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cleanlenins · 3 years

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Ectober Day 3: Cryptid

Food Chain

Danny has to finish his extra credit project on food chains. He didn't expect to actually learn something.

AO3

Warnings: Gore, Horror, Animal Death

Danny never cared much for biology. Sure, he was a science guy. He loved to talk about astrophysics. How stars were formed, how space shuttles worked, all about spaghettification (something had unfortunately experienced that one time in the GZ). He even enjoyed math, when he had the time to actually study it.

But biology? Maybe it was because his parents were constantly shouting about the horrible things they wanted to do to Phantom, but biology just...didn't seem as fun. So, he didn't pay as much attention as he probably should in class. Which he really should have realized was a bad idea.

Extra credit overnight camping trip. Ancients, why did Casper do things like this? This didn’t seem to happen at any other schools. But Mr. Linnaeus didn’t seem to care about normal types of extra credit. When they had done the section on binomial nomenclature, he had required students to learn Latin in order to properly classify the strange ghostly fauna and flora that had been popping up in Amity. Danny had gotten an easy A on that project, having already known Latin (dead language for a reason) and having known pretty much every ghostly plant that had appeared in his haunt.

However, now they were doing food chains and food webs and they were required to identify at least twenty chains: from producers to decomposers. And take pictures of it. Which of course sounded sooooo safe . They had been saddled with ancient cameras with a stern warning from the faculty not to break them. Half of them already seemed broken, much to the gathered students' consternation. He couldn’t see how any of this could ever be relevant to him, something most of his classmates thought as well.

Danny had only found about half of the required food chains. He trekked through the woods, alone. Sam and Tucker did not need the credit, and had no desire to do extra work. Danny picked up the pace. Twilight was quickly devolving into darkness, and he had no confidence that the camera would work in the dark. He didn’t want to have to rush to get every picture done tomorrow.

Danny paused when he heard a crow caw, feathers flapping through the air. The bird landed on a stump in front of him, a frog dangling from its beak. It’s feathers seemed to absorb what little sunlight remained, creating an inky void against the undergrowth. Danny ducked behind a bush and cautiously put the polaroid camera over his eye. He pressed down to take a picture. The camera clicked and a motorized whizzing spit the little strip of glossy paper from the front of the camera. Danny flapped the little picture back and forth, before glancing at it to see.

It wasn’t a good picture. He had gotten the bad luck to get a camera that’s flash was broken. You could barely make out the crow, which now seemed quite content to munch on the frog in its mouth. Well, it hadn’t flown off. Maybe he could risk taking another picture. He pulled the camera up to his eye to try again. Right when he pressed the button, his ghost sense went off and a blur of light streaked in front of him. The camera spit out the paper and Danny looked up in alarm.

A glowing fox ghost was making a meal of the crow, ripping it to pieces and tearing through the abundance of feathers. It used it’s sharp teeth to crunch the crows bones, which loudly popped and cracked from the force. Streaks of blood dripped from it’s maw as it pulled the sinew from the dead bird’s body. Danny wrinkled his nose in disgust. Only in Amity would ghosts be considered a part of the natural food chain. He watched the ghost fox, slowly reaching for his thermos in his backpack. He didn’t want to spook it and then have to chase it through the woods. It might come across one of his classmates.

He had just touched the cap of the thermos, when he felt his body freeze up. His lungs stopped working mid breath, the air suddenly completely still and silent. The only sound was that of the fox devouring its meal. An inexplicable dread kept him stationary. Watching. For something. He didn’t know what. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, and his core was shaking in a way that he had never felt before. Shuddering and quivering uncomfortably in his chest. He didn’t dare move, didn’t dare blink. Just continued to watch the fox eat its meal. Then, out of the corner of his eye he saw movement.

He almost mistook it for a branch, long and bending and obscured by the deepening shadow. Except the wind didn’t blow branches like that. Instead of a smooth swaying, the thing moved in a stuttering disjointed pattern. It bent at hard angles, like a doll’s joint. It raised higher and higher into the air, and Danny saw half a dozen other limbs mimic the same movement. At the end, Danny could make out a barbed point. He resisted a shudder. He wanted to run, to flee, but every instinct told him not to move. His core was vibrating so hard that he had to focus on not panicking. He worried he might lose control of his powers under the tension in the air. Sweat was beading down his brow.

All at once, the barbed limbs rushed down, impaling the ghost fox which screamed loud and high pitched. Ectoplasm splashed all on the ground as the ghost desperately clawed at the ground as it was dragged across the ground. It’s pitiful cries turned into wet and garbled moans as it left a green trail in its wake. Danny heard clacking and chittering. A sickening schlorping sound echoed from the darkness and the terrified cries of the ghost fox were no more.

Danny waited. Still feeling the tension in the air. After what could have been an hour or a minute, the heavy pressure in the air eased then disappeared entirely. Danny took a gasping breath, and sat hard on the ground. He was shaking uncontrollably, and he wrapped his arms around himself to try and stop the unpleasant feeling of his core trying to jump out of his chest. He noticed what was in his hand. The picture he had taken. He inspected it closely.

The ghost fox was streaked across the frame, the crow already limp in it’s jaw. The light of the ghost’s aura made the picture much more clear than the one he had first taken.

Maybe...he should learn more about food chains.

#Ectober Month 2021 #Ectoberhaunt 2021 #Ectoberhaunt treat #Danny Phantom #Cartoons #My Writing #Danny Fenton #Horror #It's a little darker than I wanted my treat prompts to be #please mind the warnings

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unicronian · 3 years

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a bunch of powers/hybrid smp character design hcs based around their powers in the mod:

(small warning for slight body horror in tubbo and wilbur’s sections, and horror themes in wilbur’s section)

this got long so here’s a snapshot of my fav bits above the read more:

tubbo can open his stomach up like a shulker, and just reach in there and put stuff in and get it out again

wilbur’s physical appearance is dependent on how well rested the person looking at him is

tommy glides by t-posing because his arms are his wings

ranboo can open unhinge his jaw and open his mouth like an enderman, and he has like an extra layer of mouth skin like a snake that you can only see when his mouth is unhinged

Phil hates places with low ceilings cause his wings are super long and he can’t stretch them out

Niki’s got gills on her neck to help filter water, so when she wants to talk to people above water she has to stick just her head out of the water and leave her neck beneath it

You know su!peridot’s augments she had at her intro, jack can like do that with his clawed fingers. Just like detach them at will and control them but they can’t go very far from him so it isnt very useful

Shulk!Tubbo:

tubbo has pretty thick skin with a slightly sickly pallor even though he’s perfectly healthy

he also has a carapace that’s similar in color and texture to a shulker’s shell covering the parts of his body that don’t bend(arms, legs, top of his head, upper chest) he can use these to block sword blows but if the sword is sharp enough it’ll stick cut into his skin

the carapace itself doesnt bleed, but it does heal and tubbo feels pain if it gets cut

like a lobster or turtle the carapace is a part of tubbo’s skin and can’t be removed(without extreme pain)

his hands are also reinforced by his carapace, giving him sharp claws at the tips of his fingers, and this is why he can punch through stone easily and without breaking his hand

he’s also pretty heavy underneath this extra armor and as a result he’s got a lot of intense muscle mass

tubbo can open his stomach up like a shulker, and just reach in there and put stuff in and get it out again, but it has limited storage

it kind of makes his stomach look like a shulker, with interlocking squares

the stuff inside his stomach exists in a type of hammerspace(we’ll just call it shulkerspace) so if you were to cut him open the stuff wouldnt be there

you do NOT want to stick your hand into tubbo’s shulkerspace, he can do it with no ill effects but if someone else did they might as well wave goodbye to that hand even if tubbo doesnt close his shulker mouth on your hand

Phantom!Wilbur:

wilbur can do like... ghost things like turning invisible and walking through walls in phantom state

particularly astute(or anxious) people can sense when wilbur’s nearby in phantom state, but not accurately guess where he is

wilbur oftentimes goes in and out of phantom state without even realizing it, sometimes just vanishing in the middle of the conversation because he let his mind wander

he also burns in the daylight which is sadge but not when in phantom state so he sometimes goes into the phantom state on reflex when entering a very bright room

wilbur can sense how tired people are, and if they are tired enough to summon phantoms wilbur can sense whose insomnia the phantoms are targeting on sight

wilbur looks like how you’d expect a ghost to look: see through, human, or at least... that’s what he looks like when you wake up in the morning

his physical appearance is dependent on how well rested the person looking at him is, but he is always corporeal when out of the phantom state

by nighttime, when you’re getting ready for bed wilbur’s eyes are green and if you look closely they glow in the dark, and if you look closer a skeleton makes itself clear beneath wilbur’s skin. it is not a human skeleton

by morning the next day without sleep transparent membrane stretches between wilbur’s claws and you can clearly see the skeleton. fangs protrude from its mouth and its rib cage stretches grotesquely outwards with every breath wilbur takes

by the second night wilbur’s transparent skin is blue and phantom membrane has escaped the confines of his hand and run down the length of his arm, extra bones begin to grow from the skeleton to accommodate the growing wing. it is harder to see through him.

