Writing is just a story, a sentence or a word. But good writing is when that story, sentence or word reaches out and grabs you- it takes hold of who you are and twists it, wrenches it and molds it to the authors will.
Writing is just words strung together to form an idea. Good writing embeds that idea in you until it changes the intrinsic fabric of your being; for a lifetime or for a second- it doesn't matter- for that moment, you are different. What you thought possible...changes.
Writing is a challenge. Good writing challenges what you believe.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Weed Blossoms
Weed Blossoms
By: Jameson Meyer
“Is it true Dad?”
I didn't know what to say to that. Not so much because of the question itself. But the way she said it. She looked up at me with the wide eyes of innocence and a sincere curiosity that can only be found in a child of six. The hope in her voice was matched only by the intensity and faith in the fact that I would, of course, know the answer.
“What do you think?” Was all I could say. It was the pat-answer for any parent. It usually meant one of two things; either they didn't want to steal the magic from a dream they wish they were still having, or they simply had no clue. In this case it was both.
She looked away and rubbed her chin in mock contemplation. Like a six-year-old professor that has just been asked the secret to life. “I think if you believe it, then it’s true.” She nodded to herself as if to say that her answer was both correct and irrefutable.
“Makes sense to me” I said.
It had become the norm now. Every Sunday on our afternoon walk, without fail, she would ask me some question that would shake the very foundations of my beliefs. It’s amazing really, how kids can understand the metaphysical so well, and still forget how to tie their shoes. I have a Masters in English that I worked for three years to get. I've studied in two countries, and written a best-selling novel and somehow managed to keep my composure in an interview with Oprah. Yet this 3ft tall mini-human child of mine can somehow make me question life and the very fabric of time as well as the power/existence of God all while humming the theme song to Spongebob and skipping through the tall grasses.
If you believe it, that makes it true. The more I thought about what she said. The more amazed I became. This really should be a game. 'Summarize the core beliefs of any nation/army/religion or pretty much mankind in general in 10 words or less'. I shook my head to try and forget the endless questions that her statement arose in me. Then, looking back down at her, I saw the truth and wisdom in her proclamation. Words always hold more weight from someone that doesn't understand how to lie. She was looking right back at me, with the biggest, silliest grin I'd ever seen. “Easy now, open your mouth any wider and it just might get stuck.”
She giggled, “It looked like your brain was hurting.”
“So you were smiling at my pain?”
“No, I was smiling because I made it hurt.”
I knew it. I had created a monster.
“Sorry Dad, you just made your 'thinking face'.”
“Well, I'm happy to amuse.” That was actually true. It wasn't often lately that she smiled so wide. I consider myself a fairly cultured person. I've been to a few places that are beyond the touristic norm. I've seen things that most wouldn't believe. But I had never felt sadness until I saw my child cry and knew that I could do nothing to help her. I could live several life-times and still never forget that feeling. It's something that you never expect to affect you the way it does. It’s like having your entire life called into question, because you never learned this. And everything else you have ever done seemed so useless because you never figured out how to stop it.
“You're doing it again” she said smiling. She squeezed my hand to break my trance. I looked down and caught the goofy grin again. “I must look pretty ridiculous if it’s got you this giddy,” I laughed. But she wasn't looking at me anymore. “We're here” she said.
Standing at the entrance to Forrest Lawn Mortuary is the most conflicting feeling I have ever known. I mean, on the one hand, who wants to actually walk into a cemetery? It’s like walking into death. But on the other hand, there is really no better feeling than walking out of it. So that's what I think about. I'm not really walking into this place; I'm just getting properly positioned so that I can walk out. Denial. Some say it's wrong. But those people have never seen Star Wars episode 1. I took a deep breath and walked in.
The next few minutes we walked in silence. The air was cold and dry; but even still, I felt small beads of sweat roll down my wrist and seep into our clasped hands. The moisture made the closeness uncomfortable but neither of us dared let go. The cemetery wasn't a very scary place. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Rolling green hills, scattered tall oaks, perched right up against one of the few mountains in the area. The dead really had a great view of the valley. I swallowed hard at that thought. Firstly because of the irony of it, and secondly because of the sadness it brought with it.
I hadn't even realized that we had stopped walking until she spoke, “Are you gonna say anything?”
Looking down at the grave that lay at our feet words pretty much left me, along with what felt like all the air inside my lungs. We both knelt in the grass.
“Hey you” I said. I felt my voice crack. Breathing really wasn't something you ever think that you will have to remind yourself to do until moments like these. Looking down at the name etched on the stone headpiece everything about this place seemed so insignificant. It was just a name. And a slab of stone. It didn't mean anything. The headstone never spoke back to us. So why did we come here every Sunday? Then as I watched my daughter trace the name on the grave in front of me with her tiny finger. I felt myself wondering why we didn't come here every day.
“I like her name.” She said.
“Me too.”
“Hi Mom. A lot happened this week.” She laid down in the grass staring up at the stone, as if it were looking back. “I wrote a story that Dad said you would have loved about a cat named Miss Kittypaw- she was the contested leader of the desert lands known as Litterboxia. Her armies slaughtered the countryside and burnt down all of the peasant’s houses until they named her Empress and worshiped her like a Goddess. Dad said you would have liked the bloody massacre parts. I was really descriptive.” Tears stared to crawl down her face, but she kept talking. It was like she knew they were there, but was happy for it, maybe it was her way of feeling like she was being heard. “Dad let me try wine. Just a sip. He said you wouldn't have liked that. But it would be our secret.” Then realizing what she had just said she turned to me, “oops, sorry Dad. I forgot.” I couldn't help but laugh. “S'ok Maddie.”
“Oh!” She said excitedly and stood up. “Dad also got me new shoes! See!” She pulled up her dress and showed off her new Mary Janes. “Cute right?!” She sighed. “Well I guess that's about it. Dad, your turn.”
“I miss you.” I tried to put on a good smile with limited success. “I had forgotten how much I hated cooking.” Maddie laughed. “I really only gave her a sip of the wine. It was more just to knock her out anyway, she was driving me nuts.” I felt a small nudge in my ribs.
“Oh, I have been meaning to ask you about something. This whole heaven thing. Is it all it’s cracked up to be? 'Cause if not, then you can always come back. We wouldn't mind.”
“But not as a zombie,” Maddie interjected.
I smiled. “Not as a zombie,” I agreed.
“Hey look!” Maddie said. “A new flower!”
A small blue crabgrass blossom had grown next to the headstone. “Thanks Mom!” Maddie said after she had picked the flower. She was some kind of amazing thing, this child of mine. I stood up and threw her into the heavens. Her laugh rang out into the air and echoed over the hillside. The tune lingered in the space around us, as if the air weren't used to such a noise and held onto it for longer than usual.
We said our goodbyes and made promises to come back next week. The walk home was always a somber one. Just as we had past the cemetery gates I heaved a sigh of relief and felt a tug on my hand. “Ya know,” Maddie whispered, “I would take zombie-mom too.”
“Me too, Maddie. Me too.”
By: Jameson Meyer
“Is it true Dad?”
I didn't know what to say to that. Not so much because of the question itself. But the way she said it. She looked up at me with the wide eyes of innocence and a sincere curiosity that can only be found in a child of six. The hope in her voice was matched only by the intensity and faith in the fact that I would, of course, know the answer.
“What do you think?” Was all I could say. It was the pat-answer for any parent. It usually meant one of two things; either they didn't want to steal the magic from a dream they wish they were still having, or they simply had no clue. In this case it was both.
She looked away and rubbed her chin in mock contemplation. Like a six-year-old professor that has just been asked the secret to life. “I think if you believe it, then it’s true.” She nodded to herself as if to say that her answer was both correct and irrefutable.
“Makes sense to me” I said.
It had become the norm now. Every Sunday on our afternoon walk, without fail, she would ask me some question that would shake the very foundations of my beliefs. It’s amazing really, how kids can understand the metaphysical so well, and still forget how to tie their shoes. I have a Masters in English that I worked for three years to get. I've studied in two countries, and written a best-selling novel and somehow managed to keep my composure in an interview with Oprah. Yet this 3ft tall mini-human child of mine can somehow make me question life and the very fabric of time as well as the power/existence of God all while humming the theme song to Spongebob and skipping through the tall grasses.
If you believe it, that makes it true. The more I thought about what she said. The more amazed I became. This really should be a game. 'Summarize the core beliefs of any nation/army/religion or pretty much mankind in general in 10 words or less'. I shook my head to try and forget the endless questions that her statement arose in me. Then, looking back down at her, I saw the truth and wisdom in her proclamation. Words always hold more weight from someone that doesn't understand how to lie. She was looking right back at me, with the biggest, silliest grin I'd ever seen. “Easy now, open your mouth any wider and it just might get stuck.”
She giggled, “It looked like your brain was hurting.”
“So you were smiling at my pain?”
“No, I was smiling because I made it hurt.”
I knew it. I had created a monster.
“Sorry Dad, you just made your 'thinking face'.”
“Well, I'm happy to amuse.” That was actually true. It wasn't often lately that she smiled so wide. I consider myself a fairly cultured person. I've been to a few places that are beyond the touristic norm. I've seen things that most wouldn't believe. But I had never felt sadness until I saw my child cry and knew that I could do nothing to help her. I could live several life-times and still never forget that feeling. It's something that you never expect to affect you the way it does. It’s like having your entire life called into question, because you never learned this. And everything else you have ever done seemed so useless because you never figured out how to stop it.
“You're doing it again” she said smiling. She squeezed my hand to break my trance. I looked down and caught the goofy grin again. “I must look pretty ridiculous if it’s got you this giddy,” I laughed. But she wasn't looking at me anymore. “We're here” she said.
Standing at the entrance to Forrest Lawn Mortuary is the most conflicting feeling I have ever known. I mean, on the one hand, who wants to actually walk into a cemetery? It’s like walking into death. But on the other hand, there is really no better feeling than walking out of it. So that's what I think about. I'm not really walking into this place; I'm just getting properly positioned so that I can walk out. Denial. Some say it's wrong. But those people have never seen Star Wars episode 1. I took a deep breath and walked in.
The next few minutes we walked in silence. The air was cold and dry; but even still, I felt small beads of sweat roll down my wrist and seep into our clasped hands. The moisture made the closeness uncomfortable but neither of us dared let go. The cemetery wasn't a very scary place. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Rolling green hills, scattered tall oaks, perched right up against one of the few mountains in the area. The dead really had a great view of the valley. I swallowed hard at that thought. Firstly because of the irony of it, and secondly because of the sadness it brought with it.
I hadn't even realized that we had stopped walking until she spoke, “Are you gonna say anything?”
Looking down at the grave that lay at our feet words pretty much left me, along with what felt like all the air inside my lungs. We both knelt in the grass.
“Hey you” I said. I felt my voice crack. Breathing really wasn't something you ever think that you will have to remind yourself to do until moments like these. Looking down at the name etched on the stone headpiece everything about this place seemed so insignificant. It was just a name. And a slab of stone. It didn't mean anything. The headstone never spoke back to us. So why did we come here every Sunday? Then as I watched my daughter trace the name on the grave in front of me with her tiny finger. I felt myself wondering why we didn't come here every day.
“I like her name.” She said.
“Me too.”
“Hi Mom. A lot happened this week.” She laid down in the grass staring up at the stone, as if it were looking back. “I wrote a story that Dad said you would have loved about a cat named Miss Kittypaw- she was the contested leader of the desert lands known as Litterboxia. Her armies slaughtered the countryside and burnt down all of the peasant’s houses until they named her Empress and worshiped her like a Goddess. Dad said you would have liked the bloody massacre parts. I was really descriptive.” Tears stared to crawl down her face, but she kept talking. It was like she knew they were there, but was happy for it, maybe it was her way of feeling like she was being heard. “Dad let me try wine. Just a sip. He said you wouldn't have liked that. But it would be our secret.” Then realizing what she had just said she turned to me, “oops, sorry Dad. I forgot.” I couldn't help but laugh. “S'ok Maddie.”
“Oh!” She said excitedly and stood up. “Dad also got me new shoes! See!” She pulled up her dress and showed off her new Mary Janes. “Cute right?!” She sighed. “Well I guess that's about it. Dad, your turn.”
“I miss you.” I tried to put on a good smile with limited success. “I had forgotten how much I hated cooking.” Maddie laughed. “I really only gave her a sip of the wine. It was more just to knock her out anyway, she was driving me nuts.” I felt a small nudge in my ribs.
“Oh, I have been meaning to ask you about something. This whole heaven thing. Is it all it’s cracked up to be? 'Cause if not, then you can always come back. We wouldn't mind.”
“But not as a zombie,” Maddie interjected.
I smiled. “Not as a zombie,” I agreed.
“Hey look!” Maddie said. “A new flower!”
A small blue crabgrass blossom had grown next to the headstone. “Thanks Mom!” Maddie said after she had picked the flower. She was some kind of amazing thing, this child of mine. I stood up and threw her into the heavens. Her laugh rang out into the air and echoed over the hillside. The tune lingered in the space around us, as if the air weren't used to such a noise and held onto it for longer than usual.
We said our goodbyes and made promises to come back next week. The walk home was always a somber one. Just as we had past the cemetery gates I heaved a sigh of relief and felt a tug on my hand. “Ya know,” Maddie whispered, “I would take zombie-mom too.”
“Me too, Maddie. Me too.”
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Mission Accomplished
Well that was a chore and a half, but it's finally done. All of the Zane Legends stories have been posted. If you have no idea what I am talking about then check out the explanation of what/who/where Zane on the right side of this page.
It has been long overdue. Some of those stories are years old. There really is no great logic behind a lot of the ridiculousness that exists in them, the only thing I ask is that you keep in mind its just a writing exercise, not a work in progress to reach 'greatest 21st century novel' status.
Read them if you want, or ignore them should you so desire. It's really up to you. You can even create your own variation of the game and try it for yourself. It's actually quite the experience. I would definitely recommend doing it with at least one other person though, because half the fun is reading them after and wondering what the crap you were writing and laughing at each others insanity. Mockery is, after all, the greatest form of flattery, not to mention the most fun!
It has been long overdue. Some of those stories are years old. There really is no great logic behind a lot of the ridiculousness that exists in them, the only thing I ask is that you keep in mind its just a writing exercise, not a work in progress to reach 'greatest 21st century novel' status.
Read them if you want, or ignore them should you so desire. It's really up to you. You can even create your own variation of the game and try it for yourself. It's actually quite the experience. I would definitely recommend doing it with at least one other person though, because half the fun is reading them after and wondering what the crap you were writing and laughing at each others insanity. Mockery is, after all, the greatest form of flattery, not to mention the most fun!
Mystery in a Box (ZL)
Mystery in a Box
Criteria: Crime/mystery, in the dark, crazy person
Some people have a knack for finding strange things; strange things always seem to find Zane Legends. This, of course, is why Zane found himself lying on a hard wooden floor in utter darkness. It was so dark that he wouldn’t have been able to see his own hands waving in front of his nose, even if they weren’t tied behind his back. The only thing he could smell was his own sweat, and the only thing he could hear was a faint scratching sound.
He tried to sit up, but immediately hit his head on what was apparently the top of the box he lay in. “Bloody sausages,” he muttered to himself, “I’m tied up in a box.”
A sudden knocking against the box made him jump and hit his head again. “Knock, knock,” called a voice. “Are you finally awake?”
Before he could answer, the top of the box lifted up, and he could see. It was still rather dark, the only light source was a small candle set on a desk in a corner of a large stone-walled chamber. Sitting in front of the desk was a short, balding man holding a pen. Zane looked around to see who had opened the box, but nobody else was in the room. It was then he noticed that he wasn’t just lying in a box. It was a coffin – an old looking coffin, made of wood, not one of those fancy ones that most people’s families spent thousands of dollars on to bury their loved ones in.
“Ah, good to see you’re awake,” said the man at the desk.
“Who are you? Where am I?” asked Zane. After asking, he immediately realized that those were rather cliché questions, the kind that a boring person would ask in a situation like this, but he didn’t care. They were pertinent.
“You may call me Arthur,” the man said with a slight smile. “As for where you are, that’s for you to find out.”
Zane just stared at the man, and said, “Huh?”
“You see, Zane, I happen to be writing a mystery.”
“A mystery?” Zane asked, dumbly repeating what he was told.
“Yes, Zane, a mystery. You see, unfortunately, someone has died.”
“Really?” Zane asked, somewhat confused. Very confused, actually. “Who?”
“Well, you have, Zane.”
“I have?” Zane looked down at his body, wiggled his fingers and toes, breathed deeply, and listened for his heart beat. “I don’t feel dead,” he declared.
“Well, it’s up to you to prove that,” Arthur replied. “And it’s best for you if you do so quickly. You see, you’ve also been charged with the murder.”
“But I didn’t… wait, what?”
“Yes, Zane. You’ve been charged with the murder of one Zane Legends, a rather famous person in these parts. If you wish to save yourself, you’d best solve this mystery quickly. The guards should be here any moment to take you away. In fact,” he paused, listening for the footsteps that could now be heard, “yes, that’s them coming now. Good luck Zane.”
“But…” Zane tried to say, but at that moment the large wooden door on the opposite side of the room opened, and six fully armored men walked in.
“Are they wearing… armor?” Zane looked down at his own jeans and t-shirt to confirm to himself that he was in fact in the real world, or at least had been not that long ago. He looked over at the man, Arthur. He was sitting in his chair, watching Zane, and writing in his notebook at the same time.
“Zane Legends,” trumpeted the armored guard standing in front, “you have been charged with the murder of Zane Legends. We are here to take you to your trial.”
As the guards led him out of the room and down a long torch-lined corridor, he tried to figure out what was going on. He looked around for clues, because that’s what they did in the movies, but he had no idea what clues looked like. What if he passed a clue without realizing what it was?
“I must be dreaming,” Zane muttered to himself.
The guard standing to his left laughed. “Dreaming? No, you’re not dreaming,” he said. “Don’t plan on waking up right before the trap door drops beneath you. That would be more cliché than those horribly clichéd questions you asked earlier. Not to mention it would ruin a good mystery.”
“How did you…” Zane stopped himself from asking the question. The guard’s voice seemed strangely familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it.
Too soon they walked into a large room. In the front of the room was a bench raised several feet, and in the middle of the room was a big rock. The guards led him to the rock and told him to sit. It was the most uncomfortable rock Zane had ever sat on.
“Zane Legends,” shouted the person sitting in the middle of the bench. “You have been brought today before this court to answer to a charge of murder. How do you plea?”
“Um… not guilty,” Zane replied.
“Oh,” said the speaker. “Well, that wasn’t planned. We expected you to be guilty.”
“Wait…” Zane said. “You seem familiar.” Then, he realized something incredibly important. “Hey! Today’s my birthday!”
As one, everyone in the room jumped up, cheering. There was a bang, and confetti fell from the ceiling into Zane’s hair, and everyone started singing.
“Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday Zane Legends! Happy birthday to you!”
Zane almost cried. Everyone he had ever met on his many travels surrounded him now, wishing him a happy birthday.
“But wait,” he said, “where are we?”
Arthur, who had joined them, said, “Ah, we can’t tell you that, it would spoil the mystery!”
“Oh, sausages!” Zane replied.
Criteria: Crime/mystery, in the dark, crazy person
Some people have a knack for finding strange things; strange things always seem to find Zane Legends. This, of course, is why Zane found himself lying on a hard wooden floor in utter darkness. It was so dark that he wouldn’t have been able to see his own hands waving in front of his nose, even if they weren’t tied behind his back. The only thing he could smell was his own sweat, and the only thing he could hear was a faint scratching sound.
He tried to sit up, but immediately hit his head on what was apparently the top of the box he lay in. “Bloody sausages,” he muttered to himself, “I’m tied up in a box.”
