The First Story

by C Bradley Owens

  “Where are you?” she asked the nothing. Plaintive eyes vacillated from shadow to void, from trees to nothing, from firmament to…a pinprick. There was something in the nothing. Something far removed.

  She tried to become next to it, to this something, but her body did not respond. Her eyes narrowed, her brow furrowed, and she began a slow, trudging trek to the end of the earth until her toes hung from the end of the ground. She knelt and then jumped, propelling her entire self toward the distant glint. The ground shot ahead of her, preparing the way.

  Chapter 110

  The lack of hope settled uneasily on Matt. It was unnatural, and he balked at it. There was something; there was always something. That was John’s lesson, his philosophy on life, and Matt had learned it. But it was so difficult to hold.

  What was left? Matt took an internal survey, just as he and John had done when they had hit upon a difficult point in a story. He closed his eyes, and it was there. A secret so profound, so powerful that it could change everything.

  “That’s it, isn’t it?” Matt asked John. The only answer was the mechanical buzz of machines and the mocking tick, tick, tick of a heartless clock.

  Chapter 111

  Untitled

  Baba Vedma rolled up the parchment. She carefully wound the cord, forming a loose bow, and then let the scroll float from her trembling hands.

  “Is it true?” The Sister of Monsters began to drift away, her arms curled under her chin, her legs drawn up to her chest.

  “Ye know it be true.” Baba Vedma looked down, where earth had suddenly formed beneath her, and the light surrounding them grew more substantial. She allowed her feet to settle, and she held the Sister of Monsters until the little girl straightened her own legs and discovered the ground.

  They stood hand-in-hand as the parchment fell to the tender dirt as if gravity was suddenly a thing. They both studied the scroll. Thoughts, images, and concepts, flooded their minds, clouding their vision, but still they gazed.

  The earth grew more solid as they stood. The Woods formed around them; the darkness enveloped them. The thought of light entered their minds, and the Gloaming appeared.

  Erde was there, standing in front but apart, ever apart. “How did you summon the Gloaming?”

  “Ye know how.” Baba Vedma pointed to the scroll near Erde’s feet.

  “What is that?” Erde stepped back.

  “You know what it is.” The Sister of Monsters held fast to Baba Vedma’s hand; a new thought flared as eyes appeared in the shadows between the trees.

  “Mother?” The Growl in the Night stepped from the shadows and bowed low.

  “Mother?” The Chittering Underground emerged and raised herself to the fullness of her impressive height. “Not Mother at all.” She bowed as low as her bulk allowed. “Sister.”

  The Growl in the Night nodded and stood strong and powerful next to his sisters.

  “Stop this!” Erde shouted, kicking the scroll away from her. It fell into a hole that was now in the ground beneath it. The ground formed a cave, deep and dark and mysterious.

  “It be far too late for that, this time.” Baba Vedma motioned to the sky, and the Gloaming responded. It gathered it’s meager half-light, pushing closer and closer together until solidity was achieved. The newly formed moon shone down brighter than the sun, which came into being on the far side of the Creativity Sphere.

  “You can’t do this.” Erde summoned her power; she pulsed with energy and rage. Tendrils of green shot in every direction.

  The Growl in the Night and the Chittering Underground retreated to the safety of the shadows, which now had renewed power in response to the light. Baba Vedma held out a hand, and light, bright and fiery, withered the green. The Sister of Monsters stared with her orbs as shadow wrestled the green into submission. The green and the light and the darkness fought, none giving way, none earning purchase until a triple detente culminated.

  “Ye forget yourself, sister.” Baba Vedma shone with glittering luster.

  The Sister of Monsters watched, eyes wide open, as the moon captured and expelled even more light.

  “I am your Mother!” Erde screamed and summoned more green.

  “We know the truth this time, Sister.” The Sister of Monsters was shrouded in dark power. The Growl in the Night and the Chittering Underground joined her; side by side, they stood with their sister.

  “I am everything!” Erde demanded more, but the Gloaming Wood decided enough was enough. The trees settled in; the green bowed to the light and the dark; all was peace.

