James

I’m forty-five years old, and I’m sat here at this bar, drinking because of some thoughts I’ve had, and I’m thinkin’ more and more that there could be some truth to them.

Few years back, wife had cancer. Those days I relied more on my religion than I did any day before, each day I prayed to the heavens that she’d pull through, and she did. I remember holding her hands, celebrating her last round of chemo, I remember saying “Thank God,” over and over, praising the big man up top. She disagreed. She said that “God didn’t cure me, the doctors did. God gave me the cancer in the first place. It was the doctors that fought against His hand and saved me.” That day was a victory against our creator, the one who puppets us along. But were the doctors puppets too? It gets a bit too confusing to think about, after a while. Probably the scale of it all. It’s not just me, it’s everyone around me, every leaf, every dog, every detail worth mentioning is manipulated.

The Earth is a show, and we are His puppets, though are we only dancing and singing and dying for His entertainment? No, a puppeteer may take pleasure in his work, but he can only pull at the strings and get a bird's-eye view, it’s the audience who he does it for, the audience that knows nothing of the plot he has set for the puppets, it’s them who get the real thrill. It’s those watching that give the puppeteer the real thrill.

She’s still with me, and I’m thankful for that. My life’s not burdened much, ‘cept for this bottle in my hand.

Her words have stuck with me more than they ought to. She’s a writer, you know. Always had a way with words. A puppeteer in her own right, with words for puppets and this world as her audience. Through hard work, she’s managed to publish a few books. Nothing spectacular, more locally-sold than she’d dreamed for, but people buy them, read them, give good reviews. Each good review gives her a thrill, thrill of the puppeteer.

But this is where it gets me. I remember reading a book a while ago about a writer. This stuff’s on levels. A puppeteer plays a show, but the puppeteer themselves are controlled, and it can go on and on for infinity. The thing is, you can only look down into the stage, at the puppets you control, you never get to do anything but speculate if you have any strings of your own making you dance to someone else’s tune.

So, right now that’s all I could be. Text. You reading me here? Hell, I don’t even remember much before I started drinking. Life’s been a blur… there are parts of my life that are full of events, and then there are the days where things are monotonous and forgettable. Those moments feel like the space between novels, if you get what I mean. So what if I’m being written right now? What will happen when it ends? Do I… die? No, no. My death will have to be written. But what if this book about me ends, and no more sequels are made? Do I have to keep dancing, playing along my life, just to make sure the books run their series ‘till I die? Till my children die? My grandchildren?

Eh, sorry. Thoughts ran on a bit there. I guess the point is, though I feel like I’m thinking out to space here, there’s probably someone reading my thoughts. And if someone is reading me, I’m thinkin’ that there’s someone reading you, too.

Your life’s a story, a play. Like mine. Formed to give entertainment. I hope you’re given a good genre, I think mine’s more tragedy than anything. Not in what I’ve lost, no, I’ve not lost much, but a tragedy in the way that I haven’t gained much either, and for every thing I’ve been given, it’s been, well, given to me. Earning is pointless, each good thing in my life is just a prop to make me dance harder.

But, yeah. You’re the reader. You know my life. Sure, you may not know the whole thing, depends on how many chapters or books you’ve read about me. Am I famous? Heh, funny thought. Well, I might be. But you already know me, don’t you? I didn’t even have to tell you my name, and you probably know it already.

So I’m just gonna drink here. I can’t see my own future- you can, though, you can just skip to the last page- so I think I’ll just keep living instead. Keep thinking myself a unique individual, put these thoughts out of my head. Live as if I’m the head puppeteer, no-one to dangle me on a stage. There’s no way to prove that there is anyone playing me. I mean sure, my religion is all about that, but… I’ve always thought that God gave us free will. That the idea of a ‘big plan’, a plot, was a silly idea. But those ideas are changing now. Predestination, Weird, huh.

You may have your own ideas- God, I’m really thinking like I’m talking to someone now. Hell, it could even be God himself- but yes, you may have your own ideas of religion, or you may not have one. They could just all be theories for a puppeteer, like the theory of things like the Higgs Boson particle, but they got proved eventually. What if you ever got proven to me? Well, not you. You’re a reader, you can’t do anything but consume this story. But the writer. Utter control of my life, can do powerful things with a single word. What if we proved the existence of such a person? What if we proved the existence of God? And what if that person is just as fallible, as human, as I am? Well, as I am portrayed.

