing later. anyway while these thoughts buzzed through my poor half buzzed brain like hornets in a hurricane, i could only sort of pay attention to them, i was mostly focused on the wonder i had never noticed before, the face and figure i swaying tail coat of luger, he was trying way to hard, look allow me to be honest here for a second, i've always known he loved me but as a friend never a s a you know lover, and i never thought about him like that before, whatever, i thought pleasantly to myself, these new and hormonal intensely sexual feeling that came with the package of being a “man” would have to wait right now it was just em and luger 2 friends slow dancing to even slower music. under the light of the moon, drunk, stuffed with salmon and lobster buns, with the moons light giving everything a blue tint, with luger dipping me back like fishermen would reel up his pool, fats and swift. the night was young and all was a good as it could get until a thought struck me and made me suddenly depressed, my dad is dead, and just the thought almost slowed my dancing for just how much he would've lived for every second of tonight, every second of it. and how i just realized his death in a wolf attack sounds a little more like a coverup on how he actually died then his genuine deaths tory. sitting on this cliff thinking these things, watching the party, just made me ironically since i had just ditched him, want lugers company even more. so i quickly muffled my face in a scarf so i could sneeze without you now causing a ram-page, and yanked my sketchbook out
chapter 2
the kiss.

i've never been the kind for people, for love or for friendship, or even for taking care of cloths, my sisters, my mum last year when she got aids, and just generally anything except opening pickle jars, with my bionic arm, painting sunsets. or really doing anything worthy of a legacy, like i so often dream of having. i dream more than ichive i'm admittedly more talk then do, more sugar than spice, now some call folks like that cowards or shameful embarrassments. but i prefer to think of myself as someone wait for the right time, the right opportunity to get what my heart truly desires, which is go on a year long adventure on foot where i get a lover on my left arm, and i sword in my right and i save the world,which not a scratch on my face with friends around me helping me fight the fight,and win the battle. or some insanely unrealistic stick like that, just you know the classic, cliche, hero’s wet dream, nothing original. it may never be fulfilled by i admit, but it's no crime to hope, and it's no shame to wait for the right time to strike. little did i know tonight would be the night that opportunity i’d been longing for my whole life, and little did i suspect it had to do with Two and the pencil that had been sent out by Two and his legendary grow, to us and our family, with was lost forever, basically in short, history became legend legend became myth, and eventually the only person that still knew about the pencil and its whereabout was my grandfather and two wise men, ginger bronze. he gathers all the little kids of the town and tells them the story, some as tehya ge get brod but i always remain interested. and sometimes when i was younger i would sit beneath the tree overlooking the town and the ocean in the fjord atop the cliff, and i would imagine what it would be like to actually go save two survive and either die a martyr or return a legend.

i've always been known to anything but a man of society, people say i'm just an empty husk of nothingness, void of any personality class, manners or even beauty, all the townsfolk always say, that i'm a waste of time, and to love me is to love a empty black box full of dark matter. but partly luger still fancies me, a lot, like at times i think he might be in love considering how he stares into my eyes like there s something to see.
see as i'm the guy with the optimism and positivity of a old, fat,mortician. and again i'm sorry about the pity but if you apply logic to the situation, it doesn't make any reasonable sense i would make it anywhere in life, let alone be a hero like a dream. and the unrealistic fantasies of a pathetic child, and with the haircut of a stray mutt, it's hard to imagine any would would like me let alone love me, but luger does, hey that's his problem. i sat on the cliff and began to meditate, until i heard a very faint noise at first i imagined it to be merely in my head, i muttered “ was someone following me up here?” i then heard, it louder a gruff painting and a passed mummer, i could even hear the sweat trickle down whoever it was