by dawn of the third morning you can see a tail, more bone than blue, leathery skin, lashing behind wilbur, it seems to always whip itself in your direction. it stings when it touches you, but not for long. his frayed wings are fully formed.

night falls and wilbur’s glowing green eyes are sunken in, practically floating in black eye sockets. his skin looks vacuum sealed, giving you a perfect map of the meatless bones inside. he is entirely opaque, you cannot see through him but his stark white skeleton, expanding, stretching, and clawing at you, is clearly visible

you sleep, and wilbur looks human once again

this version of wilbur doesn’t only exist in the minds of the sleep deprived. if you let him stay in the edges of your vision too long, no matter how rested you are, you can see this form

by the time you focus your vision on him wilbur will be back to his normal state. you can’t see what your brain desperately tries to refuse. it is only when your mental walls have been broken down that you can witness wilbur’s form. for better or for worse.

Avian!Tommy:

instead of having an extra set of limbs like phil tommy’s wings and arms are the same limbs, like a harpy(and like wilbur)

where the wing’s wrist is(essentially where it bends, if you’re unfamiliar with bird anatomy) Tommy has some extra human-like clawed fingers that he uses as hands

tommy isnt strong enough to fly with them, even if he is very light thanks to hollow bones. he can glide, though

yes, this does mean that tommy glides by t-posing

tommy also has talons for feet, which sort of assist him in being slightly faster than everyone

his feathers are the same colors as a red parrot’s, and he keeps them very well maintained so they keep their lustrous color

he’s also got a lot of feathers dotting his body, like around his ears and stomach and they protect him from the cold in the high up areas he likes sleeping in

ok i dont really have anything to say abt his veganism he’s just Like That because parrot(cause god knows chickens are omnivores)

he has a beak that he uses for nuts and seeds and he can make bird noises!

And he’s got a small feathery tail that isnt useful for much but does look cool

Even though he can’t fly Tommy does have a third eyelid like a bird, it goes side to side and is transparent, he mostly just uses it while gliding or swimming

Enderian!Ranboo

Very tall boy with very long arms

Honestly very similar to dsmp!ranboo

Water burns him like acid and leaves behind very distinctive burn scars but he heals pretty easily from water burns

He is Constantly bamboozled by people wearing pumpkins and he’s Not a fan

Ranboo can open unhinge his jaw and open his mouth like an enderman, and he has like an extra layer of mouth skin like a snake that you can only see when his mouth is unhinged

He’ll avoid eye contact at all cost because it agitates him and gets him unreasonably angry at whoever he’s talking to, the others have gotten very good at avoiding eye contact with him, though

Teleporting is a lot of fun to him and he’ll sometimes just teleport around just for the sake of it, because he can sense the change in location when teleporting in a way humans with ender pearls cant

Enderians are the results of people trying to fuse together with end-based magic and so all of them have the half and half texture of their skin, but most of them all have the same powers

Speaking of skin, Ranboo’s ender skin is strangely smooth and he doesn’t have a protruding nose, just slits in his face he smells through

He also doesn’t have any body hair at all, but his long ears generally distract from that

Elytrian!Phil

Phil is an incredibly light person, compared to a human he’d be dangerously underweight

He’s essentially skin, hollow bones, and elytra because if he was anything else he wouldn’t be able to fly especially with armor on

However this and his hollow bones means he’s pretty weak in all areas, especially underground

Thanks to his Brain he gets slow and weak under low ceilings and also sadge

Aside from the kind of unearthly tint to his skin Phil looks pretty human, aside from the elytra of course

He’s got insect wings protected by an elytra. So, elytra on beetles and things are kind of like a half circle protecting the wings and pressing them to the body of the beetle, and this works because beetles are wing shaped- phil is not

So, phil has very unique elytra that completely encase his wings, and the top part moves out of the way to let his wings fold out so they’re like twice his height- and that partially adds to his dislike of low ceilings, he can barely stretch his wings

Phil’s got fragile beetle wings so they look pretty fragile but they can withstand a beating and carry Phil a ways(though it’s partially phil’s innate magic that lets him shoot into the sky)

Phil has a transparent third eyelid just like Tommy

And, he has antennae that he uses to feel the wind while flying

Merling!Niki

Niki essentially has two types of skin: a human-looking thick layer of skin that covers the upper portion of her body and an even thicker scale-like layer that covers the lower half

Her human-like skin is very rough and it doesn’t absorb water like human skin does, the scales are smooth but also don’t absorb water

She has two legs and a long, thick tail she uses to propel herself through the water, the tail is entirely covered in her blue scales

Her hands and feet are webbed so when she swims she spreads her hands out to help push herself through the water

Niki also has decorative fins on various places on her body like her ears, legs, arms and stomach, they’re all blue and can’t be controlled in anyway

She’s got gills on her neck to help filter water, so when she wants to talk to people above water she has to stick just her head out of the water and leave her neck beneath it

Breathing in air and rain at the same time is extremely uncomfortable and leaves her constantly feeling short of breath but she considers it well worth it to walk on land for a period of time

She also has sharp teeth because: yes

She doesn’t have eyelids, though, her eyes are built like a fish’s

Blazeborn!Jack

Jack constantly gives off heat, he wont burn anyone but you’ll get very hot if you stand too close to him for too long

He has metallic blaze skin that glows like molten metal if he was recently on fire or in lava

And, of course, he’s immune to poison and hunger because he’s basically an android, he’s like a gold material and metal cant get poisoned or hungry

Jack will, however, become fatigued if he’s away from intense heat like fire or lava for too long, like a week

He gets hurt in water because the water basically sucks the heat away from him and that actually hurts him

Staying in a cold biome too long would do the same thing if jack didnt go prepared with warm clothing and probably a flint and steel but tbf to jack humans also die in cold biomes if they’re unprepared

I’ve got nothing for fragranceman right now as i’m not sure if schlatt’s going to be on the server a lot

But i might make skins for these!

#powers smp #hybrid smp #tubbo #tommyinnit #wilbur soot #ranboo #philza #jack manifold #nihachu

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shewhowantsmouseears · 3 years

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morgwing meet-up messy drabble

My year-long-fic-break has been slightly broken, but don’t expect too much. I had enough brain juice in me to write this 3 page silliness.

Still riding the high from @queenie-draws-stuff ‘s rad Morgana redesign, I decided to write a potential “how they met” deal, combining the original Fungus Amongus quotes/situation with Queenie’s Goth Rock set-up.

Additional notes now I think of them before jumping right to what is basically “mel enjoys writing simps”

The Band uses a We Will Rock You style song (been listening to this cover) to hypnotize her fans into attacking Darkwing and the gang.

Halestorm’s cover of Bad Romance is definitely suitable for attacking and flirting with Darkwing at the same time.

At one point, Darkwing gets her guitar away from her and he’s confident “Ahaha! Now that I’ve taken away your magic, you’re helpless!” And Morgana smiles... then bursts into cackles. “Oh, Dark Darling... my guitar isn’t the source of my power. It’s merely a conduit.” (”a... a what”) “In other words...” her hands and eyes glow. “It’s time for the encore, baby.”

OKAY TIME FOR THE SHORT WRITTEN THING ITSELF

In hindsight, this wasn’t the best plan, but in his defense, it worked all the time on a TV show he’d watched as a child. Darkwing paused to think about that train of logic, and pondered if perhaps he should stop trying to plan his investigations that way and instead follow his own instincts next time.

“OWWWWW BONES DO NOT BEND THAT WAY!”

If there was a next time. He had assumed the whole goth rock mutant monster image was just that, an image. The guy with two heads, the girl with one eye, the behemoth of a drummer? All of it was just costumes and acting! So when announced his presence in his typical overly dramatic fashion, he assumed they would cower in fear before offering their assistance. Instead, they had jumped him and were now holding his arms behind his back and threatening to tie his limbs into knots. As he continued to squirm in place, he once more tried to plead his innocence.

