Over and Over: Conclusion

     **here's part two enjoy!**

       “That’s a lovely fairy tale,” I remarked.

            “What are you talking about? There wasn’t a single fairy in that story.”

            I glared across the table at the weak attempt at a joke. “Are you aware of the implications of your predicament here?”

            “Of course,” he answered, “but it doesn’t matter. Do whatever you want.” He leaned back and closed his eyes taking several deep breaths.

            Mencher’s indifference irritated me and I began to lift myself from the table, reaching for the file. I hesitated seeing his eyes open and stare blankly at the wall. There was a strange solemnity in that face, the slacked cheeks and depressed brow, as though he were remembering a traumatic past or long past resentment.

            “We have intelligence that says you were in the Ukraine recently trying to buy weapons from another arms dealer,” I stated.

            “I was.”

            “You were trying to gain access to old Soviet supply bunkers.”

            “True.”

            “One in particular which housed dismantled nuclear devices,” I added. “The man you were dealing with got scared when he realized your intentions and stepped forward informing us about you dealings.”

            “I know.”

            “If you had managed to lay hands on those devices, what would you have done?”

            “I wouldn’t have given them to terrorists if that’s what you’re asking…” he paused. “Well, maybe one just to get some funding.”

            “Have you no concern for human life? Even if you sympathize with the views of Islamic fundamentalists, which I highly doubt you do, detonation of nuclear device will hurt everyone regardless of race, religion or creed,” I explained. “Is this something you even considered?”

            “That is exactly what I was counting on,” he replied. “It was what I was planning on doing with the rest of the materials I hoped to possess.”

            “You wanted to detonate them?” I blinked. “Why?”

*          *          *

            There was a rebellion, the mass, weak menial labor against the few strong lordly warriors. The people wanted to be free of mundane taxes that only served to generate wealth for a church and an empire that dominated them without consent.

            The people had been inspired by a man who stood against the domination of the church, but soon turned his back on them as well. I felt an odd kinship with the man.

            I fought with them, tried to help spurn them on with whispers and ideas. But the knights charged in and everyone was slaughtered. One hundred thousand men lay dead so that a handful of rich men could continue a lavish lifestyle of waste and greed.

            The rebellion could have continued and spread out, but each city involved made peace with these princes and the rebellion was halted. Things did change as a result but there was still no hope of return to those long ago days of merriment in the cave.

            Things aren’t that different today. Look out the window. The church no longer collects taxes and no Holy Roman Empire backs their pointless requirements with steel; instead you have banks with fees and government with guns, but they do the same, and you the people sit there and accept it.

            And you know what’s going to happen, you all know, but you cling to the little scraps for as long as you can because you simply fear the unknown, fear the freedom it gives, and therefore doom yourselves to the repetition of history.

            I’ve seen what happens. Everything will fall apart. Your system will crumble when it is no longer capable of sustaining itself and those people, those ‘barbaric hoards’ will roll on in and take everything the second you are weak. It will start here, in America and spread across the globe, country to country until your empire of wealth and greed is gone.

            But that’s not the tragic part. In the wake of such destruction, you will try to rebuild this world and make it better, but only in your fantasies. All you are doing is what has been done many times before and you’re going to fail every single time.

*          *          *

            “You’re referring to the Peasant’s War during the Reformation and the fall of Rome, I imagine.”

            “You catch on well.”

            “You talk as if you were there.”

            “I was.”

            I peered into his eyes looking for the flutter of lies but they only gleamed back through lazy lids. The man was insane, one of those lunatics that think their historical figures.

            “You are reasoning in your mind, right now, that I’m a madman and belong in a straitjacket.” How did he know? “I know because I’ve seen it before.” He leaned forward. “But you’re going to look it up, my name. I’ve taken a liking to Mencher, I’ve been using it since, oh, 1821, I think. You’ll find that a man who changed his name to Mencher was involved in the outbreak of the First World War; he mentored a man named Gavrilo who assassinated Archduke Ferdinand.  There was another who was employed by the Nazis to produce a secret weapon capable of wiping out an entire city and so forth.”

