A cool wind disturbed the still night air. It blew with it leaves, which danced merrily under the florescent yellow glow of the streetlights overhead. The breeze continued to blow on, whispering as it passed through the trees. Doran walked down the street, despite the chill.
“Perhaps this walk will take my mind off things, yes, take the pressure off,” he murmured rapidly to himself. “Fresh air will be good to me, yes, yes.”
Then, he heard the wind whispering in the tree next to him and he stopped dead in this tracks.
“Do it, do it, do it now, Doran” whispered the wind, or at least in Doran’s mind.
“No, no, I can’t,” said Doran to himself. “No, no, that would be wrong, yes”
“Do it Doran, do it, do it.”
“NO,” yelled Doran suddenly. “I can’t.”
He covered his ears and ran home, wind whispering to him all the way there.
When he got home, he was shaking, cold sweat dripping down his brow and nose. As soon as he closed the door to his apartment, the wind was quiet, leaving him alone in his mind.
“I won’t do it, no, I won’t, will I, no,” he said aloud.
He then lay down on a small, dirty sofa, the only furniture in his tiny apartment. He closed his eyes and was asleep almost instantly.
***
Immediately, he slipped into a dream. He was flying, soaring like an eagle, free, through an orange sky with marmalade clouds. Below him was a wide river, a large paddle boat chugging down the middle of it. The shores of the river were lined with tangerine trees. Plastic flowers of vibrant scarlet and gold, hundreds of feet high, towered ahead as Doran flew slowly towards them.
Doran flew down to the boat and landed noiselessly on the deck. He stood there for a couple of minutes, enjoying the beautiful scenery. As Doran stared out, his eyes turned from the clear blue waters the paddleboat was passing through, to the shore, lined with lush green trees speckled with little dots of orange. He then looked at the bright orange sky, big, puffy marmalade clouds drifting lazily along around the immense synthetic flowers.
Doran, who was lost in his own thoughts, awoke from his daydream with a start as the paddleboat pulled up alongside a pier at the shoreline. Behind the pier was a wide street and a truly massive building of metal and glass that looked to be a train station. As he and the other passengers filed off the paddleboat onto the pier, taxis made of what appeared to be folded newspaper, stopped along the street, waiting to take the boat passengers away. The people from the boat began to pile into the taxis.
Doran followed the crowd and climbed into the backseat of an unoccupied taxi made of a copy of yesterday’s Washington Post. The driver looked to be a girl of perhaps eighteen (as far as Doran could tell from the back) with long brown hair. However, when she turned around to ask Doran where he wanted to go, Doran noticed something very wrong.
The girl had a fair, gentle face with a pretty, little nose and a small mouth. Her eyes were very, very deep and wide. They were the source of Doran’s distress. The driver’s eyes were, well, multicolored. It looked as if someone had dropped drops of every color food coloring imaginable into the pools her eyes were. To make it more disturbing, her eyes were like kaleidoscopes, the colors swirling and changing. Doran stared into them in wonder, finding that the drivers psychedelic eyes made him very dizzy.
“Where do you want to go?” said the driver impatiently.
This startled Doran and he woke from his daze with a loud, “What?!”
“Where do you want to go?” said the driver even more impatiently than before.
“Oh… umm… I… umm… want to go downtown,” said Doran, unsure where he wanted to go. In fact he had no idea where he was or even the slightest clue of where he could go.
“Sure,” said the driver as she pulled away and began to drive down the street.
The rest of the taxi ride was in silence, for Doran stared transfixed out the window. Everybody in the town was made of molded green plastic, just like toy soldiers. They all looked almost exactly the same, the only thing distinguishing one from another were the neck ties they wore. These neck ties all had intricate and colorful pattern on them. Before Doran could really see the patterns however, the taxi turned a corner and parked in a small parking lot.
As the car pulled into a space, one of the toy soldier men came forwards. Before Doran had a chance to open the door and get out, the toy soldier man opened the door for him. Doran stepped out of the car and noticed the plastic man’s tie. It was covered in looking glasses of all shapes, sizes, and colors. The man with the tie stuck his hand out and Doran shook it.
“My name’s Sgt. P,” said the man made of molded plastic.
