When the pain cleared I was alert and ready. I brought my hand back down to maintain my grip. I held on for dear life. My mount zipping to and fro. There was no time to sort things out. I quickly placed my hand on the crown of my mount’s head. I closed my eyes and brought forth images of home. I let those images flow through me. Let them flow to my mount.
Instantly I knew my mount had understood my intention. My mount went into a steep dive, feathered wings arched back along his flanks and head pointed down. I followed suit. I became almost one with my mount, offering as little wind resistance as possible.
There was no way for me to know what was going on. My eyes could not withstand the tremendous power of the wind. I closed my eyes and turned my head aside. Putting complete trust in my mount.
I felt my mount bank left and level out. Less air raced past my face, allowing me to sit up again. As soon as I did I regretted the action. Whatever had caused my mount’s wild panic was still pursuing us. My mount instinctively swooped sharply to the left. There was little I could do but hold on.
At the completion of the turn, I realized that we were now flying straight toward the beast that was pursuing us. The great behemoth was so surprised by my mount’s actions that it banked right and flew past us.
My mind scrambled for an avenue of escape. There was a break in the foliage below us. We were there in a flash. My mount tucked his wings. We dropped below the canopy. Dark shadows spread over us as we continued to descend.
Branches snapped against my arms and legs. Unprotected skin tore open. Still I breathed a sigh of relief. It was all too soon. A blast of extreme heat engulfed me. Engulfed in a ball of fiery death. I fell to the side, screaming in panic. The painful screams of my mount tearing through my heart, leaving wounds more grievous than any mortal weapon could produce.
I found myself on the forest floor, dazed and confused. There came a shrill cry of terror, of pain. I leapt to my feet. Before me my mount rolled through the underbrush. His golden feathers and hair burning. Bright flames licked at the forest foliage. I rushed to help stifle the flames engulfing my mount. I jumped onto my mount. Using my body to smother the flames. My mount screeched louder. I ignored the intense pain. My entire body burning from the flames. Smoke filled my nostrils. Everything smelled like charred flesh.
I ignored the all pain. All that mattered was saving the life of my most faithful companion. I pressed vainly on his fiery body. The flames only licked at my own flesh. Time dragged on. The flame would not die. It burned fiercely. It caught on the underbrush. Lighting the trees into gigantic torches.
A last surge of strength from my mount cast me off his back. A sharp pain burst from my right arm. Through tears I saw my mount withdraw his head. He had bitten me. Warning me to stay away. I sat against a tree. I let the blood run freely from my arm, feeling it dribble down the charred remains of my riding gear. There was nothing I could do, I sat and watched my mount die…
† † † † † † † † †
The sun’s setting rays filtered through the drawn curtains in just that perfect way, just so the light reflected the tiny particles of dust drifting in the air. The room was charged with all my excess nervous energy, I couldn’t help but be fidgety. On the small table in my meager kitchen were set the necessary dinnerware for two. The best plates I could find on a tight budget, my cleanest silverware, clothe napkins specially folded, tall wine glasses, and two elaborate candleholders all decorated the small table. I had scant enough money for the food and dishes, so I was unable to have the pleasantry of a nice table clothe.
In the small oven there was crammed a spiral ham and cornbread. On the stove two pots seemed haphazardly placed with lids keeping the contents warm. Three serving dishes sat on the counter, devoid of any food, serving utensils placed inside. Everything was prepared, everything was perfect, but I still couldn’t help but be tense.
A soft rapping came from the small hall leading to the front door of my apartment. Glee filled my thoughts. I knew my guest had finally arrived. I took quick strides to the door, pausing a fraction of a second to take in a deep breath. I delicately turned the doorknob and pushed the door open. In my anxious excitement I forgot to open the door slowly, giving new guests the opportunity to get out of its way. Almost as soon as I pushed on the door it banged into a solid object.
“Oh my God, I’m sorry,” I called. The door opened the rest of the way as my guest backed out of the way. The first image that I saw was my guest holding the top of his head. For some reason he had been looking down when I swung open the door. I knew he had a hard head, but I was still worried for his well-being. “Are you okay,” I added as I stepped out into the hall, putting my hands out to caress his sore head.
“I’m okay, I’m okay,” he cooed sweetly.
“Are you sure? Let me go get some ice,” I replied, turning on a heel and heading for my refrigerator. I left the door open, allowing my guest to enter my humble abode. I trusted that he would close the door behind him.
