sulcataixlude
1st October 2003, 03:01 AM
Chapter I: Enter the Fray.
Kupoin sat erect on his cot, like an eagle preparing to lunge at a helpless wounded rabbit in spring. Then he began to jot down in the weathered journal, the lad kept close to his side at all times.
“For as long as I could remember, thoughts about death have… intrigued me to say at least. Ever since my family died, I felt like life was nothing more than a cruel irony. Since, every single living organism in the world seeks to extend its period of time in the mortal coil, only to end up amongst the ashes of the masses when death knocks at their door. It’s funny if you think about it. Trying to surpass your own inevitable demise, by all conveyable means such as digesting nutritional food, regular exercise, stay forlorn from the intoxicating affects of alcohol and narcotics, and even submitting yourself to a invisible god, whom may be just up their in the heavens simply giggling at your petty request of longevity. Nobody knows for sure what happens after death, but the way people deny this everyday occurrence is rather humorous. Since we all are bound to end up as dust, or fossil fuels one way or another, regardless of whatever healthy, or pious actions we perform in our temporary lives.”
A small raping on his window echoed faintly in the room.
“ My question, however is; why does the world still follow the same blunders, and blindness brought forth by a few zealot capitalist that felt they were the sole authority of all life that came across their eyesight? Is it because of the power they were able to wield, even for a brief moment of their otherwise sullen existence?”
The tapping on the glass became louder after every tap.
“ No, human nature is to defy fate, and due to our follies we try to evade our own demise, and play with life, no matter the cost. For every single one of us was programmed from the moment our father’s sperm entered our mother’s egg was the deeply rooted ambition to conquer, and make every angel of life submit to our prowess, despite the cost of blood and mental damnation that would result from such endeavors.”
Now a rather ear shattering beating was administered on the window, causing even the frame to rumble slightly. Kupoin averted his attention from his literature venture, and inspected the window. Then the beating ceased.
“ Tap tap tap…”
His nerves were a little bit shot up. Yet, nobody was at the window, nor any object such as a tree branch, or a winged animal was being anywhere close by. Kupoin was slightly puzzled, but then returned to his cot.
“…the winds beacon…as the sinews…of fate begin…to untangle and…collapse.”
Then the tiny room was silent. He stood up for a brief moment, and returned to the window. Perhaps his mentally exhausted mind was playing a game, to keep its senses at premium function due to the lack of rest both physically and emotionally for the displaced refuge boy. After all, he did narrowly escape from the brinks of a soldier’s crosshair aimed directly at his heart. Yet, that is all but ancient history by now.
“ Hello? Is anyone trying to play a trick on me? If so, please stop, because I’ve had a horrid time trying to rest these last few days.”
Silence fermented the drab one room rental. Not even the rusted faucet with its busted seal on the sink dripped a single drop. The obnoxious beating on the window resumed, in full swing.
“ Fate… dances like the reeds in a storm. Always swaying and bending to the whims… of the foundations of life! And if the lummox barges through the reeds without purpose, or consideration… then the wind rips it asunder!”
The voice came out of nowhere, but a tingling sensation overwhelmed Kupoin’s muscles. For fear was beginning to seep its enzymes into his body. Still, this was nothing more than mental torture he thought. Nothing more than a mind game he was playing on himself. He simply ignored the spontaneous vocals, and resumed writing.
“ But if all life must pay the tab, for the mishaps of a few men, driven by their lust for riches, and xenophobia to drive out all their unwanted neighbors, then—“
“ The winds of fate will reap the hay which all life is bundled up to!”
A clash of thunder followed up exactly after the raspy, but commanding voice finished its sentence.
“ Damn it. I must be delirious. I think the window is speaking to me. No wonder why I keep on wanting to look over, for the voice is originating from my window!”
The frames shook violently as the window sounded like some phenomenal force was crushing even its basic crystalline structure of the glass! Without hesitation, Kupoin crept slowly to the thundering window. A gunfire like sound echoed in the rental, causing a flood of painful memories to flood his mind. The blood, mile high mounts of fresh corpses, canons obliviating the once lush Kendar highlands, and the screeching women with scruffy wound decorated men forcing their manhood into the women’s ******’s. Kupoin cringed in disgust, but he grabbed onto the quaking window. His body jumped along with the frame and glass, but he managed to force one push upwards, but then the beating halted.