“Pleased to meet you, my name’s Doran,” said Doran.
“Well Doran, we must be going, we have to see “him” at 0200 hours,” Sgt. P said.
“Huh?” questioned Doran. “Where are we going, who’s “him”, and why at 0200 hours?”
“We’re late, come on, get in my car.”
“What car?” Doran asked as he looked around and found the parking lot deserted.
“That car” said Sgt. P, pointing to a yellow corvette that wasn’t there the last time Doran had looked. “Come on, into the car, now,” Sgt. P ordered.
Doran jumped into the passenger’s seat as Sgt. P climbed hastily into the driver’s seat and immediately floored the car. The yellow corvette shot out of the parking lot at what must over a hundred miles per hour and continued down the wide street on which Doran had come. Sgt. P wove the car in and out of lanes, going as fast as he could. Doran sat clutching the seat very, very tightly.
Sgt. P continued driving like this for what seemed like hours, making sharp turns at every street, seeming more to be trying to get away from something than going to somewhere. After about an hour and a hundred or so right turns, Sgt. P pulled up at a deserted looking warehouse. It was filthy, rundown, and had obviously been abandoned for many years. The brick of the building was weathered and covered with graffiti. About half the windows were boarded up. The other half were broken and in many cases shot out. This was simply not a place anybody would ever want to be.
“Why did we come here?” asked Doran as he stepped out of the car. He was thoroughly puzzled at what was going on here.
“We came here to meet “him,” said Sgt. P as if that would single-handedly clear up Doran’s questions.
“Who is “him”?” asked Doran.
“I am “him”, you are “him”, we are “him”, we are all together,” said Sgt. P rather cryptically.
“That doesn’t answer my question, who is “him”?” ask Doran in utter confusion.
“We are all “him”. The physical manifestation of “him” dwells in this building,” said Sgt. P. “Let’s go meet “him”.”
The plastic sergeant with the looking glass tie walked up to a massive steel door on what appeared to be the warehouse’s loading dock. He knocked on the great door. After several minutes, what sounded like a great sneeze came from within the warehouse and the door opened.
As the great doors opened, Sgt. P walked boldly in, followed by Doran, who was not sure what to expect. The warehouse was dark and dirty inside. There were piles of cardboard, wood, and other abandoned garbage all around the warehouse. Rats and insects scurried to and fro in the shadows. It smelled absolutely terrible.
Sgt. P walked forward to what looked like an immense trash pile in the center of the dimly lit warehouse. Doran followed, trying not to step on any of the truly nasty things that littered the floor. As they walked closer to the giant pile, it became obvious that it was moving. Sgt. P continued walking towards it, but Doran stood behind, hesitating.
Suddenly, the building was filled with blinding white light, sending the rats and roaches running for cover. Doran, whose eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness, was temporarily blinded. When he could see again, he realized that Sgt. P was gone. He looked around the room, trying to see where Sgt. P could have gone. But before he could, his eyes caught the moving trash pile.
In the light, Doran saw that the trash pile was not a trash pile at all, but a massive and extremely dirty sleeping walrus. The walrus began to stir, raising its large head. It let out a terrifying yawn and began to speak.
“Hello,” said the walrus in a deep, rumbling voice the shook the building. “What brings you here?”
“I’m not particularly sure why I’m here, but apparently I am,” answered Doran.
“Well, do you want some tea, by any chance?” asked the walrus, who was very generous.
“Yes, please,” Doran said, knowing if he refused it would seem rude.
The walrus pulled an enormous china tea kettle and two china cups out of thin air and poured some dark, aromatic tea. He handed one of the cups to Doran and told him that his name was Mr. S. Pilchard. He then told him all about his life, how he had been born in a cave overlooking the sea and how he had traveled all around the world. Doran sat, genuinely interested, sipping the tea. The tea was good, strong with the detectible flavors of lemon and honey mixed in.
Mr. Pilchard talked for a long, long time and Doran become aware that he had to go. He didn’t know where, he just had a feeling that he was supposed to be somewhere else very soon. Doran suppressed that feeling, knowing that he had didn’t have anywhere to go. However, as time dragged on, the feeling became more urgent. Finally, Doran spoke up.
