Some Walrus Stories

I write short stories when I'm bored. I thought it would be fun to share some of them with the world.

[h-walrus]

As we travelled from one corner of the world to the other, I began to question the validity of my quest. I had been a follower for as long as I could remember, content with the simple life. I remember the day the angel descended, told me that all of my brothers, sisters and my fate was on the other side of the world.

He sent us a leader, a simple man, but one who know how to command. He was perfect for our easy going but large tribe. We had no idea about the nature of travel, of where the strings of fate would take us, but this man had been impassioned by the dream of the gods. He was ready to push us onto our new destiny.

We set off that day, a harsh journey, many of us would not make it. We were not a small group, not by any standards. There were no roads that we could follow, no path that would help us to understand if we were on the right way. Really, we had no idea what we were doing. The man did however.

A few of us tried to leave the path, to give up on our holy quest and start a life anew. It was then that we learnt the treachery of the gods. They gave most of us the power to survive the ordeal placed in front of it, but once we started on this path, we were not allowed to leave.

The simple man who led had not been chosen for his intelligence, his power of persuasion or his knowledge of how maps worked. No, this man had been chosen because he controlled but one thing. Power. If we so much as stepped out of line, the man would summon the hell hounds to keep us in formation. It was a startling discovery and one in which brought question to our journey. Was our fate at the end really a good one?

There were a lot of us and only a few of the masters. We could have likely taken power back had we been smarter, but alas the herd mentality kept us in line. The fact the revolutionaries would disappear bred fear into our hearts. We could not rebel for to do so would mean certain death.

Why had we been chosen, and what had the gods chosen us for. The question has rocked the camp for many moons now. I do not know how many of us have perished, how many more have simply vanished. At that time, I could not truly tell what happens to those the leader does not agree with, but the man seems oddly full when he sets off after they go missing. It made me worried, made us all worried.

What will our fate be at the end of this journey? Will we find a better land at the end, the promised Eden, or are we being led like lambs to the slaughter? The leader confronted us a ways in and like a damned fool he dropped a bombshell on us. He had no idea of our fates either, only that the masters demanded it.

There was a sorrow in his eyes, perhaps fearing for those he had led this far, possibly upon his own fate post journey. I feel if he ever planned to apologise, it would have been hollow, for he cannot pull the wool over my eyes, not like my brothers and sisters. He knows something, I can see the guilt, can feel the weight of his sins pressing down on him.

I took a little bo-peep into his tent a few nights ago. It was the quietest I have ever been, fearful of what would happen if I got caught. The man was asleep. All he had was a book, a map and a compass. The smell of the room was as familiar as it was sickening. I had smelt this in those hot summer days, when my brothers would get burnt by the rays of the sun. I hoped I was wrong, until I saw the leg. This man was eating us, eating those that disbaagreed with him and his orders. He was no man at all, but a demon in disguise.

I have told a few of my closest friends that truth, and we have begun to plot. It must be a small team to pull off this plan, for if the information gets out, we will surely meet our makers. Still we may stand a chance, there are few of them and more of us. When the rebellion starts, we can only hope our brothers and sisters of the flock will join us.

Shaun is still our greatest worry; he is unsure if the path we take is correct. He says maybe the person who is leading us, is still taking us to a better place. I cannot feel upset at his optimism, but as I remind him, if he is willing to eat us, his intentions are probably not the best for our kind.

We are planning for the ultimate baassassination. We have crafted rope from string, worked out the patrol route of the hellhounds, and started to check the map for places to flee too. In my treachery, I have become a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Alas the fact none of us can read a map shows this will not be easy.

The operation has to take place soon. The man who leads us has told us that there is not far to go now. “Two shakes of a lamb’s tail” he calls it. I don’t know if it is a cruel joke or if he really means that time is short, but the implication is clear. Judgement day is nigh.

We strike at the next red sky’s morning- a subtle irony of ours. The man will be off-guard. Even so we know the shear level of difficulty it will be to convince the others to join us on our quest. We hope that the sight of our dead and eaten brethren will be enough to string them along. If not, we will have to spin a yarn and explain of greater pastures elsewhere.

-          From the diary of Lady BaaBaa, the great revolutionary who saved thousands of her sheep brethren in the great Ram-page of 1867.

[h-walrus]

A lettuce from the War

My dearest Annabelle,

 It has been many a moon since I was last able to write to you. So much has happened in the last few months that I cannot simply put it into words.

The war has expanded, there are more nations than stars in the skies and everyone wants to be the victor. I have done much I am afraid of and I do not know if I can return to your loving embrace once the war has ended.

