Untitled 1

Chapter 1 - Teaser Post

The waters were still, rivers dried with no current. Nature had fallen asleep, the dead leaves lay comfortably due to the absence of wind. No remnants could be seen, no civilization was present. The world had moved on, somehow, some way.

Where once there had been life, only dirt could be found. No bones, no homes, no signs, nor roads. Before the world chose to move on, this land had been thriving. The trees would breathe, the grass would grow. The people would laugh. Those times had passed.

Where the dirt now rests, children once played their foolish games. The townsfolk now lost would wander these plains, working their jobs, feeding their families. How could this happen to a region so perfect?

This land had been simple, as were it's inhabitants. Perhaps that is why there are none to be seen.

Chapter One

Mort hurried from the barn to the homestead. The day was coming very soon, he knew this for a fact. The sky would tell him, and his dreams would explain further each night. Things were about to change, and the village, Kanah, was running out of time.

As he ran out of the barn, forgetting to shut and lock the large brown door with rotted out wood behind him, he thought back to the stories his grandfather once told him, back in his days of youth.

Every so often, the world grows bored, son. Things never stay the same, I promise you this. I hope that you never have to experience such things in your lifetime, for you may never move on, though I promise that the world itself will.

The skies grow darker while the days grow shorter. Do not scare yourself though, this may only mean the seasons are changing, son. Just keep an eye out, for the main thing you want to focus on in this sort of time is the people. Your closest friends may become strangers, what you must appreciate and trust most in these days, if you ever must face them, is your gut. Always trust your gut.

Mort ran faster, for he knew that no time could be wasted. The land ahead of him seemed to be growing more and more, he swore he would never reach the homestead. As the land continued expanding in his mind, he could heard the developing laughter of children across the road. He glanced toward them, to see only that the street was empty. He was being haunted. It was beginning. The wheat and trees on his land were still, Mort recognized that this too could be a sign.

He thought back, as best he could while running at the pace he was, when did I last feel the wind? This question was most important at the time. He couldn't recall.

While his lungs felt as though they were near the point of detonation, he found himself gasping for breath outside the homestead. Things felt better here, less dark. The atmosphere was different, healthier but weak. There wasn't much time left, before long the land would be swallowed by the nightmare which was beginning to close in on it. Mort continued to wonder if anybody else could feel this. He had his doubts, the people were not acting themselves. It was just as his grandfather had described it to be, many years ago.

Mort removed his rucksack and began emptying it on the grass below him. A thought as sharp as knives struck him, his heart sank. Mort knew that this grass, as well as his crops, would soon be dead, expired.

He closed his mind, slamming shut the internal nightmare. He must ignore these thoughts until they presented themselves in reality, and he knew that soon enough, that is where he would have to face them.

The rucksack flattened in his rough hands that had become spotted with age, on the ground lay the book he'd been seeking. The book he must hand over to his loving wife, and his eldest son. This book was special, for it held the answers. If Mort hadn't been nearing his elderly years, he knew he would take the tome himself, and set forth on the journey which his loved ones would soon be drawn to. A croaking voice struck him. That is not how it can be, despite your age, Mort. You know this. It was his grandfather. These voices were the beginning, new to him. A part of the plague which could soon diminish the village. It had already started to, but only Mort was aware.

2

Catherine stood before the bathroom mirror, her comb running gently through her long blond hair. It had been years since she'd cut it, since her accident she felt it was unnecessary. Her back was too weak to farm, Mortimer and Joel were the only ones capable of working about these days. There was a time when she was strong, but just like the world moves on, so does the body of a human. At first it had been difficult to accept, but Catherine had grown more comfortable in welcoming her condition. Besides, she had started to love working in the kitchen and cleaning the house. She never truly loved the farm, not like her husband did. She put up with it and worked only because she knew she had it in her. Catherine was a woman, and in the kitchen was where a woman belonged.

The roast had been prepared and cooked for nearly thirty minutes by now, and the more she wondered what was keeping her husband so long, the more anxious she grew. Anxiety was a problem she had been facing since her teenage years. She had yet to overcome it, and doubted that she ever would. Taking deep breaths had proven to be inadequate, Catherine had found that combing her hair was the best thing she could do to relieve her stress and anxiety. She worried often, but kept it to herself. Mort couldn't put up with listening to the complaints of her worrying any longer. She accepted that, as she had to accept many things in this marriage. She loved him more than she had ever imagined was possible, and she knew that when you are in love, you must look past certain things. Mort's smoking of the weed was another. Tobacco was disgusting, but a man was only a man if he smoked. She accepted this, and kept complaints of the stench to herself.

