As Close To The Beginning As Possible (1184 hits)
Category: NoneLabels: monster
Rating: 1.84 on 42 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Stagger Lee (View user info) at 2006-03-07 07:21:56 EST
Part the First: http://www.ubersite.com/m/84896
Part the Second
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I do not remember my birth, (the monster said). I do not know if I ever was truly born, nor what age of the world would have given birth to such as I. I am rootless, for I never knew my parents, if indeed I had parents. From what I understand, however, your kind often does not remember the earliest times of their childhood. Perhaps it is merely that time has dulled my recall.
My earliest memory is of sunlight. Sunlight burning into my eyes as a lay upon a hillside; looking up at the sky. At this time, I had no concept of self, for I had no memories on which to mould an image of self. I clearly remember the texture and smell of the grass on which I lay, and the scent of wildflowers in the air. I realised that I was familiar with all these things, yet I had no recollection of them as such.
I turned my head, and the sun reflecting off the ocean dazzled me. The hill on which I lay overlooked a great bay. The hill on which I lay was but one amongst a vast, rolling landscape that fell down to a small town, nestled in the foothills and on the bay. I could make out docks, and tiny figures working upon them. I observed tall ships sailing peacefully on the calm blue sea. Again, I knew what all these things were; yet I had no memory of encountering them previously.
As I lay there, I experienced my first human contact, and it frightened me badly. A sweet voice, a small girl's voice, carried to me on the breeze. It startled me because up until then, the countryside had been still and quiet.
Once I recovered from my initial fright, I listened. I tell you now; I never experienced anything more beautiful or more innocent than lying upon that hillside and listening to a young girl sing a song of such clear simplicity. I carried this moment with me down the years to you now.
She sang:
Springtime morning in Avalle
And I don't care what the priests say
I'm going down to the river today
On a springtime morning in Avalle
When I'm all grown up, come what may,
I'll build a boat to carry me away
And the river will take it out into the bay
And the sea even further from Avalle
But wherever I wander, by night or by day,
Where water runs swiftly or high trees sway,
My heart will carry me back and away
To a dream of the towers of Avalle
A dream of my home in Avalle
She came into sight on the crest of the hill on which I lay. I was struck by the sight of her. I knew instantly and instinctively that she was a child, and had known that from the sound of her voice, but I drank up the details of her. She was perhaps nine or ten years of age. She was by no means pretty, nor displeasing to look at. I would describe her as pleasant in appearance. Her hair was roughly cut to shoulder length, brown in colour and coarse in texture. She wore a simply woven summer dress. Having finished her song, she was now skipping across the grass with a simple grace that I have never seen matched. She had a stunningly bright yellow flower tucked behind one ear.
She drew closer, and her skipping ceased. She moved more cautiously now, and she regarded me with a pair of blue eyes that were amazing in their clarity. There was a yellowing bruise around one eye that I regarded with something akin to wonder. Who in their right minds would dare bring harm to such a creature as this?
"What manner of person are you?" she asked. Her spoken words were just as pleasing to the ear as her song. She was not afraid. I could feel that. She was curious, and perhaps cautious, but caution does not necessarily denote fear.
I opened my mouth, and for a wonder, I found words. I could speak. "I...I do not know," I said. For the first sentence of a lifetime, it was poor.
She laughed. "How can this be? I know what manner of person I am. Father says that everyone should know their place."
I laughed with her. I was helpless not to. It was an infectious sound, in the greatest possible way. It was impossible not to feel great joy when she laughed.
"I suppose it carries a touch of the ridiculous," I conceded. "I have no memory of who I am."
She laughed again, and I followed suit once more. "You are a funny person," she said, and gave me a smile that made my heart expand until it filled my chest. "Where do you live, funny person?"
"I do not think I have a home," I said, and something about saying those words filled me with sorrow. "I have nowhere."
"Silly person!" she exclaimed, and giggled. "Why, you shall come and live with me!"
I realised that I wanted nothing more from life. It did not strike me as strange at the time that a complete stranger should invite one to live with them. Since then I was made aware of the reality of the limits of kindness, and that her innocence and naivety were almost unique.
She came within touching distance for the first time, and held out her hand. I took it and rose from the ground, careful not to actually pull down on her arm. She led me down the hill towards the town, and she chattered excitedly the entire time; her father was an important man in town, a tanner. He was responsible for all the town's leather goods. Her mother kept a very tidy home, because her father demanded it that way, and he was an important man so everybody wished to please him. She had been born here. She told me at great length why she was not currently on speaking terms with her favourite doll, and so on.
