Tell me a story...greenspun.com : LUSENET : Till Human Voices Wake Us... : One Thread
Tell me a story. Or rather... let's tell one together. If no one's started anything by tomorrow, I'll put something up. Keep checking back. I'd like to see something collaborative grow here.
-- Lisa (email@example.com), October 08, 2000
This particular human was unusual, in that this one was pure human, a strain that had died out not long after the moon split in two.
She was also unusual for her age, nearly sixty in a time when most lived only to be perhaps forty.
She remembered the moon, where no one else did.
-- Lisa (firstname.lastname@example.org), October 08, 2000.
She would rise then, dress, and go about her work once more, no matter the hour. Those within the walls, the half-formed, moonless creatures who lived in fear of her judgement -- dreaded the day the old woman would deem them unfit and cast them beyond the walls -- whispered behind their hands, webbed, six-fingered, clawed hands, that the woman's horrible bloodless endurance was a sign that she had been touched by the gods.
The whispers could not see into the old woman's dreams. That, as much as anything, is what drove her during the day, during the night. That was why she hunted and planted. That was why she made her rounds. That was why she manned the walls. That was why she drove herself to the limit of her physical endurance every day of her life.
Only the death-like sleep of the exhausted kept the moon-dream from coming to her.
-- Lisa (email@example.com), October 09, 2000.
"Open up in the name of the Most High!" the messenger shouted, no wiser than the man who had come before her, too blinded by the pretty colors and bright armor of royalty.
No answer from within the walled village. The only sound was the lone whisper of the wind through the trees -- and the shuffling of malformed, naked feet through the underbrush as the outcasts crept closer to watch the scene.
"You have until noon to reply, witch," the messenger persisted, "or we shall burn you out!"
The wind blew, the peasants shuffled uneasily.
And all was silence.
-- Lisa (firstname.lastname@example.org), October 16, 2000.
Once upon a time, after the moon split in two and fell from the sky, there lived a human.
-- Von (email@example.com), October 08, 2000.
She didn't spend a lot of time thinking about the moon, of course. One of the reasons she had lived so long was her ruthless practicality.
During the day she hunted, tended her garden, made the rounds of her small community to see who was no longer healthy enough to be useful. In the night she took her turn at manning the walls, all senses alert to danger, and paid no attention to the cries and wails of those deemed useless and cast out.
But, after all that, she slept, and she dreamed. And she often dreamed of the moon.
-- Olwen (firstname.lastname@example.org), October 08, 2000.
In her dreams, she saw the icy blue face of the moon staring down on the earth, covering the ground with an ethereal glow. She would wake in her dream and lift her face to the moon, feeling the cold kiss of the night air across her moist brow. She was young, ripe with desire for another and her eyes filled with tears as she whispered her wish to the moon.
As the last words from her spell spilled from her lips, an angry red crack appeared horizontally on the surface of the moon. She would wake for real then, gasping for air in the absolute darkness of the night.
-- Von (email@example.com), October 08, 2000.
It was the morning after one of these dreams, and she was bent over the growing life of her garden, that the messenger came. He wore the colors of royalty, and only bore passing resemblance to the true blood that ran in her old veins. The woman looked up at him as he sat upon his fine mount.
"It is said you know the ways of the moon." the messenger said without preamble. "He that is most high wishes to know these secrets, for the whispers heard on the night wind now escape him. Do you know go and fetch your things, and we shall make way."
The old woman pursed her lips. "The ways of the moon can only come to one who has the eyes for seeing, the ears for listening, and the heart for knowing." she retorted as she straightened herself slowly. "Do you tell him this, and see what he would say - his answer will determine whether or not I will come."
The messenger was displeased, but did not argue with the woman. "I will tell him what you say." he replied, and turned his mount, riding into the dappled shadows from which he had come.
-- Dayna (firstname.lastname@example.org), October 11, 2000.
After the messenger had ridden off, she stayed for a moment, lost in thought. It had been a while since she had dealt with his sort, but she remembered. Remembered men of power all too well, and how they did not like to take 'no' for an answer. The subtlety of her reply would be lost on him, and the next messenger would come with enough guards to bring her to the lord irregardless of her wishes. With a shake of her head, she went to make preparations.
So it was, some weeks later, the expected troop of soldiers rode down upon the little settlement in the brightness of a new morning. With much precision they halted in front of the walls, and a messenger (a different one this time, a female), swung down from her horse and banged on the gate.
All was silence.
-- Olwen (email@example.com), October 12, 2000.