            “Are you implying that you are these men, that you are the William Mencher from 1960?”

            “What do you think?”

            “I think you’re crazy.”

            “You’ll look it up though, I know you will.”

            “How could you be William Mencher? He was executed in 1961, you were born in 1985.”

            “I was cursed. My body dies but I come back, reincarnated over and over again. But while most people start afresh with no memories of those past lives, I come back with everything. I’ve been among you so long that I know what you will do before you do, I’ve seen the cycle repeat itself more times than I can count.”

            “And that’s why you’re trying to wreck civilization?”

            “It started out that way, but I want something else now.”

            “And what is that?”

            “I want to wipe out all life on this planet,” Mencher said. “That’s why I wanted the nukes. I was going to place them at pivotal points all over the globe and detonate them simultaneously. The resulting dust cloud would have blotted out the sun killing all vegetation and, ultimately, all of you.”

            “Why would you want to do something like that?”

            “If there are no more of you, then I can’t come back.”

            The fluorescent lighting buzzed above us as we sat silently studying each other. He believed what he said. There was no hint of weakness in his voice or face, his posture in the chair was solid and steadfast.

            “You’re trying to commit suicide…” I breathed.

            He relaxed in his chair. The sadness returned to his face.

            “Why? You’re immortal.”

            “I’m alone.”

            My eyes glazed the desk top. “Are we… are we really that hopeless?”

            He looked at me sympathetically. “I don’t know, but I do know that until you dispose of your greed and your hate, you will never touch the stars. Only by working together, like we did in the cave will you ever make the leap as we did to the village. You need to throw off your shackles; those that were first imposed by God and the Devil and learn to live free, truly free.”

            “We progressed since then. We have better building and science.”

            “What is the difference between mud and stone? Stone and steel? It’s all dirt.”

            He had closed his eyes again. I sat pondering his words then got up from the table. “You will be tried in a federal court and most likely spend the rest of your life in prison.”

            “It’s nothing I haven’t done before.”

            “I can’t let you do what you’re planning to do. The rest of us have a right to live.”

            “Maybe, I say you gave it up after the flood,” he countered. “But have it your way. Just know that you can’t stop me, not really. I’ll be back again and again, and sooner or later, I’m going to succeed.”

            “Then we’ll just have to look out for people named Mencher.”

            “I don’t know, I’m getting bored with that name.”  He smiled.

*          *          *

            Brain Mencher was convicted of terrorism and arms dealing. He was imprisoned for three consecutive life sentences but died in prison six months after his conviction.

            I checked what he told me and there he was in Bosnia before World War One and in Germany during World War Two. I periodically checked for name changes especially sixteen years down the road but saw no more Menchers. Many others changed their names at sixteen, but none that fit the profile. He could have returned as anyone.

            In my old age the memory of the man plagued me. Every person I saw, every face, I wondered if he was in there. Then one day while I sat on the outside patio of a pub eating a hamburger I saw a young man standing on across the street squinting in my direction as though he recognizing me. I started back not knowing the lad but soon recognized the way his lips tilted in the corner of his mouth. He walked away with a solemn look as though everything was old and there was nothing new left on this planet. 

Over and Over: Part One

**I wrote this one about two years ago, I think. The premise I original had back in middle school, but I used it here and made it a little darker. It's still quite rough; I haven't worked on it every much since the original draft, so it's going to be a bit sloppy in the diction department and flow, but I figured I'd toss it on anyway. I'm also not sure of the title; if anyone has any suggestions, feel free to send your input! Thanks for reading, and part two will be on its way soon!**

The white door to the interrogation cell opened and I walked into a long rectangular cinder blocked room with one fluorescent fixture blinking from the ceiling. At a small grey table, sat a young man in his mid twenties, hands cuffed together and chained to the table legs bolted into the floor. He watched my entrance with cold blue eyes.