As mundane as it was, I hung on her every word, all the way down that hill.
We reached the town gates, and my companion fell silent. There was something in the air above the town, something I could sense. Perhaps she sensed it as well. Something like a cloud, hanging the sky. I looked up, but could see only blue.
The two of us passed into the town and along the main street. It was then that I began to sense a change in the very feel of the air. People walked past me and they stared. People stood in their doorways and they stared at me. And I realised a somewhat interesting thing; I could feel them doing so, and their stares were clouded with suspicion and mistrust. My companion's constant holding of my hand and constant trust were like a beacon in a dark and sooty room.
We approached the centre of town, and the pressure of the stares was weighing upon my mind and my heart. My skull seemed to shrink and my head began to throb. She was blissfully oblivious to this state of affairs.
This was my first lesson in the reactions of men to my presence.
Shortly beyond the centre of town lay the house of my companion. She led me from the cobbled streets and up a short flight of stairs to her front door. She did not knock, but simply opened the door and led me inside.
This was proven later to be a mistake.
Upon entering her house, I could not see at first. It was gloomy, and the light outside had ruined my eyes for such dark surroundings. So at first, I did not see her mother's disapproving stare. I felt it, however. It was as bad or worse than the stares on the street. Perhaps it was worse because I was in her house, accompanying her daughter. To the people on the street, I was a passing atrocity, something to gawk at in fear. To her, I was an immediate threat.
Her mother confronted us in the hall. "What is going on here?" she demanded. As my eyes adjusted to the gloom I beheld her: a decidedly sour looking woman, in her early middle age. A nest of unseemly wrinkles surrounded her face and eyes. Wrinkles that should not have appeared yet. A face given to much worrying. Thin lips that pursed at the sight of me.
"This is my new friend," my companion announced happily, immune to her mother's ill mood. "He does not have a home. I told him he could stay with us, please, can he?"
Her mother eyed me mistrustfully. I smiled. Perhaps some of her daughter's goodwill rubbed off on her, who can say? For whatever reason, I felt the essence of her regard of me change. Reluctantly, but not too reluctantly, she nodded. "He can at least have a hot meal," she said. "Would you care to join us for dinner, Mr...?"
"Indeed, I would enjoy that," I replied.
Her mother went on staring at me. I became uncomfortable with her stare again.
"What is your name?" she enquired, when it became apparent that I was not going to speak.
"Oh." I thought frantically. "I...do not know my name. I have no memory."
As simply as that, her mistrust of me reared its head again. She regarded me for a long moment, and then turned and moved away down the hall. "Come then," she called over her shoulder. "Follow me. Supper is nearly ready and my husband shall soon be home."
I followed. My companion skipped ahead of me, and tugged on her mother's dress. "It's not his fault, mother," she said, "He was just lying on the hill. He just does not know where he came from."
Again, it appeared as if my companion's infectious optimism went some way towards alleviating her mother's suspicions. Her mother looked down the hallway, and smiled at me, a smile with real warmth. They entered the kitchen and I followed.
We spent several uncomfortable minutes, in which I stood around awkwardly, my companion chattered aimlessly and amiably, and her mother busied herself around the stoves, preparing something that smelled delicious.
After those uncomfortable minutes passed, I heard the front door to the house open. Instantly, I felt the change in the air. It was not so dissimilar to feeling the change before the storm. My companion's father had returned from work, and he felt none of the goodwill of his offspring. This was apparent before I even saw him.
He entered the kitchen, and I felt an even more drastic change in the atmosphere when he saw me. Even my companion's mood altered upon sighting him.
"What is this thing?" he asked, his voice brimming with authority and assurance. He was a stocky man, with a perfectly rounded potbelly and arms that were overly muscled. He was a man who I immediately sensed danger from. A man of action. A man not given to abstraction.
His daughter piped up, nervously. "He's my friend, daddy," she said, her voice a pale imitation of her normally sweet, chirping tone. "I found him on the hill."
Her mother said nothing.
He took two steps forward and leaned on the table. I found myself poised instinctively. "I heard," he said, eyeing me, "that there was a monster walking with my daughter down the main street, as bold as you please."
In his stare I felt all the concentrated hatred, spite and fear of the entire town.
