‘Tiny Stories’ Archives
Tiny Story #2
Wednesday, July 15th, 2009
Nox Custos
Jaya stood motionless. She had learned from the ancient quercetum. She could keep still for hours. Perched high in the canopy of Divinus Silva, last of the ancient forests, she watched the interlopers quietly pad along trails older than Men. Ashani sat patiently, watching as Jaya watched, moving as Jaya moved. The black rings and spots on her blue-gray coat helped her blend perfectly into the dappled night. Her golden eyes gathered what little light ebbed through the canopy and burned quietly. Her long, thick tail lashed back and forth and her padded paws flexed against the moss-covered limb.
Jaya reached out and touched the giant panther’s neck reassuringly. It was nearly level with her own as Ashani sat on her haunches. Before the written word the panthers of Divinus Silva had been faithful allies of the Nox Custos and they roamed the woods as one. They were the keepers, the guardians, and the warriors of Divinus Quercus, the last Dryad. Many believed the Nox Custos were no longer even human. They moved through the canopy like simian creatures, as deft and quiet as the ancient cats at their sides and, perhaps, as lethal. The last band that wandered into her woods had tried to cut down the eldest oak in her quercetum. They wanted to harvest the Mana from the ancient wood to run their machines and fuel their cities. They had failed, and they never heard a sound. Silently, throats had been opened and bodies were gently laid in the underbrush, shaking off the last death throws. But Jaya’s world was dying. She had seen the grotesque devices that lifted cities into the clouds and contraptions that sped men through the air faster than the falcons. Once the cities were ripped out of the earth and lifted into the sky, they left nothing but hideous craters. Roots were exposed and withered in the sun. Migrations were disrupted, leaving flocks lost and exposed to the elements. Herds were forced to find new trails to watering holes. But the men and women in their cities did not care. Not once their heads were immersed in the clouds.
Jaya’s world was dying, but it was not dead. The woods were her world. Divinus Silva was her world, and those on the trail below did not belong. They had dragged a woman and a small girl behind them like livestock. Jaya had no compassion for trespassers, but what she saw those men do to the woman last night had turned her stomach. The men below did not know what lurked in the ancient places of the world, nor that they would never again feel the sun on their faces. These were the paths of Divinus Quercus, and Jaya was their keeper.
Below her the men had made camp and lit a small cook fire. The largest one, his hands and face grimy from unwashed days on the ancient roads, pulled the woman into the firelight and shredded what was left of her tattered dress. The little girl began to wail.
“Ashani,” whispered Jaya. Without a sound the massive cat worked her way down through the limbs toward the vulgar vignette. Jaya watched the panther for a moment, noting every step on every limb before unsheathing her blade. As silently as her feline ally her bare feet touched the moist ground amongst the ferns. The filthy rabble never had a chance.
~D
Tiny Story #1
Monday, July 13th, 2009
Salo stepped off the train shortly after dawn. Black-bellied clouds pushed the sun’s wan light toward a boggy green. He was alone in the station except for the three men he believed had been left two days down the tracks. Salo took up all of his six and a half feet as he weighed the disheveled mongrels huddling under their dusters. Apparently “fair and square” meant nothing to them.
“Give us our money, mister,” said the sloucher on the right.
“Think three forty-fives to your one says it ain’t, son,” snarled the middle man as he hunkered farther into his coat.
“Dangerous thoughts, boys.”
The trio spread out slightly. Their fingers teased the air around pearl pommels. The breeze tugging at dusters was the only other movement. Then the steam whistle screamed. Blue-finish barrels cleared their leather and four shots boomed for dominance. The echoes faded off and the breeze died down before Salo limped away to the general store for some 80 proof and gauze.
Cheers,
~D
(I would love to have some “voiced” thoughts. Any seasoned authors out there?)
Tiny Stories Intro
Monday, July 13th, 2009
Hello everyone. As some of you may or may not know, I have a strong fascination/mild obsession with storytelling in the form of the written word. So I have been sitting at home, staring out the window, drinking coffee, homemade smoothies, pacing and internalizing, wracking my brain for how I might acquire more facility with the medium. And then the obvious answer leaped out from under my desk. Something I’ve always known, but often forget when it is convenient, and now I will share it with you and you will have access to the “do it” button! The method behind all my years of training as an artist summed up and passed on to you. All those tenebrious, incorporeal, vexatious mysteries will finally be parted and the skies shall clear:
The more you “do it”, the better you will be.
If you “draw” for 4 hours a day, but you want to get better quicker, then “draw” for 6 hours a day, or 8 hours, or more (you can inject your own subject of course).
That is the ultimate shortcut to success and masterful skill. What does this mean? What is the stock that it all boils down to? I need to write more. I love the short story as a vehicle for storytelling because every word needs to be quite deliberate, and it is a medium with limited exposure these days except to those that already love shorts, usually other writers and lit-interested folks. But, for our purposes, let us refer to these as tiny stories rather than short stories, just to keep everything on the up the up. This particular endeavor is more about the journey than the destination. I really haven’t a clue where we will end up. My attempt is going to unfold thusly: A tiny story every other day. It might be one sentence, it might be a paragraph, it might be a page, but I will start small, as it is harder to tell a full story in a shorter amount of time. This will also force me to be concise with my concepts and how they unfold and the words that I choose to relay them. This is parallel to sketching. It is the writing equivalent to doing gesture drawings. Hopefully I will not bore anybody too much. And don’t worry, this does not mean the end of the actual sketches, paintings, drawings and illustrations. They will make appearances too. For now, stay tuned for the first Tiny Story.
~D
