Prologue: Can't Think Of Good Title

Cobbonis had been born into a family of farmers. His father had been a farmer. His grandfather had been a farmer. Even his great-grandfather had been a farmer. His family had owned their small plot of land for generations, making a simple living and not really caring about what happened inside the city.

It was when Cobbonis was ten years old that he first met his uncle, Eniglo. Eniglo lived in the great city of Jhitsom, capitol city of the kingdom Vnegal, and made his living as a merchant. Eniglo was Cobbonis' elder by twenty years, and interesting in every way that the rest of his family was not. Cobbonis' father told stories of sheep and cows; Eniglo wove tales of bartering with angry foreigners, journeys to distant kingdoms for trade, and of his fight against the royalty in the violent, if short, uprising of the merchant guilds. That had been a happy war for Eniglo, although his side had lost in the end. There had been no casualties amongst his friends, and they had killed a few of the King's guards; enough to give the whole thing a sense of adventure, but not so much as to make them sick of war. Eniglo liked to tell his stories, and Cobbonis was an eager audience. He asked a lot of questions about life in the city, of the daily workings of a merchant. It all seemed to him so much more captivating than life on the farm. At home you were surrounded by goats and wheat. In the city, there were people, multitudes of people, and stores, restaurants, everything he could possibly imagine. Cobbonis knew that he belonged in the city.

He had pleaded with his father to allow him to leave the farm and go with Eniglo to the city, to be his apprentice, but his father would hear nothing of it. He told Cobbonis that he was too young, that he was needed here at the farm, that the city would corrupt him. There were many excuses, all of which were sensible, but none that Cobbonis found to be to his liking. So he stayed at the farm, and Eniglo went back to the city. However, Cobbonis made it his goal in life to slow down the workings of his father's farm. He had decided that if he became more of a hindrance to his father than he was a help, he would definitely be sent away, if only to keep him from damaging anything else. So sometimes, Cobbonis would accidentally spill a pail of milk as he was carrying it. He'd be careless working out in the fields and would do his job poorly. If his father asked him to build a fence, he'd do it shoddily, so that the fence would need often repair.

The boy thought he was being clever, but his father saw right through his ploy. One day his father announced that Cobbonis' older brother, Lanzo, would be moving to the city to be an apprentice to Uncle Eniglo. Cobbonis was enraged. "How could you send him instead of me?" he had demanded.

His father had looked him right in the eye, smiled, and said, "You've been doing your chores so badly, Cobbonis. Lanzo's a good worker. He deserves the reward much than you."

Still angry, Cobbonis had shot back, "But he doesn't even want to go! I've wanted nothing more than this!"

"That doesn't matter." His father had replied. "You don't deserve this."

"What if I do my chores well? Will you send me then?"

His father had seemed to stop and think for a moment. "Alright, Cobbonis. If you do your chores good for the next two years, I'll send you off to Uncle Eniglo. But only if you keep doing them."

Cobbonis' face lit up. "Thank you, thank you, father! I'll do my chores well, I promise!" With that, Cobbonis had run off to mend the fence he had built so poorly, completely unaware that he had fallen for his father's clever ploy. As he exited the room, both Lanzo and his father laughed at the boy's renewed vigor towards work.

Last Edited : Sunday, 29 May 2005 - 21:51

So he had worked hard for two years, never spilling a pail of milk or miscounting a stalk of grain. When two years had passed, he went to his father. "May I join Uncle Eniglo in Jhitsom, now?"

His father was surprised. He was sure the boy would have forgotten by now. "Cobbonis…" he said. "We need you here."

The boy's temper flared. "We had an agreement. I would work for you for two years and you would send me to Jhitsom!"

His father put a hand on his shoulder. "Cobbonis, you don't know what's best for you. The city is a bad place. Out here in the country, we live simple, peaceful lives. If you gave that up, you'd regret it later."

"So you refuse to send me off to my Uncle, as you said you would?"

"Cobbonis…"

"No!" the boy interrupted. "You are a liar! How did I ever trust you?"

His father stood up. "You won't speak to me like that! I'm your father and you will treat me with respect!"

