Writers and Postpartum Depression

Is it possible for a man to have postpartum depression? Because I think that I have it now that my third novel is done. I found some causes of real postpartum and I have simply taken out the word baby and replaced it with book, and the word mother with the word writer.

• Tired after delivery
• Tired from a lack of sleep or broken sleep
• Overwhelmed with a new book
• Doubts about your ability to be a good writer
• Stress from changes in work and home routines
• An unrealistic need to be a perfect writer
• Loss of who you were before writing the book
• Less attractive
• A lack of free time

Add in the atrocious butt stink from sitting in the same chair night after night for a month and the fear of wearing pants again and you have what I have now. All of the rest of the symptoms are pretty much spot on, especially the second to last one. They say it goes away in time and with professional help, but since I haven’t sold anything I don’t have the money for a shrink. Hopefully once I start another pregnancy I will get over the last one.

Mumbo Jumbo

Linwood Martin and his wife Betty met in college. Linwood was incredibly bright, as was Betty. They were the top in their class in a school where over achieving was the rule, not the exception. As young couples often do, they met, dated for fun at first and then for marriage. To say that their courtship was not a movie script would be an incredible understatement. It consisted of long bouts of intense study sessions capped off by a trip to the theatre or out to dinner, Dutch treat of course. Compatibility and mutual interests were of much higher importance than the more mundane ideas like love and attraction. On the day of their nuptials Linwood’s dumber, but way more fun, brother Jackie remarked that they might as well be married in a test tube. Their union was as cold and bucolic as their calculations.

Both continued their battle to the top of their respective fields; Betty being absorbed in sub atomic theory and Linwood totally engrossed in molecular biology. As is the case in those disciplines, the eventual destination is to teach others what it is that you have tried so hard to understand yourself. Thus both became professors at their alma mater.

Most that knew them agreed that it must have been at the yearly faculty mixer that Howard Hoffman Osgood Martin was conceived, well if not at the function itself then shortly after. Both of the straight laced educators consumed twice the alcoholic volume that their blood could handle, thus sending them into behavior as foreign to them as hygiene is to a Frenchman. Betty became what she had always secretly dreamed of being; a femme fatale. She unbuttoned her frumpy blouse and teased out her customary bun into a hairstyle that the most brazen pole dancer would have been envious of. She laughed wildly and hung at the necks of one terrified victim after another, her sickly sweet breath blowing dangerously in their shocked faces. Martin also morphed into the man that he had always longed to become as well: he was actually interesting. He spoke warmly and at length about subjects that dazzled his listeners. Those that knew him without the social lubricant found him an utter bore and were befuddled by the gargantuan change that had come over the normally subdued stiff. His only fault was that he prefaced each conversation with the molecular biological zinger, “These two amoebas walk into a bar.”

Long story short, the gestation period for a reasonably healthy human woman is roughly nine months. Betty, a few weeks after her drunken flirtations and the subsequent apologies began to feel rather odd. Changes were racking her normally rugged Bavarian frame and the bathroom just off of the faculty lounge would never be the same. A trip to the doctor’s office, filling a cup, getting the inevitable news, and passing out from it, followed in that order. Nature jumped up into the driver’s seat and several foot swelling, banana and pickle sandwich eating months later the aforementioned Howard Hoffman Osgood Martin pried his way from his sedated mother’s womb.

If I may take just a moment to explain the unfortunate Howard Hoffman Osgood Martin’s name I will do so now. His father, having agonized for many nights and most weekends had received a bolt of lightning from the sky one evening as he toiled mightily with an experiment using distilled vapors. He saw it there on the table and the sheer magnitude of its brilliance came to him. He thudded his head heavily with his hands, wondering why he hadn’t thought of it before then. After all it was his favorite chemical formula and it just happened to be the basis of all life on earth. Since his wife and he had begun the life giving process themselves, it was only fitting that his first son be named for it. You see, sitting on that fateful table was a bottle of liquid that contained the simple combination of two parts hydrogen and one part oxygen. We know it as water, but science is acquainted with it as H2O.