Through the open bathroom window, she could hear the panting of a man whose lungs had been exasperated. This had become common, Mort seemed to be running out of breath more and more these days. She blamed the weed, as did most wives. It will kill him one day, that foolish man. She kept that thought to herself, always. Setting down the comb, Catherine hurried outside to her husband. While navigating swiftly through the hallway, she glanced at the portraits of her husband, herself, and her two sons as she passed them. She felt distress in her heart as she caught a glimpse at the portrait of Elliot, her youngest. Making her way through the kitchen, Catherine inhaled the scent of a freshly cooked roast, it was powerful. Catherine's culinary skills had improved greatly since her accident. She was certain Mort could smell dinner from outside. She wondered what was keeping him, his appetite must be strong today, for he'd been out working since dawn.

As she exited the homestead, Catherine saw her husband standing still, his eyes suggested he was in pain, this became more apparent when she noticed he was crying. A single tear ran down the left side of Mort's face. He hadn't cried in years, she knew that he carried terrible news. It was resting on the ground before them.

3

In the old times it was said that no boy should see his father cry, for on that day, the boy must become a man. Joel didn't understand how a boy could become a man after that. When the man who brought you into this world had devolved to a boy.

Joel rode from the village exchange to his family's farm on horseback. He was still young, at the ripe age of 18. In another day and age he would be considered a man by now, but not in this day. The bags strapped to the horse's sides were loaded with fruits and other supplies for around the house and farm. It was once a week or so that Joel would make this trip. He knew that his mother was too weak to ride horseback to the market, and his father was always overburdened with tasks around the farm. He didn't understand what with, as the farm didn't seem to be growing, nor were they getting much harvest out of the crops these past years. The times had been tough for the family, and Joel was not a simple-minded boy, he knew that in the past week or so, things had been different. Not necessarily more difficult, not around the farm, anyway. Something just seemed a little bit strange.

Looking up at the sky, he knew that dusk would shortly be arriving. He had been gone a number of hours, but mother wouldn't worry much about that. She was too busy concerning herself over his father. He was working too hard (though getting nothing done), and looking weaker every day.

By the appearance of the sun, and the faint image of the moon concealing itself behind a sheet of clouds, he could only assume that dinner would be ready for him and his father by now.

It wasn't often that Joel would hurry back to the homestead, he found most of his pleasure in the outdoors. Riding horseback to the market was far from being his favourite thing in the world, but when it came to riding horseback through the hills surrounding Kanah, he believed there was no greater feeling. The freedom that caressed him while riding alongside the forest was immeasurable. If Joel had a choice, he would ride from dusk til' dawn through those hills he loved so much, but his mother was relying on him to deliver the produce he carried, and his father needed the tools he'd picked up at the exchange.

Joel entered the family's property through the grove near the pasture. His stomach was aching with hunger, and the aroma of fresh roast was overpowering. His mother's cooking was something he would boast about often, he and his parents had been eating better than ever in the past year or so, he considered each meal to be a luxury. After dismounting his horse, Joel hitched her to the free post in the pasture. Grabbing the sacks off her side, he patted her on the back and said goodnight.

The weight of the bags was burdensome, but Joel eventually made his way to the homestead. It was a difficult trip, but the smell of dinner was all the incentive necessary.

4

Mort held his wife tightly, allowing her to sob into his shoulder which was masked by dirt. He rubbed her back slowly, comforting her as best he could. The thought of this being one of the last moments the two of them would share was devastating. He peered at the tome on the grass below them, the nightmare that haunted him as a child was beginning to come true. Nothing would be the same after this. The world was moving on.

Catherine gently pushed herself away from Mort, and began clearing the tears from her face. She had become an emotional wreck, but Mort still found her to be the most beautiful woman in the village. He loved her, though it now meant nothing, for her knew he had no choice but to let her go.