“ Nothing is out here but grass, and a small breeze blowing towards here from the southeast.”
Closing the window, he placed his hands upon his temples, and rubbed them vigorously. This night made no sense in any form of plausible logic. Then, the scent of embers and fresh juniper berries filled his nostrils. A shadowy figure was standing in front of his cot, with flickering amber eyes gazing at Kupoin like he was a plump lobster, ready for boiling. With the journal in hand, the figure muttered a small giggle, before tossing it aside. Kupoin double take, but could not see how the intruder could have entered the house. The only door was to the left, but it was bolted shut with a set of four locks. And the window was out of the question, since he was there prior to the intruder’s sudden arrival.
“ Philosophies from the lore’s of mortals, is all but the inconceivable matters of a single beings’ life. For they deny the fact that fate is the root of all matters in both the mortal and bodiless zones. But… you stand out a slight bit more out of the masses. Like a rail in a bed of flowers, awaiting for some foolish child to step on you, causing a series of trauma and physical harm that could rock the threads of their fate, but bring forth ‘unexpected’ results from the natural order of things. Nobody wants that to happen, do they?”
“ What do you want from me?” Kupoin pressed himself against the wall in front of the figure, with an expression of irritation upon his face. For his own personal feelings and thoughts were discarded by some shapeless vagabond as if they were a simple comic book or pin up calendar. Much like his own childhood was discarded by his heroin addicted father, and the beginnings of that dreadful skirmish, that brought hell to the small weaving community of Kendar.
“ It’s not my business, but… you see; your karma has been foreseen as a loose end that will unravel the lives and outcomes of too many innocent lives. In fact, even if your influence was limited to one sinew of even a wino, it could have cataclysmic results in the order of life. So I have came here to amend this fatal flaw, and slay you before the venom could seep out of your existence.”
“ Who the hell made you god? I don’t see what proof that dictates that I am a harbinger of the world, and I’ll be damned if I allowed you to lay even a weathered finger tip on my flesh!” walking to the door, Kupoin attempted to unlatched the locks, but upon touching them they felt like hot coals. Backing away from them wincing in pain, the figure made that obnoxious giggle.
“ Sorry, but running away from your own narrow existence will not be tolerated. Why don’t you just ease both our burdens, and simply submit to my blade” pulling out a 13 inch long Greek infantry sword, its faint silver edge slightly glimmered like a ray of sunlight due to the glare of the figure’s eyes. They glowed a deep saffron, but a twisted smile emerged from the otherwise emotionless face. Thunder boomed several miles away, and a flash of lightning lit up the room. The figures shadowy veil was cast away for a brief few seconds, giving his victim a good look at the assailant. A long black trench coat covered the otherwise lanky body, a mane of long curly brunet hair ran down to his rear, black hobnail foots covered the feet, and a bleached elk skull mask cover the face. Black leather gloves completed the outfit, giving the figure a grim appearance as if he were a disciple of the grim reaper.
“Are you death, in a flesh and blood form?” Kupoin twitched, and pressed himself against the wall.
“In a sense, I have been the harbinger of many fates, and laid wasted to all whom have been pregnated by their ideals. But no, I am neither the reaper, nor a heavenly being sent to do some merciless slaughter. For I am nothing more than a servant of fate.”
Flinging himself towards the youth, the figure swung the sword in a 49 degree arch. Nimbly, Kupoin skirted to the left, barely nicked by the vile blade, and tumbled next to the Television set. It wobbled slightly as Kupoin’s head banged against the right side, and then the figure rushed like a gust of wind in front of the boy. Lifting Kupoin up, the figure attempted to slit his throat, but Kupoin lodged his left fight into his gut in a hook fashion. Muttering a brief gasp of air, the figure loosed him grip, and Kupoin stumbled, and then hastily crawled to the window. Yet, the window was slammed tight right when he got to it, and attempting to lift the window was like grasping onto a molten bar of iron ore. Kupoin flinched and yelped, but the figure leaped, and kneed the small of the back. The youth’s body leaned against the window and the white t-shirt fabric began to sizzles and burn since he stomach was pressed against the window seal.