For Betty the birth was reasonably simple, the gigantic needle that had been shoved into her spinal cord had seen to that.  The bevy of post partum narcotics kept her in much the same state that she had been in on the night of his conception. The father however, was an absolute mess and needed finally to be removed from the birthing room for his own good and the sanity of the attending physician.

Things were good for the small family at first. Betty took a short leave of absence to sober up and Linwood moved his laboratory to the garage out back in order to be there if any emergency should arrive. Their most organic creation to date consumed them as it does most first time parents and their universe began to revolve around the upstairs nursery. Surprisingly, both were excellent parents, attentive and supportive, if not a bit neurotic. H2O’s development was text book. As a matter of fact his cognitive growth appeared to be off the charts. The child psychologist that his parents took him to at six months confirmed that fact.

They appeared to have made another highly intelligent being with their accidental coupling. H2O excelled in puzzles and games. He was far ahead of other babies his age when it came to matters of the mind. It was about the age of one that things began to take a turn though. When other children are beginning to walk and talk, young H2O was doing neither. He scooted around the floor on all fours for much longer than was normal, it being close to his second birthday when he took his first step. To the disappointed parents, that wasn’t the worst part. He still was outpacing all of the other toddlers at the preschool that had agreed to admit him even though he was way younger than their other charges. He was doing math that a second grader tackled when he was two and a half. He was writing in cursive letters soon after. He played the piano that his mother and father had bought him brilliantly already. He even was a reasonably skilled artist and painter.

The one thing that caused his parents much grief was when they spoke to him. Instead of answering them as the other less gifted children did their parents, H2O would run off a string of gibberish that was unintelligible. He had begun that pattern around ten months of age and he had continued it. He had not improved at all in his mastery of the English language, If anything he had gotten worse. He even wrote his crazy language in perfect cursive, but no one was able to understand it in the least.

The years that followed were a never ending search for the key to young H20’s communication issues. His concerned parents saw one speech therapist after another. Each of them assured them that he would be cured with a minimal amount of time and expense being involved. After a rather large outlay of both they could do nothing but admit defeat. After each successive failure poor Betty would retreat deep into a pitiable cocoon of shame. She refused to accept her son as he was. His father on the other hand, had learned his rudimentary verbal communication and could speak the queer language quite fluently. Secretly he didn’t care if he and his son ever shared a conversation with in his native tongue; he actually enjoyed the gibberish more.

On or about the boy’s tenth birthday, after another terrible failure by an infallible therapist, Betty called it quits. There would be no more money and effort spent on teaching their son what he would not learn. She was convinced that he knew how to speak to them all along but he just refused to do so. H20’s father held no such grudge against his son and had endeavored to accept him as he was. Besides, there were much more important things in life besides talking someone’s ear off all of the time. Silence and brevity were commodities in short supply in the information age.

It was when his parents had settled in to their own way of dealing with their son’s eccentricity when an amazing thing happened. Professor N’golo Nobutu, visiting fellow from the far away island of Mac’boing’boing came to teach for the summer at the college that employed the elder Martins. He was a gifted field biologist and teacher. He and his wife were settling in nicely to their new academic mission when Professor Martin thought it the hospitable thing to do and invited them to dinner one Saturday evening. Betty was informed, and after much grumbling, the meal had been prepared and the family waited eagerly for their guests to arrive. At precisely the agreed upon time the doorbell chimed thrice. H20 was enlisted as doorman and he politely showed the way in and took their coats and hats from them.

“Professor, we are so pleased that you and your lovely wife could join us for dinner. It is not often that we get such good company. Betty and I are always excited to meet those of a culture so different than our own,” Doctor Martin said as he shook the big man’s hand firmly.

“It is our pleasure Doctor Martin. We thank you from the tips of our skirts for your hospitality. May your blood run true in the veins of your progeny forever. That may seem a bit odd to you but it sounds much better in our own language,” the affable teacher laughed.

“Well then, if you don’t mind, why don’t you say it in Mac’boing’boingese?” his host suggested.

“Gooby do ruto do goomba dada sloomba. Go rumba doodabi doo dinko,” his guest replied in perfect Mac’boing’boingese.

