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Wednesday, June 30, 2010

The Hunt

            When a group of people decide to put the investment into creating a city, location is one of the most important factors to take into consideration.  You’ve got to find the right foundation for your future homes and offices, the right ground for your citizens to walk over.  You’ve got to find some place sturdy, preferably flat, though hills work almost as well if they are solid enough.  You do not want marshlands, or wetlands, or a frozen wasteland.

            Most of all, you do not want a swamp.  Swamps are full of dangerous animals and diseases, and create soft, infertile soil that does not create what one would characterize as ideal living quarters.

            There are only two conditions that cause a person to believe that building a city over a swamp would be a good idea.  The first is the condition of being insane.  The second is the condition of being in Florida.  The differences between these conditions are subtle, if such differences exist at all.

            Still, even if you were a manic citizen of Florida bent on building cities in the worst possible locations, you could pave a nice foundation if you had the money.  The wealthy districts and the tourist districts all had nice homes, with clean water and a million-dollar-per-brick guarantee of sturdy grounding.

            If there was one thing that could be said about the Punto Diez, a small diner on the outskirts of the city, it certainly was not that it was a wealthy district.  It could not even be claimed to be a frequent tourist rest stop.  Of course, being Florida, it could not entirely avoid a tourist every now and then.  Generally, however, the local regulars could make themselves unwelcoming enough to keep most who came in the hopes of a Kodak moment out of the diner.  This was often unnecessary; the building itself looked run-down enough on the outside and seedy enough on the side to keep most strangers away.

            Everyone in the little diner knew everyone else’s name, where they worked or went to school, and who their families were.  Seedy though it appeared, it bore no difference from most small-town diners except for one important distinction: the swamp.  On the fringes of civilization, the Punto Diez’s architects had not been quite as thorough in meeting their safety regulations when designing the place as they could have been.  They took their money and left a poorly structured building at best to fend against the fierce oppression of the swamplands.

            As a result, no chances could be taken.  All water had to be boiled, and perishable food was delivered at the beginning of each week, to avoid keeping it in the presence of the swamp for too long.

            Still, they succeeded admirably in overcoming their difficulties.  They had a strong enough local client base to be able to afford to take extra measures.  Their customers did not complain about the prices that far exceeded the quality of their meals; they understood that the Punto Diez was a place that had special needs, and those needs were a constant consumer of profits.  In the end, the Punto Diez was simply a place for people to meet, get some caffeine, maybe an egg, and relax.  It straddled the thin line between being a diner and simply being a mess hall.

            To say that Edward was new would be misleading.  He had been coming to the Punto Diez since he was a small child; he could not remember a time without it.  It was only recently that he had begun waiting tables there.  Things moved slowly in the lazy diner, and only one waiter was really necessary.  His predecessor had trained him with retirement in mind, having served almost a lifetime.

            Though Edward had ambitions, and sought means for further education, his family had little money, and many expected that a steady income would bind him from pursuing his ambitions.  They saw it all the time; the old waiter retired at an elderly age, and hired a young boy or girl.  The young waiter or waitress did not plan to stay long, but ended up unable to gather the means to leave.  Until the day came when they, at an old age, would pass the baton to a representative from the next generation.

            Edward was certainly intelligent enough to expect a decent education, but his background and financial situation were no different than his predecessors, and the local folk had no reason to believe that he would fare any better.

            These things were not currently troubling him, nor was the task at hand of dealing with the customers on his mind.  Business was normally slow enough for him to daydream, and on that day, he could not help himself.

            “Excuse me,” She said to him, “but I think we’re a little lost.”

            He sighed to himself.  That woman, he thought dreamily.  She had been a tourist, but to have strayed so far out from the safe bounds of the city seemed against the odds.  He found himself speculating about destiny.

            “Wow,” he commented, half in awe of her beauty, half in awe of her astonishing lack of a sense of direction, “I think you’re more than just a little lost”.

            The girls he had grown up with were nice enough, and they certainly were not lacking in appearance.  His father had assured him for his entire life that there existed no beauty on Earth greater than the Latina woman.  He had never doubted this, but then, he had never really met anyone other than Latina women.  Until…

            He noted how pale she was, how brightly her green eyes sparkled, and how tense her jaw clenched shut.  It was clear that being lost in so seedy an area was making her nervous, though she did an admirable job of hiding it when she spoke.  His light-hearted teasing caused her to relax a little.  “Yeah, this is my first time driving here.  I mean, I’ve been before, but never been the one driving” she sounded almost apologetic.

            “Oye, Eduardo!” called a middle-aged customer suddenly, “Pay attention to your customers, mijo!  There’s a stranger there who has been waiting for quite a while!”  That was the way things worked in the Punto Diez; the regular customers were as much a part of the management as any of Edward’s actual bosses.  They had all known his family for generations, and they had watched him grow up.  As such, everyone older than him felt somewhat responsible for his well being.  It was like having an entire town of parents, or uncles.  Edward sometimes wondered whether everyone in Florida wasn’t related to him, somehow.

            But what they had said was odd.  He looked over and saw, sitting alone, a rather large man he had never seen before.  This would be the first time he dealt with a customer from outside of their little community.  Taking a deep breath, he grabbed his pencil and pad of paper and approached the stranger.

           
            “Hello, welcome to the Punto Diez,” Edward said, speaking English without any discernable accent, “would you like a drink to start with or are you ready to order?” The stranger did not reply immediately.

            He had his hands palm-down on the table, curled slightly so that the tips of his fingers weren’t visible.  He wore black gloves that ended before the joints of the fingers, with holes for his knuckles, as well.  He had massively large hair, though it did not fall far below his shoulders, instead, it had a great volume around his head.  That, along with his large, untrimmed black beard, gave him the appearance of having almost a lion’s mane.  Edward couldn’t see his eyes.  When the man opened his mouth to talk, he revealed four very prominent canines.  “I don’t want anything on your menu.  I want information.” He said in a low voice.

            “Information?” Edward was completely taken aback by this response, “I’m sorry, sir, you must be in the wrong place.  Nothing ever goes on around here that’s worth talking about.”

            “You are worth talking to,” the man insisted, “you will know what it is that I’m looking for.”

            “How can you be so certain?” Edward asked, growing increasingly nervous in the presence of this strange manner of man, “You have never even seen me before, and it’s not as though you could have heard of me from reputation.  I have none.  So how do you know that I’ll be of any help to you?”

            The man took a sharp intake of breath through his nose.  “I know,” he said simply.

            “Well, I am afraid that I have other customers to attend to, so I cannot talk to you right now,” Edward said immediately.

            “I’ll wait.  Get me some tea.”