Upon giving him an ice pack, I couldn’t help but let my eyes gather him all in. Brown flip-flops revealed tanned toes partially hidden by a pair of Levi’s jeans. I admired the rugged, torn appearance of the jeans, along with their weathered color. On his torso he wore a Hollister T that was entirely too small for his muscular chest. His thick biceps practically tore the short sleeves of the shirt. His short black hair was left just the way I remembered it, untidy. The only difference was lingering blonde highlights.
He placed the ice pack just above his forehead and gazed about the small room that served as kitchen and dining room. “This is a nice place.”
“Yeah,” I replied, gazing about nonchalantly.
“What did you cook?” he asked, raising his nose to the air and taking a big whiff.
“Sit down and I’ll get everything set up.”
“K.” He pulled out a chair from the table and sat down gently. I crossed the kitchen and went about taking out the food and placing it in the serving dishes. I felt his gaze watching my every move.
When I finished bringing the food to the table I sat down myself. It was then that I remembered the candles. I jumped from my seat. I grabbed the lighter from the top of the refrigerator. After lighting the candles I dimmed the overhead light just enough to make the room take on that romantic appearance.
“So how have you been?” I asked casually.
“Well.”
“How are they treating you at medical school?”
“Good. I am in my second year of residency.”
“It’s been that long?”
“Ten years.”
“It feels like just yesterday I was saying good-bye to you after graduation.”
“I know. I know. It has been way too long.”
“Have you met anyone?”
“No. I have had no time, until now. That is why I came to visit you…
† † † † † † † † †
Here it is! Finally, I can breath again! I am sorry to have dragged you all through that long journey. I am sorry to have left you hanging, left you on the edge of your seat. If I did not, then I am also sorry for wasting your time. This is me. This is why I write. This is my contribution to the world. I want to write a piece of literature. I want to be mentioned just below the classic greats like Homer and Dante. Lofty dreams I know.
The reason I included these two seemingly random pieces of fiction for you is to show you how much I love to write. I thought it a creative and new way of displaying my passion. Okay maybe it isn’t too original; I mean all I did to show my passion was to write. Seems obvious right? Well only partially.
I wanted to show you that these two beginnings traveled a great distance from my brain to this screen. I plucked them at random from my brain and formed them from nothing but a whimsical idea. I had no idea I was going to write the intro to a fantasy piece. I didn’t mean to write about the beginnings of a gay relationship. I just did.
With all my soul searching I couldn’t begin to tell you my real reasons for writing. All I know is that somewhere in my childhood I felt the urge to mimic stories that I had read. A couple very special people nurtured that urge. One was my general level English teacher freshman year who encouraged my writing. The other is my best friend, who is a much better writer than myself. My friend showed me the power of writing. Of course I had read lots of books and lived every word on their yellowed pages. Of course there was a seed of ambition. I wanted to instill in some reader the same passionate feelings coursing through my veins as I read those books. But my friend allowed me to see that I could actually become that writer.
It was then that I knew I wanted to pursue writing. At some moment in freshman year my brain clicked, my own mythological journey begun. It was my calling, the start of my quest. What do you think I did? I followed it; I answered that call. I have been writing ever since. I have attempted two novels, and several poems, but my writing prowess matures daily.
There is another individual that I have to mention, because without this person I would not as ambitious, not even in my chosen craft. I have a running coach at my school; he is definitely the most influential person in my life. I look up to him, I think of him as more of a father than my real one. Every time I am face to face with him thoughts of my own imperfections fill my brain. I will never think that I am good enough in his eyes, even though I know he doesn’t care whether I am or not. It is okay by me. All I hope is that he will someday know how much he has impacted my life. But I digress; this man has driven me, mostly in my running, to be the best that I can. I have no running talent; I openly admit that. That is not the point. Everyday I was part of that team, trying my best to help the team become something big. It is the same way with my writing. Right now I am a nothing, but everyday I hope to be a something.
Hope is nothing without action and that is the most important lesson I have taken from my time with my running coach. Even with all the talent in the world you cannot achieve anything unless you try. It is because of that lesson that I have reason to believe that I may one day become something. I act upon my hopes and dreams. I don’t sit about and wish they would happen, I make them happen. I apply myself.
A lot of my peers think I am smart, but in reality I am not that smart. I just make the most of everything I do. That is why I write; I am making the most of myself, trying to achieve all of my hopes and dreams.
~ET
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