“Su tomba do leeki day dunki so lunkee so mungee,” Howard Hoffman Osgood Martin replied clearly to the salutation, to the great surprise of the Nobutus.

To the much greater shock of his parents the three of them began to prattle on back and forth for a good while. They laughed and joked and were having a most engaging conversation in a language that both of them up until then had thought was gibberish. H20 never learned to speak English, but he never had to. On his eighteenth birthday, the day that he received his first PhD in particle physics he moved to the island of Mac’boing,boing. He later became a father twelve times over and spends most of his days fishing. Indeed his blood ran true in the veins of his progeny. His parents have since learned his language fluently and became deans of their respective school at the university of Mac’boing’boing. He is still best friends with Professor N’golo Nobutu to this day.

Angel of Death teaser..

Alex had been waiting for hours.  Clad all in black, he was invisible.  The curtains rustled slightly from a breeze that had interrupted the stillness of the night beyond the second story window where he now sat.  There was a storm coming in. The room would have been festive in the day light; toys and books were spread willy nilly from one end to the other.  Posters of several different cartoon princesses preened in their designated spots on the brightly colored walls. At the moment though, all was as black as pitch.  Even the tiny light bulb that usually served as the last defense against a monster attack had been disabled by the brooding man that sat silently, a toothpick jutting at an angle from his lips.  The room smelled faintly of cinnamon.

Alex could wait.  Like every other big game hunter, a good portion of his life was spent waiting.  He chewed absently on his toothpick, his mind never wandering for a moment from the task at hand.  He matched the rhythmic breathing of the little girl who lay asleep across the room from him.  He hoped that there would be no incident. He didn’t like incidents; he would have to scrub for an extra half hour later if things had to get messy.

He glanced quickly at the luminescent dial of his wrist watch; it read three thirty. Last call had been announced at the Lamplighter by now and Bill Marcum would be on his way home.  He wasn’t sure why he had gotten here so early since he knew Mr. Marcum’s movements as well as he knew his own.  Bill would be stumbling in any minute, drunk as the proverbial pole cat.  He would come directly to this room, shuffle to his daughter’s bed and wake her.  He would whisper his whiskey laden speech to her, the sickly sweet stench of his excess pouring from his body. She would lay still and nod.  Then he would touch her and her skin would go cold and prickly.  Then she would switch off and run to somewhere in her twelve year old mind; somewhere sweet and lovely where the princesses took her gently by the hand.  He would invade her and terrorize her, but she would never know it.

Alex glanced again at his standard issue watch; it read three thirty five. At that instant a key fumbled in the lock of the front door, was eventually placed, and Bill Marcum shambled into his home.  He stomped to the kitchen, opened then closed the refrigerator.  Alex heard the tell tale sigh of a fresh beer being uncorked.  Alex’s fingers crept to the twin nine millimeter pistols that were slung at his sides, his arms crossing as he gripped the smooth rubber handles. Bill was now slowly traversing the stairs, uttering a quiet curse as he tripped on every third one. Soon the door of the child’s room swung open and Alex could smell his quarry.

The drunken man flipped the light switch by the door several times before giving up. He was now kneeling by the girl’s bed, his arms outstretched, feeling for the helpless child.  Her steady breathing was unabated.

“She really is a beautiful girl,” Alex began, his voice like the crack of a rifle to the utterly surprised man who now stared wildly into the darkness.  The drunk’s gut was twisting into sour dough as lightning strikes of fear gripped him. He felt that he would reverse his night’s intake at any moment.

“I sincerely wish that I didn’t have to be here this evening.  Unfortunately, your actions have put the wheels in motion. A complaint was lodged with us on March the third of last month, and a thorough investigation into your conduct has been finalized. Your offenses have been recorded and are now being acted upon. Thusly I must now advise you of your rights,” Alex continued, trying his best to keep his emotions under control.  There was a part of him that wanted to rip the spine from this abomination that was now frozen to the child’s bedside.  Bill Marcum would receive his due process though, the law must be served.

