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The Underlings Ch 6
Nerthax the Nobody!
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In the primary tongue of the Underlings, the concept of "No Name" or "Nobody" is or was most closely described by the word "Nerthax". Because the lone Underling was constantly referred to as Nerthax, the word stuck as his default name and title, referencing nobody.
Early in Nerthax's childhood, he grew up believing and thinking that particular sound combination was his name. So being called Nerthax wasn't much of a concern to him until he began his schooling years. That is when the teasing and tormenting started.
The fine and generally warm and sunny days near the beginning of the planting season, before the farm-work began in earnest, the Underling children were given instruction. This was primarily related to proper planting techniques, but the instruction included other disciplines as well.
Nerthax's first instructor had a very long winded and important sounding name and title, which I will not repeat here, at leas
The Underlings Ch 5
Some stories fade from existence the moment they are created, much to the loss to the civilization in which they sprang from. As cultures decay and degenerate, by design or neglect, much is lost. The cost is incalculable, but it is repeated time and time again across the ages. Even this story seems to be headed for oblivion and obscurity, to be relegated into so much disregarded bits and bytes stored in a machine some where in cyberspace. Something needs to give dreams and hopes life and substance, otherwise through neglect and disuse, they remain just words on a page, or distant memories of faded life and lives. So I continue to push the narrative forward, step by tiny step.
* * *
"No Name" grew increasing despondent at the return of the Voices. The Voices' cackling increased, feeding on the negative emotions of "No Name" despairing state of mind. He knew the drill well by now. He responded as best his depleted energy allowed him and managed to que
The Underlings Ch 4
* * *
He gasped suddenly and regained his senses, awakened from his daydream vision. The beautiful vision faded in to nothingness immediately. The lone Underling started to slip back deeper into despair as the minutes and hours began again to tick by slowly and relentlessly. In the oppressive gloom The Voices started again. The whispering, barely intelligible Voices grew bolder and more confident. Having been released from their even darker reclusive prison cavern hiding places. Their rusty chains being broken by all the recent trauma, torment and oppressive events happening far away and near by. The Voices began again tormented the last remaining Underling.
This peculiar and particular Underling had no real name. He was never given a proper name, as his guardians didn't see fit to give him one. He wasn't expected to survive the night of his birth. Later, after he somehow managed to survive beyond his first few hours of life, his appointed guardians just f
The Underlings Ch 3
Dreams are tenuous things. They seem very real in the moment when you're immersed in an intense dream. Sights seem more real, colors are more vivid or are occasionally exceedingly dull. Sometimes smells and odors are present, occasionally pleasant, occasionally putrid. The story seems so much more interesting than our dull, drab everyday lives. We sometimes grasp dream objects with our hands, only to find out that when we wake up, the objects held are not real and only have existence in the dream realm. The dream stories fade out and away with the morning light, making it difficult to remember what just happened moments ago or why the dream was a good one or why the dream's dark relative, the nightmare, was so awful and terrifying. Sometimes dreams reoccur, night after night begging to be understood and interpreted.
And yet some rare dreams seem so real and are so beautiful that one is nearly compelled to share them, in artistic form, even if one doesn't
The Underlings Ch 2
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Like all myths and legends time has a peculiar way of altering stories. Sometimes making it seem more grand and wondrous. Sometimes leaving out critical and crucial details that make the still surviving stories seem even the more fantastic and implausible. As the ages and eons progress, context and what is regarded as common knowledge fade away and are lost or become hidden in dusty, unread or unreadable books, manuscripts and scrolls. Motives change or are forgotten. Reasons for taking a certain course of action become tenuous and fragmented. The ravages of time take their toll on writings, records, buildings and structures. Disasters large and small erase critical story elements from existence, and unless renewed periodically fade from collective memories and histories. Story writers add their own biases and dare I say it, errors, including my own, into the mix.
* * *
The Underling was now completely alone in the relative safe darkness
The Underlings Ch 1
The Sea was dark and foreboding. It scattered and reflected the flickering torchlight of the small band of villagers that were fleeing to the seeming safety of the Notched Hill's distant shoreline. They were fleeing for their very lives! Only a few had saved many of their belongings. Most with a few meager belongings, did they take with them. Many didn't have time to take anything with them. There were screams of fright and pain. But the pursuing Giants didn't care one thing about the Underlings. The Giants broke a truce with the Underlings that terrible night.
The Underlings were wading towards their doom. They scrambled about in the dark waters. It seemed that the waters cared for them even less than the Giants. One remnant made it to the shore, but it seemed there was nowhere to hide or seek safety. The ocean roared, drowning out the pleas and cries of the Underlings. The Giants kept coming. The Underlings started to crowd the shoreline, desperately look
Poetic PsychosisIn thirty seconds, the next shell would fall. Every night was the same, but every night Lorenzo experienced it as if it were the first time. His throat felt swollen; breathing was hard. He glanced around at the others; young men like him who had been shipped out in the name of honour and freedom. There was no honour in this, no freedom. Only death behind your eyelids, and a fear so gutting, that it carved out your innards and left you a hollow husk. Lorenzo tried to breathe, tried to assure himself that he was still whole, still made of flesh. They had lied when they told him he was ready.
Matteo ran towards him, arms out, rifle swinging uselessly at his side. He shouted for him to run, but Lorenzo remained motionless, unable to move as his friend’s warning was lost in the constant blare of gunfire. None of them were ready.
“The cycle is repeating. It is not safe.” The voice was soft and weak, yet it carried over the gunfire and battle cries without impediment.
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