First Priest of the Church of Retribution

It was a late night in a small tavern in a small town. The bartender was chatting with a patron. The kitchen busy cleaning the pots and grills. The dozen or so patrons relaxing after a long day. It was a night like most others, quiet but welcoming, in strutted a finely dressed man surrounded by six guards. At once, conversation stopped and an air of resignation filled the room.

"Mmmmhmmm. Mighty fine place you have here Roberts. Such a . . . quaint place."

"My lord Hendricks" sputtered Robert, scurrying out from behind the bar. "What brings you to humble tavern?"

"Oh, me and the gents were just returning from the Morgan's farms. Seems they lied about how much livestock they raised. And after going through the unpleasant business of confiscating their food stocks I figured the boys could use a good hot bowl of stew."

"But sir, the maids just cleaned the pots. There's no stew left."

"Well then, make some more. Lads, throw some tables together!"

Robert stated blankly as the guards dragged several of the patrons out of their chairs and swept the plates onto the floor. "But sir! The maids are tired!" Robert cried. "You can't. ."

With a loud crack Robert stumbled backwards, reeling from the the lords mailed back hand. Blinking, he staggered, tasting blood and feeling a sharp pain in his jaw. "Do not tell your lord what he can and can not do" lord Hendrick said with a snort. With a look of utter contempt he took in the shocked faces of the peasants. "I think we shall dine alone tonight."

Slowly Robert bowed, trying not to loose his balance. As the patrons carefully made their way around the guards to the door the kitchen staff, having seen everything, began preparing the kitchen once again. "As you wish." He said.

Within moments, the tavern was cleared of everyone save lord Hendrick, Robert, and hooded man in a back corner calmly eating his bowl of soup. While Robert was trying to remember who the poor fool was, a guard strolled up to the old man's table. "Dinners over drudge."

"Not done soup." replied the man, in a frail, quiet voice.

"Oh yes you are" said the guard, sweeping the bowl of soup onto the man's lap. At least, thats what the guard tried to do. Instead, without realizing how it happened, the guard was on his knees, screaming in pain as the man wrenched back a finger with his right hand. The hand that was holding the soup spoon. Calmly, the man continued eating, now with his left hand.

As the other guards rushed forward, the man released his grip. Gasping, he got to his feet, the other guards raising their swords to the sitting man.

"Wasting foods a sin." The man replied, calmly. "You aren't a sinner. Are you?"

The guards shifted their, looking between themselves. The subtle shift in the mans voice coupled with his perfect calmness signaled that primitive part of their brains that all men who fight, and survive, learn to listen to. And it was saying "DON'T SAY YES!!!!"

"What are you doing?" blustered lord Hendrick, far to slow to catch on. When the guards didn't answer, still unsure how to react, lord Hendrick shoved his way through his men, face redder and redder.

"What is the meaning of this! Do you have any idea who I am? Are you even listening to me?!?!"

*slurp*

Eyes bulging and face bright red, lord Hendrick pointed his finger at the man's temple. "Guards! Kill this. . . this. . . *gurgle*". A disbelieving hand shakily raising to the black pommeled knife protruding from his throat, lord Hendrick collapsed.

"Your life has been judged and found wanting." The man lowered his spoon into the empty bowl and stood. His body unfolded slowly and the guards had to look up into the face of this seven foot tall man. If indeed he could be called a man. His pale gaunt face framed was by his long grey hair. The man had a filthy grey, blood soaked bandage wrapped over his eyes, but still looked directly into the face of each of the guards.

Wordlessly he stepped over the fresh corpse, the guards stepped aside and quickly lowered their eyes and weapons. They'd all heard the stories. They knew they lived or died by this mans whim.

As the man walked by Robert, broken jaw slack, he dropped a heavy bag on the table. "Good soup."

The guards watched the man's back as he left, not one making a move for the throwing dagger at their belt. No one would strike a priest of the fallen church. Not even in the back.

What if you missed?

December quote

I remembered black skies, the lightning all around me
I remembered each flash as time began to blur
Like a startling sign that fate had finally found me
And your voice was all I heard that I get what I deserve

New Divide by Linkin Park

Dream Pirate!

