Hello. I just joined the forum so greetings to all. I was hoping to gather some criticism for a story I've been working on. It's called "A Universe At War Volume One: The Truly Fictitious Twenty-First Century Tales of Truant D. Memphis or My Life As An S.U.V." It's a lot of nonsense and just playing with words and religous/spiritual concepts. Here's the prologue. Your Universe is so vast. How often do you stop to consider its grandness? How often do you consider that right next to yours lays another just as grand, and next to it another, and so on? They are constantly at war with one another. At war over time, and space, and simply because chaos insists that forever peace is unattainable. When your Universe went to war with the other one, it was like nothing anyone had ever seen before, and no one had. To that end, no one sees it right now. Except me. I was chosen to bare witness. I alone, and to this second I have no idea why. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. Over infinite moments I have pathed those lines of thinking, and will spare you their twists and turns that all lead to the same answer, no answer at all. Luckily, recording the annals to the War of all Wars is a task requiring your greatest attention, allowing little time to lament over one’s personal predicament. Time has taken my name, with no one here to call it out or ask of it, and the war has taken my home. I could look back to remind myself of both, but doing so would ignore my task, and renew long lost emotions time mercifully took away as well. The war itself, as I said, remains unseen. The combatants are participants both willing and not, lost in their worlds and lives, like a cell, the most basic piece of the soft tissued Humans. It goes about its business doing its job in spite of itself, just as the Soldiers of the Universal. The Humans themselves, and others close to them, have no idea the importance many of them play, yet they can be fierce. If the Human cell is the being’s fundamental organism, so it is for the Universe as well. Imagine their planet, Urth, functioning as a cell in the big toe of a Universe that walks and talks just as the Humans. Imagine your Universe as a physical being structured of smaller organisms all working together just like your own bodies, for this is how the Universe behaves, only without form. The Humans, and all the other inhabitants of all the other planets of their realm, find themselves oft riddled by one binding question with two parts: Where do we come from? Where do we go? Even those who choose to ignore seeking any answer to the question can not escape their life without the question being posed. The answer lies within itself. They are in and of the “God” they seek, refute, or refuse to ponder at all. They are the Universe, and their ascension, descension, or lack of either is a concept whose soul purpose is to perpetuate the War. So there it is. The War. Welcome to its recording. You hold before you a chapter from the Big Black Book itself, written by another left in much the same position as I. I would like whoever finds this to meet a few of my favorite soldiers, one in particular, and this human tells the tale well. So, as I sit in the Oververse, in this empty palace, and count the lost souls one by one, two of our youngest forces battle for our Master’s attention; such unnecessary loss. All those soldiers…all of us, all the beings, the creatures, the planets, the galaxies, all of the Universes; we’re all just fish in His tank.
Okay, no criticism so far but I didn't put much out there so, here is the next part. This is a second opening or "prelude". It is intended to be silly, to have a very short book with a prologue, prelude, interlude, postlude, and epilogue, but it might just be dumb. Truant lay wide awake, But his eyes were full of dreams. Flat on his back, His dreams were full of stars. Prelude Oh that dear boy. He’s never had to explain himself to me, but he knows that, and he never has. The day he left he came to see me and say goodbye. I couldn’t bare the idea of him leaving, but reality is someone else’s design. He had earned his name the honest way, and I always knew it was leaving he would do. I kept my sentiment to myself however, because things already known are often left best unsaid. I asked him to be careful, and to at least try and keep in touch. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll write you constantly. You’re my window to the world everyone else sees, that I can’t seem to understand. I’ll be your window to the world it seems only I can see. I’ll be fields full of grassy breeze, and you’ll be an S.U.V.” He was an odd boy, and a bit of a smart ass, but he knew I loved it. It was true however. My life had basically become one of a sport utility vehicle for those around me. Shuttling here and there and tending to the needs of schedules for those who held their lease on me. The boy however, never wanted anything but to sit with me, and to talk. If I had been younger I might have gone with him. The desire to run has made itself known in my heart from time to time, but, I probably would have been too scared. Truant was a late child born into a large family. By the time he came along, child rearing had become old hat to his parents. They were approaching mid-life and already at crisis. They had six other children born of their free-love ways who were already testing the waters of adulthood, and Truant had been unexpected to say the least. He