            I sat down across from the young man and lay a folder on the table. I opened it and quickly skimmed of the pages within.

            “Well Mr. Mencher, I take it you have been informed as to why you’re here.”

            He nodded, the bored blank look on his face unchanging.

            “We’ve been following your activities for some time now,” I continued. “We placed you at the bombing attempt in DC as well as a kidnapping in Ohio. But you are primarily known to us for your arms trade with terrorist cells, can you tell me more about this?”

            “What can I tell you that you don’t already know?” he answered.

            “Your intentions for starters.” I leaned back folding my hands on the table top. “You associate with Islamic fundamentalist terrorist organizations and yet you are a white male with a Jewish-Polish surname born in New York City. Considering your background, you are the last person we would suspect of being involved in such crimes.”

            “You must have dug deeper than that,” he answered, the corner of his mouth upturned.

            “We have.” I tapped at the file. “Your birth certificate bears the name Brian Peterson. You changed your surname to Mencher when you were sixteen.” I paused and watched him for any significant reaction.

            “Oh, but you have even more than that.”

            I scrutinized his face. He watched me like a man watching a movie he had seen a hundred times before, able to recite the lines word for word, yet he reveled in this; he was waiting to see my reactions. 

            I closed the file and pushed it to the corner of the table. “Since you already know what I’m getting at, why don’t you fill in the blanks?” I beamed at him with stern unimpressed eyes.

            Mencher sighed and began, “During the Cold War, in 1960, there was a man named Mencher who was involved in the U-2 Incident. He was a CIA man who leaked to the Soviets that this plane was conducting a surveillance mission over the USSR. These facts were never made public knowledge and are still buried in some top secret archive, most likely never to see the light of day. But the aspect of this story that truly interests you is that the Mencher from 1960 was born William Maas and changed his surname to Mencher when he was sixteen.”

            He recited my Intel exactly. Him being the same man was impossible. The man in 1960 had been thirty-eight years old at the time making him eighty-eight today and I sat before a man maybe twenty-five years old. What I didn’t like was the coincidence. “I want to know how you know about William Mencher. I would have hazarded a guess that you were related to him somehow, a grandparent, a great uncle or something along the line. I would say that, perhaps, you met the man, but he was apprehended and…”

            “Executed in 1961,” he cut in, “yes I remember.”

            “What’s the connection?” I posed.

            “The answer,” he leaned in, “is far simpler, yet far more complicated than you could possibly understand.”

*          *          *

            You may say that I’ve always been a turncoat, a betrayer, a backstabber. It’s how I started out. It began by betraying my father, a king, for a would-be usurper whom I in turn betrayed to my father. Both king and usurper were fools, control freaks wishing to have everything under their heels; I wanted to teach them a lesson. But in the end, when the war settled and everything returned to normal, I was left a man without a home. My father refused me for my siding with the usurper and threw me down; the usurper also disgusted with me threw me up. Hence I came to rest in the middle; where I began a cursed existence trapped in the unknown grey.

            It wasn’t so bad at first; I didn’t have to deal with either of their insufferable egos and was free to think and act as I so pleased. I came to rest in a cave. There were others with me who accepted me and took me in. It was a good time. We hunted, ate, laughed and grew.

            A time came when everyone left the cave and began building a village of mud brick in a fertile area rich with plants and game. Our time there was glorious, but then it all fell apart, and it was all their fault…

            My father returned posing as some nomadic desert lord and began dictating terms to our village. When we hesitated, he broke a natural water barrier around the sea and flooded the land. Everyone drowned. Other people who came and saw the devastation quickly dove at his feet swearing loyalty and relinquishing their freedom.

            But they remembered that freedom and that was what attracted the usurper still trying to win one over on my father. He promised the return of that carefree life, when really he would only impose the same restrictions.

            It was the same old struggle, the one that got me exiled; only this time, I was powerless to do anything about it. I had to watch the people make the same old mistakes over and over and over again. It was then that I realized how cursed I had been. 

