The Tragic Tale of Mr. Snap

They say a caged bird loses its will to fly. For Jeremy Snap it could not be further from the truth.

Jeremy was born in a small town, in a small hospital, to pair of small parents. Howard Snap was a city clerk, working in the finance office, while Jennifer Snap was a secretary to a legal firm. Mr. and Mrs. Snap were happy with their little corner of the world, and their small house with its low, white picket fence and herb garden was all they ever needed. Jeremy, on the other hand, always had grand dreams. In the realms of his imagination he was a big-shot, cruising with all the big leagues, flying all over the world, seeing all there is to see.

You can imagine his disappointment when he found himself working in the very same office as his father, walking the same path his father had years before. So it was that one night, staying late to work with a well-sized tower of paper work that Jeremy muttered under his breath, “What I wouldn’t give to have my dreams achieved…”. As the last syllable escaped his lips, the room went dark and a faint, eerie glow fluttered through the window, and settled before Jeremy. The glow subsided and the form of a woman stood before him, thin and fragile, the figure seemed to be clothed in what Jeremy could only describe as green. It had no shape or form, just a swirling swath of color elegantly draped across her body.

“Calm your fears, dreamer,” she spoke in a voice that was a symphony of color, it echoed in his head as her words took flight and flittered around the room, “I am she who is always, Fairy-Queen of the Flowing Stream, caretaker of the Glade of Ever. Hearing your plea, I came, to grant you your request. But know this, it is a bargain we strike upon this hour, within this place, and for your boon, a payment must be made. With your agreement, a deal is struck and your dreams you will realize.”

“Yes,” Jeremy said, not entirely processing the events unveiling before his eyes, “name your price? I’d give it to leave this place, to escape this boring life.”

“Very well,” she sang, “for successful life, free of woes, I take from you, two smallest of toes.” With those words she knelt beside him, and plucked at his feet. They came apart like grapes off a vine, and with that she was gone.

Things happened quickly, a position on the city council opened up, and Jeremy, for unexplainable reasons, received it. From there, it was a matter of weeks before he was sent to the big city, as a county delegate. A more permanent position on the city board came soon after. Within months, Jeremy was a successful financial consultant to key members of the city board. Late at night, before dozing off he would scoff at the foolish deal he made, he hoped the fairy made good use of his toes, he did not miss them, and they were a price worth paying for the life of leisure he slowly began to ease into. 

Jeremy was happy, until, several months later, he began to think of his other dreams, the dream to fly around the world.

To be continued…

 

Fiction Lives

Fiction lives.

It does not breathe, it does not sleep, eat or drink. But fiction lives. Like all living beings, fiction begins as a seed, an embryo, an idea. An idea born, crawling and slithering out of the primordial depths of a writer’s mind. It incubates and evolves in the dark recesses of the mind, mutating and growing until it becomes formed, shining and shimmering, in all its glory. Fiction takes its first breaths, it is a story, waiting to be told. The story is alive, for every living being has a story to tell. In telling the story we feed the fiction, and it grows stronger, more solid. 

With each telling it progresses. It grows more elaborate, more complex. Fiction latches on, almost parasitical in nature. It grabs us and feeds on our imagination, on our creative impulses. We think about the fiction, spin it in our heads, and fiction grows further. As the story moves from mouth to ear, from pen to page, it captures the minds of more and more. And thus fiction spreads, a plague of prose, an epidemic of anecdote. Each ear a new host, each pair of eyes, a carrier.

And when fiction has stretched to all corners of the earth, when it is thought it can affect no more, it is then that fiction spawns. Fiction brings about new ideas, new thoughts, new spins. An influence, they call it. For fiction, in the minds of the few, those who base their lives around it, plants seeds. There are those who tame fiction, they poke and prod it, experiment with it, breed it. They are the fields in which fiction plants its glorious seeds, and the fruit the trees yield are brilliant. A diverse poetry of words, turns of phrase the ear has never heard. Fiction infects the minds of poets and playwrights, of authors and scribes.

They harbor fiction within them, nurture fiction’s supple eggs, until they grow. Once the splendor of story is unleashed it will, in turn, spread its wings and fly out, through sky and sea, burning minds alight with imagination and vision, striking at hidden veins of inspiration, and the cycle continues ever onward, until the end of times.