was magnificent to say just a little more. His parent’s mid-life crisis had brought about a renaissance of their days with flowers in fields. When they had walked and talked like hippies, and lived with others who smelled the same way. They had decided to let their newest child earn his own name. For well over a year he was just “the boy”. Truant’s siblings thought their parents had lost their damn minds, and to know them I must say it wasn’t far from the truth. But, they were crazy in a good way, and had been for as long as I knew them. Eventually, the boy’s nature gave way to a name, just as they’d hoped it would. From the time the little booger could crawl, no one ever knew where he was. Turn you head and the rascal disappeared. Whenever they found him, wherever he was, he was always smiling and laughing like it was the greatest game ever played, hence the name, Truant Delighted Memphis. Unfortunately, his parents would not remain to see the man he would become. They passed early, taken from us in an accident that makes his little S.U.V. remark a touch more painful than he would intend. Truant, while intelligent beyond his years was a poor student. His mind was not made for the sort of knowledge you gain in schools, and when his parents were taken from him, so too were the tethers that would have kept his restless heart at bay. When the tears were gone, so was his ability to stay still. He held off as long as he could, but at age sixteen he left school, and he struck out for the world, course unknown. I don’t know why he chose me. Because of their other children’s age when the boy had arrived, and in accordance with their hippy ways, his parents had left an interesting provision in their will. It gave Truant his choice between me and one of his older brothers or sisters to live with. Truly I loved the boy, mostly from the first time I met him, but that was as common as people being born with noses. Everyone loved him, save for those whose hearts were born of dark places, and a light like Truant could do nothing but make those unfortunates uncomfortable. I don’t know what I did to deserve such love, but trying to figure that out doesn’t make losing him to the rest of the world any easier. You can’t set an example if no one is listening or watching. So I listen and I wait, and I tell the stories he tells me. Truant doesn’t possess enough vanity to recognize the example he is setting, but I am old enough to see it. I write to him whenever he settles long enough for a letter to reach him, and we email when he finds himself near a computer, but I must admit I find it to be the coldest form of communicae yet. I share his travels with his siblings. They love him and they miss him, but their lives were well on their way to established before the boy came along. They did not know how to deal with him, even though they all knew he was special. Of the four sisters and two brothers, only one had been within twenty years of Truant, and she had been lost with his parents. The morning of the crash, the rescue workers found Truant in the back seat, safely wrapped in her arms.
Here's the next bit of nonsense. This is actually one of the sections I'm the least confident about. Dear Pooter, (One time, once, in as ladylike a fashion as possible the boy catches me in a moment of natural happening and forever this would be his name for me, the little stinker.) I’ve just returned from the future and met an Angel. The future was very wet. Oh, I suggest you start saving American Flags. They’re going to be collector’s items. As for the Angel? Well to be honest, he’s a little full of himself, but I like him anyways. I hope the car is running well and gas isn’t too high. My legs still work just fine. Ha! I wish I had more time but I’ve got to cut this one short; I’ve got work to do! Tell the kids I love ‘em. Love, Tru 1 Trelion the Great Truant woke in the middle of a large field. The morning dew was at his back and a cool rain splashed his face. He had absolutely no idea where he was, but it was warm, and he enjoyed waking to the cool shower. He opened his eyes to see a blue sky with big puffy disconnected clouds that were white as a dentist’s teeth, and searched to find which one had actually let loose the rain. All he found however was a rainbow, and it brought a smile to his face. “Well how often does a body get to wake up to that,” he thought, and it removed all contemplation of where he was or how he had come to be there. By all accounts he knew it had been at least a year since he left Texas; his conflicted native state. There had been a birthday along the way, and he had noticed his pants getting shorter. To his own estimation, he was tall enough as it was. He was in fact, a thin but strong six foot two inches in height, and handsome. His eyes were a cool gray, which sometimes shown blue if he were in a given mood, and his hair was dark and wispy, but full on his head. Not having any idea where he was he decided to follow the sun, so he would have more time to come upon something if it lay in his way before dark. As the grogginess crept away he began to remember. He caught glimpses of Curtis Gout and his filling station in his mind’s eye, which seemed to sit on the edge of existence, where few travelers in vehicles would pass, and the portal. Yes the portal. Wow. That had caught him off guard. Although he did not know it, Truant headed west through rural Indiana. The land was flat, and though he passed through some corn, for