Character Outline Template

Hi, haven't been able to post anything new lately due to the winter holidays; been very busy, but I thought it would be neat to toss out a character outline template I made up. I find them fun to fill out, but they also help me keep little things like how characters react to situations, their daily ticks and those sorts of things. If anyone fins this useful for their won writings, please feel free to steal it! Hehe. And Happy Holidays everyone! I'll try to post some real writing soon.

Also, I started another blog, this one is for philosophy. The link should appear on the  on the right side of the page near the bottom. Thanks again for reading!

Character Outline

Name:                                                             Species:

Race:                                       Ethnicity:                                Religion:

Age:                                         Height:                                    Weight:

Bodily description (type, condition):

Eye Colour:

Hair Colour:                                                                Hair Style:

Distinguishing Features:        1.

                                                2.

                                                3.

Characteristic Gestures:        1.

                                                2.

                                                3.

                                   

Family:

Schooling:

Occupation (past present):

Skills, Talents, Abilities:         1.

2.

3.

Goals:

Personality Type:

Methods of Handling Anger:

Habits (Bad, Good):               1.

                                                2.

3.

                                                4.

Prejudices:

Pet Peeves/Fears:                  1.

                                                2.

3.

Hobbies:                                 1.

                                                2.

                                                3.

Sexual Turn Offs/Ons:           1.

                                                2.

                                                3.

Clothing Style:

Character History: 

Frejya's Grove: Redraft.

**Hi. I'm re-posting Frejya's Grove after a little editing. Mostly there were changes in the word use and some tightening of sentences, but the story is basically the same. I should mention that I am posting rough drafts of stories here, so expect spelling and grammatical errors. I know that's probably rather unprofessional of me, but I'm not published yet, so I don't think I need to be professional just yet. :) I am thinking of sending this story off to a magazine soon, so fingers crossed! Thanks for reading and pass it along! And don't be afraid to comment or suggest changes!**

Freyja’s Grove

            There is a tree that resides atop of a small grassy mound within a secluded grove deep within the forest to the north. It is a thick strong oak tree with broad stretching branches adorned with luscious emerald leaves. The shade it provides shields against the sun in the hot summers. At the base of its trunk, there is a small nook where the roots seep out through the ground underneath, perfect to lay within. No matter the season, it always seems green there; even in the dead of winter where, somehow, the sun always shines, its foliage is always blooming and the air is always warm.

            I often went to that place throughout my youth, seeking refuge from the mad world and its burdens, secluding myself away thinking my lonely thoughts and dreaming. It was my special place.

            And such dreams I had... At first I was allured by the peace and tranquility there, but it became something more. As I dozed in that mysterious enclave, on top of the matted blades of grass, I would drift to a wonderful place where there was no worry or strife. The skies were always clear and blue and the sun comforted instead of burned.

            It was there I met her. She appeared dressed in a long, silken blue dress dancing barefoot in the meadow amongst the wildflowers. Her hair was black like night, yet her skin was as white as a pearl. Her lips smiled when she saw me, highlighting her high cheeks, but I shied away.

            She didn’t laugh like the others at my ineptitude, but nodded with understanding and continued dancing. I rested against the tree quietly and watched her move, spinning with her arms outstretched, her curly hair arching in the most beautiful flourish. Hypnotized by the sight, I drifted and slept.

            When I awoke, she had come to sit next to me. She gazed into the trees; I followed her sight. There was a doe at the edge of the brush, grazing. I sat upright and startled it. The creature ran into the woods. She looked at me surprised and I muttered an apology, but she smiled brightly and said that it was okay.

            And then I looked into her eyes; such a wonder I could not have possibly imagined. Her irises were like colourful clouds swirling with colours of hazel and deep green. They sparkled down at me and I knew comfort unlike anything I had ever felt.