            “We do not serve tea.”

            “Then boil me some water to drink.”

            “Will that be all?” Edward really wanted this strange man to go away.  Even in the presence of familiar faces, he did not feel safe from him.  The man nodded, never so much as glancing at Edward.  The young waiter hurried to the kitchen.

            Night came, and the man had not left.  Soon, it was closing time, and, with the exception of the old cook in the kitchen who was cleaning up, only the man and Edward remained.  Once he was sure that it would only be them, the man gestured for Edward to take a seat. “You know something that I need you to tell me,” the man said immediately.

            “Who are you?” Edward asked, exasperated and on edge.  There was a moment’s silence.

            “You may call me Stray.” The once nameless man replied contemplatively.  Edward stared at him.  Stray’s eyes were hidden in the shadow of his hair, and it did not help matters any that the sun was getting lower in the horizon.

            “Well, Mister…Stray,” Edward said politely, “what is it that you think I can help you with?”

            “I think nothing,” snorted the unkempt man, “I know that you have seen her, and I wish to know where she is.” Edward blinked.

            “Forgive me, but…who is this that you speak of?”

            “Don’t be a fool, boy.  You know who I refer to.”

            “But…how could…”

            “Do not ask questions.  You will be rewarded if you cooperate, but I will get this out of you, one way or another.” Stray interrupted.

            “But you can’t possibly expect—” Edward was cut off when Stray’s fist, moving with blurring speed, came down upon the table between them.  The table, a solid fiberglass make, split apart and crashed into several pieces.  Edward reacted instantly by jumping out of his seat in shock.  The cook ran out from the kitchen, shouting and demanding to know what had made the noise.  Edward, thinking better of ratting on the larger man, assured his superior that the table had simply been rickety, and had broken accidentally.  After some persuasion, the cook returned to the kitchen, swearing in full voice.

            “Understand this,” Stray explained in a quiet, menacing tone, “I have searched far and wide for the girl without wings, and I will stop at nothing to find her.  I do not wish to cause you harm, but I will break you without hesitation if you get between me and what I desire.”

            “We had better talk outside,” Edward said quietly, “I don’t need you causing any more trouble for me here.” Stray did not protest.  He stood up, towering over a head taller than Edward.  Yet Edward noted that he did not appear to be all that muscular.  But then, the long dark green trenchcoat concealed most of his body.

            Edward led the way outside, and then immediately turned to face him. “Look, I think that you must be insane, and I must be even more insane to still be talking to you,” he stuttered, “but—how do you know about this girl?  And why is she so important to you?”

            “I thought we agreed that there would be no questions.” Stray retorted.

            “We never agreed to anything!  And if you want me to help you, you’re going to tell me what this is about.  I don’t care if you hurt me, I’m not going to let just anyone find her unless I think there’s a good reason for it!” Edward shouted, breathing heavily.  For the first time, Stray looked him in the eyes.  Edward was immediately startled by the unkempt man’s appearance—his right eye was a deep blue, but his left eye was a light green.  These dual colors assessed the young waiter with a burning intensity for what felt like an eternity before the strange man bowed his head, and the eyes retreated under the shadow of his hair once more.

            “I will let that outburst pass, as it is clear from you passion that you actually saw…her…saw…” he trailed off, as if talking on a subject too sacred for him to tread on.

            “Who?  What is her name?  Why is she so important?” Edward pressed, a little more gently.

            “Her name is…or was…Rosetta,” Stray said hesitantly, “and she is the most beautiful of all creatures that walks this degenerate world of man.”

            “If she is who I think she is, I would not feel the need to disagree,” the younger man mused, “so how well do you know her?”

            “I know of her.”

            “You expect me to send a complete stranger after her?” Edward asked in disbelief.  Stray emitted a low noise that could only be called a growl.

            “You begin to frustrate me, boy,” he snapped, “how well we know one another s none of your concern.  I seek only to see her, and I have come too far to be turned away by the likes of you!”

            “Please, señor, calm yourself,” Edward said quickly, “I simply want to make sure that I am not sending a criminal or murderer after the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes upon.”

            “I…” Stray said, slowly, “…am not a criminal.  But I am not much better.”

            “What is that supposed to mean?” Edward asked, eyeing the older man’s long, pointed nails which gleamed in the dim moonlight.

            “There are many things in this world that you do not understand, boy,” the unkempt man retorted, “and I will not waste my time explaining personal matters to deaf ears.”

            “Don’t you write me off!” Edward said angrily, “In my life here, I have known many stranger things than you could ever dream of!  I have heard that the owners of this place, dating back over a hundred years, still reside here even in death.  I know this, because my family and friends have seen them on many a dark night, and it is common knowledge in our town who they are.  I have seen men die in the jaws of a crocodile, and them found them alive and well, the next morning, as though they had never met with any trouble at all.  Once a year, for every year that I have been alive, I have been blessed with many gifts from God’s saints.  My mother has continued to give me strength and comfort me, even though she’s—” he stopped, his throat tightening, and attempted to control himself.  Fighting back the hot water that threatened to flood from his eyes, he clenched his fists and said defiantly, “so don’t you pretend that you know what I will and will not believe.  Because you don’t know anything.  Nothing at all.”

            There was a long and terrible silence.  Stray did not convey any outward reaction to this outburst, and Edward stared on, his eyes challenging the older man.

            “Very well,” Stray replied, “but be warned; I do not care whether or not you believe what I am about to tell you.  Once I have finished, you will tell me what I want to know.  I am no crocodile, boy; if you betray me, you will not be found alive and well tomorrow morning.” Edward lost his outward coolness and smiled expectantly.  He could not help but be excited.  This entire ordeal was new to his life, and he stood, ready to absorb the strange man’s every word.

            “I was once a lowly and common thug, in a city far away.  My city was not built upon poisonous waters as this one is, but it had its own poisons flowing through it none the less.  I made my living doing the dirty deeds of others, and it paid well.”

            “But I was an ambitious man, and I could never be satisfied as an underling.  Slowly, I accumulated power through alliances and illegal trading.  It was not long before I was at the head of my own organization, set up solely for the purpose of expanding my influence.”

            “I was an aggressive leader, and demanded nothing short of supremacy within my own realm.  My men were constantly slaughtering our competitors.  This did not weigh heavily upon my conscience, however, as to me, it seemed nothing more than one group of criminals slaying another group.”

            “We were a rapidly growing syndicate, and, at the height of my reign, the largest and most powerful there was.”

            “It was on the day I ordered the subjugation of one final group that the course of my life was drastically altered.”

            “I had no sooner issued the order for violent action than…than…”

            “Than…It…appeared to me.”