"You are a coward, afraid to leave this pitiful plot of land! Our family has been stuck here for generations, and now that one of us, your son, feels the courage to leave, you strike him down? I cannot stay here! I cannot tend goats for the rest of my life! Perhaps this was the life for you, father, but it shall not be my life!"

Cobbonis amazed himself with his outburst. He had never treated his father like this before. But his words had been said, and there was no taking them back. To apologize now would show weakness, and he was not weak.

His father was standing, fists clenched, saying nothing, so Cobbonis continued. "I'm going to go to Jhitsom, with or without your permission."

"You'll do no such thing!"

"Will you stop me, father? Will you beat me for my disobedience?"

"I---"

"No, you won't!" Cobbonis interrupted. "You are weak-willed, father. You know you cannot stop me. I'll go to Jhitsom and I will be a merchant. And you will stay here for the rest of your life shoveling droppings!"

His father opened his mouth to reply, but Cobbonis turned away from him. "I'll be taking one of the horses, as would be my rightful inheritance. If you ever desire to apologize for trying to hold me back, I would be inclined to accept it. But until then, you shall not see or hear from me. Uncle Eniglo will keep you assured that I am well and prosperous."

Before his father could respond, Cobbonis was gone. He walked briskly to the stable and claimed his horse. He had first learned to ride on this horse, who he had named Dash, a few years ago. The beast seemed confused at being taken out to ride at this time of night, but it trusted Cobbonis. The young man mounted his horse and took off.

He had no food or money, but he was not worried. He had just eaten dinner, and Jhitsom was less than a day's ride from here. Once he arrived, he'd have to tackle the problem of finding his Uncle…he wasn't sure of where in the city Eniglo operated, but he trusted that he'd find him somehow.

As he rode, he considered the possibility of never seeing his father again. It saddened him, but there had been no other way. He had been caught up in the moment and had said too much. He wished that he had just been able to reason with him. He was in the right, wasn't he? His father had made a promise, which he had no kept. Everything he said was justified.

He was suddenly jolted out of his thoughts as he was suddenly thrown from his horse. The beast had caught its leg in a hole in the ground and fallen. Cobbonis landed roughly, but was uninjured. Dash, though, seemed not as lucky. The horse was trying to stand up, although doing so quite wobbilly. Cobbonis inspected the horse's leg and determined that it was not broken, only sprained. It would recover.

However, he couldn't exactly ride all the way to Jhitsom on an injured horse. He'd have to walk. The thought of turning back towards home never crossed the young man's mind. He would not be going back there, ever. He began walking towards the city, his horse limping along besides him.
"Damn." he swore softly. Suddenly the fact that he had no food or money with him seemed much more of a problem. He also had no weapon. Not only could he not hunt, he was in danger of being attacked by bandits.

Not that he had anything for the bandits to steal, he thought with a chuckle. Not that that would stop them from killing him, if it was their disposition to do so. He could only hope that he looked destitute enough so as not to keep their attention.

He would not be destitute for long, though. In Jhitsom, Eniglo would teach him the ways of a merchant, and then he would be prosperous! Any discomfort he experienced out here in the woods would be well worth it, once he reached the city. He could live without food for a day or two. It might be unpleasant, but it was easily possible.

In the distance, he heard something very soft. It sounded like people. Excellent, he thought. Perhaps they had food. It would be much better to travel with food in his belly. He assumed that whoever it was would be kind; the thought of bandits had left his mind entirely. As he got closer, he realized that what he heard was actually singing. He frowned. The song was very sorrowful and sad. If whoever was singing it was in a foul mood, perhaps they wouldn't share with him.

The singing got louder and louder as he drew nearer, then suddenly began coming from a different direction. Confused, Cobbonis turned around towards where the singing was coming from. He was amazed to realize that the sound was coming from a large hole in the ground. Now his curiosity flared. He leaned over the hole. "Hello?" He called out, but got no answer. The song continued on, uninterrupted. He stuck his head down the hole, hoping to see whoever was singing so sorrowfully. No such luck. He hooked his feet around a fallen log to hold him steady, and leaned in further. He could see light down there…faint light, but still visible. He squinted to get a better look, and suddenly the log he had been using as support came loose.