            We never spoke much, save those first few awkward words. Whenever I went there, I would rest in her lap and she would run her fingers through my hair. Sometimes I would weep, I am not sure why; maybe a release from my isolated existence outside, maybe from the joy that she brought me, but she would always sooth me with her graceful touch and her radiant presence.

            As the years past, I had to leave for school and moved into the city. My visits were less frequent, but I made time whenever my studies allowed or when there was a holiday. She was always glad to see me then, but seemed a little sad. I wanted to ask her, but she would always silence me with an embrace.

            Then, one day in the city, unable to procure transport north, I found myself at a video rental store in order to pass away my time. I stood in line for the checkout when a girl came up behind. I glanced back at her nervously and caught her eye and saw in them the semblance of colour like the woman in my dreams.  Her’s were not as glittery as my secret friend’s, but they did not lack in beauty. Seeing my minute confidence, she smiled warmly as though she understood. I faced forward feeling my back stiffen until she softly asked me what I was renting. I showed her my selection and she nodded with approval. She turned over the cases in her hands and I saw that they were the same.

            We went for coffee after that and talked. Later, we went to her place and watched the movies together. I sat at the other end of the couch fearful of becoming too close. She saw me shiver and offered a blanket. By the end of the first movie, we were snuggled together under the comforter. When I parted her company that night, we shared a quick sensual kiss.

            I saw her frequently over the next few months and forgot about my magical grove. Each time we saw one another, the more we fell in love.

            One weekend came and she had returned home to visit her parents. I had little else to do, so I ventured north and again visited the clearing with the great oak. I stretched out under its branches, blanketing me with shade, and soon fell asleep.

             The woman was there; hunched against the wide trunk, face in her hands, crying. I rushed to her and cast my arms around her shoulders, rocking her. Finally, I asked her what was wrong.

            “My people have forgotten me,” she sobbed, “and you have too.”

            “Never,” I replied, “you will always be in my heart.”

            She managed a smile and returned my hug. “I knew this day would come; I dreaded its arrival. I came here to help you and now that is done. I must go.”

            “Please don’t leave. I need you,” I pled.

            “No you don’t.” She reached up and touched my cheek.

            “Where will you go?” I asked.

            “To my father, to his holy halls.”

            “Will I ever see you again?”

            “One day...”

            And then she was gone and I was alone lying next to the old oak tree. I stayed for hours; tears falling from my face. As night came, I lifted myself and left that sacred place.

            Many years later, I returned with my wife and daughter. We came to the grove in the summer and I showed them the tree. We picnicked there and played, dancing through the meadows amongst the wildflowers.

            When the sun began its descent, we watched leaning against the trunk. My family thanked me for sharing my secret hideaway with them and I silently thanked her, that mysterious woman, for the ease she instilled in me on those dark days. My wife leaned over and planted a kiss on my face and I looked into her wonderful eyes and knew that tranquil peace once more.

End

What Comes Around: Conclusion

 **Here's the last part of What Comes Around. I have ideas for more stories with the same main character, but they wont be read for some tie to come. In the mean time, I plan on posting another story in parts called Slip. This one will be more science-fiction. Thanks again for reading and tell your friends!**  

         Geoff’s 300 pulled up to the docks. This was a different location than he was used to; one as far away from Mr. Big’s warehouse as possible. He hopped out of the car and rounded the front with a slight skip to his step. He yanked open the passenger door and removed a small middle aged man from within. Due to the concrete enveloping the man’s feet, Geoff had to drag him to the edge of the docks.

            Geoff let the man slump down shivering either from the cold night or fright. Geoff sat on the end of the pier next to his victim, letting his feet dangle off the side. He reached in his coat and removed a large blue-metal revolver. He tapped the barrel against his knee and looked back at the man, shaking his head. “What a strange world we live in,” he signed and continued, “So here’s the deal: Normally I’d just chuck you in the drink and call it a night, but I’m actually a bit curious about how you live with yourself. So you tell me why you do what you do and my Colt Python here will decide whether to pop you one in the head before throwing you over; I hear drowning really sucks. But this all depends on if I agree with your reasoning.” Geoff waved the barrel in the man’s direction. “So, what do you say?”