  “You are not everything.” The Sister of Monsters smiled as the Puppeteer and Frau Iver stepped from the shadows and joined the family.

  “You are just one Aspect.” Baba Vedma held out a friendly hand as the Toy Peddler and the Innkeeper joined her in the light.

  Soon, the Woods were filled with Elements, Images, Ideas, fully formed Aspects, Concepts, and the original Duality. Droll Mary strode forth with her brother, her twin, the Dottore. They stood between the light and the dark and beckoned more beings from the Woods. Paroxysm strolled forth, fully composed, fully adjusted to her state of being, and a perfect mix of strength and fragility. Then a throng, a horde, a multitude, a family emerged and arrayed against Erde.

  Abend stood forth, half-man, half-woman, both, neither. “We all know the truth now.”

  Travis, in Sales, appeared, his head held high. “We are worthy.”

  The Angler stood with the Origamist as they both straddled the light and dark divide. Baba Vedma welcomed them all. “We understand now, and we be ready for the future.”

  “Abominations!” Erde lashed out impotently, the green no longer on her side.

  “This be not abomination. This be progress.” Baba Vedma grasped hands with the Sister of Monsters, and the light swirled with the dark, neither giving nor taking more than was due, and Creativity sighed.

  The Eternal Gloaming blinked once more and then settled into consistency. The Gloaming Woods breathed in and out, finally able to rest. The City offered adventure from a distance. The Inn at the Edge of the Woods offered respite to weary travelers. The Council of Aspects encircled Erde.

  “I was everything,” Erde whimpered.

  “Ye were never everything.” Baba Vedma’s voice was strong and clear. “Ye only convinced yourself otherwise.”

  “And your conviction was so strong that you convinced us, too.” The Sister of Monsters, her orbs glistening, looked down on her shattered sister.

  “You are merely another Aspect,” the Toy Peddler offered.

  “I was everything,” Erde repeated, her head slumped forward.

  “No.” Baba Vedma took the Sister of Monsters’ hand and placed her other one on Erde’s shoulder. “We were everything, for just a moment.”

  “The Triple Goddess.” The Sister of Monsters smiled a broad, happy smile. “Childhood Innocence, Womanhood, and Old Age.”

  “We separated.” Baba Vedma took her hands away. “I became mystery, ancient knowledge, twisted matriarchy.”

  “I became the perpetual child.” The Sister of Monsters performed an awkward half-skip. “Little sister to everyone.”

  “You became tradition, unforgiving, unrelenting, unthinking tradition.” Abend’s voice was far more gentle than it had a right to be.

  “But you need to embrace change.” Travis, in Sales, offered his hand to the broken Aspect. “You could be life. Renewing, green, teeming life.”

  “You need to reconcile with yourself,” Paroxysm offered. “You need to marry the sides of your personality into one magnificent whole.”

  Erde stared blankly at the offer, her eyes seething, her face contorted with powerful emotions, her arms too heavy to respond.

  “Come on.” The Puppeteer clacked and clattered forward. He slapped an irreverent wooden hand on Erde’s back. “Change is fun. You’ll see.”

  Flux stepped closer than all the others. “Don’t I look familiar to you?” The Aspect bent low and stared i
nto Erde’s raging face. “I’ve always been here. We all have. There’s nothing new about us. We are just no longer hiding, cowering behind curtains, in dark alleys, closets. The only thing that’s changed is we want to stand with you, not against you. Can’t that be something?”

  “You’re not part of Creativity,” Erde hissed in a quiet voice, full of vicious intent. “You are abominations.”

  “That’s not true.” Abend joined Flux. “We are just as much a part of this world as you are. We are just as natural and…” Abend’s voice trailed off. There was no reason to continue the argument. Erde’s eyes told them all they needed to know about her ability to accept them.