Fiction lives, and you are part of it. You read this story, you close your eyes and you think of fiction. It breathes inside you now. You are touched by it, and you will move it on. You might tell your friends of this, or you might keep it dormant within the cloisters of your mind. One day you will remember. When you have lived through life and told many a tale. You will remember this tale, and you will tell it once more, one last time. And fiction, fiction will live on.

 

This is an Apple

This is an apple.

They call it “Red Delicious” which, when you think about it, is a bit presumptuous. I mean, you’re really setting yourself up for failure when you make promises like that. Sure, the red part is easy. I don’t think many people will argue on whether something is or is not red. It’s the delicious part that’s a problem. Forget about the fact that the apple may turn out to be mushy or sour. It may not contain the adequate amounts of juice. It could have a worm in it - which, granted, may add flavor, but that’s for very specific people. The problem really lies with the simple fact that different people may find different things to fall under the category delicious. My uncle used to say he could not eat anything that was crunchy. He was disgusted with the fact that his food would crunch in his mouth. He did not want his food “offering resistance”, he would say. So how can they possibly guarantee the apple is delicious?

O.k., it is delicious. They got off lucky this time, but I still have a whole bag of ‘em, so they’re not completely off the hook just yet.

This is an apple core.

It reminds me of ancient Rome. The Romans would build pillars to support their buildings, and that’s what the core is like. It’s a pillar, here to support the apple. It’s the foundation of the apple, without it, it’s not really an apple, it’s more of an apple-flavored donut. When the apple is gone, just like the ancient Roman buildings, just the pillar is left, just the core. A reminder of the greatness there once was, a simple memory of former glory. The core has seeds, these seeds will grow to be apple trees. Apple trees are great. Not only do they supply a constant stream of apples, they have many added fringe benefits. There’s the shade, in which you can sit and think, like Newton. Newton sat and thought under an apple tree, when one (an apple, not a tree) fell on his head. Newton then came up with gravity. So, in a way, apple trees gave us gravity. I’ll take the seeds out, now all that’s left is the core.

This is garbage.

 

Plagued, Finale

Awi stood at the cliff’s edge and stared into the ravine below him. Is this how it all ends, is this what it comes down to? He thought. Things happened so quickly, he felt as if he had no control anymore.

Things began to go wrong once the light returned. Well, to be perfectly honest, things began to go wrong a lot before that, but this latest string of events began when the light returned. 

Awi and Sarah stood in the kitchen, looking over the bloody corpse of Mdjai. The large knife protruding out of his body as a gruesome marker, an arrow pointing at the murder done several minutes ago.

“We will wait till night, and I shall take him to be buried. As we agreed, it was an accident, in his weakened state, Mdjai slipped onto the knife.”

“Yes, accident.” Sarah blurted.

The body was heavy, and Awi stuck to the shadows. It took him several hours to dig the grave and bury the body, he buried his former friends remains beside his wife, a grave reminder of the deaths he bore on his conscious. By the time he got back to his home, it was already morning.

From a distance he saw the door to his home wide open. He ran the rest of the distance and stormed into his house. “Adjo! Sarah?” he yelled.

“She’s gone, Awi. She left Adjo with me and left an hour ago.” Awi turned and saw Nafrini, the old woman living across the street.

“Thank you, Nafrini, I’ll come and take him off your hands.” He breathed a sigh of relief.

“Oh it’s no trouble at all, Awi. She said you went to pay your respect to Irisi, I can honor that.”

“Yes, I… I was at the grave, yes.”

Awi followed the old woman into her house, the window was shattered and they had not yet replaced it.

He reached the back room, where Adjo lay in his crib. As he picked up his son he turned to Nafrini and asked, “Did… did she say why she left?”

“They are leaving,” she replied, “a boy came to her and they spoke. She claims tomorrow the Pharaoh would allow them to return to their homelands. Personally, I don’t believe it to be true, for what can change the Pharaoh’s heart? He is a strong man. She seemed resolute, and it was not my place to stop her.”

“I see,” Awi said, heading out the door to his house, “Thank you again, Nafrini.” He turned and crossed the street to his house. Before he could close the door, he heard Nafrini call to him.