            “I cannot begin to describe It to you.  All I can do is describe the knowledge one has, when in Its presence, that It exists—exists in a way that you and I do not, exists in a more solid, more absolute sense.”

            “It spoke—and yet, it had no voice.  In my blindness, I attempted to slay it, but before I could so much as move, It had changed everything.”

            “I was in a new place, a home, dropped straight into the middle of a family’s life.  And yet, I was not there at all.  I had no sense of myself—all I knew was this family.  All I knew was their warmth, their joy.  This was a life that I was completely foreign to.  Yet, It molded me into the air they breathed, the blood that pumped through their hearts, the tenderness they shared.”

            “I remained in this state for many days.  With each day, I grew more in love with father, mother, and little daughter.  Without shame, I say that I have never loved any creature as I loved hem, though they were unaware of my presence.”

            “But It had not brought me there to keep me there forever.  I did not know Its purpose until it was too late.  The days I spent with them were held within some unknown window of the past that It had hurled me into.  On that last, terrible day, I watched without the power to do a thing as my own men, engaging in territorial warfare with some unseen foe, used the little home as a shield, and butchered the only family I had ever loved in the process without so much as a moment’s hesitation.”

            “I saw then the pathetic joke of my empire.  This was no war between factions, no swordsmen dying by the sword—this was a blood bath that I had long since lost control over.  The word came to me then—Beast.  We are nothing but BEASTS!”

            “I was fully aware of my self for the first time in weeks, as an empty light emanated from my core.”
            “And then It spoke, without speaking—you have seen the fruits of your kingdom, it mocked, now, what do you desire, oh great king?  For anything you feel the right to claim, I will grant you.”

            “The word came to me again, then.  Beast.  And…”

            “I had myself branded as an animal, no longer completely human.  My heart cried for retribution, yet I knew that I was the one solely responsible, and the men I employed were but beasts of burden.”

            “Since then, I have lived on the fringes of humanity, and I have seen much, but still I am consumed by loathing.  I cannot find any reason to go on, even to seek redemption.  This is my curse, and this is how I have lived for a period spanning many life times.  I continue to seek a reason to continue on, or a reason to end my miserable existence entirely.  Until I find either of these, I can only search.”

            The one who named himself Stray fell silent then, and showed no sign of continuing.  Edward was completely without a thing to say, and felt ever further out of his depth.  Yet he could not help but feel wonder before this strange man, or beast, who lived a life of perpetual self-torment and yet continued on, somehow.  There it was, the question he sought an answer to.  He had found the words to speak.  “But…why?  Why then?”

            “Why what, child?”

            “Why are you going on?  And what does that girl have to do with anything?” Edward asked, genuinely interested.

            Stray considered the young man again, and paused to regain the ability to speak.

            “In my travels, I have heard rumors, of a woman whose beauty surpassed all mortals of the realm, and whose spirit was forged of stronger stuff than any of her peers.”

            “But I did not take interest in this until the first time I caught her scent.  It was faint; she had not been nearby for a long time.  Yet her scent still lingered, and even in its reduced state, it emanated such a presence…such…”

            “I pursued the scent relentlessly, as well as information about her.  She is the one that was called Rosetta, who soared among the Highest.  Her wings were cut by great forces, she has roamed our mortal lands in search for the pure.”

            “The pure?” Edward asked cynically, conjuring up images of saints and innocent maidens and other such lofty figures.

            “You are ignorant, boy,” Stray replied in a tone gentler than the harshness of his words, “the pure are those who are true to nothing other than their own souls.  Most of us give in to outer desires for power, or for lust, or to appear greater or even lesser than what we are—but there are a few, a handful, who are nothing but themselves.  These Rosetta seeks, and it is from meeting them and looking after them that she hopes to one day regain her wings.”

            “And what do you want with her?” the young waiter asked curiously, “I mean, what’s she got to offer you?”

            “if what they say is true…if…” the older man appeared to be exerting a great effort to contain himself, “…any world that harbors such a creature is a world worth living in, no matter how pathetic my own life might be.”

            “So you want to see her for your redemption?”

            “No…I want to see her because…well, I just want to see her.” Stray said simply.  Edward thought about this for a short while.

            “Ok,” he said, “I’ll tell you where I gave her directions to go.  But I don’t know the exact house, only the street.”

            “That will suffice; I will be able to discern the specifics for myself.”

            “Hold on, though,” Edward added, “I’ve got a condition.”

            “You try my patience, boy.”

            “Do you want my help or don’t you?”

            “Well, out with it.”

            “I want to go with you.”

            A small smile formed on the beast’s face, revealing the tips of his top canines.

            Edward had not known Stray for even a day, and yet, found the beast’s almost nervous behavior once they reached the townhouse surprising.  The unkempt man did not seem the type to let himself be rattled, but then, this was no ordinary circumstance.

            The woman who answered the door was exactly as Edward remembered her.  With the streetlights lighting up her face, he found himself completely disarmed.  She looked at Stray, and, unconcerned by his strange appearance, asked in a friendly, but almost shy tone “May I help you?”

            Stray seemed uncertain of what exactly to do.  “I am—my name is—around here I am known as—” he attempted unsuccessfully, then swallowed, and composed himself.  “Who I am is unimportant.  I merely wish to give you this.” He said as calmly as he could, handing her something too small for Edward to see.  From the lace that fell around the woman’s hands when Stray dropped the item there, Edward guessed it to be a pendant of some sort.

            “Thank…thank you…” she said, uncertain of how to respond.  Stray stared down at the pendant.  This is all that I can do for you, to honor your memory.  I have given the symbol of your family name to the purest spirit in existence.

            “It is true what they say,” he murmured, almost too low for her to hear, “you are…most beautiful.”

            Without another word, he turned and walked away.  He walked towards the heart of the city.  Edward stared at the one who had been known as Rosetta.  She looked at him, then at the retreating figure.

            “Hey!” Edward shouted after the older man, “Hey!  What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” He ran after him.  He walked alongside the larger man.  “Where are you going?  She’s right back there!  You’re going the wrong way!”

            “I have done what I came to do,” the beast replied, “I have seen her and  have honored my lost family.  That is all.”

            “Don’t tell me that after finally finding her, you’re just going to go, just like that!” Edward cried, “You’re really very insane, you know?” Stray stopped and stared at the smaller man.

            “What would you have me do?” He asked bluntly, “I have seen her.  I profane her with my presence by remaining any longer.  If I am worthy of being near her, she will seek me out on her own some day.  I would not advise you to hold your breath while you wait, however.”

            “But..but…I don’t understand…then why’d you come here at all?” Edward stuttered.