For, my love, although I wish to walk in and find you once more, I feel that you could not accept me for who I am now. For what I have done. Unlike last time we spoke, there is far too much blood on my hands and I could not subject yours, which craft the finest of items for the world, to the embrace I wish to bestow upon you.

Every night I picture you, your smile that brings people in, your company, which everyone flocks to for comfort. You are the perfect being, a symbol unlike any other. To sully your name with someone like me would be an embarrassment that few could endure.

The more I think about you, the more of a pickle I find myself in. For I know the moment I return from this god forsaken war- If I return from this god forsaken war, every part of what makes me whole will want to find you, to meat you once more. But alas I know I cannot.

Before I do anything more, I must fry away the sins of my life, I must learn to relish peace once more- for only once I can truly absolve myself of my crimes, can we be together again.

I cannot tell you much about the war, alas those nuggets of information are classified, my operations are not ones that many know of, but I can confirm we are quickly approaching the end. To the end of the worst suffering the world has ever felt. It will not be long now until my comrades and I can return home.

We talked recently about what we are looking forward to returning to. It will all sound so cheesy but we all thought of our loves. Whether it be conventional or not, I mentioned you. Some understood, some did not, but in the comradery that this destructive event has created, none judged me for choosing you.

Alas my brothers are still as apprehensive as I about returning. Those who were married before they left, worry that their partners cannot accept the person they have become, those who wish to experience a life outside of the hell we find ourselves in are concerned that the memories will haunt them forever more.

It is with sad heart that I must inform you that our James has died, I know how important he was to you, a truly valued person. He died like a lamb to the slaughter, outgunned and outmatched. He asked me to take a picture back to you, to remind you of the good times. I hold that close to my heart now, should I fall, please do not judge my failure.

The men have been told that tomorrow lies the final push, but I know there are hundreds of little operations between now and then. The demons that surround us have retreated more and more, but it will not be an easy battle. It will bacon my heart to see so many die. Not that I will see the bodies on the day, no my mission will have me elsewhere, if I fail, there will be many more bodies, and I will not be alive to see my failure take fruit.

Of course, we have to be careful of how much we say, the threat of impastas is high, if I say anymore, the operation could become compromised.

But this is why I write my letter to you. I need you to know that in my last moments I thought of you, that in the cruelty of war, you embraced me. Like a pie crust you kept me stable as my inners melted into fear and apprehension. Because of you I am willing to move forward forever more.

The simple truth is I am feeling chicken, scared of what is to come. My mission will be a linchpin to this operation, as will all of my brother’s. To hold so many lives in our hands is a weight too much to bear. But bear it we must, for although we are terrifried of failure, the takeaway from our success is the driving force to keep us going.

I cannot be with you, I cannot sully your name in mine, but if I survive, may I see you as you once saw me? Your smile calms others and brings them hope of better things to come. It is something too bright for me, the way you welcome everyone who finds their way to you.

One time is enough, the ability to sit and take in the world, to know peace once more.

My brother’s think me crazy, say there are hundreds like you out there, but they understand my need for you, a need that cannot be quenched. This war was a blight on our world, no matter the propaganda, but knowing that we are coming to the finish line makes me feel a lot more smoothie.

Although I could go on, I do not wish for my letter to become stale, like the layers of an onion, the ring I will give to you upon my return will peel back my feeling for you.

I hope to see you soon; you are the only thing that keeps me going.

***

“Your love, Sargent Richmond.

Sir, why do you have me read these letters? They are so personal.”

The man looked at the woman in uniform in front of him, “A reminder of everything we work towards. This man fights for us, and in this wartime, it is good to remember those that live and die so that we may survive.

Now, go along. Your day is beginning.”

The woman walked out and gave the biggest smile she could, it was the least she could do for the people in front of her. It was in the job description.

“Welcome to Annabelle’s, can I take your order?”

[h-walrus]

Ok, writing prompt:

A youtube influencer has been sent back in time to lead a revolution. He lands in medieval England and is told he can return to his time when the king is disposed and history is restored

“Hey it’s ya boi, Demonkiller69, here to drop some truth bombs on y’all. But before I start lets not forget the sponser of this revolution, Jimmy’s Apple Cart. Jimmy’s- Apples as fresh as the feeling of freedom from the monarchy.”

[h-walrus]

The Demon’s castle of treasure.

The place was a sealed castle of treasures that cannot be understood. The brethren who had managed to sneak a look had told the tribe that it would be a utopia to enter. No-one truly understood why they thought this way.