            The man cleared his throat. “What do you want to know?”

            “Well, when did you decide to work there?”

            “You mean become a priest?”

            “Yeah.”

            “When I got out of high school.”

            “So that would be like twenty some odd years ago?”

            “Twenty-six.”

            “Wow.” Geoff looked out across the black water. Looking across the Bay at night always made him think that he was looking at a big pit of nothingness. “When did you decide to use the church as a drug depot?”

            “A few years ago.”

            “Did God piss you off or something? Didn’t answer a prayer?”

            “I am doing this for God.”

            Geoff started snickering then burst out laughing. “Oh-oh man, go on, please; I have got to hear this one.”

            “Have you seen that state of the world today?”

            “It sucks. What about it?”

            “It doesn’t just suck. Our civilization has never seen this before, this much despair, this much emptiness.”

            “Ever heard of World War Two?”

            “This is different. Our country has never been so close to the end,” the priest said. “The World Wars gave people purpose, and purpose instills hope. This is the opposite; this is misery. This is worse than the Great Depression. Corruption is everywhere, at every level of society. First everything became stagnant, technology, the economy, and so on, and now it’s beginning to decay; our world is going the way of Rome.”

            Geoff nodded. “So you somehow think that by adding more misery, it will somehow counteract all the crap? I don’t get it? Why drugs?”

            “God wills it.”

            “He wants everyone to get high until the world gets better?”

            “He wants me to weed out the weak.”

            Geoff couldn’t help but smile. “What the hell for?”

            “Are you not listening to me?” the priest snapped.

            “Careful, I have the gun. I don’t necessarily have to shoot you in the head.”

            “Listen, this is the end. It’s not just society, it’s the whole world. Everything is falling apart and this time it’s not coming back. I am preparing my flock for the end times. Sadly, that means separating the righteous from the unworthy. What better way than to use the temptation of drugs? And the money I receive from the men who bring them, all goes to the church for the good of those that deserve it,” the priest finished then let his head drop.

            “You really know your place in the world, don’t you?” Geoff remarked.

            “It is not something I like doing, but it must be done,” the priest answered. “I know what God wants of me, do you?”

            Geoff stood up. “I should tell you I was an orphan. My twin sister and I were dumped on the doorsteps of some nunnery, like some bad movie. If there was one thing I could ask my real parents if I found them it would be, why a nunnery? Why not a dumpster or some random house, like, who does that? Ah, I’m getting off track. So, we were raised in a bloody Catholic orphanage. Oddly enough, when they were drilling the Bible into my head, some of it stuck. One thing I remember, I can’t remember where in the Bible it’s from, was that judgment was the realm of the Lord, not mankind.”

Geoff walked behind the priest and lifted him up by the armpits. “Now, like you, I also claim to know exactly why I am here, but unlike your hypocritical crap, I have no illusions.”

“And what is your place then?”

“There’s common saying out there, I think it could be of Norse origins, but I’m probably wrong. It goes: What goes around comes around. Everything is a circle. You eventually get out of life what you put into it, understand?”

“You fit in with that saying?”

“We both fit in actually. You see, someone like you is what goes around, and someone like me is what comes around. Now, I know what you’re thinking, he kills people…”

“And one day you will be judged for it.”

“Ah, you’re probably judging me for it right now,” Geoff spat. “But you’re right; I know it will be my turn one day. There’s nothing I can do about that. But that is my place, and you know what? It may not be the place God wanted me to take, but it’s the one I chose for myself.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m sick of scum like you. You’re like those nuns who tried to brainwash me at the orphanage, like my boss and like my parents; all trying to rule the world by ruining the world. I don’t like you, and I intend to do something about it.” Geoff slid the priest up next to the water. “So, you ready?”