A sudden knocking against the box made him jump and hit his head again. “Knock, knock,” called a voice. “Are you finally awake?”
Before he could answer, the top of the box lifted up, and he could see. It was still rather dark, the only light source was a small candle set on a desk in a corner of a large stone-walled chamber. Sitting in front of the desk was a short, balding man holding a pen. Zane looked around to see who had opened the box, but nobody else was in the room. It was then he noticed that he wasn’t just lying in a box. It was a coffin – an old looking coffin, made of wood, not one of those fancy ones that most people’s families spent thousands of dollars on to bury their loved ones in.
“Ah, good to see you’re awake,” said the man at the desk.
“Who are you? Where am I?” asked Zane. After asking, he immediately realized that those were rather cliché questions, the kind that a boring person would ask in a situation like this, but he didn’t care. They were pertinent.
“You may call me Arthur,” the man said with a slight smile. “As for where you are, that’s for you to find out.”
Zane just stared at the man, and said, “Huh?”
“You see, Zane, I happen to be writing a mystery.”
“A mystery?” Zane asked, dumbly repeating what he was told.
“Yes, Zane, a mystery. You see, unfortunately, someone has died.”
“Really?” Zane asked, somewhat confused. Very confused, actually. “Who?”
“Well, you have, Zane.”
“I have?” Zane looked down at his body, wiggled his fingers and toes, breathed deeply, and listened for his heart beat. “I don’t feel dead,” he declared.
“Well, it’s up to you to prove that,” Arthur replied. “And it’s best for you if you do so quickly. You see, you’ve also been charged with the murder.”
“But I didn’t… wait, what?”
“Yes, Zane. You’ve been charged with the murder of one Zane Legends, a rather famous person in these parts. If you wish to save yourself, you’d best solve this mystery quickly. The guards should be here any moment to take you away. In fact,” he paused, listening for the footsteps that could now be heard, “yes, that’s them coming now. Good luck Zane.”
“But…” Zane tried to say, but at that moment the large wooden door on the opposite side of the room opened, and six fully armored men walked in.
“Are they wearing… armor?” Zane looked down at his own jeans and t-shirt to confirm to himself that he was in fact in the real world, or at least had been not that long ago. He looked over at the man, Arthur. He was sitting in his chair, watching Zane, and writing in his notebook at the same time.
“Zane Legends,” trumpeted the armored guard standing in front, “you have been charged with the murder of Zane Legends. We are here to take you to your trial.”
As the guards led him out of the room and down a long torch-lined corridor, he tried to figure out what was going on. He looked around for clues, because that’s what they did in the movies, but he had no idea what clues looked like. What if he passed a clue without realizing what it was?
“I must be dreaming,” Zane muttered to himself.
The guard standing to his left laughed. “Dreaming? No, you’re not dreaming,” he said. “Don’t plan on waking up right before the trap door drops beneath you. That would be more cliché than those horribly clichéd questions you asked earlier. Not to mention it would ruin a good mystery.”
“How did you…” Zane stopped himself from asking the question. The guard’s voice seemed strangely familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it.
Too soon they walked into a large room. In the front of the room was a bench raised several feet, and in the middle of the room was a big rock. The guards led him to the rock and told him to sit. It was the most uncomfortable rock Zane had ever sat on.
“Zane Legends,” shouted the person sitting in the middle of the bench. “You have been brought today before this court to answer to a charge of murder. How do you plea?”
“Um… not guilty,” Zane replied.
“Oh,” said the speaker. “Well, that wasn’t planned. We expected you to be guilty.”
“Wait…” Zane said. “You seem familiar.” Then, he realized something incredibly important. “Hey! Today’s my birthday!”
As one, everyone in the room jumped up, cheering. There was a bang, and confetti fell from the ceiling into Zane’s hair, and everyone started singing.
“Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday Zane Legends! Happy birthday to you!”
Zane almost cried. Everyone he had ever met on his many travels surrounded him now, wishing him a happy birthday.
“But wait,” he said, “where are we?”
Arthur, who had joined them, said, “Ah, we can’t tell you that, it would spoil the mystery!”
“Oh, sausages!” Zane replied.
Breaking Bread (ZL)
Breaking Bread
Criteria: Historical, ship/boat, writer/storyteller
Some people have a knack for finding strange things; strange things always seem to find Zane Legends. But strange didn't exactly describe the events of this particular year, 1865. It was a hard year all over the world, but especially here in Ireland.
“Dere's no food da'....” young Lissie Mcguillen said, as she looked up at her father with hunger in her 10 year old eyes; eyes that had seen a darker side of the world than most others 3 times her age. But her father, a proud Irish farmer, who had built his house from the ground up, and tilled his own land since he was a lad, was not one to shed tears for hunger, or for anything else. But when when those young eyes looked up at him two weeks earlier and asked shamefully if she could help plow the fields to make the potatoes grow faster, it was all he could do to keep himself from falling to his knees and give in to the urge to weep openly in front of the only family he had left.
“I 'ave some bread 'ere in me pack lil Lissie girl, don ya worry,” he said with a wink, and he fished through the few belongings he had brought with him on the boat ride to the Americas. His hands found the old crusty half loaf and instinctively pulled off the crusts so his daughter wouldn't taste the hard, stale (and most likely moldy) parts- which he saved for himself. “See now, hows dat for your pleasure cruise feast” he said smiling. Lissie took the bread from her father and ate it slowly, not missing a crumb.
Zane sat from a near corner of the vessel and watched the exchange with admiration. He sat and stared as the little girl nibbled on her pathetic excuse for bread all the while keeping her eyes locked on her father. The look on her face was that of a blind man who had been grated the gift of sight. A mixture of unbelievable gratitude and respect was painted vividly on her face. Zane suddenly realized that the little girl was watching him too. He turned his head awkwardly and pretended to yawn, but it was too late. The girl was already on her way over. The father said nothing, he just smiled and watched her walk away. It was the look of a man that knew how precious of a possession he carried and had no problem letting others admire it too.
“Ello” young Lissie said to Zane.
“Oh, um, hi” he replied.
“Where are ya from mister” she asked.
“Oh I get around” was all he replied. His short answers weren't enough to deter his newfound company. So he relinquished his laying down position so she could sit next to him, but as he did so his stomach woke up and remembered that it had been a long time since it's last meal and complained loudly.
“You ungry mister” Lissie asked.
“Oh, I'm ok, it's just that I ran out of potatoes.”
“Yeah, you an ever'one else!” The girls father said as he bent down to eye level. “Now Lissie, you arn botherin this ere fella are ya?” He asked smiling.
“I don tink so da....am I boterin' ya mister?” She asked, now looking at Zane with those same big wet eyes.
It took Zane a moment of clearing his throat before he could answer. “Oh no, she's good company sir,” he said, smiling down at the girl.
Smiling widely now, the girl broke her small hunk of bread in half and handed it to Zane “Ere mister, dis'll keep your belly quiet for a bit.”
Zane didn't know what to say. He was starving, which wasn't something he was particularly used to, but at the same time he couldn't take this girls bread, he had seen how little they really had. Seeing the pained look on his face, Lissie leaned in and whispered “don worry, da always picks off da bes' parts for me, he keeps the hard stuff for himself.” A fact that her father hadn't known that she noticed. Zane looked pittyingly at her father but his only words of support were, “tis er bread to do wit as she pleases, mister, I would eat it fi were you dough, before dat dere song your gullet is singin turns into a chorus.”
Zane hesitantly took a bite. It was the worst bread that he had ever tasted (and he had tasted his fair share of breads). But seeing the wide smile on Lissie's face and her eyes locked on his own was enough to swallow it gratefully.
“Thank you lil miss” he said.
“Oh I'm Lissie, an he's me da'”
“Pat Mcguillen,” the Irishman said, extending his hand.
“Zane Legends, nice to meet you.”
“Say mister Zane, where did you get dat scar?” Lissie asked.
“Oh this,” Zane said touching the side of his face. “well that is a long story.”
“Well, we arn' exactly goin' anywheres Mr Legends,” Pat said smiling.
“A story! Yes, a long story!” Lissie shouted. “Da' get your book!”
“Book?” Zane asked.
“Oh, it's nothin'.” Pat said as he dug out a scraggly looking notepad from his coat pocket. “I jus been writin' down bits ere and dere of ta stories dat dese ere folks ave. I wan ta write a book about it someday, ya know, abou da great famine an the voyage an all dat.”
“Wow, do you really think anyone would read a story about our trip. It's pretty boring,” Zane asked laughing slightly.
“Oh I'm sure sum un'll be a readin it someday. We ave ta get our stories out dere mister Legends, let dose poor people know what we been trough. Show da world what real appiness is.”
“You know the secret to happiness then Mr Mcguillen?” Zane asked sarcastically.
“Oh I don be claimin an great wisedom about notin'....but I do know dat life isn about avin pride in your heart with what cha got.” he said, turning his focus from Zane to his young daughter, “It's abou findin dose that'll stick wich ya when you ain got notin but the pride in your heart left, an still bein appy.” Tears that Mr Mcguillen had been holding in for far longer than he could remember began falling down his face and he dropped his gaze and shook his head in shame. He tried desperately to wipe his face before his daughter could see, but when he pulled his sleeve clear of his face he saw those big wet eyes looking right back at him. Streaks ran down Lissie's face where the tears had pushed away the layer of dirt that the month long “pleasure cruise” had slowly caked on. She said nothing, but understood everything. She knew in that moment why her mom had left, she knew why she stayed when her mom asked he to come with her, she knew why she was happy now when they had nothing, and why she would be happy for the rest of her life.
Without thinking Zane pulled them both into a big hug and wept into their shoulders. They looked at him with eyebrows raised but just laughed loudly and hugged him back.
Years later when Zane was a much older man, he was walking along the booming streets of New York and paused. He saw a young girl perched on the steps of a big skyscraper. It had been a long time since he thought about that day on the boat, but in that child's eyes he remembered it all again as though it had just happened. He approached the girl timidly and reached into his pocket for a small roll of bread that he had for some reason always carried with him; and suddenly realized why.
Criteria: Historical, ship/boat, writer/storyteller
Some people have a knack for finding strange things; strange things always seem to find Zane Legends. But strange didn't exactly describe the events of this particular year, 1865. It was a hard year all over the world, but especially here in Ireland.
“Dere's no food da'....” young Lissie Mcguillen said, as she looked up at her father with hunger in her 10 year old eyes; eyes that had seen a darker side of the world than most others 3 times her age. But her father, a proud Irish farmer, who had built his house from the ground up, and tilled his own land since he was a lad, was not one to shed tears for hunger, or for anything else. But when when those young eyes looked up at him two weeks earlier and asked shamefully if she could help plow the fields to make the potatoes grow faster, it was all he could do to keep himself from falling to his knees and give in to the urge to weep openly in front of the only family he had left.
“I 'ave some bread 'ere in me pack lil Lissie girl, don ya worry,” he said with a wink, and he fished through the few belongings he had brought with him on the boat ride to the Americas. His hands found the old crusty half loaf and instinctively pulled off the crusts so his daughter wouldn't taste the hard, stale (and most likely moldy) parts- which he saved for himself. “See now, hows dat for your pleasure cruise feast” he said smiling. Lissie took the bread from her father and ate it slowly, not missing a crumb.
Zane sat from a near corner of the vessel and watched the exchange with admiration. He sat and stared as the little girl nibbled on her pathetic excuse for bread all the while keeping her eyes locked on her father. The look on her face was that of a blind man who had been grated the gift of sight. A mixture of unbelievable gratitude and respect was painted vividly on her face. Zane suddenly realized that the little girl was watching him too. He turned his head awkwardly and pretended to yawn, but it was too late. The girl was already on her way over. The father said nothing, he just smiled and watched her walk away. It was the look of a man that knew how precious of a possession he carried and had no problem letting others admire it too.
“Ello” young Lissie said to Zane.
“Oh, um, hi” he replied.
“Where are ya from mister” she asked.
“Oh I get around” was all he replied. His short answers weren't enough to deter his newfound company. So he relinquished his laying down position so she could sit next to him, but as he did so his stomach woke up and remembered that it had been a long time since it's last meal and complained loudly.
“You ungry mister” Lissie asked.
“Oh, I'm ok, it's just that I ran out of potatoes.”
“Yeah, you an ever'one else!” The girls father said as he bent down to eye level. “Now Lissie, you arn botherin this ere fella are ya?” He asked smiling.
“I don tink so da....am I boterin' ya mister?” She asked, now looking at Zane with those same big wet eyes.
It took Zane a moment of clearing his throat before he could answer. “Oh no, she's good company sir,” he said, smiling down at the girl.
Smiling widely now, the girl broke her small hunk of bread in half and handed it to Zane “Ere mister, dis'll keep your belly quiet for a bit.”
Zane didn't know what to say. He was starving, which wasn't something he was particularly used to, but at the same time he couldn't take this girls bread, he had seen how little they really had. Seeing the pained look on his face, Lissie leaned in and whispered “don worry, da always picks off da bes' parts for me, he keeps the hard stuff for himself.” A fact that her father hadn't known that she noticed. Zane looked pittyingly at her father but his only words of support were, “tis er bread to do wit as she pleases, mister, I would eat it fi were you dough, before dat dere song your gullet is singin turns into a chorus.”
Zane hesitantly took a bite. It was the worst bread that he had ever tasted (and he had tasted his fair share of breads). But seeing the wide smile on Lissie's face and her eyes locked on his own was enough to swallow it gratefully.
“Thank you lil miss” he said.
“Oh I'm Lissie, an he's me da'”
“Pat Mcguillen,” the Irishman said, extending his hand.
“Zane Legends, nice to meet you.”
“Say mister Zane, where did you get dat scar?” Lissie asked.
“Oh this,” Zane said touching the side of his face. “well that is a long story.”
“Well, we arn' exactly goin' anywheres Mr Legends,” Pat said smiling.
“A story! Yes, a long story!” Lissie shouted. “Da' get your book!”
“Book?” Zane asked.
“Oh, it's nothin'.” Pat said as he dug out a scraggly looking notepad from his coat pocket. “I jus been writin' down bits ere and dere of ta stories dat dese ere folks ave. I wan ta write a book about it someday, ya know, abou da great famine an the voyage an all dat.”
“Wow, do you really think anyone would read a story about our trip. It's pretty boring,” Zane asked laughing slightly.
“Oh I'm sure sum un'll be a readin it someday. We ave ta get our stories out dere mister Legends, let dose poor people know what we been trough. Show da world what real appiness is.”
“You know the secret to happiness then Mr Mcguillen?” Zane asked sarcastically.
“Oh I don be claimin an great wisedom about notin'....but I do know dat life isn about avin pride in your heart with what cha got.” he said, turning his focus from Zane to his young daughter, “It's abou findin dose that'll stick wich ya when you ain got notin but the pride in your heart left, an still bein appy.” Tears that Mr Mcguillen had been holding in for far longer than he could remember began falling down his face and he dropped his gaze and shook his head in shame. He tried desperately to wipe his face before his daughter could see, but when he pulled his sleeve clear of his face he saw those big wet eyes looking right back at him. Streaks ran down Lissie's face where the tears had pushed away the layer of dirt that the month long “pleasure cruise” had slowly caked on. She said nothing, but understood everything. She knew in that moment why her mom had left, she knew why she stayed when her mom asked he to come with her, she knew why she was happy now when they had nothing, and why she would be happy for the rest of her life.
Without thinking Zane pulled them both into a big hug and wept into their shoulders. They looked at him with eyebrows raised but just laughed loudly and hugged him back.
Years later when Zane was a much older man, he was walking along the booming streets of New York and paused. He saw a young girl perched on the steps of a big skyscraper. It had been a long time since he thought about that day on the boat, but in that child's eyes he remembered it all again as though it had just happened. He approached the girl timidly and reached into his pocket for a small roll of bread that he had for some reason always carried with him; and suddenly realized why.
Tea Time (ZL)
Tea Time
Criteria: Historical, town, soldier
Some people have a knack for finding strange things; strange things always seem to find Zane Legends. But the life of a British soldier wasn't filled with many oddities. Especially if you, like Zane, were station in the bright and beautiful new world.
It was mid December, in 1773. A year of colonization, a year of growth and renewal for a country so new and alive. Zane walked through the streets of that hub of a New England town that they locals called “Boston”, feeling the fresh vibe that emanated from its inhabitants. He felt the rush, the excitement, and the overall freeing feeling that most people found themselves feeling in those times. But one feeling was stronger than the rest, one yearning belittled all else on his mind: Hunger.
In true Zane fashion, he was beyond famished from a good days walk. He liked taking strolls to patrol around the new colonies. They were so new, so undeveloped, so devoid of stairs. It made his casual cruising all the easier.
But walking makes you burn calories, and it had been a whole hour since his last meal. So it was time to sit down in a quiet inn and get himself some tea and bread to sate his famished frame. But as he approached the local hot spot he noticed a huge commotion. People were running around and shouting at the guards, it was quite the hullabaloo.
“I can't believe they're doing this! Its so wrong!”
Zane turned to see a weeping brother in arms beside him. “What's so wrong?” He asked.
“Oh you haven't heard the news then?” he replied.
“What news?”
“The colonists are revolting, they are refusing to cooperate and have started rioting!”
“Oh my..” Zane gasped. “But, but are we not a soldiers? Shouldn't we be trying to stop them?”
The soldier looked up at Zane with a look of what could only be described as a mix of abhorrence and disgust. “What they do goes beyond my powers....what they do is....is....” The man made a cross with his fingers over his chest and looked around worriedly, “its blasphemy...” he said in a whisper.
“Blasphemy?” Zane whispered back. “What could the Bostonians possibly do that would be considered as such?”
Zane continued on and followed the crowds to the shipping docks. It was madness. Soldiers cowered in the corners. Mobs of farmers and merchants alike were screaming and laughing and showing complete disrespect for their superiors. What is this mayhem!?
As he finally was able to fight his way through the masses to the ships themselves he stopped dead. His feet just wouldn't carry him any further. He could not believe his eyes. The colonists were taking all of the crates of tea from the ships and throwing them overboard...Zane fell to his knees. How could they?! They are laying waste to the ambrosia of the Gods, the blood stream of every decent Englishman, the mothers milk of the Queen herself!! They are destroying the tea!
It was too much. But judging by the looks on the other soldiers faces, they were just as horrified as he was, and would be unable to do anything to stop them. Zane felt numb. His hunger was not subdued but pushed aside to be remembered at a later hour. His mind was blank. He hadn't even realized that he had walked back to the inn until he saw the same depressed man that he had spoken to before. The man had given way to hid emotions and lay in the middle of the street weeping openly. He glanced up at Zane between sobs and attempted to compose himself. “You saw then...I can tell by your face, you saw....what they did.”
Zane nodded.
The man continued to weep loudly. “They betray their queen, and the very creator who blessed us with such a wondrous beverage!”
Zane looked around to see that his small Bostonian universe had been flipped upside down. The people were celebrating their victory in every inch of spare space that could been seen. The clanking of toasting beer mugs could be heard from every corner and the cheers of the villagers were deafening. They are...happy about what they did?
Zane hadn't realized that he had spoken aloud until the man beside him responded. “They are” he said. “They rejoice in their crimes, nay, their sins against their queen and country. Their abominations against God.”
Zane Shook his head. “We can do nothing but look on and weep from a distance as they destroy our world. But they will answer to a higher law.” Zane straightened up. “You will see, my fellow arms-man, let them have their day, their celebration. But the time will come when they will rue their actions. They have sewn the seeds of betrayal and will have to deal with a greater judgment, and a swift retribution!”
“God?” The soldier asked.