“Oh, look at the time, I must be going,” said Doran.
“How time flies,” said Mr. Pilchard. “Well, before you go, let me tell you one thing”.
“Yes,” said Doran eagerly.
“Do it,” said the walrus, lowering his voice for effect.
“Huh?” said Doran, confused.
“You know what I’m talking about. Do it, Doran, before it’s too late”
“No, I shouldn’t.”
“Yes you should, come on Doran, do it, for me.”
“No,” said Doran coldly.
“Fine then, have it your way, be gone,” said Mr. S. Pilchard. “But, remember, it’s now or never.”
***
Doran awoke with a start. Light streamed in from a small, filth-encrusted window, illuminating the room. Doran lay on the small sofa just as he had the night before. He felt refreshed, rejuvenated.
“I think I’ll go for a walk on this lovely morning,” he said to himself. “The sun is up, the sky is blue, and it’s just simply beautiful.”
Doran stepped out of his apartment and started to walk down the street. It was a crisp fall morning and many joggers and other outdoor enthusiasts were out and about. Doran walked on down the sidewalk, past rows of trees, crowned with autumn foliage. There was a light breeze, but it did not speak to Doran, and he continued on his way.
After about an hour, Doran had made his way to a babbling brook in the park near his apartment. He sat on a rock near the brook, under a canopy of trees. The light breeze continued to blow through the trees, ruffling the leaves like the ruby and yellow plumage of a great bird. It was peaceful, the only sound being the faint murmur of the wind, the rustling of the leaves, and the trickling of the brook.
Doran sat silently on that rock and lost in his own thoughts, lost track of time. When he woke up from his thoughts, he realized that it was sunset. “I must be off,” he said to himself quietly. Doran walked out of the park back to his apartment. He walked slowly and before he had gotten home, it was dark, the streetlights providing the only light. As he walked, the wind began to pick up, growing stronger and stronger until it was absolutely howling.
Doran walked past the trees, creaking in the strong winds. Suddenly, a gust blew through the trees.
“Do it,” howled the wind to Doran. “DO IT”
“No,” replied Doran “Never.”
“Come on, it’s not that bad.”
“No, I still won’t do it.”
“Are you sure? What have you got to lose?”
“I won’t…”
“What do you have to lose? Nothing! Absolutely nothing! Come on, do it, Doran, do it, for me, for you, for everyone.”
“No,” said Doran expressionlessly as he walked back to his apartment.
When Doran got back to his apartment, he closed the door and sat quietly on the sofa. As he sat there, he started to think, “Why not do it? What was wrong with doing it? It wouldn’t hurt anybody. Life would go on if he did it and if he didn’t do it. He and his actions were only a small part of the universe. A speck of dust in the winds of existence. He had nothing to lose, he would harm no one, and his actions would have no effect in the long run.”
“I will do it,” he vowed to himself. And he did.
by Matthew Nguyen-Ngo
The Wambulies were a tribe in central Africa.
For Aeons and Aeons, the rival Zulu tribe waged war against the Wambulies, and the Wambulies were on the verge of extinction.
But one day, after a great bloody battle, one of the Wambuli warlords gave birth to his son, Zukufani.
Zukufani became a fearsome warleader, and won the first Wambuli victory against the Zulus. But the Zulus were still there, and would strike as soon as possible.
So, Zukufani devised a cunning plan, to overthrow the Zulu kings.
Zukufani assembled a mighty army, and positioned warriors around the royal Zulu camp. At midnight, a small band of Wambuli warriors infiltrated the camp, led by Zukufani. They slithered forwards, becoming the rocks and grasses around them. Foki, a great warrior, retrieved his rock-sling. He raised it above his head, and spun it as the wind spins the water. The stone flew across the grassland, and struck a Zulu guard dead. The Wambuli warriors slipped inside the main hut, where nobody slept. Inside, the orange tongues stabbed the warriors with heat. The warriors took the branches that fed the heat, and took them out. Zukufani set the baby tongues to the living-huts, and soon one of them turned into another orange heat-tongue. Foki shot a flaming grass-stone into the air, and the other Wambulies charged...
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