“As a duly appointed officer of the United States government, I hereby advise you that your life will be terminated this night, in accordance with statute 123-12b of the Marital Enforcement Act.  Your wonton disregard of said act has placed you in this jeopardy.  Signed affidavits by Mrs. William Marcum, as well as conduct witnessed by myself have been duly sworn to the Council of Marital Affairs.  This governing body has issued the writ of your termination this third day of April two thousand twenty three,” Alex knew this speech by heart.  He need only remember which name to put upon the dotted line of the documents that were tucked neatly inside his vest pocket.

“Now, my duty has been done. If you will accompany me down stairs I will need your signature on some forms before we can proceed,” Alex said, then slowly rose to his feet.  His arms were still crossed, his hands in contact with the gun butts. Bill Marcum’s liquor soaked brain now began to understand what the voice in the dark had been saying. This was always the most dangerous time; the moment when the mind tells the body to fight or flee.

“Mr. Marcum, I advise you to cooperate,” Alex said between gritted teeth, “I can finish this without your signature, but I would rather not have your grey matter sprayed all over this lovely girl’s duvet cover.  The extraction team gets so upset when they have to clean up brains, and I would rather not have them up here this evening.”

This contrived speech was enough to resign the sobering man to his fate.  He inched his way back toward the hall and slowly made his way down the stairs into the kitchen.  Alex followed, still wary, but now his hands swung freely at his sides. He motioned for the man to sit at the table.  Alex took a seat across from him.  It was now time for the confession; Alex knew the signs of acceptance all too well.  Soon there would be tears and begging, and Alex would throw him one final chance at redemption. To his surprise, the man just sat there picking absentmindedly at the fruit bowl in front of him. Alex couldn’t tell if he was deep in thought or just too inebriated to care.

“I deserve this,” Marcum said, “I knew it was wrong, everything that I done I knew was wrong. I could blame it on the drink or the way I was raised, but that’s a cop out.”

This was not the normal beginning for the confession, but a good start none the less.  Alex sat still waiting for the man to continue.  He was now father confessor, as there was not a real priest handy, and he would be the last person that Bill Marcum would ever talk to.  It was time now for Alex’s standard gesture; he slipped his guns from their shoulder holsters and placed them gently on the table.  He wasn’t sure why he always did that.  Perhaps it was to show them that he was disarmed and they could continue with what they had to say.  Maybe it was to remind them to get it all out because their time was up. Either way, Bill took the hint.

“I knew that it would come to this, but I’m just so weak. I remember the times when I would hate myself for doing what I did, and I would swear that I would never step foot back in this house to keep them safe from me.  But I just kept on. Tina should have turned me in a long time ago,” he paused after blaming his wife, a hint of bitterness in his voice, “No, she didn’t do anything wrong. She took my foolishness for way too long.  I just hope that they can forgive me someday.”

The doomed man now trailed off into a fit of tears.  Alex knew that they were as much for himself as for his deplorable actions to the innocents now asleep upstairs.  He slipped an official looking document from his vest pocket, and spread it out on the table. He fished a black box from the opposite pocket and laid it beside the paper.  It had a small screen that blinked “Signature” and bore a dotted line with an X at the beginning.

“Now Mr. Marcum if you would please sign the pad there and initial next to the highlighted areas on the document,” Alex continued, now resuming his business-like manner.  He pressed a shiny stylus into the man’s trembling hands. Bill did as he was instructed.

“Mr. Marcum I am going to offer you something that I have done personally.  My office knows nothing of this, as it is not standard protocol.  I have here letters that have been written in your handwriting.  One will be left on the lamp stand next to your wife; the other in your daughter’s room.  They both will express how sorry you are for the pain that you have caused them, and will explain why you have left them and will not be returning. They will only be aware of your absence and will never know of your termination,” Alex continued, now unfolding the two letters and handing them to the puzzled man across from him.  He took them and read over both of them slowly, his head nodding slightly as he agreed with what was written.  Upon finishing, he signed both of them at the bottom and handed them gingerly back to Alex.

“Thank you for that, officer. I couldn’t have said it better myself” he said, now a peaceful smile spreading across his face. “Just one thing though, can I at least know your name before you do me in?”