“Awi, she asked me to tell you - she did all she could, and she hoped it would be enough.”

“It was, Nafrini,” Awi said, “it was more than enough.”

He spent the rest of the day cleaning. It seemed it was all over, and the house was a mess. He cleaned the blood off the kitchen and living room floor, swept broken urns and fixed a broken window. The door proved to be the most problematic. Two large swathes of blood crossed the outer side of his door, he assumed them to be from the attack of the beasts. He spent hours scrubbing them out, and at last, as dusk fell the bloody cross was no more.

He fed Adjo and put him to sleep. He spent the night in his room. It was over, and tomorrow all will be normal again.

When he awoke, Adjo was asleep. He remained asleep, never to wake. Later, Awi would learn he was not the only one. It happened all across the city, rumors spread that even the Pharaoh had lost his son. But all Awi could think about, standing at cliff’s edge, was his own son. Lying, still, lifeless in his crib. The small hands curled, as if to grasp a finger held above his heart. It was down to this, Awi, alone.

He stared into the ravine below him, to the trail of the Hebrews winding their way through the narrow path. They had been granted their request. They were set on their exodus to their homeland. They were gone, and with them they took everything. The death and suffering. Mdjai had been right, it was their doing all along. But he had been wrong, it was also the doing of Egypt, for every man deserved a home, a family. 

And so Awi turned away from the Hebrews, he turned facing Egypt. There was work to be done, the city was sick, wounded. There were many to injuries to tend to, physical and emotional. That is what Awi did, he healed.

 

Plagued, Part IX

Awi closed the door behind him and if it was as if someone had cast a blindfold over his eyes. The world was shrouded in darkness, and he could not see his hand before him as he reached out to grope in front of him.

He called out to Sarah and heard no reply, a shudder went down his spine. Had what he feared come to be? Had Madjai finally taken action?

His ears perked at the sound of heavy breathing, a panicked, nervousness in the breaths which made him worry. He headed towards the kitchen, the source of the noise, and from the doorway he could make out a shadow crouched in the corner. The shadow moved and he caught a glint of something metallic. “Sarah?” he cautiously called out, “It’s me.”

“Awi?” came the reply from the shadow in the corner, “oh, I was so scared. He came at me, Awi. He collapsed out in the hallway, but he came after me, death in his eyes. Please Awi, don’t let him kill me.”

“Don’t worry, Sarah, he won’t try anything,” he began to step towards her voice, “please, give me whatever is in your hands. It’s safe.” He groped forward and his hand closed around the handle of a sharp knife. “Sarah, where is Adjo?”

“What… what do you mean where is he?”

“Where is my son, Sarah?”

“He, he is right here. I moved his cradle to the kitchen when you left, so he would be close. Do you not see it?”

“The demon sees,” the deep voice came from the doorway, it was heavy, Mdjai was clearly exerting himself, “they are unaffected by this curse. Just like all the rest of them.”

“Mdjai,” Awi said, “you are still weak. You can barely hold yourself upright.”

“If my last breath is made while taking the life of these demons, it was not a wasted breath. The gods shall smile upon me and I shall be honored - Mdjai, hero of the people of Egypt. He who ended the great curse of the land!” As he spoke his voice became higher and more intense. Awi, instinctively moved between Mdjai and Sarah.

“And you, Awi,” Mdjai was heaving now, the strain on his body more than he could carry, “you will go down with the people you love over your own. The slayers of your wife, destroyers of your land!” With those words, Mdjai let out a loud holler and Awi heard hevy footfalls charging in his direction. 

“No!” He thrust his arm forward, attempting to block the large man.

A sickly, squishy sound pierced the room. Awi heard liquid filled gurgles coming from Mdjai. He was still holding the knife, which now lay deep in Mdjai, as the man tried to fill his lungs with air. The gurgling subsided and Awi pulled the knife out of the body sprawled across the kitchen floor.

He turned around to face what he believed was Sarah, “Did you see?” he asked, solemnly.

“I.. yes. I did.” Came the meek reply.

“So you saw Mdaji slip in weakness? Tragically, he landed on the knife, carelessly left on the kitchen table. It was an accident. Am I not right?”