My companion tugged at his stained sleeve. "No, daddy, he's not a monster, he's my friend, he was just on the hill," she said, her voice strained with urgency.
He half turned toward her and cuffed her across the head, hard. She fell backwards, her legs tangling in her skirt. I remembered the bruise on her eye, her perfectly clear blue eye that viewed the world with such trust, and I felt his ruthless, groundless hate and I filled with a rage so pure it was almost joy.
I leapt across the table and dealt him a savage blow to his temple. He staggered back and slammed into the wall.
I found myself remembering the way she moved across the hillside, her unearthly grace. It appeared I had a grace of my own in the way I moved when roused, the way I leapt across the table. However, my grace could never match hers.
Her mother screamed as her father came at me. My companion cowered and did not utter a single cry or word. He struck me in the throat and I recoiled momentarily, but that grace I was just discovering took me over, and I instinctively bobbed on my feet and came at him again. I struck him in the stomach and he doubled over.
From his doubled-over stance, he charged me, and he pushed me into the table. Her mother shrieked once more. I seized his shoulders. He was indeed an extremely strong man, but I found I was stronger. I pried him off me and rushed him back into the wall.
What happened next was not intentional, in the sense that I would normally think of the term. Indeed, I did it deliberately, but not consciously. Instinct, as pure as the driven snow, consumed me.
I brought one hand off his shoulder and buried my thumb in his eye. He screamed in pain and thrashed against my hand that still pinned him to the wall. All to no avail, as my mouth opened and I tilted my head and I bit deep into his throat and tore part of his throat out. An amazing amount of blood sprayed across my face in a hot jet, and he went limp, his cries became muffled and I could hear the blood bubbling in his neck. I brought my hand down from his eye, dug my fingers into his throat and tore the rest of it out.
I let him go and he collapsed to the floor.
I turned to his shaking, horrified family. No remorse clouded my mind. In my mind, I felt righteous. I felt as if I were my companion's champion, riding with her to protect her from all harm and evil. I had several grave misconceptions, it would seem.
I looked at her and smiled. She was staring, wide-eyed, uncomprehending. I took one step toward her. She cried out and recoiled. The smile vanished from my face as though struck from me.
In her eyes, I was a murderer. And I now know that of course I was. I was a stinking, filthy creature that had torn her father's throat out in an act of unspeakable bestiality. I turned, and I fled the house by the back door.
Two days later, she was dead and I was an outcast forever.
The monster fell silent.
"Is there more?" I asked, in hushed, awed tones.
He managed a ghastly smile. "Trust me when I say that if someone is willing to listen, there is always more. Shall I go on?"
"Please," I said. I was nearly imploring him. "I must hear the end."
"Very well," he said.
He continued.
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Note: credit where credit is due on the poem/song: it's not mine. It's from Tigana, by Guy Gavriel Kay, a great book by a great author. Avalle is pronounced A-vah-lay.
User Reviews
Submitted by Amontillado (user info) at 2007-05-16 15:13:17 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Wonderful.
The beginning reminded me of Frankenstein when the monster first becomes conscious.
Submitted by darko (user info) at 2006-06-21 02:15:40 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I don't like you, but Orgasmatron does.
Submitted by ConorJS (user info) at 2006-05-09 16:54:13 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Okay, +2, but I thought bestiality was when you had sex with animals...
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2006-05-09 16:36:26 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Reviewed in last chapter...
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-03-19 22:31:29 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by inion_de_trua (user info) at 2006-03-15 16:31:19 (#)
Ranking: 2
keep it up. why'd the girl die?
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Ah, you know it already has continued, don't you?
Submitted by inion_de_trua (user info) at 2006-03-15 16:31:19 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
keep it up. why'd the girl die?
Submitted by Crystle (user info) at 2006-03-15 15:55:52 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Davros (user info) at 2006-03-11 12:01:29 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
This is Good.
That is all.
-Dave
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-03-08 09:39:16 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2006-03-07 21:13:33 (#)
Ranking: 2
I read the post, and it is excellent.
Fuck all retal assholes.
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Thanks Bubba.
Submitted by Doodles (user info) at 2006-03-07 22:44:59 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Upon further examination I also hate you for being a better new poster then I am.
Enojoy your -2
x-1
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2006-03-07 21:13:33 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I read the post, and it is excellent.
Fuck all retal assholes.