the most part he deliberately escaped all signs of civilization. The corn left a foreboding impression upon him, and he could not fathom why, for he had not yet visited the Island of Job. Truant had a connection with the land and the air and all things natural that had been forgotten by most of his generation, modern man in general, and the natural wonders felt it as well. They knew his story before it was told, even the corn. Truant wandered aimlessly for hours (going through the portal did something foggy to your brain for a while) until the noon sun was overhead. The same showering clouds had chased him throughout the day and kept him company on his hike. He had recently hopped a fence and found himself amidst a pasture of cows. The cows brought him thinking towards his stomach, and he realized that Curtis’ portal (actually, he wasn’t sure the last one was Curtis’) had spilt him out of its mouth with nothing but the clothes on his back. Indeed his pack with its magnificent notes was no longer in his keeping. This did not distress him. He knew it would simply take time in the retelling and rewriting. There was cause for concern however. He was in the middle of nowhere, and although rather happily, what little food or cash he had was somewhere in his pack, no longer on his body. His thoughts returned to the grass on which he woke. Had he walked away from his belongs in this morning’s confusion? No. He was sure he would have noticed his gear any where near him. It was lost. Of that he was certain. What he was not certain of, as he stood slightly muttering mild curses to himself under his breath (as is his manner, for he is not one to overreact), was why he also suddenly felt, absolutely positively, that he was now staring at the exact same clouds he had gazed upon in the morning. He had walked west, and the prevailing winds blow east with the jet streams, and he had walked plenty a distance to have left their company. In his amazement and wonderment he stood mouth agape, then jumped aghast as something shot out from one of the two largest clouds like a bolt of lightning, and plummeted to the ground, changing from lighting bolt to ball of fire. The UFO landed with a terrific thud to the horrific moos of the cattle, and whatever it was lay smoldering in a small crevice created from its own landing, just a few short feet away from the boy. Truant waited for the cloud of smoke to float away and stood ready to run. When no movement occurred in or around the crash site he felt it safe to investigate the falling object. He took his paces long and deliberate, ready to run at any moment. When he came to the edge of the newly formed small hole, he stood on it and peered down. What he discovered was not an object at all, unless you are a woman. It was a man! In truth, it appeared to be more than just a man. It was a giant winged man. Truant was amazed, although not quite as amazed as he would have been before he met Curtis Gout, and just a little bit less amazed than what he noticed next. About the winged man’s neck, and hitched around his left wing (for the wings did not rise from the back but seemed to be more closely connected to the collarbone and shoulder) was a familiar looking canvas strap connected to Truant’s missing backpack. Truant stood beside himself and laughed at his dumbfounded expression, then pulled himself back together and tried to figure out what to do next. The man was still smoldering from his fall. Truant bent close to his leg. He wanted see just how hot the man was for simple curiosity sake. He was amazed when at first the leg felt extremely cold, so amazed that he failed to remove his hand before it made his skin sizzle. The boy had just learned a new definition of heat. He wasn’t sure how long it would take heat like that to cool, but he remembered the brownies his mother would make he had so often burned himself on as a child, and decided to give it at least twenty minutes. This teased him as much as the brownies had as well, for it kept him from purveying the remnants of his bag, which he only assumed also lay smoldering underneath the man’s back. Thoughts of baked goods reminded him of his hunger, or maybe vice versa. Either way, his stomach growled openly, not the least embarrassed of its disapproval for its treatment, and was answered by the subtle moo of a neighboring cow. Where they were at first frightened, Truant now discovered that a few of the more adventuresome cattle had made their way to the crash site to observe the damage to their land, and to make a decision as to whether or not the young were in danger. One of these particular mamas was hoisting about a set of utters that looked bent upon explosion, and with none of their youth around to ease the poor old lady’s misery, Truant put himself up for adoption. It only took a brief discussion mostly involving a few gentle strokes of the bovine damsel’s spotted nose and Truant had ingratiated himself nicely. He lay down on his back and began to dine, and thought to himself, “This must be the most ridiculous lunch I’ve ever had.” It was Truant’s third foray of guzzling the mother cow’s milk. After a long slurp Truant heard something that stirred him from his lunch. He leaned his head up as much as he could while still underneath his bovine buffet, but having forgotten his grip on the utter, squirted himself in the eye with milk. Partially blinded he scrambled out from under the cow on the opposite side of the hole, and on his