“No, worse, “ Zane replied. “the BBC”
Criteria: Historical, town, soldier
Some people have a knack for finding strange things; strange things always seem to find Zane Legends. But the life of a British soldier wasn't filled with many oddities. Especially if you, like Zane, were station in the bright and beautiful new world.
It was mid December, in 1773. A year of colonization, a year of growth and renewal for a country so new and alive. Zane walked through the streets of that hub of a New England town that they locals called “Boston”, feeling the fresh vibe that emanated from its inhabitants. He felt the rush, the excitement, and the overall freeing feeling that most people found themselves feeling in those times. But one feeling was stronger than the rest, one yearning belittled all else on his mind: Hunger.
In true Zane fashion, he was beyond famished from a good days walk. He liked taking strolls to patrol around the new colonies. They were so new, so undeveloped, so devoid of stairs. It made his casual cruising all the easier.
But walking makes you burn calories, and it had been a whole hour since his last meal. So it was time to sit down in a quiet inn and get himself some tea and bread to sate his famished frame. But as he approached the local hot spot he noticed a huge commotion. People were running around and shouting at the guards, it was quite the hullabaloo.
“I can't believe they're doing this! Its so wrong!”
Zane turned to see a weeping brother in arms beside him. “What's so wrong?” He asked.
“Oh you haven't heard the news then?” he replied.
“What news?”
“The colonists are revolting, they are refusing to cooperate and have started rioting!”
“Oh my..” Zane gasped. “But, but are we not a soldiers? Shouldn't we be trying to stop them?”
The soldier looked up at Zane with a look of what could only be described as a mix of abhorrence and disgust. “What they do goes beyond my powers....what they do is....is....” The man made a cross with his fingers over his chest and looked around worriedly, “its blasphemy...” he said in a whisper.
“Blasphemy?” Zane whispered back. “What could the Bostonians possibly do that would be considered as such?”
Zane continued on and followed the crowds to the shipping docks. It was madness. Soldiers cowered in the corners. Mobs of farmers and merchants alike were screaming and laughing and showing complete disrespect for their superiors. What is this mayhem!?
As he finally was able to fight his way through the masses to the ships themselves he stopped dead. His feet just wouldn't carry him any further. He could not believe his eyes. The colonists were taking all of the crates of tea from the ships and throwing them overboard...Zane fell to his knees. How could they?! They are laying waste to the ambrosia of the Gods, the blood stream of every decent Englishman, the mothers milk of the Queen herself!! They are destroying the tea!
It was too much. But judging by the looks on the other soldiers faces, they were just as horrified as he was, and would be unable to do anything to stop them. Zane felt numb. His hunger was not subdued but pushed aside to be remembered at a later hour. His mind was blank. He hadn't even realized that he had walked back to the inn until he saw the same depressed man that he had spoken to before. The man had given way to hid emotions and lay in the middle of the street weeping openly. He glanced up at Zane between sobs and attempted to compose himself. “You saw then...I can tell by your face, you saw....what they did.”
Zane nodded.
The man continued to weep loudly. “They betray their queen, and the very creator who blessed us with such a wondrous beverage!”
Zane looked around to see that his small Bostonian universe had been flipped upside down. The people were celebrating their victory in every inch of spare space that could been seen. The clanking of toasting beer mugs could be heard from every corner and the cheers of the villagers were deafening. They are...happy about what they did?
Zane hadn't realized that he had spoken aloud until the man beside him responded. “They are” he said. “They rejoice in their crimes, nay, their sins against their queen and country. Their abominations against God.”
Zane Shook his head. “We can do nothing but look on and weep from a distance as they destroy our world. But they will answer to a higher law.” Zane straightened up. “You will see, my fellow arms-man, let them have their day, their celebration. But the time will come when they will rue their actions. They have sewn the seeds of betrayal and will have to deal with a greater judgment, and a swift retribution!”
“God?” The soldier asked.
“No, worse, “ Zane replied. “the BBC”
A Recipe for Disaster (ZL)
The Adventures of Zane Legends
"A Recipe For Disaster"
Criteria: Action/adventure, school, insane person
Some people have a knack for finding strange things; strange things always seem to find Zane legends. And today was no exception; for today. . . . was a school day. For something that seemed so mundane, so completely normal, a school day was anything but. Today had started out so delightfully average, but it took a turn for the obscure when Zane received a phone call that woke him at 7 that morning.
"Mr. Legends, are you able to substitute my 6th period class?" The Voice asked.
"Subst-wha, your who?" Zane replied groggily.
"My 6th period class, Mr. Legends. I have a meeting I must attend and regretfully I will not be able to be at school for my final class, will you cover it for me?"
"What class is it?" Zane asked.
"Home Economics, we are to be baking some wonderf...."
"I'll do it!" Zane said, suddenly as alert as ever.
As he got out of bed, he turned to look at the clock. "7am! Who are these people!?" he groaned. "Well there is one good thing about being up this early: breakfast!" With that he pranced off to the kitchen.
When 2 o' clock finally rolled around Zane found himself at the school and ready to be filled to capacity with baked goodies. As he entered the classroom, the students all took their seats and quieted their conversations to a whisper. Substitutes were always an exciting surprise for students. Usually substitute teachers cared less about what the normal agenda called for and made up their own, and Zane was no exception to the stereotype.....usually....today however was different. Today.... was a baking day! And Zane couldn't wait to get started with what Mr. Hostencrocker had planned.
"Hello class, I am Mr. Legends, and I will be your sub for this period. Your teacher told me that you were baking today, so....let's get started!" Zane said enthusiastically.
After a moment of groaning from the students, the class stood and made their way to the tables and got started collecting their ingredients. All the kids in the class were busy chatting up a storm with their classmates while trying to throw together whatever their recipes called for, all the kids but one that is.
Stanley sat alone in his usual corner mumbling to himself. He didn't even realize that the rest of the class was gone until Zane approached him.
"Sausages boy, what are you doing still sitting down here," he said. "There are cakes to be made, chop chop!" Zane didn't know why Stanley was sitting by himself, or why he continued to mumble while Zane talked to him, what he did know was one less person baking meant one less baked good that he could steal...err....grade.
"I don't bake, Stanley mumbled. "I'm the T.A.; I just sit here and pretend like I care about what everyone else is doing." Stanley raised his head to face Zane for the first time and he noticed the peculiar scar that he had on his face. "What's that from- were you in a war or something?"
"A War? What are you talking....oh, my scar. It's a funny story really, this one time I..."
"Mr. Legends, Mr. Legends- we need your help over here," a girl called from the other side of the room.
"I'll be back," Zane said. He made his way to the part of the room where the girl had beckoned him to and finally saw the worried expressions on the girls face.
"Don't talk to him!" The girl said. "That's Stanley, he's crazy. He never does anything but mumble to himself. "I think he has been to jail."
"He killed someone at his last school too!" another girl standing close whispered.
"Oh, come on," Zane said. "He can't be all that bad. He seems like a nice enough kid to me. I think I will bake something with him, maybe all he needs is a few friends- did you ever think of that." The girls didn't respond, they simply frowned and continued working on their cakes. And just as Zane was about to ask them what they were making a shout from across the room interrupted his train of thought.
"I KNOW YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT ME! I HATE IT WHEN YOU ALL TALK ABOUT ME!" Stanley shouted.
"We weren't talking about you, we were making our cakes." One of the girls replied. "We don't care what you do, you freak!"
"OH YOU WILL CARE! EVERYONE WILL CARE AFTER TODAY!"
"What do you mean Stanley?" Zane asked.
Suddenly Stanley turned pale, and drops of sweat were rolling down his forehead. From his sweatshirt pocket he drew what looked like a small detonation device.
"What is that Stanley?" Zane asked, frustrated that the class was wasting time talking instead of baking.
"I have hidden a bomb in one of the ovens, and on my cue, it will blow the entire room up- as well as half the building." Everyone gasped. "You wanted me to bake huh....well I've definitely got something in the oven now!" His face spread into a smile that made it look wrong. As if the expression itself was not natural on him.
Just then panic spread across Zane's face as he realized that if a bomb went off then no cakes would be made at all. "You can't do this!" He pleaded. "There are too many things at stake, too many lives, too many empty stomachs!"
"No one can stop me now, and your attempts for pity are wasted breaths of air!"
"Everyone Run! Run before he kills us all!"
Zane couldn't see who said it, but it was obvious that everyone heard it, because the whole room erupted into chaos. It was as if what was about to happen finally sunk into everyone's heads. As everyone scrambled to the exits Zane saw the entire scene playing out in slow motion. Children screaming all around him, baking soda and flour flying into the air as the students threw whatever ingredients they had in their hands and dashed for the doors. Seconds had passed and the whole class was empty except for Zane and Stanley.
"I won't let you do this," Zane said.
"You don't have a choice," Stanley replied. With that Zane could see that his fingers were slowly pressing down on a large red button. Zane knew nothing about bombs, but he knew that large red buttons usually meant something that shouldn't be touched. But it was too late, as a last ditch effort at salvation he screamed, "Noooooooo!"
Just then he awoke suddenly in a cold sweat. "So many cakes, ruined." He said sadly. "What a nightmare" he rubbed his head with his sweaty hands, his ears were still ringing from the blast in his dream.....oh wait, those weren't his ears- it was the phone.
"Hello" Zane answered.
"Mr. Legends, are you able to substitute my 6th period class?" The Voice asked.
"Subst-wha, your who?" Zane replied groggily.
"My 6th period class, Mr. Legends. I have a meeting I must attend and regretfully I will not be able to be at school for my final class, will you cover it for me?"
"What class is it?" Zane asked.
"Home Economics, we are to be baking some wonderf...."
The voice never finished.....Zane let the phone drop from his hands and made his way to the kitchen. He was suddenly hungry for cake.....lots and lots of cake.
"A Recipe For Disaster"
Criteria: Action/adventure, school, insane person
Some people have a knack for finding strange things; strange things always seem to find Zane legends. And today was no exception; for today. . . . was a school day. For something that seemed so mundane, so completely normal, a school day was anything but. Today had started out so delightfully average, but it took a turn for the obscure when Zane received a phone call that woke him at 7 that morning.
"Mr. Legends, are you able to substitute my 6th period class?" The Voice asked.
"Subst-wha, your who?" Zane replied groggily.
"My 6th period class, Mr. Legends. I have a meeting I must attend and regretfully I will not be able to be at school for my final class, will you cover it for me?"
"What class is it?" Zane asked.
"Home Economics, we are to be baking some wonderf...."
"I'll do it!" Zane said, suddenly as alert as ever.
As he got out of bed, he turned to look at the clock. "7am! Who are these people!?" he groaned. "Well there is one good thing about being up this early: breakfast!" With that he pranced off to the kitchen.
When 2 o' clock finally rolled around Zane found himself at the school and ready to be filled to capacity with baked goodies. As he entered the classroom, the students all took their seats and quieted their conversations to a whisper. Substitutes were always an exciting surprise for students. Usually substitute teachers cared less about what the normal agenda called for and made up their own, and Zane was no exception to the stereotype.....usually....today however was different. Today.... was a baking day! And Zane couldn't wait to get started with what Mr. Hostencrocker had planned.
"Hello class, I am Mr. Legends, and I will be your sub for this period. Your teacher told me that you were baking today, so....let's get started!" Zane said enthusiastically.
After a moment of groaning from the students, the class stood and made their way to the tables and got started collecting their ingredients. All the kids in the class were busy chatting up a storm with their classmates while trying to throw together whatever their recipes called for, all the kids but one that is.
Stanley sat alone in his usual corner mumbling to himself. He didn't even realize that the rest of the class was gone until Zane approached him.
"Sausages boy, what are you doing still sitting down here," he said. "There are cakes to be made, chop chop!" Zane didn't know why Stanley was sitting by himself, or why he continued to mumble while Zane talked to him, what he did know was one less person baking meant one less baked good that he could steal...err....grade.
"I don't bake, Stanley mumbled. "I'm the T.A.; I just sit here and pretend like I care about what everyone else is doing." Stanley raised his head to face Zane for the first time and he noticed the peculiar scar that he had on his face. "What's that from- were you in a war or something?"
"A War? What are you talking....oh, my scar. It's a funny story really, this one time I..."
"Mr. Legends, Mr. Legends- we need your help over here," a girl called from the other side of the room.
"I'll be back," Zane said. He made his way to the part of the room where the girl had beckoned him to and finally saw the worried expressions on the girls face.
"Don't talk to him!" The girl said. "That's Stanley, he's crazy. He never does anything but mumble to himself. "I think he has been to jail."
"He killed someone at his last school too!" another girl standing close whispered.
"Oh, come on," Zane said. "He can't be all that bad. He seems like a nice enough kid to me. I think I will bake something with him, maybe all he needs is a few friends- did you ever think of that." The girls didn't respond, they simply frowned and continued working on their cakes. And just as Zane was about to ask them what they were making a shout from across the room interrupted his train of thought.
"I KNOW YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT ME! I HATE IT WHEN YOU ALL TALK ABOUT ME!" Stanley shouted.
"We weren't talking about you, we were making our cakes." One of the girls replied. "We don't care what you do, you freak!"
"OH YOU WILL CARE! EVERYONE WILL CARE AFTER TODAY!"
"What do you mean Stanley?" Zane asked.
Suddenly Stanley turned pale, and drops of sweat were rolling down his forehead. From his sweatshirt pocket he drew what looked like a small detonation device.
"What is that Stanley?" Zane asked, frustrated that the class was wasting time talking instead of baking.
"I have hidden a bomb in one of the ovens, and on my cue, it will blow the entire room up- as well as half the building." Everyone gasped. "You wanted me to bake huh....well I've definitely got something in the oven now!" His face spread into a smile that made it look wrong. As if the expression itself was not natural on him.
Just then panic spread across Zane's face as he realized that if a bomb went off then no cakes would be made at all. "You can't do this!" He pleaded. "There are too many things at stake, too many lives, too many empty stomachs!"
"No one can stop me now, and your attempts for pity are wasted breaths of air!"
"Everyone Run! Run before he kills us all!"
Zane couldn't see who said it, but it was obvious that everyone heard it, because the whole room erupted into chaos. It was as if what was about to happen finally sunk into everyone's heads. As everyone scrambled to the exits Zane saw the entire scene playing out in slow motion. Children screaming all around him, baking soda and flour flying into the air as the students threw whatever ingredients they had in their hands and dashed for the doors. Seconds had passed and the whole class was empty except for Zane and Stanley.
"I won't let you do this," Zane said.
"You don't have a choice," Stanley replied. With that Zane could see that his fingers were slowly pressing down on a large red button. Zane knew nothing about bombs, but he knew that large red buttons usually meant something that shouldn't be touched. But it was too late, as a last ditch effort at salvation he screamed, "Noooooooo!"
Just then he awoke suddenly in a cold sweat. "So many cakes, ruined." He said sadly. "What a nightmare" he rubbed his head with his sweaty hands, his ears were still ringing from the blast in his dream.....oh wait, those weren't his ears- it was the phone.
"Hello" Zane answered.
"Mr. Legends, are you able to substitute my 6th period class?" The Voice asked.
"Subst-wha, your who?" Zane replied groggily.
"My 6th period class, Mr. Legends. I have a meeting I must attend and regretfully I will not be able to be at school for my final class, will you cover it for me?"
"What class is it?" Zane asked.
"Home Economics, we are to be baking some wonderf...."
The voice never finished.....Zane let the phone drop from his hands and made his way to the kitchen. He was suddenly hungry for cake.....lots and lots of cake.
A Treasure Hunt (ZL)
The Adventures of Zane Legends
"A Treasure Hunt"
Criteria: Sci-fi, beach, thief
Some people have a knack for finding strange things. Strange things always seem to find Zane Legends. This time, however, he was looking for a strange thing, instead of letting the strange thing find him.
Zane walked slowly across a rocky beach, carrying a ground scanner and watching the monitor for any sign of what he was looking for. The problem was, he didn't know exactly what it was he was looking for. He only knew there was something of great value hidden somewhere in the universe, and all the signs pointed to this beach on this mostly forgotten planet. He had been searching for this treasure for months, and whenever he thought he had come close to finding it, he had found nothing. But this time, he had done his research, and he was fairly confident that it was here on this beach. Whatever it was.
As he was walking, a ship flew overhead and landed about a mile down the beach. Smoked sausages! thought Zane. What are they doing here? Of course, there was only one reason anybody would come to this planet, and that was to search for the treasure. This meant two things. First, Zane was not the only one to come to the conclusion that the treasure was hidden here, and that was a good thing. Second, Zane now had competition. That was a bad thing. He did not want to lose the treasure after months of searching, especially since he got here first.
Zane pushed a button on his utility belt and said, "Jim, are you there?"
"Sure am, Zane. What do you need?"
"Did you see the ship fly in?"
"I certainly did," Jim replied. "The mothership is in high orbit on the other side of the planet."
"Can you see how many are leaving the ship?" asked Zane.
There was a moment's pause, then Jim answered. "Twelve men have left the ship, fully equipped with every type of treasure seeking device I've ever seen. There are probably at least that many still inside."
"Sausages!" Zane muttered. "Well, leave the camera focused on them. And send Nit down here."
"Certainly, Zane. He'll be down momentarily."
Zane pressed a button on the ground scanner and it folded up into a small, wallet-sized case that he deposited in his back pocket. Then he pulled out a small pair of binoculars, which were actually a monitor for the camera on his ship currently in low orbit above him. He watched the men prepare their fancy equipment. They were clearly part of some government, or perhaps worked for a rich tycoon. Whoever they were, with all of that equipment, Zane did not stand a chance of finding the treasure before they did, so he decided to change his methods.
Suddenly a short, beady-eyed man materialized next to Zane. "Hello, Nit."
The man nodded and said, "How goes the treasure hunting?"
"Not so well, I'm afraid. Are you ready to do what you do best?"
"Of course," the man said with a mischievous grin.
"Then let's do this."
Nit took off at a run, and as he ran, he began to shimmer then disappeared completely. He was a thief, perhaps the best thief in the galaxy. He was wanted on seventeen different planets for robbery of important artifacts, but had not been caught. Until by chance Zane caught him attempting to steal his ship. In return for not reporting him to the authorities, Nit now worked for Zane, and he had proved useful many times. Nit's secret was his personal cloaking device, which he had invented himself. He did not reveal his secret to anybody, and was thus an incredible thief.
Zane found some shade to sit in next to a large boulder and watched the progress of the treasure hunters through the binoculars. They worked quickly and efficiently, but it was a large beach, and it would take them a while. After about an hour, Jim sent a message. "Zane, the mothership has sent us a message. They are willing to offer us a deal."
"Oh?" Zane said. "What kind of deal?"
"They will give us twenty percent of the treasure's value if we agree to back off and let them find it."
"Thank them for the offer, but tell them no. We were here first, the treasure is ours."
There were a few moments of silence, and then Jim said, "They don't appreciate your response very much."
"I'm sure they don't," Zane said.
"They're now offering thirty percent," Jim said.
"They don't give up, do they? Very well, tell them we'll give them twenty percent of the value of the treasure if they back off and let us find it."
There were another few moments of silence, then, "They thank you for the offer, but they must refuse."
"Is that what they said?" Zane responded with a smirk.
"More or less," Jim replied.
Zane continued waiting and watching. After another hour or so, he thought he saw some activity surrounding a few of the men, and moments later, Nit's voice came over the intercom.
"Zane, I think they've found something."
"I think you're right. Keep an eye on them, and get ready to move in."
Zane got up from his resting place and began to walk in the direction of the men, who were now setting up a digger. They were only about three-quarters of a mile down the beach. He could see them without the binoculars, but the binoculars gave him a zoomed in overhead view that let him see exactly what it was they had found. When all the sand had been removed, something massive was revealed.
"What is that?" Zane wondered to himself.