He tumbled down the hole, screaming as he plunged through the darkness. So this was how life ended, he thought. Abruptly, he heard a loud splash as he landed in what seemed to be an underground lake. He swallowed a mouthful of water, and, making his way to the surface, gasped for air. He paddled around helplessly. There was a torch on the wall, but the area was too wide and he couldn't see very well. He paddled around desperately for several minutes until he found dry land.

He laid down, recovering from the ordeal. Shortly, though, he began to think of the torch. Who had lit it? There was nobody else down in this cavern with him. Who had been singing? He had so many questions, and no answers. He stood up, grabbed the torch, and began to look around for an exit.

He came to one wall in particular, and his mouth gaped open. A huge engraved image of a human skeleton decorated the wall, grinning fiendishly, with two glaring red eyes. In one outstretched hand, the skeleton held a red sword, with a huge ruby in the handle. Cobbonis' eyes lit up with thoughts of riches as he comprehended the ruby. It was the largest he had ever seen! Oh, how he could jumpstart his merchant career with that ruby! He grabbed a hold of the ruby tightly with his fingers, and attempted to pry it out.

The red eyes of the skeleton flared, and the young man stumbled backwards, scared out of his wits. Before his horrified eyes, the engraving on the wall seemed to come to life, going from what had been a two-dimensional work of art to a three-dimensional nightmare. The skeleton, moving much more fluidly than should have been possible, stood over the boy and lifted its red sword. Cobbonis covered his eyes and screamed shrilly. The monster picked the boy up by his shirt and stared into his eyes, making him wet his pants. From the skeletons mouth came a voice that, although produced by no vocal cords, was quite full and deep. "When is it?" the monster asked.

Cobbonis, unable to look away from the bright red eyes, quickly told the monster what year it was. The skeleton chuckled, which was a most frightening sound. "Three thousand years. I must say, though, it seemed longer." It turned away from the boy and, in breaking eye contact, Cobbonis found himself able to breathe again. He wished he could run, but there was nowhere to run to. The skeleton turned again. "Tell me, mortal. How fares my city?"

Cobbonis stammered. "What city?"

The skeleton, its red eyes bright with anger, grabbed him by the throat. "The great city of Sansibar, fool! The capital of the Chamek Empire! Surely my empire has not fallen, not in such a short time!" The boy's eyes were blank except for fear, not knowing what to do. The thing looked at him in disgust. "Mortal, tell me, how many nations are there on this continent?"

Cobbonis knew the answer to this question, thankfully. "Three. And the demons," he added. "but they stay in the mountains most of the time."

The skeleton seemed to take the answer with disappointment. Then it smiled, a frightening sight. "I shall teach you to sing."

Cobbonis felt a deep sense of dread. "Sing?"

The skeleton opened its mouth wide. The singing that originally had attracted Cobbonis' attention poured out of the mouth so loudly that the boy had to cover his ears. The monster grabbed him again by the throat. "Listen and sing!"
Slowly, he removed his hands from his ears, and when he did the bony hand released his throat. Seeing no alternative, he raised his voice to sing along with the song, which was very slow and sorrowful. It was a fitting song to be sung by a dead man, as the skeleton obviously was and Cobbonis feared he soon would be.

The monster stopped singing and began to chuckle. "Louder!" it demanded. Cobbonis kept singing. "Louder!" The skeleton laughed maniacly. Soon the boy's throat became raw, and he was gasping for breath at every pausing point. "Louder!" the thing demanded. As he sang, he could feel a fire deep in his gut, and his singing voice quickly became laced with pain, but he was much too afraid to stop singing. The fire traveled from his gut up his chest, and it soon seemed that his heart was aflame. His hands clutched at his chest, but he kept singing, unable to stop. His lungs came next, and his voice finally failed. The skeleton didn't demand that he continue singing, it just watched and smiled as the transformation continued. Cobbonis fell the to floor, writhing from the pain that was eating him alive. The fire moved up through his throat, to his eyes, and Cobbonis lost the last of his humanity. The beast that had lain dormant for 3000 years had its first servant.