“Yes,” she said, holding back sobs, “yes, it was an accident.”

“We shall bury him tomorrow.”

Light washed the room then, but darkness still hung in the air.

 

Plagued, Part VIII

The faint buzzing of insects didn’t even bother him anymore.The last of the funeral guests had left several minutes ago, and Awi stood alone at his wife’s grave. He sat by the grave and flicked at the rocks lying next to it. He had no more tears left to shed, and his eyes burned. He reflected on the events of the last few weeks, and tried to figure out when things started to go wrong.

Time went by, he didn’t know how long, but the sun had moved higher up into the sky. He had to head home. The simple thought of going back to his house caused him to crumple back onto his wife’s grave. She knew, he thought, she knew what it would come to. She knew it would come to the point where someone would do something they would regret. He wasn’t exactly sure who would make the first move, Mdjai or Sarah, but he knew one would not stay with the other present.

Awi considered his options. On the one hand, Mdjai was a fellow egyptian, a man of his people. He was injured still and the constant moving about was not helping his wounds heal. Awi constantly had to re-tend the wounds. But Sarah, nearly back to perfect health, helped around the house. She cared for Adjo in the days Irisi had left. And now… now, that Irisi would not… he would need her help more than ever.

As he walked back to his home he looked at the people he passed. The sights were awful. Bodies littered the alleyways, their stench rising and filling the air. Houses were destroyed and pock-marked from the hail and fire, and every so often he could still here the growls of one of the beasts which still remained, gnawing on a body or on the remains of one of the other beasts. People huddled about in groups, picking at the animal corpses, looking for something to fill their bellies. The farmlands had been accosted, a sudden plague of locusts upon the land, and overnight the city’s entire food supply had vanished. By early afternoon the hunger had set in, and people began to get agitated, bickering over nothing, looking for excuses.

It was a miserable existence, and Awi wondered what they must do to turn their fortunes. He knew what Mdjai would say. He would say that the Hebrews have cursed the lands of Egypt, that once they are gone, dead, the lands would return to its former glory. Was there truth in Mdjai’s words? Would the gods of Egypt, benevolent as they are, actually require a sacrifice of a whole people?

Awi would not have it. He practiced medicine to heal, and he would help Egypt heal from its wounds. Perhaps the Hebrews could help, their lands seemed to be unaffected by the blights that had struck Egypt. That must be the key - cooperation.

He must have walked for longer that he thought, for by the time he got home, night had fallen. He had to feel his way up the short path to his home, and when he finally stepped in his house, he could not see a thing. It was pitch black.

 

Plagued, Part VII

The house shook and a ceramic vase slipped off its shelf and crashed onto the floor. In Awi’s arms, Adjo screamed and cried.

“Hush, little one, the storm will be over soon, don’t cry” Awi whispered into his son’s ears. He’d been saying those words for several hours now, and he was beginning to lose hope himself. The storm came out of nowhere, within minutes the sky darkened and a hail of ice and fire began to rain down from the heavens. Panic erupted within seconds. In between the crashes and the thunders Awi and Sarah heard stifled screams.

“You’re…. fault,” the weak voice came from the doorway. Mdjai had come into the room, carrying himself on broken bones. Awi could see the large man could barely hold himself upright. Mdjai’s unfocused eyes gazed upon Sarah, hatred in them. “You… you did th…” And with those words the man collapsed to his feet. Awi placed his son in Sarah’s outstretched arms and rushed over to Mdjai’s side.

“He still lives, but his pulse is weak. I’ll have to sedate him, he needs rest.” With effort, Awi lifted Mdjai and carried him back to his makeshift bed. Once there, Awi reached for his salves and balms and began to work.

 

Several minutes later, as Mdjai’s breaths began to steady themselves, Awi raised his head. “Do you hear that, Sarah?”

“Hear what?”

“The rain, the hail, it’s stopped, no crashes, they’ve died down.” He wiped his hands and began walking to the door. “Mdjai is sedated, he will not trouble you. I will return as quickly as I can.”

“Where are you going, Awi?”

“Irisi. I have to know she’s alright. Please… watch Adjo, I’ll be back soon.”