“I’m here to HELP!” He cried out, nervously noticing the two-headed terror cracking his knuckles while the one-eyed wonder was pulling out various sharp instruments from her purse, and they definitely weren’t the musical kind. “I was just looking for clues! You know those robberies that have been happening around here, right?! There’s a connection between them and your band!”

“And now we’re about to disconnect your head from your neck!” Said the left head, and the right headed nodded vigorously.

Darkwing winced, as the others advanced on him, the grip on his arms tightening. If this was his last day on earth, he really wished his last words to Gosalyn hadn’t been “Remember to run the dishwasher after homework.” He closed his eyes, his brain struggling to think of how to get him out of this sticky situation…

“HEY!” A sharp - yet familiar – voice broke through the scene. “What’s going on here?! We do not treat our fans this way! Put him down!”

It took less than a second for Darkwing to recognize the voice – this was the singer of the band, after all. When Gosalyn had showed him the link to her new favorite indie band, Darkwing had taken a compulsory listen without paying attention to the visuals, as he was busy trying to pin down the strange case of robberies where the victims couldn’t remember being robbed at all. The singer was definitely talented, a strong but sultry voice that Darkwing certainly wouldn’t have minded listening to on a loop. But it’d been also terribly distracting, so he hadn’t tried to give the music video any attention. Once again, this proved to have been not the best idea in hindsight.

Because then he would have prepared for the absolute bombshell that walked through the curtains.

Darkwing opened one eye to see his savior, and then both eyes were not only open, but they were also quite wide in shock. The woman in question was a leggy stunner, her black and white hair parted over one side and trailing down her eerily pale feathers like a shadowy walk lit by moonlit. Sharp green eyes pierced right through his heart, analyzing him as he stood there in a slack-jawed stupor. She adjusted her blood-red guitar over her back, the crimson and black spider-web outfit giving him the feeling he’d be the fly that eagerly walked into this parlor any day. She rested one hand on her hip, and snapped her fingers – even her nails were unique – long, sharp, yellow, and deadly.

Darkwing had no more time to realize he had a type and she was it when he was let go and dropped to the floor. As he scrambled to get up and dust himself off, the one-eyed woman huffed. “We caught this weirdo sneaking around here, Morgana.”

Morgana held up a hand, signaling for silence. “I got this, Cornea.” She looked Darkwing up and down once more before smiling in amusement. “I believe this is where you introduce yourself.” She offered her hand to shake. “Nice to meet you, mister…?”

“D-Dingwing Dork.” Darkwing sputtered, his palm feeling incredibly sweaty in her delicate hand. He was quick to realize his mistake, yelped, and fumbled with his hands and hat as he tried to make his brain calm down. “DARK! Darkwing Duck! Dark-Darkwing Duck.” After a hard throat clear, he tried to pretend he hadn’t made an absolute fool of himself several times, tipping his hat politely, doing a gentlemanly bow, and ignoring the various eyerolls of the other band-mates. “At your service.”

“What an unusual name,” Morgana commented, lightly tilting his beak up with one of her fingers, closing the gap between them for a few but very, very personal seconds. “But then you appear to be very unusual… I like that.” When she pulled away, it was a sheer miracle Darkwing didn’t fall forward, though he certainly leaned in enough to make it a close call. “We were just wrapping up rehearsal. We want to close up shop early, what with all those midnight robberies going on.”

Darkwing stopped for a second, befuddled. “Hang on. How did you know they were midnight robberies?” He was fairly certain that was something the press hadn’t leaked, and he’d only just figured out the timeline a day before.

Morgana froze in place – eyes quickly shooting to her fellow players – before rolling her shoulders, readjusting her guitar so that it slid back into her arms. “I… deduced it.”

Maybe if Launchpad and Gosalyn were there – the former to ask more questions, the latter to smack some sense into him – Darkwing would have taken greater notice of that lengthy pause. Instead? She deduced it, he thought, his heart doing cartwheels. My kinda woman. Despite his clear problematic infatuation, his brain did have enough cells left to ask another important question. “Isn’t it kind of… peculiar… to hold a rehearsal this late?”

Morgana plucked a few notes off her guitar, walking back onto the front of the stage, the curtains now perfectly parted to show the moon shining down from the ceiling – the venue, such as it was, had certainly seen better days. But now the various holes above seemed to be an improvement rather than something that needed fixing. “I enjoy the night,” she answered, and then playfully added, “Besides, the sun is so harsh on my skin.”

“You know…” Darkwing casually strolled up to Morgana’s side, his previous predicament forgotten already, “I’m something of a creature of the night myself.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

Morgana chuckled quietly. “I bet we have a lot in common, Darkwing. In fact…” She lightly nudged the guitar’s neck into Darkwing’s actual neck, enjoying the audible tiny ‘eep’ his flustered mouth made. “I bet we could make beautiful music together.”

#morgana mccawber #darkwing duck #morgwing #i'm sorry for bothering you queenie #but its your own fault for making such a rad morgana #and yes I have the fungus quotes memorized #i have watched that episode TOO MANY TIMES

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resbangmod · 4 years

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Resbang 2019 Promo the First

the harder the snow, the harder we grow

Presented by author: @marshofsleep [ao3] [ffn] [tumblr] [twitter]

with artist: adorabbey [tumblr]

and artist: @ahshesgone [tumblr]

Pairings: Ox/Harvar, Stein/Marie, Soul/Maka, Black Star/Thane (Death the Kid), others implied

Rating: NC17/M+

Warnings: Violence, gore, suicidal ideation, minor character death, psychologically distressing situations, cannibalism, genocide, explicit sexual content

Summary:

Her small laugh echoes from a place far away from here, but it's still warm, somehow. "I may no longer be human, but neither am I a god," she says. "Heaven can not touch man, though they love you. Man can not hear heaven, though you long for it. But sometimes, in the space between, a bridge can be made."

Her words rend you open, stinging while teetering on the precipice of something which has always hurt; which you've always felt would stop wounding you if it could only be understood. It's not the cold that sets you to shivering when you ask, "Like you?"

She replies, "Like me. Or like the Songs. The glow of the moon. The whisper of ghosts. The strike of lightning. Heaven are doing what they can, from their side. What comes after, Harvar, is what man chooses to do."

A prequel and sequel to Swallowing The Brimstone. Princess Mononoke AU.

Please enjoy the story and art previews below the cut!

Your parents and their parents and their parents’ parents had never been changelings. In fact, as far back as Meir’s histories of the Lyn can go, it seems you are the first. At fifteen, you still struggle to keep up with others your age, who have been hunting the high tundra with their bows for years. You are keenly aware of the weakness in you, and even more so how your mother never speaks of it.

Surely you are a disappointment. You’ve always avoided the shine of her small smile, like the surface of a lake which speaks nothing of what hides deeply, and it’s easy enough to do -- her workshop is far beneath the treeline, nestled in the woods near the shore. But you spend your time in the village proper, in the hewn buildings clinging to the tall cliffside’s many craggy faces. Most days you help Nygus, painting the jagged shape of the patron god on the sides of bows or boats, or attend Meir with his mess of scrolls and wood tablets.

Sometimes you follow those who climb to the top of the cliff to hunt, trailing too slowly after them. There’s something frail and brittle in your chest, and you rarely make it all the way up.

The tundra above is a mind-stilling vastness, bare of trees yet lush with short, sturdy greenery when not buried beneath winter’s snows. The few times you’ve seen it have burned into your mind, green slopes stretching to the horizon, the unforgiving bone-white peaks of the Spectre Mountains chewing the sky beyond them. You’ve always felt it was a place meant for creatures much larger than you.

Your father calls it breathtaking, but for you it is literal: the tundra makes your limbs grow weak, the sun dimming in your eyes, and you invariably wake each time at home by the fire, your heart thudding as fast as a bird’s.

Your mother doesn’t call it anything, keeping your home warm while you rest, the furnaces in her workshop ignored. You are weak. You’ve been weak your whole life. More and more, you only want to disappear and never return, wishing so badly to fade into the shadows while the bright, searing Lyn can carry on without being burdened by you.

But then, after all your wanting, you do. The shadows pull around you, your clothes and skin and bones twisting like dark clouds, and when the wisps of smoke clear, you raise your hands and find black feathers.

You are the first changeling of the Lyn, Harvar, the crow.

“Well,” says Meir, kneeling beside you on the mat in front of the hearth, “a lack of precedent hardly means we’re helpless.” He’d brought in a precarious armful of scrolls to help you, the collection worming out from beneath his bearded chin and onto the mat. “Were you called by the gods, son?”