“ There is no chance of denying the end game of your life. Simply cease this pointless charade, and I guarantee your death will be quick and silent. Do not try to fight off your fate, or escape by all means. It’s already been sealed, and no loophole is in sight.” The figure boasted, as he knocked over a small stool laden with flowers and a silver picture frame. They crashed onto the ground, spilling shards of fired clay, and scattered plant debris all over the cement floor. The glass on the frame broke, and the picture inside slowly slid out. Before Kupoin’s semi-conscious head could collide with the floor, the figure cushioned his head, and locked the neck in a headlock, with the sword place right at the waist. Then the figure turned both of their bodies around facing the television set, and the mess on the floor. Kupoin’s bloodshot hazel eyes caught sight of the photographed women. She had chocolate colored skin, and alluring honey colored eyes.
“Parilla,” he thought as a surge of memories of their relationship rushed in his head. The dance at the F’njiing ceremony two years ago when her father, an influential Drakyu chief of the Kashig clan was rallying support in Kendar to help out the Feridaian from mining their lands. Memories of their first dance along side the nimble warriors in celebration of peace between the former enemy states, as they both danced side by side absorbing one another’s heat and uniting their souls in the process. Yet the war, which broke out in the end robed the couple’s chances of living a normal life, for she died due to a brutal rape from a dragoon corporal, and three stock troopers when they refused to submit to the iron fist of the Faradei empire. A deep and relentless humiliation and depression plagued Kupoin for he survived the hell, while countless friends and family died. Especially since he could do nothing to protect them, including his dear Parilla.
The thoughts began to die as the blade drove in the waist, and carved across it three inches deep, ripping apart veins and muscle. Blood began to erupt like a overflowed river bank, dirtying the bed sheets, walls, and the mess on the floor. When Kupoin noticed the blood being splattered on Parilla’s photo, it reminded him of that hellish night when she was laced in blood and semen from the ghastly ‘soldiers’. He sobbed not because he was dying, but his own failure to protect even himself, from the harsh rececities of fate. The figure made a mechanic laughed as darkness began to fill Kupoins hazy vision. Every last organ began to shut down, and nausea in-toxified the boy due to the tremendous blood loss.
“Parilla, I will not be joining you, for not even hell would be suitable for my own atrocities… I am sorry,” he whispered silently.
Before the darkness overcame Kupoin, he caught one last glimpse at the elk skull faced devil. Those soulless eyes came in direct contact with his, causing the faintest bits of sanity, to die out in one single smoldering drop…
Kupoin sat erect on his cot, like an eagle preparing to lunge at a helpless wounded rabbit in spring. Then he began to jot down in the weathered journal, the lad kept close to his side at all times.
“For as long as I could remember, thoughts about death have… intrigued me to say at least. Ever since my family died, I felt like life was nothing more than a cruel irony. Since, every single living organism in the world seeks to extend its period of time in the mortal coil, only to end up amongst the ashes of the masses when death knocks at their door. It’s funny if you think about it. Trying to surpass your own inevitable demise, by all conveyable means such as digesting nutritional food, regular exercise, stay forlorn from the intoxicating affects of alcohol and narcotics, and even submitting yourself to a invisible god, whom may be just up their in the heavens simply giggling at your petty request of longevity. Nobody knows for sure what happens after death, but the way people deny this everyday occurrence is rather humorous. Since we all are bound to end up as dust, or fossil fuels one way or another, regardless of whatever healthy, or pious actions we perform in our temporary lives.”
A small raping on his window echoed faintly in the room.
“ My question, however is; why does the world still follow the same blunders, and blindness brought forth by a few zealot capitalist that felt they were the sole authority of all life that came across their eyesight? Is it because of the power they were able to wield, even for a brief moment of their otherwise sullen existence?”
The tapping on the glass became louder after every tap.
“ No, human nature is to defy fate, and due to our follies we try to evade our own demise, and play with life, no matter the cost. For every single one of us was programmed from the moment our father’s sperm entered our mother’s egg was the deeply rooted ambition to conquer, and make every angel of life submit to our prowess, despite the cost of blood and mental damnation that would result from such endeavors.”
Now a rather ear shattering beating was administered on the window, causing even the frame to rumble slightly. Kupoin averted his attention from his literature venture, and inspected the window. Then the beating ceased.
“ Tap tap tap…”
His nerves were a little bit shot up. Yet, nobody was at the window, nor any object such as a tree branch, or a winged animal was being anywhere close by. Kupoin was slightly puzzled, but then returned to his cot.
“…the winds beacon…as the sinews…of fate begin…to untangle and…collapse.”