 

It was a long walk, made longer by the debris strewn about the city. The hail had done much damage, damage that will take many weeks to repair. They will probably put the Hebrews to work right away, Awi thought. He walked solemnly through the streets looking at the shattered houses and the broken lives they housed. How long will this go on, he thought.

 

He arrived at Irisi’s sister’s house and searched for his wife. The house was still standing, which was good, a shattered window, a few broken vases, but nothing major. He found his sister-in-law and asked her where Irisi was.

“She left, Awi. She said she was sorry for the things she said to you. She went back, left before the storm started.”

Awi thanked her and leaped out of the house. He broke into a run, hurdling over debris. She came back, he knew she would.

 

Awi arrived back at his home, and threw the door open, “Irisi,” he called, “Where are you?”

It was then he saw Sarah hunched over something on the floor. “One of the neighbors found her,” she said through sobs and tears, “she was almost here when the storm hit. She… she’s…”

“No!” Awi moved to the lifeless corpse on his floor, “No! I’m sorry, Irisi, I…” Tears running down his cheeks, he held the burned, battered remains of his wife. “Please, come back.”

 

Plagued, Part VI

“You should not have come, Awi.” Irisi looked at him, briefly, and turned her glance away.

“I had to talk to you, you are still my wife, and I still love you. It pains me to see you like this.”

Like most people, Irisi sported large boils across her entire body. The epidemic hit over night, and it was relentless. Men, women, even little Adjo back home spent the whole morning crying over the sores spread across his body. Awi had ground some root in warm milk, which soothed the baby’s pain, and sedated him for a short while. The baby sleeping, Awi left him in Sarah’s care, while he came to visit his wife. “Come back, Irisi. Your son needs his mother by his side.”

 
“The girl,” Irisi turned to him, “is she still there?” Even with her skin the way it was, she was still beautiful, and Awi could not hold the truth from her.

“Yes, she is still not healed. She has recovered enough to help, but she still needs watching after. She was severely beat, and the healing takes time. She takes care of Adjo, sits with him while he sleeps. She is a good person, Irisi. Helpful.”

“You left our son alone with her?”

“She is very caring, I do not see why…” Awi started.

“That is a problem, Awi, you do not see. Look,” she grabbed onto his arm and lifted it up, “look what they have done to us! Do you know none of their people are infected? They walk with clear skin, no lice, their livestock still lives. You cannot explain these things away.”

“It’s not…”

“No, Awi,” she cut him off, “you are blinded. Until you open your eyes to the world around you, I cannot come back. It pains me to leave my son behind, but I will not come back to that house while an infestation still holds it in its grasp.”

“You are wrong, Irisi. These curses are punishment. The Israelites mean us no harm, all they seek is to escape a life of servitude, to go back home.”

“They came here, Awi, those many years ago. We did not ask them to.”

“I refuse to believe those are truly your thoughts. You are clouded by disease and frustration. The woman I married does not harbor these dark feelings. I know you too well.”

“The you are a fool. I wish for you to leave now, there are sick Egyptians that need caring for.”

 
“I… I love you, Irisi. I always will.” He looked at her, searching her eyes for a sign, but her eyes were cold, her heart stone. He turned around, and left. As he walked out the door, he looked beyond his shoulder one last time, but Irisi had left the room, and he stared into an empty space, a tear in his eye, and left.

 

Plagued, Part V

“You think this changes anything?” Mdjai muttered through clenched teeth. He was staring directly at Sarah, not even trying to hide the look of contempt in his eyes. He lay on the sofa, propped up by pillows. The girl sat across from him, holding a basin of water. Awi paid no attention to Mdjai’s threats, he just kept dabbing the cloth in his hand over Mdjai’s wounds, occasionally washing the congealed blood of the cloth in the basin.

“It’s a miracle you are still alive, you know?” Awi said, dabbing at a considerably large gash which ran across Mdjai’s stomach.

“It is no miracle, Medicine Man. The gods watch over me, they know me to be loyal to them. They back me in my fight against these… creatures.”

“These are people, Mdjai. It would do well for you to remember that while you are in my home, under my care.”

“People? Have you not seen what goes on in the streets? Vermin and beasts roam free, blood runs in the great Nile’s stead. It is madness, I tell you?”

“Madness, Mdjai? Madness is blaming the people for these occurrences, how can a man be responsible for these?”