hands and knees, peered beneath the beast’s legs with his one good eye at the winged man, who was now sitting up in his shallow pit, muttering something that sounded like frustration. Truant wasn’t sure what to do, so he wiped the milk from his eye and gave as jovial and proud a hello as possible. Despite his intentions, the end result was closer to silly than either. The creature responded with a grunt and words that were not in English. Truant smiled and shook his head in the negative, hoping the flying man would understand. Trelion spoke something else aloud that Truant thought sounded like an altogether different language, and he was correct, although he still had no idea what it meant. The only response was that of the cow. She apparently knew all too well and immediately fled the scene, mooing to the other cows a warning and taking them with her. Truant, now abandoned from his shelter, shakily rose to his feet and spoke, with as earnest a grin as he could muster. “I don’t understand,” eked out of his mouth.
Here's some more for you Trippin BTM, if you're still interested. “Of course you do not. I was speaking to the animal,” was Trelion’s reply. “Oh. How did you know it would understand you,” Truant asked. “I did not,” answered Trelion. “How many languages do you know?” asked Truant. “Many. Is this the custom for new meetings of your kind? I think not,” snorted Trelion. “Sorry. My name is Truant Memphis.” “That is silly. I am Trelion. Truant Memphis, I am wounded.” “I’ll help you if I can. Oh, you don’t have to call me by both my names either. You can just call me Truant.” “Even more ridiculous, a second name not for using,” scoffed Trelion. Truant found Trelion abrasive initially, but figured he might also be if he had recently fallen from the sky. So he tried his best hand at diplomacy. “It is tradition, to have a first and last name. The last name is often used, but not much when talking,” said Truant. “I know the traditions of your people. It is your name that is absurd. Truant Memphis. Stupid,” Trelion quipped. “But you just said, a second name not for…”, but Truant was cut off. “I know what I spoke. Do not correct me,” Trelion snarled. “My apologies.” Truant gave a slight bow. “Denied.” Trelion pouted and attempted to cross his arms, much like a scorned child, but was unable to in reaction to his pain. Truant, although confused by his disagreeability, found this quite funny and began to chuckle. “Why do you mock me little person? I will crush you.” Trelion spoke as if a child as well, and Truant covered his mouth to try and stifle his laughter. “Please. Don’t be upset. I want to help you, but it is hard to help someone who is being so unfriendly. Besides, I don’t think you’ll be crushing anyone ‘till we get that wing untangled and get you out of that hole,” Truant said. At this, Trelion began to cry. The giant winged man wept like a baby, and the sight made Truant squeamish. He felt it was best not to say anything for a moment, and the silence gave him an opportunity to size Trelion up. His wings, as earlier stated, were attached at the collarbone and shoulder area rather than the back, and appeared to be loosely tethered to the upper back half of Trelion’s arms, all the way down to his elbow. It seemed that the arms could move independently or stiffen and take the wings with them, as Trelion shook and cavorted while he cried. Truant knew the back of the wings must have held feathers, as there were large ones of shiny silver and gold scattered about the crash site, but the underside of the wings were more reminiscent of a bat’s, with a shimmery effect that seemed to reflect the sunlight. The rest of his body was covered in a tight body suit that was a nice light blue the color of the sky. His feet were bare, and very small for a creature his size, but with toes that seemed longer than necessary. Trelion was muscular, but long so he didn’t appear bulky, and around his waste was a shiny gold belt with intricate markings and what Truant assumed were decorations. His face was that of a normal human but quite handsome, with very sharp features and long like the rest of his body. Atop his head was a mullet of bronze hair wrapped from forehead to back with a thin black band, the material to which Truant was uncertain. Slowly, Trelion’s weeping began to quiet and he proudly wiped the tears from his eyes. Truant decided it was safe to speak again. “It’s okay. Everything is going to be all right. I’ll help you get fixed up and we can get you home again.” “I am of a proud, kind, and emotional people. My intentions were not to be unfriendly,” Trelion replied. At this Truant was taken aback, he had never considered his words had offended or hurt Trelion’s feelings. He felt guilt and laughter well inside him all at once, and reacted the only way he knew how. He moved behind Trelion and patted him on the back while silently letting his laughter release itself as well. “There, there. It was just a misunderstanding. No harm no foul,” he said. “No harm no foul,” repeated Trelion. “Nope. Now let’s see if I can get this pack off of you.” Truant’s bag was singed on the outside, but apparently the flames had been smothered when Trelion had landed on it. Truant released the strap and pulled the bag free. He stepped away as Trelion flurried his wings, testing the one that had been ensnared. His wings stirred the grass and Truant’s hair, creating a powerful gust of wind. “That feels much better. Thank you young human