  A sound broke the tense silence. It was natural, as anyone who has ever lived would tell you, and Abend would agree to the natural nature of the sound, and Flux didn’t mind that the sound interrupted their fervent plea. Yes, it was a natural sound, but it was not appropriate for the solemnity of the moment. In fact, the sound was more irreverent than the Puppeteer’s informality. It was more startling than the Sister of Monsters’ fearful demeanor. And it was a hot sound, which made Frau Iver shudder.

  “Oh, pardon me.” Droll Mary surreptitiously flared her gown from behind. The Dottore replaced his plague mask, and the entire assemblage tried to stifle a laugh.

  “Okay,” the Toy Peddler said. “I take it back. Your comedy is absolutely timeless.”

  The Eternal Gloaming watched as the population of Creativity disbanded, each heading to their respective places, each free to wander freely as the notions took them, each as important as each, each as impressive as each, and each willing to become more than they believed they could be.

  In the newly achieved quiet, in the heart of the new Creativity, Erde sat alone, dazed, her legs rooted to the spot where she failed, and wondered—later she would plot and plan—but for now, she wondered how she would ever get her power back. The Eternal Gloaming shone down on Erde’s spot in Creativity. The Moon smiled a weak, timid, indifferent smile on the green woman. The wind hissed in her ear, and the trees mocked her.

  Somewhere far from where Erde was now, the First Story, hidden once more by circumstance and chance, pulsed with creative energy. Erde felt it like a tickle on the base of her brain; she sensed it like a presence just beyond perception, and she concentrated on it. Below her, the roots that were now her legs jerked just a bit, and clumps of earth—only tiny lumps—shifted almost imperceptibly, but Erde took note.

  Chapter 112

  Matt leaned close to John’s ear. “There’s a secret I have,” Matt whispered. “I kept it for so long. I need you to know. Whatever happens, whatever the future holds, I need you to know now.”

  The tick, tick, tick was suddenly gentle. The light was startlingly happy. The mechanical buzz was full of hope. The secret floated from the deepest, most forbidden part of Matt. It expanded as it moved upward toward the light. Matt felt it grow too large, too important to be contained even a second longer.

  “I love you,” he whispered, and the words fell softly into John’s ear. “I always have, and I always will, no matter what, but I need you to hear me now.”

  There was beeping underneath every other sound in the room, a steady, slow beep coming from one of the machines, impossible to tell which, but Matt heard it for the first time, truly heard it. And then it was all that mattered.

  “And I don’t mean I love you as a friend. You know this. And I think you feel the same. I’ve felt your love. I know I have. It’s there in the stories. It’s all there. You love me, John Hensley. I know you do.”

  The beep sped up for just a moment. The tick, tick, tick continued but with such little importance that Matt was merely annoyed by it. The light was moving, but it was still happy and strong, and Matt relished it.

  “I’m not afraid anymore. I don’t care what my father thinks, or your father. Or our mothers. Or the world. I don’t care about any of that. Do you hear me, John? There’s only one thing I care about now. That’s you.”

  The beeping sped again, and this time, it maintained the speed. The hiss of the ventilator grew strong and vibrant.

  “So I need you to wake up now, John. You hear me? I refuse to be in this world without you. I won’t. You need to wake up. Now.”

  Brandon appeared at the door but waited before coming in.

  “I’m not saying I can’t live in this world without you. You know that too. I can. I just refuse. I won’t do it. Not because I can’t but because I refuse. I finished the stories. They’re unified. Together. So, we need to be together now. And you will wake up.”

  Brandon hurried to the monitors opposite Matt. He studied the readouts and then touched John’s arm. Matt watched him and smiled, nodding.

  “This is Brandon, John. He’s been taking care of you. He’s about to discover what I already know.”

  Brandon cocked his head and then hurried into the hall.

  “He’s going to get the doctor and tell him that you’re waking up. You need to wake up, John. Because I love you. Because I want you to be awake. Because you have so much more to do. Do you realize how many illustrations you have to finish? I wrote so many stories during this. You have to wake up. No question about it.”

  The beeping was steady and growing stronger. The ventilator was hissing steady and growing stronger. The light was steady and growing stronger. John’s eyes fluttered open.

