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Chapter 13: Sheik

2012-02-20T05:38:00.000-08:00

Chapter 13: Sheik

It had been six days since Rauru had woken Link in the night and told him of the path he intended to set him on. Only an hour after Link swore his allegiance to the crown, Rauru woke Zelda and told her of his plans. Despite the length of time that had passed or the amount of certainty the old sage had when he discussed his strategy, Zelda still wasn’t sure it was the right decision.

The summer had ended a day after the siege of Hyrule, and the chill of the autumn air already started to hint at an early winter. Rauru and Zelda had grown accustomed to taking their lessons inside, while Impa and Link focused on combat training outside. The sage didn’t explain to her or Link when he intended to send the boy off to seek the masterful teachings of the noble races. Regardless, Zelda felt the eye of time upon them and was aware that the hourglass was nearing the end of its countdown.

It was a longer day than usual when Rauru finally decided they should take a break from their lessons on Zoran politics and prepare dinner. The meal was a fresh, steamed Octorock, a type of Hylian squid Impa had caught early in the morning when the sun was still new. She had snatched the beast with great skill from a small, unnamed lake that rested just North of Rauru’s safe house.

The sun was setting and the stars were lighting up one by one when Zelda called out to Impa and Link to tell them dinner had been served. Rauru was quite the cook, among many other talents, and his food was always something the three looked forward to. At hearing the call, Impa and Link came slowly over the hill, bruised and dirty from the intense physical exercises they had been doing for several hours before.

At Zelda’s behest they washed their hands and faces in the stream near the house before entering. The first night they had all come together at the same table had introduced Zelda to a completely different and undesirable dining experience. She was mostly thrown off by the new rituals, having grown accustomed to only eating with royal family members and royal subjects. The etiquette had been all but forgotten and the rules of engagement when it came to dining were barely adhered to. Link and Impa were rugged around the edges, without the same upbringing, and she was insulted at first to see them eat the way they did. It was as though the hunt had never ended, and now continued across the table.

As the days progressed she forgot about the useless formalities and grew to love the company that joined her at the table each night. It was comfortable and natural, despite the short length of time that had passed. Now the entire event was more acceptable and inviting than any meal she had ever taken part in at the castle. Now she felt as though she were with family.

“Impa gave me her hookshot today, taught me how to use it,” Link said as he cut into a tentacle and pressed it wildly into a steaming mass of mashed potatoes. He took a bite and chewed noisily with his mouth open. “I fell the first fifteen times,” he continued with a mouth full of food, “but I got it after that.”

“He caught on eventually,” Impa said as she scraped her fork loudly against the metal plate, “his father would have been proud.”

Zelda watched as Impa gave Link a reassuring pat on the shoulder, congratulating his training efforts. There was a comradery that had formed very quickly over the last few days, and the two now shared a bond that Zelda was certain she never would. There was a strange mixture of jealousy and pride in what she felt in regards to their relationship.

“Could you teach me how to use it Link?” Zelda asked, attempting to join in.

Link passed a look to Impa, whose eyes remained on her plate. “I’m not sure Princess,” he started, “I guess it’s up to Impa and Rauru. We can’t risk you coming to any harm.”

“Yes of course,” Zelda said passively as she cut her food and fed a delicate bite into her mouth.

“An eagle came this morning,” Rauru interjected calmly, eating his meal with all the dignity a sage should, “my spies in Hyrule tell me Ganon has begun a lottery of sorts. Hylians are called into the castle ruins, one by one. None have returned.”

The table became quiet at the news, and Zelda stopped eating completely. “It’s because of me,” she said somberly as she stared into the center of the table.

“Nonsense,” Impa said quickly and with great force, “this war is not your fault.”

Zelda’s eyes flashed and met Impa’s quickly. “You and I both know that’s a lie,” she said with a heavy intensity.

There were no more words spoken before she pushed herself away from the table and went to the door. “Where are you going?” the sage asked.

She didn’t answer, opening the door and exiting quickly. The air from outside rushed in; a cold reminder of the events that just unfolded.

“I’ll talk to her,” Link said as he watched the two adults give each other glances that whispered of a secret conversation. With that he stood up and followed Zelda out the door.

There was a dim fog that had rolled in while they were outside, and the misty air hung lazily over the field when Link went after Zelda. When he found her he saw she had found solace at the foot of an old Kakariko Willow tree. It’s deep reaching branches dipped low and provided a slim screen to hide behind.

He pushed the leaves back gently, offering a weak smile as Zelda held her legs and stared into the grass ahead. “Alright?” he asked in a mumble, almost as if he realized the answer as he asked the question.

“You don’t know why he hunts me, but he can never find me,” Zelda said slowly.

“I know,” Link said as he sat at her side, “I’ll do everything I can to protect you.”

“For what?” she asked quickly, “so I can always be this fragile, delicate flower that views the world through books and scrolls? What kind of monarch will the Hylian people have when I make any kind of return? I see a dim, delicate creature standing above her people, whispering weak words through lips locked by the torturous repetition of a royal education.”

Link sat there, absorbing her words, and for Zelda it was a mystery what he was thinking. All she could see was the life she would be locked in while Link was out engaging in the world and developing from his lessons with the noble races beyond. Again she felt the sting of jealousy, the eagerness to step beyond the existence she knew and into the world Ganon had crafted for her. Despite his evil and the horrible things he had done, he had broken her forever from the confines of the palace and now she wanted more.

Before long Link sat up, standing over the Princess with his hand outstretched. “Get up,” he said at last.

“I wish to sit if you don’t mind,” she replied with the slightest hint of snobbery.

“If you sit I can’t show you how to use the hookshot,” he threw back as though he expected her to reply the way she did.

The delicate hinting of a smile rose over her lips and across her cheeks, and a mischievous look came over her eyes. “You think I could?” she asked curiously.

“I know you can,” he replied with confidence.

At this she grabbed his hand, feeling the strength in his fingers just like the night they had made their escape from the castle library. A rush went through her, the same she felt before, and she did her best to hide the excitement he instilled within her. He pulled her up, and she stood close beside him. Again she caught the smell of grass that seemed woven into the fibers of his tunic, and again it filled her with an odd comfort.

He took the hookshot from a leather pouch that rested on his belt, and helped the Princess wrap her fingers around the handle. “You hold it delicately, like a bird, or else it wont respond the way you want it to,” he said as he motioned his fingers over hers so her thumb found the trigger at the base of the device.

“Now raise it so you aim just below your chin,” he said as he guided her arms gently so her aim was on the thickest part of the old willow tree. She felt a thrill at the prospect of using a tool meant for warriors and soldiers, and the strength she felt ebbing from Link only served as fuel for her excitement. “It’s not like an arrow, you don’t aim from your eye,” he went on, “it tends to angle up as it fires, so be careful to not overcompensate and raise it higher than it needs to be.”

He helped her arms to find their right position, and moved her body with his hands so she wouldn’t be thrown back when it fired. For a moment he held her close, and she felt his breath against her neck. Then he moved back, letting her stand alone with the hookshot in her hands.

“The choice is yours when to fire,” he said as he backed away, allowing her the space she needed.

The whole world seemed to quiet and even the wind fell away as Zelda stood there with the tool in her hand, aimed ahead at the trunk of the tree. The novelty was nearly overwhelming, and she never would have imagined that she’d be doing anything like it in her old life. Tools such as these could be dangerous, and wild, and yet there wasn’t fear within her, only awe at the prospect of the unknown. It was as if a bit of chaos had leaked from the heavens and found its way into her fingertips. Link had brought her there, to that moment, and his presence was all she needed to be assured of her success.

With a small pop the hookshot was off, ripping through the air the moment Zelda pressed the trigger. It met its destination, burrowing into the wood of the tree ahead and locking as it did. In less than a breath the moment was there and gone, and yet it filled Zelda with more intense emotion than she had felt in all the long moments of her life.

Link clapped at her success, “brilliant, I knew you could do it,” he said as he helped the hookshot move from her hands to his. “A perfect ‘wedge’ as Impa would call it.” He pressed the trigger again and whipped his hand back, and the hook zipped back as though carried by the wind.

Zelda inhaled deep and smiled toward the sky. “That was exhilarating,” she said slowly as she walked out of the shade of the willow tree and into the field beyond.

The mists had faded when she came out of the cover of the leaves, and the stars were clear and the night full of wonder. She fell back upon the grass behind her, smiling still as she stared upward toward the stars. Link followed her out and took a place by her side, resting his back against the grass.

“Thank you Link,” she said as the thrill began to ebb. “I’ve never done anything like that before.”

“Next time I’ll teach you how to ride it across the air,” he said mischievously, “it’s the most exciting part.”

They both lay there, staring into the sky, silent as the moment passed over them like a familiar friend. Clouds glided over the stars and made shapes that faded the moment they could be deciphered. The moon beyond was bright and full. It filled the sky with a gentle light and painted soft, silver edges over each cloud that hovered underneath.

“I don’t know what to do,” Zelda said at last with a sadder tone much different than the one she had only moments before.

Link sat up, looking down at the Princess as a tear ran down the side of her face. “Hasn’t it already been decided what you are to do?” he asked.

“Rauru’s plan has been crafted, you are to go one way and I the other, but something in me feels a pain at the idea. I am made uncomfortable by the thought of spending years of my life in an old house reading tomes written by men who did nothing but whip a quill over a bit of parchment. When my father was young he wrestled great beasts to capture the crown, and my grandfather traveled for years in the mountains beyond the Northern lakes. It was said he saw wonders no Hylian could have imagined. Yet because I am a girl, because I am Zelda, I must stay safe and secret. I feel like a flower hidden from the sun, wilting in the dark.”

“Ganon still hunts you,” Link added sadly, “and even if it were encouraged that you travel as I am expected to, you have no experience with the world beyond those ruined walls we left behind. You are strong Zelda, and very smart, but you’re too delicate and valuable to go off by yourself. He will find you without the protection of the Impa and the sage.”

“Shouldn’t it be my choice?” she asked with a great fervor as she sat up to meet Link’s eyes. “If the world is dying for me shouldn’t I be able to choose the path I feel is right? Hylians are being murdered for a secret I keep within, and all I can do is practice politics in the wilderness and be told what I should do. I feel a great swell of shame for the Princess I am to my people. There is no amount of pride in me that my actions have not already extinguished. What kind of ruler will I be if I start my life being ruled by others?”

“It’s still your choice,” Link replied after a moment. “I can’t tell you what to do. No one can. Just remember that.” He kept his eyes locked with hers for a moment, and there was an unheard communication between them that lasted for a moment but felt like years.

After only a moment he was on his feet before she could respond, and headed back to the house before she could call after him.

Link’s words were like a hammer that worked its way into her heart and brought out thoughts and ideas she had buried within. Suddenly she was reminded of her time with the great owl and all the things he had told her. The dreamlike nature of the encounter seemed out of context, apart from the rest of her experiences that evening. Yet with Link’s words she found her way back to that night. She recalled the path of wisdom Kaepora Gaebora had set her on as the fires of destruction raged beyond, and began to know in her heart the path she feared to follow.

The owl’s words moved through her mind, trickling like water that slowly worked away the stones of doubt below. Gradually she began to feel more vivid, colorful, and as she sat there new thoughts began to work through her mind she never thought could come. She was awakened, as if by some magic she was suddenly free to exercise all of the qualities that had been instilled within her. There was a choice to make, her choice, and she would allow herself the time to make it. She was a Princess after all.

When she re-entered the house there was a quiet that waited eagerly for her return. Rauru sat by the fire with a great red book in his hands and a pair of glasses resting on his nose. Impa sat across from him, smoking her pipe. Link was nowhere to be seen, likely having gone to bed the moment he returned.

She whispered apologies for her behavior at the table, then excused herself and headed up the stairs to the small room above. She did not wait for a response, or offer any council, instead choosing to rest on her thoughts before she spoke any of them aloud.

Her room was a tiny, cozy space Rauru had made for her, and as she drew the covers over her body she already felt her mind working out the details of her plan.

When she awoke in the new day, the morning light that came through her window did very little to dispel the bitter chill of the new day. It had gotten colder in the night, and Zelda held her covers closer to her body for longer than she needed to. She shivered and remained a stagnant mass beneath the sheets as she dared to ponder the idea of stepping out from the warmth around her.

Eventually she did force herself to emerge and found her way downstairs. Link and Impa had woken up at first light and were already outside beginning their training. In the kitchen Rauru worked a few strips of bacon over the stove. At the sound of Zelda’s arrival, he offered a gentle smile and gestured for her to take a seat.

“Well well,” the sage said as he prepared a plate for her. “That look in your eye, it’s the same as your father’s. He always had that look when he had decided something I didn’t agree with. I did not think I’d encounter the same look in his daughter. At least not so soon.”

“You know us both too well,” she replied, “I’ve made a decision, and I need to share it. I would like for Impa and Link to hear it as well.”

“Eat your breakfast,” he said without any hint as to what he was thinking. “I’ll go fetch them while you do.” With that he was out the door. Zelda ate the meal he prepared for her, delicious, seasoned eggs with bacon and potatoes. She always felt warmed and restored after eating Rauru’s cooking, and it made her sad to think she might not have it again for some time.

After several minutes that were likely much shorter than they seemed, Rauru was back with Impa and Link following closely behind. With a gesture and a softly worded request they took a seat at the dining table and waited for Zelda to begin.

“We are at your command your highness,” Rauru said, awaiting her word.

“First I want to thank you all,” she started, “for the courage and bravery you’ve shown in bringing me to this point. Without you I’d likely be dead or suffering a fate much worse, and I owe you gratitude for this.”

She inhaled deeply and her breath wavered as the three sets of eyes ahead watched her eagerly for the news she wished to disclose. “I’ve decided something. I won’t stay here while Link goes to gain the aid of the noble races,” she asserted. “I wont attain anything by learning of the world through books and teachings. I have a solid foundation of knowledge but I must experience what is out there for myself. I must become a monarch that is a child of experience, who has absorbed the teachings around her by doing as opposed to simply seeing. To counter Ganon I must utilize great wisdom.”

“What is it you intend to do then?” Rauru asked. “When Link goes off to train it will be for several years, and he will be faced with great challenges. Where will you go?”

“With him,” she replied quickly. “I will gain the trust of the people of Hyrule through my own humility. I will be a guest to kingdoms once considered lesser than our own. I will seek diplomacy by learning their ways firsthand.”

“Princess how will you stay hidden?” Link said with a concerned look. “Even with your peasant garb and haircut you still have a mark of royalty on you that even I can detect. Ganon’s spies will spot you immediately the moment we set foot in any of the three kingdoms. I can’t protect you by myself, I don’t have the experience or power to do what Impa does.”

“There are methods of disguise we have not exhausted yet,” Impa said as she ended her silence. “The Princess can be hidden in plain sight, of this I am sure. However I will not be able to go with her if this is the path she chooses.”

“I don’t understand,” Link said exasperated. “Why can’t you stay with us?”

“Impa is known to Ganon, young Link,” Rauru said slowly. “Were Zelda to be hidden he could detect her by Impa’s presence. Where you would go unnoticed in her company, Impa would be spotted with ease.”

“The abilities I wield to conceal her from Ganon will not work on me,” Impa went on to say. “The tools I must use to disguise Zelda will use up all my resources and skill, and requires ancient Sheikah magic that I cannot summon a second time.”

“So you’re actually encouraging this choice?” Link asked ardently. “Isn’t she supposed to be guided, protected? I can’t do that alone.”

“It was your own words that encouraged me to follow this path,” Zelda said softly, “ultimately I am your Princess, and my word stands above all others. I know you fear the burden of my company, but I swear to you now that the girl you saved from that high castle tower will not be the same one who follows you into the wilderness the night of your departure.”

Link held his gaze on Zelda for a moment before giving in and nodding in agreement. “You’re right,” he said finally, “I was letting my fear for your safety get in the way of what I already knew. You must make the choice you think is right.”

“You’re aware I advise against this Princess,” Rauru said as he placed his hand on hers. “Ganon will stop at nothing to find you, and to send you out where he can spot you with ease is inviting him to the secret you keep. I have sworn an oath to your family to respect, honor and follow your commands no matter their nature, but I must council you to follow the plan I set before you upon your arrival. You must be cultivated into a clever, strategic monarch if you’re ever to gain the upper hand against the Gerudo King. Having the loyalty of the three kingdoms will not grant you a superior skill in battle strategy, it will only award you with friends you already have. Stay here where you can safely finish your lessons and become the Princess you were meant to be before Hyrule met its destruction. I beg you.”

“A wise creature told me recently that the Princess I was intended to be died with the fires of Hyrule,” Zelda said with a conviction as of yet unseen. “The world has changed. I must change with it or die. Wisdom, not just knowledge, is the only way I can attain victory over Ganon.”

At hearing her words Rauru pulled away slowly and viewed her with eyes that hinted a knowing suspicion. “What ‘wise creature’ has said these things to you?” he asked curiously.

“Link is meant to leave tomorrow night,” Impa interrupted, “if Zelda is to follow then I must begin the preparations this very moment. Is there no dissuading you from this choice my Princess?”

“I feel this is the right path to take,” she said with focus and certainty. “I am sure of my choice.”

“Right,” Rauru said as he came back to the topic at hand, “if this is the will of the Princess, then I must obey her command.”

“It is,” the Princess said. “Thank you all for respecting my choice in this regard.”

Zelda felt a sense of relief as they each came to an uneasy compromise. It was clear from their speech that neither Impa nor Rauru agreed with her decision, but they were bound to laws much older than themselves and could not disagree. All they could do was watch as the girl they swore to protect chose willingly to put herself in the most dangerous scenario available.

When they had finished their conversation, Impa gathered some of her belongings, took Zelda by the hand and led her outside. They headed further into the fields then usual, back along the same path they had followed out of Hyrule several nights before. “Once this spell is done, it cannot be undone unless you will it so or a great magic rips it away. If you call the spell away, you yourself cannot replace the disguise. This can only be done once and only for you, as this right is typically only given to Sheikah warriors who choose to live a life in hiding for the safety of their tribes. For you, my little light, I am breaking many of the rules of my people.”

“I understand,” Zelda said as the two came to rest among the tall grass. “Thank you Impa.”

Impa moved quickly, removing the white lace that wrapped around her wrists. From a hidden pouch that rested near her waist she pulled a tiny pin, and with it she struck several times into both her wrists. She pressed two fingers against the blood and then brought them to Zelda’s head. With a skill that hinted at previous experience, Impa created the image of an eye in the center of the girl’s forehead. The blood flowed perfectly to one center point before dripping down in a single, solid, red tear.

She began to hum a low toned melody with words that Zelda did not understand. She felt no fear from Impa, but wasn’t sure what to expect from the ritual she had begun. The nursemaid made several signs in the air with her hands and arms, and every movement was graceful and elegant.

From her pouch she pulled a vial of gray powder, and with it she sprinkled a line around Zelda that faded into the high blades of grass. Then she proceeded to fan the vial outward, releasing tiny clouds of the powder that fell against Zelda’s skin and clothes. As she did she closed her eyes and continued to recite the ancient Sheikah language. She continued to do so for what felt like a half an hour, then she fell silent for a few minutes after.

“I now will call upon the ancient Sheikah mists,” Impa said suddenly in a low voice Zelda had never heard before. “they will gather and swarm you, and you will be changed when they part. Do not scream or move, for what you see within the mist will hint at the future, at the past, and your darkest dreams. Time will pass differently in the mist, and you will lose sense of yourself. From this point on you will be hidden within the shell of another. Remember who you are, and above all be strong young Princess.”

Before Zelda could reply a great howl came from all around them and Impa’s eyes began to glow a deep and beastly red. There was barely a moment before a heavy, swirling mist swarmed around them both and rolled over Zelda in an immense and wild tower. The wind roared and pulled upward as Zelda felt the mist pull at her skin and hair, then rise upward into the sky. Impa was completely blocked from view, and Zelda was left with only the roaring mist as her companion.

As the ritual continued and the mist whipped all around her, a dark face, the face of Ganon, emerged from the vortex. Despite the pure terror she felt at seeing his terrible image, Zelda held her ground as instructed by Impa’s warning. His face was more wretched and darker than she recalled, and from his head there came two great and bloodied horns. He cried out in a terrible wail and from his mouth dripped hundreds of Hylian bodies. Each of them was naked, rotting and dead.

The image was haunting and gruesome to behold. Above him the Triforce loomed, yet it was cracked and broken like some ancient treasure worn away by time. A scream ran out in the mist, and the image faded quickly. In its place Zelda saw Link, although much older, wielding a rod of light. He threw the light into the air, and from it came a rain of stars that was brighter than any firework she had ever seen. An immense and brutal explosion shook her whole body, and when she regained herself the image of Link was gone.

At last she saw the image of a woman in chains, dirty and disgraced. In her eyes was the shadow of hope, and as she moved Zelda caught familiar qualities that she soon realized were none other than her own. This phantom of the future looked to her and clutched her hands together as if to pray. She fell to her knees in front of the young Princess and tears rolled down her face. “Don’t let him have it!” she screamed wildly. With that her face dried up and her eyes sunk into her skull. Where the elder Zelda knelt, there was now a terrible, demonic creature that rose upward into the air. Zelda felt the mad mist rage around her as the shadow of the demon tore open the sky and laughed with a destructive pleasure.

Just as the towering behemoth reached its zenith, the mists tore away and pulled violently downward, dragging Zelda down with it. She hit the ground, cushioned by the grass around her, and when she got to her feet the mist was gone.

“It is done,” Impa said quietly. Zelda gasped when she looked upon her nursemaid, for she saw that in place of her raven black hair she now had hair as white as the clouds above. Her eyes had dimmed and darkened in color, and across her face were long wrinkles. She looked at least ten years older from the ordeal, and it crushed Zelda to see it done.

“Impa?” she said as she stared at her weakened and aged nursemaid. “What has happened to you?”

“I am alright, don’t fear for my well-being. Time has passed since the ritual began. The night has ended and it is now nearing sunset of the next day,” she said slowly, “do not worry about my health or safety. What you see now are only temporary affects that will hinder me for a few days. After a short time my hair will regain its color and my skin will heal. The magic borrows life from me but do not fear, it will give it back.”