Truant. I must however, humble myself further before you, for I can not raise myself from this trap my fall has created. It is an awkward position, and confounds my legs.” “I would love to help you but I’m afraid I am not strong enough. You are a lot bigger than me, but I’ll at least try,” said Truant. “I think you will find me light as feather, for we are like birds. Our bones, however mighty with fortitude, are hollow in the center.” Trelion spoke this proudly with an air of silliness about him. “Oh, well then it should be no problem.” Truant moved to the front of Trelion and, taking him by the hands, tugged at him with all his might, but could not budge the giant. “Well, they might be hollow, but they are unfortunately too much for me to bear. I’m afraid you are not quite as light as you suspected.” “All Aerilious are light as a feather. We float upon the wind!” Trelion barked. “Okay.” Replied Truant with a queer look on his face. “We float upon the wind,” Trelion repeated a little halfheartedly. “Sheesh. Are all your people this touchy about their weight,” Truant asked with a giggle. “We are proud, and kind, and emotional, and light as a feather!” Trelion looked as if he might cry again. “Okay, okay. Just relax, please. I’m sorry. I’m sure you are as light as a feather, up there. Maybe it’s just different down here, with the gravity and all, and less wind.” Truant tried his best to appease the weepy giant. “Yes. Gravity,” Trelion agreed.
Here's the rest of the first chapter. They rested in silence for a minute, and then Truant was struck with a solution. He checked his pack, and yes, there it was. “I think I have an idea. Do you think you could call one of those cows back over here in whatever language you were speaking earlier,” asked Truant. “I could call them all if I so chose,” Trelion answered. “Okay, but not that one I was underneath. I don’t want her to get the wrong idea.” Truant’s joke was completely lost on Trelion. He did however manage to call the very same cow back from not far away, after singing for a moment in the strange language he had used before. “You know,” said Truant, “I think this is the very same cow.” “The others are ignorant, but fear not, she will get no ideas.” Now Truant could not decide if Trelion had gotten the joke or not, and was making a new one of his own, or was simply the most naturally hilarious person he had ever met. “Okay. Ask her to stand in front of you, and I’m going to tie this rope to her, and then you’re going to hold it, and she can pull you to your feet,” said Truant. “That is the plan of a genius Truant.” “Thank you.” Truant pulled his rope from the bag and looped it around the cow’s neck. He helped Trelion brace his feet, and then led the cow backwards. Within a moment Trelion was standing. However, he let go of the rope too soon, and was quickly back in his hole, flailing around in disgust. Truant bit back his laughter for fear of the birdman beginning to cry again. “It’s okay. It’s okay. We’ll just do it again. Just don’t let go of the rope so quick this time, until you’re sure you’ve got your balance first.” “Of course! Balance. I will find my balance.” Trelion held the rope and once again was quickly on his feet. This time he held steady. Truant walked behind the cow next to Trelion, took the rope from his hands, and moved the cow away. “Thank you my…”, Trelion took a step forward towards Truant as he spoke, lost his balance, and fell face first onto the ground. At this he very loudly, yet quite muffled by the ground, shouted what Truant could only assume was a curse word in one of the various languages he spoke. Truant giggled quietly some more, but he was beginning to lean towards compassion for the fellow and his plight. “I suppose you might try to help me again,” Trelion begged. “Well, let me get in front of you, and you can flap your wings really hard, and I’ll run under you, and you can balance yourself from there.” Truant was not that optimistic as to the chances of this actually working, but he figured if it did, it would save him the trouble of trying to move the cow again. “On the count of three, flap real hard.” “On the count of the three, I shall flap as to move mountains.” Trelion’s voice was losing all optimism despite his boastfulness. However, in his despair he did manage to remove himself enough from the ground to provide room for Truant to run underneath him in support. It was a successful plan until this point. What ensued next was a solid and excruciating five minutes of Trelion struggling to achieve verticality while Truant exhaustingly bore his wait in a Quasimodo stance. It was not unlike Truant’s favorite childhood reruns, The Three Stooges. Once upright, Trelion clung to Truant’s shoulders, who, one arm at a time, turned himself to face Trelion. Fully risen, Trelion stood at least a foot taller than Truant. “Well, that wasn’t so bad,” Truant said. “Thank you young Truant. I apologize for my frustration, but landfall is a horror only spoken of in childhood where I am from.” “No sweat. Now, what do you think our next move should be?” Truant had yet to ponder the situation further than the confusing introduction. “It appears I am not well for walking this land. I recommend we stand still.” So they did. Truant supposed they stood for an hour or so. In silence. It might have driven another person crazy, but Truant had no where to go and a lot to think about. Eventually however, his youthfulness took him over. “Trelion,” Truant