“My name is Igor Bagdonovich,” Alex lied, staring the man squarely in the eyes.

“Bill, you know you deserve an agonizing death for the harm that you have caused, don’t you?” Alex asked, still holding the man in his gaze. Bill slowly nodded his head, as his fear now rose steadily in him.

“But since you admitted you were wrong and were willing to try to make amends, I will kill you as quickly and painlessly as I can,” Alex said, his voice pitched in an almost sorrowful tone. He gathered up the papers and returned them to his pocket.  He reached inside his vest and pulled a large hypodermic from the lining.

“I only reserve this certain chemical to those that I deem truly deserve it.  You will feel warmth, then drowsiness, and then you will fall to sleep.  I have no delight in taking your life, I hope you understand that,” Alex finished.  He uncapped the large needle, held it erect, and tapped all of the air out of the syringe, expelling it in a with a tiny stream  of the liquid from the needle’s tip.  He motioned for Bill to extend his arm with a slight beckoning of his finger tips.  The doomed man complied.

Alex, as he always did, sat there in silence as Bill Marcum breathed his last.  He replaced the needle, as well as his guns, checked the dead man’s jugular for any sign of life, and then slowly walked toward the door.  The extraction team would be along shortly.

He climbed the stairs once more and entered the master bedroom, leaving Tina Marcum’s note on the bed side table.  He then quietly crossed the hall to the girl’s room.  He placed her father’s last correspondence to her beside her on the bed. He gently bent over and stroked her silky brown hair, then softly kissed her on the cheek.

“I’m sorry for what I have taken from you,” he whispered in her ear.  He knew that she would not hear him, since the sleeping gas would not wear off from her or her mother for hours. With tears in his eyes, Alex turned and left the girl purring in her sleep.

Found a contest to enter. Its the “Dear lucky reader” contest at the Guide to Literary Agents blog. This time its for YA/ Sci-fi, and you get a critique of your work if you win.

Yesterday

I wrote this poem after reading about Green Day’s bass player and his birth mothers battle with heroin. He never met her until shortly before she died.

My mother died there on the floor

And we met just the day before.

Had we loved, would I have known

I had her there for all my own.

But time befalls the strongest clown

And burns their houses to the ground

Left alone, nothing more to be

Questioned the blood inside of me

That sanguine mass, the life giving force

It guides me reckless through my course

And shapes me strong and weak each day

And sends me moaning on my way

The needles prick brought her more joy

Than the newfound voice of her baby boy

Then all was lost to time and toil

To lovers claimed by my turmoil.

My life became a quest of proof

To see myself became aloof

Until the day forever more

That I saw her lying on the floor.

The Duden Carslee Chronicles Chapter 2

Lord Cobalt sat alone.  His giant metal frame glowed red hot as he lounged in a pool of boiling lava. His mood was as dark as the stone cavern that housed his bath. Millions of tiny glowing creatures clung desperately to the ceiling lighting the room from above with an ethereal green glow.  On occasion their waste rained down causing a shower of emerald sparks as it fell.

His mind wandered as his joints began to free themselves from the atrophy that the outside world had caused. As always his thoughts meandered to the one that he loved.  How was she getting along without his protection? How long had it been since he had held her in his arms, singing softly to her in the pale morning light? Would she even remember him if they should meet someday? All of his longings were fixed upon her; she the one he had loved so dearly and lost.

His daydreams were soon interrupted by a stirring in the room opposite his chamber.  He could tell by the sliding of feet across the cold stone floor that Baron Malgorium, one of his most trusted advisors, was paying him his daily visit.  Apart from being one of the most devious beings that he knew, Malgorium was a brilliant scientist.

“Good day to you my Lord,” the stooped, shuffling creature said “I have some wonderful news to brighten your path today.”

“Well that certainly is a change from your normal gloomy self, Baron,” replied the Lord. “Stealing candy from helpless infants again?” he said, needling the much smaller creature that stood before him with his usual sly smile on his yellow tinged face. Cobalt loved to point out the ugly side of the Baron whenever he could. He was careful not to go too far though, since he needed the special talents of his counselor.