"I have no idea," Jim replied.
"Whatever it is, it must be worth a fortune. Will it fit in the ship's containment room?"
"Yes, but barely," replied Jim.
"Nit, are you ready?" Zane asked.
"Always."
Zane watched as first one man fell over unconscious, then another. The remaining men began to run around frantically, and some shot into thin air. Nit was too good for them though, and soon all of them were laying unconscious in the sand.
"It's done," Nit said over the intercom.
"Good, I'm coming. Let's get this thing and go."
"You don't have much time," Jim said. "There are already more men leaving the ship and headed for your position. They'll be there within ten minutes."
"We won't need much time. Just be ready to teleport this thing up when I tell you to."
When he got near the, whatever it was, Nit appeared next to it, already attaching teleportation receivers. Zane helped him, and they soon had it ready. And just in time, the men from the ship would be there in seconds.
"Okay, Jim, bring us up."
Zane felt a tingling sensation throughout his whole body, then he was suddenly in the teleportation chamber of his ship, the Space Bar. Nit was standing next to him. They walked to the main cabin, where Jim was waiting for them.
"Do we have it?" Zane asked.
"We sure do," Jim replied with a grin.
"Good, let's go, before they get mad and come after us."
"Of course," Jim replied, then entered the coordinates into the ship's computer.
"A Treasure Hunt"
Criteria: Sci-fi, beach, thief
Some people have a knack for finding strange things. Strange things always seem to find Zane Legends. This time, however, he was looking for a strange thing, instead of letting the strange thing find him.
Zane walked slowly across a rocky beach, carrying a ground scanner and watching the monitor for any sign of what he was looking for. The problem was, he didn't know exactly what it was he was looking for. He only knew there was something of great value hidden somewhere in the universe, and all the signs pointed to this beach on this mostly forgotten planet. He had been searching for this treasure for months, and whenever he thought he had come close to finding it, he had found nothing. But this time, he had done his research, and he was fairly confident that it was here on this beach. Whatever it was.
As he was walking, a ship flew overhead and landed about a mile down the beach. Smoked sausages! thought Zane. What are they doing here? Of course, there was only one reason anybody would come to this planet, and that was to search for the treasure. This meant two things. First, Zane was not the only one to come to the conclusion that the treasure was hidden here, and that was a good thing. Second, Zane now had competition. That was a bad thing. He did not want to lose the treasure after months of searching, especially since he got here first.
Zane pushed a button on his utility belt and said, "Jim, are you there?"
"Sure am, Zane. What do you need?"
"Did you see the ship fly in?"
"I certainly did," Jim replied. "The mothership is in high orbit on the other side of the planet."
"Can you see how many are leaving the ship?" asked Zane.
There was a moment's pause, then Jim answered. "Twelve men have left the ship, fully equipped with every type of treasure seeking device I've ever seen. There are probably at least that many still inside."
"Sausages!" Zane muttered. "Well, leave the camera focused on them. And send Nit down here."
"Certainly, Zane. He'll be down momentarily."
Zane pressed a button on the ground scanner and it folded up into a small, wallet-sized case that he deposited in his back pocket. Then he pulled out a small pair of binoculars, which were actually a monitor for the camera on his ship currently in low orbit above him. He watched the men prepare their fancy equipment. They were clearly part of some government, or perhaps worked for a rich tycoon. Whoever they were, with all of that equipment, Zane did not stand a chance of finding the treasure before they did, so he decided to change his methods.
Suddenly a short, beady-eyed man materialized next to Zane. "Hello, Nit."
The man nodded and said, "How goes the treasure hunting?"
"Not so well, I'm afraid. Are you ready to do what you do best?"
"Of course," the man said with a mischievous grin.
"Then let's do this."
Nit took off at a run, and as he ran, he began to shimmer then disappeared completely. He was a thief, perhaps the best thief in the galaxy. He was wanted on seventeen different planets for robbery of important artifacts, but had not been caught. Until by chance Zane caught him attempting to steal his ship. In return for not reporting him to the authorities, Nit now worked for Zane, and he had proved useful many times. Nit's secret was his personal cloaking device, which he had invented himself. He did not reveal his secret to anybody, and was thus an incredible thief.
Zane found some shade to sit in next to a large boulder and watched the progress of the treasure hunters through the binoculars. They worked quickly and efficiently, but it was a large beach, and it would take them a while. After about an hour, Jim sent a message. "Zane, the mothership has sent us a message. They are willing to offer us a deal."
"Oh?" Zane said. "What kind of deal?"
"They will give us twenty percent of the treasure's value if we agree to back off and let them find it."
"Thank them for the offer, but tell them no. We were here first, the treasure is ours."
There were a few moments of silence, and then Jim said, "They don't appreciate your response very much."
"I'm sure they don't," Zane said.
"They're now offering thirty percent," Jim said.
"They don't give up, do they? Very well, tell them we'll give them twenty percent of the value of the treasure if they back off and let us find it."
There were another few moments of silence, then, "They thank you for the offer, but they must refuse."
"Is that what they said?" Zane responded with a smirk.
"More or less," Jim replied.
Zane continued waiting and watching. After another hour or so, he thought he saw some activity surrounding a few of the men, and moments later, Nit's voice came over the intercom.
"Zane, I think they've found something."
"I think you're right. Keep an eye on them, and get ready to move in."
Zane got up from his resting place and began to walk in the direction of the men, who were now setting up a digger. They were only about three-quarters of a mile down the beach. He could see them without the binoculars, but the binoculars gave him a zoomed in overhead view that let him see exactly what it was they had found. When all the sand had been removed, something massive was revealed.
"What is that?" Zane wondered to himself.
"I have no idea," Jim replied.
"Whatever it is, it must be worth a fortune. Will it fit in the ship's containment room?"
"Yes, but barely," replied Jim.
"Nit, are you ready?" Zane asked.
"Always."
Zane watched as first one man fell over unconscious, then another. The remaining men began to run around frantically, and some shot into thin air. Nit was too good for them though, and soon all of them were laying unconscious in the sand.
"It's done," Nit said over the intercom.
"Good, I'm coming. Let's get this thing and go."
"You don't have much time," Jim said. "There are already more men leaving the ship and headed for your position. They'll be there within ten minutes."
"We won't need much time. Just be ready to teleport this thing up when I tell you to."
When he got near the, whatever it was, Nit appeared next to it, already attaching teleportation receivers. Zane helped him, and they soon had it ready. And just in time, the men from the ship would be there in seconds.
"Okay, Jim, bring us up."
Zane felt a tingling sensation throughout his whole body, then he was suddenly in the teleportation chamber of his ship, the Space Bar. Nit was standing next to him. They walked to the main cabin, where Jim was waiting for them.
"Do we have it?" Zane asked.
"We sure do," Jim replied with a grin.
"Good, let's go, before they get mad and come after us."
"Of course," Jim replied, then entered the coordinates into the ship's computer.
Riotous Living (ZL)
The Adventures of Zane Legends
"Riotous Living"
Criteria: Historical, celebration, salesman
Some people have a knack for finding strange things; strange things always seem to find Zane Legends. The fact was that the world itself was strange and Zane was lost somewhere in the middle of it. How had things become so bizarre? How had his very life become so distorted? The answers exist in the world, somewhere, but they too were lost. Zane felt as if he was inside of a storm watching life swirl around him, but he stayed in his moment, frozen, and unaffected. He desperately wanted to reach out and grasp onto any answer at all, but every time he moved even in the slightest he was caught up in the swirling and whirling winds of time and circumstance.
And there he remained, sitting on one of the most uncomfortable chairs that he had ever felt in his life- though he barely even knew he was sitting, let alone that there was something touching him. For the first time I his life he didn't even feel the hallow ache that was echoing in his stomach, telling him that it had been hours since he last ate anything. He felt numb, there in his storm, in his moment. How did it come to this? He silently wondered. Somewhere in the back of his mind something told him that his face was wet dirty. He wiped it with his coat sleeve- not picking up on the fact that his clothes were in even worse condition than his face.
While he sat on his uncomfortable chair in the waiting room, the hospital lights glared down at him, making feel even more alone, and under the gaze of the world itself; as if what he had done had brought on the madness that now enveloped the whole city.
It was then that two men approached him.
"Hi son, I'm detective Jordan, and this is my partner, detective Baker." The other man tipped his hat to Zane. But Zane was barely aware of anything. "We are trying to piece together what happened last night. The store clerk said that you might be able to help us. I know this is a difficult time, but it's best to talk while the memory of what happened is still fresh in your mind."
Those last words struck Zane in his heart as though they were nails being hammered into it. The memory is fresh in your mind he thought to himself. "Those types of memories aren't ones that stop being fresh," Zane said, not even looking up at the officer. Without moving his eyes to look at the men, Zane began to recount the event that was playing over and over in his own mind.
"It wasn't very late yet." As soon as he started, the words came pouring out and he felt as though he was there again, reliving the best day and worst night of life.
"The streets were mostly empty, but the shops hadn't closed yet. We were on our way to our favorite restaurant downtown to celebrate our engagement. We just needed to stop by the jewelry store to pick out the ring." The policeman gave Zane a quizzical look.
"You got engaged before you had a ring to give her?" He said.
"We hadn't known each other very long, and I had just proposed earlier in the day- spur of the moment," Zane smiled while still staring at nothing. "She liked being spontaneous. She didn't even want a ring, but I was brought up more traditionally than she was. So I insisted on it.
"When we got to the store it didn't take long for the clerk to show us his entire supply of rings. She tried on most of them, but finally settled on one. It was perfect. As soon as I slid it onto her finger I knew that it was the one.
"'It's a perfect fit,' the guy said to me.
"'It better be,' I said. 'I don't think there are anymore in this place to look at.'
"The clerk just smiled at us. She wouldn't even take her eyes off of the ring to tell the man that she had made her choice. It was the crash that finally caught her attention. We all turned to the windows that faced the street just in time to see the riots starting. People were being drug from their cars and beaten. We just stood there frozen. We barely even noticed that the crash was the rioters breaking the stores windows to take the jewels from the shop. I grew up in LA, and I had seen riots and I had been robbed before, but not like that. The whole place was in chaos."
"People said they were reacting to Rodney King, but I didn't see him anywhere on the streets." The cop sneered, but quickly realized how insensitive his comment was and urged Zane to continue.
"Everything went so fast. First they were on the streets, then in the store. The next thing I knew was face to face with a gun.
"'Give me the ring,' the guy said to me. I hadn't even realized that I had taken the ring from her finger and clenched it in my fist. I don't know what I was thinking, I just stood there frozen. 'Give it to him honey,' she said to me. 'It doesn't matter.' That was it.
"Suddenly that ring was life, it meant everything. It was like it represented the rest of our time together. I guess it did actually. The guy lunged at me, and we fought for the ring. Then just like that, suddenly my ears were ringing, and the guy was running out of the store and back to the street. I didn't know what had happened until I smelled the smoke in the air. When I looked down and saw the ring still in one hand, and the gun in the other it hit me. I was only trying to keep it for her. She lit up when she saw it."
Zane looked down at his hand to see the ring still gripped in his fingers. He held it so tight that the blood stopped flowing into his palm.
"When I saw her on the floor, bleeding, I. . . I don't know what happened. The world stopped."
Zane's world had in fact halted. His mind was frozen in that moment and even though the police we still asking him questions, he couldn't find the words. The answers still evaded his grasp. The storm seemed larger now, and he felt smaller. He knew where he was, but had no control over what he was doing. When the detective tried to lift him to his feet, he didn't even notice that he had wriggled free of his grasp and grabbed his gun. Before he knew what was happening, time stopped; and his story was over.
"Riotous Living"
Criteria: Historical, celebration, salesman
Some people have a knack for finding strange things; strange things always seem to find Zane Legends. The fact was that the world itself was strange and Zane was lost somewhere in the middle of it. How had things become so bizarre? How had his very life become so distorted? The answers exist in the world, somewhere, but they too were lost. Zane felt as if he was inside of a storm watching life swirl around him, but he stayed in his moment, frozen, and unaffected. He desperately wanted to reach out and grasp onto any answer at all, but every time he moved even in the slightest he was caught up in the swirling and whirling winds of time and circumstance.
And there he remained, sitting on one of the most uncomfortable chairs that he had ever felt in his life- though he barely even knew he was sitting, let alone that there was something touching him. For the first time I his life he didn't even feel the hallow ache that was echoing in his stomach, telling him that it had been hours since he last ate anything. He felt numb, there in his storm, in his moment. How did it come to this? He silently wondered. Somewhere in the back of his mind something told him that his face was wet dirty. He wiped it with his coat sleeve- not picking up on the fact that his clothes were in even worse condition than his face.
While he sat on his uncomfortable chair in the waiting room, the hospital lights glared down at him, making feel even more alone, and under the gaze of the world itself; as if what he had done had brought on the madness that now enveloped the whole city.
It was then that two men approached him.
"Hi son, I'm detective Jordan, and this is my partner, detective Baker." The other man tipped his hat to Zane. But Zane was barely aware of anything. "We are trying to piece together what happened last night. The store clerk said that you might be able to help us. I know this is a difficult time, but it's best to talk while the memory of what happened is still fresh in your mind."
Those last words struck Zane in his heart as though they were nails being hammered into it. The memory is fresh in your mind he thought to himself. "Those types of memories aren't ones that stop being fresh," Zane said, not even looking up at the officer. Without moving his eyes to look at the men, Zane began to recount the event that was playing over and over in his own mind.
"It wasn't very late yet." As soon as he started, the words came pouring out and he felt as though he was there again, reliving the best day and worst night of life.
"The streets were mostly empty, but the shops hadn't closed yet. We were on our way to our favorite restaurant downtown to celebrate our engagement. We just needed to stop by the jewelry store to pick out the ring." The policeman gave Zane a quizzical look.
"You got engaged before you had a ring to give her?" He said.
"We hadn't known each other very long, and I had just proposed earlier in the day- spur of the moment," Zane smiled while still staring at nothing. "She liked being spontaneous. She didn't even want a ring, but I was brought up more traditionally than she was. So I insisted on it.
"When we got to the store it didn't take long for the clerk to show us his entire supply of rings. She tried on most of them, but finally settled on one. It was perfect. As soon as I slid it onto her finger I knew that it was the one.
"'It's a perfect fit,' the guy said to me.
"'It better be,' I said. 'I don't think there are anymore in this place to look at.'
"The clerk just smiled at us. She wouldn't even take her eyes off of the ring to tell the man that she had made her choice. It was the crash that finally caught her attention. We all turned to the windows that faced the street just in time to see the riots starting. People were being drug from their cars and beaten. We just stood there frozen. We barely even noticed that the crash was the rioters breaking the stores windows to take the jewels from the shop. I grew up in LA, and I had seen riots and I had been robbed before, but not like that. The whole place was in chaos."
"People said they were reacting to Rodney King, but I didn't see him anywhere on the streets." The cop sneered, but quickly realized how insensitive his comment was and urged Zane to continue.
"Everything went so fast. First they were on the streets, then in the store. The next thing I knew was face to face with a gun.
"'Give me the ring,' the guy said to me. I hadn't even realized that I had taken the ring from her finger and clenched it in my fist. I don't know what I was thinking, I just stood there frozen. 'Give it to him honey,' she said to me. 'It doesn't matter.' That was it.
"Suddenly that ring was life, it meant everything. It was like it represented the rest of our time together. I guess it did actually. The guy lunged at me, and we fought for the ring. Then just like that, suddenly my ears were ringing, and the guy was running out of the store and back to the street. I didn't know what had happened until I smelled the smoke in the air. When I looked down and saw the ring still in one hand, and the gun in the other it hit me. I was only trying to keep it for her. She lit up when she saw it."
Zane looked down at his hand to see the ring still gripped in his fingers. He held it so tight that the blood stopped flowing into his palm.
"When I saw her on the floor, bleeding, I. . . I don't know what happened. The world stopped."
Zane's world had in fact halted. His mind was frozen in that moment and even though the police we still asking him questions, he couldn't find the words. The answers still evaded his grasp. The storm seemed larger now, and he felt smaller. He knew where he was, but had no control over what he was doing. When the detective tried to lift him to his feet, he didn't even notice that he had wriggled free of his grasp and grabbed his gun. Before he knew what was happening, time stopped; and his story was over.
Prisoner of War (ZL)
The Adventures of Zane Legends
"Prisoner of War"
Criteria: Fantasy, celebration, writer/storyteller
Some people have a knack for finding strange things; strange things always seem to find Zane Legends. And being in the middle of a grand celebration such as the one Zane was attending now, it is not surprising in the least that some strange things would find him.
Unfortunately for Zane, the grand celebration was not for him, or for anybody he was close to. However, the reason there was a celebration was because of him and people he was close to. His kingdom had been at war with the elvish kingdom for over a decade, and after hundreds of battles, his kingdom had lost miserably. Much of what remained of the army had retreated far to the south, but many of the soldiers had been left behind as prisoners. Zane was one of those soldiers.
He and his fellow soldiers had been lined up in the main square of the capital city as a display of dominance and power over the enemies of the elves. The prisoners were all chained together, and the chains were staked to the ground. Fully uniformed elvish soldiers stood guard, keeping a close watch, but not preventing the citizens from abusing the prisoners.
Elves regularly approached them to spit on them, slap them, kick them, throw stuff at them, and make rude comments such as, "Take that, human scum!" Morin, the man three people down the chain from them, had retaliated. He could not do much, all chained up, but he had lashed out and insulted the elf. He was still moaning on the ground from the beating the guards gave him. Needless to say, nobody attempted to retaliate again.
One elf approached Zane and asked, "Human, where did you get that scar on your face? Looks like you might have cut yourself shaving judging by the shape of it."
"Well, when I-." Zane chose not to finish his story. Or rather, the elf punched him hard in the stomach and said, "If I'd have wanted your stories, I'd have asked for them, scum."
That left Zane without any breath to respond, though he wouldn't have anyway. The elf walked off to rejoin the festivities.
If Zane hadn't have been a prisoner, he would have been enjoying himself immensely. Everywhere he looked there were people playing games, laughing, telling jokes and stories, and worst of all, eating. There was food everywhere, of every type imaginable. Fruits had been brought from distant places, and hundreds of animals must have been slaughtered to provide all the meat. It was a feast at every corner.
The food was reserved for the elves though. Zane and the other prisoners were given stale bread, old cheese, and murky water, nothing more. Zane's stomach rumbled at the sight of all that food just feet away from him. It might as well have been miles away.
Night eventually descended upon the celebration, but the activities did not cease. When it became fully dark, the firework show began. Zane was finally able to kind of forget his plight and enjoy the moment. His view of the show was mostly blocked, since there was a roof above him (probably there for the very purpose of preventing them from enjoying the display), but the elves were watching the fireworks and had temporarily forgotten about the prisoners. The fireworks truly were spectacular. Only elves could make fireworks such as this, and because of the wars most humans had never seen an elvish firework show. It was beyond Zane's wildest imaginations. The fireworks would actually show images, though it seemed most of the ones the prisoners were able to see depicted dying humans, or elves killing humans, or elven banners, and a number of other similar and insulting things. Zane enjoyed them anyway.
After the fireworks show, the elves started a huge bonfire in the square, and an old elf with long white hair began to tell the most incredible stories. Sometimes he just told the stories, sometimes he chanted them, and sometimes he sang them, with a rich baritone voice. The elf had a captivating voice, and Zane could almost see the ferociousness of the ancient battles, the romance between the elf-lad and the elf-princess, the rise of the elven kingdom, and many other great things. Soon Zane got lost in these stories, and he fell asleep and continued to live the stories in his dreams.
Zane woke up not more than an hour later. He was not in a very comfortable position, and his back was killing him. The old elf had stopped telling stories, but the fire was still bright and the celebration was still going strong. There was now a small band and the elves were having a dance. Several of the guards had even gone to join in the merry making.