"Any last words?"

Standing on the gang-plank, he really couldn't help taking those last words to try and find out what the hell was going on. The woman querying him stood on the speaking-end of a rapier; leaving him the business end, as it were. "Who are you? What are you even doing here, this is my dream."

"I'm a dream pirate and well... figure it out." Before he could say another word she gave him a firm poke with the pointy end of the sword. "Anyway, off you go!"

He plummeted over the end of the gang plank and landed in a sea of nothing. Floating there, he could only watch as his dream sprouted four masts and sailed away. Leaving him with nothing to do but wait until he awoke. Wakefulness came only reluctantly.

The sun comes and the sun goes, as the sun want to do and sleep in its due course claims the realm of the living once again for its own.

Dreaming, dreaming, dreaming.

Spring trickles into dreams like the first scented blossoms of a new year. Spring whose warm hands pluck petals from trees to be showered down on those below. An intangible allure, unspoken, unvisited, present only in dreams...

... so the dream begins, and yet something is different. A dream from yesterday, sporting four masts comes sailing alongside. Oh no not again!

"Ahoy there!" The voice is about as welcome as the whistled cat-call that followed it. "Ooh, nice dream you got there. I think I'll take it."

To have one dream hijacked by this heinous she-devil was one thing but two was entirely too much. "What's your problem? You can't just go around hi-jacking people's dreams."

"Beg to differ deary." She replied, affectionately petting the side of his former dream. "This one was so good I thought I'd come back for seconds."

"You can't have it."

"Prepare to be boarded! Are' matey!" She cried. In a moment she was swinging across the rigging over to his dream - sword in teeth and hair caught dramatically in the breeze. She landed on the deck with an emphatic crack, apparently unperturbed by the knee high leather boots with their dangerously unstable looking stiletto heels. "Defend yourself!"

And so the crazy dream lady with the sword came at him. He'd been caught off guard the other day it was true - surprised as it were - and unarmed. Since this was his dream though, he saw no particularly good reason why there shouldn't be a sword near at hand for just such an occasion.

Sabre on sabre clashed and for a moment it seemed as though things were in doubt. Being as though it was his dream and all though, he saw no particularly good reason why he shouldn't be a master of the blade. And so as she thrust he passed, passata-sotto, under the blade and with a quick slash across her hand sent the weapon careening over the edge of the dream.

"It seems I've bested you." He said, holding the edge of the weapon dangerously close to her neck.

"It would seem so." She admitted.

"Looks like you should think twice about messing around in other people's dreams."

"I suppose."

"So... you'll be leaving now. Being as though I beat you - fair and square as it were."

"Yeah... about that," Her eyes flashed dangerously. "I don't fight fair."

And in one deft motion she drew a flintlock pistol and shot him in the gut and sent him careening over the side after her sword.

Floating in the sea of dreams contemplating death her voice mocked him as it sailed off again. "Hey, thanks again for the dream. See you again tomorrow!"

Beyond

The world is so small, so far away. The sun just another star in the endless black.

It's getting harder to breathe, precious air escaping through dozens of tiny holes. Small red droplets of blood drifting through the cabin, my partner motionless in front of me. I close my eyes, welcoming the coming darkness. I close my eyes and dream of those I left behind.

A weird dream

The alarm screeched angrily. With a groan, Jake lurched onto his side and bashed the clock a few times before silencing the infernal thing. Groggily, he gets up and looks out the window into blackness. Dark in the morning. Dark at night. Jake hates winter. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, the memories of last nights dream fade. It was weird, he remembers. Or at least, he remembers remembering it was weird.

Jake is in the kitchen. The cereal is stale and the milk is a little lumpy, but he doesn't notice. He hasn't noticed in a long time. The paper is on the table. The headlines proclaiming the rhinos declare war on the squids. Jake blinks and looks again. Thats not right. The pumas should do something about that.

The subway platform is crowded. It is always crowded. The great wurms traveling through there tunnels with a roar. As Jake's connection comes he and a score of others step to the edge of the platform. Almost as one, they step off the edge and are consumed by the gaping maw of the wurm as it speeds past, ground between its hundreds of gnashing teeth.