“Oh no, a great breakthrough, my Lord, a monumental success!”  He said, a true smile now spreading wide across his gnarled face. “The Seekers are done at last and I was busy last night bombarding Melodonia with them. My new upgrades should prove quite hard to defend against.  Finally, with a little luck, those blasted howlers will be silenced.”

The Baron rubbed his misshapen hands together, a habit that usually irritated Lord Cobalt to no end, but today he was forgiven any of his little ticks. The Lord was elated. It had been so long since the Seeker program had gone into production and had born no results.  There had to be some security force on the planet that was protecting those worthless lumps of stone.  Perhaps the new improved model would prove overwhelming to this protection and, at long last, his people could return to their home planet.

“Let’s just hope that it is successful this time.  I am tired of taking valuable resources from other projects to fund this one. Your failures in the past have pushed all of us to the brink of extinction.” the Lord said, taking the edge off of the Baron’s smug demeanor. His eyes now flashed cold at his master and he recoiled like a dog that has been punished too severely.

“If my Lord will remember correctly,” started the Baron, now on the defensive and looking for any way to counter his Lord’s criticism, “He was the one that closed the public baths to the commoners. He was the one that ordered the use of force to protect our shrinking hot spots from further use. Now he sits alone in one the last boiling pools as others harden in the streets.”

“I don’t understand this insolence!” the Lord bellowed as he rose forcefully from his bath. His skin now hardened instinctively into an armored, blue body that grew taller and wider as he strode menacingly from his bath toward his accuser.  Baron Malgorium knew at once that he had crossed the line and began to back pedal out of the cavern into the great hall beyond.  The once mellow countenance of the blue metal giant was hard set and ugly, his jaws clenched tight as he ground his shiny teeth together in his rage.

“You will remember your place or you will be melted down for scrap. Don’t think that your successes give you the right to question my decisions. My reasons for my actions are my own and I will not have some sniveling peon question them,” the lord continued, his temper now completely out of check.  His frustration at the plight of his people was now boiling over into rage. He knew all too well that he had condemned many to death by closing the lava pools.  He had watched as his people stood hard and grey where they took their last steps, but hard times call for hard actions and the pools were badly needed to forge the Seeker units that may save them all. The Barons ineffective designs had really been the death of so many that he had once called his friends.

“A million and one pardons My Lord,” the cowering creature shrieked, now bent double with his hands covering his head. “I meant no disrespect Lord, none my master.”

Cobalt strode over to the prostrate Baron and, to his surprise, put his large hands on his slumped shoulders.  Cobalt gently helped the smaller form to its feet then softly raised his terrified face to meet his own.  The lord now held out his index finger and it reformed into a sharp point. With the point he now carved an insignia into the hard bronze skin of the Baron.

“Do you know what this sign means, my servant?” the lord asked in a sincere voice.

“Oh yes, My Lord, yes.  A million and one thanks My Lord.  I will ever be your servant,” the Baron replied, his defective hand now placed over the insignia. It was the highest honor that any Paladonian could have bestowed upon them and it meant that he had performed a life saving service to his people.

“I am confident that your new design will be a success. Soon we will begin the crossing back to Benalexia and we all will have you to thank for it.  You have your faults, my cunning Baron, but I would be a much smaller person without you,” the lord said, looking his diminutive companion in the eye. “You may use my personal bath if you would like. If your plan goes as I foresee it, you will be my right hand from now on.”

The Baron shuffled off to the chamber beyond for his reward as Lord Cobalt crossed the room to a large lounge that dominated the space. He sat down lightly, his heart now beating full force with a renewed hope.  Soon he would have his revenge on Metamorphos, soon he would see his love again.