You shake your head, very aware of your beak. To be truthful, you’d heard nothing but your own desperation. You jump out of the way of an errant scroll skittering underfoot, your wings giving an awkward flap to stay upright.

Standing off to the side, your mother looks even taller from down here, her face unreadable as she watches you and Meir. She takes a step forward, bending low, and you’d expected her to scoot the scroll back to the others but she holds out a hand to you, a little tremble in her fingers.

You hop into it. She’s very warm under your toes; she’d always seemed as cool and distant as the tundra, but now you wonder why it never crossed your mind that she was made of the same stuff as you. She brings you up, standing to her full height and holding you carefully against her chest. “You are so light,” she says, soft. Her other hand is nearly weightless on your back, a ghost of a touch.

Still on the mat, Meir looks up at you in deep thought. “The old Songs say crows are made from wisdom.” His shoulders slump forward, relaxed, an unraveled scroll already forgotten in his hands. To your mother, he says, “He’s always been blessed with a sharp mind,” the corner of his mouth twitching up.

Had you? Since when?

“Blessed with glass,” Islene murmurs in reply, though you don’t understand what she means.

________________________________________________________________

Please look forward to the harder the snow the harder we grow, coming soon to a resbang near you!

#resbang #resbang promos #resbang 2019

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lewiscarrollsocietynorthamerica · 5 years

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CHAPTER V. Advice from a Caterpillar

The Caterpillar and Alice looked at each other for some time in silence: at last the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth, and addressed her in a languid, sleepy voice.

‘Who are you?’ said the Caterpillar.

This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied, rather shyly, ‘I—I hardly know, sir, just at present—at least I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.’

‘What do you mean by that?’ said the Caterpillar sternly. ‘Explain yourself!’

‘I can’t explain myself, I’m afraid, sir’ said Alice, ‘because I’m not myself, you see.’

‘I don’t see,’ said the Caterpillar.

‘I’m afraid I can’t put it more clearly,’ Alice replied very politely, ‘for I can’t understand it myself to begin with; and being so many different sizes in a day is very confusing.’

‘It isn’t,’ said the Caterpillar.

‘Well, perhaps you haven’t found it so yet,’ said Alice; ‘but when you have to turn into a chrysalis—you will some day, you know—and then after that into a butterfly, I should think you’ll feel it a little queer, won’t you?’

‘Not a bit,’ said the Caterpillar.

‘Well, perhaps your feelings may be different,’ said Alice; ‘all I know is, it would feel very queer to me.’

‘You!’ said the Caterpillar contemptuously. ‘Who are you?’

Which brought them back again to the beginning of the conversation. Alice felt a little irritated at the Caterpillar’s making such very short remarks, and she drew herself up and said, very gravely, ‘I think, you ought to tell me who you are, first.’

‘Why?’ said the Caterpillar.

Here was another puzzling question; and as Alice could not think of any good reason, and as the Caterpillar seemed to be in a very unpleasant state of mind, she turned away.

‘Come back!’ the Caterpillar called after her. ‘I’ve something important to say!’

This sounded promising, certainly: Alice turned and came back again.

‘Keep your temper,’ said the Caterpillar.

‘Is that all?’ said Alice, swallowing down her anger as well as she could.

‘No,’ said the Caterpillar.

Alice thought she might as well wait, as she had nothing else to do, and perhaps after all it might tell her something worth hearing. For some minutes it puffed away without speaking, but at last it unfolded its arms, took the hookah out of its mouth again, and said, ‘So you think you’re changed, do you?’

‘I’m afraid I am, sir,’ said Alice; ‘I can’t remember things as I used—and I don’t keep the same size for ten minutes together!’

‘Can’t remember what things?’ said the Caterpillar.

‘Well, I’ve tried to say “How doth the little busy bee,” but it all came different!’ Alice replied in a very melancholy voice.

‘Repeat, “You are old, Father William,”’ said the Caterpillar.

Alice folded her hands, and began:—

‘You are old, Father William,’ the young man said, ‘And your hair has become very white; And yet you incessantly stand on your head— Do you think, at your age, it is right?’ ‘In my youth,’ Father William replied to his son, ‘I feared it might injure the brain; But, now that I’m perfectly sure I have none, Why, I do it again and again.’ ‘You are old,’ said the youth, ‘as I mentioned before, And have grown most uncommonly fat; Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door— Pray, what is the reason of that?’ ‘In my youth,’ said the sage, as he shook his grey locks, ‘I kept all my limbs very supple By the use of this ointment—one shilling the box— Allow me to sell you a couple?’ ‘You are old,’ said the youth, ‘and your jaws are too weak For anything tougher than suet; Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak— Pray how did you manage to do it?’ ‘In my youth,’ said his father, ‘I took to the law, And argued each case with my wife; And the muscular strength, which it gave to my jaw, Has lasted the rest of my life.’ ‘You are old,’ said the youth, ‘one would hardly suppose That your eye was as steady as ever; Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose— What made you so awfully clever?’ ‘I have answered three questions, and that is enough,’ Said his father; ‘don’t give yourself airs! Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff? Be off, or I’ll kick you down stairs!’

‘That is not said right,’ said the Caterpillar.

‘Not quite right, I’m afraid,’ said Alice, timidly; ‘some of the words have got altered.’

‘It is wrong from beginning to end,’ said the Caterpillar decidedly, and there was silence for some minutes.

The Caterpillar was the first to speak.

‘What size do you want to be?’ it asked.

‘Oh, I’m not particular as to size,’ Alice hastily replied; ‘only one doesn’t like changing so often, you know.’

‘I don’t know,’ said the Caterpillar.

Alice said nothing: she had never been so much contradicted in her life before, and she felt that she was losing her temper.

‘Are you content now?’ said the Caterpillar.

‘Well, I should like to be a little larger, sir, if you wouldn’t mind,’ said Alice: ‘three inches is such a wretched height to be.’

‘It is a very good height indeed!’ said the Caterpillar angrily, rearing itself upright as it spoke (it was exactly three inches high).

‘But I’m not used to it!’ pleaded poor Alice in a piteous tone. And she thought of herself, ‘I wish the creatures wouldn’t be so easily offended!’

‘You’ll get used to it in time,’ said the Caterpillar; and it put the hookah into its mouth and began smoking again.

This time Alice waited patiently until it chose to speak again. In a minute or two the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth and yawned once or twice, and shook itself. Then it got down off the mushroom, and crawled away in the grass, merely remarking as it went, ‘One side will make you grow taller, and the other side will make you grow shorter.’

‘One side of what? The other side of what?’ thought Alice to herself.

‘Of the mushroom,’ said the Caterpillar, just as if she had asked it aloud; and in another moment it was out of sight.

Alice remained looking thoughtfully at the mushroom for a minute, trying to make out which were the two sides of it; and as it was perfectly round, she found this a very difficult question. However, at last she stretched her arms round it as far as they would go, and broke off a bit of the edge with each hand.

‘And now which is which?’ she said to herself, and nibbled a little of the right-hand bit to try the effect: the next moment she felt a violent blow underneath her chin: it had struck her foot!

She was a good deal frightened by this very sudden change, but she felt that there was no time to be lost, as she was shrinking rapidly; so she set to work at once to eat some of the other bit. Her chin was pressed so closely against her foot, that there was hardly room to open her mouth; but she did it at last, and managed to swallow a morsel of the lefthand bit.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

‘Come, my head’s free at last!’ said Alice in a tone of delight, which changed into alarm in another moment, when she found that her shoulders were nowhere to be found: all she could see, when she looked down, was an immense length of neck, which seemed to rise like a stalk out of a sea of green leaves that lay far below her.

‘What can all that green stuff be?’ said Alice. ‘And where have my shoulders got to? And oh, my poor hands, how is it I can’t see you?’ She was moving them about as she spoke, but no result seemed to follow, except a little shaking among the distant green leaves.

As there seemed to be no chance of getting her hands up to her head, she tried to get her head down to them, and was delighted to find that her neck would bend about easily in any direction, like a serpent. She had just succeeded in curving it down into a graceful zigzag, and was going to dive in among the leaves, which she found to be nothing but the tops of the trees under which she had been wandering, when a sharp hiss made her draw back in a hurry: a large pigeon had flown into her face, and was beating her violently with its wings.

‘Serpent!’ screamed the Pigeon.

‘I’m not a serpent!’ said Alice indignantly. ‘Let me alone!’

‘Serpent, I say again!’ repeated the Pigeon, but in a more subdued tone, and added with a kind of sob, ‘I’ve tried every way, and nothing seems to suit them!’