Zelda rushed to her nursemaid and hugged her tightly. She held the woman close to her, noticing the cold quality of her skin against hers. As she did she noticed her own clothes were different, similar to Impa’s, and her skin slightly tanner than before. She pulled away, slowly realizing that the spell had disguised her in ways she hadn’t imagined it could.

“Do not be frightened. This body that shields you is nothing more than a mystical shell,” Impa said as Zelda looked down at the body around her. The Sheikah handed her a small mirror, and with it Zelda saw that her eyes were now red instead of blue, and her hair cut even shorter than before. Looking back she saw the face of a young boy, fair but still that of a boy. She felt a wave of shock run over her, slowly realizing that she was trapped deep within the body of a boy she did not know.

“Impa?” she said, realizing as she did that her voice was now slightly lower than before. “What have you done?”

“I have hidden you within the form of a young Sheikah boy,” Impa said as she pulled the mirror away. “From this point on you will not go by Zelda, but instead will choose another name to guard your true identity. If ever you declare your true name the spell will lift and you will see the image you’ve grown accustomed to staring back in the mirror once more. Be warned, young Princess, the more time that goes by the further you will sink into this body. More and more you will become a spectator and all your words and actions will be his to display and reword in his own way. Do not hold to this disguise for longer than you need to, as you may become lost to a will that is not yours. Five years should be enough, any longer could result in madness.”

Zelda felt along her cheeks and down her arms. She was skinny for a boy, and despite the shell that wrapped around her she was still herself within. She likened it to the icing on a cake, concealing what hid underneath. She was still Zelda, but to all who saw her she was a young Sheikah boy with red eyes. “I think I understand.”

After she grew more accustomed to the new form that clothed her, they made their way back. Impa was weak, and required Zelda’s assistance to finish the short journey. When they reached the hill Link caught sight of them from below. He made his way to them quickly, helping Impa and guiding them back. He kept his eyes on Zelda, unsure of what to make of the unusual boy who now helped an aged Impa back home.

“Who are you?” he asked finally, “what has happened?”

“I’ll explain everything in a moment,” Zelda responded, pleased that even Link couldn’t recognize her.

They assisted Impa into the house, and Rauru guided her to one of the beds. He did not look at Zelda’s new form with the same curious expression as Link, and his gaze was familiar and typical. When Impa was resting soundly he returned to them, looking Zelda up and down.

“Well it’s done then,” he said with neither displeasure nor enjoyment. “I have heard of these ancient Sheikah spells, but this is the first I’ve seen of them. Tell us, what will you call yourself now? What will you call this boy who shields you from Ganon’s sight?”

“Are you saying that this boy is Zelda?” Link asked, realizing finally who stood by him. “How is that possible?”

“Sheikah magic is a mysterious and wonderful thing my boy. It’s not Zelda who stands before us, she is truly hidden,” Rauru said calmly. “You don’t intend on going by that name as long as you hold this form, do you?”

“No,” the boy replied with a smile. “I’m not Zelda, you’re right. I am Sheik.”

The Legend of Zelda: Chapter 12

2012-02-08T01:02:00.000-08:00

Chapter 12: Koume and Kotake

The ruined hall was burnt and stained with blood when the two small, old women started to make their way through the castle. They were twins; both alike in every way save for the color of their hair. Koume had red hair that burned with the same intensity as rolling lava, while Kotake’s hair was white like the freshly fallen snow.

The features they shared were terrible and grotesque. Each of them had bulging, extended eyes that rounded out like those belonging to a toad. Their noses were long and thin, and their mouths held only the sad, decaying remnants of what teeth they had left. Their skin was crisp and folded like a raisin’s, and their hands were thin and small. Age had brought them both diminutive bodies, worn ragged and burnt by the terrible sun.

Each of them carried a staff, and along each staff were inscribed ancient Gerudo words that mirrored the words written on the sword of their King. The wood was gray, dry and often left splinters in their palms. However, their dried and ruined skin was too rough and calloused to feel any pain from this and they were rarely seen without them.

It was known to Ganon that Koume was a traitor, having poisoned the drink of the late King Gandrogon. Yet the new King never addressed the suspicions of the people, and she went on to become a member of his high council along with her sister. Why this was done was unknown, but the truth wasn’t hard for any Gerudo with a sharp mind to come across. That same sharp-witted Gerudo would also know that to question any further would end in their demise.

They were witches; both of them, and in their youth had served Gandrogon as surrogate mothers to Ganon. They taught him the ways of their people and the art of ruling with fear. It was they who first set in him a desire for magic, and it was upon their urging that he left the Gerudo deserts at the age of 15 in search of powers greater than they could offer.

When he returned he was 18 years of age and a different person altogether. For the two witches, they witnessed the departure of a prince and the return of a king. Only 6 months after was the old King declared dead from poisoning and Ganon took his throne. That was 20 years ago.

The witches walked steadily through the castle ruins toward the place King Agerthorn had called his throne room. Portions of the ceiling were missing, and great sections of the wall had fallen out completely in the fire. The entire castle was now a relic, a burnt and broken reflection of the glory it once held.

The great, golden doors were missing, leaving only a wide space to enter. The witches steadily pushed forward, the Gerudo soldiers guarding the door bowing as they passed. Ahead of them, in a charred and damaged chair, sat Ganon, their King. At his side was Nabooru.

Upon entering the two witches fell to their knees and stamped their staves hard against the floor several times in succession. “Great King!” shouted Koume, “humbled we are at the sight of such greatness. Victor! Conqueror! Din’s might is in your blood!”

“Honorable lord! Mighty desert boar!” Kotake screeched. "You sit on the throne of a dead fool! Now you rule the lands destined for our people, promised by the gods so many years ago! Long live Ganondorf Dragmire, king of the world, master of thieves and lord of fear!”

Ganon rested his hand on his fist, staring out with bloodthirsty eyes. Nabooru kept her eyes on the twins, holding nothing back in her obvious distaste for the two witches.

“Won’t you leave?” she said with great force, “the King is tired and weary after battle. You only serve to exhaust him with your empty boasts and sycophantic wails.”

“Quiet Nabooru,” Ganon snorted, “these are two creatures who are always welcome in my sight.” He motioned for them to rise and come closer. “Leave us, we have important matters to discuss.”

Nabooru did not resist her King’s command, leaving without objection. At her departure the witches sneered and twisted their faces. Kotake hissed and bit at the air, and Nabooru shot back with a curse in their native tongue. Ganon sat there, still, with no visible reaction to the confrontation.

When Nabooru had left Ganon looked into the eyes of Koume and Kotake, his dismay apparent and his pride diminished. “The girl,” he started, “Princess Zelda, where is she?”

Koume glanced to her sister, then back to the dark King. “We have used our magic and sought out the spirits. There is no sign of her in this place.”

“We know she is living and still on the Eastern continent,” Kotake added quickly, “yet her exact location eludes us. We are certain she is being protected by some Hylian magic, some ancient spell.” Their voices were like the sound of dying animals, the noise a shard of metal makes as it’s dragged along a granite tablet. The sounds that broke from their wrinkled, festering throats were chipped and hoarse.

Ganon took their words into account and looked around the room as he thought of what his next move should be. “The royal sage was missing from the castle when I took it, as was the girl’s nursemaid, Impa. As Aganhim I heard whispers that the sages kept protected shelters for the royals and used great spells to conceal their locations. The locations themselves were known only to the sages and the Sheikah who guarded the Princess.”

“As the wizard you did not think to find out these locations?” Koume asked, raising an eyebrow.

“There were many secrets I attempted to drain from King Agerthorn, and after a time he was all too willing to divulge them,” Ganon said with a bite to his speech. “Yet Rauru never gave in to my requests, and only gave me shadows of answers despite how sweet I made my words.”

Kotake looked to Koume, and after a moment the twins nodded as if in agreement. Ganon noticed and brought his hand away from his chin, curious what conclusion they had reached. “You have an answer to my problem?” he asked with a smile.

“There may be a way,” Koume began, “to bring down this veil and allow our eyes to see where the Princess hides.”

“Hylian blood in particular holds the words of the past, secrets no one ever thought were shared,” Kotake continued. “Words meant to be kept secret are often spoken when too much wine is drunk, when love is felt, or when fear demands it. These words, although hidden, wind down into the blood, and tell the tale no lip would dare to speak.”

“The history of these exposed secrets are ours to find, if we find the right blood,” Koume went on to say. “If it pleases the King, we would need only begin with the Hylian corpses, and with their blood we may find the secret to the sage’s hidden home.”

Ganon smiled broader at hearing this, and he stood up from his seat. “You’re saying that in the past it’s more than likely a sage spoke of the hidden locations, and that whoever they told, regardless of if they kept the secret, would pass the revelation through their blood?”

The witches nodded, stamping their staves on the stone floor once again. “Shall we begin my lord?” Kotake asked.

Ganon looked back as a terrible thought dawned on him. “And if the corpses reveal nothing, if their blood yields no secrets, what then?”

The twins looked to each other, then back at their King. “With your permission we would drain the living, one by one, until the answer was found,” Koume replied.

“The living?” Ganon said, surprised at their answer.

“This of course is only done with your blessing,” Kotake went on to say. “Only with your blessing my King.”

Ganon stood still for a moment before walking to the window that looked beyond the throne room and into the remains of the castle town below. In the center of the town the Gerudo soldiers forced the surviving Hylians, mostly women and children, to walk in a single line as they started the process of writing down their names and recording their information. Ganon watched each one as they passed by, their glory dimmed with their fine hair bathed in soot and stains of blood upon their clothes.

“My King?” Koume asked finally.

“You have my blessing,” Ganon said, his eyes still fixed on the survivors below. “Kill them all if you have to.”

The witches smiled with their toothless grins and left the room, keen to start their work on the dead bodies that lay below.

The Legend of Zelda: Chapter 11

2012-02-01T21:39:00.001-08:00

Chapter 11: The Faithful

When Link awoke from his slumber the first time, the night was new and different. The stillness of the dark brought to mind all the pains and sorrows he had placed to the back of his mind during the escape the night before. As the change settled over him, and the foreign scenery echoed with a haunting, unsettling novelty, the sting of knowing his father would never return came to his mind poignantly and without hesitation. It was all Link could do to keep himself from screaming in the night, and he wept again at the memory of his father’s passing.

When he woke again his face was hard from the tears drying against his face. The room was dark save for the fire that delicately cracked and rolled in the fireplace ahead. The fire brought warmth, but with it came reminders of the great flame that had swept through Hyrule. There was great pain mixed with its comfort.

He rubbed his cheeks and sat up, his hair standing on one end from his heavy sleeping. Across from him rested the Princess Zelda, slumbering so softly she could pass for a beautiful corpse.

Despite her clothes and the painful steps her servants took to subdue the radiance of her appearance, Link still found her beautiful. Her eyes were brilliant gems; her skin was soft and her body thin and fragile. It would be very difficult to rid her of the mark of royalty, which was in every part of her bones and blood.

As he watched her sleep he felt a hand gently touch his shoulder. When he looked up he saw an old man standing above him, a distinguished look to him. He wore the finest red robes Link had ever seen, and bore the crest of the Triforce on his belly. He was slightly overweight, but carried it well, and had a strength to him that seemed sheathed and cloaked. Along his face was a well-maintained beard that wound from his lips around to his ears.

“Link,” the old man said, “I am Rauru, sage of Hyrule. Come with me.”

Link silently obeyed, rising from the chair and combing his messy hair with his fingers. Rauru took the lead, walking to the front door. Sitting silently by the door sat Impa, a thin pipe resting against her lips as she stared, deep in thought, into the space beyond.

Rauru opened the door, extending his hand for Link to exit first. He did, and the old man followed.

They traveled up and out of the cavernous inlet that shielded the house. The field above was delicate and calm as Rauru led them forward. The grass was still very low, and only met their ankles. After passing a short distance the sage turned to face Link with a look of sorrow in his eye the boy did not anticipate.

“First of all let me say this,” he began, “your father Link was the most noble warrior I have ever met. He did not deserve to die the way he did, but I am glad he is survived by you. If ever there was a noble man, you are certainly his son.”

At hearing this Link’s body shook, and he was powerless against the tears that began to stream down his face. Rauru, without hesitation, took the boy in his arms and held him close. He was warm and the fabrics of his robes were softer than he had ever felt before. When he breathed in he caught the fragrance of the Hyrule temple incense, and the smell of cinnamon and honey. The sage held the boy as he cried, giving him all the time he needed to expel his sadness.

When Link pulled away, Rauru wiped his nose and eyes with a beautifully embroidered handkerchief he brought out from his sleeve. “Please, sit with me,” he said as he took a seat against the grass and patted a spot right next to him.

Link sat beside him, and the grass felt cool as he pressed his hands against it to position himself. Rauru gave him a warm smile, and he felt a comfort from the old man he had thought he would never feel again.

“You are the last of an order that, as of last night, has been extinguished, Link. Feltus taught you the ways of the Farorian Knights, and despite your lack of experience, you are one of them, in my eyes and in Impa’s.”

“I am not my father Rauru, I don’t know if I’ll ever be,” Link said softly as he stared into the night sky. The stars were alive and the night was clear.

“Perhaps you’ll transcend your father, or perhaps you wont, but this is for the future to tell, not for you or I to see. What I see in you is the ability to overcome great darkness. You helped Impa save the Princess, a task she could not have done alone.”

“I felt like a hindrance mostly,” he said as he looked to the sage.

“She told me what happened when the two of you came together. She told me there was a moment five Gerudo blocked her path to Zelda, and she wrestled with three while two more came at her from the side. Were you not there to defend her, their numbers would have outmatched her. The Princess would have died in that tower and Impa would have failed. You were invaluable, even if it was only in moments.”

“Hyrule is gone, burnt to the ground,” Link said as he stared out. The fires ahead were hidden to his eyes, but he still felt it burning. In his heart he knew he’d always feel it burning.

“Hyrule has been taken, an event your father and the King knew would take place the moment Aganhim removed his mask and revealed himself to be the Dark King Ganon. I was sent here to prepare this safe house because Hyrule’s destruction was something we could not prevent. However, castles can be rebuilt, families can start anew, crops can be sewn anew. In spite of the death and darkness a great light prevailed: Zelda.”

“Why is she so important?” Link asked, “I know of her lineage and the importance of protecting the royal family, but you, Impa and my father have all treated her as if she is a beacon of survival. I do not see why she is such an asset, or why there is so much dependent on her.”

Rauru smiled softly and turned his face to the sky. He looked at the stars, one by one, and then pointed to the brightest one he could find.

“See that?” Rauru said to Link as he pointed. “This star above has a reason for glowing as brightly as it does, and fulfills a purpose for doing so. The light it gives brings hope to millions of Hylians who look to it in the night sky. Despite this, there is no reason why it does the thing it does, and if there is that reason is unknown to us. The fact that it is a good and pure thing needs no reason or description, all that must be known is that it be protected and nourished if it can be, and honored and respected as it should be. Do you see?”

Link stared into the night at the star, and did feel the warmth of spirit Rauru mentioned. However, he was still without his answer.

Rauru must have sensed his lack of fulfillment, for it was only a moment before he continued his explanation. “I cannot tell you why the Princess must be protected, or why she brings so much hope with her arrival. The King made the mistake of giving this secret away too readily, and our kingdom now lies in ruin because of his eagerness to share the treasure she keeps. All I can say is Zelda wields in her the power to access an ancient might, and any man would kill to have it. How and why this is must remain a mystery, for it has never been my will or intention to tell her tale to any not of royal blood.”

Link kept his eyes on the star ahead. “I understand,” he said as he brought his gaze down to the old sage.

“The Princess has a great many things to do now that she has escaped Ganon’s evil,” Rauru said as he wiped stray blades of grass from his hands. “Ganon’s army must be matched, and she must be the one to build a force to match it. She must embrace in a short time all the teachings she should have had many years to learn, and must take part in politics that are, in truth, beyond her current state.”

He sat up and looked hard into Link’s eyes. “If you are willing, I would make you the head of her army, and the one who would bring an end to Ganon’s rule of our kingdom.”

At this Link began to laugh. In him there was no anticipation for what Rauru said, and it had never been his belief or dream that he would lead an army for the Princess Zelda. The absurdity of the idea brought out of him only laughter, as he had no other way of knowing how exactly to respond.

“No offense to you, but I am a boy!” he exclaimed, trying to hold his laughter back. “I’m just 14, with no experience as a man beyond a desperate swipe of my sword. What can I do with an army?”

“Nothing, as of now,” Rauru said, a smile washing over his face to match Link’s own. “However, in you I see courage, and strength, and the goddesses have placed you in the path of the eyes of fate so that you might take on a role much greater than yourself. Were you to accept my offer, to take on the role left to you by your father, I would have to send you away for a great amount of time, to seek out the masters of the three honorable races. Only then could you earn the role I dare to place upon your shoulders, and only then would I feel confident you could lead an army against Ganon.”

“You’re serious?” Link asked as his own smile began to fade. “You really think I can do what you say I can do?”

“Link, there is nothing that I say with certainty, but I do think you hold great promise,” Rauru responded. “If you count yourself among us, among the faithful, I hope you will take this honor and accept my offer.”

Link stared into the dark, almond colored eyes of the sage, a million thoughts dancing in his head. Questions and worries flew through his mind, and uncertainty seemed to seize his heart like some terrible, thin-fingered hand.

When his mind brought to him the image of his father, and the last words he spoke before his death, all those worries and thoughts wrinkled and fell away. It only took a moment for him to look into the sage’s eyes and know his answer.

He stood up and positioned himself at Rauru’s feet. The sage watched him curiously as he bent down, kneeling on one leg. At this the sage sat up, and smiled, for he knew exactly what Link had chosen to do.

“I pledge my loyalty to Hyrule and the Princess Zelda. I am at your service,” Link said at last.

Rauru stood, and touched the boy upon his head. “Rise,” he said softly.

The Legend of Zelda: Chapter 10

2012-01-29T02:52:00.001-08:00

Chapter 10: The Escape

Impa, Link and Zelda had finally reached the top of the spiraling library tower when the entire castle shook and the Princess, quite suddenly, fell to the floor.

Impa, with blurring speed, caught her before her head hit the hard stone ground. “Zelda,” she whispered as she shook the unconscious girl.

Zelda woke slowly and looked upward at her two companions. They stared back at her, concern in their eyes. She wondered if this was how people would look upon her from this day forward, with sadness and pity.

“Did you feel nothing just now?” she asked as she got to her feet. “It was as if my whole mind, for a moment, was undone and then put back together.”

Impa looked to Link then back to the Princess. “You have always had a intimate connection to the world that normal Hylians lack, fair Princess,” she said softly, “it would appear that you have sensed something Link and I cannot.”

“My father,” she said sadly, “something has happened.”

“The King stays behind to protect you Princess,” Impa said as she rested a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “We do him justice by escaping while he remains.”

“It will be alright,” Link added, offering a somber smile.

Zelda turned back, half in a daze, and her eyes fell upon the peasant boy who had come to rescue her. He looked at her with curiosity, and without any hesitancy or reverence.

She had met Feltus on several occasions, but Link’s very existence was unknown to her. She had never once asked Feltus anything about his personal life, or questioned for a moment if he had a family or children.

The boy matched her in years, yet appeared a year older. He was taller than she, with strong arms and legs and tanned features. He was attractive, but common, as were all peasants to her eyes. Yet there was something striking about him she could not quite ascertain, a quality or look in his eye that seemed mysteriously impressive. Inexplicably she trusted him, despite the fact that she had sworn never to easily give her trust to another man as long as she lived. Link fell outside of any category she had ever known before, yet she failed to reason why. Because of these emotions, she realized it was only right that she do everything she could to resist any attachment.

“Don’t speak to me like that boy,” she said sternly, as she looked away embarrassed.

“Excuse me Princess,” Link said as he shrunk a little, turning his gaze to the floor.

Zelda did not need to look into the scolding eyes of her nursemaid to realize what she said was wrong. “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for,” she added quickly, ashamed at her reaction.

Link looked back up and smiled again. It wasn’t a normal thing for a lowly Hylian to receive an apology from the Princess Zelda.

“The interior of the castle is compromised, and there is no secret passage within that Ganon is not aware of,” Impa said as she got to her feet. “The only option we have is to scale the walls and roofing of the castle, and hope no Gerudo eyes spy our movements.”

“The roof??” Zelda exclaimed, “I will not be the first Hylian Princess to meet her doom by being flattened after a fall from the castle tower,” she said defiantly.

“You forget the threat upon us Princess,” Impa said as she turned sharply toward the girl, “Ganon will do worse to you than throw you from this tower, and it is my duty to ensure his work goes unfinished. Now follow Link and I out this window, and try your best to observe some code of silence as you do.”

Zelda looked to the window as Impa gestured. She saw Link nod and accept the task upon him. She was curious what made him so willing to engage in something so risky.

She watched as Link unlatched the windows and pressed hard against them. They cracked open and the hot, ashy wind spilled in from beyond. Impa was on the sill and outside within moments, and Link was quick to follow. He jumped up on the sill and stopped, turning to Zelda.

“Give me your hand,” he said as he stretched out his arm toward her.

She reached her hand out, the tiniest bit of reluctance in her movement, before he clasped his strong, rough hand around hers. Despite the texture of his hands, hands that had always known work and trial, she felt history and passion in his fingers. A chill ran along her arm as he gripped her fingers tight and lead her out into the night.

Impa lead the way, dancing over the stones and tiles with the slightest effort. Link did his best to follow; trying to make sure the Princess had sure footing before continuing down the sloping path.

“Careful,” he whispered softly back. The Princess smiled nervously, trying her best to find solid footing before taking another step.

Impa kept them within sight, and was close enough that she could reach them without problem, but she was also intent on keeping them unseen. Zelda saw her ahead, looking around as if she were some cautious rodent intent on staying hidden against a wide, open winter field.

They carefully stepped down the separating levels of the castle, with Impa helping Link and Zelda drop down each time. As they progressed lower and lower, they could glimpse Gerudo through the windows, tackling Hylian guards and screaming with glee as they fought like wild vixens. They tore down ancient statues and smashed pots and vases as they tore through the castle, burning as they went. It was all Zelda could do not to cry out at the sight.