The Duden Carslee Chronicles- Chapter 1

The clear, starless night was slowly giving way to day. The three oval outlines of three small planets that orbited this large one were clearly visible at various points in the night sky. Not a sound and barely a breath of wind graced the emptiness. Soon the oppressive heat radiating from the large yellow sun would wipe away all memory of the cool darkness. As the light streamed in upon the landscape, the stark, nakedness of the land could be seen. No plants or animals stirred among the sandy, parched soil that blanketed the ground. Boulders the size of giant’s fists lay strewn about at haphazard intervals. This truly was a bleak and depressing place.
That is not to say that there was nothing there. Lying stark still atop a large flat stone, barely visible to even the sharpest eyes, was a girl. Not a girl of flesh and blood like you and me, but a girl of great beauty and power, with skin that glistened like the sharpened edge of a knife. She was not too tall, perhaps the same height as you are, with hair short and shimmering, that pointed to many places at once. Her face was erect, her chin resting gently on the rock’s smooth surface, her sparkling, diamond faceted eyes fixed eagerly on the horizon.
She was not alone either. To her left lay what appeared to be a dark, hairy stone the size of a beach ball. This creature swayed slightly this way and that, and constantly a low rumble could be heard coming from somewhere inside it. Directly behind them lay a large pile of stones.
They were obviously looking for something, something just there below them in the loose soil. Soon the earth in front of them began to quake slightly, and then bubble, like a diver blowing air to the water’s surface. The girl became tense, her skin turning from smooth, shimmering flesh into hard, armored scales. The thing beside her became silent and still. Right below them something was emerging from the hole in the ground. First a large, pink tongue protruded out the bubbling sand. If you looked real close you could see several large eyes on the very tip of the forked appendage. The creature underneath was testing to see if any danger lurked on the outside. It repeated this procedure several times, and then slowly began to push its way clear of its hiding place.
A pointed, snake-like head gave way to a sleek, dark, torso with skin that was crusted in what appeared to be jewels on its rough exterior. It stood on four legs, each tipped with three razor sharp claws in the front with two protruding from the rear of its large feet. Its long, swishing tale came to a dangerous, metal tipped spike. It had no eyes but the several on the end of its forked tongue.
This was the creature that the girl had been sent here to find. Without a second’s hesitation, she sprung to her feet and leaped head first from her perch atop the rocks. As she flew toward the creature, her once beautiful exterior had changed. Her fingers, once graceful and elegant, grew and shaped themselves into terrible instruments of destruction. They had grown several times their normal size and were as sharp as scythes. Her unkempt hair now created a helmet of nasty spikes atop her head, and her multi-faceted eyes now burned red hot with rage.
She glided swiftly past her opponent, striking deftly at its tongue that flashed out at her in its surprise. With one swift turn of her wrist, the pink, wriggling mass lay severed from its host. The loss of this important limb sent the creature into a rage, it lashing its tail in all directions, circling and striking at anything and everything. Its wicked tail sailed close to the girl as she leaped backwards, somersaulting away to give herself from space from the wildly churning beast. Blind and frightened the beast settled back on its haunches, turned slowly around, and belched an orange plume of acid and heat from its gaping maw. This muck coated everything in its path and the earth sizzled and smoked in a large swath as it turned counter clockwise. Caught by surprise by the spewing monster, she had to back flip several times to escape a soaking by the creature. She quickly wiped the sizzling juice off of her legs where it had splashed up and was foaming and bubbling.
With its reserve of acid spent, the beast became calm. It now began to moan, quietly at first, then louder, and louder, until the air was filled with its shrill alarm. The girl was taken aback by this at first, but now mounted a charge at the creature, her right arm turning from a blade to a sharpened spike as long as her forearm. She took a run, jumped over the moat of acid on the ground, turned a tight somersault in the air, and landed squarely atop the creatures back between its front legs. Its death was quick as her spike hit home between its shoulder blades, shattering its spine into pieces. She pushed off hard with her hands, swung her legs up over her head and behind her like a gymnast on a balance beam, and dismounted the dead monster.