‘I haven’t the least idea what you’re talking about,’ said Alice.

‘I’ve tried the roots of trees, and I’ve tried banks, and I’ve tried hedges,’ the Pigeon went on, without attending to her; ‘but those serpents! There’s no pleasing them!’

Alice was more and more puzzled, but she thought there was no use in saying anything more till the Pigeon had finished.

‘As if it wasn’t trouble enough hatching the eggs,’ said the Pigeon; ‘but I must be on the look-out for serpents night and day! Why, I haven’t had a wink of sleep these three weeks!’

‘I’m very sorry you’ve been annoyed,’ said Alice, who was beginning to see its meaning.

‘And just as I’d taken the highest tree in the wood,’ continued the Pigeon, raising its voice to a shriek, ‘and just as I was thinking I should be free of them at last, they must needs come wriggling down from the sky! Ugh, Serpent!’

‘But I’m not a serpent, I tell you!’ said Alice. ‘I’m a—I’m a—’

‘Well! What are you?’ said the Pigeon. ‘I can see you’re trying to invent something!’

‘I—I’m a little girl,’ said Alice, rather doubtfully, as she remembered the number of changes she had gone through that day.

‘A likely story indeed!’ said the Pigeon in a tone of the deepest contempt. ‘I’ve seen a good many little girls in my time, but never one with such a neck as that! No, no! You’re a serpent; and there’s no use denying it. I suppose you’ll be telling me next that you never tasted an egg!’

‘I have tasted eggs, certainly,’ said Alice, who was a very truthful child; ‘but little girls eat eggs quite as much as serpents do, you know.’

‘I don’t believe it,’ said the Pigeon; ‘but if they do, why then they’re a kind of serpent, that’s all I can say.’

This was such a new idea to Alice, that she was quite silent for a minute or two, which gave the Pigeon the opportunity of adding, ‘You’re looking for eggs, I know that well enough; and what does it matter to me whether you’re a little girl or a serpent?’

‘It matters a good deal to me,’ said Alice hastily; ‘but I’m not looking for eggs, as it happens; and if I was, I shouldn’t want yours: I don’t like them raw.’

‘Well, be off, then!’ said the Pigeon in a sulky tone, as it settled down again into its nest. Alice crouched down among the trees as well as she could, for her neck kept getting entangled among the branches, and every now and then she had to stop and untwist it. After a while she remembered that she still held the pieces of mushroom in her hands, and she set to work very carefully, nibbling first at one and then at the other, and growing sometimes taller and sometimes shorter, until she had succeeded in bringing herself down to her usual height.

It was so long since she had been anything near the right size, that it felt quite strange at first; but she got used to it in a few minutes, and began talking to herself, as usual. ‘Come, there’s half my plan done now! How puzzling all these changes are! I’m never sure what I’m going to be, from one minute to another! However, I’ve got back to my right size: the next thing is, to get into that beautiful garden—how is that to be done, I wonder?’ As she said this, she came suddenly upon an open place, with a little house in it about four feet high. ‘Whoever lives there,’ thought Alice, ‘it’ll never do to come upon them this size: why, I should frighten them out of their wits!’ So she began nibbling at the righthand bit again, and did not venture to go near the house till she had brought herself down to nine inches high.

#who are you #caterpillar #Alice In Wonderland #alicesadventuresinwonderland #Lewis Carroll #chapter 5 #advice from a caterpillar

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fushigi-no-kuni-no-alice · 3 years

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Chapter 5: Advice from a Caterpillar

The Caterpillar and Alice looked at each other for some time in silence: at last the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth, and addressed her in a languid, sleepy voice.

“Who are you?” said the Caterpillar.

This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied, rather shyly, “I—I hardly know, sir, just at present—at least I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.”

“What do you mean by that?” said the Caterpillar sternly. “Explain yourself!”

“I can’t explain myself, I’m afraid, sir,” said Alice, “because I’m not myself, you see.”

“I don’t see,” said the Caterpillar.

“I’m afraid I can’t put it more clearly,” Alice replied very politely, “for I can’t understand it myself to begin with; and being so many different sizes in a day is very confusing.”

“It isn’t,” said the Caterpillar.

“Well, perhaps you haven’t found it so yet,” said Alice; “but when you have to turn into a chrysalis—you will some day, you know—and then after that into a butterfly, I should think you’ll feel it a little queer, won’t you?”

“Not a bit,” said the Caterpillar.

“Well, perhaps your feelings may be different,” said Alice; “all I know is, it would feel very queer to me.”

“You!” said the Caterpillar contemptuously. “Who are you?”

Which brought them back again to the beginning of the conversation. Alice felt a little irritated at the Caterpillar’s making such very short remarks, and she drew herself up and said, very gravely, “I think, you ought to tell me who you are, first.”

“Why?” said the Caterpillar.

Here was another puzzling question; and as Alice could not think of any good reason, and as the Caterpillar seemed to be in a very unpleasant state of mind, she turned away.

“Come back!” the Caterpillar called after her. “I’ve something important to say!”

This sounded promising, certainly: Alice turned and came back again.

“Keep your temper,” said the Caterpillar.

“Is that all?” said Alice, swallowing down her anger as well as she could.

“No,” said the Caterpillar.

“I’m afraid I am, sir,” said Alice; “I can’t remember things as I used—and I don’t keep the same size for ten minutes together!”

“Can’t remember what things?” said the Caterpillar.

“Well, I’ve tried to say “How doth the little busy bee,” but it all came different!” Alice replied in a very melancholy voice.

“Repeat, “You are old, Father William,’” said the Caterpillar.

Alice folded her hands, and began:—

“You are old, Father William,” the young man said, “And your hair has become very white; And yet you incessantly stand on your head— Do you think, at your age, it is right?”

“In my youth,” Father William replied to his son, “I feared it might injure the brain; But, now that I’m perfectly sure I have none, Why, I do it again and again.”

“You are old,” said the youth, “as I mentioned before, And have grown most uncommonly fat; Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door— Pray, what is the reason of that?”

“In my youth,” said the sage, as he shook his grey locks, “I kept all my limbs very supple By the use of this ointment—one shilling the box— Allow me to sell you a couple?”

“You are old,” said the youth, “and your jaws are too weak For anything tougher than suet; Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak— Pray, how did you manage to do it?”

“In my youth,” said his father, “I took to the law, And argued each case with my wife; And the muscular strength, which it gave to my jaw, Has lasted the rest of my life.”

“You are old,” said the youth, “one would hardly suppose That your eye was as steady as ever; Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose— What made you so awfully clever?”

“I have answered three questions, and that is enough,” Said his father; “don’t give yourself airs! Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff? Be off, or I’ll kick you down stairs!”

“That is not said right,” said the Caterpillar.

“Not quite right, I’m afraid,” said Alice, timidly; “some of the words have got altered.”

“It is wrong from beginning to end,” said the Caterpillar decidedly, and there was silence for some minutes.

The Caterpillar was the first to speak.

“What size do you want to be?” it asked.

“Oh, I’m not particular as to size,” Alice hastily replied; “only one doesn’t like changing so often, you know.”

“I don’t know,” said the Caterpillar.

Alice said nothing: she had never been so much contradicted in her life before, and she felt that she was losing her temper.

“Are you content now?” said the Caterpillar.

“Well, I should like to be a little larger, sir, if you wouldn’t mind,” said Alice: “three inches is such a wretched height to be.”

“It is a very good height indeed!” said the Caterpillar angrily, rearing itself upright as it spoke (it was exactly three inches high).

“But I’m not used to it!” pleaded poor Alice in a piteous tone. And she thought of herself, “I wish the creatures wouldn’t be so easily offended!”

“You’ll get used to it in time,” said the Caterpillar; and it put the hookah into its mouth and began smoking again.

This time Alice waited patiently until it chose to speak again. In a minute or two the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth and yawned once or twice, and shook itself. Then it got down off the mushroom, and crawled away in the grass, merely remarking as it went, “One side will make you grow taller, and the other side will make you grow shorter.”

“One side of what? The other side of what?” thought Alice to herself.

“Of the mushroom,” said the Caterpillar, just as if she had asked it aloud; and in another moment it was out of sight.

“And now which is which?” she said to herself, and nibbled a little of the right-hand bit to try the effect: the next moment she felt a violent blow underneath her chin: it had struck her foot!

* * * * * * *

* * * * * *

* * * * * * *

“Come, my head’s free at last!” said Alice in a tone of delight, which changed into alarm in another moment, when she found that her shoulders were nowhere to be found: all she could see, when she looked down, was an immense length of neck, which seemed to rise like a stalk out of a sea of green leaves that lay far below her.