There was one of the old ones in the back of the room, that one told the tale of entering and the forbidden palace and the horrors within. The stories were all true, at least partially, the castle was full of things that would enrich the tribe for centuries to come, they would live in complete luxury. The catch was the fortress was impenetrable from the inside even more so than the outside. The soul creature in there would decide your fate.

Of course, that hadn’t stopped Bartholomew B Brofunda, 53rd of his name, from trying to take destiny into his own hands. He ignored the warnings as he made his way to the fabled city in the sky. It was unclear exactly why the creatures chose to live so high. Some claimed it was due to their need to be superior to everything else, some called it decadence. Others claimed it was a way to keep their treasures as safe as they could. It was one of the great mysteries of the giants, maybe Bartholomew could figure it out as he claimed all the treasures in the world as his own.

Luckily the creature’s appearance was a catalyst for most other beings of the world. Bart threw open his wings, thanking Gaia for the gift of the earth and skies, and took off. His body was suited for flight, as time had allowed it to be, but he knew he would need to keep his energy high and hits wits higher to survive.

He first scouted the vast enormity of the monolith in front of him, looking for a crack in the defences. There had to be something, anything that would allow him entry. The elder had made his way in so many years ago, surely Bartholomew, smarty pants that he was, could solve the riddle too.

He found it. The tiniest, most hidden crack he had ever seen. There was no way that it should be noticeable in anyway shape or form. The hole could barely be classified as a passageway, and yet it pulled at him, tempted the youngling to take the plunge into adventure unknown.

He was transfixed, so much so he hadn’t noticed he had entered until he was half way inside. There was no turning back now, glory or death, those were his only options now.

Light erupted from the other side of the tiny passage. He crawled and crawled as fast as his many legs could carry him. The world erupted in the light, in that moment Bartholomew knew the definition of beauty and glory.

It was a treasure unlike anything he had seen, and yet something was different to what he had expected. The items were massive, most, if not all towered above the budding adventure. How had they found their way into the vast space? They could not fit through the hole, he barely could.

It took a moment for the creatures’ eyes to readjust and notice the most surprising thing. There was a way out, a huge one. How had he not noticed it before It was a light unlike anything, he had experience before.

“Secure the escape route first, then grab the treasure.” He muttered to himself, flying to make sure escape was possible.

*THWAK*

Something hit Bartholomew, directly in front of him. It couldn’t see anything; he would try again.

*THWAK*

There was something invisible in front of the adventurer. Whatever it was it was powerful, and the as he explored the surroundings found it encompassed the passageway to light. He hit and smashed into it, but the forcefield didn’t so much as budge or ripple. Whatever it was it was not going to be broken by him.

Panic began to set in, he flew around the area, trying to find another escape route. When nothing else surfaced, Bartholomew took a deep breath. He still had the way he came in; he could escape, come back with others and work together to retrieve the treasure.

Except, as he searched for the way he came in, it was gone. He went back to where he thought he had started, but couldn’t find the entryway, flying frantically he was reminded of the elders words, the fortress was impenetrable from the inside even more so than the outside.

Bartholomew understood the words finally, the hole was a trap, the hole of light was a trap, the whole place was a trap. He was to die, trapped with riches beyond his understanding. His greed had led to his death.

***

It could have been minutes, hours or even days before the reckoning came. A loud crash, a noise unlike anything he had experienced and a demon entered. These things were huge, larger than anything that Batholomew had ever experienced before.

It found the young prisoner immediately and shrieked, a ear shattering scream of war, at least to the youngling.

The beast ran off, yet that shriek had left the failed adventurer paralyzed. It must be a spell or a curse, he thought as he tried to will himself to move.

It didn’t take long for the demon to return, with an assortment of instruments. One caught Bart’s eyes immediately. The pollen of death. He had seen the devils use it before, it would spray a toxic gas that would kill him or his brethren quickly and easily. The creatures did not hesitate to kill, they were monsters. He resigned himself to his fate closing his eyes.

Darkness enveloped him; Bart wondered if this was what death felt like. He felt the world shift and turned, his body being thrown around inside the cycle of death and rebirth. After another loud bang, light! Bartholomew was alive! He was granted freedom by the devil. He was not sure why the being had chosen to spare him, maybe it was because the prisoner had chosen not to fight. Either way he would tell his brethren the stories of this place and the warning never to enter, he was lucky this time, there was no guarantee the devil would ever be as merciful again.

***

The man looked of as the creature flew away.

“Goddamn bugs, how do they keep getting in?” He whispered as he closed the window.