Most of the other prisoners around Zane were sleeping; most of them looked rather uncomfortable. As Zane watched the festivities, he noticed an elf walking toward the line of prisoners. When it got nearer, Zane saw it was the old storyteller.
The elf walked straight up to Zane, sat down on the ground in front of him. "Good evening," he greeted with a smile. He seemed friendly; he was certainly not rude like the other elves.
"Good evening," Zane replied, not knowing what else to say.
"I would ask if you are enjoying the festivities, but I feel I already know the answer," the old elf said with a knowing smile.
"Indeed you do," Zane agreed.
"What might your name be?" asked the elf.
"I am Zane Legends."
"Zane Legends," the elf repeated. "A heroic name. Yes, very heroic."
The storyteller seemed to get lost in his thoughts, and Zane did not interrupt. After a few moments, the elf said, "You are an adventurous person, aren't you? I can see hundreds of stories surrounding you, stories that need to be told. Stories that cannot be told with you chained up like this."
He seems to see rather a lot, Zane thought to himself, but still said nothing.
The elf continued, "Yes, I see great things in store for you. I believe it is time for you to go."
The old elf reached out to touch Zane's shackles, and they immediately fell from his wrists and ankles. Zane's eyes widened and he asked, "How did you do that? Who are you?"
"I? I am just a storyteller," the elf replied, then turned and began to walk away.
"Wait!" Zane exclaimed. "How will I get out of here?" He turned to look at the guards behind him, but saw that they were no longer there. When he turned back, the storyteller had vanished. He thought he heard an echo of the storyteller's voice in his mind. It's your adventure. You'll find a way.
Zane got up. He felt bad leaving behind his fellow countrymen, but they were still chained up, and he didn't think he'd be able to do anything to help them. So, he left them behind and began to sneak away. Unfortunately, he didn't get very far before hearing a melodious voice call after him, "Hey, leaving so soon? The celebration has barely begun!"
He looked over his shoulder and saw the most beautiful elf-maiden he had ever seen in his life. She giggled and beckoned to him. "Come dance with me!" she said.
Wondering if he could pass for an elf, and not knowing what else to do, he accepted her invitation and walked over to her. She did not seem to notice his human qualities, but simply said, "I can't believe you would leave so early! Come!" She tugged at his arm, and he allowed himself to be drug to where the other dancers were.
Zane lost track of time after that, but he thought he must have danced with her for hours. He never seemed to get tired, and neither did she, so they kept going. They stopped once when he mentioned how hungry he was, and she let him fill himself with wonderful elvish food. Then they continued to dance.
Zane wondered if he had been caught by the elvish spell that some of the soldiers would talk about. He thought he saw the old storyteller out of the corner of his eye several times, but whenever he turned to get a better look the elf wasn't there.
They danced until it was nearly dawn. It was then that Zane realized they had left the rest of the dancers and were now near the city gate. They stopped, and the elf-maiden said, "Father tells me you must leave before dawn. It has been a wonderful night, I wish you well on your journey." With that, she gave him a little shove toward the gate.
Zane bowed and said, "It has been a wonderful night. Perhaps we can do this again."
"Perhaps," she giggled. "Now go!"
Zane walked through the gate. He stopped to look back, and thought he saw the old elf standing with the elf-maiden. He waived, and walked away.
"Prisoner of War"
Criteria: Fantasy, celebration, writer/storyteller
Some people have a knack for finding strange things; strange things always seem to find Zane Legends. And being in the middle of a grand celebration such as the one Zane was attending now, it is not surprising in the least that some strange things would find him.
Unfortunately for Zane, the grand celebration was not for him, or for anybody he was close to. However, the reason there was a celebration was because of him and people he was close to. His kingdom had been at war with the elvish kingdom for over a decade, and after hundreds of battles, his kingdom had lost miserably. Much of what remained of the army had retreated far to the south, but many of the soldiers had been left behind as prisoners. Zane was one of those soldiers.
He and his fellow soldiers had been lined up in the main square of the capital city as a display of dominance and power over the enemies of the elves. The prisoners were all chained together, and the chains were staked to the ground. Fully uniformed elvish soldiers stood guard, keeping a close watch, but not preventing the citizens from abusing the prisoners.
Elves regularly approached them to spit on them, slap them, kick them, throw stuff at them, and make rude comments such as, "Take that, human scum!" Morin, the man three people down the chain from them, had retaliated. He could not do much, all chained up, but he had lashed out and insulted the elf. He was still moaning on the ground from the beating the guards gave him. Needless to say, nobody attempted to retaliate again.
One elf approached Zane and asked, "Human, where did you get that scar on your face? Looks like you might have cut yourself shaving judging by the shape of it."
"Well, when I-." Zane chose not to finish his story. Or rather, the elf punched him hard in the stomach and said, "If I'd have wanted your stories, I'd have asked for them, scum."
That left Zane without any breath to respond, though he wouldn't have anyway. The elf walked off to rejoin the festivities.
If Zane hadn't have been a prisoner, he would have been enjoying himself immensely. Everywhere he looked there were people playing games, laughing, telling jokes and stories, and worst of all, eating. There was food everywhere, of every type imaginable. Fruits had been brought from distant places, and hundreds of animals must have been slaughtered to provide all the meat. It was a feast at every corner.
The food was reserved for the elves though. Zane and the other prisoners were given stale bread, old cheese, and murky water, nothing more. Zane's stomach rumbled at the sight of all that food just feet away from him. It might as well have been miles away.
Night eventually descended upon the celebration, but the activities did not cease. When it became fully dark, the firework show began. Zane was finally able to kind of forget his plight and enjoy the moment. His view of the show was mostly blocked, since there was a roof above him (probably there for the very purpose of preventing them from enjoying the display), but the elves were watching the fireworks and had temporarily forgotten about the prisoners. The fireworks truly were spectacular. Only elves could make fireworks such as this, and because of the wars most humans had never seen an elvish firework show. It was beyond Zane's wildest imaginations. The fireworks would actually show images, though it seemed most of the ones the prisoners were able to see depicted dying humans, or elves killing humans, or elven banners, and a number of other similar and insulting things. Zane enjoyed them anyway.
After the fireworks show, the elves started a huge bonfire in the square, and an old elf with long white hair began to tell the most incredible stories. Sometimes he just told the stories, sometimes he chanted them, and sometimes he sang them, with a rich baritone voice. The elf had a captivating voice, and Zane could almost see the ferociousness of the ancient battles, the romance between the elf-lad and the elf-princess, the rise of the elven kingdom, and many other great things. Soon Zane got lost in these stories, and he fell asleep and continued to live the stories in his dreams.
Zane woke up not more than an hour later. He was not in a very comfortable position, and his back was killing him. The old elf had stopped telling stories, but the fire was still bright and the celebration was still going strong. There was now a small band and the elves were having a dance. Several of the guards had even gone to join in the merry making.
Most of the other prisoners around Zane were sleeping; most of them looked rather uncomfortable. As Zane watched the festivities, he noticed an elf walking toward the line of prisoners. When it got nearer, Zane saw it was the old storyteller.
The elf walked straight up to Zane, sat down on the ground in front of him. "Good evening," he greeted with a smile. He seemed friendly; he was certainly not rude like the other elves.
"Good evening," Zane replied, not knowing what else to say.
"I would ask if you are enjoying the festivities, but I feel I already know the answer," the old elf said with a knowing smile.
"Indeed you do," Zane agreed.
"What might your name be?" asked the elf.
"I am Zane Legends."
"Zane Legends," the elf repeated. "A heroic name. Yes, very heroic."
The storyteller seemed to get lost in his thoughts, and Zane did not interrupt. After a few moments, the elf said, "You are an adventurous person, aren't you? I can see hundreds of stories surrounding you, stories that need to be told. Stories that cannot be told with you chained up like this."
He seems to see rather a lot, Zane thought to himself, but still said nothing.
The elf continued, "Yes, I see great things in store for you. I believe it is time for you to go."
The old elf reached out to touch Zane's shackles, and they immediately fell from his wrists and ankles. Zane's eyes widened and he asked, "How did you do that? Who are you?"
"I? I am just a storyteller," the elf replied, then turned and began to walk away.
"Wait!" Zane exclaimed. "How will I get out of here?" He turned to look at the guards behind him, but saw that they were no longer there. When he turned back, the storyteller had vanished. He thought he heard an echo of the storyteller's voice in his mind. It's your adventure. You'll find a way.
Zane got up. He felt bad leaving behind his fellow countrymen, but they were still chained up, and he didn't think he'd be able to do anything to help them. So, he left them behind and began to sneak away. Unfortunately, he didn't get very far before hearing a melodious voice call after him, "Hey, leaving so soon? The celebration has barely begun!"
He looked over his shoulder and saw the most beautiful elf-maiden he had ever seen in his life. She giggled and beckoned to him. "Come dance with me!" she said.
Wondering if he could pass for an elf, and not knowing what else to do, he accepted her invitation and walked over to her. She did not seem to notice his human qualities, but simply said, "I can't believe you would leave so early! Come!" She tugged at his arm, and he allowed himself to be drug to where the other dancers were.
Zane lost track of time after that, but he thought he must have danced with her for hours. He never seemed to get tired, and neither did she, so they kept going. They stopped once when he mentioned how hungry he was, and she let him fill himself with wonderful elvish food. Then they continued to dance.
Zane wondered if he had been caught by the elvish spell that some of the soldiers would talk about. He thought he saw the old storyteller out of the corner of his eye several times, but whenever he turned to get a better look the elf wasn't there.
They danced until it was nearly dawn. It was then that Zane realized they had left the rest of the dancers and were now near the city gate. They stopped, and the elf-maiden said, "Father tells me you must leave before dawn. It has been a wonderful night, I wish you well on your journey." With that, she gave him a little shove toward the gate.
Zane bowed and said, "It has been a wonderful night. Perhaps we can do this again."
"Perhaps," she giggled. "Now go!"
Zane walked through the gate. He stopped to look back, and thought he saw the old elf standing with the elf-maiden. He waived, and walked away.
The Doorknob Thief (ZL)
The Adventures of Zane Legends
"The Doorknob Thief"
Criteria: Crime, in the dark, salesman
Some people have a knack for finding strange things; strange things always seem to find Zane Legends. Sometimes Zane is on the move, and those strange things have to search him out. Other times Zane remains pretty much stationary, and that's when the strange things almost overwhelm him.
Zane sat in a hard, uncomfortable chair, his feet crossed on the desk in front of him. He was watching Simpsons reruns on the TV in the corner and eating a turkey hoagie. There was a stack of six more hoagies on the desk, a bunch of bananas, and a twelve back of Cherry Coke, though two cans were already empty, and another was nearly so. Being an overnight security guard for a decent sized jewelry store, Zane needed the rations to keep him up and alert, and he needed the Simpsons to keep him in a good mood.
All the lights in the building were off, including in the monitoring room. Zane figured that a nighttime guard should work in the dark, so that's what he did. Every few seconds he glanced over at the camera monitors, but everything was still. Everything was always still, who would be foolish enough to rob a jewelry store? Every entrance was alarmed, and so were all the glass display cases. Zane felt his job was rather unnecessary, which made it even better. He got paid for sitting around watching TV and eating, there was no better job in his opinion.
Then, just as an episode was ending and he was stuffing the last bite of another sandwich into his mouth, he glanced over at one of the monitors and thought he saw a shadow of something moving near one of the rear exits. When he looked again he didn't see anything, so he dismissed it as his mind playing tricks on him. But a few moments later he saw it again, a shadow moving, this time next to the door to the main display area, so he decided he'd better go investigate.
He snuck out into the main room and looked around. Immediately he noticed a black shape next to a door. After a few moments of study, Zane realized it was a man dressed all in black. What he was doing near the doorway, Zane had no idea. So, he decided he'd find out.
"What are you doing?" Zane asked in a strong voice.
The figure did not make one sound, but instantly fled toward the back door of the store. Zane pursued, and found the back door wide open, with the black figure rushing down short flight of stairs outside. Zane stopped at the entrance. He never came in or left this way because of those stairs. The front entrance had no stairs, so he always came and left that way. By the time Zane realized that there really weren't that many stairs and he could simply jump over them, the black figure had disappeared.
"Burnt sausages, he got away!" Zane muttered to himself.
Zane decided to go investigate to see if anything had been stolen. One by one, he checked all of the display cases, but they were all perfect fine, and the alarms were all activated. Then he walked over to the door where the thief had been kneeling, and saw something unusual. The doorknob was missing. Why would a thief break into a jewelry store and steal a doorknob? Zane wondered to himself. Then, with a sudden flash of brilliance, Zane checked the back door. Sure enough, the doorknob there was missing as well, and the alarm system had somehow been deactivated.
Zane decided he'd better call the store owner. After a few rings, someone answered.
"Hello?" said a groggy voice.
"Hello, sir, this is Zane Legends."
Immediately the voice became more awake. "Has something happened?"
"Well, sir, kind of. Someone broke in, but as far as I can tell he only stole two doorknobs."
"Doorknobs?" the owner asked, wondering if he had heard right.
"Yes, sir," Zane responded. "Maybe he would have stolen something more, but I chased him out."
"Well, if he only stole doorknobs, we don't need to report it to the police. Just keep an eye out for if he comes back." The shopkeeper did not trust the police very much. There had been a previous issue, but Zane had only heard rumors.
"Yes, sir, will do," Zane confirmed. "Good night, sir."
"Good night, Zane."
Zane hung up the phone and went to close the back door. Unfortunately, because the doorknob was missing, it simply would not stay closed no matter what Zane tried. So, he readjusted one of the security cameras to point directly at that entrance, then returned to the monitoring room, where he opened another can of Cherry Coke.
Not a half hour later, Zane saw a black figure enter the already open back door. Zane did not immediately go out to chase the man away, he wanted to see what the thief was up to. The thief slowly made his way to the front door, which somewhat surprised Zane, and yet at the same time, Zane kind of expected it.
Zane walked out and began to sneak up on the man, but the man must have heard him, because he suddenly leapt up and ran to the back door, where he escaped into the night. Zane went to check the front door, and discovered that he was too late, the doorknob was already missing. He found it unusual that the man escaped through the back door when the front door was so much closer. It was almost as though the man knew of Zane's fear of stairs.
Zane chose not to call the owner this time; after all, it was just another doorknob. Unfortunately, the store was now rather vulnerable. So, Zane prepared his defenses. He carefully poured his remaining Coke on the floor and on the doors, then placed banana peels in strategic places all around the building. When his preparations were complete, he hunched down in a corner and waited.
He didn't have to wait long. Soon, he heard a voice from the front door.
"What the heck? This door is all sticky," the voice whispered.
"Be quiet," whispered another.
As the thieves entered, Zane could clearly hear the squeaky sound of their sticky, Coke-covered shoes. He listened with anticipation, and sure enough, heard a hiss, a thud, then another thud, as a man slipped on a banana peel and knocked over the other man as he fell. He heard similar sounds coming from the back door. He jumped from his hiding place with several nice sized pieces of rope and quickly tied them all up, then drug them to the middle of the room.
Two of them were arguing about whose fault it was that they ended up in that predicament, so Zane stuffed some of his hoagie sandwiches in their mouths to shut them up. One of the others asked, "Who are you?"
"I'm Zane Legends, thank you for asking."
"Where did you get that scar?" the thief asked.
"Well, it goes like this," Zane said. "I was -."
At that moment, police sirens interrupted him. Being the smart guy he was, he had called the police right before the thieves had arrived, and they had shown up just in time.
"Oh, burnt sausages!" exclaimed one of the thieves.
Zane stuffed the last sandwich down the thief's mouth and said, "You can't say that! That's my line!"
"The Doorknob Thief"
Criteria: Crime, in the dark, salesman
Some people have a knack for finding strange things; strange things always seem to find Zane Legends. Sometimes Zane is on the move, and those strange things have to search him out. Other times Zane remains pretty much stationary, and that's when the strange things almost overwhelm him.
Zane sat in a hard, uncomfortable chair, his feet crossed on the desk in front of him. He was watching Simpsons reruns on the TV in the corner and eating a turkey hoagie. There was a stack of six more hoagies on the desk, a bunch of bananas, and a twelve back of Cherry Coke, though two cans were already empty, and another was nearly so. Being an overnight security guard for a decent sized jewelry store, Zane needed the rations to keep him up and alert, and he needed the Simpsons to keep him in a good mood.
All the lights in the building were off, including in the monitoring room. Zane figured that a nighttime guard should work in the dark, so that's what he did. Every few seconds he glanced over at the camera monitors, but everything was still. Everything was always still, who would be foolish enough to rob a jewelry store? Every entrance was alarmed, and so were all the glass display cases. Zane felt his job was rather unnecessary, which made it even better. He got paid for sitting around watching TV and eating, there was no better job in his opinion.
Then, just as an episode was ending and he was stuffing the last bite of another sandwich into his mouth, he glanced over at one of the monitors and thought he saw a shadow of something moving near one of the rear exits. When he looked again he didn't see anything, so he dismissed it as his mind playing tricks on him. But a few moments later he saw it again, a shadow moving, this time next to the door to the main display area, so he decided he'd better go investigate.
He snuck out into the main room and looked around. Immediately he noticed a black shape next to a door. After a few moments of study, Zane realized it was a man dressed all in black. What he was doing near the doorway, Zane had no idea. So, he decided he'd find out.
"What are you doing?" Zane asked in a strong voice.
The figure did not make one sound, but instantly fled toward the back door of the store. Zane pursued, and found the back door wide open, with the black figure rushing down short flight of stairs outside. Zane stopped at the entrance. He never came in or left this way because of those stairs. The front entrance had no stairs, so he always came and left that way. By the time Zane realized that there really weren't that many stairs and he could simply jump over them, the black figure had disappeared.
"Burnt sausages, he got away!" Zane muttered to himself.
Zane decided to go investigate to see if anything had been stolen. One by one, he checked all of the display cases, but they were all perfect fine, and the alarms were all activated. Then he walked over to the door where the thief had been kneeling, and saw something unusual. The doorknob was missing. Why would a thief break into a jewelry store and steal a doorknob? Zane wondered to himself. Then, with a sudden flash of brilliance, Zane checked the back door. Sure enough, the doorknob there was missing as well, and the alarm system had somehow been deactivated.
Zane decided he'd better call the store owner. After a few rings, someone answered.
"Hello?" said a groggy voice.
"Hello, sir, this is Zane Legends."
Immediately the voice became more awake. "Has something happened?"
"Well, sir, kind of. Someone broke in, but as far as I can tell he only stole two doorknobs."
"Doorknobs?" the owner asked, wondering if he had heard right.
"Yes, sir," Zane responded. "Maybe he would have stolen something more, but I chased him out."
"Well, if he only stole doorknobs, we don't need to report it to the police. Just keep an eye out for if he comes back." The shopkeeper did not trust the police very much. There had been a previous issue, but Zane had only heard rumors.
"Yes, sir, will do," Zane confirmed. "Good night, sir."
"Good night, Zane."
Zane hung up the phone and went to close the back door. Unfortunately, because the doorknob was missing, it simply would not stay closed no matter what Zane tried. So, he readjusted one of the security cameras to point directly at that entrance, then returned to the monitoring room, where he opened another can of Cherry Coke.
Not a half hour later, Zane saw a black figure enter the already open back door. Zane did not immediately go out to chase the man away, he wanted to see what the thief was up to. The thief slowly made his way to the front door, which somewhat surprised Zane, and yet at the same time, Zane kind of expected it.