“What can all that green stuff be?” said Alice. “And where have my shoulders got to? And oh, my poor hands, how is it I can’t see you?” She was moving them about as she spoke, but no result seemed to follow, except a little shaking among the distant green leaves.

“Serpent!” screamed the Pigeon.

“I’m not a serpent!” said Alice indignantly. “Let me alone!”

“Serpent, I say again!” repeated the Pigeon, but in a more subdued tone, and added with a kind of sob, “I’ve tried every way, and nothing seems to suit them!”

“I haven’t the least idea what you’re talking about,” said Alice.

“I’ve tried the roots of trees, and I’ve tried banks, and I’ve tried hedges,” the Pigeon went on, without attending to her; “but those serpents! There’s no pleasing them!”

Alice was more and more puzzled, but she thought there was no use in saying anything more till the Pigeon had finished.

“As if it wasn’t trouble enough hatching the eggs,” said the Pigeon; “but I must be on the look-out for serpents night and day! Why, I haven’t had a wink of sleep these three weeks!”

“I’m very sorry you’ve been annoyed,” said Alice, who was beginning to see its meaning.

“And just as I’d taken the highest tree in the wood,” continued the Pigeon, raising its voice to a shriek, “and just as I was thinking I should be free of them at last, they must needs come wriggling down from the sky! Ugh, Serpent!”

“But I’m not a serpent, I tell you!” said Alice. “I’m a—I’m a—”

“Well! What are you?” said the Pigeon. “I can see you’re trying to invent something!”

“I—I’m a little girl,” said Alice, rather doubtfully, as she remembered the number of changes she had gone through that day.

“A likely story indeed!” said the Pigeon in a tone of the deepest contempt. “I’ve seen a good many little girls in my time, but never one with such a neck as that! No, no! You’re a serpent; and there’s no use denying it. I suppose you’ll be telling me next that you never tasted an egg!”

“I have tasted eggs, certainly,” said Alice, who was a very truthful child; “but little girls eat eggs quite as much as serpents do, you know.”

“I don’t believe it,” said the Pigeon; “but if they do, why then they’re a kind of serpent, that’s all I can say.”

This was such a new idea to Alice, that she was quite silent for a minute or two, which gave the Pigeon the opportunity of adding, “You’re looking for eggs, I know that well enough; and what does it matter to me whether you’re a little girl or a serpent?”

“It matters a good deal to me,” said Alice hastily; “but I’m not looking for eggs, as it happens; and if I was, I shouldn’t want yours: I don’t like them raw.”

“Well, be off, then!” said the Pigeon in a sulky tone, as it settled down again into its nest. Alice crouched down among the trees as well as she could, for her neck kept getting entangled among the branches, and every now and then she had to stop and untwist it. After a while she remembered that she still held the pieces of mushroom in her hands, and she set to work very carefully, nibbling first at one and then at the other, and growing sometimes taller and sometimes shorter, until she had succeeded in bringing herself down to her usual height.

It was so long since she had been anything near the right size, that it felt quite strange at first; but she got used to it in a few minutes, and began talking to herself, as usual. “Come, there’s half my plan done now! How puzzling all these changes are! I’m never sure what I’m going to be, from one minute to another! However, I’ve got back to my right size: the next thing is, to get into that beautiful garden—how is that to be done, I wonder?” As she said this, she came suddenly upon an open place, with a little house in it about four feet high. “Whoever lives there,” thought Alice, “it’ll never do to come upon them this size: why, I should frighten them out of their wits!” So she began nibbling at the right-hand bit again, and did not venture to go near the house till she had brought herself down to nine inches high.

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falkberg · 6 years

Text

The sergeant’s story I Ashes to Ashes

Tales beyond the Veil Part 2 I awoke beyond the river Lethe after the apocalypse had ended. Halfway buried in the graves of fallen giants, I knew this alone with utmost certainty: Whatever world had come before could not have survived the cataclysm from which the pitch black sky and utter silence stemmed.

My senses, or what was left of them, registered nothing but a searing pain on my skin and a heavy weight pushing down my ribs as if to crush them. I forced a first, painful breath, producing a plume of ash over dry and broken lips. The air burned in my lungs and tasted like iron. Taking it in was a fight against the convulsive reflex to hold it, to avoid drowning in the loose, dusty ash that covered me and the world. Nothing but darkness awaited above and dared not look down, in fear of seeing my body torn to pieces. At least that fear survived and as I slowly forced another breath, I found deep beneath all pain a will to survive, a flame I nurtured with each new breath of life.

My eyes still refused to adjust and the world was one of vague shapes and shadows. What had awoken me sat on my chest and pecked viciously bleeding cheeks. The crow-like shape moved galvanic and in an unsightly manner forth and back on my motionless body. My consciousness didn't mind, but its eyes seemed to notice and stared at mine with murderous intent. It's beak, hazily red with dirty blotches blood, clicked dangerously towards my throat.

Where I gathered the strength, I do not know, but driven by instinct alone, my hand thrashed upwards in a painful motion. I felt stubby wings brush against my skin and something of a shock burning my fingertips. If not the touch, it was the raucous groan escaping my lungs that brushed the thing away.

Sharp claws cut into the skin as the crow-thing jumped backward and slyly lowered itself into a cowering position. Two spindly legs stalked around the outline of my body in the roiled earth. It's naked head jolted back and forth with murderous curiosity. Somewhere in my mind, I recognized the distinctive motions of a scavenger, awaiting death as an ally. And yet, there was nothing natural about the way that abominable creature was examining my body.

In my mind, a deep and dark fatigue rose in waves and lured me into sleep. So easy it would have been to slip away and let the creature do its work. I did not resist this deadly urge and jolted upward out of spite or valor and with certainty not out of calculating wit. Simple, primal fear jerked my muscles and forced my body into motion. Looking upward into the abyss of the cosmos itself, I dared not hope that death was awaiting me on these broken fields. Even without any memory of a world before, the state my fate was in did not allow for such an easy way.

At last, I struggled to move my legs and felt the heavy weight lifted, that had been laid on me by time and wind.

First, I freed my second hand and held it up before my eyes. Indeed, it was complete and unbroken. Almost in disbelief, I moved my fingers back and forth in their suede gloves. Still, I needed to see flesh with my own eyes and so I bit the buckskin with my teeth and forced it off.

Underneath, my hand was covered in black ash and grazed on all knuckles. With gritted teeth, I pushed more ash away and leaned upward.

As my head rose higher than the scavenging thing, it ducked away and kept its distance. Despite its horrid appearance – it's feathers were torn, the legs bend the wrong way and the beak still grimy with blood – I was almost thankful to know it by my side. It's refusal to continue eating my flesh convinced me, that there was still life left in these hurting bones.

With my leg, I felt resistance. Something was holding it back and caused me to hesitate. I was not keen on dirty wounds and did not dare to tear myself away with strength. Further burrowing through ash and cinder revealed more of an erstwhile Prussian blue army coat that was held together by a tough belt and marksman's lanyard. Despite being torn away and shredded in many places, the heavy-duty fabric retained its color much to my surprise and I admit that the few glances of true blue were a silver lining in my mind.

Few buttons remained of what had been a shining doubled button row on the chest. They were engraved with folded wings, almost bat-like in appearance and not completely unlike those my inquisitive companion seemed to have. I shot a glance at the creature that was still ducking in a fold of dirt and ready to strike as soon as I turned away. Encouraged by my newest find, I dug deeper and produced a worn out sash from the forming hole around my leg.

Time and again I stopped, heavily breathing through mouth and nose, trying to keep my wits about myself. After minutes of this excruciating endeavor, I found my foot trapped, the jackboot stuck between two jagged edges that had bitten into the polished leather. Thankful, that I had been patient this time, I examined the metal piece that had been trapped me in this field. What lay buried beneath this soil was no mere wreckage of some sort. These rods, jagged like metal jaws, had been purposefully aligned. Like a makeshift bear trap, this horrible contraption had bitten me with strength. Only the butt of a rifle, broken away and wedged between the metal pieces, had saved my leg from complete loss.

I had no intention to investigate any further. Whether it had been a reflex of mine or mere coincidence that saved me, I could not recall. Without hesitation, I cautiously slipped my foot out of the trap, before it could snap with its full strength. I had barely moved my toes away when the vicious mechanism snapped the piece of weaponry in two and my boot was cut in half.