Not a word was said between the two of them for some time after that. Mort noticed his son trudging toward the homestead. Catherine noted that this was not the time for her presence between the two of them. Her and her son would have a long road ahead of them together, Mort required alone time with Joel. There was plenty to tell him, stories to share, and time was continuing to grow shorter.

5

My grandfather had many stories, Joel. Most were false, plenty were fiction. There is one story my grandfather shared with me that mattered more than any. This is the most significant tale in the world, and it is going to change your life forever. Tonight you will become a man, Joel. Not only because your old man has shed his tears, but because the world is moving on. When the world moves on, we must move on with it. You'll soon understand though, that there are only two people capable of reaching the remedy. Your mother, and yourself. For that is how the story goes.

They come in cycles, these diseases, nightmares, most things that we see as evil in this world of ours. It hasn't happened to us as a village in nearly two centuries, and I am sorry my son, I am so sorry that you were born in a time where it is happening again.

There is evil among us, watching from the skies, the grove behind the pasture, the forest which runs next to the hills. Evil surrounds this village of ours, and soon it shall swallow us.

The people you have grown to befriend, the girls you have loved, they are running out of time. I am running out of time, Kanah is running out of time.

I only know so much, not a quarter of the details. The days have become shorter, and the wind, do you notice? It has stopped. I know you're a bright kid, Joel. A bright man now, as of tonight. You've seen me lately, your mother hasn't seen it, but you have. I'm growing sick, I'm weak. The rest of the village is as well. I've seen it, I know what to look for. Your mother and you, you're healthy. You have a long road ahead of you, you two. Take the tome my grandfather left with me, and only read it once a day. One page, once a day. Do you understand that? Good.

It knows what to do, for I do not. Just trust me, these are the instructions I was given, told to tell the right man at the right time.

That man is you, son. Take the tome, take your mother, and on your first night, read the first page. Continue to do that, every day, or as the tome commands.

The tome is your key to our safety, shall you make it in time.

6

After enjoying their final dinner together as a family, two rucksacks were packed, each pocket loaded with survival provisions, foods, and liquids. Catherine was timid, as she knew not what she was doing, nor what the odyssey ahead of her and her firstborn had in store for them.

The duo would withdraw from Kanah before dawn, while most folk slept, and the rest indulged in lager and weed at the community's tavern. Mort knew that such places were unacceptable, while the village was short a house of God, the community felt there was plenty of room for a tavern which thrived day and night, regardless of whether or not laborious tasks were at hand the following morning. This was a man's world, and although Mort no longer considered himself a man, he firmly believed that intoxicants made a man act a child. There was no room for such behaviour in the village. Thinking of this only stressed him out. He struck a match and held it to the end of a cigarette he had rolled while observing Catherine and Joel as they prepared for their travels. He found himself at a loss of words, the family he had worked so hard for was leaving. He would be unaided now, just himself and the farm.

Joel secured the rucksacks to the horses sides while his mother and father shared one last moment together. He was a man now, and knew that he would have to begin operating independently. The world past the village was a mystery to many, perhaps the entirety of Kanah. There weren't any recorded voyages far from the community he had spent his youth with.

As far as anybody was concerned, the roads outside of Kanah didn't exist. Surely their must be something out there, more villages, more life. Joel refused to believe otherwise, nothing would convince him.

Catherine exited the door of the homestead and travelled slowly toward her mare. Mort watched his son and wife from inside, the weed burning slowly between his lips. Time felt as though it had stopped, the world was momentarily still. Lifeless.

Joel stared at his father one last time, his face illuminated in the doorway by an oil lamp, presenting his old age. He knew the two of them would never reunite. He felt the rucksack strapped to his back, double checking, making sure he had packed the tome.

Joel and his mother departed from Kanah, leaving behind the lives they'd loved. Leaving with questions which may never be answered, with feelings of distress that may never depart from them. The radiant red moon residing in the night sky grinned as it watched them set forth on their expedition, neither knowing where to go, nor where the roads would take them.

Author's Note

Teaser chapter, please leave criticism and opinions.

Reviews

[Trigorin]

Nice piece, but make the font a little larger. It's difficult to read as-is. You have an interesting concept here and your execution is fairly good, but make sure you're not over-doing it - there's a very fine line there and I think you might have crossed it a couple of times. You've avoided stiltedness very well and on the whole (aside from the font) this was very readable. Well done.