  “It’s about time,” Matt said and kissed him on the cheek.

  Chapter 113

  Epilogue, the Second

  Creativity bloomed with life, vitality, death, and emotion. Everything was moving again. Stories flared to life through characters formed from Aspects—and not just a select few Aspects, but all of them—and the stories arrived in ever increasingly interesting ways. Creativity had rarely seen a more fertile time, which was why so many refused to see the dark shadows encroaching into the Eternal Gloaming.

  Far into the Woods, beyond what most would recognize as civilization, very near the edge of the world, sat a structure. It was massive stone and masonry propelling high into the sky, piercing the clouds with impressive spires, iron-tipped and solid. Elaborate carvings laden with import depicted stories of ancient times, of heroes and villains, of gods and warriors, of salvation and damnation.

  The doors of the gigantic cathedral stood closed, always closed and firm against the influences of the outside world. Inside, the obfuscating smoke gushed from vessels of faith and mystery, shrouding the fervent air, dangling over the cement floors and nestling into the golden artifacts adorning the altar. At the altar stood the Gatekeeper, resplendent in ceremonial robes, impressive headgear, and indomitable certainty.

  He moved beyond the altar, toward the closed doors, through the smoky air, his scepter held high, his free hand forming signs of encroaching knowledge. He walked slowly but with purpose. His magnificent presence shifted the smoke, causing it to swirl and coalesce around him, flinging tendrils in all directions, touching every surface, every pore of the stone room.

  At the doors, his sign-firing hand became a fist. He knocked once, twice, three times, and a great clacking noise merged with the smoke; gears turned; metal cogs spurred into action. The doors, the eternally closed doors, creaked and parted. Light from the world outside, vibrant, beautiful, necessary light, shot into the cathedral but only so far as the smoke allowed.

  The Gatekeeper stepped toward the light, his mystic robes fluttered, his scepter grew heavy, and his will was tested, but as always, he stood firm, unmovable, resolute. The doors opened wider, and he left the cathedral—an unusual but not unheard of event—making his way into a new world that was calling to him.

  Stories, varied and sundry, came forth from the sunlight, the bright, vibrant, necessary light, which was ever struggling with the night. And the stories were impressive and strange, oddly familiar yet wholly fresh. The Gatekeeper’s mind was awash in new ideas, new thoughts, new possibilities, and his response to the onslaught was immediate and decided.

  �
�This shall not stand.” the Gatekeeper brandished his scepter like a sword, walked from the cathedral steps, and followed a lightly used path into the Gloaming Woods.

  THE END

  Acknowledgments

  First off, I want to thank my parents, Dave and Lorine, who allowed me to be myself, even when that meant I was incredibly different from everyone around me.

  A very big thanks to my friends who read everything I sent them without much resistance. Christie Wilson, Sandy Hiortdahl, Tonya Moreno, and Steve Alcorn. You guys kept me writing, and I thank you. And a special thanks to Sandy and Christie for always talking me down from the ledge.

  Finally, this particular book would not have been possible without the initial inspiration from the artwork of a dear friend of mine, Howard Dale. Your beautiful work continues to inspire me.

  About the Author

  C. Bradley Owens was born in the small coal mining town of Grundy, Virginia. After a stint in the suburbs of Chicago, C. Bradley’s family settled near the even smaller coal mining town of Haysi, Virginia, where he spent most of his childhood in the woods on the side of a mountain in the heart of the coalfields of Appalachia, dreaming of a larger, more complex world.

  Through reading, he found a more complex world, and as an adult he seeks to create such a world through his fiction. He writes for all of those children sitting alone in their rooms, whether in the woods or in the city, hoping, longing, wishing for just a glimpse of another world, another possibility.

  He writes for the outsider in all of us, for the kids that desperately want to fit in but consistently find that they cannot for whatever reason, and he writes to let everyone know that, no matter what age or condition of birth, they are not alone on that mountain side, or in that forest, or in that apartment building, or in that house in the suburbs.

  Follow him on Twitter , Facebook , or his author page .