My tired, bloody hands would not go any further. Numb from the work, they even struggled the few buttons on my vest, allowing me to breathe freely after all. One foot still covered in the soil, the other in dirty socks, I decided that it was time to leave this ditch in black and see, wherein all worlds my fate had left me.

The little victories since my dawn had brought confidence back into my mind. Maybe it was the inconceivable nature of my situation, that kept myself sane in these moments. I deliberately avoided looking at the missing sky and kept my view down as I was slowly standing up. Weary of new traps and with pain in every limb, I looked for a stick straighten myself up.

A twisted metal rod, gnarled like the branch of an ancient tree, was loose enough stuck into the floor that I allowed myself to pull it out. The strangely light material made for a formidable staff, even though it was rough on the hands and its sharp edges implied violent forces that had torn it from its place. I used the sash to protect my hands where the gloves had worn through. Then, slowly but with rising hopes, I forced myself upright to stand.

The world was an empty stage shrouded in the perpetual gloaming. High above there was darkness an abyss so deep as the heavens had been high. Looking into the black was like watching the depths of the universe. I did not dare to risk a longer glance and forced my eyes away. I turned towards the light, following the long, sharp edges of endless shadows. A lone light shone on a horizon that was otherwise lost in murky gloom, so far away that the blackness of the sky touched the world and devoured it.

This was to be my final destination. So far away and still, it was the only sign of life that I could find. Between myself and the luminous spot in the distance stretched scorched earth and oily slick. Where fire had not burned away the traces of all things, there were scattered remnants of what had transpired, a clash of forces beyond my comprehension. Faced with a destruction of such magnitude that my senses failed to understand, all I could think of was the question why by the will of all fates, I had been displaced to this dimension that surely could not have existed anywhere close to what I called my reality.

I had always thought of myself as a steadfast man, by the right of my command in whatever forces my garments might belong to. For all the loss of my memory, I did recognize a soldiers coat and knew of cannon fire, marching drums and raging thunder. I had just enough of an understanding left of the world, to ascertain what it meant to wear these boots and wield a weapon. Although none of this seemed familiar, I did recall images from past lives, that were accompanied by feelings of dread but also the honor.

Maybe these were just distorted figments of my imagination, but in the moment there was nothing more I could have wished for, but the distant thunder of gunfire or the sirens of a forward base. Any sign of life, and let it be the enemy, would have settled my mind so much more than the dismal silence that had fallen on this world. Even my own footsteps were muffled and voiced little more than a thud. Thick layers of ash made it impossible to produce a sharp clank or creak, that would have been so relieving to my senses.

As things stood, the ragged being in the ditch was the only thing even loosely resembling life in this world, as far as my eyes could reach.

With a strained huff, I leaned against my newly found staff and patted down my pockets. To examine myself seemed like a logical first step and I now was certain, that I could not hope for help. Little was to be found between layers of cloth and ripped ornamentation on the coat. At least, I managed to tear away few stripes of relatively untouched fabric, to pat down my cheeks and wounds, as best I could. Even without higher knowledge of biology and the plights of a wounded soldier, I craved a flask of alcohol, to cleanse the wounds and ease my mind.

For what it was worth, I was still growing restless, unwilling to stay in the ditch any longer. But the view of the greater world revealed, that walking on a barefoot would not be an option. Vicious traps and debris aside, the distance alone would cost me my foot and last chance to reach the auspicious light.

Trying to secure the lower half of my jackboot would have been comical, if not for the ruptured edge where metal teeth should have broken every bone in my foot. Several times I fastened the knots of the makeshift strap that I created from torn cloth. What was left, a short piece of fabric without any use for myself, I threw at the thing sitting between torn metal, that I fended off with my staff once in a while. The vicious creature growled at me but stayed away for now.

In the light of a world so empty and dark, I did spend considerable time watching the thing move, waiting for my guard to go down. My mind was set at ease a little bit when I learned, that at least this specimen seemed incapable of flight, its stubby wings good for little more than appearing larger than it was. I was wondering if I could eat it, but the beanpole thin body would have been little more than a way for me to choke myself.

After I finally managed to secure my boots, time first came to my mind. How long did I spend standing up? It certainly felt like hours could have passed and every bone in my body was screaming for sleep. But the light on the horizon hadn't moved at all. The shadows were static and no clouds in the sky indicated any wind. The world, it seemed, was frozen and I had no way to measure the passage of time.

I escaped from the ditch at some point after my pain became bearable. Having gathered all strips of cloth, a sharp splinter of metal and what was left of empty leather bags, I climbed a waist-deep slope and set my path towards the light.

Step - step – step – breath.

Something wasn't right about the air that filled this world. Devoid of any and all water, it drained my reserves and burned my lungs. My tongue was just a shriveled clump in my mouth that tasted like the dust surrounding me.

After what felt like an hour of steady marching, my mind had become accustomed to the idea that I did no longer walk the face of my earth. Despite all horror infused with that thought, it was more consolidating than to think that such destruction could have struck the world I knew. Memories were still flashing before my eyes when looking down on the lost graveyard, that I had come to understand as some sort of battlefield. I had learned to see things hidden beneath a layer of ash, that seemingly enveloped anything and everything. To a degree, I was thankful for this blackish dust, as it obscured most of the horrific and strange shapes.

The ditch where I had awoken was the smallest offshoot of a network of trenches, that stretched seemingly forever. For a while, I followed in their path, unwilling to risk the no mans land, that was prone for traps and wire. But soon I understood that these fields did not adhere to rules as they were in my minds recollection. I doubted my own understanding just as much as my memory and the world I was in. Nothing about this place was more trustworthy than my own, seemingly twisted mind.

The trenches were too deep and often descended into gaping maws of tunnels, that I did not dare to enter. Strange odors rose from there, of chemical substances and bubbling dark broth. I saw, what would have amounted to entrenchments to any knowledgeable soul. But therein were wrecked contraptions of such shapes that made no sense to me, with coils of brass and orbs of ceramic, that faced outward instead of barrels. Think strands of metallic ropes and wires led from these machines to massive conduits beneath the soil, that reminded me eerily of anatomical studies and veins beneath the skin.

In the end, it was my unwilling companion that persuaded me to leave my path. The crow-like creature did refuse to go any closer to the things that elevated themselves from the ground by invisible, humming force. I hastily left these entrenchments behind and kept the creature closer, that seemed strangely attracted to the bending form of my staff, if not myself.

Outside of the trenches, I saw none of the horrors commonly associated with a war, at least not in the form that I expected. The decision whether or not to take provisions and boots from fallen comrades I was spared, as there were no bodies of any human form to be found.

Although I need correct myself, that is not entirely true. But I cannot discuss or honestly say what I saw in the shape of a human arm, that rose at least fifteen feet high and was enveloped in such a rotting stench that I did not dare approach it any further. Whatever its shape, it was certainly not human.

There were no human bodies but carcasses of machines that appeared unethically organic in their shapes and form. Some of them seemed almost humanoid at first glance, but their heads were elongated shapes of geometric form. Cuboids and prisms, forged from unknown metal and with no orifices of any kind. Instead, markings and unknown runes were drawn in the runny paint on their sides and washed away by mucus and oil. Their bodies, too large to be human, were skewed and overstretched. Springs and rods like cleanly picked bones were facing outward and pierced rough armor that was left by scavenging beasts.

Without a doubt, the crow on my side was not the only of its kind. I was on a constant lookout for movement but had yet to decide whether I would flee or seek out the first sign of life other than my own. But much like my goal, I had little choice in the matter. As I stumbled onward, the little swish of the crow-thing was never far behind.

Ash began to fall sometime after I had left the trenches. Flakes of burnt material, so fragile that they disappeared to the slightest touch, slowly tumbled down in the still air. I risked a look above, but no clouds were to be seen. Maybe, so I hoped, a high blanket of clouds was just concealed by shadows. With what little fantasy this place had left me with, I could almost imagine it being snow. The flakes themselves were almost white, but turned gray and then black, as soon as the touched the ground. Few I managed to catch in a delirious effort or false hope that they'd melt into water. Alas, it was nothing but dust and I grew weary of them, as they got into my nose and throat with every breath.

What could be burning in a place such as this, with no bodies to be found, I didn't want to know.

#tales #beyond the veil #lovecraft #horror #story

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readbookywooks · 7 years

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Advice from a Caterpillar

The Caterpillar and Alice looked at each other for some time in silence: at last the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth, and addressed her in a languid, sleepy voice.

`Who are YOU?' said the Caterpillar.

This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied, rather shyly, `I--I hardly know, sir, just at present-- at least I know who I WAS when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.'

