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The insanity of Hathland.

melkor · 2008-06-05T11:13:01Z

Alright then. Here be my latest random story. This is the first chapter, and so is long, but if you wish you may review one part at a time, it might help... I hope that I get a lot of feedback on this, becuase I worked on it for at least two weeks.. Authors note- Well here you are. A story. In my life I have discovered that there are several types of stories. For example, there are fairy tales, in which non-existent creatures befriend /maul/appear alongside normal people and which are intended solely to teach you a moral you probably won’t remember or care about. Then of course there are serious stories, which seem to think it logical that you can write a made up story about a very real thing, (which is just plain rude) and which often cause many things such as laughter leaking of the eyes and minor blows to the head. This story, you’ll be glad to hear, could be described as both, yet is in fact none. The story has several purposes, but the main ones are: A- To make you smile. B- To make you think. And let’s face it, I’m being very vague here but there are other, darker meanings trapped in the story’s mesh, but hopefully you’ll be absent minded enough to ignore them, and if you do happen to come across one I suggest you pretend you never had, it’s better for us both. Therefore here is a disclaimer of sorts, which may make you run at a great speed to the nearest door, or possibly a bin. ~This story is odd~ CHAPTER ONE. ~ part one~ ~In which you start reading this book long after I have finished it, and in which the most dysfunctional person possible is introduced~ Today was not a good day. It was not a beautiful midsummer’s morning. Not because that would be cliché, but because this was Northern Ireland after all and the weather was often as temperamental as your incredibly senile great grandmother. Yet again, it was another dark dreary sort of ambiance, of the sort which was often the cause of a great number of murders (or at least it was an excuse), and which generally made people run off to foreign hot countries. The sky was of a pale grey, flecked with white as dull clouds loomed warily in the distance, most likely plotting their terrible revenge against mankind. Not far beneath there lay a small but horribly busy little street, from which a jumbled heap of prosaic conversation rose, mingled with the smell of distant burning, past the ageing sky. It was on that very street that an important person walked. He was in fact not important in any normal sense, save that he is important to this particular story. Like many people he was completely and utterly normal, (at least to look at) being of an awkwardly large height, with short hair and wearing average boring clothes. In fact he wouldn’t have been any more inconspicuous if he had been wearing a sign saying ‘Please give money’. There isn’t much to say about him in general, as a person he is really not at all interesting, unless you really know him, but I shall tell you two things, firstly his name was Adam, and secondly, it was his birthday. Quite frankly he was cold, tired, fed up, and possibly just a little suicidal. Minutes ago he had made a fine purchase at the nearest run-down off-license, a purchase which he struggled to carry as he walked along oblivious to everything and anything which was nearby. Perhaps you are too young too or naïve to know what I’m on about but these two variables could only mean one thing. ~He intended to get drunk, VERY drunk. ~ I suppose you are wondering why? Humans often do, to no avail. I mean obviously the question is ‘How?’ Not ‘why?’ If we knew ‘How God could possibly exist’, or ‘How it was possible for angels to stand on clouds’ or even the immensely popular question ‘How come sometimes the milk runs down the carton when other times it pours neatly?’, then we’d really be ahead of ourselves, but no, instead we keep asking the dratted ‘why’ questions. However now, we shall answer a single ‘why’ question. The reason was that despite the fact that it was his birthday, he had not received a single present, or any cards, nor even a single tip of the hat. This obviously disturbed him greatly, and so he was leaning on man’s greatest and least reliable crutch: alcohol. So slowly but surely he made his way through the town, taking care to ignore the large amount of spiteful old people glaring at him as well as the horde of underage mothers pushing prams along in a bored manner, their oversized earrings swinging like pendulums. Soon he left the town altogether and after an hour’s walk he came to a wide open and beautifully fresh field, surrounded by thin wooden fences and hedges that might really be leafy demons in disguise. He at once climbed over these fences, rather carefully so as not to drop any of his ‘surplus’. Then he stopped, making sure to get a joyous inhalation of the wondrous air that could have easily killed someone suffering from hay fever, before running quick and free to a great big twisted oak tree which stood in the corner of the field, and which presumably the farmer hadn’t the heart to cut down. It was there that he sat down and began to enjoy his spoils, which would take a while really, even if he was a fast drinker, as it included at least thirteen bottles. So it was that, under the dulling influence of alcohol, that Adam forgot just how unloved he was, and that it was in fact his birthday. Not long later, he had but one bottle left, and it seemed such a shame to leave it, all alone and cold in its cardboard box, with not a friend in the world. So he picked the poor fellow up and murmured “You buddy, yer just like me, you ain’t got nobody and nothin’, and you were last til’ left.” I think that at this point a little tear ran down the bottles neck, but that might have just been condensation. At this sad moment, the first odd thing of the day happened; Adam heard a strange and mildly disturbing creaking sound, as though some old man had just sat down in his ancient rocking chair right next to him. He then felt something; or rather several hard objects touch his back, and that’s saying something, because in his current state, he could barely feel his own legs. He turned around