When they reached the edge of the roof there was no further they could travel. The drop to the ground below was too long, and would break their legs if it didn’t kill them. There were no steps or ladders past the point they had reached, and for a moment Zelda thought for sure they had reached an impassable obstacle. Even if they were to somehow find their way below, the Gerudo swarmed the grounds like ants, and they would capture them the instant their feet touched earth. There was no way down.

Impa pulled from her robes a small instrument that looked almost like a handle with a small spear attached to it. She raised it up and held it level with her chin, focusing on a rookery tower beyond.

The rookery was itself a tower where there was kept the Hylian messenger birds. It rested against the Deku hills behind the castle, and below it was a small plot of farmland that had not yet been reached by the encroaching Gerudo soldiers.

“We make for the rookery, and descend to the ground as fast as we can. From there we travel over the Deku hills and into the Kokiri fields beyond it. We do not stop, we do not linger, and we do not speak. Understood?”

Zelda watched Link nod again and accept Impa’s rules without hesitation. She followed, feeling some strange urge to be led by the boy at her side.

As she responded she nearly slipped, and gripped hard around Link’s chest to regain her footing. He turned, gave her a smirk, and patted her on the head. Zelda held tight to him, breathing in the smell of grass and wood that still lingered on his tunic. There was a comfort to Link she could not resist, and no longer felt the urge to.

When the roar of the flames and the cries of battle reached a high point, Impa pressed a small trigger on the small device she held in her hand. There was a tiny pop, and smoke shot out as the spear head rocketed out and zipped like a hawk straight into the wall of the rookery beyond. A thin but hearty chain connected the device to the hook, making a diagonal link from them to their destination.

“We go all at once,” Impa said softly as she tugged the chain hard to ensure it was embedded deep into the wall beyond. “The hookshot will get us there quick,” she whispered as she latched the hookshot to her belt.

Link and Zelda let Impa lock arms with them, and they gripped her shoulders tight. With another flick of the trigger the three jumped from the roof and began to fall. It was only a moment before the slack tightened from the hookshot and they began to rise and swing toward the rookery wall. Below them the Gerudo continued their raid, clueless as to the daring escape that was taking place above them.

It was all Zelda could do not to scream as they flew through the air. When they reached the wall of the rookery, Impa repelled off of it gracefully, hitting the trigger of the hookshot so that it would loosen slowly and allow them to descend toward the ground below.

“Let go,” she said once they had gotten close to the ground. Link dropped down against the ground, helping Zelda as she followed after. Impa flicked another switch on the side of the hookshot, and the spear above opened up and zipped back down to her. She fell noiselessly to the ground, and the hookshot reconnected and found its way inside her robes once more.

They were traveling fast as soon as they reached the ground. The farmland was on a slope and was only used for cultivating special herbs and vegetables for the castle’s use. Immediately beyond the farm and rookery was a dense covering of trees that coated the small Deku hills that Castle Hyrule rested against. This was their destination.

Zelda only looked back once at the glowing red inferno that was Hyrule before making her way into the forest. The smoke looked like a pillar of hate as it rose horribly into the air, and the sound of screams and cries of battle could still be heard within the walls. There was a swell of sadness in her to know Hylians still defended the castle and would likely die for nothing. Would it ever be restored to its former glory? Would she ever reclaim the items lost to her, or the crown she once took for granted? She wondered this to herself as they raced through the dark and ominous woods.

She tried her best to remember the words of Kaepora Gaebora. “The wise have no true possessions,” she recalled him saying. If this was right then on this night she had become truly wiser than she ever was before.

The trees held their leaves tightly, interlocking with each other as though they were working together in prayer. Zelda had heard stories of the woods and how the trees were alive with spirits, but she had never seen any proof to make her believe the tales.

When they exited the woods and reached the Kokiri fields beyond, her feet were throbbing and sore. “Can’t we rest?” she asked Impa. The sheikah nursemaid did not respond, her eyes locked forward and her blades drawn in case of any attack.

It took her by surprise when Link bent down and lifted Zelda against up and against his back. He did so without any word or any request, regardless of his own discomfort or aches.

“Thank you…Link,” Zelda said as she rested her head against his. He continued on silently, his focus ahead on Impa.

They walked through the vast fields for what seemed like hours, until the fire of Hyrule was just a red spot against the horizon and the sun had come to replace the night.

The fields themselves were covered in tall, green grass that went up to Link’s shoulders. It stretched out for miles and miles until ending at the foot of Death Mountain to the North, or stopping in Kakariko Village to the East. From their path they seemed to be heading northeast, the objective unknown.

She released herself from Link’s grasp when she felt recovered, and walked with them at the same pace they had kept since the beginning of their escape. They did not speak, or address each other. Zelda felt out of place, caught between a warrior and a warrior’s boy, both of whom had known hardness all their lives, and could deal with physical difficulties without any trouble.

When they began to slow their pace, Zelda felt warmth radiating from Impa she did not expect. “Where are we?” Zelda asked as she heard the sound of water trickling just ahead.

“Our destination,” she answered.

The grass shortened gradually as they continued, and the path rose up along a steep incline. When the three reached the top of the incline, they saw beyond a small house, warm and inviting, with a watermill working into a small stream below. The home was fit into a rocky inlet that concealed it well, and would be difficult to find unless someone was deliberately searching for it.

They got to the house and knocked on the door, but there was no answer. Impa used a special key and pushed the door open, only to find the interior without any occupants, although there was a fire going and several beds made up for guests.

The inside of the home was well decorated and comfortable. “Rest for now, I will keep watch until our host returns. Without question, Zelda and Link wasted no time finding themselves at home, and were quick to remove their shoes and rest their heads against the soft chairs that were situated in front of the fire.

Impa did not sheath her blades and stayed to keep watch outside, never letting her guard down. As the day progressed, Link and Zelda went in and out of sleep, exhausted from the ordeal before. When the sun set again, Zelda woke to hear Link crying near her.

Initially she felt the urge to comfort him, but thought better of it. It was obvious from the way he curled his body away from her sight and tried to smother his tears that he did not wish to be comforted or for her to know his sorrow. Men were often fickle when it came to their emotions, or showing their more sensitive sides, and she was no stranger to this fact.

She closed her eyes and tried to sleep again, and found herself dreaming before long. In her dream she saw a golden land, where the water glittered in a beautiful light, and great statues lifted their hands upward in devout reverence. She walked forward, her bare feet touching the soft, red ground that was cool to the touch.

When she looked above she saw the Triforce resting between two great mountains, glittering in all of its splendor. She felt the awe of its pure, divine power and the light that radiated from it filled her with hope and joy.

Then a scream filled the air and the light turned to dark. Where the Triforce had rested there was now a river of blood, and the pale, naked bodies of faceless Hylians littered the ground like the fallen leaves of autumn.

When she awoke from the nightmare, the only light came from the fire. Link was nowhere to be seen, and before her stood the Hylian sage, Rauru, an intense look in his eye. It was then she realized they had come to a house he kept in secret, and were now under his protection.

“Good evening young Zelda,” the wise old man said with a heavy voice, “wash the sleep from your eyes and eat some food, there is much to do. You see the world has changed, and we must discuss the matter of reclaiming your throne.”

The 99%

2012-01-25T02:02:00.000-08:00

The smell of starch still lingers on my recently pressed shirt. There are a few creases and folds that somehow snuck in, hiding in plain sight, but they're barely noticeable. I button the shirt up, noticing in the mirror at the unflattering way it boxes me in.

I forgot to wash my apron the night before. It's black, I reason, and any stains will be difficult to see. I scratch off a bit of what seems like crusted hot mustard. There, now it's perfect...ish.

I tie it around my waste so it's nice and uncomfortable, and look at myself in the mirror. "You look like a terrific douche," I say aloud. I do.

The air is cool when I exit the apartment. I say goodbye to my dog, who knows the routine. He looks at me from the safety of his bed, wondering what mad errand I'm off to do next. "It's not as exciting as you'd think," I say before closing and locking the door behind me.

I try to make it to my car as quickly as possible.  I begin to feel the cool air sneak in through the damp spots of starch I seemed to have missed when I was ironing just a few minutes before. I try to disregard the chill. It's not that bad, just uncomfortable.

The car seems even colder when I finally find my way inside. I start the engine and turn on the radio. NPR is my selection. All the other stations have been playing the same songs for the past 10 years and I'd rather learn something on my drive to work.

I pat myself on the back for remembering to get gas the night before. $25 dollars was what I put into my tank, and it'll keep me running for the next day before I have to put more in her. I just had to get a Jeep, I think to myself as I curse my youthful ineptitude.

The drive takes a half hour, and I weave and cross through traffic in order to get there on time. I left a little later than usual because of a last minute search for socks. I have to go faster now as a result. I'll make it.

The freeway is a bustle of cars and crazy people flying around like they were driving bumble bees. I do my best to stay out of their way.

I clean my glasses off, wishing I could afford my contact lenses.  They're generally unflattering and darken oddly in the sunlight. My older brother pointed out their worst feature once; when mixed with my pale skin and slim physique they make me look like a category 5 pedophile. I want to crumple them up and throw them out the window, but then I'd be truly blind.

When I get there I have 5 minutes to spare. Somehow I always have 5 minutes. I shake my fist in the air, cursing the slow old lady who drives ahead of me. She's stopped, turn signal blinking and waiting for that "perfect space." She has no clue I'm in a rush or that she's even holding me up. I could be a zombie bent on destroying her head for the brain candy within and she couldn't give a crap.

"Mush!" I exclaim, pretending she's the slow mutt on my dog sled team. She doesn't mush.

Eventually she turns and I have three minutes. I travel up and up, farther and farther, until finally I reach the 5th floor in what used to be a labyrinthine series of ramps and turns. As an employee of the mall, I'm required to park on the 5th floor. I feel like steerage, pushed to the bottom and back of the boat, sneered at by all the 1st class passengers.

I check my teeth and nose for any stragglers, then open my door and feel the cold wind slam into me like a fat kid at Disneyland. I pop a couple of Altoids in my mouth, distracting myself from the chill with the only peppermints I actually enjoy eating. They make me sneeze, as always. As I pop my head back up I hope I didn't just dislodge a lose meteor booger that may or may not have been hiding in secret from above.

I look around me, noticing the army of sweeping white and black shirts around me. Some get dressed there, others wait till they get out to tie their aprons on. We all are locked into the same schedule, that old monotonous routine. Off we go, prepared for battle, as we embark on a 4-6 hour journey that will bring us face to face with grouchy, demanding people who couldn't care less how hard we work.

We all sweep across the parking lot at a steady pace. Some of us have ties, others get to have jeans, and I spot some familiar uniforms that mirror my own. We are all after the same thing, hoping and praying we don't get that table that sits for four hours and only gets water with no ice. Money is the prize we seek, and many of us will go home with less of it than we had hoped. In many cases this could be helped, but the fickle nature of our customers will either make or break our evening.

The elevator hums a familiar sound as I descend to the ground floor. I exit and head toward the restaurant that employs me, seeing as the others separate and head to their established destinations. I gear myself up emotionally for the next several hours. I know I'll be running around like a chicken after a guillotine encounter.

I enter the establishment and clock in. I'm a number in a system. I am one of a million, possibly a billion. Each of us give more than we receive and all of us know it. Yet some are better at faking their enthusiasm. For me I pull the smile from the collection I have available and tape it hastily across my face. This will have to do for tonight, I think to myself.  Once that's done I go to see the tables I'll be focusing on for the evening.

The host barely acknowledges me when I check in. It's fine, I never acknowledged the servers when I used to host at my old job. It's a different world, and I'm aware of it. Plus I can see they're starting to get busy.

I begin to feel like a train on a track, gradually picking up pace as I move through the restaurant. I chug along, picking up plates, silverware, lemons, napkins, papers, straws, glasses, etc. and drop them off like discarded passengers. The path is set, the destination known, and the end result the same.

I keep the momentum, doing work for others and getting acknowledged half the time. You don't do it for the acknowledgement, I try to tell myself. I'm better than that, aren't I?

Conversations carry over between me and my fellow servers, and while some of them I cherish, others are repeated greetings I could do without. "Hey, how ya doing?" someone says. "Great buddy," I lie. There's nothing else to say.

We each weave and cross through the traffic of our own creation, plates and trays in hands. Food goes out and empty plates go in. The endless cycle seems to go on and on forever.

I stop at my first table. They're mad at me that something we used to have on the menu is no longer there. Of course it's my fault. I removed the item myself, while you weren't looking. Nothing gives me more pleasure than knowing you can't eat the crap you love to eat. After all, why would I want to make my evening go more smoothly? Causing the customer to complain is my ultimate goal.

Offering another item I attempt to console them. They don't care, they're talking about what happened to their best friend when they drank too much the night before. I'm a shadow, a lingering wraith that exists only when they need me to exist. To them I am simply a blank space, a tragic ghoul who lives only when I bring them pleasure.

I fade in and out to all of them, not wanting to be noticed but feeling resentful when I'm ignored. What is this life? Who am I in this moment? Everything blurs as the rush sets in and I move with a faster pace and a more aggressive charge.

The food comes out and the plates go back in. The order repeats and the redundancy has never seemed more apparent than it does in this very moment. Cards are swiped, checks printed out. "Thank you Mr So and so," I say to one. "Come back and see us again Ms. Whatever your name is," I say to another.

We're all suffering statues, each of us an empty eyed, paint less thing that works endlessly for the enjoyment of others. The checks come back. Five dollars here, ten dollars there. I try to count it up in my head. I think I've made 25. Then I backtrack. I can't forget I have to tip out the bar, then the runners. Not all of this money is mine. My book seems empty. I feel as though I'm running a charity for people I can't stand.

I feel the aches set in, the pains streak through my wrists and shoulders. My feet lost feeling years ago. Now they're just numb logs I hop on as I bounce around the restaurant. The music that drips down from above blurs into one constant noise that I only stop to decipher every few moments.

"How is everyone today?"

"What can I get for you?"

"Would you like to try this? It's my favorite."

"You're going to love this."

"You have a birthday? Fantastic!"

"How is everything? Delicious?!"

"I'll drop this off whenever you're ready."

"Thank you so much, have a lovely evening."

I hold back the urge to vomit with each syllable. It gets harder each time, and I feel my teeth grind together and my smile turn to something far less sincere as time goes on.

I feel as though they can see it in me, the resentment and the pain. I don't want to be there, I don't want to be with them. I don't care that they have a fake allergy to gluten, or that they can't stand the taste of green onions. I never wanted to know they didn't like unsweetened tea, or that the dessert was just shy of how they remembered it.

The clock laughs at me as I plod along, painfully moving now like some driftwood caught in a steady, rushing stream. Sweat drips down my brow, and my hands feel as though they're going to turn to ash after I wash them for the thousandth time.

Five more dollars, ten more dollars. Why am I here? I wonder this to myself and aloud to my fellow employees. All they can do is shrug. I feel as though they're better at concealing their hatred for the monotony.

Tables come and go and soon it's nearly closing time. It's not over yet, however, as I still have about an hour of side work to complete if I'm not fast enough. I wipe and polish and scramble to find all the missing pieces to the station I'm assigned to restock. I scrape off what has been caked on for what seems like centuries. I'm crouching down and reaching into areas I never saw or touched during my entire shift. The hour seems to go on till infinity reaches a close and father time himself sets his great staff down and decides to take a nap.

Eventually I'm calculating what money I'll make for the evening. Here is the moment of truth that so often leads to disappointment. A few deductions fly through the calculator to consider my tip out. $50 dollars is what I made.

I try to hold back the scream. All the work, all the effort and running around and sweating I did for really nothing at all. Half of this will go to gas tomorrow, and the other half will drip away with food costs for the week. Why am I here? What brought me to this point?

I crawl back into my home, my safe place, my haven, and wade through the crusty, food stained clothing I just washed the night before. I can't afford another shirt, so I'll have to wash it and iron it again before setting out once more tomorrow.

The only true pleasure from the night comes from the fast food I got on my way home. I know it will clog my arteries and kick my looks down the shitter, but there's no time or energy to make a proper meal for myself now and I'm too tired to wait anyways. I vent with my sister, my roommate and fellow combatant, and we enjoy a meal in front of the television as we slowly cool and wind down for the night.

I head to bed, a shapeless mound of lumps and aches. I crawl inside the covers smelling like the food I spent all night serving. I try to forget about it, but I dream of everything again the moment my eyes shut and I fall asleep. I dream of the wasted hours, the orders and the complaints and the harsh words from management. I wake in the night, stressed and filled with anxiety at the prospect of returning.

Yet I manage to eventually fall asleep, and when I wake repeat the tasks I just related for many days to come. I strive to break from the cycle, to find some other source of income. However for now I'm here, as I have been for the past 5 years. I'm stuck, much like a mouse running through a wheel, never receiving any true reward for the effort I just expended.

I'm tired. I'm ready for something new. I'm done.

I am the 99%.

The Legend of Zelda: Chapter 9

2012-01-22T03:48:00.001-08:00

Chapter 9: Long Live the King

The many times Ganon envisioned his triumphant return to the Hylian throne room, he had always imagined he’d see the last vestiges of the Farorian Knights desperately defending their cowering monarch. He had never once doubted this vision.

The doors were immense, golden slabs covered with striking imagery of Hylian mythology. Pressing his gray, dirty fingers against them, they lurched and choked before moving back.

Upon entering the room he stopped, immediately taking note of how much the room had changed since he had last been in it. It was an empty, broken thing, and the air felt sticky and heavy.

Standing by his throne, a beautifully decorated sword in his hand, stood King Agerthorn.

Ganon paced carefully, smiling like a snake about to strike. The King remained ahead of him, staring straight into his eyes without any fear.

“You are not welcome within these walls Ganondorf Dragmire,” the King said sternly, “you have betrayed the kingdom and wage war against us without provocation.”

Ganon stopped, his mouth closing and his lips curling upward to grin.

“Without provocation. Interesting,” Ganon replied. “Do you remember, great King, when I had ascended the throne so many years ago?” he asked calmly.

The King simply nodded.

“So then you recall that I was 18 at the time, just made a man amongst the largely female members of the Gerudo people,” Ganon went on. “My father had died unexpectedly. He had been poisoned in the night. Our people were starving, the summer had devastated our crops and tore apart our livestock like a child shredding parchment.”

“I recall this,” the King said, “you sent an envoy to request aid. We sent him back with a cart full of fresh fruit and vegetables, and three of our finest cows.”

“You do recall it,” Ganon said, his eyes widening, “then you must recall how quickly these supplies ran out. You must recall the letters I sent to you requesting more aid.”

The King nodded, “we were unable to assist you. We could not spare anymore.”

Ganon smiled again. “Yet later that year you held a harvest festival, where there was food and drink for everyone. Then again in the summer you had a festival and a tournament, where food and drink was given out by the barrel full.”

“We weren’t going to risk your dependence on us,” the King responded, “our resources, though plentiful, are finite and meant primarily for Hylian benefit.”

“You greedy old fool!” Ganon roared, his anger explosive and tearing through his smile, “your people were never without the benefit of the lands before you, or lacking in a belly full of meats and wine! You are the weaker people and yet you were gifted in ways the Gerudo could only dream of. Yet when we, when I, came to you for help you turned your back to our faces and smiled in the rain as we burnt under the unrelenting sun.”

“I’m not responsible for your lack of ability as a King, Ganon, nor do I feel guilty for what transpired,” the King said with a lion’s roar that shook the room, “If you have come here to tell me of your sad time spent ruling over that kingdom of sand and dirt, then you will speak words that will fall upon unsympathetic ears. The Gerudo have always had a shaky alliance with the Hylians, and we are far from brothers. You have attacked our kingdom in the past, and have failed each time to breach our walls. It is only through your perfectly executed deception now that you were able to draw out our secrets and invade this castle. Now you have succeeded in shaming us, in killing our people and bringing ruin to our city. Now you have shown your might, your cunning, and your prowess. The point is proven, you are the stronger, more powerful, more deceptive race. Now be gone. I have no more time for this arrogance, this show of power. Be gone!”

There was only silence in reply as the two Kings stood across from each other, both with swords in their hands and fire in their eyes.

“You know what I come for,” Ganon said softly, “I will only be content when you are dead and she is mine.”

“Then you shall leave here disappointed,” the King said, raising his sword. “Zelda is far from your reach now, and you will never have her or the secret she keeps.”

Ganon slowly paced back and forth, his eyes digging daggers into the King. The two men rivaled each other in size, although Ganon was the bigger of the two and his body covered in armor. In contrast to the King’s elegant, jewel encrusted sword, Ganon’s blade was an immense, black thing that ended in a half moon at the tip, with two razor sharp edges stemming from either side. Along the blade were written ancient Gerudo runes, and they seemed to glow red when his anger flared. Although it seemed he should not be able to even lift it without extending a great effort, he carried it now as if it were a butter knife.

“Why would you even try to resist death at my hands?” Ganon asked slowly, “I have been in many wars when other Gerudo tribes have tried to take my crown. I have battled men the size of Goron chieftains, and traveled to dark lands filled with monsters more terrible than you could imagine. I brought down your best, Riverfeld, with ease, I tore through Feltus as if he were a child, and I have undone twenty of your Farorian Knights with three swipes from my sword. Between us I could bring you to ruin even faster than I did your city. Fighting is meaningless.”

The King kept the sword raised, never wavering in his intensity. “Fighting is never meaningless, regardless of who will win and who will fall. I am not a coward, or a weakling, despite what you may think. In my youth I was known as the King of Red Lions, a moniker I earned when I hunted the blood-furred lions that live under the shadow of Death Mountain. It was a trial I did to earn the throne as a prince, to claim it from my seven brothers who I knew did not deserve it. I tracked those lions in the heat and in the dust, without any aid, and killed them with only my knife. They’re immense, vicious creatures with the strength of ten men. Regardless of your skill, Ganondorf Dragmire, you will never scare me.”

At this Ganon began to laugh. The quaking boom that rose from his mouth filled the desolate throne room and seemed to shake the very earth. He held his sides and wiped away tears as his laughter waned and slowly ebbed. He looked back at the King, still smiling with his teeth bared.