Zane walked out and began to sneak up on the man, but the man must have heard him, because he suddenly leapt up and ran to the back door, where he escaped into the night. Zane went to check the front door, and discovered that he was too late, the doorknob was already missing. He found it unusual that the man escaped through the back door when the front door was so much closer. It was almost as though the man knew of Zane's fear of stairs.
Zane chose not to call the owner this time; after all, it was just another doorknob. Unfortunately, the store was now rather vulnerable. So, Zane prepared his defenses. He carefully poured his remaining Coke on the floor and on the doors, then placed banana peels in strategic places all around the building. When his preparations were complete, he hunched down in a corner and waited.
He didn't have to wait long. Soon, he heard a voice from the front door.
"What the heck? This door is all sticky," the voice whispered.
"Be quiet," whispered another.
As the thieves entered, Zane could clearly hear the squeaky sound of their sticky, Coke-covered shoes. He listened with anticipation, and sure enough, heard a hiss, a thud, then another thud, as a man slipped on a banana peel and knocked over the other man as he fell. He heard similar sounds coming from the back door. He jumped from his hiding place with several nice sized pieces of rope and quickly tied them all up, then drug them to the middle of the room.
Two of them were arguing about whose fault it was that they ended up in that predicament, so Zane stuffed some of his hoagie sandwiches in their mouths to shut them up. One of the others asked, "Who are you?"
"I'm Zane Legends, thank you for asking."
"Where did you get that scar?" the thief asked.
"Well, it goes like this," Zane said. "I was -."
At that moment, police sirens interrupted him. Being the smart guy he was, he had called the police right before the thieves had arrived, and they had shown up just in time.
"Oh, burnt sausages!" exclaimed one of the thieves.
Zane stuffed the last sandwich down the thief's mouth and said, "You can't say that! That's my line!"
An Old Time Showdown (ZL)
The Adventures of Zane Legends
"An Old Time Showdown"
Criteria: Western, prison, disabled person
Some people have a knack for finding strange things; strange things always seem to find Zane Legends. But there was nothing strange about the steel bars that now surrounded the cell in which Zane found himself. It was a small cell, with wood walls that did nothing to keep out the dusty winds that were blowing up something fierce outside. The dust blew in through the only window on the wall that kept Zane from the outside. It blew hard enough that no one wanted to stand up and look outside for their last looks at the freedom they had lost. All, including Zane, had resigned themselves to sitting on the wood post beds or the dusty floor. All, except the old codger who found it necessary to shout at the guards from the cell door.
"Lemme outta here!" He shouted. "Youse got da wrong guy! Ize jus mindin me business, dem otha two started the brawl! C'mon you lousy yella bellied sons of Ingin's! Get off dem kiesters an open dis cotton pickin door!"
The old man had been rambling the same thing for hours now. He changed the curses every now and then. Zane, for one, was especially surprised at the eloquent way in which he could fit in different animal names with references to the guards. "Pig snouted', donkey ear'd', and cow hided" were a few of his personal favorites.
"Will you give it a rest old man? Obviously shouting doesn't get their attention, but maybe if you sit down all quiet like they might die of surprise and we will all be free men." Zane chuckled to himself.
The old man shut up, and strode over to where Zane was sitting. He stared him straight in the eyes. The man could stifle the growl of a hungry mountain cat with that stare. But without saying a word he turned to walk hobble away. Zane let out a sigh of relief and turned to laugh with the man sitting next to him when he suddenly felt something thump him on the back of his head. It was almost like getting hit with a wooden club. A little dazed he turned to see the old man staring at him again, griping tightly the prosthetic leg that he had taken off a clubbed Zane with.
"You bes hold dat forked tongue of yorz boy! Before da snake you stole it from come back to bite ya!" The old man didn't laugh, and didn't even seem aware that he had made a joke. He just stood there gripping his wooden shell of a leg.
The tension in the room was so thick a boot knife could barley cut into it. But it wasn't a knife that broke the tension in that room. Before the old man could club Zane again, it was the sleepy prison guards.
"Knock off your fightin' you old coot!" The guard said. "I'm comin' in. You fella"- he said while pointing to the man sitting next to Zane- "time to go. You too." The man in the far corner joined the other and walked out the cell door.
"Figures," Zane said.
"Well lookie dat!" The man that was walking out said. "The lovely couple finally gets some alone time." He nearly fell down from laughing so hard.
The old man said nothing, he just sat down on the bed opposite Zane and began to strap his leg back on. And then as if he could sense Zane staring at him he said, "Packs a whallop don it?" He smiled. "I los tha thing tryin' ta fight a train when Ize a boy."
"I guess the train won then" Zane said wryly.
And without missing a beat the old man said, "Naw, you shoulda seen da train!" The old mans smile was the complete opposite of the scowl that he gave Zane earlier. He almost saw an actual person hidden in there somewhere now. "Looks like youze got your own setta scars too." He said, pointing to Zane's temple.
"Oh yeah, this, well it wasn't a train I was fighting, but it was. . . "
"Don matter none who you were fightin'" The old man said. "What matters is if ya won!"
"Right" Zane said, nodding slowly.
"So how'd you like to get outta dis place?"
You had to admire the man's commitment. At least he was trying to follow through with what he started. "Get out?" Zane said. "I was just starting to get used to it in here."
"I'm offerin' youze a way out boy! Don be a fool. I was jus holerin earlier to keep the guards away, an now dat theyze gone wit da other boys we can ski-dattle!" The raspy laugh that the old man wheezed out reminded Zane of an old Hog about to go to the slaughter.
"Tell you what old man, the minute you start running out of this place, I will kiss that leg of yours!" Zane turned to face the wall and lay down when suddenly the back wall exploded. Shards of wood and steel were everywhere and there was a hole big enough for a cart of oxen to walk through where the wall used to be.
Coughing, Zane pushed himself to his feet and tried to clear the dust from his eyes. "You ok old man?" There was no reply. Zane slowly staggered over to where the old man was sitting only to find an empty bed. He turned to the hole leading to his freedom- he didn't even have a second to react, his last memory before the leg struck him square in the face was of the old man laughing while he said "Pucker up youngin'!"
When morning came Zane found himself still in the cell and on the bed- guards all around him. He didn't need a mirror to see that he had a swollen eye and a cut lip. Just before he woke up completely; a bucket of cold water splashed down on his face.
"Time to wake up son, Judge is here."
"The gallows don't have stairs do they?" Zane said, spitting out the water that had fallen into his mouth. The guard only laughed and pulled him to his feet.
"An Old Time Showdown"
Criteria: Western, prison, disabled person
Some people have a knack for finding strange things; strange things always seem to find Zane Legends. But there was nothing strange about the steel bars that now surrounded the cell in which Zane found himself. It was a small cell, with wood walls that did nothing to keep out the dusty winds that were blowing up something fierce outside. The dust blew in through the only window on the wall that kept Zane from the outside. It blew hard enough that no one wanted to stand up and look outside for their last looks at the freedom they had lost. All, including Zane, had resigned themselves to sitting on the wood post beds or the dusty floor. All, except the old codger who found it necessary to shout at the guards from the cell door.
"Lemme outta here!" He shouted. "Youse got da wrong guy! Ize jus mindin me business, dem otha two started the brawl! C'mon you lousy yella bellied sons of Ingin's! Get off dem kiesters an open dis cotton pickin door!"
The old man had been rambling the same thing for hours now. He changed the curses every now and then. Zane, for one, was especially surprised at the eloquent way in which he could fit in different animal names with references to the guards. "Pig snouted', donkey ear'd', and cow hided" were a few of his personal favorites.
"Will you give it a rest old man? Obviously shouting doesn't get their attention, but maybe if you sit down all quiet like they might die of surprise and we will all be free men." Zane chuckled to himself.
The old man shut up, and strode over to where Zane was sitting. He stared him straight in the eyes. The man could stifle the growl of a hungry mountain cat with that stare. But without saying a word he turned to walk hobble away. Zane let out a sigh of relief and turned to laugh with the man sitting next to him when he suddenly felt something thump him on the back of his head. It was almost like getting hit with a wooden club. A little dazed he turned to see the old man staring at him again, griping tightly the prosthetic leg that he had taken off a clubbed Zane with.
"You bes hold dat forked tongue of yorz boy! Before da snake you stole it from come back to bite ya!" The old man didn't laugh, and didn't even seem aware that he had made a joke. He just stood there gripping his wooden shell of a leg.
The tension in the room was so thick a boot knife could barley cut into it. But it wasn't a knife that broke the tension in that room. Before the old man could club Zane again, it was the sleepy prison guards.
"Knock off your fightin' you old coot!" The guard said. "I'm comin' in. You fella"- he said while pointing to the man sitting next to Zane- "time to go. You too." The man in the far corner joined the other and walked out the cell door.
"Figures," Zane said.
"Well lookie dat!" The man that was walking out said. "The lovely couple finally gets some alone time." He nearly fell down from laughing so hard.
The old man said nothing, he just sat down on the bed opposite Zane and began to strap his leg back on. And then as if he could sense Zane staring at him he said, "Packs a whallop don it?" He smiled. "I los tha thing tryin' ta fight a train when Ize a boy."
"I guess the train won then" Zane said wryly.
And without missing a beat the old man said, "Naw, you shoulda seen da train!" The old mans smile was the complete opposite of the scowl that he gave Zane earlier. He almost saw an actual person hidden in there somewhere now. "Looks like youze got your own setta scars too." He said, pointing to Zane's temple.
"Oh yeah, this, well it wasn't a train I was fighting, but it was. . . "
"Don matter none who you were fightin'" The old man said. "What matters is if ya won!"
"Right" Zane said, nodding slowly.
"So how'd you like to get outta dis place?"
You had to admire the man's commitment. At least he was trying to follow through with what he started. "Get out?" Zane said. "I was just starting to get used to it in here."
"I'm offerin' youze a way out boy! Don be a fool. I was jus holerin earlier to keep the guards away, an now dat theyze gone wit da other boys we can ski-dattle!" The raspy laugh that the old man wheezed out reminded Zane of an old Hog about to go to the slaughter.
"Tell you what old man, the minute you start running out of this place, I will kiss that leg of yours!" Zane turned to face the wall and lay down when suddenly the back wall exploded. Shards of wood and steel were everywhere and there was a hole big enough for a cart of oxen to walk through where the wall used to be.
Coughing, Zane pushed himself to his feet and tried to clear the dust from his eyes. "You ok old man?" There was no reply. Zane slowly staggered over to where the old man was sitting only to find an empty bed. He turned to the hole leading to his freedom- he didn't even have a second to react, his last memory before the leg struck him square in the face was of the old man laughing while he said "Pucker up youngin'!"
When morning came Zane found himself still in the cell and on the bed- guards all around him. He didn't need a mirror to see that he had a swollen eye and a cut lip. Just before he woke up completely; a bucket of cold water splashed down on his face.
"Time to wake up son, Judge is here."
"The gallows don't have stairs do they?" Zane said, spitting out the water that had fallen into his mouth. The guard only laughed and pulled him to his feet.
Hearing Mayhem (ZL)
The Adventures of Zane Legends
"Hearing Mayhem"
Criteria: Thriller, single room, musician
Some people have a knack for finding strange things; strange things always seem to find Zane Legends.
"Do you know what happened to you?" The Doctor said.
Zane was still groggy from the medication that they had given him for the pain. His head still bobbed from the music that he no longer heard. As though a rhythm was instinctive and not something created or felt in the club.
"What. . . . What happened?" He asked. His eyes searched frantically to find out where he was. Somehow he didn't even remember being brought into this room. The walls were all white and he was sitting on a bed- a bed with a particularly stiff mattress. His whole body ached. How long was I asleep on that thing? He wondered. His eyes were still blurry, and the white that coated everything in the room wasn't helping him focus.
"What is this place?" He asked groggily- trying to lift his head up, but abandoning the act after realizing how heavy his head felt. He tried to move his arms but found that they too must be numb, for he was unable to make them move more than an inch.
"Try to focus Mr. Legends; I'm here to help you. Do you remember anything about last night?" The doctor asked a little more stiffly.
"Last night? Last night. . . ." His eyes and body were still not functioning, but his mind seemed to be coming out of whatever he was under. "Last night. I. . . . I remember."
Zane's memory suddenly seemed to clear as if the tall brush under his feet was all of the sudden already trodden, and a small path was clear. It wasn't big enough to see the end, but just a little bit ahead he could see something, and then the story unfolded before his eyes, and he started to speak every word that he remembered.
It was late, and the bands that were playing at The Grunge were absolutely horrible. But he stayed seated at his table facing the stage- steel mug in hand. Wait; was it a mug or a gun? I remember drinking, but I also remember something about ammunition. At his table he could see the band about to go on stage. Sub-Urban the called themselves. They were friends of the owner, or at least the lead singer was- some cute meal head chick.
As they climbed the stage and readied their instruments, the lead singer held the mic close to her lips and looked over at Zane's table and winked. Do I know her? He silently thought. I think I do, we, we talked once- that night, right before she went onstage. She asked about my scar, and I was about to tell her about that day when. . .
"Try to focus Zane." The doctor said harshly. "What happened when the band took the stage?"
Zane tried to think, he wanted to hold his head, but his arms still felt too heavy to move. He was still in the room with the doctor, the small white room with no windows, and a white bed, and white . . . so much white.
"Where am I?" He tried again to turn his head, but the doctor's voice interrupted his train of though.
"Concentrate!" The doctor said through clenched teeth. "Last night man, what happened!?"
Zane's mind floated back to his table at The Grunge. He knew he was there, but he still knew he was in the white room. He felt like he was watching what was going on behind his own eyes- as if his body was a mask, and he was merely watching life pass before him.
The girl was talking now, talking to the whole room- but looking directly at Zane.
"We are Sub-Urban. We are here to show you Mayhem." The crowd roared at what she was saying, not knowing the real meaning to her words. "Mayhem lives! And he calls to you! Listen, and you will hear him, watch closely, and you will see him!" With that she strummed her guitar and the band chimed in all at once.
Their sound was very much like the grunge of the 90's but something was a little different, a little off. Zane's head began ringing. Something was wrong. He didn't remember the white room anymore- his head felt like it was going to explode. Grunge music isn't this bad, he thought. What's going on! He tried desperately to move his arms but again failed. He was trapped in the club, but even so, the doctors voice rang in his ears with the thumping of horrid bass all around him.
"What happened boy! Tell me!" he screamed.
Zane looked around desperately for a way out and then he saw it. The grass in his mind was gone now, he was there- in the club- and the end of the tunnel was in front of him. Everyone was on the floor reeling with pain; every body that lay at his feet was screaming hands cupped their ears trying to shut out the sound that was coming from the stage. The singer still stared directly at Zane, unflinching. The other band mates played on as if they were being cheered by the masses. She screamed each word as if it were her last. But her eyes were unchanging as though there were disconnected from the rest of her face. Then it happened:
"What!?! What happened!?" The doctor had lost all composure and was now shaking Zane's throbbing head.
Around him on the floor of the club the bodies grew silent. The music that rang in the air turned into a muted ringing noise that echoed inside Zane's mind. Everything around him was all but shut out as his eyes witness bodies everywhere coming apart- screams turned into the gurgling of skin melting and sliding down throats. Everyone was going to choke to death. Zane could hear nothing, only feel the bass thumping, and his entire body throbbing. He barely remembered what happened next. The cup, right, the mug, it was still in his hand. He wanted to cover his ears so badly, so he threw the cup at the stage and finally was able to cover his head with his hands. After that it all went white. Yes, white. A white room, that's where he was, but, but why?
Just like that, his eyes were focused again, and he realized that his hands we cupping his ears. The straps that had held them to the white bed before now dangled from his wrists. His hands felt lighter now, but his head it was still so heavy . . . no, not heavy, it was strapped down too.
"Where am I?!" Zane shouted.
"The doctor regained his composure at once, and backed away from Zane's bed. "You are at my hospital young man. It would seem that you were at a club that was attacked by members of the Project Mayhem; an activist group. They thrive on chaos, and are always eager to cause it. Death and destruction are the trails they leave behind." The doctor stood up and eyed Zane up and down. "Somehow, you stopped the attack last night. Many people died, but not as many as could have. You threw your cup and struck the leader of the group, a girl who calls herself Maija- the music stopped, and the rest of the band fled cowardly."
Everything the doctor said struck Zane like a brick falling on his gut. "Wait, if I am such a hero, why am I strapped to a bed in your hospital?"
The blank stare that the doctor gave Zane said more than the words that preceded. "Hero? Who said anything about you being heroic?" The doctor's smile reminded Zane of strange cat of some kind. "You are here boy, because we needed to find out what we did wrong last night. Mayhem will rein, make no mistake. Thank you for your help. . . . I must go now; there is much work to be done. Don't fret, I wont leave you alone. I believe someone else is eager to see you, now that you are well." As the doctor reached the wall a door suddenly slid open to reveal a hallway that matched the inside of his small room. As he walked out he turned to his left and spoke to a guard in the hall. "Tell Maija she can see her friend now."
"Hearing Mayhem"
Criteria: Thriller, single room, musician
Some people have a knack for finding strange things; strange things always seem to find Zane Legends.
"Do you know what happened to you?" The Doctor said.
Zane was still groggy from the medication that they had given him for the pain. His head still bobbed from the music that he no longer heard. As though a rhythm was instinctive and not something created or felt in the club.
"What. . . . What happened?" He asked. His eyes searched frantically to find out where he was. Somehow he didn't even remember being brought into this room. The walls were all white and he was sitting on a bed- a bed with a particularly stiff mattress. His whole body ached. How long was I asleep on that thing? He wondered. His eyes were still blurry, and the white that coated everything in the room wasn't helping him focus.
"What is this place?" He asked groggily- trying to lift his head up, but abandoning the act after realizing how heavy his head felt. He tried to move his arms but found that they too must be numb, for he was unable to make them move more than an inch.
"Try to focus Mr. Legends; I'm here to help you. Do you remember anything about last night?" The doctor asked a little more stiffly.
"Last night? Last night. . . ." His eyes and body were still not functioning, but his mind seemed to be coming out of whatever he was under. "Last night. I. . . . I remember."
Zane's memory suddenly seemed to clear as if the tall brush under his feet was all of the sudden already trodden, and a small path was clear. It wasn't big enough to see the end, but just a little bit ahead he could see something, and then the story unfolded before his eyes, and he started to speak every word that he remembered.
It was late, and the bands that were playing at The Grunge were absolutely horrible. But he stayed seated at his table facing the stage- steel mug in hand. Wait; was it a mug or a gun? I remember drinking, but I also remember something about ammunition. At his table he could see the band about to go on stage. Sub-Urban the called themselves. They were friends of the owner, or at least the lead singer was- some cute meal head chick.
As they climbed the stage and readied their instruments, the lead singer held the mic close to her lips and looked over at Zane's table and winked. Do I know her? He silently thought. I think I do, we, we talked once- that night, right before she went onstage. She asked about my scar, and I was about to tell her about that day when. . .
"Try to focus Zane." The doctor said harshly. "What happened when the band took the stage?"
Zane tried to think, he wanted to hold his head, but his arms still felt too heavy to move. He was still in the room with the doctor, the small white room with no windows, and a white bed, and white . . . so much white.
"Where am I?" He tried again to turn his head, but the doctor's voice interrupted his train of though.
"Concentrate!" The doctor said through clenched teeth. "Last night man, what happened!?"
Zane's mind floated back to his table at The Grunge. He knew he was there, but he still knew he was in the white room. He felt like he was watching what was going on behind his own eyes- as if his body was a mask, and he was merely watching life pass before him.
The girl was talking now, talking to the whole room- but looking directly at Zane.
"We are Sub-Urban. We are here to show you Mayhem." The crowd roared at what she was saying, not knowing the real meaning to her words. "Mayhem lives! And he calls to you! Listen, and you will hear him, watch closely, and you will see him!" With that she strummed her guitar and the band chimed in all at once.