“They have sorcerers. Powerful ones. But still no match for the might of Horus and Ra. You will see, you and the wretch you have taken in place of your wife.” Mdjai winced as Awi ran his cloth across a deep cut. He took the cloth, now soaked in blood and set it in the basin.

“Sarah is not meant to replace my wife. Irisi will… she will return, once these troubles fade.”

“Ha,” Mdjai snorted in a smug, victorious tone, “and yet you remain here with your Israelite whore, while your wife walks the street, alone and unsafe.”

“My wife is at her sister’s, across the banks. I’ve had word sent to me, she is well and safe.” Awi turned to Sarah and rose of his feet, “Now come, Sarah, Mdjai is tired, and needs his rest.”

 

They left the room, and as they walked out, Mdjai yelled behind them, “There will be a price to pay, Awi. For each plague their wizards bring upon us the gods will repay in kind. They are getting restless, our gods. They grow angry at these insults. There will be retribution. For the damned Israelites and those who chose to favor them!”

 

Awi shut the door, and the yelling stopped. He walked over to his son’s room and lifted the toddler out of his bed. He walked, his smiling boy in his arms, to the kitchen, where Sarah sat. “You should go to her,” she said, “I will care for Mdjai and Adjo while you are away.”

“I tried, Sarah. This morning I headed to the stables. Irisi’s sister lives beyond the bank, and walking is not yet safe.”

“Then why did you return? We would have managed for several hours alone, Awi.”

Awi stroked his son’s head, and the baby giggled. “The horses. They’re all dead.”

 

Plagued, Part IV

Awi checked the lock on his door one last time and seeing it was secure, turned into the living quarters. Sarah, the Israelite girl he had rescued two days earlier, sat on the sofa and stared at him. “It’s locked,” he said in what he hoped to be a reassuring tone, “we’re safe.”

He was about to leave the house, having made sure the girl was fine and recovering from her injuries, when the beasts came. No one knew where they came from, but it seemed they had swarmed the city in a matter of minutes. Wild, vicious, ravenous beasts now patrolled the city streets, jumping at anything and anyone they could devour. Their appetite seemed to be endless; nothing seemed to satiate their hunger. Awi wanted to find Irisi, to calm her, to explain things to her. It’s been two days since she left, and he heard nothing from her. Going outside in this time, however, would only earn him an early grave. The growls and low roars from outside sent shivers down his spine, if one of these beasts were to break through the door… his son was all he cared about.

“I’m going to check on Adjo,” he said, “I want to check the window of his room, see that it too is locked.” He walked into the room where his son slept, blissfully unaware of the situation. Awi passed his hand across his son’s soft hair and whispered reassuring words. A loud crash brought Awi out of his reverie and snapped him back to the reality of his situation. He rushed back to Sarah. “What happened?” He asked, slightly panicked.

“It came from outside,” she said, moving to the back of the room, away from the door. “Something’s fallen on the door, or… was thrown onto the door.” Growls and barks could now be heard from all around the house, growing steadily louder. Awi had seconds to act, if someone was out there, he couldn’t let those beasts have the poor soul. Motioning to Sarah to stand back, he made for the door. He unlocked the door, and with a quick motion flung it open. A body, bloody and covered with bites and slashes slumped into the room. Awi looked outside and found himself facing a circle of rabid, snarling wolves. One of them pounced on him, and Awi quickly shut the door. He was not fast enough, the beast pinned him onto the floor, and stood, foaming, above him.

“Lock the door, quickly! Before the rest come!” He yelled. Sarah rushed to the door, a bolted the lock into a place. It was all Awi could do to hold the beast at bay. He could feel its hot breath on his face. He grabbed at its neck and threw it off him, with all the muscle he could muster. He felt as if his shoulder shattered once more. The beast hit the wall and its head exploded in a mess of blood and bone. It fell, limp, to the floor.

Awi could now turn his attention to the man he had rescued. He had Sarah bring a wet cloth from the kitchen so he could clean the blood and bruises. Once he had finished he looked at the man, trying to figure the best way to treat his wounds. Suddenly a realization he had overlooked came to him. Lying on his floor was the broken, beaten body of Mdjai.