“I had always heard rumors the Prince had tackled a single, sickly lion when it had interrupted his picnic,” Ganon said as he chuckled again, “but perhaps this is how the desert wind pollutes the sound of Hylian words to our ears.”

”Enough talk,” the King said firmly, “either leave or strike, I will waste no more time to bandy words and insults with a jealous tyrant.”

At this Ganon dropped his sword, and raised his hands in the air. The torches went out quickly and a gray mist fell across the floor. His eyes turned black and howling winds ran through the castle that were like the gusts of an approaching hurricane. “I’ve changed my mind, King of Red Lions,” he said in a mocking tone and a terrible voice that echoed as though spoken with many mouths, “what I will do to you now is a punishment worse than death, and will leave you in shame for the rest of time. Now suffer under this spell, and know that it was the jealous tyrant, the King of sand and dirt, who brought you to this ruin!”

There was a flash and screaming unlike there had been since the dawn of time. Ganon seemed to grow to a massive size as the shadow of the King shook and bent before fading in the dark. A great boom shook the palace and a solid wave of resonating air flew out from where the King once stood.

The sword, in all of its Hylian splendor and jeweled glory, fell hard against the ground as the air returned to normal and the wind ceased its roaring. Ganon stood across the room, looking at what his spell had done.

He stood in silence before a grin danced over his face for a minute, then quickly faded. Ganon turned his back on the throne, and the sword, and headed to the throne doors.

“King of Red Lions,” he said softly, smiling to himself before exiting the empty space behind him.

In the throne room any sign of the King was gone. The spell had done its work, and only desolation remained.

The Legend of Zelda: Chapter 8

2012-01-19T12:26:00.001-08:00

Chapter 8: The Sheikah Woman and the Boy in Green

The steady and unrelenting beat of his heart was impossible to ignore as he pushed out the stones blocking his way out of the passage. When the heat of the inferno was upon his face he knew there was only danger ahead. The smoke filled his lungs and burned his throat. He choked and spat but the air was thick with death and flame. The secret path had done exactly what he had both hoped and worried it would, it had led him right into the center of the battle.

Link was just beyond the second wall, and the courtyard burned all around him. He had always heard stories of how the magnificent flowers of Hyrule’s castle courtyard lifted the spirits of all who saw it. Now it was a burnt and somber thing that brought him only despair.

His eyes searched ahead as he looked beyond and into the mass of Gerudo and Farorian Knights that still did battle in the courtyard. The fires burned around them as they fought relentlessly. The dead lay strewn across the grass and over the hard stone floor. He was disturbed to finally glimpse the truth of battle. There was no glory or beauty in it, only the devastating image of unbridled chaos.

As he looked, dumbstruck at the scene, he choked back the thick, burning air and felt his stomach sink as his eyes rested on something familiar further ahead. In an instant all that he had known changed, and he felt the unstoppable walls of fate collapsing in around him. Lying against the castle steps with his green tunic stained red was Feltus, his father.

Link ran ahead madly, paying no attention to the warriors around him. They didn’t catch sight of him as he rushed passed their sweeping swords and metal shields. He landed hard against the ground and grabbed his father’s hand, weeping as he did.

Feltus stirred slowly. There was very little life left in him. “Father!” he cried, “what has happened??”

Feltus offered only a weak smile at the sight of his son. With the small amount of energy he had left he squeezed Link’s hand gently. “Save Zelda,” he said softly. Then, in less than a breath, he was gone.

Link sat there, the battle going on all around him, as he continued to weep. He stared at his father’s lifeless body and wondered what hope there was left. He had never known life without his father, the man whose wisdom and skill had guided him since birth. Now there was only Link.

When the Gerudo warrior came at him from behind, he was only stirred by the deafening howl his attacker made as they raised their sword. As though pulled by some invisible force, Link dove out of the way just in time to miss the blade.

Fear replaced sadness and his mind went blank as he was overcome with terror. He pushed back wildly against the ground in a mad attempt to get away from the Gerudo who now came at him. He did not think once to draw his sword.

The desert soldier wore no armor, only gray and tan robes that served to conceal most of his skin. His bare hands were stained with blood, as was his sword, and he came at Link with the fury of a rabid beast.

When Link made it to his feet and scampered, helpless, into the darker courtyard beyond the castle entrance, the Gerudo followed, whipping his sword at the boy’s heals.

Further back the flames had not yet reached, and Link had only the advantage of darkness keeping him safe from the warrior’s sword. He was frantic, reaching into the thin air and fighting with every fiber of himself to keep away from his assailant. His breath burned like hot coals in his lungs as he ran with legs that worked like thick bars of lead.

He fell against the floor, tripping over some unseen obstacle, and the Gerudo threw his sword down toward the boy again. Link rolled out of the way, and the metal blade met the dirt before Link was on his feet again. With a strike like a viper the Gerudo’s sword whipped across Link’s chest, just over his ribs. The boy cried out and fell, the gash ripping through his skin like red-hot fire. With all his might he pushed off the ground and was on his feet in seconds.

The sword came at him again and again, and it was all Link could do to avoid the blows. The wound on his chest now stung and he felt it bite with every turn and gesture. Gerudo steel flashed near his flesh again and again, and Link managed to only dodge most of the attacks by the distance of a hair.

A last assault nicked his shoulder, and Link was on the ground, the front of his tunic already red with his blood. The Gerudo lifted the sword, ready for the killing strike, and fell toward the boy. This was the end.

When another blade seemed to zip out from the dark and enter the Gerudo’s skull, Link jumped back with shock. The desert warrior fell, bloody and defeated. Above him stood Impa, previously hidden in the shadows.

“You’re no Farorian,” she said with a whisper.

“I…” Link began. All other words seemed held back with fear.

She walked over to him, sword still drawn. “Who are you? Why do you wear their color?” Guiding him with her hands she helped him sit up, pulling from a hidden pouch a small vial full of a gray powder. She uncorked the bottle, pouring a little bit of the powder in her hands. Spitting in it she mixed it in her hands and pressed the concoction over the wound. Link did nothing to stop her.

He held a long look into her eyes as she worked to heal his wound, and began to feel some dulled sense of comfort. There was strength to her, a resilience that he had never before encountered. It was soothing in a way he couldn’t describe.

“Link,” he said as he slowly began to calm. “Son of Feltus.”

At this Impa’s eyes widened, and she bowed in reverence. “I am Impa, nursemaid and guardian to the Princess Zelda. I could not save your father, I am sorry. I made it to him too late. The dark King, he wasn’t fast enough for Feltus, but he made up for that with brute strength. Your father scored only a blow to his shoulder, but I do not think he managed to penetrate that boar’s flesh. The Gerudo King brought him down almost immediately after. Your father died with honor and fought bravely, to this I can attest.”

Link nodded as Impa helped him to his feet. His mind seemed dulled to the news, yet hearing the story sent sharp needles through his chest that he tried his best to ignore. The sound of steel meeting steel could be heard not far from them, back toward the castle gates. The fight was coming toward them and there wasn’t much time.

“Ganon makes his way to the King now, who waits for him at his throne,” Impa went on. “Feltus was to help me secure an escape for Zelda, but the battle came too quickly and the plan was interrupted. He was forced to lead the rest of the Farorian Knights into battle. There was no escape for us when that army met our eyes. Now he is dead and I must rely on my own abilities and knowledge to do what must be done.”

She looked at Link, and examined him with her clever eyes. “You will help me,” she said at last, a piece of her reluctant to do so. “You must.”

“I would if I could, but what can I do?” Link asked, “I’ve never fought before, not in a real battle. You saw my spirit fail when that soldier came for me.”

“I saw you embrace fear, yes, but I also saw you fight to survive,” Impa said as she began lead him around the back of the castle. “A coward would beg for his life and plead with his assailant. You never stopped fighting, even though you did not use your sword and shield. This is the sign of courage.”

“You call it courage, I call it fear,” he said back, looking again in the direction of his father’s corpse.

“Courage is the ability to feel fear and stand against it,” she said, almost smiling as she did. “There is never an absence of fear in man, and if there ever is it is only because he has felt the fear before or has gone mad without it. Do not be so quick to discount its benefits.”

She nodded and didn’t wait for Link to respond before she was off like the wind. Link hesitated for a moment as he questioned whether or not to follow. Then, recalling his father’s last words, to save the Princess, he was after her as fast as he could go. When he caught up to her, she signaled for him to follow close. She stayed near to the wall and didn’t make a sound as her feet met the grass.

In the time it took for Link to catch his breath, Impa silently dispatched two Gerudo warriors who stood by the doors, keeping watch over the battle beyond. As they passed their corpses, Link realized the two warriors were women and wondered if his assailant earlier had been a woman as well. He recalled his attacker’s slim build and clever agility, yet could not muster any detail that might give him any more clues as to their gender. Perhaps all Gerudo warriors were women, he thought to himself.

Impa made a motion to Link to draw his sword, and he did not hesitate to follow her command. They entered the castle, leaving the seemingly unending battle behind them.

As they entered, Link saw the great foyer before him and an immense, carpeted set of stairs laid out at the other end of the palatial room. The castle itself was darker than Link had imagined, but he had always envisioned it in the daytime. He quickly noticed that many of the torches had been snuffed out, likely by Ganon himself when he had passed through before.

“Where are we going?” Link whispered as they ran up a set of stairs that branched off, slightly hidden, to the right.

“The library,” Impa responded, “it is where Zelda waits.”

Link nodded, growing nervous. He had never seen the Princess before, as he had never attended any of the grand ceremonies or been granted an audience with the King. His father and he spent so much of their time beyond the walls of Hyrule it was a miracle they were considered Hylians at all.

“The King,” Link said as they moved up the stairs, “why is he waiting for Ganon? Why doesn’t he flee?”

“He seeks to buy us time to save Zelda,” Impa said softly, “now be silent, there is battle near.”

When they turned a corner at the top of the stairs, Link nearly fell back at the sight of five Gerudo soldiers, all of them again women, standing in the hall ahead. At their feet were three dead Hylian Knights, their last breath still warm in their mouths.

Impa was on the first three with a mad fury, her two knives dancing madly in the air as she attacked them all at once.

“Fight for Hyrule, for your father!” she cried back at Link as the other two came at her.

Link felt compelled to follow her command, and without a second thought he raised his sword and removed the shield from his back.

He cried out, and before the Gerudo could raise their weapons he had his sword plunged in the belly of the first. She screamed as he tried to rip the blade out, but the resistance was more than he expected. He pulled again harder and the blade dislodged in a blur of red before she fell dead to the ground.

The fury and passion of the moment was on him now. The second Gerudo came at him with a bloody rage. He blocked her blows desperately with sword and shield as the edges of his vision blurred with intensity as the blood rushed to his head.

She sang with the wild words of her native tongue as she turned her sword and struck from every angle. The front of the wooden shield chipped and splintered in tiny bits as she hacked away at it. Every new attempt to strike was an attempt to get around Link’s shield, but he had been taught to defend by a master and the lessons had slowly found their way back into his muscles once more.

Just as he felt he might fall over, there was a sort of high pitched whistle, and a gurgle, as Impa’s knife flew quickly into the back of her throat. The Gerudo choked back blood, hanging in the air as her spirit left her body, and she fell down dead to join her sisters. Behind Impa lay the other three warriors, their souls departed.

“You brought down four when I could only bring down one,” Link said as he tried to catch his breath, exhausted from the ordeal.

Impa calmly whipped the blood from her blades. “I am older than you Link, and I’ve spent my whole life fighting. Do not envy my ability to kill, there is no beauty in it.”

She made a clicking sound with her mouth as she gestured with a nod that they continuing moving down the hall. Link held on to his sword and shield, certain he’d need them available for a second match.

The hallways bent and curled and rose in ways Link had never imagined. There was no blood or fire beyond the Gerudo warriors they had left behind, but neither was there Hylian soldiers standing guard.

As they ran, they passed great stained windows picturing the goddesses from the creation legends, and the image of the almighty Triforce was a frequent sight in antiques and stone statues that rested against the walls. Link could not recall the path they took despite his attempts to record it in his mind, and he wondered if the maze-like way the castle had been created was to limit the skill of any attackers.

When they reached the top of a winding set of stairs, they stopped. Ahead was a room extending straight out, and in the far left corner of the room, across from the windows looking out, was a winding stair filled with thousands of books and old scrolls.

The room was dark, without torches, and illuminated only by moonlight and the fires outside.

“Mamet oom lola,” Impa whispered, “tal tal fisk morat.”

There was a moment, a silent and still moment that rested on Impa’s intensity. From above, winding down the stairs, there came the sound of footfall against the stone floors. The sound was eager, intense, and came louder and louder as it sped up in repetition.

When the sound became its loudest, Link gasped, as his eyes saw that a vision stood to greet the noise. There, just at the base of the stairs, disguised in peasant garb, stood the Princess Zelda.

The Legend of Zelda: Chapter 7

2012-01-14T02:12:00.001-08:00

Chapter 7: The Words of Kaepora Gaebora

The firelight danced softly through the windows, barely illuminating the library where Zelda hid. There was no sound save for the muffled noises of war beyond.

The library itself was a tall, immense hall with many, smaller floors coiling upward. It was situated in the tallest tower, and was the most secluded place in the entire castle. Zelda had found herself there often as a child, reading over books and old manuscripts to help pass the time.

She hadn’t moved since she had found her place behind a bookshelf on the fourth floor. The floors above the library hall curled upward in a cylindrical fashion through the tower. At the very top was the princess, hiding now in peasant garb behind the books she once read years before.

When she finally stirred it was at the faintly familiar sound of heavy fluttering that came from the grand hall below. She had heard a sound similar once, when a dove had been trapped in her room. She recalled that the bird flew and beat its wings with all its might but could find no way out. When Zelda awoke to the noise and saw the bird, she quickly unlatched a window and helped to guide the bird outside. Out there it knew freedom once more.

The fluttering came again, but harder and stronger than before. This sound, unlike the one made by the dove, beat with a ferocious intensity that made Zelda shake to hear it. She nervously wondered if the Gerudo had reached the tower and were destroying books and cases below in the desperate hunt to find her. Calming herself she rationalized that it was unlikely the enemy had even gained access to the castle yet, much less reach its tallest tower.

Her thoughts were broken and interrupted when again the fluttering came from below, as though it were calling her to answer.

Curiosity seized her, and it wasn’t long before she emerged from the bookshelf and made her way down the spiraling steps toward the library hall below. She grabbed the golden handrails with her small, delicate hands, and kept her eyes below as best she could. She was cautious as she stepped softly on the rich, purple carpet that was laid over the stone steps.

When she entered the library hall she found no sign of Gerudo or of any other person for that matter. She turned her head to either side as she stepped toward the center of the room, trying to see if she could discover the source of the fluttering. There was nothing.

“I am here,” said an old, gravelly voice that was as deep and heavy as thunder.

Zelda turned at the sound and saw, within the darkness of one corner of the room, two immense, shining eyes looking back. She jumped when she saw them, instinctively rushing behind a stand that housed a very old tome.

“There is nothing to fear from Kaepora Gaebora,” the darkness said.

A shape stepped out of the darkness, and Zelda saw that the eyes belonged to an immense and massive owl. He stood at least 6 feet tall, like no owl she had ever seen before, with great wings the color of rich oak. He had upon his head two thin eyebrows that shot out like quills at either side, arching and giving him an intense, wise appearance. He looked old, from what she could see, but not decaying or forgotten. There was an impressive quality to his appearance.

“What is Kaepora Gaebora?” Zelda asked, still finding safety behind the stand.

“What is Zelda?” the owl asked quickly in return, his head spinning slightly to the left as he looked at her curiously.

“I am Zelda,” the princess responded slowly, confused.

“Good, for I am Kaepora Gaebora,” he replied.

The darkness fell over him like a sheet, and his body was not illuminated by the firelight beyond. He fluttered his wings quickly and without warning, and the air rushed and slammed against her body. She stepped back a bit, thrown off by the force of the wind.

“You are an owl, albeit a very large one. How is it you are speaking?” she asked as she reclaimed her footing.

“I speak because I have something to say,” he answered.

The princess had never before had an encounter like this, and was uncertain of what to do. She walked forward cautiously, unsure of whether or not this owl was a trick sent by Ganon.

“Are you a servant of the Gerudo?” she asked boldly.

“I am a servant of the true power. I’ve come to give you aid in this time of darkness, for that is what I feel like doing,” the owl said.

“You would help me?” she asked.

“It is why I am here now, in this place of all places,” he responded, “I have been here long before you and will be here long after, but right now this is why I am here.”

“I am frightened by you, I don’t know if I can trust you,” she said finally, her will worn down with fear.

“We cannot trust what we do not know, of this I am aware. You can either listen to my words and hear wisdom and truth, or you can hear lies and deceptions. All I can do is say the words to you. What you do with them afterward is up to you.”

At thinking over his words, Zelda felt some relief. For a moment she thought she might be in a dream, having possibly dozed off by the bookcase above. Regardless of whether the encounter was a dream or some magical design of the waking world, she decided to move closer to the great owl.

“I don’t know what to do,” she said as his immense shadow covered her tiny frame.

“Do you know what it means to be wise, young princess?”

“Wisdom is a topic I don’t believe I’ve mastered,” she said reluctantly, “my teachers have said it is to be filled with so much knowledge that you can respond to any situation with accuracy and truth.”

“What one knows does not give them wisdom, silly girl. It is what one absorbs, observes and adapts to that makes them so. It is the ability to wield your mind as a weapon with all the strength of a sword and all the power and might of the oldest magic. With wisdom you can undo any effort, foresee all possible outcomes. However, to do this you must train yourself. To do this you must exert more effort than the rest. There is no room in wisdom to idle your time away with daydreaming and wishing. You must draw in the world around you, take in every nuance and subtle gesture.”

The owl’s feathers ruffled, and rose upward toward his neck. He shook out, and the feathers fell again, before his head rocked and twisted from side to side. “Imagine you are a sponge, and near you is a bucket of water. To be aware of the water, to know of its proximity and placement, is what makes you knowledgeable. To fall into the water, to absorb it, to draw it into yourself and react to it; that is wisdom.”

Zelda stared into the owl’s eyes, finding meaning in his lesson, but little hope. “My father has told me I am stubborn and foolish. What room is there within me for wisdom?”

“It is the wise man who listens to another, is it?” the owl asked, hooting loudly through the dark as his sentence ended.

“I suppose not,” she responded.

“You listen to me then?” he asked, his head cocking to one side.

“It was your advice I was following!” she exclaimed as her arms fell to her sides.

Kaepora Gaebora waddled slowly to the window, looking out over the fires of the battle. “A fire will burn until everything is consumed, turning all it touches to blackened ash before it falls away into the thin air. Yet a fire in the mind can burn forever, spreading from one man to another until an idea has taken hold and brought about great change.”

Zelda stood there, watching the great bird as it looked out into the war beyond.

His head turned all the way around, and his eyes met hers. His body slowly turned to follow his head, and he walked toward her, his claws scratching against the floor as he did.

“Listen to yourself, be aware of who you are, and remove your pride from the equation. The wise have no true possessions, do not fall to envy or risk the damage of love and lust. To reclaim this throne you must use your wisdom and you must be cunning. The world changes on this night, Zelda Narunia. You must change with it or you will break and splinter like the walls of this castle. Do you understand?”

“I don’t know if I can do what you ask,” she said softly, her gaze falling against the floor.

There was only silence in response, and when the Princess looked up again she saw the owl had gone and left only darkness in his place.

She held her gaze against the dark for several minutes, thinking of what he said.

“I understand,” she said finally.

The Legend of Zelda: Chapter 6

2012-01-11T17:10:00.000-08:00

Chapter 6: Ganon

Darkness seemed to follow him with each step, and he was terrible to behold. The ornaments, trinkets and talismans that decorated his armor clattered together as he walked, yet were nearly inaudible against the screams. The leather that rested against his skin was tanned and stained with blood, both Hylian and animal, and had been passed down from his father and his father before him.

His skin was gray and wrinkled from over-exposure to a relentless sun. His nails were blacker than pitch and his hair was a crimson red. His features were stone-like, drawn out and severe, and his nose stood out as his most pronounced feature. He was tall and thick in his musculature, towering over all the men before him. Numerous scars from battles fought years before decorated his entire body, small trophies of his many victories.

The eyes of Ganondorf Dragmire were a sickly yellow, dimmed and dark and without any brightness. It was those eyes that caught others with such fear and made them fail when raising their sword and shield against him. His were the eyes of death.

“Look at their pride burn,” he said with a smile, viewing the war that stretched out before him, “see how empty their boasts were. Sad puppets to the gods.” His voice was like an immense hammer dragging hard against a heavy stone.

Bodies of soldiers littered the streets, and his fires preceded him as though leading his way. To his right walked Nabooru, a Gerudo assassin and his most trusted soldier. She was thin, but fast and lethal. For a Gerudo woman she was actually quite beautiful, and unlike the others her skin was tanned a golden brown and her hair was a lighter red with flashes of orange and yellow. In either hand she wielded two knives she had crafted herself. No one yet had defeated her in battle.

“See that those who do not fight are brought safely out of the city,” he said casually to a Gerudo soldier who stood to his left. “Tie their hands, even the children. When I am king of this place I will need more than just Gerudo subjects.”

The Gerudo soldier, at hearing these words, bowed and left his side to ensure the order was followed. Ganon, Nabooru and the other soldiers that followed them, continued onward toward the castle.

The clothing of the Gerudo wasn’t like the Hylians. They war thin, light materials that could easily adapt to the hot or cold climates of the desert. Unlike the Hylians who wore heavier, simpler clothes, the Gerudo’s dress and robes flowed with the wind and bore many symbols and markings. They were truly people of the sand.

“They will always bear a grudge against you,” Nabooru said quietly. She had a thick Gerudo accent, unlike Ganon, and her voice was thin and lighter. “We’d be better without them.”

Ganon nodded, flashing a smirk as his eyes stayed focused on the castle ahead. “Yet the Hylians have secrets we still do not know, and to kill them all would let their secrets die with them. I have learned that it is much more difficult to loot knowledge from a dead man than to simply request the answer from the living.”

Nabooru laughed at this. “Yes, and you will make sure they’re dead when you have the answers either way.”