Then the tiny room was silent. He stood up for a brief moment, and returned to the window. Perhaps his mentally exhausted mind was playing a game, to keep its senses at premium function due to the lack of rest both physically and emotionally for the displaced refuge boy. After all, he did narrowly escape from the brinks of a soldier’s crosshair aimed directly at his heart. Yet, that is all but ancient history by now.
“ Hello? Is anyone trying to play a trick on me? If so, please stop, because I’ve had a horrid time trying to rest these last few days.”
Silence fermented the drab one room rental. Not even the rusted faucet with its busted seal on the sink dripped a single drop. The obnoxious beating on the window resumed, in full swing.
“ Fate… dances like the reeds in a storm. Always swaying and bending to the whims… of the foundations of life! And if the lummox barges through the reeds without purpose, or consideration… then the wind rips it asunder!”
The voice came out of nowhere, but a tingling sensation overwhelmed Kupoin’s muscles. For fear was beginning to seep its enzymes into his body. Still, this was nothing more than mental torture he thought. Nothing more than a mind game he was playing on himself. He simply ignored the spontaneous vocals, and resumed writing.
“ But if all life must pay the tab, for the mishaps of a few men, driven by their lust for riches, and xenophobia to drive out all their unwanted neighbors, then—“
“ The winds of fate will reap the hay which all life is bundled up to!”
A clash of thunder followed up exactly after the raspy, but commanding voice finished its sentence.
“ Damn it. I must be delirious. I think the window is speaking to me. No wonder why I keep on wanting to look over, for the voice is originating from my window!”
The frames shook violently as the window sounded like some phenomenal force was crushing even its basic crystalline structure of the glass! Without hesitation, Kupoin crept slowly to the thundering window. A gunfire like sound echoed in the rental, causing a flood of painful memories to flood his mind. The blood, mile high mounts of fresh corpses, canons obliviating the once lush Kendar highlands, and the screeching women with scruffy wound decorated men forcing their manhood into the women’s ******’s. Kupoin cringed in disgust, but he grabbed onto the quaking window. His body jumped along with the frame and glass, but he managed to force one push upwards, but then the beating halted.
“ Nothing is out here but grass, and a small breeze blowing towards here from the southeast.”
Closing the window, he placed his hands upon his temples, and rubbed them vigorously. This night made no sense in any form of plausible logic. Then, the scent of embers and fresh juniper berries filled his nostrils. A shadowy figure was standing in front of his cot, with flickering amber eyes gazing at Kupoin like he was a plump lobster, ready for boiling. With the journal in hand, the figure muttered a small giggle, before tossing it aside. Kupoin double take, but could not see how the intruder could have entered the house. The only door was to the left, but it was bolted shut with a set of four locks. And the window was out of the question, since he was there prior to the intruder’s sudden arrival.
“ Philosophies from the lore’s of mortals, is all but the inconceivable matters of a single beings’ life. For they deny the fact that fate is the root of all matters in both the mortal and bodiless zones. But… you stand out a slight bit more out of the masses. Like a rail in a bed of flowers, awaiting for some foolish child to step on you, causing a series of trauma and physical harm that could rock the threads of their fate, but bring forth ‘unexpected’ results from the natural order of things. Nobody wants that to happen, do they?”
“ What do you want from me?” Kupoin pressed himself against the wall in front of the figure, with an expression of irritation upon his face. For his own personal feelings and thoughts were discarded by some shapeless vagabond as if they were a simple comic book or pin up calendar. Much like his own childhood was discarded by his heroin addicted father, and the beginnings of that dreadful skirmish, that brought hell to the small weaving community of Kendar.
“ It’s not my business, but… you see; your karma has been foreseen as a loose end that will unravel the lives and outcomes of too many innocent lives. In fact, even if your influence was limited to one sinew of even a wino, it could have cataclysmic results in the order of life. So I have came here to amend this fatal flaw, and slay you before the venom could seep out of your existence.”
“ Who the hell made you god? I don’t see what proof that dictates that I am a harbinger of the world, and I’ll be damned if I allowed you to lay even a weathered finger tip on my flesh!” walking to the door, Kupoin attempted to unlatched the locks, but upon touching them they felt like hot coals. Backing away from them wincing in pain, the figure made that obnoxious giggle.
