Brain-Pan

Here is a quick little story I wrote for my college class. Enjoy!

The Watcher

By Manuel Lagos, Jr.

Beneath the moonless Tennessee night on the winding vertebrae of The Devil’s Backbone, a figure mounted his horse. Transporting letters along the dangerous Natchez Trace; it was not an envied job, but a job nonetheless. He was sore from the constant riding along the roughly hewn trail. Worse, he could not afford lodging at one of the shady establishments along the trace. Overworked, underpaid- the working man is a timeless figure.

Like the silhouette of a shadow puppet, the postman rode along the dark passage. He could not see the road before him, nor did he care to see it. Completing his route was the only thing that mattered. Getting his salary was the only thing that mattered. All else was immaterial.

The rider could feel the trail getting rockier, but the horse rode on. The bag of mail across his shoulder jostled even more against his already raw skin. And then it snapped. The letters and parcels streamed out of his broken satchel. The rider halted his horse and caught much of his mail. Yet, he saw some letters blow in the wind, like white leaves rustling in the night. He immediately knew that he must venture into the black of the night and recover the lost mail otherwise he would find himself without employment.

Horse tied to the nearest tree, the rider set out to find the letters strewn through the clearing that led off the Trace. It soon became apparent to the rider that he was wandering closer towards two buildings. He recognized the cabins as Grinder’s Inn; he was taught to avoid the place from other postmen. What he didn’t recognize was the strange figure outside one of the cabins. Was it another person? But the closer the rider stepped, the more he was sure of it. There was a person entering one of the cabins.

It’s their business, not mine, thought the rider as he located the nearest letter. Stooping to collect the piece of mail, a noise rang in the rider’s ears. A gunshot. The rider immediately straightened himself and looked about for the source of the sound. Another shot. It was coming from the cabin that the figure had entered. He had seen the muzzle fire shine light between the cracks of the cabin wall. The rider could only think of one thing- run. But all he could manage to do was clumsily squat in the shadows of the nearby foliage.

Breath bated, the rider became a watcher as he waited for the killer to leave the cabin. It seemed that an hour passed before the killer left. The murderer departed with a bag that he did not have before. When the killer had disappeared in the shadows, the watcher had every intention of leaving. That was the moment that he noticed something lying at the cabin doorstep. It was bright white against the dark horizon. It was a letter. No. It can’t be. The rider tried to convince himself otherwise but it was in vain. If that letter belonged to someone of any import, he would lose his job.

With a gulp of his dry throat, the watcher slowly stood up. His body suddenly remembered that it ached and his muscles burned again. Each step seemed as loud as his heartbeat . What if the killer is still around? For the first time that night, the rider’s environment meant everything to him.

He tried not to look towards the cabin as he drew close to the letter. But his eyes wandered and noticed the cabin door was open. The first thing the watcher saw was the blood, the dark crimson blood that shone in the night. The killer had tracked the blood onto the letter when he left. The rider reached for the letter. His hands shook as he picked up the letter; he smeared the blood across the paper and his fingers. Looking up, a bone-white shape reached for him. The victim fell onto the watcher’s feet. Blood and bone, skin and slobber, the man’s face was mangled. He was muttering one word, “Water…”

There was no telling who he was. That was when the rider remembered hearing word of a governor making his way to Washington D.C. along the Trace. There was mention that he might have quite a bit of money with him. The watcher realized that he had just watched a murder and robbery. And a dying man’s body was lying against his boots.

I need to leave. The watcher had collected all the lost mail that he saw, even though many letters were now blotted with red marks. Even so, the watcher walked away. Apathetic, he simply turned his back on the dying man. It was easier to do than he expected.

The watcher suppressed the memory; when asked about that night, he had found the man dead. The man he later found out was Meriwether Lewis, the governor of the Louisiana Territory and hero of the Lewis and Clark Expedition. But what did it matter? The watcher kept his job and he moved on with his life as though the incident never happened.

With a back turned to those in need, the watcher lives on today. That watcher lives in every American. The watcher is pre-occupied and cannot stop to help people along the path. To the watcher, each human is just another face, another blurred memory that has no emotional connection or spiritual worth. The watcher walks through the moonless night, back to a passionless job and an unremarkable life. Worst of all, there is blood on the watcher’s hands.

Please let me know what you thought. (If you've made it this far.) 

God bless, and don't forget to use your brain-pan!

-Manny

“How Dig came into being is something disputed and trivial to us anyway.” Sedgewick moved his hands animatedly as he spoke. “Therefore, I will begin where history became relevant to you. Quite some time ago, after the Exiling of the Ancients and before the Uprising…”  

    It's just like that year in school. Memories flooded Vara’s mind. Memories of long hours with a tutor who reeked like cabbage. Thankfully, that family gave her up before she had to learn science.

    “…and that is why we have the word ‘cibus.’ And now, the etymology of--”

    “Um, Sedgewick.” Leo nodded toward Vara.

    “Oh! Um… wow.” Sedgewick stared at Vara, who lost within her own mind again, had forgotten to make her face look intrigued. Vara tried to cover up her bored face by lifting her suddenly heavy eyelids, and snapping closed her hanging jaw, causing her to bite her tongue.