cautiously, and was not at all surprised to see that the old oak tree had bent over in sympathy, its entire frame twisted around grotesquely as it patted him on the back with as many branches as it could. It looked strangely human poised there, as though it’s branches had become hands and it’s many roots bunched together to form ugly feet. “I hear ya son! I too am the only tree for approximately 42 meters!” it groaned in a deep booming voice, every bit as wizened and dry as it’ s bearer. Adam looked from the amber bottle to the tree in dismay and replied, “Quit poking me” *** Several hours later, Adam found himself clambering over a thin stretch of rocks, just at the other side of the field. He wasn’t sure why, but he was perfectly clear were. There was a rather quiet country lane a good distance away, yet between it and himself lay a dozen or so hedges, two fields and a small enclosure of trees. So it was that he made it his goal to get to that road, or die trying. To be honest I think he was doing a very human thing, that is inventing new and extremely easy tasks to make up for the great many he had failed. He was silent as he almost literally tore through the hedges, but once he got to the first field he spoke. “Damn mud! Why does it have to be so muddy! I mean who needs mud anyway! Even the worms hate it! Blast and botheration!” In reply the little voice in his head said “It’s just mud kiddo, shut-upa-ya-face” So he did what was best and obeyed the voice.* Just as he cleared the first field, he realised just how tired he was, and so he sat down on a nearby fence for a short while. As he sat there it passed his mind, if only for a slight flickering moment that he should give up, at least it did until the bees came. They were perfectly ordinary bees, yet very loud, as they flew about his head with sheer enthusiasm. Perhaps to poor Adams broken mind, they were saying things like, “You can’t do it! BUZZZ!” and “Just as I BUZZZ suspected!” and that was likely why he swatted them with such force. Minutes later he continued and despite being stalked by several sheep, he made it to the small patch of trees. He had always liked trees, mostly because they could be climbed, but also because, under any amount of trees, there is a constant, whether it’s wet, hot, dry, dark or radioactive, it will always be the same. Just bugs and leaves and possibly an evil witch or two. After a short bout of walking, lo and behold! There it was just twelve or so steps away, the ROAD! ‘Aha!’ he thought, ‘I’ll show those damned bees, and that accursed tree!’ and he ran forward with a cry of pure glee. Now, I’m sure you’ve read many books in which one or more characters find their way into another world, therefore your perception will be slightly off. Despite popular belief, one does not get into another world through wardrobes, paintings, holes in the air, or even old and seemingly abandoned police boxes. No, the truth is much less pretty, to get into another world, you must be beat into it, and I mean such a smack that you quite literally end up in an entirely different place altogether. Generally, most of these people die, and thus never make it, but say for example, you had the impression that you were immune to anything, I don’t know, perhaps you had practically pickled yourself in alcohol, then maybe, just maybe, you could survive a large collision, perhaps something like being hit by a very large and incredibly visible truck which happened to be driving past as you stepped onto the road. It was a strange moment, one second Adam was enjoying a sense of glory, the next he heard the screech of wheels, followed by an immense ‘thud!’ which rivalled the sound made by the big bang. The first thing he thought was ‘OW’ because generally being hit by something several hundred times your own weight hurts. The second thing he thought was ‘I hope that buggers not insured’ As these thoughts came to him, that he felt an odd sensation, as though some almighty deity had snatched him up, tore him in half, and then tossed the other piece away, presumably before deciding he had better things to do. So it was that as he flew through the air with tremendous force, that he got the impression that he’d left something behind, that wasn’t the contents of his stomach. He was stuck like that for a few minutes like a grumpy leaf caught in the wind, before eventually it seemed like he had landed abruptly, in a large pool of icy water, yet he could breathe perfectly and no water was visible. All around him lay what looked like nothing, I mean really nothing, not a black hole, or a white screen, just nothing. “Oh NO!” yelled Adam as he looked about. “I’ve lost my bottle!” *If you start hearing voices, I suggest you ignore them, especially if they say things like “kill your family!” or “Don’t listen to that conscience, harps are sooo last century” Or possibly you are known to have psychopathic tendencies, as many of us are, then I suggest you just find a nice padded room, trust me, it works.

melkor

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Points 890

Reviews 17

Thu Jul 03, 2008 4:28 pm

melkor says... · Thu Jul 03, 2008 4:28 pm

Woah.
all those quotes make me feel special.

I think I can officially count ashleyee as my number one fan after all that.

After all she has reviewed EVERYTHING I've wrote.

Yes I will Pm you ash!

I ight also invite you to my site, becuase you make me happy!

As for the message, there are several hidden messages in Adams 'notes' and there will be a stort arc of sorts which is revelead at the end, which will tie up everything weird and unexplained.
The next chapter sees the introduction of evil trees, the road that goes ever on, the snake that caused sin, and a place were metapors/proverbs/plays on words feature at every turn.

Unfortunately, my keyboard broke, so I haven't been able to type it up, it's all on paper...

"He felt that his whole life was some kind of dream and he sometimes wondered whose it was and whether they were enjoying it. "
"It is a mistake to think you can solve any major problems just with potatoes."
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Go in fear of abstractions.
— Ezra Pound

The insanity of Hathland.

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