Maybe that’s it. WIfe told me, a person always puts themselves into their characters, as a way to get into them better. Maybe that’s a good enough excuse for all the problems of my life, of the lives of everyone. That the person pulling the strings may truly be omnipresent, omnipotent, that they may be considered all-knowing purely because the knowledge in this world is limited to how much they know. That this person, this God, is still fallible. Can make mistakes. Maybe the world’s just gotten out of control and they’d rather focus on how people get through it, rather than go through the trouble of cleaning it up? With all that’s going on, I’m sure it would be an almighty pain for someone with just a typewriter at their disposal. They can’t just type “and everything was fixed” because it’s so much more complex than that.

I think… maybe I should leave these thoughts for another time. A time when I’m not on the verge of getting drunk. Things are getting a bit blurry right now. I’m just gonna close my eyes a little, see what I can piece together before I can grab my things and go home. I can’t even remember what the bar looks like, can you?

Yeah, I’d best go. Pretty obvious my life’s not too interesting now. Middle-aged man at a bar, having the big thoughts. I don’t have any big plot twists in my life, and I hope I don’t get any soon. I’d rather just be in peace right now, go back to my monotonous, uneventful life. So, why not leave me be, under a pile of books somewhere, or on some webpage you’ll forget soon enough. How about this, why don’t you go read a different story?

"Listen here old man. I ain’t about to let you or any stupid monsters get in my way, ya hear! I ain’t afraid a nothing!”

“Anything,” corrected Yusef with a smile, handing the young apprentice her sword.

“Whateva!”

Rudely, the young woman snatched her sword and spun around to face the large dragon headed beast. Her fiery hair blazed down to her neck and bounced cutely as she did so, but her boiling blue eyes burned with intensity. Her armor, a light mail over a tightly wound cloth corset adorned with hinged metal plates, was simple yet practical. It had belonged to her mother and her mother’s mother before that. With her family crest emblazoned on its chest, she wore it with unyielding pride. Yusef on the other hand was dressed in a very simple white shirt with brown suspenders holding up his spotless wool slacks. He too wore the family crest on a silver necklace although he was not of the Azra bloodline. Yusef himself never spoke about his own family. Perhaps, they were slaughtered in one of the wars across the sands. She knew he had come from the deserts of the East, his dark skin and hair cut short save for his beard, told of a cruel hot sun. She had the courtesy not to pry though.

Squeezing the grip of her sword, she stood across from the beast waiting for it to approach. The beady-eyed fiend barred its fangs, two sets of razor sharp rows of teeth lined its gaping maw as its furry scales shifted across its body. It was like a large bear, but for a head it had the long snout of a crocodile. While she wasn't found of bears, she was absolutely terrified of crocodiles, so this abomination was the stuff of nightmares for her. But she couldn't let Yusef know that.

"Go on Miriam, I'll be right here," patting her shoulder confidently.

“Yah yah, I’m fine old man…” she growled, brandishing the sword widely. Shining through verdant leaves of the forest, the sun caught the tip of her blade. The powerful beam hit the monster square in the eyes and it howled in agony as it tried to cover its eyes. Dumbfounded, Miriam stared at the spectacle. She had prepared her self so much for the fight that she had no idea how to respond. Or so it seemed. With steely resolve, she exhaled and holstered the sword to her back.

“What are you doing? Now’s your chance!”

Miriam simply shook her head and walked towards another path.
“I wanna fair fight…”

The large man of dark thick hair held his breath. It had been such a long time that he had forgotten what is was like to be dumbfounded. Blazing, her crimson locks bounced as she turned back towards him.

“Well, what are yah waiting for?”

Overtaken with a feeling he could not recall, he chortled heartily. Rocking back and forth as he did so, the fronds of the palm he leaned against shook widely. Coconuts softly plopped into sand below.

“Mr. Yusef… why are you laughing?”