            “You may yet understand, in time, boy.  Now come, we have much to do, and a long journey ahead of us.”

            “Wha-what?”

            “Don’t tell me that you intended to remain a waiter in the swamps forever.  I thought you had more spirit in you than that,” Stray replied cheekily.  Without looking back, he continued to walk.  Edward stared at the back of his head for a moment.

            No, I guess not, he thought.  He spared one last glance behind him before catching up with his new companion.

            The woman that was once named Rosetta watched the figures retreat, before finally going back into the safe confines of the house, and closing the door.

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

Journal of the Traveler

From the blog "Journal of the Traveler"
Post Title: Waking from Uneasy Dreams
Date: 9/20/1999

Twelve days ago I awoke to discover that it was the first day of my Freshman year in high school. Now this probably isn't an alien concept for any of you out there; high school is something that you have either endured or will endure eventually. It is a crucial moment in a young man's life, when he is awkward and largely a pain to spend any time around. Some of us remember those times fondly, some of them would rather forget them entirely, but all of us went through it.

That, dear readers, was precisely my problem--I had gone through this, already! When I went to bed thirteen days ago, my Freshman year was more than ten years in the past. When I woke up the next day, I was living it all over again!

I'm sure that most people, in this bizarre situation, would have been horrified at the notion of having to go through high school all over again. I have to admit that that was not my first reaction. You see, I've made my fair share of mistakes over the years. Nothing catastrophic, but there are certainly no shortage of decisions I made that I'm not proud of. My first though, I must sheepishly confess, was "This is awesome! I can do it right this time!"

Then it began to dawn on me that the situation was slightly more complicated than that, to say the least. I mean, what do you do with knowledge of events ten years into the future? Do you warn people about the terrorist attacks? Do you put money into stocks you know will soar?

Before I made this little leap through time, I was less than a month away from getting married. But I didn't even meet my better half until more than eight years from now. Should I try and get in touch with her now? What if she ends up hating me because I met her in an entirely different way? What if I can't stand the teenage girl version of her? Even if I wait for (an excruciating) eight years, I won't be able to act exactly the same way that I did originally. What if I screw it up this time? This one weighs the heaviest on me, I have to admit. Maybe that's selfish.

Anyway I was (will be?) big into blogging, so it just made sense to me to put this out here. Maybe I'll wake up tomorrow at the right time in my life again. If not, I feel like I should be talking about this and making some predictions, however trivial, that I can point to later as evidence that I'm not completely nuts. I admit that the prospect of gaining fame in this manner both excites and completely terrifies me.

If you want to get in touch with me, e-mail me at ttraveler@hotmail.com. Unfortunately Gmail won't be out for another five years so I'm stuck with crappy old Hotmail.

~ ~ ~

From the blog "Journal of the Traveler"
Post Title: My First Month in the Past
Date: 10/8/1999

I just started this blog and already I'm only updating erratically. I'd make an ironic quip about that, but you wouldn't get it. Just trust me, it's the sort of joke that will make sense in three or four years. Well, if we're talking about when blogs get passé, maybe more like five years. OK, that's it for the future humor, I promise.

I've mostly just been blending in this first month. It's weird because there are some people that go on to become my closest friends, but they're not the people I know yet and I'm not they person they know. The same could be said for my family, too--my brother was just finishing his Junior year in high school, and now all of a sudden he's a little kid again. Not to mention the relationship I've built with my parents over ten years has been completely reset.

Whining aside, there is one thing I realized--school is kind of awesome, if you aren't hung up on all the stupid stuff involved with being a teenager. Well, it's awesome for a nerd like me, anyway. All I have to do is learn stuff. My parents pay all the bills and provide ample amounts of food. For years I've regretted that I didn't see the value of learning math until way late; now I have the chance to make up for that! I can do it without the pressures and responsibilities of life as an adult. With ten years of knowledge about where my interests and talents are, and how my career was going, I feel like I'm in a fantastic position to shape my own future. And that's before you consider that there are a handful of companies I know I can invest in and make a killing. No, don't ask which ones. It'd be stupid for me to tell you rather than just making money off of it myself.

On the other hand, this situation poses some ethical problems I'm not really sure there's an easy answer to. If I were to hook up with someone, would that be considered cheating on my fiancée? Even though I haven't met her yet? Also the idea of getting romantically (or just physically) involved with these high school girls kind of makes me feel like a dirty pedophile. But I'm a high school boy! At least, everyone thinks I am.

More importantly, I still haven't decided what to do about the terrorist attacks that I know are coming in a couple of years. I'm no theoretical physicist--would it tear a hole in space-time if I managed to change such a big event? I'm not sure a physicist would actually know the answer, either. Not like they've ever had to consider the practical difficulties associated with CHANGING HISTORY.

But if I'm really stuck here, I'm going to have to make some hard choices. I don't think I could live with myself if I didn't try and do something about what's coming. I'm just more than a little afraid of what will happen to me if I try--especially if I try and do not succeed.

Well on that cheerful note, I think that's all I have for now.

Oh, what the hell. Don't buy HD DVDs. Buy Blu Ray. You know, when the time comes.

~ ~ ~

From the Fanfiction.net General Forum
Post Title: Greetings from the Future!
Post Author: Great Demon King
Post Date: 10/13/1999

Hello all! I am in a bit of a predicament.

You see, I am not of this time. The person who was inciting flamewars and the like just a couple of months ago was my younger self; I am actually from more than ten years in the future. I am now in the rather embarrassing position of having to live in my fourteen-year-old skin again.

Why am I tell you this? Well, there's some big stuff coming down the line, and I'd like to stop some of it if I can. But to do that I need influence, and before I can have any influence I need attention. Unfortunately, the only potential venues that my fourteen-year-old self had where he might garner any amount of attention online are places like this, where he sports the tacky handle "Great Demon King". Oh well. No offense to you guys, of course. I love little communities like this one and my own writing definitely benefited from the times I dabbled in fanfiction, back in...well, now.

Anyway, I've started a blog, and I hope you guys will come check it out. More than that, I hope you'll spread the word. If you think I'm a nut, as I would in your shoes, then tell your friends there's a lunatic online writing entertaining crazy-person stuff. I'll be making the rounds to the forums I used to frequent to try and drudge up something of a readership.

Thanks for your time, and I apologize for anything ridiculous my teenage self may have said.

Post Title: re: Greetings from the Future!
Post Author: Kirsten
Post Date: 10/13/1999

Is this a joke, or are you actually insane?

Post Title: re: re: Greetings from the Future!
Post Author: Great Demon King
Post Date: 10/13/1999

Whichever answer gets you to tell your friends about my blog!