“No gun?” he asked.

Geoff shook his head. “Nope, your logic sucks.”

The priest sighed and hung his head. “C-can I have a last moment to pray?”

Geoff spread out his arms. “Sure, why not?”

The priest started mumbling to the darkness ahead of him while his body quivered, but after a few seconds, Geoff had a change of heart and kicked him in the back. The priest toppled over the edge into the dark waters. Geoff leaned over the edge to watch a few bubbles emerge before hiding his gun under the folds of his coat and turning back to his car. He started the engine and drove off into the night. 

Think Geek

I found an interesting website selling lots of geeky merchandise from t-shirts to coffee mugs, to samurai sword chop sticks. Considering how close the holidays are, I figured it would be a good post for people who are looking for the perfect gift for the geeks in their life. Check it out at: http://www.thinkgeek.com/

More writing will be on the way soon!

Gods of Nothing Excerpt

       **This is the opening of a chapter, or short story for a book I've been writing. The book, if it becomes one, is titled Son of Time, and the best description I can give for the story is that its a cross between Dr. Who and Sliders. Each chapter I intended to have as a sand alone story but with an overlapping story arch. I'm not going to post the entire story on this blog, but if anyone would like to read more, send me a message and I'll try to send you an email. Again thanks for reading!!!**

Gods of Nothing

     The people of the planet Diaxerah had a sky unlike no other. Living on the outermost edge of a galactic spiral arm, the most remote system in that galaxy, they had a marvellous view of the entire stream that was their galaxy; a magnificent glistening line streaking overhead. This sight was prominent in the northern hemisphere as their solar system was angled perpendicular with the galactic disc.

            The indigenous life here had evolved with elongated necks spanning a meter in length theorised to be due to the breath taking sight they were blessed with. They were also excellent astronomers. Though technology was not their strong suit, still being a young species, they had constructed massive megalithic structures to reflect their obsession with the skies. Great rings for keeping track of their golden sun, mighty wheels designed to track the constellations through the seasons and even cities patterned in ways to reflect their jewel encrusted heavens.

            They were a source of curiosity for a group of interplanetary explorers, much more advanced than the Diaxerahans but peaceful and good-willed, who arrived on their world to study this unique civilization. They were amazed by the colossal structures they had erected, mystified by their astronomically aware culture, and even perplexed by another strange habit these long necked beings displayed; they all lived in the north.

            When asked of this strange behaviour, the Diaxerahans relayed an ignorance of the southern hemisphere, showing no curiosity as to what lay there. Surely the hemisphere was habitable, that green things grew there, that food roamed there, but for a species of wonder and intellect, they strangely showed no desire to learn of what lay beyond the equator. Some of them didn’t even believe in the existence of a southern hemisphere, as if creation stopped around the central belt of their own planet, and when asked if anyone had ever gone to take a look, the people could not image why anyone would want to, not with the sky that was spread over their heads in the north.

            Such was preposterous, a people with such grand knowledge of the universe knowing so little of their very own world. The visitors believed that the time had come to awaken these people to the joys of their own planet. They decided to embark upon an expedition to the south, much to the local’s shock, almost to the point of terror, to see what mysteries lay south. There was some council given by the local elders pertaining to the notion that such a venture may not be such a great idea, but the explorers couldn’t help themselves; they had come so far, after all, and off they went.

            The Diaxerahans gave their visitors a good send off, a massive feast and celebration, that was good fun save for one instance when a priest came to them and offered to give them their rights of passage into the next world. The explorers thought this death chant odd, but perhaps it was a multi-use prayer to send off travelers; something that would require further study when they returned to the north to tell of what they discovered in the south.

            And so, the visitors left on their expedition. They soon discovered that this planet was not just on the edge of the galaxy but a massive expanse stretching for millions of billions of light-years; a great void, one of many that exist between the web of galaxies that compose the universe. Such darkness none of them could have imagined. They realized that the Diaxerahans possibly had no interest in the south with its desolate skies, but something had to be down here so they pressed on.  