    “I’ll be right back!” Sedgewick darted off as fast as his aged legs could move. From a distance, Vara could see the old man perusing piles of books, running his fingers of the spines to keep track.

    “Did I offend him?” Vara asked Leo, who was still on the table across the room.

    “No… Sedgewick is-- He is different.” The colorful lizard stood out amongst the dull grays and browns of the room as he made his way towards Vara’s seat.

    “Yes. He is strange. How did you meet him?” Vara quieted her voice, unsure if Sedgewick had a spare ear lying nearby.

    “I do not remember meeting him. We are both rather old, you know. He has always been here as long as I remember. Of course, there was a time when he was quite the celebrated scholar. He was well-respected in the realm of academia.” Leo’s voice had a strange way of showing emotion. Something… familiar…

    “Yes, but was he always like this?” Vara pushed herself up in her seat to see if Sedgewick was coming.

    “Well he has always been eccentric. But he got worse after his wife and son…” Leo trailed off. He must have known them.

    “I see.” Vara felt a burning in the pit of her stomach. She regretted leading the kindly lizard to such a sad topic. Silence ensued.

    A crash broke the quiet. The crash was that of large heavy books falling.

    “Here we are!!!” Sedgewick shrieked. The old man ran back in long strides. He held an enormous book in his thin arms. The man was quite a sight, with his tufts of hair flailing above his ears and his glasses askew.

    With a huff, Sedgewick set the tome on the table, dust clouding the air. He flipped the large pages open and reached inside the book. It was hollowed. After getting a good grasp on the thing inside, Sedgewick turned around toward Vara with a great, brass-plated cylinder.

    “I almost forgot about this one. I am quite proud of it, really.”

    Sedgewick, hands shaking with excitement, placed the cylinder on a pile of books to the right of Vara. He pressed a button on the top of the cylinder. The metal plates lowered, glimmering. Beneath the plates, was a spiraling crystal, with tiny scratches marring the nearly clear surface. The crystal seemed to light up the room, reflecting light this way and that, making fleeting rainbows as Sedgewick fiddled with it.

    The diamond stood on a tall brass base that had little knobs all around.

    Sedgewick darted towards the windows in room and pulled on a lever. Shutters slammed shut and the room went dark. Sedgewick pressed a button on the crystal’s base, igniting a small flame inside the crystal which projected images that flecked the black walls like stars on a cloudless night.

    “Now, let me tell you about Dig. Centuries ago, a tyrannical ruler squirmed his way into power. He oppressed the leaders of the tribes that populated the planet.” Sedgewick adjusted tiny knobs as he spoke, Vara saw the image of an angry man, sitting on a throne.

    “Yet one tribe leader stood up against this evil ruler. Many rallied with him, but the tyrant had already amassed an army, stronger and larger than the small rebel forces.” Drawings of war filled Vara’s eyes. “Soon enough, the rebels were forced into exile. They were placed on a set of barren islands, left to rot. The islands were primarily populated with lizards. The people starved until they were forced to eat the lizards, which to them were ugly and foreign creatures.” Vara glanced at Leo who shifted uncomfortably, not looking at the picture on the wall.

    “These people relied on the lizards for sustenance, but as they hunted the beasts, they soon realized something was quite strange. The lizards thrived in such a hostile place by eating rocks. When a lizard went a long period of time without eating rocks, its skin grew soft. That was--”

    “Hold on! Are you saying that my great-grandparent was a lizard? No offense Leo.”

    “What? Of course not! Now let me continue. These people, after eating the lizards and ingesting other dreadful items, developed an ability much like the lizards. These people acquired inhuman abilities. They grew great in numbers, trained for generations, and returned to their homeland. The people of Dig were still under government oppression. The exiled people, with the power of ten men, easily defeated Dig’s ruler and set up a new monarchy- a monarchy of peace and free market. Lizards were brought from the islands to the mainland and the royal bloodline became known to biologists, as cibus sapien. But twelve years ago, the kingdom continuing as it had for centuries, was overthrown by a dastardly plan. Xanfar, the king’s right-hand man, began to pervert the uses of the royal bloodline, by creating his own. He secretly recruited malcontents and trained them, making a new cibus sapien from methods I dare not speak. Along with the jealous Bakra, the queen’s older sister who was first betrothed to the king, Xanfar overthrew the monarchy. Bakra slew her own family and all with the royal bloodline, seizing control of Dig without a drop of cibus blood in her body.” Sedgewick’s voice quaked with anger.

    “And what happened to Xanfar?” Vara asked eagerly.

    “No one knows what happened to Xanfar. Some say he is alive still, his body disfigured by his own perverse use of cibus powers. Others say he was driven mad by the sight of the royal family’s death. A family he had been a part of. And that, Vara, is how Dig came to be oppressed by such a cruel mistress.” Sedgewick’s face showed eerily in the light of the crystal. “A saying has made its way through history about the royal bloodline with such strange abilities…

Be careful little eyes what you see.

For evil may soon surround you.