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-03-07 21:06:20 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by ghola (user info) at 2006-03-07 21:02:38 (#)
Ranking: 2
+2, not because o teh retal 2, but because you deserve it.
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Thanks. The attempt at retal balancing is cool, but I'd rather they'd read it.
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-03-07 21:02:59 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
This was a perfect 2 as well
Easy come, easy go
Fear the emo
At least everyone who can read above a sixth grade level enjoyed it.
Submitted by ghola (user info) at 2006-03-07 21:02:38 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
+2, not because o teh retal 2, but because you deserve it.
Submitted by The_taste_of_Monkeys (user info) at 2006-03-07 20:59:15 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
+2 to balance the faggot
Submitted by HighVoltage900 (user info) at 2006-03-07 20:57:04 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
OMFG U R TEH GHEY! LOLLERZSKATES!
I CUT MYSELF TO MAKE PAINT!!!111!!!Eleven!!!
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-03-07 20:44:17 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by trent_nz (user info) at 2006-03-07 20:37:18 (#)
Ranking: -2
gay fag
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This coming from someone who went through all my posts and retaliatory -2'd them because I didn't like his crying 'poetry'. I'll let you all enjoy the irony of that one.
Submitted by trent_nz (user info) at 2006-03-07 20:37:18 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
gay fag
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-03-07 20:08:02 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No worries there, I read pretty much everything on here. Yours is good, so I rate as such.
Submitted by secret_of_nimh (user info) at 2006-03-07 19:55:10 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Very good. Thanks for reading all my stuff as well, by the way.
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-03-07 19:29:40 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Cheers, everyone.
Submitted by AshK (user info) at 2006-03-07 17:55:10 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I can't wait to read the next one.
Submitted by MyTeeOne (user info) at 2006-03-07 13:00:32 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Damn good. Reminds me a bit of interview with a vampire (the style of writing). The monster reminds me a bit of the Frankenstien monster. I'd like to see it really start to develop it's own thing going forward since the possibility is there.
Submitted by simple_catalyst (user info) at 2006-03-07 12:34:40 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
solid.
Submitted by Coyote (user info) at 2006-03-07 10:57:44 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Like I said, a monster with a story is always good.
Kind of the anti-zombie, if you will.
Submitted by SilvrWolf (user info) at 2006-03-07 09:48:48 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Good shit. You're most promising, Mr. Lee.
Alter or not, I hope you stick around.
Submitted by Susie_Derkins (user info) at 2006-03-07 09:27:50 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
excellent
Submitted by MyNameIsTim (user info) at 2006-03-07 09:02:35 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
this didn't suck.
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-03-07 08:47:58 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Nellypaal (user info) at 2006-03-07 08:46:03 (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by redskieslookfake (user info) at 2006-03-07 08:37:27 (#)
Ranking: 2
What I found particularly interesting (or confusing) was that before the monster had the notion of sentience, it started using 'I.' Surely the use of the pronoun is a recognition of the world inside your head and the world outside your head? Does a new born child have that, or is it more the case that with language comes identity? Sapir Whorf hypothesis I believe.
Your monster was born with an innate sense of identity - but also language - which makes it difficult to see which came first.
If you have never been taught what 'blue' is as a colour, can you see it? Perhaps, but could you call it 'blue'? When does orange become yellow?
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My interpretation is that the monster has probably existed for a long time previous to 'waking up' in the meadow.
It is my belief that he has probably learned his language and sense of self previously but has, for some reason as yet unexplained, suffered a total memory loss, without reverting back to a clueless mute.
As this happens fairly often in humans it doesn't strike me as too far-fetched or confusing.
Perhaps the author could let us know if we're barking up any of the right trees?
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Yes, the idea was that he existed before his earliest memory.
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-03-07 08:47:07 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by redskieslookfake (user info) at 2006-03-07 08:37:27 (#)
Ranking: 2
What I found particularly interesting (or confusing) was that before the monster had the notion of sentience, it started using 'I.' Surely the use of the pronoun is a recognition of the world inside your head and the world outside your head? Does a new born child have that, or is it more the case that with language comes identity? Sapir Whorf hypothesis I believe.
Your monster was born with an innate sense of identity - but also language - which makes it difficult to see which came first.
If you have never been taught what 'blue' is as a colour, can you see it? Perhaps, but could you call it 'blue'? When does orange become yellow?