            As the years past and generations turned, the people of Diaxerah’s north continued living. They watched the skies and built a shrine around the vessel that brought the explorers from above to commemorate the visit. They told stories and sung songs to them and their bravery for venturing to the south, and used such tales to ward off curiosity among their young concerning the other side of the planet. “Do not venture there,” the elders would say, “for there is nothing there, and those that wander those lands do not come back.” 

What Comes Around: Part 3

**Here's Part 3 of What Comes Around. Enjoy!**

The bells hanging above the door chimed. The cook standing behind the bar looked up and turned to open a bottle of beer. Geoff walked to the counter and paid. “Man, it’s like you know what I’m thinking.” He then headed towards the back where a man in a dark coat waited at a booth behind the pages of a book.

            Geoff groaned as he sat down at the table and immediately took a swig.

            “You sound a bit tired,” The man sitting across remarked.

            “It’s been a tough week.”

            The man placed the book face down on the table and starred at Geoff from behind a pair of circular mirror-like glasses that reflected Geoff’s face back at him when he looked up. He had been properly introduced to the man once, but had forgotten his real name and always felt embarrassed to ask again. Instead, Geoff referred to him as Mr. Reaper, based on the fact that the man never smiled and the type of work he offered.

            Mr. Reaper reached back and scratched at his cropped blond hair then reached for his tea, taking a small sip. “I’ve been hearing things about your boss,” he began. “I assume it doesn’t sit well with you.”

            “You’re pretty good an understating things.”

            “Hmm, well I hope your loyalty to your full-time employer won’t interfere with the job I have selected for you,” Mr. Reaper said and produced an envelope from the seat on his right. He placed it on the table and slid it across in front of Geoff.

            Mr. Reaper worked for some sort of organization, what kind exactly Geoff wasn’t sure, but, without a doubt, wasn’t legit. When he was first approached by Mr. Reaper for this type of work, Geoff was hesitant, but was assured that no innocents would be involved. So far they had kept their end of the bargain, unlike his other employer.  

            He opened the envelope and removed a photograph and a piece of paper. He glanced at the photo noting a middle aged man with graying hair and glasses. He didn’t look too threatening. The paper was an address, which produced a confused frown across Geoff’s brow. “For real?”

            “Not the first place I would look for drugs.” Mr. Reaper nodded. “Perfect place, in other words.”

            Geoff returned the items back in the envelope and slid it into his coat pocket.

            “I take it there is no issue with the job?”

            “Why would there be?”

            “Because your boss is using this place as a front for his new branch of business.”

            “I see. As long as he doesn’t know it was me, there should be no problem.”

            “Don’t get caught then.”

            “I never do.”

            “Excellent. We will pay you the same way as usual,” Mr. Reaper said.

            Geoff nodded and drained half his beer. He eyed Mr. Reaper from over the neck of the bottle again only seeing himself reflected back. Mr. Reaper said he wore such glasses due to a light sensitivity thing, but Geoff thought he just liked people starring dumbly at themselves when they looked at him. In a way, he was sitting in judgment of people.

            “What are you reading today?” Geoff asked. “Science again?”

            “Nope.” He said turning over the thick book exposing the golden words imprinted on the black cover.

            “The Bible?” Geoff grinned. “I always had you pegged as an atheist.”

            Mr. Reaper snorted but his face remained blank. “Science has never explained to me where everything has come from. Logically, there should be nothing.” He glanced down at the book. “It is somewhat different to what I’m used to though. I suppose I was looking for something that could somehow justify that man in the photo you have.”

            “There’s no point in that, let me tell you,” Geoff said. “People don’t need an excuse to be stupid.”

            Mr. Reaper shrugged. “Trying to find their place in the world, perhaps…”

            “No, the real nasty people are the ones who already know what their place is.”

            “Do you?” Mr. Reaper asked his mirror eyes aimed up at his associate.