said. “Yes,” replied the giant. “Have you figured anything out yet,” Truant asked. “Any what out,” he replied. “You know, what to do. Have you thought about what you’re going to do next?” Truant was beginning to tire, and grow hungry again. Also, he wanted to inspect his bag, and had a lot of questions for Trelion. He had mostly spent the last hour of silence formulating those questions and putting them in what he thought was a proper order. “Of course I have. I have been deeply in thought, within my mind,” Trelion said. “Great. I was beginning to worry. So, what do you think we should do? I’m getting tired of standing here,” Truant replied. “Silly young human, you should have taken a nap, that’s what I did,” said Trelion. “You said you were deep in thought,” said Truant. “I know what I said.” Trelion’s obstinance had once again returned it appeared. “Your eyes were open the entire time,” Truant said. “My eyes are always open, and my mind is always turning,” replied Trelion. “Do you have eyelids? It looks like you do. You can close your eyes, right?” Truant couldn’t help himself. “Of course, don’t be ridiculous,” Trelion hissed. “Then close them right now so I can see,” teased Truant. “So that you might see, or so that you might tease me and lead me further down another road of play with words. I think not! We no longer have time for that.” They stood for a moment staring at each other, and then to Truant’s surprise, Trelion winked. Not only did he wink, but it was a grand humorous wink. “And what a silly game of words we play.” Truant was thoroughly confused, and it must have shown on his face. “Young man, a sense of humor is a sense of humor, no matter what sort of creature you might be. Even those spotted beasts, you said…” “Cows,” said Truant. “Even those cows play tricks on each other. I promise.” At this, Truant began to understand that Trelion’s nature was one of jest and boastfulness. He somehow managed to be wise and childlike at the same time, as if compulsion forced him to play his ridiculous hand in every conversation, ignoring the reason that did apparently exist within him. Basically by all appearances he was a moron, but as they say, appearances can be deceiving.
The two agreed that they should find shelter before any opportunity arose for Trelion to be seen by another human. Truant moved Trelion to a tree and propped him against it so he could retrieve his backpack, then they made their way through the fields slowly, as Trelion could only move while continually holding Truant’s shoulders. Eventually they came across a barn. It was rather bare, and Truant supposed it wasn’t used by whoever owned the land anymore, but was left open for the cattle to seek shelter if they so chose. They took refuge in the barn, and Truant searched the contents of his pack. Among other things, but first and foremost, he discovered some food, which he and Trelion both found necessary. After eating, Trelion and Truant agreed that before they would share their tales with each other, that they would both enjoy a nap. It had grown dark outside, and they were worn out with the newness of the day’s experiences already. So, just to be safe they tucked themselves away into an area of darkness and confinement in the corner of the barn, Trelion ground level, and Truant up in the loft, and off they went inside their minds for a rest. Truant admitted to himself, but not Trelion, that although his excuse for retiring to the loft as a second vantage point for safety was true, it had more to do with his own levels of comfort. Trelion seemed harmless enough, but he was still a giant creature with wings that fell from the sky, and Truant preferred to sleep soundly without fear or concern for his safety, a feeling that until recently he rarely had to deal with or was accustomed to. Besides, Trelion chose to sleep standing up for his own similar concerns, not wanting to feel trapped in a horizontal position. Truant found this disconcerting, a giant shadow looming over him, so he hid Trelion in a corner behind stacks of hay (which seemed fairly fresh for a barn that was by all other appearances unused), and made his way up to the loft. It was not long before the boy was off to sleep and deep within his world of dreams. Truant had a mind that preferred activity to rest, and to him sleep was rarely black. It was painted with faces and stories that did not allow his full attention to be turned towards restfulness. He often woke feeling more exhausted from his slumber than from life the day before. That night, his dreams were unsettling. They seemed so closely connected to what might be his future, one with importance he did not care to take part in. They laughed at him for the life he was running from. A life in a world he did not agree with, but seemed to be doomed to. Yet, already he had seen things and been places others would have refused to believe. His adventure had just begun, and although he had not been able to explain exactly what he had walked away from, or what he was walking towards, his dreams seemed to know. He tossed and turned as they mocked him. “Be careful what you wish for,” they said. “You seek things people don’t have the strength for. That’s why they live the lives they do you silly boy. That’s why they tell stories of adventures instead of living them. But it is too late for you. This adventure is yours now. Ready or not, here we come.” Truant woke with a shudder in the middle of the night. At first, he felt