“Eventually, but not now. They’ve lived long enough in their ivory tower, it is time they lived under oppression, under the unrelenting heat of worthless toil,” he said coldly, envy and cruelty flashing in his eyes. “Now they’ll live under me, under my power.”

Ahead and all around, Hylian soldiers attempted to make their way toward the Gerudo King. Yet his soldiers were numerous and fast, and it wasn’t long before they met their demise at the end of a Gerudo weapon.

“With their freedom they could try to rise against you,” Nabooru said, her eyes surveying the battles that went on around them. “It would be safer to keep them in chains.”

As Ganon started to answer, a young Hylian soldier, likely in his twentieth year, desperately cut through a Gerudo guard and came straight for the desert King. Before he could raise his blade, Ganon brought down his immense sword so quickly and with such intensity that the boy was crushed and buried into the stone floor.

With the slightest tug the sword was pulled from the boy’s corpse and Ganon whipped the blood from the dark blade. He looked down at the boy, his great teeth grinding together beneath his dense frown.

“Freedom exists even within a cage, Nabooru,” he said sternly as he sheathed his sword and began to move forward once more. “I have seen jailed men accomplish more with their lives in one year than a man left to his own devices his entire life. I have watched these ‘free’ men squander their gold on drink and whores, seen them go out and empty themselves upon the world and reveal pathetic, wretched souls to all who see them. I have been witness to the plague of freedom. Freedom is the choice to fail, the choice to accept the mundane and average moments of our lives. Trapped in that desert, that prison of wind and sand, has led me to a prize that will truly give me freedom. I do not envy those who are free, for they will never know the gift they have. It is the curse they share to walk this world blind yet all the while thinking they can see. So let them be free, and let us see how avidly they fight against me. I will watch them toil away as they did before, accepting their current state as fate and nothing more. There is nothing freedom does to frighten me.”

As they approached the second wall leading into the castle, the Hylian archers let loose their arrows upon the Gerudo below. They rained down, lethal wooden spears, whistling like harpies as they cut through the air.

The Gerudo soldiers lifted their hard, metal shields and without even raising a hand the King was covered from head to toe. As the archers drew their bows once more the Gerudo soldiers let their own arrows fly. Several Hylian warriors fell from their perches, crying out before smashing against the hard stone floor below.

“This will take time my King,” Nabooru said calmly.

Without a word Ganon raised his immense hand and the fires that burned through the town gathered and coiled around his soldiers like snakes. With a flash of his eyes the fires swarmed together and, like a battering ram made of flame, slammed hard against the doors of the castle wall.

The wood splintered and burned, but the doors were strong and did not break. Again and again the fires fell against the doors, and each time they tore away a little more.

“Like an artist working over a marble statue this task requires nothing more than patience,” Ganon said as the spell continued to work against the door. “Regardless of how long this takes, I swear that I will have that prideful King’s head. I will show him what it truly means to be free, for I will release his soul from the confines of that fat, sickening carcass and give him a freedom he never knew possible.”

He turned to Nabooru and smiled a twisted smile that sent a chill down even her back. “And when he’s gone I will take the Princess Zelda and with her I shall have my prize. Then you and I will know true power.”

At this the doors broke and fell away from the intense heat of the fire Ganon had summoned. From the broken doors poured warriors, all dressed in green, wielding swords and shields and crying out the names of their houses and proclaiming their allegiance to the Hylian King.

At the sight of them Ganon’s smile grew. He lifted his sword and cried out, sweeping through them and cutting them down as though they were helpless ants.

The Gerudo warriors and the Farorian knights clashed together and began to fight with a bloody, dangerous intensity. Despite being outnumbered the knights held their own, and many Gerudo fell to their swords and superior skill.

Ganon was a man possessed, his black sword ripping through the knights like butter. He was twice the size of any Hylian, and they could barely block his blows with the mad fury he unleashed with each strike. With every swing the fire of his rage built and consumed the Hylians that stood before him.

Tearing through the center, Ganon made his way past the battle and into the castle courtyard. Behind him his soldiers held the Farorian knights back, and they were helpless to reach him.

As Ganon marched through the courtyard he had walked through as the wizard Aganhim so many years, his anger and rage only built. The flowers and finely decorated foliage reminded him of the kind deception he was forced to portray for so long, and his teeth clenched tightly together at the memory.

He stopped just before the castle doors when a voice came through the dark. “You will go no further,” the voice said, stern and brave.

Ganon smiled as he raised his sword high and, without hesitation, charged ahead. Before him stood Feltus, his own sword and shield raised for the approaching darkness. With a sound like thunder the two swords met and the final battle for Hyrule began.

The Legend of Zelda: Chapter 5

2012-01-09T19:08:00.000-08:00

Chapter 5: Link

It was not the screams or sound of fire that woke him in the night. It was the intensity of the silence.

Link sat up in bed, his gaze locked ahead into the empty space. He had gone to sleep early that night, worried and exhausted after his father had told him of the coming darkness.

His hair was a messy mix of brownish gold, and his eyes were a hard blue like the polished rocks at the edge of a river. He was halfway into his 14^th year, and had a build that told the tale of a harder, lower class upbringing.

When he left his bed his eyes caught the flash of firelight outside. He brought himself to the window and looked beyond. There, ahead of the trees that separated his home from Castle Hyrule, he saw the army of the Gerudo.

It was a miracle he hadn’t been killed in the night, or that the Gerudo hadn’t discovered the house. The small forest that sat at the East corner of the castle hid the home well, but did not make it invisible. It was only luck that the army had been so determined to reach their destination that they had missed it. Had they stopped to deviate their course or attempted another way into the castle, the boy would likely be dead where he slept.

Nearby he kept his olive green tunic, the green of his father, in case he would have to change quickly. He was fast as he changed out of his bedclothes and into the outfit. He fastened his leather gauntlets and boots before dropping to his knees upon the floor.

There was no question of what he had to. He had known the army of the Gerudo was coming; it was only the day that was wrong. His father, Feltus, was likely in the castle, defending their King. Link knew that, no matter what, he was needed.

He removed several of the floorboards and lifted a heavy chest out from beneath the ground. Without hesitation he threw open the chest to reveal the sword and wooden shield within. They were humble, simple weapons, but Link had been trained to use them well. It had never been the case, however, that he ever had to.

The tools of battle were strapped against his back before Link was out the backdoor and heading deeper into the woods. He didn’t stop to turn around, but he was sure he had the voices of the Gerudo, speaking their dark, native tongue, as they approached the front of the house. He had missed their eyes by seconds. He thanked the goddesses quietly as he ran further into the dark.

The Farorian knights kept secret passages so they could easily enter the castle were they cut off from the outside. No one but the knights themselves knew of the passages, and they were only used in cases of extreme danger. This was Link’s destination.

He felt his body shake as he heard screaming from within the castle walls. The fires within the town painted the sky with unholy red light, and the clouds of smoke blocked out the stars.

He reasoned that given the quiet that filled the air at the front gates that the first wall must have been taken about an hour before. The castle of Hyrule sat in two tiers against the Deku Hills. The first wall protected the castle town, where the Gerudo now were likely killing townsfolk or taking them as slaves. Beyond that was the castle itself, where the second wall may or may not still be resisting the Ganon’s attack.

There was a tension that filled his body, despite the certainty with which he moved. He had never taken part in battle, and as adept a hunter as he was; he had never been in actual combat. He felt his brow drip with sweat and his breath became labored. Despite the intense fear he felt, he could not let his father fight alone within the castle.

Feeling along the wall Link was seized with a sense of dread. In the deepening dark he realized he had forgotten to bring a lamp to light the trigger for the secret entrance. It was usually in moments such as these his father would tell him he was a clumsy boy and to use the moonlight to guide him. However, with the moon swallowed up in the encroaching smoke of war, there was no light to discover what he sought.

He struck his fist against the wall, cursing the simple obstacle that stood before him. He had no flint and to produce a flame from wood would take time he did not have. Tears welled in his eyes as he fought to think of a quick solution.

As if gifted to him on the wind, a solution came to mind.

Within the roots of the trees, Link had been told there slept the fae people who had once dwelled in the Kokiri woods. The fairies were spirits of the trees, and their tiny bodies radiated a soft, natural glow. He had never seen one before, but he recalled the stories of how to find them. It was told they were never to be disturbed unless absolutely necessary. Link saw no better time than the present.

He didn’t have to go far into the woods to find a small group of mushrooms that clustered near the root of an old Deku woodelk tree, the sign of a fairy’s nest. Pulling his sword out he began stabbing at the ground, pulling away small roots and dirt. There was no time to dig cautiously.

When the light below caught his eye, he nearly cried out with joy.

The fairy was small, smaller than he had imagined, but had a soft blue light that filled the air. She stirred slowly from her slumber, her black, orb-like eyes staring right into Link’s soul. The fairy had thin, exaggerated features, and a wide, grinning mouth. She was naked, but had no features on her body. Her ears were sharp like a Hylian’s would be, which was no surprise. It was assumed the fae people were gifted with the hearing of the goddesses as well.

“You’ve disturbed a fairies slumber,” she said softly, “what reason have you for this crime?”

Link bowed, showing the fairy the respect she deserved.

“I am Link, son of Feltus of the Farorian Knights,” he said softly, “I am without a lamp and need only your light to guide me into the castle. The Gerudo have attacked us and I must get inside.”

“To find passage inside to have a glorious death of your own?” the fairy said, chuckling at the end. “I care nothing for your title or your heritage. I am without feeling for the names you speak of or the wars you endure. Were the fire from your battles to burn this tree I would crumble into ash and find peace in sleep forever. What care do I have for the things you mentioned?”

Link was surprised at the cold nature of the sprite, but did his best not to show it. “I have no answer that can surpass your wisdom great spirit,” he said cautiously, “I have only my strength and will and any skill the goddesses have given me.”

The fairy stood and rose into the air, her tiny, insect-like wings beating off the small roots that had grown over them. Her light intensified as she hovered near his face, looking into his eyes again without flinching.

“You are marked,” she said, looking him up and down as though trying to find a tattoo or scar. “There is a touch of them in you, I see that now,” she said, her smile shrinking. “What can you offer me?” she said as she found a seat against a large knot of the tree.

Link stared blankly, unsure of what she was speaking of. “I’m not sure what I can offer a wood spirit such as yourself,” he replied, “what is it that you want?”

She perked up at this, a confused look in her eye, as though Link had given her an advantage no one had been foolish enough to give before. “You ask a fairy what she wishes?”

“I do,” Link said. Time was running short and the conversation had already gone on long enough. He tried not to give any clues to his irritation, but he found his patience fading.

She looked him up and down again as though trying to figure out what game he was playing. She glanced behind him, into the dark, where the Gerudo army was, and then her eyes fell back on his.

“The army is already at the castle walls, this I can see,” she said softly, “Are you so sure you still need my light to guide you into certain darkness?”

“I am sure,” he said, “please, time is short.” He tried to choose a tone that would not offend her, but wasn’t sure if he had found it.

It was only a moment before she nodded in agreement. “A name,” she said boldly, grinning as she did.

Link stood up, caught off guard at the request. He knew what she meant by her request. The old women had told stories of the fairies, and how some were tricksters and others helpful spirits. The one warning the old storytellers had always said was never to name them, for doing so attached their souls to whoever chose the name.

It was known that the soul of a fairy was a temporary thing, bound to the ground and the forest. Were the tree they called home to be destroyed they would fall away like ashes. The only thing that could grant them freedom from this fate would be a name. Then they would be granted all the powers within their tiny frames, and the ability to travel the afterlife and the possibility to be restored as a person upon the world.

Yet it was told that a fairy bound to a soul would be with that soul for all time. Apart from the forests and the trees a fairy could not live, but their spirit could still influence the soul they were bound to, even in the afterlife. This was the danger.

There was no time, however, for Link to consider this. He raced to think of a name, already deciding that his chances were better with the fairy with him than without.

“Navi,” he said calmly, “it was the name of a childhood friend, a close friend.”

At this the fairy grinned wider than before, and bowed before Link. “You have done me a service,” she said as her head tilted down in reverence. “Now I shall light your way, as far as I am allowed before my tiny body expires. Now I am Navi, companion to Link.”

They were off before another word was spoken. Link ran ahead with Navi’s tiny blue light following close behind. They were quiet as they reached the stone wall of the castle.

At Link’s glance, Navi rose up and held her body tight. Her light expanded, illuminating the whole wall. Although grateful, Link looked for the secret switch while hoping Gerudo warriors wouldn’t be clued in by the fairy’s light.

“Found it!” he exclaimed. The blue light dimmed immediately as Link wedged his sword between two rocks and angled it up to press a small stone button. There was a click, and the walls rolled back. Ahead, there was only darkness.

“You’ll stay with me?” Link said as he looked back at Navi. The tiny sprite looked thinner, and her smile had whittled down to a thin smirk.

“This is my fate now,” she said softly, “I must stay, and will stay.” Her light flickered for a moment, but then remained a steady blue against the night.

They crept into the darkness warily. Navi surged ahead, realizing her light would be beneficial if it lit Link’s path.

The floor was damp stone and the sound of dripping water echoed all around. Link guessed that the secret path followed closely to the Hylian sewers that emptied into the great lake Hylia.

When Navi’s light began to flicker and fade like a candle at the end of its life, Link stopped and cupped his hands for the tiny sprite to rest.

“I’m too far from the wood now,” she said softly. Her face belonged to an old woman and her hair had thinned and gone gray. “I have seconds before I fade.” She pointed ahead, her thin fingers dragging through the air like they were pulling through tar. “The exit is straight ahead. I see it.”

“You are bound to me, you must live,” Link said, surprised he felt any sadness at all. Despite their short time together and her initial manner toward him, he had developed a sense of companionship with the tiny thing that now wilted in his hands. Perhaps it was the ritual of naming her, or the fact that it was nice to simply have an ally in such a dire time, but there was a pain Link felt at the idea of losing her.

“You are good,” she said softly as her light dimmed, “this is why I chose to help you. The goddesses have touched you, chosen you. Were your life force stronger and full of magic, I could draw from that and live. However, as it is now, my time is done, and I will leave you to the dark. I’m sorry Link.”

“Navi…” he started to say. Before he could continue, the fairy faded like a snuffed out flame. In the darkness, he had been left alone. In the darkness, he began to weep.

The Legend of Zelda: Chapter 4

2012-01-08T01:14:00.000-08:00

Chapter 4: The Princess Zelda

Her eyes were two, clean blue crystals that rivaled the clearest oceans. Her hair was like thin, golden thread. Her dress, as finely crafted as it was, only looked as stunning as it did because she was wearing it. Every motion, glance and nuance was graceful, premeditated and careful. She was truly the paradigm of royalty.

Yet despite the visible perfection of her appearance or the magnetic aura that always seemed to follow her, the Princess Zelda hid within her a sadness that her outward appearance concealed too well. Somehow, within the back of her mind, she had always known this day would come.

In this one day, she lost everything she had, and gained only fear.

Impa, the Sheikah servant who had guarded her since birth, moved around the palatial bedroom, packing what necessary things she could find in a small, unassuming brown pack. “You leave tonight little light,” she said affectionately, “your safety is my only concern.” She had the shadow of an accent, alternating changes in her speech that added a richness to her words.

Zelda had known the woman since she could recall, and it was since the dawn of the Kingdom of Hyrule that a Sheikah woman by the name of Impa had watched over the first-born daughter of the royal family. Their bloodline was sworn to the loyalty of the King, and their families were linked together for eternity. There was always to be an Impa, and she was always to watch over a Zelda. The names, passed down as they were, kept their tradition alive.

There was a common trait in all Sheikah, and that was their eyes. They were sharp, lethal eyes, and their gaze was commanding and cut through the wind as swiftly as their swords could. Zelda had never known a Sheikah who wasn’t a skilled warrior, and they were naturally cunning and secretive by nature. Impa was no different.

She was strong, but thin and nimble. Her raven black hair, contrary to Hylian fashion, was never allowed to drape across her shoulders, but instead was always tied up tightly and with great care. There was no vanity to her appearance or manner. What she did she did deliberately and for a reasonable purpose.

“Will I run my whole life?” the Princess asked. Her voice was like an unseasonably warm breeze in the dead of winter. “Will I forever be followed by Ganon’s knife?”

Impa didn’t answer, only offering a strong look and a shake of her head.

“My father was a fool to trust him,” the Princess added bitterly.

“If this was so then we were all fools,” Impa said calmly, “even you, oh wise Zelda, were tricked into trusting the Gerudo King when he used his magic to disguise himself and his intent. Do not judge others for the same lack of foresight you yourself failed to employ.”

Zelda looked out the window, watching the sun slowly descend behind the Goron Mountains. “That sun ticks more loudly than any clock I’ve ever heard before,” she said, as if talking to herself, “who knew that this timeless orb, this well of light, would serve now as a reminder of what little life and time I have left to live.”

Before she could turn back the Sheikah woman’s arms were around her, holding her tight. “We will endure because we can, we will fight because we must, and we will succeed because we cannot fail,” she whispered into Zelda’s ear.

At this the Princess, as proud and careful as she always was, began to cry into Impa’s robes. She held her until the sun was no longer visible from the window.

When Impa finished packing Zelda’s things, she left the room to arrange their plans. After she left, the servants entered as planned, disrobing the Princess and putting her in the clothes Feltus had picked out for her. She wore the garb of the peasants, unassuming and dull. Her pride was dented, but she knew the disguise was necessary.

Her hair was unbraided and her golden Triforce tiara removed. Her earrings were taken as well, and her hair, which had never been cut before, was shorn to stop just above her shoulders. She cried again as they cut, as this was something that would have only been done on her wedding night, as was tradition. She understood, however, that the tradition needed to die so that she might live.

When the servants left her, her radiance was dimmed like a diamond covered with a thin film of dirt. With her hair so short and her clothes so unflattering, she could pass for a young boy to someone who lacked a keener vision. She watched herself in the mirror, unaccustomed to her own appearance. “Who am I?” she thought as she removed herself from the royal persona she had always known.

As she stared at this new person in the mirror, she felt a strange tinge of happiness sweep through her. For a moment she was able to imagine she wasn’t a Princess, or that she had any burden within her to bear. She was just a girl, ordinary as could be. How delightful it was to simply exist, without any expectations pulling at her bones. To simply “be” was a dream she hadn’t ever before dared to dream.

When the scream beyond her doors woke her daydreaming, she lost the luxury of those deceptions.

It was dark when the doors to her chambers were thrown open, and Impa ran inside, her curved sword drawn for battle. “Now Princess!” she cried, reaching out for Zelda.

As they raced down the halls Zelda heard more screaming from outside and caught the flicker of firelight beyond the tall windows. When she turned to look outside she saw the Gerudo army drowning out the sight of the Hylian fields beyond the castle. They had arrived two days too early.

She could barely hear over the rush of thoughts in her own head as Impa quickly explained what happened. She listened to her tell of how the Goron spy Feltus had trusted had been working for the Gerudo in secret all along. She could feel her limbs numb as Impa pulled her through door after door, rushing her toward the back of the castle. Her vision was blurred as she saw Impa throw back the great library doors and rush inside, telling her to wait and hide behind the one of the ancient bookcases. She had no will within her when Impa pulled away, telling her to stay behind before she left to find Feltus and secure their escape.

As she sat there, hiding in the dark shadows of the books around her, she wished again only to look into that mirror, and know once more the comfort of simply being.

In the Rhythm of the New Year

2012-01-04T21:02:00.000-08:00

I have two jobs now, something I didn't think that physically I'd ever be able to do. Oh don't get me wrong, I'm still poor as dirt, but I'm working ten times harder to BE poor as dirt.

It's an experiment in tenacity.

I just posted a treat for you all. I've begun a work based on the video game series the Legend of Zelda and recently added chapters 1-3. I know, you're blown away. More will come VERY soon. I can promise this because I've already written them. "What??!!" you say as you spit out your milk in pure shock and elation.

You weren't even drinking milk.

I avoid using the term "fan fiction" in regards to the work because I'm immediately burdened with images in my mind of terrible cover bands and elvis impersonators. The work is an homage, of course, but I seek to tell a new story that will entertain the fan base while also being approachable to those less familiar with the stories and themes. I hope you'll like it.

I've also been working on my top secret film script, which I may or may not post a snippet of eventually.

I've been working harder than ever, but man do I feel productive. I love testing out how much I can fit in a day. Now I just have to move back to LA and start a self-destructive cocaine addiction and I'll be a bonafide writer!

The new year is upon us and I have been filled with the spirit of new beginnings. I'm studying Japanese (which I'll be able to speak fluently in the year 2575), I'm working on a new comic strip that I will start posting on here once I get the character designs down, I'm working on two scripts and two books and I've begun another blog in addition to this one. Yeah, try to admit you're not impressed.

You're not? Well then you don't get to stay in the pool house.

I hope all of you had a wonderful New Year's Eve like I did (I was at work, pushing away drunks). Let's hope this year is full of money, platonic spooning, and a side of creamed spinach.

FADE TO WORKING

The Legend of Zelda: Chapters 1-3

2012-01-04T20:47:00.000-08:00

BOOK 1: Power

Chapter 1: Triforce

Long ago we learned of her name. Long ago we kept her secret safe.

Be still and listen, there is much to tell. The story was at one point known to many, but now has been forgotten by most. For us to proceed you must keep with you this knowledge, for it is the foundation of our tale.

With that said, I will proceed.

It starts with the birth of our world, a world with no name. Within it our players presently work the instruments of fate until they, each of them, will reach a unifying chorus of blood and tears.

But we must know what came before them.

The universe, it is said, was forged by a being too immense and great to imagine. From chaos there was suddenly order, and from that order there was design. From that design there came the creation of the immortals, descendents of the original power gifted with control over chaos as well. These were the gods.

Three went separate from the others, and decided to build a world within this newfound order. These were the goddesses of our world: Din, Farore and Naryu.

Din wielded the most power, and had a will that could stop time itself. From her fire of creation she crafted the ground, mountains, rivers, forests, fields and oceans. Her creations were immense and overwhelming, but also necessary and beautiful.

Farore, courageous and joyous, glided through the wind while singing a song of life. There suddenly came all types of beasts, birds, fish, bugs, and creatures too tiny to see or hear.