-------------------------------------------
Don't think about it too hard, red.
I didn't want to have to mess with this part too much. I wanted him to have no recollection of any past events, but I wanted him to be able to converse and know the names of things. I knew this was pushing it over some murky waters, but it was merely a device to not have to explain how he came into existence.
Submitted by Nellypaal (user info) at 2006-03-07 08:46:03 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by redskieslookfake (user info) at 2006-03-07 08:37:27 (#)
Ranking: 2
What I found particularly interesting (or confusing) was that before the monster had the notion of sentience, it started using 'I.' Surely the use of the pronoun is a recognition of the world inside your head and the world outside your head? Does a new born child have that, or is it more the case that with language comes identity? Sapir Whorf hypothesis I believe.
Your monster was born with an innate sense of identity - but also language - which makes it difficult to see which came first.
If you have never been taught what 'blue' is as a colour, can you see it? Perhaps, but could you call it 'blue'? When does orange become yellow?
------------------
My interpretation is that the monster has probably existed for a long time previous to 'waking up' in the meadow.
It is my belief that he has probably learned his language and sense of self previously but has, for some reason as yet unexplained, suffered a total memory loss, without reverting back to a clueless mute.
As this happens fairly often in humans it doesn't strike me as too far-fetched or confusing.
Perhaps the author could let us know if we're barking up any of the right trees?
Submitted by redskieslookfake (user info) at 2006-03-07 08:40:43 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Circe (user info) at 2006-03-07 08:36:15 (#)
Ranking: 2
Godammit.
The thing is - awesome story, by the way - rating alters' posts is a bit.. I don't know. Futile. Because eventually they turn out to be squattail, who reverts to his shitty behavior, or Method, who says "haha you morons gave me good ratings."
Oh well. Nice story.
---
If this an alter, does it matter if their stuff is good?
Incidentally, I certainly am not suggesting that this is Apollo88's alter. Certainly not.
Submitted by CaptainThorns (user info) at 2006-03-07 08:40:07 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Holy sh....
...I'm gonna go back and read all of your stuff. Pure awesome.
Submitted by redskieslookfake (user info) at 2006-03-07 08:37:27 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
What I found particularly interesting (or confusing) was that before the monster had the notion of sentience, it started using 'I.' Surely the use of the pronoun is a recognition of the world inside your head and the world outside your head? Does a new born child have that, or is it more the case that with language comes identity? Sapir Whorf hypothesis I believe.
Your monster was born with an innate sense of identity - but also language - which makes it difficult to see which came first.
If you have never been taught what 'blue' is as a colour, can you see it? Perhaps, but could you call it 'blue'? When does orange become yellow?
Submitted by Circe (user info) at 2006-03-07 08:36:15 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Godammit.
The thing is - awesome story, by the way - rating alters' posts is a bit.. I don't know. Futile. Because eventually they turn out to be squattail, who reverts to his shitty behavior, or Method, who says "haha you morons gave me good ratings."
Oh well. Nice story.
Submitted by retrospect (user info) at 2006-03-07 08:28:46 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
siskel and fatboy will be around shortly to chastise you for responding to reviewers. keep it up1
Submitted by redskieslookfake (user info) at 2006-03-07 08:27:25 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Aww man. Don't make me do another post. I don't have the time today.
Submitted by DarthAwesome (user info) at 2006-03-07 08:21:52 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
feels like anne rice minus the erotica. good job.
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-03-07 08:15:18 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Nellypaal (user info) at 2006-03-07 08:00:34 (#)
Ranking: 2
Don't ask me why, but for some reason I picture your monster as one of the Elite from Halo with the accent of Kelsey Grammer.
There's some great writing here and I believe I may even have spotted the correct use of a semi-colon. Well done.
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Cheers. He did turn out speaking rather like that, didn't he?
Submitted by Nellypaal (user info) at 2006-03-07 08:00:34 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Don't ask me why, but for some reason I picture your monster as one of the Elite from Halo with the accent of Kelsey Grammer.
There's some great writing here and I believe I may even have spotted the correct use of a semi-colon. Well done.
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-03-07 07:44:06 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Berty (user info) at 2006-03-07 07:24:47 (#)
Ranking: 2
Who in the hell is Bagger Vance?
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Of all the things I thought the first review might say, this was not one of them.
Submitted by Berty (user info) at 2006-03-07 07:24:47 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Who in the hell is Bagger Vance?