“Ah…sorry, Maria,” apologized the large man, bowing his head, “It was nothing…”

His crimson haired mistress lay perched upon the sand like a mother hen. Pouting, she complained even more, “Honestly, you would do well to be more careful…unless of course you we’re trying to hurt me.”

“Never, my lady.”

A smile full of sadness drew across her pale face, “Well you can’t right? Not until Maram is born of course.” Rubbing her round belly, she chuckled as well.

Like a troubled child, Yusef held his hands behind his back and glanced at the fallen coconuts beside her. Most of them where green and sandy, but one had been completely sliced in two. Sparkling blue particles of light seemed to evaporate from the edges of the fallen nut. Both halves were on either side of her.

Pouting once more, she crossed her arms and looked across the beach. The sun was shining.

“Why are you acting so sad? You’re the one who told me. Don’t you remember?”

She sighed and rubbed her belly once more as a small bright blue and black bird landed square on her head.

“You don’t hate me?”

Maria laughed in response, the small bird hopping on her bouncing locks, but refusing to leave entirely. A warm breeze blew past.

“I’ve always known you. What you are...Even before you had told me. I’ve always known so…"

His fiery mistress brooded upon the sand. Yusef could feel her intensity radiating from her. In his long time on this land, he had never met someone as furious as her. Whether it was magic or sheer passive aggression that caused the sand to ripple across the beach back into the water, but it certainly was frightening. The small blue bird on her head, remained but somehow seemed to quiver in fear.

“So?”

“So, why are you still lying to me Mr. Yusef? What were you laughing about? I won’t ask you again…”

Defeated, Yusef scratched his shaven head and sat down next to his serene mistress. Even then, he towered over her. It was strange, seeing the two of them together. The large man with huge arms and legs, skin radiating like hot sand. Maria on the other hand was small and frail. Her pale skin and flowing red hair spilled down her back. A bear protecting a doll.

“It was Miriam…”

Maria perked up at the mention of mother.”

“You loved her too didn’t you?”

Yusef nodded solemnly, his eyes tracing across the burning horizon. The setting sun lit the pastel sky a brilliant fuschia.

“How did she die?”

The large man heaved, rocking to and fro, shaking the fronds of the palm once again. Maria giggled softly and began to sneer. She always had her mother’s devious side. Although, Miriam always wore her heart on her sleeve.

“I’m joking of course Mr. Yusef don’t fret. You’re supposed to be the strong one remember?”

Closing her eyes, Maria leaned into him and grabbed onto his arm, wrapping it around herself. She always enjoyed doing this, although Yusef always suspected that she did for his sake rather than her own.

“Just tell me about her…ok?”

"She was a quiet yet passionate soul...Even as a child, she had an astounding level of vision...Just like you. But she...she would see through you, your faults and your failures. Your ambitions and your dreams. Even before I told her, she knew that I loved her and the only way I was able to release her was to tell her the truth. Believe you me, I was astounded when she reacted. It was though she knew from the very beginning...That's why I've told you know...Miram."

The crimson haired knight smiled and sighed in relief, though her bow did not drop at all.

"Yosef...Thank you..."

Well, shit, that sure was trippy.

Honestly, I loved it. It really puts a philosophical point of view on everything, makes you start to think about your own special puppeteer. The last line kinda made me chuckle, though. I wouldn't say this is tragedy in the normal sense, however it brings up a good point on the tragedy of living a normal life. The tragedy of having nothing to live for, and nothing to gain. Life, in and of itself, is just a tragedy. Whoa--Now you got me thinking all trippy, too.

In addition to that, the type of writing that you used here was perfect. It made everything feel more real, like somebody was talking to me, the reader. I think that's something that makes first-person view so difficult (Because I certainly can't do it). Really emphasizing that character's thoughts. You pulled it off beautifully in this story. Hats off to you

I really liked this little piece of yours. The description of all of the people set the story for me, and also the repeated use of 'bouncing locks' was a nice touch to show how this man admired both of the women. I like the tragedy that you wove in--The tragedy of losing someone you loved dearly--Without allowing it to totally take over the story. The one thing that threw me off was the change from the battle to the sands. I had to reread a few times to understand what was going on because there wasn't any real separation.

There isn't much I can really say about it, I don't think. A good job--By the way, I loved all the unique names.