Forums → Art, Music, and Writing → Like an Early Autumn

The Place

People are going to get this.

I like going to the place, or The Place as some would have it, because it is the place. I'm going to refer to it as the place. The place is not like other places, because they are not the place. This place is the place.
The place is convenient. It is fluid. It is right. But the place is just a place, after all. Doesn't mean you can't enjoy it. Doesn't mean it won't last.
But after a while, it's time to let go. Gotta let go of the place. Because it relies on you. And your friends. And when your friends leave, you're all this place has to rely on. And it breaks your back, man.
But what's a broken back if you're hanging at the place?



This is where I polish my horn-rimmed spectacles studiously, and at the price of my pride for the sake of my pride, let the reader know this piece ISN'T about Armor Games. Sorry.

Swimmingly pt. II

"Tom has a lot of tricks. He's moving up the chain of command, and that's exactly the reason why. Tom wants it. And that's hard to find these days. Especially in his line of work."
"Oh, I see. I understand who Tom is now. I didn't before."
"That's alright. The more you know, right?"

"So what has Tom been doing lately?"
"He does seventy in the fast lane, and if someone tries to pass him, bam, speeding ticket."
"That's amazingly diabolical. Tom truly is the defender of justice and honor."
"Woah now, better not let him catch you saying that. You think you've got it tough now? Sheesh."

Elegy

When she died, we buried her in the old churchyard, under the shade of a stunted, gnarled birch. Its leaves were the color of a sunset, Like an Early Autumn laid to rest. The birch was also dead. A few months later, the plot of land directly to the left of her grave (her right) was taken. Someone was buried there.
She made me promise we'd always be together, so I took steps to reserve the spot to her right (her left). The undertaker of the churchyard was an old owl, with greying feathers and what could only be described as a grim countenance. He said;
"No headstone, no grave."
I bought a headstone. On it read, "I am not the liar." Nothing else. Not even a birthdate. There also was not a death date, because I was not dead. But my love was, so might'nt I as well be?
Somedays, when the birch's branches were bare and a harsh winter wind swept the churchyard, I would visit her gravesite, and look upon my own tombstone.

The Cheater woke with a start. Across the room, Lea was sleeping soundly. The owl sat up slowly, and looked out the window. It was the dead of night.
The Cheater looked for another moment, then shifted his gaze to the floor. He began to weep bitterly.

In which, after six years on the site, Nurvana continues to display a basic misunderstanding of BB codes.

Part Three

he banged his fist against the wall in frustration, because he'd done it again. he's started off wrong, ugly, unacceptable. there was no substance to this. he was just a poser, a wannabe.
then things started changing. he recalled, 'the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.'
and he began to understand. he understood that things like these maybe weren't so difficult. things like these were the product of long, boring lectures and walks along the lake. things like these were the product of lots of reading, and lots of patience. things like these were the result of caring.
and it felt good to care.

this time, things would be different.

Stoned in the Armor City

"Bro."
"Brooo..."

Alright, now that we've gotten that out of the way, the story can begin.

Lea turned the corner into the town square and came abruptly to a stop. In front of her, what looked like an angry mob of humans, animals, and animals dressed as humans were making what Lea could only describe as an insufferable ruckus. Dust was flying, children were crying, and tension was climbing, palpably.
She pushed her way through the raving crowd to the center, where The Cheater stood defiantly, wings crossed, staring back at his assailants with saucer-pan eyes. Lea grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him, but the owl showed no sign of coherence, let alone recognition.
Then, like a page being torn out of an almanac, McDonald appeared, staff in hand, arms raised like Moses parting the Red Sea. Or was it the Dead Sea?
Or was it MacDonald?
Lea took The Cheater by the wing and followed after McDonald, ducking under blows and trying the block out the loud drone of the mob. Once they cleared the crowd, McDonald pointed his staff to an alleyway to their right, which the three ducked into swiftly. The mob ran by unawares. (You're welcome). But then again it's difficult to type with wings.
"What did you do?" Lea scolded The Cheater.
"I was me." The owl said sullenly.
"Come on Lea, let's go." McDonald said. "We need to get him out of the city. If he's found, he'll be put on trial and executed. It can't end that way. Not for his sake."

Across the city, a man stood in the shadow of a shield, eyes turned towards the sky.

B:A

They came across the cottage in a clearing... in a woods.
Lea knocked on the door three times. No one answered.
"Here, let me try." The Cheater said, not one to be outdone. He knocked six times, hard. Again, there was no answer. The two looked at McDonald expectantly.
"Deus ex Machina, et tu?" He muttered under his breath, stepping to the door and rapping at it with his staff, one, two, three, sixteen times. For the third time, there was no answer.
Like a whisper, Lea felt the drafts of consciousness brush her mind, and looking down beheld a rather peevish looking ant standing at her feet. It looked up at her and clacked its mandibles together indignantly.
"I told you this smelled like trouble. I may not have a nose, but I sure do have a sense for such things." With that, it tapped the door lightly with an antennae.
All four were invited inside, and all four were served pea soup. Lea found in unpleasant. McDonald, for all his subtleties, had three helpings. The Cheater was allergic to peas. The ant was never an ant in the first place.

Requiem pt. III

As they passed by the overpass, the moon was starting to fade. The car was red, but the model was unknown, and it was speeding at just under ninety miles per hour. Pulled over on the side of the road, a car was sitting lopsidedly with its emergency lights flashing.
However, as soon as the red car passed by, lights began to flash, and a deafening siren filled the air. Pulling onto the highway, the police car sped off into pursuit and quickly pulled the other car off the road.
A voice came over the intercom:
"Hands up! Get out of the vehicle!"
From the car emerged a teenage girl, an owl with the head of a dragon, and a bearded man of unidentifiable age and indecipherable countenance. The policeman trained his pistol on them, a moonlit glint in his sunglasses.
"Lea Tp, you are under arrest for the possession of intellectual properties." Tom declared, stepping out from behind the police car door. He holstered his pistol and began to approach them rapidly. Then he began to approach them at a normal speed, for what it's worth. "Should have written more." He said, slipping a pair of handcuffs from his waistband and reaching for Lea.
"Wait."
Tom regarded The Cheater, his face emotionless. "If I'm not mistaken, you're intellectual property as well." Tom stared at The Cheater a moment longer, them glanced momentarily at the sky. "He's not up there. He's you."
Tom opened his mouth, and his voice was like a whisper.

There was no resolution. There was no ending. They couldn't go home, because there was no home. They couldn't go back, because they hadn't been anywhere else before. Or perhaps they had? None of them could remember anyway.

What happened to Eec, anyway?

Requiem pt. IV

I stepped into the early autumn air like a child running through a sprinkler, hands shoved into the pockets of my coat as I rushed to my car. Unlocking it, I slid into the driver's seat, reaching over to grab my phone. Checking it, I saw a missed call, and a voicemail.

[Cont'd]: ... ... is

The word I'd most like to use to describe an Early Autumn is... golden. It's interesting: black and white are the combination and absence of all color, however you'll see none of them in the fall. Everything black has died, and with good riddance. The white has not yet come. But nothing seems to stay dead in the world, and all that is ever promised to you seems to come to naught.
Can you decide whether no one forgets an Early Autumn, or if no one remembers? It doesn't matter, at end. But trees in flush and a gentle wind remind you, and me: expect nothing, and cherish everything.

~N



Thank you everyone! It's a bit of a milestone; for you old-timers this is my first completed work on Armor Games. I'm looking forward to more, but once again thanks from the bottom of my heart to everyone who's left comments and taken the time to read this. You're all awesome.