From the rocks she went on to build the noble Goron people. Then, from the water, she crafted the proud Zora. From the trees she breathed life into the spirits of the wood, the Kokiri children and fairies. With the mists she created the Sheikah people, secretive and clever. Lastly, from the desert sands, she sculpted the rugged and relentless Gerudo.

Naryu, wisest of the three, saw what her sister goddesses had done and knew there had to be order to resist the threat of chaos. She built the laws of the world, and with a great hammer forged the threads of fate for all life to follow. She then cracked open the smallest window of chaos, letting love out, and allowing the creatures of this new world to both know it and share it, for good or ill.

The three goddesses saw their work and agreed it was good. It was then that together they created a master race to guide all others, the Hylians. With sharpened ears they were given the gift to hear the voices of the gods and understand their will. They were also given the most fertile lands and all the knowledge necessary to encourage life in their world. It was left to them the responsibility of all around them, not the pride or entitlement to dominate.

As they prepared to depart into the void above and create more worlds, the goddesses created three golden fragments of their powers to leave behind. Golden triangles, they each represented the goddess’s strongest gifts: Din’s power, Farore’s courage and Naryu’s wisdom. The triangles found each other and bound together, creating a great, golden triangle known as the sacred Triforce.

The goddesses were dismayed to see the new life they had created scramble and clamber for the Triforce, killing each other carelessly as they reached for the golden triangle that could give them the powers of the gods. Naryu reached a hand out and from the tip of her finger there came another crack in reality, a doorway to a sacred realm. Din grasped the heavy, flaming relic and placed the Triforce within the sacred realm, away from mortal eyes. Farore boldly told only one Hylian how to reach the sacred realm, and what would happen if anyone did.

With that the goddesses left, and life was allowed to thrive without their presence. Thousands of years past and the goddesses themselves became stories old women would tell the children in the villages. The Triforce became an unattainable myth to all who did not know the secret way to reach it. Nevertheless, it was still something those who desired power sought.

The secret entrance to the sacred realm was passed down from generation to generation, until finally it was told to me, Rauru, a sage of the kingdom of Hyrule on the eastern continent. For years my ancestors have known the secret, and it is my duty to pass the lesson on to my son so he may pass it on after I am gone. It is our blessed obligation.

Long ago we learned of her name. Long ago we kept her secret safe.

She is Zelda, the only key to the sacred realm and the Triforce beyond. This is her legend.

Chapter 2: The City of Hyrule

He awoke when the dawn met his face through the small window of his room. Stretching, he gazed at the small space he called his own before rising out of bed.

Splashing his face with cold water was the way he began every day, as it usually woke him up and snapped him to attention. His hair, a red, mangled mess in the mornings, easily gave in to a few strokes from his trusted comb. After this ritual, he was out the door and on his way to start his work.

He waved casually to the old landlady who lived downstairs, her name having escaped his memory on more than one occasion. She called after him, asking for help with something, but he pretended not to hear. Despite the keen nature of his hearing, he had always found life easier when he told others he could barely hear a sound. He felt no guilt in this deception.

When the door opened and he stepped out into the town, the bustle hadn’t yet arrived and the cool breeze of night still lingered in the air. A few eager shopkeepers were already halfway through setting up their tents along the street or cleaning their shops. He was far less apt to be quite so early in the morning.

He passed the Goron traders: hulking hardened folk who usually sold spices and precious gems. He strolled by a Zora fisherman who barely spoke a word. His fish were always the best, but by far the most expensive.

The other Hylian shopkeepers all offered a polite nod as he walked by, then talked amongst themselves to share opinions of jealousy and irritation. His was a booming business for reasons they could not understand.

The doors to his shop opened with the twist of a golden key, and every day he stepped inside he was reminded of the first day he had opened those doors so many years before.

He was meticulous when it came to cleaning the shop in the morning, and when he set up his merchandise he was always careful to arrange it so it was both eye-catching and organized. No bit of dust or tiny insect was safe from his clever eye.

When he finally took a spot behind a large wooden stand at the back of the store, he watched patiently as the traffic outside began to steadily increase. He saw from the large windows of his shop the Hylian women pulling their children along as they shopped for food. He watched as soldiers patrolled the streets, wondering why they even bothered with so little crime or trouble in the city. He looked as other shopkeepers attempted to trick easy prey into believing they had something their customers couldn’t get anywhere else. All of it made him smile.

It was the highlight of his day when a little girl came and asked to try on a mask.

“I would like a mask to scare my big brother,” she asked sternly. Her golden curls stirred within him a smile. Children would always fill him with joy regardless of their intention or desire.

“I have many scary masks,” he said, “but I wonder which one your brother would be most frightened of?” He asked this question as if he didn’t already know.

As she pondered he giggled before finally ending his charade. With a motion of his finger and a large, toothy grin, he pulled a ghoulish mask from behind a curtain. At the sight she leaped up and down with excitement. It was the right one, of course it was.

She paid with the 20 rupees herself, and handed the sparkling gems to him eagerly before he handed her the mask in return. She thanked him, pulling the mask over her face and instantly transforming into another creature entirely. The little girl ran outside, laughing, before she disappeared from view into the sea of strangers beyond. He could swear he heard a little boy scream with fright not a minute after.

Others came and made their purchases. Some were attending parties, others wished to place a mask upon their scarecrows to keep the birds at bay. Children were always enamored with the masks, some silly and others frightening. An old man came toward the end, and said only that he wished to be another person. To him he gave a special mask, and watched with glee as the old man tried it on and left quite different than he was when he had entered.

And so the day progressed in the Castle Hyrule town. The Happy Mask shop sat in the shadow of the castle above, and the salesman wished it always would. He wondered in that moment, if he’d get his wish.

Chapter 3: Betrayal

There was a quiet in the throne room that was palpable and available to all the senses. The air itself was weighted, like it would be in a mythril mine, heavy with the toxic, pregnant fumes.

His Royal Highness, King Agerthorn Narunia, stood away from his chair, looking outward as if watching a ghost. His eyes, which had been radiant once, were now small and dim for lack of hope. The white hair of his beard and eyebrows wrapped over his face but did little to conceal any sign of fear or discouragement. He had never needed to mask his thoughts with any forms of deception before this day. After all that had happened, he now was certain this had been his greatest weakness.

The throne room had not lost any of its quality or ambiance, and yet now the décor did little to please the eye. The mood of the place itself removed all color, light and joy that might be experienced within. It had been changed into a crypt.

To his right stood Feltus of the Farorian Knights, the highest-ranking commander of the King’s secret guard. He was armor-less, only wearing the green tunic that was customary for his order. At his back was a sword and shield, sturdy but not of any remarkable quality. Feltus believed it was the one who wielded the weapon, not the weapon itself, which truly won the battle.

“Your highness, I wonder…” he began to say, his voice stern yet heavy with compassion.

“I know what you would say, Feltus,” the King interrupted softly, “I was a fool. He drained me of my secrets and now he comes for her.” He turned to Feltus, tears in his eyes. “He comes to end my daughter’s life and I can’t stop him.”

Feltus had known his King to be strong, willful, and benevolent, but he knew there was more to his sadness than just the death of his daughter. What that could possibly be was beyond him. The secrets of the royal family had, at least within the last 100 years, been entrusted only to the King himself and the royal Hylian sage. No one else was allowed to know the truths of the Hylian royal bloodline. That was until Aganhim entered the King’s council.

He had ended a devastating plague with one spell, and had been revered as a wizard blessed with powers by the goddesses themselves. The kingdom had thrived for 12 long years under the advisory of the wizard Aganhim, and his loyalties were never questioned. He was charismatic, charming, inviting and kind to all who knew him. Even Feltus, who had never before been unable to properly judge a man, could see no fault in him or reason to distrust him.

Feltus had questioned his origins on one occasion, mostly out of curiosity, but the King refused to answer and went on to forbid future questioning. He was protected by the King, and considered a friend to the royal bloodline. Enemies of the kingdom were sent away in a daze by the wizard, and it seemed like there was no power that could undo him. Even a Gerudo priestess who wielded powerful magic of her own was useless against his might. He only raised his palm to the heavens and the clouds she had summoned broke and she burnt up in the blinding light that burst forth.

It was on the Princess Zelda’s 14^th birthday that Aganhim had come to the king and used his clever tongue to drain the last secrets from his mind. Within the last 100 years the sages had become complacent and free of worry, and the secrets they kept were told to the royal family as a way of creating insurance should their line be broken and the mysteries they kept secret lost. They did not count on the royal family to betray themselves.

All that Feltus could gather was that the king had revealed a truth to Aganhim that would grant him great wealth, and the key was Zelda’s life. He knew nothing beyond that as it pertained to the royal family.

As for the wizard himself, it was the night after that Aganhim, in front of the King and all of his court, revealed himself to be a King as well. The room shook with the sound of thunder and dimmed as the candles began to burn out one by one. It was then that in the place of the kind wizard there stood a terrible, threatening man with gray, darkened skin and crimson hair that looked as though it had been tanned with blood.

He called himself Ganondorf, the son of Gandrogon Dragmire and high king of the Gerudo people. He openly boasted at his masterful deception, and invited Riverfeld, the king’s strongest warrior, to fight him then and there. The battle was brief. With one sweeping blow Riverfeld was brought down by a sword so immense it cracked and broke the air as it fell. In a breath the strongest Hylian knight was ended by a terrible beast.

He shook and roared with a laugh so dark and menacing the women in the court collapsed and the children screamed. Feltus saw as he watched in secret, from afar, the King stand frozen with terror at the revelation. The soldiers around Ganon descended upon him, raising their swords to strike.

“I will come for her, she will die, and I shall have my prize,” he said calmly with a grin before another roar of thunder filled the air and he was gone. The knights stood there, dumbstruck, unable to discover any trace of where he had gone.

It now fell to Feltus to protect the Princess Zelda and remove her from harm. It was three days after Ganon made himself known that Feltus had received word from Parud, a Goron spy who dwelled near the desert sands, that the Gerudo had amassed an army three times the size of Hyrule’s. He went on to tell Feltus that they marched for them and would reach the castle in two day’s time. Ganon lead the charge, thirsty for more Hylian blood.

Word had been sent to the outlying towns and kingdoms, but there was not enough time for help to come. They were alone.

And so there they stood, the King having been informed of Feltus’ discovery. Defeat was an inevitability, and their only hope existed in preserving the royal bloodline and fleeing the castle. Aganhim had succeeded in lulling the entire kingdom into feeling secure and protected. Now he led a war party that would likely tear every Hylian to pieces.

“Is there nothing we can do against his army?” the King asked. His tone suggested he already knew there was no hope in his question.

Feltus moved his fingers through the small amount of hair that roped down his chin. “As Aganhim, Ganon knew all our secret strategies, every back passage and mechanism of battle we might use. He knows literally every weak point of this castle and our soldiers. Maybe were his numbers to match our own would we stand a chance, but the man comes at us with an army so great it would take the goddesses themselves to halt their progress.”

The King nodded, aware that in only a few days the entire Kingdom of Hyrule would crack under the immense antagonism of the Gerudo armies.

“There are alternatives,” Feltus went on, “we still have some secrets from him. I still have secrets. Zelda can be saved.”

“Even were she to survive, she would be a princess without a kingdom,” the King responded somberly.

“Yet the bloodline would be preserved, and she could return with an army of her own to take back that land she lost. You have hinted that the Gerudo King seeks more than just her death, and that taking her life would lead to a great cataclysm. It is our duty to hide her.”

Silence met the edge of his words and stood between the two men like an uninvited guest.

“A life of war is what I leave my daughter,” the King replied sadly. He shook his head, his shoulders high on his neck and his hands hanging at his sides.

Feltus did not press the King any further. He knew to do so would be disrespectful, and as the King’s guard he did not intend to dishonor any of his vows.

“We’ll leave tomorrow, in the night,” he decided quietly, “the Sheikah nursemaid, Impa, I’ll bring her and my son. We will dress the princess as we would dress our own. Her lineage will not be suspected if we pay close enough attention.”

The King did not move. He stood there, a phantom caught in the limbo of his own guilt.

Feltus nodded and began to make his way to the great throne room doors. He glanced for a moment around the room, his eyes noting the tapestries and relics of ages past that adorned every wall and corner.

As the guards opened the doors and stepped out into the hall, he had to fight the urge to view the castle as it would be in only a few short days. Yet try as he might he still saw it, just as clearly as if he were truly seeing it then and there.

The castle burned, and the walls were drenched with blood.

Auld Lang Syne

2011-12-31T04:44:00.001-08:00

Another year has gone by, and with it, it seems, all the troubles and stresses it introduced. It's amazing how much humanity benefits from the simple changing of numbers and a single sunset. At it's core all we're witnessing is the sum number of days spilling over into the next set of days that follow. I imagine a bucket being filled with water, taken away and replaced with another, new bucket. You still fill it with the same water and the bucket's made of the same stuff as the one before it. Yet, despite these obvious similarities, you almost expect that the fact that you've replaced everything old for something new automatically entitles you to a better result.

Here's a clue: novelty does not equal improvement.

When it comes to the new year, I feel like the old year becomes this sad excuse for people to blame their problems on the consequences of fate and bad luck. We are all the victims of life's variables, however, I find it amazing that there are so many of us who blame this all on this strange, nameless entity that served as the antagonist of the old year. Suddenly 2011 changes from this hopeful chance at improvement to this asshole who just crapped on all our food.

It's an odd recurrence I've noticed with increasing regularity.

As for me, I consider the events of 2011 to range from somewhat enjoyable to downright depressing. Then again, I could label most of the years that came before it under the same listings. Maybe that's just life.

I have several New Year's resolutions this year, and I don't plan on sharing any of them. I will say, however, that one of them involves working out. I already know there is a likelihood that this will fall through (see previous blog about responsibility).

I'm off to bed now, terrified of the cluster fuck of a day that awaits me tomorrow at work. It's new years eve and I think I'm going to get the metaphorical equivalent of a prison gang rape.

FADE TO SOAP DROP

The Pleasure of Releasing Obligation

2011-12-30T04:03:00.000-08:00

I have realized something about myself today. The minute I make something obligatory, or reinterpret it so it seems like a responsibility, I immediately want nothing to do with it. I become like a child, obstinate and stubborn, stamping my foot hard against the floor as I solidly refuse to do my schoolwork.

It all started around the time I added the "write in blog" item on my new phone to-do list. Every day since, I have looked at that item, sneered like some old man would at the sight of his prune smoothie, and refused to take part in the task appointed to me.

I just deleted the item not five minutes ago, and here I am. It's amazing how my mind works.

Either that or I'm bat shit insane.

Moving on.

Stop looking at me like that.

Lately my life has been a series of odd, difficult to describe events. I've been hyper critical of my writing, and nothing seems good enough to me recently. I've also got a second job, and having two jobs makes me feel like a disproportionate giant is practicing for his upcoming "Stomp" audition on my face. I'm exhausted.

My family has been a wonderful, supportive constant in my life and I'm so thankful for all of them. I only wish I could succeed now so that I could bring to their lives the same joy they bring to mine. I feel guilty, as though I should have succeeded by now, and it pains me when I look at this failure of a year and all the missed opportunities I've watched go by. I keep making plans and preparing, but regardless I have felt like a greenish stillborn with a large cranium that's starting to smell up the room.

That was a gross metaphor huh? Yup, I agree. That was for you.

Christmas was amazing, albeit different from what usually transpires. I'd go into it more but I'm very tired, and I might save that story for another blog.

In the meantime my faithful readers, I will say that I am back and I plan on being back for some time. I have been working on a project for you all, so I haven't forgotten about you in the slightest. Chapter 1 of my newest venture will be making it's way to this blog very soon. If not, then you can have my first born. His name will be Hornsby.

FADE TO HORNSBY

Sharing a Scene: The Legend of Zelda

2011-10-31T14:39:00.000-07:00

Hello my little poopsies! Here's a scene I wrote for fun, and wish to share with all the world. I appreciate all and any input. This is the opening scene from a "fan-script" I'm writing of the Legend of Zelda. I plan a darker, more character driven plot. Enjoy!

FADE IN:

AN EMPTY VOID

Darkness epitomized. Nothingness. Simply empty space devoid of sound, color or light.

RAURU (V.O.)
Do you recall the history Princess?

The voice is of an elder. It’s wise, calm, majestic. There’s a weight to it as well, as though a great burden rested on it.

Silence is the response. A beat passes. At the center of the void, a spot of LIGHT appears.

PRINCESS ZELDA (V.O.)
I do.

A pure and regal voice. Innocence incarnate.

RAURU
And will you share it?

PRINCESS ZELDA
If you wish it.

RAURU
I do.

PRINCESS ZELDA
Then I shall oblige you. It began

with the first thought. That

filled the void with light.

There’s another beat of silence as the light intensifies.

RAURU
Go on.

PRINCESS ZELDA
And then there was life.

An explosion of light fills the scene. When it retracts and sinks, we see that the void is now --

EXT. SPACE - CONTINUOUS

The universe is filled with a lively blend of stars and planets. Celestial bodies whirl and sweep together in a ballet of movement.

RAURU

What manner of life?

PRINCESS ZELDA

Chaotic life.

RAURU

Yes. No direction, no guidance.

Pure, radical existence.

PRINCESS ZELDA

Until a thought gathered them

together.

RAURU

I’m sorry?

CUT TO:

INT. KINGDOM OF HYRULE - ROYAL LIBRARY - DAY

The library is impressive in size and obviously ancient. Books rise up into high ceilings and old artifacts fill the spaces between each shelf.

RAURU THE SAGE (70’s) stands with his thick, white eyebrows raised and a large, red leather book in his hand. He wears rich, elegant robes.

His gaze is fixed on the PRINCESS ZELDA (12), who sits in a large, padded chair with a clever look in her eye.

She’s remarkably beautiful, radiant. Her most noticeable features are her golden hair and emerald blue eyes. Her dress is made with the finest care.

RAURU

A thought?

PRINCESS ZELDA

That is what I believe.

RAURU
And history can be altered by your beliefs?

PRINCESS ZELDA

As it can be by any man with a

quill and paper.

RAURU

Or woman in this case.

PRINCESS ZELDA

I believe there was one thought that came out of the chaos.

RAURU

And how did you come to this conclusion?

PRINCESS ZELDA

I dreamt it.

RAURU

So then it must be true.

PRINCESS ZELDA

It’s true enough to me.

RAURU

Yet the histories would disagree with you.
Please, as the histories describe.

PRINCESS ZELDA

When I am queen I will rewrite
the histories.

RAURU

When you’re are queen I shall be dead
and unable to dissuade you from doing otherwise.
Until then I am alive, albeit it old as dust,
and you are young, and I am your teacher.

PRINCESS ZELDA

You’re teaching me lessons I know already.

RAURU

Then perhaps you should repeat

them correctly, without adding your

own selective embellishments.

PRINCESS ZELDA

It makes it more interesting.

RAURU

If history were more interesting we’d have fewer

men wielding swords and more men reading books.

PRINCESS ZELDA

Or women in this case.

RAURU

Please, princess, continue.

PRINCESS ZELDA

(reciting)

Well, if we’re going by the histories, then from the

fire of chaos came Din, the goddess of flame and power.

RAURU

Yes, this is accurate.

PRINCESS ZELDA

I still think a thought came first.

RAURU

I congratulate you for your tenacity in this

regard. What came next?

PRINCESS ZELDA

As I dreamt it?

RAURU

Yes--I mean no. As the books say.

PRINCESS ZELDA

Which books?

RAURU

The histories your highness.

PRINCESS ZELDA

I have written histories.

RAURU

As have prisoners upon their bathroom sheets.

These histories are more important.

Zelda giggles.

PRINCESS ZELDA

(reciting)

From the warm light came Naryu, the

goddess of wisdom and love.

RAURU

Indeed. And then?

PRINCESS ZELDA

Then as they flew through the universe, the wind

that chased them became their sister, Farore.

RAURU

And she was the goddess of...?

PRINCESS ZELDA

(smirking)

Of bugs and other such creeping things.

RAURU

(not amused)

I’m an old man Princess.

Zelda laughs again.

PRINCESS ZELDA

(reciting)

Farore was the goddess of courage and

of the wind.

RAURU

And chaos ceased to exist.

PRINCESS ZELDA

I believe it existed with them.

RAURU

You’d be mistaken.

PRINCESS ZELDA

According to what?

RAURU

The histories.

PRINCESS ZELDA

The histories written by a man in a robe

on a lonely afternoon.

RAURU

The histories as recorded by the priests during

moments of communion with the goddesses themselves

on the most sacred of days.

PRINCESS ZELDA

Just as I said, a man in a robe on a lonely afternoon.

Rauru hints at a smile.

RAURU

When the three goddesses came into

existence, what did they do?

PRINCESS ZELDA

Played with a ball of wax.

RAURU

Princess...

PRINCESS ZELDA

A big ball of wax?

RAURU

I will recite the histories to you if you

refuse to cooperate.

The princess groans, stands, and starts fidgeting with several books in the shelves behind her.

PRINCESS ZELDA

They created the world. Din made the mountains and the

hills with her flame. Farore made the rivers and the trees that would

be at the mercy of her wind. Naryu filled the land with life.

RAURU

What manner of life?

PRINCESS ZELDA

(smirking)

Bugs and other creeping things.

Rauru narrows his eyes. Zelda becomes defensive.

PRINCESS ZELDA (CONT’D)

What?? It’s true.

RAURU

What other manner of life besides the bugs and

creeping things you seem to adore so much?

PRINCESS ZELDA

The animals of the field, sea, and sky. The

Zora people of the river. The Goron people of the

mountains and caves. The Kokiri spirits of the forest.

And last but not least, our people. The Hylians.

The most gifted.

RAURU

Why were we the most gifted?

PRINCESS ZELDA

We could roam as we pleased. Our ears were crafted

with sharpened tips, so that we might hear the words

of the goddesses. We learn faster, and are

more creative with our inventions.

RAURU

And are we better than the other races?

PRINCESS ZELDA

No, we are merely the caretakers of the world, we

are not to assert our wills over the other people

who reside with us.