Post Title: re: re: re: Greetings from the Future!
Post Author: GokuSSJ30
Post Date: 10/13/1999

ok seriously what the fuck is a blog

~ ~ ~

From the New York Times
Article Title: Tale of Twin Towers' Destruction Increases Views for Popular Website
Article Date: 5/25/2000

Across America, internet users are reading a terrifying description of the day the Twin Towers were brought down.

"This was the defining event of my generation," the story begins, "by the time I arrived at class, the first plane had crashed. We thought it was just an accident, horrible, but unintended. It was only when the second plane crashed and both towers were billowing pillars of smoke that we realized this was the result of a conscious, malicious design."

It's enough to pull at the heartstrings of anyone who witnessed that terrible event. Except that no one has--there has been no attack, and the Twin Towers are still perfectly intact. According to the anonymous author of the Journal of the Traveler, a popular website, that's all going to change.

The Journal was started in the fall of last year. Its author, who writes under the pseudonym Traveler, claims to be from the not too distant future. Ten years in the future, to be precise. "When I went to bed thirteen days ago," he wrote, "my Freshman year was more than ten years in the past. When I woke up the next day, I was living it all over again!"

The website has steadily gained a following as the Traveler chronicled his adventures in high school, attempting to fit into a life he had long grown out of. Every so often he drops an obscure prediction to keep his readers' interests piqued.

Two weeks ago, however, he made a prediction that was as straightforward as it was staggering: on September 11, 2001 hijacked airplanes will crash into both of the Twin Towers as well as the Pentagon, resulting in thousands of lost lives. This would be the biggest attack on American soil since Pearl Harbor, and the first attack in continental America since the War of 1812.

Needless to say, if the Journal was popular before this outlandish claim, it was nothing compared to the kind of attention it's drawn since then.

According to some experts, the sheer volume of content that the world wide web makes possible is likely to lead to more and more niche entertainment sources along the lines of the Journal of the Traveler.

"It used to be that you had to make a lot of money just to be published at all," said Clay Shirky, former vice-president of New York chapter of the Electronic Frontier Foundation, "now that anyone can put up anything, you'll see a lot of stuff that wouldn't have made it past the filter, not necessarily because it wasn't good enough but because publishers weren't willing to take a chance on it. The web allows us to indulge in our quirkiest tastes; one of the most popular entertainment sites out there right now just shows pictures of various cats, for example."

Florida attorney and activist Jack Thompson has a less optimistic interpretation. "Websites likes this Traveler's Journal make sensationalist claims just to draw more traffic," Thompson said, "meanwhile they give the wrong kind of person all kinds of bad ideas. If potential terrorists hadn't thought of hijacking airplanes to attack our buildings before, you can bet they're thinking about it now."

When reached for comment, the Traveler, who continues to hide his identity, stated that "This was the most important information" he had brought from the future, and "this is not a gimmick."

~ ~ ~

Email from AlanFedorov@hotmail.com
Sent to ElaineKelley@aol.com
Subject: A Meeting of the Minds
Date: 7/3/2000

Mrs. Kelley,

We've met a few times. I'm your son Patrick's classmate, have known him for a few years now.

I understand that you're an analyst for the CIA. I need to talk to you about something urgent. I've got some information and I've got to get it into the hands of someone who can do something with it. I've been trying to tip the intelligence agencies from the outside but never had much hope that that would work.

I'm not asking you to believe me, just to hear me out. Could I stop by after school one day this week?

Thanks
Alan Fedorov

Email from ElaineKelley@aol.com
Sent to AlanFedorov@hotmail.com
Subject: re: A Meeting of the Minds
Date: 7/5/2000

Alan,

I admit I wasn't really sure what to make of your e-mail. If you're serious about this, you can come by tomorrow and we'll talk it over.

Elaine Kelley

~ ~ ~

From the blog "Journal of the Traveler"
Post Title: Time, Too Much and Too Little of it
Date: 7/16/2000

The parent of a friend was able to get me in touch with someone in the CIA who, at the very least, has listened and asked questions with only a hint of patronizing in his tone. I wish I could remember more details; the only name I remember associated with the attacks is Muhammed Atta, and I don't think that really narrows it down. Of course there's Osama Bin Laden, but they already know all about him. He's been a bad guy for a long time. I'm not sure this is going to make any difference, but I can't just sit around and wait for this to happen. It'll be blood on my hands if I don't try as hard as I can to do something about it. If I could just convince them not to let anyone on the no-fly list step on an airplane on 9/11/01, just make them nervous enough to do that, I'll have done my job. Yeah, I know--if they're on a "no fly" list, then why are they let on the plane in the first place? Trust me, shit hits the fan over that one, big time.

I've been painfully missing my better half lately. It's going to be a long eight years. I know I could see other people in the meantime, but I just don't think I could live with myself. Regardless of the fact that the people "my age" seem like children to me, I remember committing to be with only one person, even if she can't know it yet. It can't be helped. All I can do is wait and try not to wallow in self-pity too much.

In the meantime, I am using the information I've got for some more selfish ends. I got my parents to agree to buy me twenty stocks from a certain company (for which I will eventually pay them back with generous interest) but I want to get more than that, so I've been working at the local Giant, which, let me tell you, sure is intellectually stimulating. But it pays. I want to have at least one hundred stocks from this company before the end of the year. Then, in a few years (I wish I knew how many exactly) another company is going to go public and I need to have all the money I can get to invest in that one.

I just wish that the ways to take action with my information about 9/11 was as straightforward as how to take action with my information about the success of these two companies.

You guys have been doing great. I know that most of you are skeptics, but those of you that have been calling in tips to the CIA, either because you believe it or because you just want to play it safe, every little bit helps. Like I said, we just need to convince them to take their own no-fly list more seriously, we don't need them to catch the perpetrators ahead of time necessarily. Thank you guys for your efforts.

Comments:
Author: For Realz?
Date: 7/16/2000

How the hell did you get some dude at the CIA to listen to your crazy story? Did you just tell your friend's dad that you're from the future? I can see how that would go:

"Oh, you're from the FUTURE? Then I guess we HAVE to listen to you! Let me get the Prez on the phone!"

Author: Traveler
Date: 7/16/2000

No, I knew that would sound crazy. I told them I was speaking on behalf of someone who didn't want to come forward on his own. I also mentioned some specifics, like about Muhammed Atta and such, that seemed to get their attention. Of course they could just suspect that I'm a terrorist, or connected with one in some way...but...I don't have a lot of options.

Author: Kari3000
Date: 7/16/2000

y don't u jus c ur girl now? y wait?