it was the unsettling dreams that had rousted him, but then to his surprise, he realized he heard other voices stirring in the barn. He had no idea what time it was, but assumed it must not have been that late. Remaining as quiet as possible, he moved slowly until he found a crow’s nest overlooking the barn that kept him concealed from eyes below. The barn was beginning to fill up with people, all shuffling about fairly noiselessly. He couldn’t tell what they were doing, but they were definitely preparing for something. He could make out shadows of shapes that looked like snakes or wires depending on how much he wanted to work himself up. They all appeared to be farmers, or rural folk one way or the other. There were upwards of a dozen men and women moving about as others continued to arrive. Most stood to the side and greeted each other as the “crew” continued to go about their business preparing for whatever was about to come. Truant’s mind began to race with the possibilities over what he was about to witness. Devil worship? Some form of underground political sect like Neo Nazism or The Klu Klux Klan or the Free Masons? He had always wondered what really went on with those Free Masons. Apparently his grandfather on his dad’s side had been one. He remembered because of this enormous ring his grandfather had always worn that had carried an heir of secrecy and seriousness with it. When the man had passed, he was insistent in his will that he be buried with the ring. Also, in an area as rural as this, why would they need to meet this far out in the middle of no where to discuss their secret business? It seemed a basement or barn closer to home would have sufficed. It was at that moment that Truant received his answer.
“Y’all ready for this shit?” It was blared through a p.a. system at unreasonable decibels. The call was answered by a loud cheer from the audience, and then the lights went up. Bass drums began to thump loudly, rattling the walls of the barn. Truant scoped the barn. There were now at least two dozen people inside, with more pouring in. A small stage had been set up, and atop the stage stood three men and a woman all dressed in overalls or jeans; you’re most stereo-typical farmer ware. Each held an instrument in their hands. There were microphones, and most surprising of all, on the stage was a set of turntables, with an older man in a tall black cowboy hat working the wheels. As he gazed around the rest of the room he saw a makeshift refreshment table had been prepared, with an assortment of what had to be liquor bottles along with snacks and what looked like kegs of beer. He even saw a disco ball that now reflected light throughout the barn. He couldn’t remember if the disco ball had been hanging in the barn when he and Trelion had discovered it, but it really didn’t matter. It was a delight to witness, out in the middle of no man’s land, a barn full of country folk in the middle of the night enjoying a secret hip-hop show. The old man worked the turntables with skill and grace while the band members added to the mix with their own instruments. There was a harmonica player, a man hitting high notes with a flute, another playing a wash board, and the woman wailed away on a fiddle. People from the crowd took turns on the stage rapping to the music. Some seemed to just be in the groove, while others came prepared with script on paper. In between songs by the band, they thumped loud rap songs, many of which Truant was familiar with from famous artists. Truant thought it was one of the neatest things he had ever seen. He listened to the country folk and their secret hip hop review for over an hour, enjoying their jubilation at what must have been unacceptable behavior in these parts. The people had stopped coming, leveling off at what seemed to be upwards of forty or so bodies. They partied hard, bumping and grinding to the music, and dancing much more sexually than overalls would traditionally lend themselves to. The drinks flowed and smoke rose into the loft from below, all of which could not have been tobacco. Truant noticed a particularly attractive younger lady who seemed oddly familiar. The boy assumed she was not much older than he, but it was hard to get a good look at her under the cute little straw hat she was wearing. There was something about her though, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, when memories of the future flooded in. “The girl on the boat,” he thought, just as an uneasy feeling began to creep over him. He wasn’t sure what it was, but a cold sank in that reminded him of one he had felt before, and he suddenly thought he was being watched. He dropped behind the hay he was using to conceal himself and took several deep breaths. “You dope. You’re getting all weirdo over nothing.” He supposed he felt a trace of guilt for feeling like a peeping tom. He settled himself, then slowly peered back over towards the crowd. He searched the room with his eyes as the chill sank back into his bones, and there it was. Truant made direct eye contact with one of the farmers, who was already staring directly at him. Truant could not break his gaze at first, and the cold he felt now gripped him like a hand around his neck. The man’s eyes glowed red and hot, with a dark cold center. Truant did not feel free to break their gaze. Those eyes were telling him something, and he knew at once that they did not belong at the party any more than he did. Probably less. The man leaned