Rauru begins to nod in agreement when --

PRINCESS ZELDA (CONT’D)

But I think we are. After all we have the largest

kingdom in the land. We bring them food and help

them settle their disputes. The Goron’s would have

nothing if they couldn’t trade in our markets, and the

Zora, well the Zora wouldn’t --

Zelda pauses off Rauru’s look.

PRINCESS ZELDA (CONT’D)

Oh fine we’re just the same if not less important.

RAURU

Thank you.

PRINCESS ZELDA

You’re welcome.

RAURU

Now for the most important part, what came next.

Zelda stares out the window, gazing as the sun shines through and illuminates the vast FIELDS beyond.

Her appearance shifts and her eyes look with longing outward.

RAURU (CONT’D)

Princess Zelda?

PRINCESS ZELDA

They left.

RAURU

Who? Who left?

PRINCESS ZELDA

The goddesses. When they were done they left us.

Rauru pauses, surprised at her statement. He exhales slowly and nods.

RAURU

This is a debated theory amongst the

scholars...but for now I will agree.

She looks at Rauru. Her tone and look has changed, her eyes full of gravity and focus.

PRINCESS ZELDA

They left a symbol, a beacon of each of their powers.

They left it so we would be able to choose our own

fates. Din’s power, Farore’s courage, and Naryu’s

wisdom. Three pieces united as one, a golden relic

that lies hidden from mortal eyes, in the sacred

realm they built within our own.

RAURU

Yes, and what was this symbol called?

The princess lifts her necklace aloft, holding it for Rauru to see. At the end of the chain is a GOLDEN TRIANGLE, made up of three smaller triangles.

Rauru regards it as Zelda’s eyes meet his. He bows, as if compelled. Zelda holds it so her eye shoots a gaze through the center, staring out knowingly.

PRINCESS ZELDA

The almighty Triforce.

The Triforce

That Ol' Black Magic

2011-10-21T15:02:00.000-07:00

Halloween is just around the corner. You know what that means, Christmas decorations are flying up faster than you can say "money making holiday bonanza!"

I'd bet fifty bucks you've never said that combination of words in your life.

I wanted to be Where's Waldo for Halloween this year, primarily because I resemble him in size, stature, and somewhat in the face. If Waldo was the king of looking fine, he'd be me. Turns out he's not. He's quite ordinary. I'm almost certain he has no penis. Maybe that's why he travels so often. He's after his lost schlong.

Waldo: also known in color-blind communities
as "he-who-cannot-be-found"

My job (the one that doesn't pay anything) has made it difficult to aquire this costume, since I can't justify spending the measily 30 something dollars to get it. I'm still attempting to find a way, however. I'm tenacious.

Halloween has always been exciting for me because it's so close to so many dark and mysterious things and yet people still find themselves excited about it. Images of death, witch craft, devilry, and boobs float around and yet no one seems bothered (especially about the boobs). It's the night where the rules do not apply. At least until you wake up with a case of witch herpes.

I want to take part in this Halloween because there have been so many in the past I've had to pass over because of financial or employment obligations. I'm not the type to get trashed and dance around naked in a field (unless you count that one time), but I do like to have a good time then go home and watch Halloween and Hocus Pocus while eating candy I bought for trick-or-treaters but had no intention of giving them.

See that children? That's what we in the writing trade call a "run-on sentence."

So what's your Halloween plans? No matter what be safe, have fun, and don't summon any x-dimension demons. They're murder on the carpet.

FADE TO SPOOKY

A Flash in a Pan

2011-10-21T00:54:00.000-07:00

There's a lot going on in the world these days. Well, at least that's what everyone keeps telling me.

I think people make it a point to assume they're doomed as often as they can. It's a habit that never seems to go away. Hundreds of years ago when men were wearing makeup and woman were removing ribs to fit into dresses, they all thought they'd explode the moment they set foot outside their door. Well turns out a great deal of them did explode...or die of disease, but the rest of them managed to be just fine. Until smallpox slapped their faces with a clammy pair of man-hands.

I just find it funny how, pretty much as far back as I can recall, people have worried that they'd all encounter the end of the world in their lifetime. Now I'm not saying they wont, or I wont, but I feel like we don't get anywhere worrying about it. If the world is destined to detonate at some point we might as well have a great deal of coffee and sex until that time.

Listening to NPR recently has put me on edge. News has that effect on me. I blame the tone and delivery of the news for this more than anything. Even if I were to hear about a cream that lengthens the size of one's nipples and turns them a lovely shade of lavender, I would immediately be put on edge were it delivered in a news-like tone or read by a British man that sounded like Winston Churchill's uncle (likely with some rather rocket-sized nipples of his own).

The economy is always the hot button these days. Is that the word? Hot button? Whenever I hear that word, I always imagine some eager hooker on the street peddling her wares (lady bits) and offering men a look at her "hot button." Stop looking at me like that....what??

People in the middle east have always blown each other up and wanted to do the same to us, the economy has always had its ups and downs (although even when it's up everyone acts like it's down), the weather has always been bizarre (the ice age), and gay men have never been really very good at building storage sheds. These constants do not mark the end of the world. They just mean things are as fucked up as usual.

Excuse my French (even though I'm speaking English).

So the world might end, but I don't get why people are making such a stink about it. After all, if life were a book, once you finished it you'd just start a new one.

Think of life like that, like a book. Or maybe a good song. Or perhaps a yummy ham sandwich. See? Already you're thinking of reading a book and eating ham sandwich while listening to a good song.

While I had you thinking about that the world just ended. Sucker.

FADE TO APOCALYPSE

Catching a Glimpse: The Avengers Trailer

2011-10-12T04:56:00.000-07:00

So the trailer for the Avengers came out yesterday. I'm pretty stoked. Keep in mind I never typically use the word stoked unless I'm drunk or drunk. I'm 100% sober...once this pesky booze wears off.

WATCH IT!!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zatgnqdIefs

Pretty awesome huh? What's that, you didn't watch it? I'm going to slap your genitals.

Ew, I take that back.

Watching this trailer reminded me of when my brother and I would play with our X-Men action figures and pretend we were watching a movie trailer of our making. I'm always surprised we didn't end up getting into making movies together, seeing as we both loved to make fake "behind the scenes" shows whenever we'd play with our toys and dolls. I think I'm still wishing he'd come around and help me direct something someday. That ass.

This movie strikes me as an incredibly ambitious plan to link up several films into one. As far as I know I'm not sure it's been done before. However, as far as I know there's far too much I don't know, despite my pompous attitude and taste for caviar (and yachts and polo and space condos). So it's possible I'm just a moron and this has been done before.

The writing seems okay, for now, but it's very hard to gauge that based on the teaser. Nick Fury's "we need to get ready" line at the beginning made me cringe. I instantly had this image of baby Avengers getting woken up from their nap and told to put on their shoes so they can learn their numbers. Maybe in the context of the scene it sounds better than it does here, but it's still a very simple, empty line to me.

I do love in particular Tony Stark's response to Captain America's question about taking away his suit and seeing what's left (answer: playboy, billionaire, philanthropist....same as my answer to everything). I will love Joss Whedon (the director) forever if he plays up on the rivalry and differing viewpoints of Captain America and Iron Man. After all, they basically had a super powered war between each other in the comics recently.

Okay sorry, I got way too nerdy in those last two paragraphs.

In any case, I'm looking forward to seeing a solid superhero movie ASAP. I can't get enough of them. They're one of the main reasons I got into writing. Doesn't hurt that I've loved Joss Whedon ever since Buffy the Vampire Slayer. The man knows how to write teams, so I know he wont disappoint...unless he does, in which case I don't know.

Now I'm going to sleep and dream of Thor getting the high score on whack-a-mole.

FADE TO NERDGASM

Stop Wasting Time...please

2011-10-10T03:51:00.000-07:00

My dear friends, acquaintances, monsters (at this point I imagine the only monster reading this touching his hand to his heart affectionately and saying, "me?"), I'm going to get a little preachy. Don't worry, I'll keep it funny (at this point you say "it's never been funny." Then I slap you).

I want to stress today that we are gifted with time, and should never take it for granted. The people in our lives we cherish are blessings (unless they have bad teeth) and we should treasure our moments with them. Before starting petty arguments over selfish desires, think about the time you're wasting that you could be enjoying with them instead. Most of us regret the things we say in anger, even if we meant them, because we all know those dark truths are only bitter whispers in the back of our minds that never need to be pronounced.

For me this extends beyond just appreciating others, it also falls under how you appreciate yourself. Don't sit on your talents, don't waste time when you have gifts you could be using to help yourself and those around you. You never know when you might change the world.

I write this now because today I did waste time, and I regret it. I'm grounded by a lack of funds, but I could've written more, I could've called people I cared about, I could've drawn something or worked on learning my French. The point is, I taught myself this lesson tonight, and I want to share it with you in case you might need it too.

It's late, and I have to work in the morning. I ate taquitos tonight, so I'll likely damage my bathroom quite a bit in the morning. On second thought, the grumble in my stomach has just alerted me that the bathroom demolition team has arrived earlier than planned. Au revoir for now, mes amis (that's French stupid)!

FADE TO EFFICIENCY

A Fart in the Dark

2011-10-09T06:15:00.000-07:00

Tonight was a bizarre series of bizarre events. Actually, the word 'bizarre' doesn't quite seem to appropriately sum up the odd, unusual and at times extremely irritating events that occurred. However, I am without an fitting alternative.

I got farted on by a stranger. There you go.

I've been farted on before by friends and family. It's a common occurrence in my life, more common than putting bananas in my cereal or bending over to tie my shoe. However, I have never been blasted by a leg-lift sewage shot from some strange, near-transient male I have never met before. Tonight marked a first for me.

Presently I work at a restaurant job I love that I will likely not be able to keep seeing as I'm not making any money doing it. One of the aspects of this job is that I have to stand downstairs, outside, wielding a menu and informing passing strangers about our restaurant. Being in a relatively nice, well-to-do neighborhood, I have never really had a problem (the girls I work with have been caressed and hit on by nearly all variety of mutant pig men, but this has never been a problem for me). Tonight marked an unfortunate change in that pattern.

I still remember the smile on my face as I asked the passing couple how they were. I still remember time slowing as I began to notice the man was slightly intoxicated. I remember seeing his leg rise into the air like a dog about to claim a fire hydrant. I recall the smile on his face as he said loudly and with a slight slur "I've got something for you." I stared back elated, instinctively awaiting what I thought would be some kind of present or small treat.

I can still feel the heat of the blast as he blew a loud, vibrating emission from his butt that slammed delicately against my leg. I recall with startling clarity the way my stomach turned and my lips tightened in terror at the smell. I remember scampering up the stairs behind me to run and hide from a possible second attack.

That was my night. The whole entirety of my evening could be summed up by this seemingly insignificant event. I got farted on in every way a person could be farted on. It was a long evening.

There was a strange feeling in the air when I got to work, and it persisted until I left. Some of my coworkers were in bad moods, others in weird moods, some in great moods. I tried to shrug off the small problems I noticed here and there. I should have taken them as signs and immediately requested I be able to take a sick day.

I could go over all the other details of the evening, like the large group of cops who, for some reason unknown to me, barricaded off a visibly innocent clothing store and stared into a crowd of passing tourists/locals as though they were all members of some terrorist cell. I could tell you about the strange, exploding star I saw in the distance that no one else seemed to notice but me (which could've been a hallucination side-effect from the fart). I could tell you about the old, pony-tail wielding fat guy who, when I informed him I would not be his server for the evening, told me I had just "fucked" him.

I didn't even need to buy him dinner.

I wont bore you with those details. Even if I did, my words would not do justice to the bizarre way in which everything transpired. It would be like describing a horribly confusing and disturbing dream. It would only serve to bore you and make me sound crazy.

So I'm going to bed, now that the sun is nearly rising, and I hope tomorrow (today) is a day that holds less weirdness than the day before it. If nothing else, I'd like for less gas attacks from strangers.

FADE TO FART

Through Different Eyes

2011-08-11T16:42:00.000-07:00

I'm not going to be a downer, it's not in my nature. Suffice it to say that my sister's dog passed away last week and it's hit hard here at home.

the Sasha Bear

I can't help but ponder the nature of life and death when events like these happen. However, unlike most, I stopped wrapping myself in that oddly comforting blanket known as sorrow quite some time ago. Yes, I'm sad, but I refuse to view the world through sadness. Surprisingly, seeing light and joy and happiness has never been so easy as it is now.

I've been blessed with great friends and great family members, and I've been humbled by their pure, consoling attitudes. The world seems strangely bigger now, and I find myself seeing things in a new light. I feel as though I've been lent these cosmic eyes from some larger, immense being. It's hard to describe.

I wont write much today, but I will be back soon to fill you in on what's been going on. In the meantime, I hope you all are well and healthy.

FADE TO BLESSED

OMGSUAS (Oh My God Shut Up And Smile!)

2011-08-05T02:58:00.000-07:00

Today was an interesting, difficult, sometimes joyful but mostly depressing day. Long story short my sister, who is one of my best friends and also my roommate, has a dog, an adorable perma-puppy named Sasha, who isn't doing well. When we woke up this morning she was having what appeared to be trouble breathing. The reason why is still a mystery, even after several hundred dollars were thrown wildly at a vet who basically did the equivalent of shrugging one's shoulders.

Okay, that might be a little harsh, but honestly do vets ever know what's wrong?

VET

I think this horse has an enlarged prostate.

OWNER

This is a dog and it's a girl.

The thing is life is going to hand you lemons. It's an inevitability. If life was perfect all the time we'd be bored and complacent, this is a fact. The storms will roll in and it's our job to ride it out until they pass. Take those lemons and make lemonade, or better yet, make an umbrella out of the lemons for that storm I mentioned earlier. That could be fun.

Lemumbrellas....

When there's stuff going on that falls under the "serious" category, it's okay to panic a little, worry, cry, maybe even yell. The other 90% of the time, OMGSUAS!!! (if you missed the title of the blog, that means: Oh My God Shut Up And Smile!).

People, especially Americans, seem hell bent these days on griping about everything and bemoaning their existence when they actually have many things to be grateful for and great potential for the future. We can't always be looking for that perfect thing to acquire that will make our lives worth living. If we do that, then we'll never be able to appreciate what we have. Like that guy who owns a walrus with a bow-tie. You know who you are. Lucky bastard.

I drove to the market today, and smiled when I saw kids playing the same game in the walkway I used to play when I was a kid (don't step outside the yellow line, a timeless classic). I smiled when I caught the smell of the ocean in the air. I smiled when I saw the sun set. I smiled when I got a call from a close friend and we laughed about something we had seen on TV. I smiled.

We all probably smile a lot more than we realize, but we also probably gripe a lot more than we realize too. We need to realize it. We need to change it. Griping only makes us angry, gives us self-pity, and causes us to become stressed. If we're unhappy, then we should do something about it. While we're at it, we should just shut up and smile.

I don't expect everyone to follow this logic, because we're all the best at handling life the way we're used to handling it. But, if you choose to change things up, then you know I'll be right there with you, shutting up and smiling.

FADE TO BIG SMILE

I'll Get Write On It

2011-08-03T03:09:00.000-07:00

I heard from my agent again today. She wants to know if the loglines (short, one sentence summaries) I sent her on my existing scripts were based on TV shows or films since someone might be interested in reading them depending on what they are. I'm not sure if this is good news, bad news, or just news. Actually, it doesn't really strike me as falling under any of those categories. It's more of a thingy.

Yes, that's it. My agent called me about a thingy today.

She's still technically not my agent. She's more like an agent who likes my work and is working with me to get it out there. So she is my agent, but I haven't really signed with her agency. I'm like a potential client, a sort of shadow that hovers by the water cooler waving at those select few writers who have actually sold scripts. The writers mentioned wear trendy glasses and take smoke breaks where they don't even smoke but instead talk about existential politics and drink soy lattes.

I need to call her back and tell her the loglines are TV pilots I've written, but the problem will come if she asks to read one or some of them. Some of the scripts lack polish, and some aren't even technically finished. I included that in the email I sent her, but I think since she's so busy she might have forgotten. Regardless, I either need to get cracking on some TV show pilot writing (taking a break from the amazing film script I've been working on) or pull some magic scripts out of my butt. Since my butt is incapable of physically producing scripts that aren't shit, I'm going to have to go with the former of those two options.

So here I sit, exhausted from working several days without a break (I'm a wimp, don't pity me) and I now have to think about how I'm going to get money for rent and how I'm going to possibly finish my scripts. Somehow, I must discover an answer.

For now, I sleep.

FADE TO BRILLIANCE

this is your life on bugs

2011-08-02T01:36:00.000-07:00

I have a new job. I think I mentioned this. If I didn't, I'm mentioning it now. I have a new job. Behold the amazingness that is you being informed about my life.

Behold it darn you.

So it's at a restaurant. I know, I know, I kept saying I had no intention of returning to a restaurant for employment. In fact the very idea recently made me burp up a hot ashy steam (due to the fact that my stomach has substituted acid for hot dust as a response to being so poor I can no longer afford to properly ingest, and later digest, food). Desperate times, it seems, call for desperate measures.

The thing is I actually like working there. The people I work with are charming. I mean that in a nice way too, not in a "that old lady next door who smells like dead feet is charming" kind of way.

I'm a host, a job I usually excel at. The hurdle of training is over, now I'm slowly getting more and more accustomed to my environment. The one problem is that it's in Laguna Beach, which is a turd of a drive from where I live. I'm not telling you where I live. Stalkers...

I'm very tired. As a result of my own stupidity I got very little sleep last night (having gone to bed at 4 in the am) and only got 5 hours of sleep. I'm pooped.

Now all restaurants have what's called "bug nights," where they cover everything up and I guess shoot the nuclear bomb equivalent of pesticide into the place to make all the possible roaches and other creepy crawlies drop dead and/or explode. It's common practice from what I've heard. Last night that's exactly what we did.

So the duty of getting the restaurant clean and ready for service in the morning fell on the shoulders of me and a few others. The work was only slightly more difficult then it would be had it just been a normal opening shift, but I was surprised to find myself wishing it had been slightly more intense. You see the one interesting thing about this restaurant is that on Monday afternoons it's deader than the bugs they just killed.

I stood there at the desk, waiting, and waiting, and waiting some more. The day was only highlighted by the company and a few trips here and there to help bus the tables, which was actually quite thrilling for about a half of a second. Every other moment was spent idly chatting about Shark Week or pretending not to look like a droopy scrotum from the intense boredom.

A rare picture of me when I haven't eaten or slept.

The decision I'm faced with now is whether or not I should get a second job. Quite plainly I am not making enough money presently to support my decadent life style (which essentially involves moving, eating and going to the bathroom). So do I wait it out for a raise of some kind (which is basically impossible) or do I search for something else to do in addition to this job? I've never done well at having two jobs, but then again I've never stuck with it long enough to really succeed (just like my quidditch lessons).

Golden Snitch: AKA giant douche

If anyone out there in internet land has any solutions to my financial woes, I'm all ears...and thumbs, and eyes, and noses (wait, I'm a monster!). If not then bug off! Ha, I referenced my title kind of. Bug off. Get it? Oh shut up.

FADE OUT

Crossing Over Borders

2011-07-28T05:12:00.000-07:00

It's the 90's. I was younger, a child of around 10 to be exact, and the bookstore was my second home. I would sit on the floor/couch/step-stool/chair and read magazines, books, and graphic novels till my eyes were sore from the strain. I would listen to the classical music sweep through the store as everyone around me shared a moment looking into a collection of paper and ink to find something that might make their life better or more interesting. Being in that place, that house of literary enchantment, was the closest I've ever felt to magic.

Barnes and Nobles, Waldenbooks, B Dalton and Bookstar were the first bookstores for me to explore. I remember my sister reading to me from the children's aisle when I was little, and how excited I was even then. I remember the smell of the books, and the way each one seemed full of its own dazzling light that you could be apart of if you only started to read the words.

When Bookstar and B Dalton closed, I was much older. Even then I began to worry if it was the start of a trend. All things end after all, even bookstores. At the time the pain was less because I had already moved on to a new love. I had moved on to Borders.

The first time I went to a Borders bookstore it was in Connecticut. The sign was different and honestly I can't be sure if it was even owned by the same people. Regardless, that store in particular was a perfect getaway when times were full of darkness and doubt for me. I could go in there and feel like I was receiving a hug from a very old friend. I could search for the words I needed to hear and the pictures I needed to see (yes I also read picture books shut up).

When I found another Borders later on I was ecstatic. My friend had followed me. Here I was, in a place now foreign (I believe it was Georgia) and I had that structure that was so full of solace wrap a warm blanket around my heart.

I have been a fan ever since. The two stores, Borders and Barnes & Noble, were like two old chums I could go to depending on the situation. Each one fit a different aspect of my mood.

Recently it was announced that Borders Books will be closing their doors permanently. Coincidentally it is at this point that I feel I am at a loss for words.

The world is changing, as it always does. The digital age is upon us, and modern innovation and invention will soon make certain things obsolete. The one thing constant is change, and the one constant thing that never changes is the fact that in its wake there is always the destruction of the familiar. We as humans grow accustomed to things. We become comfortable. It is surprising, with that knowledge, that more people don't go around with shocked expressions on their faces most of the time. I suppose if we did we'd all look ridiculous to visiting aliens.

Everything must go.

I have understood from a very early age that all things must change or fade. This is the most bittersweet aspect of life. However, it is hard for me to watch as Borders closes because I have such an attachment to it in so many ways. Beyond being a comfort when I had so little, I had also wanted to sell a book inside those walls someday. I had wanted people to be inspired by my writing the same way others had inspired me while I spent countless hours reading everything and anything. Now, unfortunately, I will never have that wish granted.

I've become worried as a writer that the written word is slowly being killed and no one is really bothering to notice. Grammar and proper sentence structure are dissolving in favor of a universal "text speak," where people truncate words as though they couldn't be bothered with their busy schedules to spell out words like "you" instead of "u." Digital books allow for quicker, easier downloads and no trip to the bookstore, and the internet holds a wealth of public domain novels to be snatched up at any time. I fear for the future of the printed word.

