A Harder Bargain - A Short Story (Sort Of) Sequel [#11]

A sort of sequel to this story: http://30leaves.blogspot.com/2018/06/a-hard-bargain-short-story.html

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            "Five gold pieces," the monocled scholar repeated.

            "But the cover is torn in five places," Atalanta argued. "It's probably only worth two or three gold pieces, at best."

            "Five gold piece," the scholar crossed his arms.

            "Give it up Atalanta," I shook my head, "he's not budging." She did her usual pout, but discarded the book nonetheless.

            "How about this," she pawed through the messy collection of old books and pulled out another dusty tome. "Oh, An Expert's Guide to the Arcana and Beyond," she exclaimed. Like the previous book, it showed clear signs of wear and tear, the cover looked ready to peel off at a moment's notice.

            "Ten gold pieces," the scholar declared.

            "What," Atalanta fumed, "This one's worse than the last one." Despite her protests the scholar remained impassive. I think he raised the price to scare her off, unfortunately he doesn't know how stubborn she can be.

            "Calm down Atalanta," I soothed her. I looked towards the scholar, "do you have anything in here that doesn't cost a month's worth of food?" The scholar pointed towards a small basket on the floor in the corner. It contained more books, but they were in extremely poor condition. Atalanta slid over to take a peek at them, but recoiled in horror at the first book she picked up.

            "How can you sell this junk," Atalanta gagged, "smells like dead caterpillars." While she attempted to waft the smell out of her nose, I looked back at the scholar who maintained a stoic exterior.

            'I'm not liking where this is going,' I thought. I turned back to the still revolted Atalanta, "Come on let's buy books some other time."

            "Yeah, forget your crummy books," she huffed, "you're nothing but a scam artist anyway." I sighed as Atalanta resorted to her favorite insult. Before she could utter another word I shepherded her out of the building. We really need to stop looking for deals uptown. At least we didn't get banned from another store.

~~~~

Welcome to the continuing adventurers of Martin and Atalanta as they attempt to navigate such horrors as overpriced goods and jaded shopkeepers. I've wanted to write a follow up to this post since I first wrote it, and this is my first successful attempt. My first try ended up way to cliche, and the second got weird (ie. I tried to make it funny, it ended up really uncomfortable). Regardless, I really enjoy writing these two characters. Mainly because I imagine them as two friends who've known each other forever and could probably bicker with each other from now till the end of time. I really want to write a much longer story for them, I just need to set aside time for it.
Read, comment, enjoy, etc.

The Song of Baolo - A Short Story [#10]

Today's feature is my longest story yet, enjoy.

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            Up the street, in the town's only tavern is an unusual sight. In a corner table, coated with cobwebs, sits the tavern's most senior patron Baolo. Baolo is dressed in the most colorful clothing, befitting of a bard or noble. In his lap is a harp with broken strings and in his hand an empty mug that contains only dust. Baolo is a peculiar patron, for he is not among the living, he is but a skeleton in fancy dress. He has been a part of the tavern for longer than most people in the town have lived. Yet, the tavern's owner refuses to be rid of him.

            I asked the bartender once, "Why do you insist on keeping that thing? Is it even real?"

            The bartender laughed, "Of course he's real, but as for why we keep him, why don't you ask him yourself?"

            I had no idea what he meant, "Ask him myself? I cannot speak with the dead."

            The bartender shook his head, "He may be of the dead, but he's a talkative sort once you get him going." He flicked me a single coin, "Here have a go. Just give him this and he'll tell you his tale."

            I looked at the coin curiously, but I made no protest. I approached the pile of bones and placed the coin in his mug, "Well why don't you tell me your tale?"

            The skeleton turned himself towards me, "What would you like to know."

            I jerked in place and backed away, "What sorcery is this."

            Baolo laughed, "Nothing of the sort, I am but a humble bard dedicated to his craft."

            I slowly sat down, "To the point you have defied death?"

            The skeleton took the coin from the mug, "In some ways yes, but please tell me my friend what would you like to know?"

            I searched for the strings that pulled this puppet, but I could find none. Finally I relented and asked, "Tell me your tale."

            The skeleton played with the coin, "It is quite the long tale I'm afraid, an epic like no other. I'd love to tell, but it would take all night. I could tell you one part at least."

            I considered for a moment before I came to an answer, "How did you defy your own death?"

            The skeleton made a long pause before he replied, "That I'm afraid I do not know. I can tell you the before and after at least."

            I nodded, it wasn't exactly what I desired, but I was curious none the less.

            The skeleton drummed his fingers and scratched at his bones for a time before he began to weave his tale. "Many, many years ago, when I was still flesh and bone I had turned to the life of a wandering bard to support myself. I had no home to return to, no destination in mind, but I did have a lute and a love of song. However, as many do I grew old and weak, I lost my talents to the miseries of age and fell into the darkness. In my final moments I longed for the home I did not have and surrendered to embrace of death."

            The skeleton paused for a brief moment before he continued. "Then I awoke in a dark place, at first I believed I had made it to the afterlife, until I realized I was simply lost in a dark cave. I escaped the cave post-haste, but I emerged to find an unfamiliar land. It was an endless forest, without rhyme or reason. I went from lost in the cave to lost in these woods. Alone, dressed in rags and without a single possession I wandered these woods for what seemed like ages."

            Baolo again paused in a dramatic fashion as he further wove his tale. "It was not long before I realized what had changed about me. A sudden glance to my hand and feet. The realization my senses were dulled. The tattered state of my clothing and the lack of my personal effects all added up to the realization of my fate. I was no longer of flesh, nor was I living. All that remained was bone, yet I still moved and spoke. I do not know what brought me back from the dead, be it a twist of nature, a divine prank, or even a fluke of magic. Normally one in my position would likely go mad from the revelation, but as you can tell I am far from normal. I still had a love of music, and a body that was no longer held back by old age. So I did what I knew best, I turned to the life of a wandering bard, and that is the tale of my death and rebirth."

            I contemplated his tale, "But you said you were without your possessions. How did you acquire an instrument? Did people not fear you?"

            Baolo flicked the coin back into his mug, "That my friend is a story for another time and another coin. Although, I can at least answer one of those question. They did in fact fear me, but that fear gave way to something else eventually."

            I leaned in close, "What did it give way to?"

            Baolo spoke in the faintest whisper, "Annoyance."

            I had no response but stunned silence.

            Baolo laughed, "As I said, a story for another time."

            I thanked him for his time and got up from the table. A part of me still believed it was a trick, but another was to curious about this creature. I would soon become a frequent visitor of Baolo. Every night I would bring him another coin to hear another part of his tale. He made no lie when he said his story was an epic, but as he said, that is for another time.