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any criticism is welcome...even encouraged

Last Edited : Sunday, 29 May 2005 - 21:55

What a sissy, go do something with your girlfriend man :p

As soon as you give up all of YOUR hobbies

Nahhhh

You wanted criticism so you got it

The Blind Spot

"Hello, and welcome to The Blind Spot!" Matilda said as a customer entered the store. "Whatcha looking for, sir?"

"I would like to purchase some curtains, maam." The man said.

"Well, then, you've come to the right place!" Matilda said, looking up at the man, who was easily six feet tall. She noticed that he was very handsome. "The Blind Spot is your one stop shop for curtains, blinds, drapes, shutters, and just window-decoration in general!" she said with a smile.

The man returned her smile. He had gorgeous blue eyes. "I knew I came to the right place."

"What kind of curtains were you looking for, sir?" she asked.

"Call me Tim, Matilda."

"How did you kn--"

He cut her off. "Your nametag." He said, pointing.

"Oh, of course." She laughed. "Well, Tim, what kind of curtains were you looking for?"

"I don't know, Matilda…what kind of curtains are in fashion these days?"

"Well," she asked. "What are the curtains for? Window? A door?"

"Oh, just regular window curtains, Matilda."

"What color?"

"Color?" he asked.

"Yes, our curtains come in all colors." she said, unhappily. She hated it when customers came in not knowing what they wanted. Then they always complained when the curtains didn't match the room. She noticed a wedding band on his finger, and felt a pang of disappointment that the man wasn't single. "Maybe you should have your wife come help pick out the curtains…you know, to make sure they match."

The man looked confused. "My wife? Oh!" he said. "I don't have a wife anymore, Matilda."

That should have made her happy, but something about the way he said "anymore" made Matilda uneasy. "Oh," she said. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." He said with a smile that was meant to be comforting, but for some reason wasn't. "I'm not."

"Well," she said, changing the subject back to curtains. "What color is the room the curtains will be going in?"

"Blue." He said.

"The entire room?" she asked.

"Well," he answered. "The carpet is blue. The walls are a sort of beige-white color. Well, they will be."

"Repainting?" she asked.

"Yes," he said. "Now that Margaret's gone, I can do whatever I want."

She felt uneasy again. "Well then, sir..."

"Tim." he asserted.

"Well, Tim," she said. I think some white curtains would go delightfully. Does that sound ok?"

"It sounds excellent, Matilda."

She wished that she wasn't wearing a nametag. Something about the way he said her name was...wrong. She wished he would just leave. "All that's left to decide is the style. I take it you don't know what style of curtain you want, either?"

"I sure don't, Matilda." he said. "But I'm sure you'll help me, won't you?"

"That is my job, sir."

"Tim."

She didn't like the idea of taking him to the back of the store to look at the curtains, but it was the only way to get rid of him. "Well, lets go on back to see what you like."

"I'd like that very much." the man said.

She led him to the back of the store. He looked at all the styles, but couldn't seem to make up his mind. "Is this all you have?" he asked.

Matilda knew that they had a bigger selection if they went farther back, but she decided not to volunteer that information. If he didn't find what he wanted, he'd just leave. "Yes, sir."

"What about back there?" he asked, pointing to the back room.

She sighed inwardly. "There might be something there, but I'm not sure. Most customers don't go back there."

"May I?"

She couldn't tell him no. "Yes, sir."

Last Edited : Sunday, 12 June 2005 - 12:00

They walked into the back room. The room was of medium size, and you could see the street through a small window by the door. The door itself had been boarded shut after the store had been broken into a few times. It was a fire hazard, but they'd gotten away with it so far.

The man inspected the curtains on the window. "Did these curtains come from this store?" he asked.

Matilda looked at the curtains. They were old and tattered, not to mention dirty. "I think they might have belonged to the previous owner, before we were The Blind Spot. He probably didn't want them, so he left them."

The man pulled the curtains closed, and it was dark inside the room. Matilda switched on the light. "Sorry, Matilda" the man said.

"It's all right." she assured him. "Do you see anything you like?" she asked. Why wouldn't he just leave?

"I like them all…I like them all so much."

She was getting impatient with the odd man, now. "Then pick one, sir."