Their sound was very much like the grunge of the 90's but something was a little different, a little off. Zane's head began ringing. Something was wrong. He didn't remember the white room anymore- his head felt like it was going to explode. Grunge music isn't this bad, he thought. What's going on! He tried desperately to move his arms but again failed. He was trapped in the club, but even so, the doctors voice rang in his ears with the thumping of horrid bass all around him.
"What happened boy! Tell me!" he screamed.
Zane looked around desperately for a way out and then he saw it. The grass in his mind was gone now, he was there- in the club- and the end of the tunnel was in front of him. Everyone was on the floor reeling with pain; every body that lay at his feet was screaming hands cupped their ears trying to shut out the sound that was coming from the stage. The singer still stared directly at Zane, unflinching. The other band mates played on as if they were being cheered by the masses. She screamed each word as if it were her last. But her eyes were unchanging as though there were disconnected from the rest of her face. Then it happened:
"What!?! What happened!?" The doctor had lost all composure and was now shaking Zane's throbbing head.
Around him on the floor of the club the bodies grew silent. The music that rang in the air turned into a muted ringing noise that echoed inside Zane's mind. Everything around him was all but shut out as his eyes witness bodies everywhere coming apart- screams turned into the gurgling of skin melting and sliding down throats. Everyone was going to choke to death. Zane could hear nothing, only feel the bass thumping, and his entire body throbbing. He barely remembered what happened next. The cup, right, the mug, it was still in his hand. He wanted to cover his ears so badly, so he threw the cup at the stage and finally was able to cover his head with his hands. After that it all went white. Yes, white. A white room, that's where he was, but, but why?
Just like that, his eyes were focused again, and he realized that his hands we cupping his ears. The straps that had held them to the white bed before now dangled from his wrists. His hands felt lighter now, but his head it was still so heavy . . . no, not heavy, it was strapped down too.
"Where am I?!" Zane shouted.
"The doctor regained his composure at once, and backed away from Zane's bed. "You are at my hospital young man. It would seem that you were at a club that was attacked by members of the Project Mayhem; an activist group. They thrive on chaos, and are always eager to cause it. Death and destruction are the trails they leave behind." The doctor stood up and eyed Zane up and down. "Somehow, you stopped the attack last night. Many people died, but not as many as could have. You threw your cup and struck the leader of the group, a girl who calls herself Maija- the music stopped, and the rest of the band fled cowardly."
Everything the doctor said struck Zane like a brick falling on his gut. "Wait, if I am such a hero, why am I strapped to a bed in your hospital?"
The blank stare that the doctor gave Zane said more than the words that preceded. "Hero? Who said anything about you being heroic?" The doctor's smile reminded Zane of strange cat of some kind. "You are here boy, because we needed to find out what we did wrong last night. Mayhem will rein, make no mistake. Thank you for your help. . . . I must go now; there is much work to be done. Don't fret, I wont leave you alone. I believe someone else is eager to see you, now that you are well." As the doctor reached the wall a door suddenly slid open to reveal a hallway that matched the inside of his small room. As he walked out he turned to his left and spoke to a guard in the hall. "Tell Maija she can see her friend now."
A Musical Tale (ZL)
The Adventures of Zane Legends
"A Musical Tale"
Criteria: Fantasy, town/village, musician
Some people have a knack for finding strange things; strange things always seem to find Zane Legends. One such strange thing, in the form of a musician playing the violin, found him just as he was riding into a small, peaceful village on the foothills of a great mountain. He had been riding for most of the day, and it was good to see his destination in sight. The musician was apparently waiting for him on the outskirts of town.
As Zane rode past him, the musician suddenly leapt to his feet and began playing a quick, triumphant tune, and walked alongside Zane's horse. Zane looked down at the man curiously, but chose not to comment on the peculiar behavior just yet. He rode through town until he came to the small inn near the village square. He dismounted and handed the reins to a stable boy standing there.
The musician's music was now a flowing, happy tune, fit for a relaxing evening. It put Zane in a good mood, and he felt like he could face anything. But, just as he reached out his hand and was about to push the inn's door open, the music suddenly turned slightly ominous, and made Zane feel more anxious. Not able to take it any longer, he turned to face the man and asked, "Who are you?"
The man stopped playing. "Who am I?" he asked indignantly. "Why, I'm the musician! Everybody knows that!"
"Yes, obviously you're a musician," replied Zane. "You are clearly playing music, after all. But what are you doing following me around?"
"I'm the musician don't you see? I'm here to make the story more dramatic!"
"What story?" Zane asked, somewhat confused.
"Why, the story of the adventure you're about to have, of course!" replied the musician.
"Adventure?" Zane asked curiously.
"Yes, adventure. Zane Legend's life is full of adventures!"
"How did you know my name?"
"Well, the story's about you, isn't it?" replied the musician, as though it were the most obvious answer in the world.
Zane just stared at the musician for a few moments, but then decided to ignore him. As he turned back to the door, the musician began to play his flowing, happy tune again. And again, as he was about to push open the door, it turned slightly ominous. Ignoring the music, he was about to push open the door when a little boy ran up to him and shouted, "Are you Zane Legends?"
"Well, yes, I am," Zane responded, surprised.
"Where did you get that scar on your forehead?" the boy asked.
"Well, it's one of my favorite stories, really." Zane said. "You see, I was walking down this path, when suddenly-." The musician's music had suddenly transformed into a tune so intense it left Zane stunned, and he was unable to continue his tale.
"Well?" the boy asked.
"Maybe later," Zane responded, and pushing open the door, entered the inn.
He was immediately greeted by a sobbing woman who said, "Zane Legends! Thank goodness you've arrived! You're our only hope!" She was then overcome by tears and could not say anymore. The musician's tune was now a slow, high-pitched mournful song, filled with sadness and sorrow.
Does everybody here know who I am? Zane wondered to himself. "Uh, hello," was all he said.
A tall, skinny man standing next to the woman said, "Zane Legends, we've been waiting so long for you to get here."
"You have?" Zane asked, stunned. He didn't even know he was going to be here until the previous day. How long had these people been waiting for him?
"Yes. You are the only one who can help us. You are the only one with the skills, the bravery, and the knowledge. You, and you alone can solve our problem." The musician's song had turned slightly triumphant during the man's speech, but had now returned to the slow, mournful tune.
"Well, when you put it that way, I suppose I am the only one who can help you," Zane said, while secretly pondering the best way to get out of this situation without running into trouble.
"You see," the skinny man began, "we live on a small farm just outside of town." The musician began to play a mysterious, dramatic tune, the kind of song that is played while a person recounts an ancient legend. The man continued, "Five days ago, a band of goblins attacked our farm and chased us away. But our son is still there and being held hostage!" The song reached an intense crescendo, then slowly settled back down again.
"I see," Zane said. "What do they want?"
"We don't know. That's why you're here!" he responded. "You have to help us!"
Being a good man at heart, and not seeing any good way out of the situation, Zane resolved to help the man and woman out in any way he could. The musician's song had become steady and determined, which helped Zane reach that decision. It's amazing what music can do to you sometimes.
"Very well," Zane said, "I'll see what I can do."
"Thank you, Zane Legends, thank you."
Zane marched out the door to another triumphant tune, followed by the musician, of course. He called for his horse, mounted, and rode down the path that led out of town. Villagers lined up on the side of the road waved and cheered as he rode past, and some threw flowers. The musician's song steadily increased in volume and intensity as they went. Just as Zane and the musician were at the edge of town, the horse stopped walking. So did the musician. The musician had stopped playing music as well.
Zane had discovered the hard way that the limitations of the story prevented him from leaving the village until the story was over. That left him in quite the predicament. How would he help that poor family if he could not go to the farm where the goblins were? Luckily, Zane was a resourceful man, and he had many hidden talents. Even luckier, the horse was a resourceful horse, and had many hidden talents.
Zane's horse was not just any horse - it was a very intelligent and gifted horse. Zane dismounted and whispered instructions into the horse's ear, and the horse took off in the direction of the farm. It was not far, and soon the horse was there. Walking on tippy-hoof, the horse slowly crept up to the window of the farm house and peaked inside. Sure enough, there was a troop of four goblins and a small boy tied up and lying on a bed. Somehow, the musician had ended up riding the horse and was playing a quick and quiet sneaky tune, but for some reason the goblins did not hear it.
Then, the horse was struck with an idea. It turned its head and whispered to the musician on its back, who listened carefully to the plan and nodded. He jumped off the horse, snuck to the other side of the farm house, and suddenly began to play a horrendously loud song that would wake the dead and kill the living. The goblins all rushed out of the house to see what going on and ran after the musician, who led them on a rather comical chase around the farm. The horse entered the house, grabbed the boy, and galloped as quick as it could back to the town before the goblins even knew what had happened.
When the horse came into view of the townsfolk, and they saw that it had the boy, they all erupted into cheers. The musician had somehow returned as well, and was playing a loud song filled with triumph and glory. Zane lifted the boy from the horse and carried it to the inn, where the father and mother were waiting with tears in their eyes.
There was a very happy reunion, and the father asked Zane, "Thank you so much, Zane. You truly are a Legend. Is there anything we can do to repay you?"
"Well, I could use a bite to eat."
Everyone laughed, the musician's song reached a finishing climax, and the song ended.
"A Musical Tale"
Criteria: Fantasy, town/village, musician
Some people have a knack for finding strange things; strange things always seem to find Zane Legends. One such strange thing, in the form of a musician playing the violin, found him just as he was riding into a small, peaceful village on the foothills of a great mountain. He had been riding for most of the day, and it was good to see his destination in sight. The musician was apparently waiting for him on the outskirts of town.
As Zane rode past him, the musician suddenly leapt to his feet and began playing a quick, triumphant tune, and walked alongside Zane's horse. Zane looked down at the man curiously, but chose not to comment on the peculiar behavior just yet. He rode through town until he came to the small inn near the village square. He dismounted and handed the reins to a stable boy standing there.
The musician's music was now a flowing, happy tune, fit for a relaxing evening. It put Zane in a good mood, and he felt like he could face anything. But, just as he reached out his hand and was about to push the inn's door open, the music suddenly turned slightly ominous, and made Zane feel more anxious. Not able to take it any longer, he turned to face the man and asked, "Who are you?"
The man stopped playing. "Who am I?" he asked indignantly. "Why, I'm the musician! Everybody knows that!"
"Yes, obviously you're a musician," replied Zane. "You are clearly playing music, after all. But what are you doing following me around?"
"I'm the musician don't you see? I'm here to make the story more dramatic!"
"What story?" Zane asked, somewhat confused.
"Why, the story of the adventure you're about to have, of course!" replied the musician.
"Adventure?" Zane asked curiously.
"Yes, adventure. Zane Legend's life is full of adventures!"
"How did you know my name?"
"Well, the story's about you, isn't it?" replied the musician, as though it were the most obvious answer in the world.
Zane just stared at the musician for a few moments, but then decided to ignore him. As he turned back to the door, the musician began to play his flowing, happy tune again. And again, as he was about to push open the door, it turned slightly ominous. Ignoring the music, he was about to push open the door when a little boy ran up to him and shouted, "Are you Zane Legends?"
"Well, yes, I am," Zane responded, surprised.
"Where did you get that scar on your forehead?" the boy asked.
"Well, it's one of my favorite stories, really." Zane said. "You see, I was walking down this path, when suddenly-." The musician's music had suddenly transformed into a tune so intense it left Zane stunned, and he was unable to continue his tale.
"Well?" the boy asked.
"Maybe later," Zane responded, and pushing open the door, entered the inn.
He was immediately greeted by a sobbing woman who said, "Zane Legends! Thank goodness you've arrived! You're our only hope!" She was then overcome by tears and could not say anymore. The musician's tune was now a slow, high-pitched mournful song, filled with sadness and sorrow.
Does everybody here know who I am? Zane wondered to himself. "Uh, hello," was all he said.
A tall, skinny man standing next to the woman said, "Zane Legends, we've been waiting so long for you to get here."
"You have?" Zane asked, stunned. He didn't even know he was going to be here until the previous day. How long had these people been waiting for him?
"Yes. You are the only one who can help us. You are the only one with the skills, the bravery, and the knowledge. You, and you alone can solve our problem." The musician's song had turned slightly triumphant during the man's speech, but had now returned to the slow, mournful tune.
"Well, when you put it that way, I suppose I am the only one who can help you," Zane said, while secretly pondering the best way to get out of this situation without running into trouble.
"You see," the skinny man began, "we live on a small farm just outside of town." The musician began to play a mysterious, dramatic tune, the kind of song that is played while a person recounts an ancient legend. The man continued, "Five days ago, a band of goblins attacked our farm and chased us away. But our son is still there and being held hostage!" The song reached an intense crescendo, then slowly settled back down again.
"I see," Zane said. "What do they want?"
"We don't know. That's why you're here!" he responded. "You have to help us!"
Being a good man at heart, and not seeing any good way out of the situation, Zane resolved to help the man and woman out in any way he could. The musician's song had become steady and determined, which helped Zane reach that decision. It's amazing what music can do to you sometimes.
"Very well," Zane said, "I'll see what I can do."
"Thank you, Zane Legends, thank you."
Zane marched out the door to another triumphant tune, followed by the musician, of course. He called for his horse, mounted, and rode down the path that led out of town. Villagers lined up on the side of the road waved and cheered as he rode past, and some threw flowers. The musician's song steadily increased in volume and intensity as they went. Just as Zane and the musician were at the edge of town, the horse stopped walking. So did the musician. The musician had stopped playing music as well.
Zane had discovered the hard way that the limitations of the story prevented him from leaving the village until the story was over. That left him in quite the predicament. How would he help that poor family if he could not go to the farm where the goblins were? Luckily, Zane was a resourceful man, and he had many hidden talents. Even luckier, the horse was a resourceful horse, and had many hidden talents.
Zane's horse was not just any horse - it was a very intelligent and gifted horse. Zane dismounted and whispered instructions into the horse's ear, and the horse took off in the direction of the farm. It was not far, and soon the horse was there. Walking on tippy-hoof, the horse slowly crept up to the window of the farm house and peaked inside. Sure enough, there was a troop of four goblins and a small boy tied up and lying on a bed. Somehow, the musician had ended up riding the horse and was playing a quick and quiet sneaky tune, but for some reason the goblins did not hear it.
Then, the horse was struck with an idea. It turned its head and whispered to the musician on its back, who listened carefully to the plan and nodded. He jumped off the horse, snuck to the other side of the farm house, and suddenly began to play a horrendously loud song that would wake the dead and kill the living. The goblins all rushed out of the house to see what going on and ran after the musician, who led them on a rather comical chase around the farm. The horse entered the house, grabbed the boy, and galloped as quick as it could back to the town before the goblins even knew what had happened.
When the horse came into view of the townsfolk, and they saw that it had the boy, they all erupted into cheers. The musician had somehow returned as well, and was playing a loud song filled with triumph and glory. Zane lifted the boy from the horse and carried it to the inn, where the father and mother were waiting with tears in their eyes.
There was a very happy reunion, and the father asked Zane, "Thank you so much, Zane. You truly are a Legend. Is there anything we can do to repay you?"
"Well, I could use a bite to eat."
Everyone laughed, the musician's song reached a finishing climax, and the song ended.
Song of Dreams (ZL)
The Adventures of Zane Legends
"Song of Dreams"
Criteria: Thriller, middle of nowhere, writer/storyteller
Some people have a knack for finding strange things. Strange things always seem to find Zane Legends. And on occasion, strange things have been known to go so far as to follow Zane Legends, and sometimes even chase him. Zane didn't particularly like to come across those types of strange things, but he dealt with them whenever they showed up.
On a spooky, moonless night, Zane rode his horse through a dense pine forest. Strange sounds came from all around him, and sometimes the trees themselves seemed to close in on him. He knew it was simply a trick of the eyes, but even so, he did not enjoy it. A wise man would not even think about travelling through this forest in the middle of the night, but Zane is known to have foolish ideas every once in a while.
Looking down the path, Zane thought he saw a dim glow off in the distance. As he got closer, he realized it was some kind of building. Soon he got close enough to realize that it was actually an inn. What an odd place for an inn, he thought to himself. I didn't realize anybody even used this path anymore.
He decided that the presence of the inn was a sign that he should stop for the night to get some sleep and perhaps a bite to eat. He dismounted from his horse, and almost immediately a short little man stepped out of the open doorway and said, "Welcome to the Weary Traveler. Please, come in, I'll take your horse to the stables around back."
Zane handed the man the reins, thanked him, and stepped inside. He was surprised to see a number of patrons already there. Some were sitting at the tables, eating or playing cards. A couple were sitting at the bar, and one man in the corner looked to be fast asleep, and judging by the wet spot on his pants, he'd probably wake up with a nasty headache the next morning.
The man that caught Zane's eye, however, was the one playing the banjo on the far side of the room. Everyone (except the sleeping man, of course) was focused on him. He wore an almost painfully bright blue long sleeved shirt and black pants. He also wore a bright yellow hat and white gloves. He sang a slow, mysterious song about a boy lost in the woods.
The boy looked about and all he saw
For miles and miles around
Were rows and rows of pinewood trees
He continued onward with a frown.
His feet were sore from walking far
His eyes burned from lack of sleep
His knees shook from pure exhaustion
And he fell down in a heap.
Suddenly he thought he heard
A screeching shriek of pain
"Hello, friend," boomed a voice next to him, "Can I help you?"
Zane nearly jumped out of his skin. He had been so entranced by the song he had failed to notice the owner walk up to him. He recovered quickly though, and said, "Can I get a hot meal and a bed for the night?"
"Certainly!" the man responded. "We only have roast beef right now, is that okay?"
"It's excellent," Zane answered.
"Very well then, have a seat. I'll send somebody out with your meal in a few minutes.
Zane meandered through the tables and sat at an empty one near the storyteller. The story had progressed, the boy now seemed to be running for his life and was being pursued by some monster. The storyteller had a captivating voice, and soon Zane was lost in the story again. The storyteller seemed to be singing only to him, telling him a fantastical adventurer. The man had the most incredible deep blue eyes, and they seemed to stare right through his. It was almost like a dream, the way the images unfolded in front of his eyes, and he almost felt like a part of the story.
Suddenly the song ended, to much applause from the patrons sitting around the room. The storyteller stood, bowed with a flourish, and walked over to sit at Zane's table.
"That was excellent," Zane said.
"Why thank you, son," the man replied. "I do try. Do you come here often?"
"No," Zane answered. "I didn't even know this inn existed.
"Yes, few people do. But exist it does, and people looking for strange adventures usually stumble across it at least once in their life."
Zane did not know what to say, so he said nothing. The storyteller did not seem to mind though. "Where did you get that scar there on your head?" he asked.
"Well, speaking of adventures," Zane began, "it's a rather interesting story really. I was just finishing -."
"Here you are, sir," a pretty girl said from behind him, placing his meal on the table. "Is there anything else I can get you?"
"No thanks," Zane said, smiling up at her.
"Well, I guess I'll let you eat in peace," the story teller said, getting up from his seat.
"Are you going to tell another story?" Zane inquired.
"Not at the moment. Perhaps later tonight. Perhaps," he said, with half a smile and a strange gleam in his eye.
Zane ate slowly, but the storyteller did not tell another story that night. After he finished, he retired to his room for the night and soon fell asleep.
Zane ran. He ran as fast and as hard as he could, terrified of the evil beast that he could hear following him not far behind. The dense forest made it difficult to run quickly, sometimes roots seemed to sneak over his foot and trip him, or branches would reach out to smack him across the face. Yet he continued to run, because he did not know what would happen to him if he stopped.