Author: travelerfanboy
Date: 7/16/2000

dood did you see you were in the NYT???

Author: Traveler
Date: 7/16/2000

Kari: I don't want to risk screwing things up by jumping the gun.

fanboy: Yeah, I saw :) exciting, huh? Even if the point of the story was "Traveler is a big fat attention whore", it's good to draw more attention...well, OK, maybe I AM an attention whore, but that's not the reason I've been pushing this stuff about the attack.

~ ~ ~

From the Wikipedia Article "Journal of the Traveler"
Section: Predictions and Controversies

Several accurate predictions were made on the Journal over the years, including the success of Blu-Ray Disc in gaining adoption as the standard for high definition video, the controversy around the 2000 presidential election, the reelection of George W. Bush in 2004, Google's launch of Gmail, and the founding of Facebook. All the predictions were made in such a way as to make them difficult to explain by recourse to anything other than the premise of the blog. Some products, such as Blu-Ray, did not even have their name at the time that the prediction was made. Others, like Facebook, had not even been conceived yet by their founders. Theories abound as to how this is possible.

The greatest controversy surrounds the successful prediction of the 9/11 attacks. More than a year before the attacks, a detailed "retelling" was posted on the Journal. This drew enough attention to increase the Journal's traffic substantially, and most dismissed it as a publicity stunt at the time. After the attacks, a full investigation was started on the background of the Traveler. It was discovered that he had been in close contact with a CIA agent for the year leading up to the attacks, and many have dismissed the prediction as based on extrapolation from insider information. The Traveler has argued that he began to meet with the agent after the initial prediction was made, in order to try and persuade them to do something, but few have taken him seriously.

Almost as controversial was the prediction of the 7 July 2005 London Bombings, although he didn't predict the year, only the day.

~ ~ ~

From the blog "Journal of the Traveler"
Post Title: Graduating Again
Post Date: 6/18/2003

The symbolic significance of this age old rite of passage is sort of lost on me the second time around. Having finished college before, it's more like the third graduation I've attended, actually. Still, I did a lot better on this strange do-over than I did the first time. As I've mentioned a few times here, I was a bit of a screwup. Nothing so bad as getting held back a year or anything like that, but let's just say I didn't graduate with a 3.0 GPA, or even close to one.

This time around I graduated with a 4.0 GPA, and I learned a hell of a lot more. If I keep up the pace, with the AP credits I earned I should be able to finish my BA early. Maybe even think about going to grad school this time around.

Moreover I'm already doing pretty well financially. I paid my parents back for the 20 stocks, and then some. They're still insisting on paying for college, though, and that's fine. I'll use the money I would have paid in tuition to invest in something really big that should be coming up in the next year or two, can't remember exactly. Suffice to say I'm keeping a close eye on one particular company that still isn't publicly traded.

I still regret being unable to stop 9/11 from happening. I like to think that I did everything I could, but even if that's true, it clearly wasn't enough. It's hard to believe that knowledge of the future can only be good for making me rich. No, I'm not really what you'd call "rich" yet, but I'll get there, trust me.

And there's still another five painfully long years before I can see her again. In my weakest hours I contemplate visits to the college she'll be attending to try and meet her by "chance". But I can't risk it. I'd rather lose all the money I've made than lose the woman I love.

Sometimes I think that waiting until the time we originally met is just cowardice. Maybe I'm just putting off connecting with her again because I'm afraid of how it will go. It's certainly true that I'm scared. But I think this is the best way, I really do. And I've been faithful to her these four years. What's another five?

~ ~ ~

From the blog "Engadget"
Post Author: Peter Rojas
Post Title: The Traveler Goes All In on Google
Post Date: 8/23/2004

Alan Fedorov, better known as the blogger of Journal of the Traveler, just spent every last penny he had on Google stock.

You remember Alan, right? He claims to be from the future, and his name became common knowledge after his predicted the 9/11 attacks more than a year before they happened. Over the years he's made some muted references to a couple of companies that he was going to bet his fortune on. Now that he's all in, he's finally announced what those companies were--Apple and Google.

It doesn't seem to me like you need any secret information to know that Google's a good bet right now. Apple is a little more interesting, though. They're still as small in the computer space, relative to Microsoft, as they ever have been. Moreover, when he first invested in them back in 2000 the iPod hadn't even been announced yet.

Alan assures us that there are some "very big things" coming down the line for both companies. One can't deny the guy's track record; whether or not he's from the future he must have a friend of a friend who knows his shit. All I'm saying is, it can't hurt to buy a share or two from either of these companies.

~ ~ ~

From the blog "Journal of the Traveler"
Post Title: Words Fail Me
Post Date: 8/30/2004

OK, so maybe I can't take credit for ALL of the sudden increase in Google and Apple's stock. Google, in particular, just went public, and they're a solid company, so it's to be expected that their stock would rise. Apple's is a little harder to explain otherwise.

I just want to make it clear that I did not come out with which companies I was investing in because I wanted to blow up the stock prices. I know that these stocks are going to increase enormously over the next six years, I don't really need them to jump up in the next week! I was just doing what I normally do; documenting a choice I made based on information about the future so that people would have trouble arguing that I'm a fraud.

It's a little hilarious that people are willing to take me seriously when money is on the line but not when lives are. It's also kind of infuriating. Maybe if I had said that the CIA people themselves were in the crosshairs they would have given a damn enough to do something about 9/11.

But no, that's not fair...if I was them I wouldn't have believed me either. I just can't believe that a bunch of investors do!

~ ~ ~

Email from Alan.Fedorov@gmail.com
Sent to Patrick.Kelley@gmail.com
Subject: I did it
Date: 4/20/2008

I saw her. We "met". I'm going to see her again.