“ Sorry, but running away from your own narrow existence will not be tolerated. Why don’t you just ease both our burdens, and simply submit to my blade” pulling out a 13 inch long Greek infantry sword, its faint silver edge slightly glimmered like a ray of sunlight due to the glare of the figure’s eyes. They glowed a deep saffron, but a twisted smile emerged from the otherwise emotionless face. Thunder boomed several miles away, and a flash of lightning lit up the room. The figures shadowy veil was cast away for a brief few seconds, giving his victim a good look at the assailant. A long black trench coat covered the otherwise lanky body, a mane of long curly brunet hair ran down to his rear, black hobnail foots covered the feet, and a bleached elk skull mask cover the face. Black leather gloves completed the outfit, giving the figure a grim appearance as if he were a disciple of the grim reaper.
“Are you death, in a flesh and blood form?” Kupoin twitched, and pressed himself against the wall.
“In a sense, I have been the harbinger of many fates, and laid wasted to all whom have been pregnated by their ideals. But no, I am neither the reaper, nor a heavenly being sent to do some merciless slaughter. For I am nothing more than a servant of fate.”
Flinging himself towards the youth, the figure swung the sword in a 49 degree arch. Nimbly, Kupoin skirted to the left, barely nicked by the vile blade, and tumbled next to the Television set. It wobbled slightly as Kupoin’s head banged against the right side, and then the figure rushed like a gust of wind in front of the boy. Lifting Kupoin up, the figure attempted to slit his throat, but Kupoin lodged his left fight into his gut in a hook fashion. Muttering a brief gasp of air, the figure loosed him grip, and Kupoin stumbled, and then hastily crawled to the window. Yet, the window was slammed tight right when he got to it, and attempting to lift the window was like grasping onto a molten bar of iron ore. Kupoin flinched and yelped, but the figure leaped, and kneed the small of the back. The youth’s body leaned against the window and the white t-shirt fabric began to sizzles and burn since he stomach was pressed against the window seal.
“ There is no chance of denying the end game of your life. Simply cease this pointless charade, and I guarantee your death will be quick and silent. Do not try to fight off your fate, or escape by all means. It’s already been sealed, and no loophole is in sight.” The figure boasted, as he knocked over a small stool laden with flowers and a silver picture frame. They crashed onto the ground, spilling shards of fired clay, and scattered plant debris all over the cement floor. The glass on the frame broke, and the picture inside slowly slid out. Before Kupoin’s semi-conscious head could collide with the floor, the figure cushioned his head, and locked the neck in a headlock, with the sword place right at the waist. Then the figure turned both of their bodies around facing the television set, and the mess on the floor. Kupoin’s bloodshot hazel eyes caught sight of the photographed women. She had chocolate colored skin, and alluring honey colored eyes.
“Parilla,” he thought as a surge of memories of their relationship rushed in his head. The dance at the F’njiing ceremony two years ago when her father, an influential Drakyu chief of the Kashig clan was rallying support in Kendar to help out the Feridaian from mining their lands. Memories of their first dance along side the nimble warriors in celebration of peace between the former enemy states, as they both danced side by side absorbing one another’s heat and uniting their souls in the process. Yet the war, which broke out in the end robed the couple’s chances of living a normal life, for she died due to a brutal rape from a dragoon corporal, and three stock troopers when they refused to submit to the iron fist of the Faradei empire. A deep and relentless humiliation and depression plagued Kupoin for he survived the hell, while countless friends and family died. Especially since he could do nothing to protect them, including his dear Parilla.
The thoughts began to die as the blade drove in the waist, and carved across it three inches deep, ripping apart veins and muscle. Blood began to erupt like a overflowed river bank, dirtying the bed sheets, walls, and the mess on the floor. When Kupoin noticed the blood being splattered on Parilla’s photo, it reminded him of that hellish night when she was laced in blood and semen from the ghastly ‘soldiers’. He sobbed not because he was dying, but his own failure to protect even himself, from the harsh rececities of fate. The figure made a mechanic laughed as darkness began to fill Kupoins hazy vision. Every last organ began to shut down, and nausea in-toxified the boy due to the tremendous blood loss.
“Parilla, I will not be joining you, for not even hell would be suitable for my own atrocities… I am sorry,” he whispered silently.
Before the darkness overcame Kupoin, he caught one last glimpse at the elk skull faced devil. Those soulless eyes came in direct contact with his, causing the faintest bits of sanity, to die out in one single smoldering drop…