Be careful little hands what you touch.

For poison thorns prick through.

Be careful little head what you face.

For pride may sting like angry whips.

Be careful little mouth what you taste.

For life and death are on your lips.”

    Sedgewick’s eyes seemed to fill with fire, the candlelight reflecting in his eyes. He stepped toward Vara.

    “Vara, you are a cibus sapien. You are of the royal bloodline.”

    Vara’s mouth could not find the words to speak.

This part was about twice the size of the previous, I just couldn't break it.I hope it kept your attention, though.

God bless and don't forget to use YOUR brain-pan!

-Manny

Author's Note: Sorry this is so late.

Part 8- Many Mouths Say Many Things

    Vara had scarcely drawn in the eerie sight before her, when a terrible shape formed in the mist nearby.

    “Leo…” She whispered, reaching toward the lizard.

    “Steel yourself child, for this is the Barbarian.”

    I am stronger… I am stronger…

    Vara’s fear was shaking her very being. Yet the fear began to shrink as the Barbarian’s silhouette grew smaller. The Barbarian’s shadowy form stopped shrinking at about one and a half digometers- a little taller than Vara.

    Then she saw him. Vara wasn’t quite sure whether to avert her eyes from the sight or to explode with laugher. The Barbarian was an old man… and he had three mouths.

    “Greetings to the Barbarian of Wicksedge!” Leo shouted, poorly hiding his mirth.

    “Oh drop the ruse!” The front mouth responded.

    “Wot ruse!?!” The mouth on his lower left cheek said.

    “I believe he is referring to the fact that--” The third mouth on the lower right cheek replied.

    “Call me Sedgewick!” The mouth that Vara suspected was Sedgewick’s normal mouth, said.

    “B-But you’re no Barbarian.” Vara uttered, timidly. Sedgewick jumped when she spoke, as though he hadn’t seen her. The old man lifted a pair of broken old glasses to his face; the spectacles looked like they had been sat on a thousand times.

    “Wha-?” The left mouth mumbled.

    “Now who is this? A girl? And- and a lizard!?! I don’t see many girls or lizards anymore, let alone a girl and a lizard,” the normal mouth spoke.

    “I believe we do not see much of these creatures because the Cibus Milites tried to eliminate them.” The right mouth interjected as though his thoughts were the most recent, intriguing thoughts on the planet.

    “And you think I didn’t know that!?! Wot’ya got to go and say things we all know like that!?! Three mouths. One head!!!” The left mouth continued to grumble insults at the other mouth.

    “Now that you know who I am. Who are you?” The average mouth said, inquisitively.

    “Sedgewick… its me.” Leo replied gently. The old man’s three mouths fell silent, and their shared set of eyes glazed over.

    “King?” All three mouths whispered in unison.

    “I returned, just like I said.” Leo firmly responded.

    A silence fell on the three, like the mist which made Vara’s skin clammy.

    “Well come in, directly!” Sedgewick said, beckoning Vara and Leo towards the giant tower in the mist.

    “You’re going to let them in there. You might as well invite them into a dung hill.” The left mouth added.

    “Oh, one moment. Let me silence my companions here.” Sedgewick shuffled back into the mist. Vara could here the left mouth grumbling and the right mouth describing the illogic of silencing it. Straining her ears, Vara was sure the two mouths were silenced. As she listened for nothing, Sedgewick reappeared holding a glass jar full of green liquid and little particles that looked a bit too much like fingernails for Vara’s comfort.

    “Now that is taken care of… who wants some tea?”

    Vara found herself settling into an oddly shaped, burlap covered armed chair. Thousand of tiny tears exposed the stuffing inside. The inside of Sedgewick’s house was just as grand as the exterior. There were strange gizmos scattered everywhere, she had sat on one and stepped on two already. Empty beakers and bottles filled with unusual things, covered multiple tables. And then there were the books. Large piles of books rose off the floor much like Sedgewick’s house stood, tall and crooked.

    “Here you go.” Sedgewick handed her a fragile off-white plate and teacup. “Be careful, it’s quite hot.”

    Vara accepted the cup gratefully but Sedgewick had already turned away from her. He walked off toward the nearest table of beakers. Leo jumped on Sedgewick’s shoulder from the table and turned around, both of them with their backs turned to her. Of course.

    Vara sipped her hot tea, the smoke filling her nostrils and the taste tingling her throat. But not in a good way. Vara’s senses immediately rejected the flavor of the tea, she dry heaved. Vara managed to keep her appalled reaction silent.

    Putting her tea aside, Vara tried to eavesdrop. She heard Sedgewick grunting in affirmation every so often.

    “Ah… I see.” The old man said, just audible across the room. He turned around, his hands clapped together, resting beneath his chin. “Vara…” He smiled wryly. “I have been informed of who you are--

    “But who am I?” Vara cut in. Sedgewick lifted an eyebrow, glancing at Leo.

    “To fully explain things. We need to start at the beginning. Tell me, what do you know of Dig’s history?” Sedgewick continued.

    “Not much really.”

    “Good…” A genuine smile spread across Sedgewick’s face.