~ ~ ~

Google Chat Transcript
Between Alan.Federov and Patrick.Kelley
In reply to "I did it"
Date: 4/20/2008

Patrick.Kelley: How? Where?
Alan.Fedorov: There's a Starbucks near her apartment. I may have staked it out.
Patrick.Kelley: Well that's not sketchy at all.
Alan.Fedorov: I waited eight long years. Allow me a little sketchy behavior.
Patrick.Kelley: Hey I'm on your side bro. I just don't want you to get overeager and scare her, you know?
Alan.Fedorov: I know, I know. I'm being cool, trust me.
Patrick.Kelley: You wouldn't know "cool" if it was in front of your face.
Alan.Fedorov: Fair point.
Patrick.Kelley: So how did you go about it?
Alan.Fedorov: Awkwardly. But I think I came off as "awkward cute" rather than "awkward creepy".
Patrick.Kelley: It's a fine line, that. But she's seeing you again?
Alan.Fedorov: In a couple of days! For a low-key dinner at a local Chinese place.
Patrick.Kelley: Classy.
Alan.Fedorov: Hence "low-key"
Patrick.Kelley: Does she know about the Journal?
Alan.Fedorov: I'm terrified to ask. If I ask and she didn't already know about it, she might look it up and find out. If I ask and she knew about it, but didn't put two and two together, she might realize who I am.
Patrick.Kelley: It's going to come up eventually.
Alan.Fedorov: Hopefully she loves me by then?
Patrick.Kelley: Look, the second she's halfway interested in you, she's going to Google you.
Alan.Fedorov: Damn Google. If it didn't make me so filthy rich, I'd really hate those guys right now.
Patrick.Kelley: Just take it slow. She's going to find out; prepare yourself for that. Don't lie to her about anything. You guys fell in love once, you'll do it again.
Alan.Fedorov: But what if she doesn't want to be with the crazy man who says he's from the future?
Patrick.Kelley: You convinced me that you weren't crazy, you can convince her when the time comes.
Alan.Fedorov: I wish I hadn't said anything, just kept my head down and lived my life over again quietly.
Patrick.Kelley: No you don't. You would have really gone crazy. You're just scared right now.
Alan.Fedorov: More than a little, yeah.
Patrick.Kelley: Don't worry. It will work out.

~ ~ ~

From the Wikipedia Article "Journal of the Traveler"
Section: Theories

The accuracy of the Traveler's predictions are beyond dispute. As such, numerous theories and speculations have been made as to how he got his information.

There are many theories concerning a leak inside federal intelligence agencies, though these appeared much less credible when the Traveler's identity was revealed in 2001 and it became clear that he was just a high school student. Still, his connection with the CIA prior to 9/11 seem to indicate this may be among the most plausible of the theories. More extreme conspiracy theorists argue that the Traveler was directly behind the 9/11 attacks. These theories form part of the body of the 9/11 Truth Movement, which claims that the Islamic terrorist angle is just a smokescreen for a larger conspiracy.

Another, related theory is that the Traveler has secret industry contacts. This mostly sets out to explain the specific knowledge of product launches that he has displayed.

Some even believe that the Traveler is being honest about his journey through time. Neurologist Robert Burton, making reference to the Traveler, argued that no matter how conclusive and rational the evidence, people would never alter their beliefs dramatically enough to accommodate inexplicable time travel just because of one man.

~ ~ ~

From the blog "Journal of the Traveler"
Post Title: The Light has Gone Out of My Life
Post Date: 2/22/2009

I wasn't going to write anything about this because I was afraid to screw things up, but apparently it's too late for that anyway and I've had a few. So, here goes.

I finally worked up the backbone to "meet" the love of my life again a little less than a year ago. We've been seeing each other since then and it has been going fantastic. It felt like fresh air after eight years of not breathing. The chemistry was still there. I didn't get too nervous or jump the gun or do anything stupid. Or so I thought.

She hadn't heard of this blog. Somehow. By some miracle. Which is probably what gave me these precious months with her. I never asked her, but I know she didn't. How do I know?

Because she talked to her mom about meeting me, and her mom put together who I was.

The last time I saw her she just wanted to confirm it was true. I never lied to her, not once; I may not have come out and told her this stuff but I didn't lie to cover it up. So when she asked me straightforwardly I answered honestly.

It's been almost three weeks since that talk and I haven't heard from her. She doesn't return my calls or e-mails.

So I'm starting to think it really worked out the way I was afraid it would. I made a fortune but lost the only thing that really matters to me. And the worst part is I have no one but myself to blame; if I had never started this stupid blog in the first place I never would have garnered the kind of attention I've had, and her mom wouldn't know who I was. She wouldn't be thinking that I'm just some nut.

Only one year left until I'm back in my "present". Why did this happen to me? Why couldn't I just keep my big mouth shut, when it did?

I don't know if there are going to be any more posts. I don't really care, about this or much of anything at the moment.

~ ~ ~

Email from Patrick.Kelley@gmail.com
Sent to AriGior@gmail.com
Subject: Please Don't be Hasty
Date: 3/5/2009

Arianna,

Why did you suddenly cut Alan out of your life? Do you really think that he's just some nut? You brag all the time about how great a judge of character you are--did you get "nut job" for the almost a year that you two were seeing each other?

Remember when you admitted to me, sheepishly, that you thought Alan was "a real catch"? That you could see yourself with him, pretty much forever? Do you remember that, Ari?

Did all that change just because he's the Traveler?

If so then I owe him an apology. I thought you were better than that.

Email from AriGior@gmail.com
Sent to Patrick.Kelley@gmail.com
Subject: re: Please Don't be Hasty
Date: 3/7/2009

Who the hell do you think you are? What would you know?

Yes, I felt very strongly about Alan. No, that didn't change. But what am I supposed to do? He never told me about any of this. One day I up and find out that he's some guy who claims he's from the future? What am I supposed to make of that?

Email from Patrick.Kelley@gmail.com
Sent to AriGior@gmail.com
Subject: re: re: Please Don't be Hasty
Date: 3/7/2009

I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be insulting or unfair. I'm just watching my best friend go through hell and I think it's pointless when you clearly were great together.

He convinced me that he was telling the truth. How about you give me the chance to do the same, for you? Would you be open to meeting up to discuss this in person?

One chance is all I ask. But if you're convinced, then you've got to talk to him again.

Email from AriGior@gmail.com
Sent to Patrick.Kelley@gmail.com
Subject: re: re: re: Please Don't be Hasty
Date: 3/7/2009

Fine. Where/when do you want to meet?

~ ~ ~

SMS Message from the phone of Arianna Giordano
Sent to the phone of Alan Fedorov
Date: 3/10/2009

I'm sorry. Come see me?

SMS Message from the phone of Alan Fedorov
Sent to the phone of Arianna Giordano
Date: 3/10/2009

You have nothing to apologize for. I will be there in five minutes.

~ ~ ~

From the blog "Gawker"
Post Author: Maureen O'Connor
Post Title: Chronicle of a Wedding Foretold
Post Date: 6/19/2010

If you asked Alan Fedorov whether marrying Arianna Giordano was fate, or pre-arranged, he might just tell you that it was, and he might have more reason than most for supposing so.

Fedorov is better known as the blogger of Journal of the Traveler, started more than ten years ago, where he claimed he had been sent back to his own past from, well, now. About three months from now, to be exact. He gained a great deal of notoriety when he predicted, among other things, 9/11 more than a year before it happened. To this day no one has really provided a satisfactory explanation--that is, an explanation that didn't involve implausible conspiracy theories or...well, time traveling.