The wonderful thing about computers and technology is the convenience it grants us. However, I fear it is a double edged sword. With ease comes the possible advent of a sedentary lifestyle. We are motivated primarily by necessity, and without that necessity we are rather oafish creatures. Fewer people read every day, and it seems like more are losing interest by the minute. The death of Borders is, at least for me, proof positive that the English language is suffering several losses. This is just the first of many casualties.

In the future someone might download a book on a thin sheet of electric paper and read it without thinking twice. I fear that in this future that person wont be able to smell the paper, and the ink, and feel the texture of the pages. I fear they will sit in some cold, unfamiliar place and not find any solace in the location or the silence there. I fear that this person will mechanically go through the motions, not becoming one with what they're reading but rather only having it slide by like some passing car on an empty road.

Perhaps I'm overly dramatic about the whole thing, but to me Borders closing signifies the start of the end. We shall all see how it plays out. In the meantime, goodbye Borders. You were a friend when I had none.

Something to Rely On

2011-07-12T03:16:00.000-07:00


That moment of "uh oh, what do I do now?"

You wake up. You work. You stress. You go to bed. You repeat.

There's something magically redundant about the life of the common man. This was something I realized at a very young age. I was around 8 when I looked at a man working at a bank. He had circles under his eyes and a tie that was too short for him. It was a green tie, but this is irrelevant. His face alluded to a sort of agony that could only be caused from years of repetition and a long lived feeling of unhappiness. I decided then that I would not wish to be that man.

(Song I'm listening to right now: "Somewhere Only We Know" by Keane)

In America it seems like everyone is very easily relegated to the idea that mediocrity is okay. Now it is okay, but when was okay something that we all clamored for? When did we start waking up and saying "I'll settle for the bland cereal today," or "I think I'll drink the coffee that tastes like diarrhea."? I'm not sure, but I do know that I'm tired of my coffee tasting like diarrhea. I want coffee that tastes like the mountains are shaking my testicles with every sip. I'm not sure what that means, but it sounds like something titanic.

If you've read my recent posts, you'll know I'm in a sort of "um....what?" stage of my life. I made a wrong turn, and now I'm trying to use my life GPS to find my way back onto the freeway of success. I know where I messed up (I left Hollywood), but at the time it seemed like the right thing to do. Now, I'm not so sure.


The moment that follows: "quick, a plan!"

I have a new job, but I'm not sure it's the right job. I can't turn it down, or try to find something else, because I'm out of options. I'm the worlds biggest cliche: I'm a starving artist (insert gag sound here). If there was anything that was the paradigm of unoriginality, it would be the starving artist. I am an insult to the writing community.

So I worry my craft my suffer. Will I spend too much time working and not have enough time to focus on my writing and possibly returning to school? Will the commute to the far away restaurant end up driving me insane and prompt me to live out my days, naked, amongst the beast men of the hills? Yes, none of that second question has anything to do with anything. Yet, it still is something I ponder.


Shit.

It's an odd moment when you realize you've put yourself in checkmate. Life is rarely a chess game played with anyone but yourself, and often times you are your own worst enemy. With no other pieces on the board I have managed to move myself into checkmate without a way of easily getting out of it. Then again, I guess that's why it's checkmate. There is no getting out of it, at least on the board. Luckily life is slightly more 3 dimensional.

I have a few tricks up my sleeve, and I can always push harder. I need to radically adjust my routines, and with little changes the big ones are bound to follow. Any ideas are always appreciated, as are job offers and donations. Hopefully soon I will defy this cliche in favor of one slightly more respectable. Like being a space novelist. Yes....that sounds good.

FADE OUT

Limbotomy

2011-07-07T03:24:00.000-07:00

It's late. It's usually late when I press my fingers against the hard keys and begin to drum them up and down the board to give you words and tell you stories. I get my best writing done in silence. It's never more quiet than in the thickest moments of the night.

anesthesia used for limbo patients

The funny thing about life is that you can find your own life mirrors the lives of others no matter the individual circumstances. Lately I've found that many people, friends and family included, have been existing in a sort of limbo, unable to break themselves out. It's like watching a fly caught in a large glob of tree sap, or a fat kid stuck in a room with his own farts after being force-fed three cans of beans and a stick of slim jim. There is no resistance for such a thing.

I've found myself in the same limbo, but you know that already if you've been following any of my posts. If not, then you have not truly lived. Unless you've eaten the fabled golden lobster of the Bermuda Triangle. This is the only exception.

The thing I've noticed that's the most disheartening is the level to which so many people I know have resigned themselves subconsciously to persist in their fated, stagnant existences. It's truly like they've had a very special lobotomy especially created to removed dedication, persistence and tenacity. It seems like all around me I am surrounded by people who complain about everything but do nothing to fix their situations. Well stink on that.

I'm done being in limbo. I don't know about you, but it's boring. If you're not in the same boat you know what I'm talking about. Life is meant for those who are willing to grab what they want, and I've had the fruit hanging from the branch in front of me for a long while now. In fact the fruit is looking a little too ripe...I might look for another branch.

I'm going on a job interview tomorrow, two in fact, and I will make them like me. Stage 1 is getting a job that I can keep without interrupting my writing. Stage 2 is writing enough so that I can leave the job mentioned in stage 1. Stage 3 is making enough money to write, make more money, until all I have to do is sit on a boat and muse about what color underwear aliens wear while having nothing to do with stages 1, 2 or 4. Stage 4 is to find my missing sock that wasn't mentioned in stages 1, 2, 3, or 9. Stage 9 must never be known....

I will report back tomorrow to detail my journey. If I don't return, assume I was abducted by aliens in fantastic purple underwear.

The Evolution of Originality

2011-07-03T22:27:00.000-07:00

song I'm listening to, Precious Things by Tori Amos

Let's say you have an idea. Let's say this idea feels like something that's never been done before. You hold on to it, keeping it close and working on it in hopes you can one day capitalize on it. Then you see someone do something startlingly similar.

Your hopes are dashed.

This is the problem many "creators" face. The minute another idea becomes something someone else has done, we lose faith in our own vision. "Who would want my garbage when this other person has made the same thing?"

If you've asked yourself this question, slap yourself for being a silly poo.

Here's a secret: there is no original idea.

Everything has been done before. Do you know why? Because originality isn't about something "new," it's about reinterpreting the idea through the eyes of someone else. The only reason something might feel new is because of the execution. The idea, however, the thing so many people get hung up on, is always something that can be stolen even if you never speak of it aloud.

Ideas can be traced back through history. At our core we, as early humans, experienced the world through fresh eyes. Everything was unknown. Nothing was certain. That allowed for a lot of interpretation.

Zeus: one of many deities who enjoyed rape as a hobby

When man first looked at lightning, he had to try to figure out where it came from. So man decided there was another, greater man, a god even, that was hurling it down from the heavens. He gave this "god" a name. Then he thought of other gods to reason the other natural elements of the world: love, the trees, death, the wind, the rivers, the ocean, etc. etc.

Still, not original. First of all these ideas grew from something that already existed. They evolved from something that already was. In executing these ideas, they became something original and unique. However, there are many gods all over the world. This doesn't discredit the intrigue and mystique each one holds. It separates them and makes them all the more interesting. They are the same, but incredibly different. This is the key.

Now it's true that a badly executed idea might hurt your chances of your similar idea being sold or accepted by audiences. No one wants to invest money in something similar to a proven lemon. However, if the idea that was "stolen" from you does well, then this opens up doors. It does not close them. Now that this similar idea is a proven formula that works, there will be a market for it. So your script, your pitch, your play, your anything, suddenly has what's known as a market. Now's the time to strike while the iron is hot.

gerber daisies blow.

Just look at how many cop shows are on the air. Medical dramas. Ghost hunting shows. Reality shows about nothing. Animal shows. I could go on for a while.

So if you see an idea of yours being done, don't lose hope. This will happen. It's an inevitability. Inception isn't the first movie about people diving into dreams. The Matrix was an idea that evolved from several others, including the anime film Ghost in the Shell.

Originality is an evolution. Just as we came from fish who grew legs, so do ideas grow. So let your ideas grow....into a lovely gerber daisy.

FADE OUT

The Active Life of a Sendentary Creature

2011-06-20T20:15:00.000-07:00

Imagine, if you will, you're a writer. Bare with me. I mean "bear." I'm not requesting nudity.

This is the face of fat and doom. Surprised?

Back on topic: you're a writer (fully clothed).

You sit. You type. You scribble. You doodle. You write.

The key word to pay attention to here is the "sitting" part. Writers sit and do, well, everything. They sit and eat when they schmooze with Hollywood execs. They sit in the writers room and throw ideas back and forth. They sit when they get in their cars to go home and then sit and watch TV to catch up on all the movies and shows they missed that they must know about to continue working in their business. In between shows, they sit and poo. If you're a writer, it's hard not to sit.

So what do you do?

That's a hard one. Sitting is nice, but we all know what it leads to. A large butt and an early death. No thanks.

I love writing, but recently I've found that the career path I've chosen has essentially turned me into a blob. I lay in a sort of prostrate fashion, rolling around in my chair like some pregnant farm animal. I write, and write, and write, and continue to sit. When does it end?!

The fact is that as a writer, or any number of other professions, one is forced to have their ass become closely acquainted with the fabric of a seat cushion. This has been my latest issue.

So what do I do? I take breaks, of course, but that's not enough. So I do jumping jacks, I walk my dog, I use the elliptical machine at the gym (I never do that). The trick is to find ways to keep active. I even use my Wii and Xbox Kinect in the hopes that frantically waving my arms and legs madly around will keep my blood from turning into crude oil.

What I actually look like. For a writer that's not bad.

I'm open to suggestions, but I've never been the most active of men. Perhaps it's because I was always such a skinny child. Perhaps it's because the sun fries my skin like bacon and/or makes me spontaneously combust. Perhaps it's because I'm actually an alien brain being kept in Area 51 and using a host human to blog for me about my future writing career. It's probably not the last one...FBI guys.

So here I sit, writing. Perhaps one day I will be able to write in space. From where I'm sitting that seems to be the only easy solution.

FADE OUT

Final Fantasy

2011-06-02T03:25:00.000-07:00

Yoshitaka Amano captures the beauty of FFIV

In any profession, one always has to wonder if it's worth it to continue making an attempt at success. Sometimes there's no light at the end of the tunnel, no goal in sight that can reassure the seeker that what they want is near. It's difficult not to give up.

About a week ago, this is where I was. I was at a point I had at one time been so certain I would never be. I was in a moment of almost absolute doubt.

In 1987, a Japanese man named Hironobu Sakaguchi was working for a little video game production company called Square. Having failed to create a successful game, or design a franchise with any longevity, he was about to leave the business and go back to University (no doubt to eventually acquire a "real job," and then promptly die of boredom). He was a man in doubt.

Before giving up he decided on one final project. He called this project Final Fantasy.

the endless beauty of a dream

The game proved to be a huge success. Every other game following it was better than the last. The series is still being made today, has been turned into a major motion picture (that bombed because it wasn't based on the game, it was based on Ghost Aliens which is lame), and has made millions and millions of dollars worldwide. It's a huge franchise.

As a writer this game has inspired me growing up. The stories were different, complex and full of both tragedy and comedy. When I think of all the things I've watched in my life, Final Fantasy is the one thing I can say I was inspired by completely.

The true inspiration comes from Mr. Sakaguchi. He didn't give up. He gave it one last push and it succeeded, even when he was almost sure it wouldn't.

Moogles = fat + cute

However, I don't think I will have a final fantasy. I don't think I will ever quit. As I was lying in bed a week ago, sick with what seemed to be the bubonic plague, I wanted nothing more than to know that someone, somewhere would read something I wrote or watch a movie with my scenes and dialogue in it and be inspired the same way I was by Final Fantasy. That's changing the world. That's longevity. That's immortality.

So I sit here, recovering from the plague, and know that even though the times are tough and things are harder now than ever, that I will not give up. I will fight harder. I will write better. I will persist.

FADE OUT

It's the End of the World As We Know It

2011-05-22T00:13:00.000-07:00

EXT. A CITY STREET - DAY

A wide shot of a city street. It flows like a river of traffic and pedestrians. Then suddenly the cars come to a halt. The people stop in their tracks, no longer interested in their destinations.

Everyone looks up toward the sky.

A great ball of white light appears, and everyone smiles as they look up at it with wild eyes. Citizens exit their cars and those in their apartments open windows and crane their necks outside to see the giant...light....ball.

Then, as the light expands and seems to overtake everything, there's a giant FART and it suddenly goes out.

Then they all explode. The end.

Roll credits.


LOL, Jesus makes planes crash?? (see left)

People are walking cliches. They don't really try for anything outside of what's been done or what's being done. Anything new or unusual is branded as "weird," by everyone afraid to be themselves (meaning the majority of mankind).

So, it should come as no surprise that when some crackpot group of religious zealots claimed the world would end on May 21st, that everyone jumped at the opportunity to talk about it and/or shit themselves in terror. Myself included. The talking about it part. I didn't shit myself. I haven't done that in years. Months. Okay days. Okay I shit myself.

The funny thing is that no one seems to have learned their lesson that rarely do things go as planned. People honestly expect the end of the world to be some white haired guy floating down on a cloud, pointing at certain people who then proceed to float up into the sky, then a bunch of guys with prosthetic horns and red paint run around and poke everyone left behind with sporks (that's a spoon/fork combo).

The true evil: childhood obesity.

No. No I don't think so.

As a writer I strive for some semblance of originality. It's hard, because I truly believe there is no unique or original thought. Everything is inspired by something else, and it all evolves and grows from there. Yet if I even sense for one minute that I'm doing something that's already been done before, I cringe, scream, grab an ice-cream, and get back to writing something "original."

Considering God is supposed to be the writer of all existence, I somehow think he'll be able to trump some guy who had bad drug trip and decided to scribble it down and tack it on to the end of the Bible. I'm also pretty sure he's just going to do it when it feels right. Something tells me God doesn't have a little pocket planner that says "May 21st: Blow up world."

And when the Rapture does indeed come, I expect everyone to drink themselves silly as they do at every other special occasion. Because that's what it's all about...apparently.

FADE OUT

Catching a Glimpse: The Borgias

2011-05-03T16:13:00.000-07:00

It's pronounced Boar-jas you schmucks

Ah Borgias, how much I love thee. From one of the most wicked families in history has sprung a show that I can honestly say may be my favorite on TV at the moment. As it is a well executed historical drama, however, I may be just a teensy bit biased.

For those of you who have been sticking to The Jersey Whores or The Real Housewives of I Could Care Less Town, the Borgias is about a papal family in Renaissance Italy. To get what they want, they poison, seduce and corrupt whoever they can, and it's delicious (almost as good as lobster with drawn butter). If you don't know what papal means I'm not going to explain it to you. There's an internet right in front of you. Use your internet.

The writing in the show is well done, as it cleverly uses old English (slightly modernized of course) while not losing itself to the dry nature of the ancient speech. There is humor that is subtle and brilliantly hidden in complex and creative phrasing. The romantic exchanges are where it truly finds its strongest footing, making me yearn for a time where people would say things more intellectually driven than "let's smoosh."

Jeremy Irons is brilliant as Rodrigo Borgia, and I think it's fair to say that his past performances have cemented his reputation as an excellent actor (unless you're talking about Dungeons and Dragons....dear lord that was awful). Despite the fact that he is the head of the family and the most accomplished actor in the series, the person who holds everything together is Francois Arnaud, who plays the eldest son Cesare Borgia.

Cesare Borgia is written as the linchpin of the family. He struggles to live his own life while also considering the lives of his family members. As such he is constantly carrying out terrible acts to save his family or promote their standing in society. It has only been recently that he's begun to act on more selfish desires.

Lucrezia and Cesare. Both equally boinkable.

Francois Arnaud plays the role with charisma and a subtle certainty that makes him magnetic. The severity in his eyes as he reads the lines is such that you believe he is discussing matters of life and death. It's compelling and makes for very good television. He also has a nice tush.

Both Holliday Grainger and Lotte Verbeek (in the roles of Lucrezia Borgia and Giulia Farnese respecitively) are fantastic as the two female leads of the show. Lucrezia has been written as an innocent character, but I feel like they're beginning to lead her down a path that would have her slowly becoming more villainous. The hints in her dialogue are subtle, but they reveal a darkness that might take a turn. I find this foreshadowing in dialogue to be very intriguing, and they pull it off well.

Lotte Verbeek as Giulia Farnese is just plain gorgeous. She so perfectly fits the time that you'd almost expect to see a nude painting of her from Renaissance-era Italy resting on a wall of a gay art connoisseur's NY loft.

Juan Borgia: turd incarnate

The only person I can't stand is David Oakes as middle brother Juan Borgia. I realize I'm not supposed to like him, as his character is intended to be a sort of vile cretin, but...well...and this might be slightly immature, but his voice is like nails on a chalk board to me. He also plays the role a little too obviously snobby for my tastes. When I am presented with a loathsome character, I would rather love to hate him as opposed to just hate him. An example of this Christoph Waltz in Inglourius Basterds. He was so awful, so evil, but you couldn't take your eyes off of him. David Oakes just makes me want to mute the TV.

In short the show is compelling, interesting, and fun. There is plenty of action and sex for those with a weaker attention span, and lots of brilliant dialogue and amazing costuming for those with a finer eye/ear. Also, the intro is very addictive. The Sopranos for those with a love of history and a desire to see an Italian family that doesn't say profanities every other word, the Borgias is a must see.

FADE OUT

You Will Fall

2011-05-03T03:05:00.000-07:00

Gandalf pwns falling.

The most important lesson I feel any artist can learn is to accept the inevitability of failure. I would extend that further by saying this is a lesson we should all learn in life. You will fall. The important thing is to get back up and figure out what made you tumble so you avoid it in the future.

Song I'm listening to right now (and want to have babies with) Sia, "Lullaby"

I haven't heard anything from the agent who liked my script. Now granted, I know she's busy, but it's hard to keep out the dreaded "doubtful thoughts" (other popular "doubtful thoughts" of others include: "the rash hasn't left yet...uh oh", "that goop hasn't made a single new hair sprout...ugh" and the less known "I'm never getting off this toilet"). I'm an optimistic guy, typically, so I'll sit here and be patient until I'm called (or I break down and just call her, crying into the phone and cutting myself with razors). It's hard not to go to pieces in this business. Reese's pieces. Now I want candy...

The "Freaks" make getting pick last cool

I digress! As for the other news of my life I did not get the job at the corporate restaurant I had interviewed twice for. I feel like they should give you a gift certificate or something if they waste that much of your time, or at least offer to pay for half of your gas. Instead I got a call telling me that if one of the people they wanted dropped out that I'd be a shoe-in. Memories of getting picked last during sports come to the surface. Well, actually I never got picked, they'd just look at me, shrug their shoulders and start playing as I looked out hopefully. Whatever you do, don't pity me. It will result in that rash I mentioned earlier (and the toilet part...combined).

I know I'm supposed to smile. I know I'm supposed to be happy and keep trucking, and I will. However, in this moment the elation has abated, the happiness has subsided, and just like with any ocean tide the current is out and the shore is dry as a tomb. I hope to post a blog soon that will have good news for you all.

On a side note, I'm working on a new story I think you all will like a lot. I'm putting the Herb Master on hold for a minute to complete it, but it shouldn't take long. In short, it's a novella, my first.

I'll keep at it. It's time to stand up again.

FADE OUT

The Good Book

2011-04-20T19:01:00.000-07:00

"For my next trick, shopping malls!"

I have to write a bible. No, not the kind of bible with men wearing robes and talking way too much about foreskin. This bible is of a slightly more creative nature.

The agent who is submitting my work has asked for me to create a bible detailing the future events in one of my shows. Almost every show has one of these, they are a necessity. The reason she needs one from me is to assure anyone who wants to take the show into production that there is a future for the series. After all, why would you want to buy something expensive if you knew you could only use it once before having to toss it?

All you billionaires out there who buy $12,000 bottles of booze and golden condoms need not respond to that question.

Lost's Smoke Monster: You'll never know what the fuck it was.

I feel lucky in the fact that this script in particular was one that I had charted out from the very beginning. Everything I set up in the first episode has an answer I intend to give later on. It wont be like other shows that present questions without following it up with an answer (LOST, I'm still waiting).

The difficulty arises when I wonder how producers will react to my bible. Will they find the answers fulfilling and interesting? Will they want to delve into the mythology after reading my brief overview?

I guess every writer has to ask themselves that question, but when you sell a script you're asking for the buyer to take many things on faith. Faith that the visuals will adapt well from what you wrote, or faith that your characters will remain entertaining and stimulating to their audiences in the future.

So that's the one thing my bible has in common with the one that you can find in any trailer-park in Kentucky. You just gotta have faith.

FADE OUT

Squirt on some Catch'up

2011-04-15T17:34:00.000-07:00

Hello loyal readers (or as Stan Lee would've said in a surprisingly disturbing way, "hello true believers!!")!

Miss Betty "Big Butt" Sherman

So things have been crazy lately, and I apologize for not blogging sooner. I swear I will keep you all updated, even if I have to hire Miss Betty Sherman, the town gossip, to run my blog for me. To warn you, if that does happen, you'll probably be reading more about how some old woman got crabs from the local laundromat or that the number of students lip-kissing teachers is on the rise. She's kind of a tool.

To give you a brief update, I am still technically floating around in the land of unemployment. It's been weird, but I've felt more productive here than anywhere before. I did have a successful "first" interview today at a popular west coast restaurant, so now I just have to wait for stage two. Whoever invented the "second" interview can go step in something squishy.

As for my writing, well, there's been some major advancements. A good, amazing, fantastic friend of mine I worked with in one of my previous production internships recommended me to an acquaintance of her's, an agent! I sent over a bunch of my scripts in a packet, mailed the next day to her, and she read them over the weekend. It turns out she liked them!

The reason Jurassic Park makes you sign liability forms

One script in particular was one she favored, and she asked if she could submit it to different production companies. So technically, kind of, sort of, I have an agent. This is an amazing first step. I was smiling for about four hours straight that day. My crows feet are now velociraptor toes.

So now I play the waiting game. It's my favorite game. I'm always the winner.

However, for now, it's back to the grind stone. I have to finish a True Blood spec script I started a week ago, and have to send out more scripts to be seen by even more eager eyes. Let's hope they blow people's minds!

FADE OUT