`What do you mean by that?' said the Caterpillar sternly. `Explain yourself!'

`I can't explain MYSELF, I'm afraid, sir' said Alice, `because I'm not myself, you see.'

`I don't see,' said the Caterpillar.

`I'm afraid I can't put it more clearly,' Alice replied very politely, `for I can't understand it myself to begin with; and being so many different sizes in a day is very confusing.'

`It isn't,' said the Caterpillar.

`Well, perhaps you haven't found it so yet,' said Alice; `but when you have to turn into a chrysalis--you will some day, you know--and then after that into a butterfly, I should think you'll feel it a little queer, won't you?'

`Not a bit,' said the Caterpillar.

`Well, perhaps your feelings may be different,' said Alice; `all I know is, it would feel very queer to ME.'

`You!' said the Caterpillar contemptuously. `Who are YOU?'

Which brought them back again to the beginning of the conversation. Alice felt a little irritated at the Caterpillar's making such VERY short remarks, and she drew herself up and said, very gravely, `I think, you ought to tell me who YOU are, first.'

`Why?' said the Caterpillar.

Here was another puzzling question; and as Alice could not think of any good reason, and as the Caterpillar seemed to be in a VERY unpleasant state of mind, she turned away.

`Come back!' the Caterpillar called after her. `I've something important to say!'

This sounded promising, certainly: Alice turned and came back again.

`Keep your temper,' said the Caterpillar.

`Is that all?' said Alice, swallowing down her anger as well as she could.

`No,' said the Caterpillar.

`I'm afraid I am, sir,' said Alice; `I can't remember things as I used--and I don't keep the same size for ten minutes together!'

`Can't remember WHAT things?' said the Caterpillar.

`Well, I've tried to say "HOW DOTH THE LITTLE BUSY BEE," but it all came different!' Alice replied in a very melancholy voice.

`Repeat, "YOU ARE OLD, FATHER WILLIAM,"' said the Caterpillar.

Alice folded her hands, and began:--

`You are old, Father William,' the young man said, `And your hair has become very white; And yet you incessantly stand on your head-- Do you think, at your age, it is right?'

`In my youth,' Father William replied to his son, `I feared it might injure the brain; But, now that I'm perfectly sure I have none, Why, I do it again and again.'

`You are old,' said the youth, `as I mentioned before, And have grown most uncommonly fat; Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door-- Pray, what is the reason of that?'

`In my youth,' said the sage, as he shook his grey locks, `I kept all my limbs very supple By the use of this ointment--one shilling the box-- Allow me to sell you a couple?'

`You are old,' said the youth, `and your jaws are too weak For anything tougher than suet; Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak-- Pray how did you manage to do it?'

`In my youth,' said his father, `I took to the law, And argued each case with my wife; And the muscular strength, which it gave to my jaw, Has lasted the rest of my life.'

`You are old,' said the youth, `one would hardly suppose That your eye was as steady as ever; Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose-- What made you so awfully clever?'

`I have answered three questions, and that is enough,' Said his father; `don't give yourself airs! Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff? Be off, or I'll kick you down stairs!'

`That is not said right,' said the Caterpillar.

`Not QUITE right, I'm afraid,' said Alice, timidly; `some of the words have got altered.'

`It is wrong from beginning to end,' said the Caterpillar decidedly, and there was silence for some minutes.

The Caterpillar was the first to speak.

`What size do you want to be?' it asked.

`Oh, I'm not particular as to size,' Alice hastily replied; `only one doesn't like changing so often, you know.'

`I DON'T know,' said the Caterpillar.

Alice said nothing: she had never been so much contradicted in her life before, and she felt that she was losing her temper.

`Are you content now?' said the Caterpillar.

`Well, I should like to be a LITTLE larger, sir, if you wouldn't mind,' said Alice: `three inches is such a wretched height to be.'

`It is a very good height indeed!' said the Caterpillar angrily, rearing itself upright as it spoke (it was exactly three inches high).

`But I'm not used to it!' pleaded poor Alice in a piteous tone. And she thought of herself, `I wish the creatures wouldn't be so easily offended!'

`You'll get used to it in time,' said the Caterpillar; and it put the hookah into its mouth and began smoking again.

This time Alice waited patiently until it chose to speak again. In a minute or two the Caterpillar took the hookah out of its mouth and yawned once or twice, and shook itself. Then it got down off the mushroom, and crawled away in the grass, merely remarking as it went, `One side will make you grow taller, and the other side will make you grow shorter.'

`One side of WHAT? The other side of WHAT?' thought Alice to herself.

`Of the mushroom,' said the Caterpillar, just as if she had asked it aloud; and in another moment it was out of sight.

`And now which is which?' she said to herself, and nibbled a little of the right-hand bit to try the effect: the next moment she felt a violent blow underneath her chin: it had struck her foot!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

`Come, my head's free at last!' said Alice in a tone of delight, which changed into alarm in another moment, when she found that her shoulders were nowhere to be found: all she could see, when she looked down, was an immense length of neck, which seemed to rise like a stalk out of a sea of green leaves that lay far below her.

`What CAN all that green stuff be?' said Alice. `And where HAVE my shoulders got to? And oh, my poor hands, how is it I can't see you?' She was moving them about as she spoke, but no result seemed to follow, except a little shaking among the distant green leaves.

`Serpent!' screamed the Pigeon.

`I'm NOT a serpent!' said Alice indignantly. `Let me alone!'

`Serpent, I say again!' repeated the Pigeon, but in a more subdued tone, and added with a kind of sob, `I've tried every way, and nothing seems to suit them!'

`I haven't the least idea what you're talking about,' said Alice.

`I've tried the roots of trees, and I've tried banks, and I've tried hedges,' the Pigeon went on, without attending to her; `but those serpents! There's no pleasing them!'

Alice was more and more puzzled, but she thought there was no use in saying anything more till the Pigeon had finished.

`As if it wasn't trouble enough hatching the eggs,' said the Pigeon; `but I must be on the look-out for serpents night and day! Why, I haven't had a wink of sleep these three weeks!'

`I'm very sorry you've been annoyed,' said Alice, who was beginning to see its meaning.

`And just as I'd taken the highest tree in the wood,' continued the Pigeon, raising its voice to a shriek, `and just as I was thinking I should be free of them at last, they must needs come wriggling down from the sky! Ugh, Serpent!'

`But I'm NOT a serpent, I tell you!' said Alice. `I'm a--I'm a--'

`Well! WHAT are you?' said the Pigeon. `I can see you're trying to invent something!'

`I--I'm a little girl,' said Alice, rather doubtfully, as she remembered the number of changes she had gone through that day.

`A likely story indeed!' said the Pigeon in a tone of the deepest contempt. `I've seen a good many little girls in my time, but never ONE with such a neck as that! No, no! You're a serpent; and there's no use denying it. I suppose you'll be telling me next that you never tasted an egg!'

`I HAVE tasted eggs, certainly,' said Alice, who was a very truthful child; `but little girls eat eggs quite as much as serpents do, you know.'

`I don't believe it,' said the Pigeon; `but if they do, why then they're a kind of serpent, that's all I can say.'

This was such a new idea to Alice, that she was quite silent for a minute or two, which gave the Pigeon the opportunity of adding, `You're looking for eggs, I know THAT well enough; and what does it matter to me whether you're a little girl or a serpent?'

`It matters a good deal to ME,' said Alice hastily; `but I'm not looking for eggs, as it happens; and if I was, I shouldn't want YOURS: I don't like them raw.'

`Well, be off, then!' said the Pigeon in a sulky tone, as it settled down again into its nest. Alice crouched down among the trees as well as she could, for her neck kept getting entangled among the branches, and every now and then she had to stop and untwist it. After a while she remembered that she still held the pieces of mushroom in her hands, and she set to work very carefully, nibbling first at one and then at the other, and growing sometimes taller and sometimes shorter, until she had succeeded in bringing herself down to her usual height.

It was so long since she had been anything near the right size, that it felt quite strange at first; but she got used to it in a few minutes, and began talking to herself, as usual. `Come, there's half my plan done now! How puzzling all these changes are! I'm never sure what I'm going to be, from one minute to another! However, I've got back to my right size: the next thing is, to get into that beautiful garden--how IS that to be done, I wonder?' As she said this, she came suddenly upon an open place, with a little house in it about four feet high. `Whoever lives there,' thought Alice, `it'll never do to come upon them THIS size: why, I should frighten them out of their wits!' So she began nibbling at the righthand bit again, and did not venture to go near the house till she had brought herself down to nine inches high.

#AliceinWonderland

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