~~~~

This was probably the most fun I've had writing a story in a while. This faux fantasy/medieval dialogue, the premise and Baolo himself just made this story flow right onto the page. This is also the most revised story so far, mainly the second half which used to be a big block of text.
Read, enjoy and comment your thoughts.

A Very Late Short Story Double Bill - An Apology & Night Over The City [#8 & #9]

I am a moron and completely forgot about today's post. I have some longer stories in the pipeline, but for now here's a double bill of 100 word stories.

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An Apology

~~~~

            "I'm going to level with you, this is my fault," I admitted. "In about five minutes the house of cards will come crashing down on top of us, and it is by no fault of your own."

            They raised their hand to speak, but I stopped them.

            "Don't waste your breath," I told them, "just go."

            They sighed and hung their head low. Then they fidgeted in place before they finally turned for the door.

            "There's something I've always wanted to say to you," I imparted, "I'm sorry."

            They stopped in the doorway and turned back to face me, "I know."

~~~~

 Night Over The City

Inspiration: https://danbooru.donmai.us/posts/308176?tags=teikoku_shounen

(Warning: If you're not familiar with danbooru. Be careful if you decide to go browsing through it. Most of the art there is quite risque to put it lightly.)

~~~~

            'These are the nights I live for,' I thought as I observed the bustling city night. The warm lights on the dark backdrop and the subdued sounds of the city's night life. It's times like this I'm reminded why I put up with all those idiots at work, the frustration of urban transport and those endless bills.

            I leaned back into my chair and smiled, 'I've made it, I'm happy. It's not the money, or the apartment or the job, but the sheer fact I've put everything else behind me. A job well done and now it's time for a life well lived.'

            I glanced at the cityscape again, 'I don't think I'll ever get tired of this view.'

~~~~

The second story was inspired by an artwork from "Teikoku Shounen." Apparently the original webpage that the artwork went up on is now defunct (hence the danbooru link), but they have another webpage linked here:
http://tksn.sakura.ne.jp/index.html
As for the stories, they were mainly experiments with shorter word counts. It was fun at least.

Where Did The Green Go? - A Short Story [#7]

Inspiration: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/Yk4kY

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            "So why did they all die?" I asked my father as I observed the massive skeletons of the deceased monsters.

            "They were too big," he explained, "there just wasn't enough food."

            "But if there wasn't enough food how were they here in the first place?" I cocked my head curiously.

            "Well," father scratched his head, "this wasn't always a desert. Way back when, around the time I was a boy this place was lush, green and full of life."

            "Then where did all the green go?" I posed a follow up question.

            "Sometimes," he began, "the weather can change. For some years you can expect it to rain every other day, and then suddenly a few years go by with almost no rain. But here it was real bad, one year they had less rain than usual, the next they had even less, and so on. Eventually there was almost no rain, and no rain meant no water, no water meant less green."

            "Why did it stop raining?" I inquired.

            "That, I don't know," my father admitted. "All the smart people I knew had long explanations, but I didn't really understand any of it."

            "Oh," I looked away.

            "But if it was just the weather going wrong, it might not have ended up like this," he continued. "People were not happy about all the green going away, so they tried to stop it, that didn't help much."

            "If they tried to stop it, how did it get worse?" I asked confused,

            "Let me try to explain," father told me, "you know how when you get a cut, or pimple you're not supposed to pick at it?"

            "Yes," I confirmed.

            "Well same idea," my father explained. "People tried so hard to save the green, but they weren't careful about how they tried to save it. They tried so many solutions, but most of them weren't thought through very well. Eventually they destroyed all the green that was left."

            "Okay," I nodded, "so then this place became a desert?"

            "Yep," he replied.

            "And then," I pointed to the skeletons, "They started to die, because there was no green left, right?"

            "Correct," my father smiled.

            "What were they like?" I looked up at him.

            "Big, scaly, lots of teeth," he explained. "Liked to growl at people like this. Rawr!" He held up his hands and growled.

            "Really," I laughed, "so they were that mean?"

            "Meanest things there ever was," my father laughed as well. We shared a couple more laughs together as we continued our long walk through the desert.

~~~~

This story was inspired by the artwork linked here: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/Yk4kY
Let's see, landscape, giant monster skeletons that make people look like ants by comparison, yep I love this artwork.
I like summarized explanations of historical events, both in general and as a narrative device. It's probably why I majored in History. Regardless I based this story around conversations I had with my Mother back when I was younger, so the dialogue for this story came out really naturally for me.