Giordano was just out of college when she met Fedorov, and they dated for almost a year before she found out who he was.

If her smiling face in the picture is any indication, it seems she's gotten over any questions she had about her fiancée's sanity. It couldn't hurt that he's a millionaire, having invested in Google as soon as it went public and Apple before the iPod (much less iPhone or iPad!)

Fedorov has closed up shop at the Journal of the Traveler, permanently he claims.

"I'm back at where I started, though the journey's gone a little differently this time," he said at a press conference this past Tuesday, "I have nothing more to say about the future. I don't know any more about it than any of you."

So ends one of the most fun and speculated about episodes in blogging history. We may never know the real story behind where Fedorov got his information; he's kept us guessing this long and now he's not going to be feeding us anything new.

So good-bye, Traveler--and congratulations to you both on this happy occasion.

Saturday, October 17, 2009

The Invisible Decay

Two religious sects, the worshipers of Life and the worshipers of Death, exist side by side. Once they had been joined together; the faithful of Life risked all they held dear, so that their children and grandchildren would be born into a better future. Side by side with them were the faithful of Death, who acted against the murderers, the rapists, and the corrupt, so that they might face justice on the other side. Of two minds but one purpose, they had been as one pantheon; acting together in a joint struggle against all the forces of evil.

That was ages ago, and time has driven a wedge between these two peoples. It's doubtful there's any of them left that remember a time when a follower of the house of Life could call a follower of the house of Death his brother.

The vices of their faiths had slowly consumed them, even as they had driven all visible evil from sight. The congregation of Life grew weary of constant struggle, grew sick of endless bloodshed. Their numbers gradually diminished from the battlefield, eventually disappearing altogether. They had no desire to cause any further harm--at least, that was their initial rationale. As all memory of fighting faded, their worship soon turned from a faith in the virtues of the living world, towards a cherishing of their own lives. They grew risk-averse, dreading that they might lose the most valuable commodity of their religion; their existence. Death came to mean not an endpoint, not a close relative of Life, but a demon and a thief; cruelty and unfairness embodied.

Those faithful to Death became arrogant where their former comrades became tired. They spent all of their time dreaming of extinguishing themselves at the height of their own glory; of taking as many of the wicked into the other side as they could in order to pay the toll for their own passage. They watched the house of Life with contempt. At first, it was mere disgust that they would be so weak as to allow evil to spread without lifting a finger. But as generations passed, it grew into a true and virilent hatred. For the house of Death permitted no worldly pleasure; they went into battle and then either left to fight elsewhere, or stayed as a corpse. That the faithful of Life would withdraw from battle, and cling to the joys of the earth, drew an enmity and a righteous fury alike, that poisoned their hearts and consumed their every thought.

The attacks came rarely at first. As they increased in ferocity and frequency, some thought that perhaps something ought to be done. Yet if the berserkers of Death would not be reasoned with, then the only way they could conceivably be stopped would be to meet them in battle. This was something that the gentle people of Life would not do, and for the most part, could not do. Instead, they pretended that the problem did not exist. Some were sincere in their belief that battle would solve nothing, that the problem was really not widespread. Others simply could not conceive of fighting any longer; and would believe anything rather than have to deal with the thought of parting with their lives or even risking it.

Not all were so inclined. A schism occurred, with various sects of Life dedicated to returning to the battlefield. Some sought to defeat the faithful of Death. Some sought to seize control of the house of Life and force all to return to the battlefield, alongside the faithful of Death or without them.

It doesn't matter how many sects there were, or what particular belief any one of them held. They were too scattered, too few, and too late. In the chaos of the schism, the faithful of Death swooped in, like vultures to a stinking carcass, and those who were not killed in the carnage died in the terrible conditions of the aftermath.

Then, themselves not of one mind over what had been done or what ought to happen next, the wolves of Death turned to devouring one another, until all had fallen into the embrace of that which they worshiped.

Yet in that land now populated by corpses, it is rumored that a single wiseman did live a time after. His message to the world is carried on the wind, pleading us to understand.

To understand that a life for life's sake is devoid of meaning, and a death for death's sake is simply repulsive.

The Snark

A long time ago, before Sarcasm or Wit, there existed a creature known as the Snark.

The Snark was a hilarious little animal that never could quite figure out what species it was supposed to be. It clearly wanted to look like a porcupine, with dangerous, spiny quills, and yet it did not even take a close inspection to discover that the quills were fake. The Snark’s fur was actually quite soft, and when wet, the Snark had a closer resemblance to a black chipmunk, though it lacked the front teeth.

No one quite knew what to make of the Snark, nor did it quite know what to make of itself. Fellow rodents and the occasional canine took passing interest in it, but never for very long. Some feared their quills, until they learned the truth. Some found their fur quite nice, but never nice enough to stay for very long.

You see, the Snark was kind of an annoying little bugger. When it made a joke, one could never really tell whether it was trying to be funny, or insulting, or just teasing. In fact, it was trying to be all of these, because it feared being any one of them. Those who found humor in them would soon suspect that they were being made fun of, and would leave. Those who found them insulting would soon decide that it was light-hearted and forgive them. Those who put up with being teased often decided after a time that it really wasn’t all that funny.

And so it passed, that no one would love the Snark. They did not join, they did not have children, and their numbers greatly diminished. It was not long until there were only two left, a boy, and a girl.

“We should probably settle down and have a family,” he mused, “now that you’re the last girl in the world and all.”

“Well that’s flattering,” she sighed.

“Aw, don’t take me seriously,” he said quickly, “I really like you.”

“Like?”

“Well…maybe…love you?” He murmured, “Y’know, love is blind and all that.”

“What, am I ugly?”

“No way,” He assured her, “you’re the most beautiful girl in the whole world!” This made her smile warmly, but the seriousness of the situation made him greatly uncomfortable. So he added, “not that you’ve got much competition.”

“Ok. That’s it.” She snapped, and turned to storm off.

“Wait! You can’t!” He shouted.

“Why? For the good of the species?” She spat.

“Well…maybe for the good of me a little…” He muttered pathetically. She turned and looked him in his beady little rodent eyes.

“Tell me you love me. Tell me you find me beautiful,” She said quietly, “And mean it. If you can do that, then I might just stay.”

There was a moment then, an opportunity. The fate of this race had not yet been determined, a choice was available. And yet in the end, he found himself unable to make that choice. She waiting through his silence until she was satisfied it would not be broken, and left him forever.
And so the Snark passed into the night; romantic and unromantic, alive and dead, and unable to choose between two of anything up until this very day.