He suddenly entered a clearing, and with open space in front of him, he ran faster than before. He glanced behind him and saw the monster leaving the trees, chasing him. Zane soon realized that the monster could move much faster than him across this open ground, but he did not slow down. He soon crossed the clearing and entered the forest again.
The forest seemed even thicker and closer than before. He soon slowed down to what felt like a crawl, especially since he could clearly hear the monster close behind him, and the monster did not seem to be hindered by the forest at all. A sudden high-pitched scream of intense pain filled the forest, and it frightened Zane so much that he tripped on a hidden root and fell to the ground.
The screaming continued, but Zane ignored it, he had other things on his mind. He was now reduced to half-crawling, half-stumbling through the forest. It was futile however, and in moments the beast was behind him. It cackled evilly, then grabbed his feet and began dragging him through the forest, toward the source of the screams.
Zane was suddenly aware of a song being chanted, and realized that the monster itself was chanting. Listening carefully, he could hear the words.
The screaming seemed to lessen now
Which made the boy more frightened still
He thought he knew the screamer's fate
The person had been killed.
The nasty beast began to chant
A horribly terrifying tune
About how that poor lost boy
Would be its dinner soon.
But then the monster stopped its trek
And let the boy there lie
"Leave my forest now," it growled,
"Or I will see you DIE."
The monster suddenly stopped and leaned over Zane. Zane could now clearly see the monster's hideous face. However, the what stuck out to him was the monster's deep blue, penetrating eyes.
Zane awoke from the dream, sweating as though he had been running for miles. It had seemed so real and so terrifying. Zane no longer had any desire to remain in the inn, so he got up, quickly put on his clothes, and walked down to the common room.
The storyteller was telling a story again, and Zane listened to the final words of the song.
And so the boy fled as fast he could
He left the forest with a sigh
He resolved to never return
Or he would surely die.
Zane crossed the room with rather large strides, but before going through the door he looked back. The storyteller was watching him, with half a smile and a mysterious glint in those deep blue piercing eyes.
"Song of Dreams"
Criteria: Thriller, middle of nowhere, writer/storyteller
Some people have a knack for finding strange things. Strange things always seem to find Zane Legends. And on occasion, strange things have been known to go so far as to follow Zane Legends, and sometimes even chase him. Zane didn't particularly like to come across those types of strange things, but he dealt with them whenever they showed up.
On a spooky, moonless night, Zane rode his horse through a dense pine forest. Strange sounds came from all around him, and sometimes the trees themselves seemed to close in on him. He knew it was simply a trick of the eyes, but even so, he did not enjoy it. A wise man would not even think about travelling through this forest in the middle of the night, but Zane is known to have foolish ideas every once in a while.
Looking down the path, Zane thought he saw a dim glow off in the distance. As he got closer, he realized it was some kind of building. Soon he got close enough to realize that it was actually an inn. What an odd place for an inn, he thought to himself. I didn't realize anybody even used this path anymore.
He decided that the presence of the inn was a sign that he should stop for the night to get some sleep and perhaps a bite to eat. He dismounted from his horse, and almost immediately a short little man stepped out of the open doorway and said, "Welcome to the Weary Traveler. Please, come in, I'll take your horse to the stables around back."
Zane handed the man the reins, thanked him, and stepped inside. He was surprised to see a number of patrons already there. Some were sitting at the tables, eating or playing cards. A couple were sitting at the bar, and one man in the corner looked to be fast asleep, and judging by the wet spot on his pants, he'd probably wake up with a nasty headache the next morning.
The man that caught Zane's eye, however, was the one playing the banjo on the far side of the room. Everyone (except the sleeping man, of course) was focused on him. He wore an almost painfully bright blue long sleeved shirt and black pants. He also wore a bright yellow hat and white gloves. He sang a slow, mysterious song about a boy lost in the woods.
The boy looked about and all he saw
For miles and miles around
Were rows and rows of pinewood trees
He continued onward with a frown.
His feet were sore from walking far
His eyes burned from lack of sleep
His knees shook from pure exhaustion
And he fell down in a heap.
Suddenly he thought he heard
A screeching shriek of pain
"Hello, friend," boomed a voice next to him, "Can I help you?"
Zane nearly jumped out of his skin. He had been so entranced by the song he had failed to notice the owner walk up to him. He recovered quickly though, and said, "Can I get a hot meal and a bed for the night?"
"Certainly!" the man responded. "We only have roast beef right now, is that okay?"
"It's excellent," Zane answered.
"Very well then, have a seat. I'll send somebody out with your meal in a few minutes.
Zane meandered through the tables and sat at an empty one near the storyteller. The story had progressed, the boy now seemed to be running for his life and was being pursued by some monster. The storyteller had a captivating voice, and soon Zane was lost in the story again. The storyteller seemed to be singing only to him, telling him a fantastical adventurer. The man had the most incredible deep blue eyes, and they seemed to stare right through his. It was almost like a dream, the way the images unfolded in front of his eyes, and he almost felt like a part of the story.
Suddenly the song ended, to much applause from the patrons sitting around the room. The storyteller stood, bowed with a flourish, and walked over to sit at Zane's table.
"That was excellent," Zane said.
"Why thank you, son," the man replied. "I do try. Do you come here often?"
"No," Zane answered. "I didn't even know this inn existed.
"Yes, few people do. But exist it does, and people looking for strange adventures usually stumble across it at least once in their life."
Zane did not know what to say, so he said nothing. The storyteller did not seem to mind though. "Where did you get that scar there on your head?" he asked.
"Well, speaking of adventures," Zane began, "it's a rather interesting story really. I was just finishing -."
"Here you are, sir," a pretty girl said from behind him, placing his meal on the table. "Is there anything else I can get you?"
"No thanks," Zane said, smiling up at her.
"Well, I guess I'll let you eat in peace," the story teller said, getting up from his seat.
"Are you going to tell another story?" Zane inquired.
"Not at the moment. Perhaps later tonight. Perhaps," he said, with half a smile and a strange gleam in his eye.
Zane ate slowly, but the storyteller did not tell another story that night. After he finished, he retired to his room for the night and soon fell asleep.
Zane ran. He ran as fast and as hard as he could, terrified of the evil beast that he could hear following him not far behind. The dense forest made it difficult to run quickly, sometimes roots seemed to sneak over his foot and trip him, or branches would reach out to smack him across the face. Yet he continued to run, because he did not know what would happen to him if he stopped.
He suddenly entered a clearing, and with open space in front of him, he ran faster than before. He glanced behind him and saw the monster leaving the trees, chasing him. Zane soon realized that the monster could move much faster than him across this open ground, but he did not slow down. He soon crossed the clearing and entered the forest again.
The forest seemed even thicker and closer than before. He soon slowed down to what felt like a crawl, especially since he could clearly hear the monster close behind him, and the monster did not seem to be hindered by the forest at all. A sudden high-pitched scream of intense pain filled the forest, and it frightened Zane so much that he tripped on a hidden root and fell to the ground.
The screaming continued, but Zane ignored it, he had other things on his mind. He was now reduced to half-crawling, half-stumbling through the forest. It was futile however, and in moments the beast was behind him. It cackled evilly, then grabbed his feet and began dragging him through the forest, toward the source of the screams.
Zane was suddenly aware of a song being chanted, and realized that the monster itself was chanting. Listening carefully, he could hear the words.
The screaming seemed to lessen now
Which made the boy more frightened still
He thought he knew the screamer's fate
The person had been killed.
The nasty beast began to chant
A horribly terrifying tune
About how that poor lost boy
Would be its dinner soon.
But then the monster stopped its trek
And let the boy there lie
"Leave my forest now," it growled,
"Or I will see you DIE."
The monster suddenly stopped and leaned over Zane. Zane could now clearly see the monster's hideous face. However, the what stuck out to him was the monster's deep blue, penetrating eyes.
Zane awoke from the dream, sweating as though he had been running for miles. It had seemed so real and so terrifying. Zane no longer had any desire to remain in the inn, so he got up, quickly put on his clothes, and walked down to the common room.
The storyteller was telling a story again, and Zane listened to the final words of the song.
And so the boy fled as fast he could
He left the forest with a sigh
He resolved to never return
Or he would surely die.
Zane crossed the room with rather large strides, but before going through the door he looked back. The storyteller was watching him, with half a smile and a mysterious glint in those deep blue piercing eyes.
Love Elevated (ZL)
The Adventures of Zane Legends
"Love Elevated"
Criteria: Romance, underground, doctor
Some people have a knack for finding strange things; strange things always seem to find Zane Legends. And today was one of those times. Today was the day. His whole life had come to one moment- the final scene in which he would ultimately get what he thought he had deserved for so long.
That morning had been just like most others; until he went outside to collect the morning mail. He was overjoyed to find a small piece of paper, a seemingly insignificant thing. But what was written upon it would alter the course of his life, forever. He read the words slowly, eyes widening with every syllable.
"Grand opening of new all you can eat buffet. Free brunch for the fist 20 people."
The restaurant didn't open until 10am, "that leaves me plenty of time to take a shower and get ready," he said. Then he glanced down at the bottom half of the coupon. For all you early risers, samples will be served to everyone waiting in line. His head rushed with excitement, and before he knew what he was doing he was dressed and out the door. As he bolted to the address on the coupon he found his first bit of trouble.
"Who builds a restaurant on the 2nd floor of a building!?!?"
For a moment it appeared that his dreadful fear of stairs would get the best of him, yet again.
"NO! This is too important!" He shouted. He darted inside the building and nearly dropped to the floor with praise to the Almighty for what he found. A small sign in the lobby had caught his eye. It read: Elevator this way with an arrow pointing to his left.
"Yes! This might just be my day after all!"
When he boarded the elevator he was so overwhelmed with excitement that he failed to notice that it was going down first. Oh well, nothing can deter me from being in a good mood now, he thought. When the elevator stopped on the underground parking garage level the doors opened to reveal one of the most beautiful women that Zane had ever seen. She was just his height, with short black hair and deep green eyes. And for a single moment, their eyes met- it almost felt magical. But when she stepped into the elevator, his eyes darted to the person just behind her who was wheeling two large carts into the elevator that were draped in long table cloths that drug on the ground. There wasn't much space after the carts where finally wheeled into place, so the beautiful woman was forced to squeeze next to Zane in the far corner (which he didn't mind in the slightest). The person that wheeled the carts into the elevator soon realized that there wouldn't be any room for himself.
"Dang, now I have to make two trips. Blasted carts! It will take me all day to get these things up to the second floor!" The man said. "Well, I could just take the stairs. Yeah that would work." He allowed himself a triumphant grin that quickly turned to a sour frown when he saw how cramped the other passengers were. "Unless you folks have any objections. . . ."
"Nope, great here," Zane blurted out, with an awkward smile.
"I think I will survive," the woman said while rolling her eyes.
"Great," the man said. "I will race you two up there!" and with that the man was gone.
As the elevator ascended, so did the awkwardness of the situation. Zane was about to say something to break the tension when a ripping noise broke the silence. Their eyes darted to the elevator door, which was obviously being obstructed by the long table cloths; suddenly the elevator jerked to a stop right as they were almost to ground level.
"The table cloths must have caught on something in the shaft." The woman said.
"Thanks for pointing out the obvious," Zane muttered. He suddenly was flustered that their precarious situation might make him lose his place in line. "You must be some kind of rocket scientist," he murmured dryly.
The woman looked directly into his eyes. "Actually I went a different route," she said. "I got my doctorate in engineering. And it appears that the emergency mechanism in the elevator doors has been triggered by the deterrent to the upward momentum"- she took in his confused expression and smiled. "That means we stopped," she said. "I doubt they will start the lift again until they can send someone down the shaft to dislodge the cloth."
Zane was infuriated. Not only was he missing out on the possibility of free food, but he was now going to be stuck here with some snooty (and all-of-the sudden) not too pretty, snot of a woman.
"This is horrible! I am going to miss my free brunch, and any chance I had at eating breakfast!" His eyes turned away from the woman and onto the metal carts, "And it's entirely your fault, you stupid carts!" He began kicking furiously at the steel trays and table cloths. "I have nothing now, nothing!" He kicked more and more, if nothing else he would make some room to put between himself and this horrid woman. The carts began to shift, and the table cloths started to rip some more, then with a final kick the cloth was completely off and Zane stood nursing an aching toe and staring at the most beautiful thing he had even laid his eyes upon.
"Of course!" He said in a meek voice. "The man said he was heading to the second floor. That's where the restaurant is. They must have ordered this food for all the people in line to sample." It was amazing; there was honey baked ham, and potatoes soaked in gravy and butter, an enormous roast waiting to be sliced and soaking in roasted vegetables. "I have never seen so much meat! I just, I don't. . ." He couldn't speak. A single tear streaked down his cheek and he knelt before the trays of gourmet food. Awe hit him with such force that he almost forgot how hungry he was. . . .Almost.
He threw himself at the ham first, laughing giddily. He used the giant gravy ladle to scoop some mashed potatoes into his already full mouth. He tried to restrain himself, but it was just all too much to handle. He laughed, and laughed.
There was nothing that the woman could do, she just stayed in the corner and watched him; she stared as though she were watching some spectacle at the circus.
Zane's mouth hurt from chewing so fast and trying to suppress a laugh. He wiped the gravy off his mouth with the ripped table cloth and stared at the huge roast that appeared to be swimming in flavor. He paused to let the aroma creep into his nostril and fill his senses. Then he ripped a small piece off with his fingers. As he bit down a rush of savory flavor filled his mouth. It was nearly too much for him. He chewed slowly to take it all in; it was so...so....There was just no way to describe it. He stared up at the roast and finally let his emotions take him. Passion overwhelmed him and he lost control of his senses completely; and he wept. Sitting there, he suddenly smiled at the beauty that life had allowed him to witness, and taste.
"I, I love you," he said. Tears were gushing from his eyes, and made clear trails down his grease stained cheeks. The sweet tenderness of the meant was stupefying. All at once life made sense; love was real, he knew it, he felt it, he lived it. And now, he tasted it. Zane understood it all, and then as if he remembered a joke that no one else could hear- he laughed. He laughed.
"Love Elevated"
Criteria: Romance, underground, doctor
Some people have a knack for finding strange things; strange things always seem to find Zane Legends. And today was one of those times. Today was the day. His whole life had come to one moment- the final scene in which he would ultimately get what he thought he had deserved for so long.
That morning had been just like most others; until he went outside to collect the morning mail. He was overjoyed to find a small piece of paper, a seemingly insignificant thing. But what was written upon it would alter the course of his life, forever. He read the words slowly, eyes widening with every syllable.
"Grand opening of new all you can eat buffet. Free brunch for the fist 20 people."
The restaurant didn't open until 10am, "that leaves me plenty of time to take a shower and get ready," he said. Then he glanced down at the bottom half of the coupon. For all you early risers, samples will be served to everyone waiting in line. His head rushed with excitement, and before he knew what he was doing he was dressed and out the door. As he bolted to the address on the coupon he found his first bit of trouble.
"Who builds a restaurant on the 2nd floor of a building!?!?"
For a moment it appeared that his dreadful fear of stairs would get the best of him, yet again.
"NO! This is too important!" He shouted. He darted inside the building and nearly dropped to the floor with praise to the Almighty for what he found. A small sign in the lobby had caught his eye. It read: Elevator this way with an arrow pointing to his left.
"Yes! This might just be my day after all!"
When he boarded the elevator he was so overwhelmed with excitement that he failed to notice that it was going down first. Oh well, nothing can deter me from being in a good mood now, he thought. When the elevator stopped on the underground parking garage level the doors opened to reveal one of the most beautiful women that Zane had ever seen. She was just his height, with short black hair and deep green eyes. And for a single moment, their eyes met- it almost felt magical. But when she stepped into the elevator, his eyes darted to the person just behind her who was wheeling two large carts into the elevator that were draped in long table cloths that drug on the ground. There wasn't much space after the carts where finally wheeled into place, so the beautiful woman was forced to squeeze next to Zane in the far corner (which he didn't mind in the slightest). The person that wheeled the carts into the elevator soon realized that there wouldn't be any room for himself.
"Dang, now I have to make two trips. Blasted carts! It will take me all day to get these things up to the second floor!" The man said. "Well, I could just take the stairs. Yeah that would work." He allowed himself a triumphant grin that quickly turned to a sour frown when he saw how cramped the other passengers were. "Unless you folks have any objections. . . ."
"Nope, great here," Zane blurted out, with an awkward smile.
"I think I will survive," the woman said while rolling her eyes.
"Great," the man said. "I will race you two up there!" and with that the man was gone.
As the elevator ascended, so did the awkwardness of the situation. Zane was about to say something to break the tension when a ripping noise broke the silence. Their eyes darted to the elevator door, which was obviously being obstructed by the long table cloths; suddenly the elevator jerked to a stop right as they were almost to ground level.
"The table cloths must have caught on something in the shaft." The woman said.
"Thanks for pointing out the obvious," Zane muttered. He suddenly was flustered that their precarious situation might make him lose his place in line. "You must be some kind of rocket scientist," he murmured dryly.
The woman looked directly into his eyes. "Actually I went a different route," she said. "I got my doctorate in engineering. And it appears that the emergency mechanism in the elevator doors has been triggered by the deterrent to the upward momentum"- she took in his confused expression and smiled. "That means we stopped," she said. "I doubt they will start the lift again until they can send someone down the shaft to dislodge the cloth."
Zane was infuriated. Not only was he missing out on the possibility of free food, but he was now going to be stuck here with some snooty (and all-of-the sudden) not too pretty, snot of a woman.
"This is horrible! I am going to miss my free brunch, and any chance I had at eating breakfast!" His eyes turned away from the woman and onto the metal carts, "And it's entirely your fault, you stupid carts!" He began kicking furiously at the steel trays and table cloths. "I have nothing now, nothing!" He kicked more and more, if nothing else he would make some room to put between himself and this horrid woman. The carts began to shift, and the table cloths started to rip some more, then with a final kick the cloth was completely off and Zane stood nursing an aching toe and staring at the most beautiful thing he had even laid his eyes upon.
"Of course!" He said in a meek voice. "The man said he was heading to the second floor. That's where the restaurant is. They must have ordered this food for all the people in line to sample." It was amazing; there was honey baked ham, and potatoes soaked in gravy and butter, an enormous roast waiting to be sliced and soaking in roasted vegetables. "I have never seen so much meat! I just, I don't. . ." He couldn't speak. A single tear streaked down his cheek and he knelt before the trays of gourmet food. Awe hit him with such force that he almost forgot how hungry he was. . . .Almost.
He threw himself at the ham first, laughing giddily. He used the giant gravy ladle to scoop some mashed potatoes into his already full mouth. He tried to restrain himself, but it was just all too much to handle. He laughed, and laughed.
There was nothing that the woman could do, she just stayed in the corner and watched him; she stared as though she were watching some spectacle at the circus.
Zane's mouth hurt from chewing so fast and trying to suppress a laugh. He wiped the gravy off his mouth with the ripped table cloth and stared at the huge roast that appeared to be swimming in flavor. He paused to let the aroma creep into his nostril and fill his senses. Then he ripped a small piece off with his fingers. As he bit down a rush of savory flavor filled his mouth. It was nearly too much for him. He chewed slowly to take it all in; it was so...so....There was just no way to describe it. He stared up at the roast and finally let his emotions take him. Passion overwhelmed him and he lost control of his senses completely; and he wept. Sitting there, he suddenly smiled at the beauty that life had allowed him to witness, and taste.
"I, I love you," he said. Tears were gushing from his eyes, and made clear trails down his grease stained cheeks. The sweet tenderness of the meant was stupefying. All at once life made sense; love was real, he knew it, he felt it, he lived it. And now, he tasted it. Zane understood it all, and then as if he remembered a joke that no one else could hear- he laughed. He laughed.
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