Suddenly the man spun around, face contorted with anger, and slammed Matilda against the wall. "My name is TIM, MATILDA!"

She shrieked, lashing out wildly, hitting him in the face. "Let me go!" she shouted. "Get off of me!"

The man didn't seem to even notice her puny assault. "Nobody will ever call me Tim." he was mumbling. "I want to be Tim." He moved his hands to her throat. "My name is not sir, or Edward, my name is Tim."

Matilda fought desperately to get the man to remove his hands from her throat, but he held them clenched tight. She tried to voice something, to assure the man that she believed him, his name was Tim…but nothing escaped her throat. The man kept mumbling. "Margaret never believed me either. She didn't know me. She didn't know me."

Everything around Matilda was getting dark. She had given up on resisting…she didn't have the energy for it. She was going to die, she realized. This insane man was going to kill her. She looked into his eyes as he strangled her. When he had entered the store, she had noticed his gorgeous blue eyes. Now those eyes were wild with madness, darting back and forth, never looking right at her.

She made one last, feeble effort to free herself, then softly slipped into the blackness.

The man let her fall to the floor gently, bent over to examine her, then stood back up. "I think I'll take these, Matilda." he grabbed a simple, button up curtain from the shelf. "I'm sure it will look delightful." He took the curtain, opened it all the way up, and covered the body on the floor. One wasn't enough to fully cover her, so he grabbed another. When he was satisfied that she was sufficiently hidden, he exited the back room.

As he was walking out, a young woman, maybe 22 or 23 years old, entered the store. He quickly jumped behind the counter. "Welcome to The Blind Spot!! How can I help you? Call me Tim."

Nice little plot getting better at the end when Tim takes over the counter. Hope there are enough curtain at the back to cover the expected pile of bodies, soon to be erected.

People who work with many clients such as in stores, banks etc. are not surprised when called by their name which is stated on their name tag. It's a nice plot-line technique but not realistic. Besides, it's interesting to note that you picked an archaic name for a woman that works at a curtain/drapes shop. There's something very naive about the way the story is told through the names here, you wouldn't have called her some modern name like Shandra or Lyndsi (with a reverse Y/I).

I also fail to see the relevance of such a long discussion about the colour of the required curtains if the whole purpose of the story was to get Matilda in the back room. Unless of course it was designed to heighten the sense of the odd feeling growing through the conversation. I would have preferred something odd about Tim being revealed through the conversation rather the a discussion about colours.

Last strange point; I might be doing you an injustice by attributing the plot to you personally Sage6 but, if you feel misunderstood or an occasional urge to strangle curtain shop sales women, I suggest you talk to someone about it... preferably a therapist or you'll grow up to be a dangerous man.

Overall, it was an entertaining little story.
Cheers

Boe we need to post on that Sages ASL thread again.... Im with BA here!
Demos ill give you a dollar to close the thread
Or Me, BA and Boe will make your head red
We want this to end cause we dont like it
Next time I see your troops, IM GONNA PIKE IT!

Another masterpiece by Offspring.

Meh...there's nothing I can do now about the nametag thing unless I want to rework the entire story.

I fixed up the "color conversation." At least a little.

And I'm not sure what you mean about the names being naive.

I liked it Sagey, but I kept waiting for the revelation that "Tim" was actually blind. He really knew Matilda's name because she was having an affair with Margaret at work. And he knew the layout of the store because Margaret worked there for years (only bringing him in on days when Matilda was out of course). Margaret named the store of course.

Good story though...very suspenseful.
Cheers,
H.

Haha...I'll tell you the reasoning behind the title.

I was given the writing prompt "The Blind Spot." I could have written about a blind man, or somebody getting hit by a car because they were in the driver's "blind spot," but I thought that would be too obvious. So I created a curtains/blinds store called "The Blind Spot." Obviously...the title is misleading when you don't know that. But I suck at titles, so I'm probably not going to think of a new one

Hmm... back to the first story.

Its good, but the main character is personality free. I can generally geuss what he will do, in que with characters from adventure movies. The plot was also sorta predictable, so liven it up a bit, and you got yourself a great story.

Cheers,

Demosthenes

Which one you talking about, Demo? All my stories have flat characters and predictable plots