against a post with a beer in his hand. His face was shadowed by a big puffy baseball cap with Jon Deere written on it, but those eyes glowed from underneath like embers in a fire. Truant gnashed his teeth together, strained for focus and then forced his own eyes closed, dropping back behind the hay and out of sight. He sat and shivered, praying to he did not know what that he had been playing tricks on himself, and that if he hadn’t whatever that man wanted, had nothing to do with him. The fear would not go away that at any moment he would lift his head to see the dark figure standing over him. He never raised his head again the rest of the night, and eventually he somehow managed to fall to sleep as the party raged on. He did not dream that night. All his mind could see were those burning eyes, and they stared at him until morning. Truant rose to the sun beaming through the cracks in the boards of the roof and walls of the barn. His mind had gone silent in the sleep that had followed his confrontation with the mysterious farmer, and for that he was thankful. He sat up and looked around his immediate area in the loft. Nothing. All appeared safe and sound. He then carefully peered over his hiding spot down to the barn floor and found all the events of the night before had been safely concealed once again. There did not appear to be a trace of the party. The barn was empty. Then he remembered Trelion. “Well boy, the rapping farmers have all come and gone, the mysterious rhinestone devil has left you alone, and you’ve got a winged man to help get home.” Truant mused to himself trying to restore his light heart, but he could not completely shake the effect the scary Old Macdonald had on him. He climbed down the ladder from the loft as stealthily as possible, just in case. Just in case of what he was not sure. Trelion was still in his hiding spot, and apparently asleep. Truant began to remove his coverings, and as he was exposed the sunlight hit him and Trelion let out a shriek that sent Truant flailing to the ground. “My apologies young Truant. As your rooster crows, so does a hastily awakened Aerilious.” Trelion looked down and showed what Truant assumed was his version of a smile, teeth clenched and mouth wide. Truant helped Trelion to a seat on a haystack, and they ate a light breakfast. Truant’s provisions were running low, even though his pack had come through the portal replenished. Trelion liked to eat. “Who shall tell their tale first Truant?” “I don’t know. Did you wake up at all last night?” Truant asked. “No. When an Aerilious sleeps, he sleeps so that the thunder and the lightning would not wake him,” Trelion replied. “You really brag about how well you sleep?” Truant felt his humor returning and was glad for his strange companion. “Brag?” Trelion looked a little confused, but mostly unconcerned. “Doesn’t matter. So, you didn’t hear anything last night?” Truant found this harder to believe than the fact that he sat across from a man with wings. “No. What should I have heard?” He told Trelion about the events of the night before. Trelion did not quite understand the oddity of the farmer’s rap music review, but he did listen intently, and was relieved that he had not been discovered. Truant did not tell Trelion about the sinister figure that had so frightened him, and wasn’t sure why. Mostly he figured it wouldn’t do any good, and he didn’t want to think about it, but he did wonder if it had anything to do with the things Frank had told him. “Well, that is an interesting tale indeed, for a creature such as yourself. However, I find it less curious than how it is your parcel found itself wrapped around my wing. Did I tell you I was in the middle of a great battle when this trap befell me?” “No.” Truant was not that surprised. “Well I was. And thanks to you I was smote soundly in the skull, and to the ground I fell to the screams of my brethren,” said Trelion. “Why didn’t they try to save you” asked Truant. “We are proud! I did not need saving, and my fall will be sang about as a legend from now until forever.” Trelion’s boastfulness had found new vigor after a solid night’s sleep. “So, your friend’s knew you were too proud to attempt to save you,” Truant asked. “That is correct. It was a great battle, and in battle there is no time for saving. I would have fought the friend who turned to me instead of the enemy,” Said Trelion. “Who were you fighting?” Truant wasn’t sure if he had been fighting anyone at all. It was hard to tell what was truth and what was not with Trelion. “Other Aerilious. We are two families, one of which will perish. It is a long tale. First I would like to hear of yours and your flying…backpack, you call it. For it is surely a much shorter story than the history of the Aerilious.” Trelion nodded agreement with his own statement, and curious as he was, Truant decided not to argue with him. So Truant began his story. He started with leaving home, which seemed to bore Trelion, although Truant found it quite relevant after what had happened to him in the last weeks. He talked about spending the first months mostly in the woods, wandering and fishing where he could, and discovering that eventually he wanted his adventure to include other people. So he had began to look for a city, or signs of life in general, when he had come out of the woods and stumbled across Curtis Gout’s filling station in the middle of no where, well somewhere in the Appalachians, and what he had discovered there.