With a look of triumph on her now glossy face, she turned away from her prostrate foe. Her triumphant look soon changed, as simultaneously a half dozen more creatures shot out of the sand in every direction. They hemmed her in on every side, their bulbous eyes studying her intently. They began to slowly circle her at a safe distance. With an unspoken signal, they all began to close the space between them, hissing and spitting as they came in for the kill. The girl’s defenses were now up and her weapons at the ready. She had never faced so many at one time, but she would not back down from these devils even when so badly outnumbered.
She backed up a few paces, dashed forward, and began her tumbling run at the monster directly in front of her. This time the beast was ready for her strike and she sailed harmlessly past, missing her objective by inches. As she spun on her left foot to face her foe, the pointed tail slashed her leg from beneath her and she fell, rolled to the ground and was immediately pinned to the earth by the massive front paws of the creature. Its breath hissed foul in her face as she tried to wrench herself free, but the great monster had her totally under his power. To her surprise, though, the killing blow did not land, as a matter of fact, the creature seemed to be examining her with his writhing tongue. Its breath wheezed in and out through its dripping nostrils, blowing her hair back with each breath. It then began to snuffle her, its tongue flicking her from head to foot.
It was then that the girl felt a deep rumbling in the earth. The ground began to quake wildly about her as waves of deep, pulsing sound ripped through her surroundings. The creature to her right shot a wild look upward as a huge pile of rock smashed down upon him, crushing him underneath its bulk. The ground rocked violently as the mass thudded heavily down. What appeared to be two pillars of stones thrust up from beneath the heap, forming two solid legs that supported a large, boulder like torso. Massive arms tipped with gravel studded fists the size of manhole covers grew out of its thick frame. Its stony face popped up between its wide shoulders, its chiseled jaw etched into a triumphant grin.
“Thought you could use a little help,” he said, in a voice that sounded like someone beating on a large bass drum. He laughed in his rich, deep tone then grabbed the tail of the creature that had the girl pinned. He lifted it effortlessly, whipped it over his head, and hammered it down with immense force upon the creature next to it, both of the bodies melding into one mass of twisted flesh.
Free from her captor, the girl was up in an instant, and charging back into the battle, her teeth gritted in anger. She was quite embarrassed that she had been saved by her companion and wished to exact her revenge on the monsters who were now charging the both of them. This time she decided on a new tactic. Running at full speed she slid between the bowed legs of the beast like a baseball player stealing home. As she glided underneath its protruding belly her hands became hook blades, ripping the soft tissue beneath to shreds. She came to a stop, quickly rolling out from under the beast as it fell dead to earth.
“Heads up!” her companion roared, snatching his large, stony head from his shoulders and hurling it swiftly at the oncoming opponent. It smashed heavily down, splintering flesh and bone. The earth shook as he ran to retrieve his projectile, his mouth still fixed in a devilish grin.
“I never get tired of that one,” he bellowed, now giggling wildly.
The girl saw no amusement what so ever in the scene though, she was too busy dispatching the last of the creatures in some gruesome way or another. Seven large lumps of dead flesh lay strewn about the place as the pair, exhausted from the rush of battle, sat down together on a large outcropping.
“I have never seen so many at one time. Matter of fact, we have never faced more than one at a time. I know we saw many plumes of dust last night after the meteor shower, but I never would have guessed that there would have been so many,” remarked the giant.
“Yeah, I don’t understand that alarm either. They have never done anything like that before,” the girl said, her chin thrust down as she was deep in thought.
“I wish we knew where they came from and why they seem to be attracted to the wastes that are so close to the North Mountain’s base,” she continued.
“All I know,” her friend added, “Is that if there were too many more of them we would have needed more help. I am just a neophyte after all, and not much good to anyone.”
“Pish posh,” the girl replied, irritated “You saved me this time, didn’t you? Without you I would have been a goner. Strange thing though; when that thing had me down and could have done me in, he stopped. It was snuffling me and appeared to be confused about what to do next. I really don’t understand it. It was pretty scary. I have never given one the chance to be that close to me before.”
“And I would prefer that they not get that close again,” the stony giant chuckled, giving his companion a gentle nudge that toppled her over. She quickly righted herself, brushing the dirt from her behind. The pair turned their attention to the north, and began to walk swiftly away.
“Hey we almost forgot Delmo. Come on Delmo!” the girl yelled behind them. A large spiky furred ball began rolling toward them like a tumbleweed caught in a windstorm. A deep constant hum came from its core as it rolled merrily after them. The friends would have to travel all night to get home.