The alarm screeches angrily. With a groan, Jake lurched onto his side and bashed the clock a few times, narrowly missing its razor sharp teeth, before silencing the damn thing. He had a weird dream last night. Something happened.

The shower water is cold again. Its always cold in winter. Jake hates winter. But, today is important and he needs to be presentable, so he braves the frigid waters.

The streets are crowded again. Everyone racing around. The light flurries of snow are ground into a brown mush beneath the dozen feet of the giant insects battling down the narrow streets. Joining the mindless march of the hundreds of other people, Jake files down the sidewalks. The lights ahead are red, the insects shuffling, trying to get closer to the front. As a whole, the crowd of people file into the center of the intersection. When all that can fit are within the white lines, the lights turn green, the insects rush forward and the sound jaws grinding bones echoes through the streets.

The alarm screeched angrily. With a groan, Jake lurched onto his side and bashed the clock a few times before silencing the infernal thing. He remembers a dream. It was a weird dream. He had a friends. A family. Happiness. Jake shakes his head, banishing the weird dream from his mind and gets ready for the daily grind.

The Wildest Dream

"I had the weirdest dream last night."

"Oh yeah? What happened?"

"I dreamt I woke up, ate cereal, then went to work."

"Cereal? What's that?"

"Cereal's something you eat in the morning."

"Wouldn't that just be breakfast?"

"Cereal's something you eat for breakfast."

"Ooooh. What's work?"

"You know. I went to an office. Sat in my cubicle. Typed on my computer. Had coffee. Went home, just to do it all over again tomorrow."

"Ha, ha! You always do have the wildest dreams! Computer? Coffee? Where do you come up with this stuff?"

"Maybe you'd dream some of this too if you ever left Arcadia."

"Yeah, like that's gonna happen!"

Shots Rang Out

Shots rang out.

James was waiting in line for a teller at the First National Bank when the commotion started. Following the shots were the screams, both customers and the robbers.

“Everyone down on the floor!” Another couple of shots. “Anyone who’s standing in the next ten seconds gets shot!”

From his prone position on the floor, James was able to see two men, both with ski masks and guns. From the commotion behind him, there had to be at least one other robber.

“Put all the money in these bags!”

James struggled to see what was going on. Over the terrified face of an old woman, and a father trying to calm his three-year old, he could vaguely see the robbers moving back and forth. One bag was filled, then a second.

“Shit, the cops are gonna be here! Hurry up!”

Suddenly, there was glass shattering around him. A dozen men in black were everywhere around him.

“Everyone, stay down!” Bullets were flying. It was over in moments. The four robbers were down and out. The SWAT team was helping the terrified patrons back to their feet and out the door.

“Die copper!” a voice rang out from behind James. He crumpled to the floor, blood pooling around him. The next thing he knew, he was staring at the clouds while voices surrounded him.

“We’re losing him!”

“Clear!”

“Stay with us!”

*

James woke up in a cold sweat. He stared around frantically, taking in the orange love seat, the sound system, the sunlight pouring in through the window. It was just a dream. He let out a slow breath. Yes, he was alive, in one piece, in his apartment. He waited for his heart to stop pounding before climbing out of bed. Glancing at the glowing red numbers of his alarm clock, he still had a half hour before the alarm went off. Plenty of time for a long shower. He showered, letting the water further calm him down, then dressed and ate some cereal.

By the time he made it to the subway, he was feeling almost back to normal. His heart was no longer jack-hammering in his chest. The dream had been so vivid, but it was only a dream. At least it would give him something to talk about during coffee break.

The morning passed in a blur. Pretty soon it was time for lunch. It was payday, so he had to run to the bank to pay some bills. He grabbed a quick sandwich from a deli, then raced down the street. Glancing at the eagle beside the bank’s name, he felt a moment of foreboding.

“It’s just a dream,” he reminded himself, pushing the glass doors open.

Inside, he got in line. Being a Friday lunch hour, the bank was busy. He looked at his watch. He still had a half hour before he had to be back at work. It was when he glanced up that he recognized the lady in front of him; it was the old lady from his dream. He glanced back to find himself staring into the eyes of the three-year old, who was being held by her father.

And that was when the shots rang out.