The Opening Ceremony Part 1

His alarm clock began to blare some bizarre rap song, the words of which Mark could only guess. He could make out a few of them, through the censorship bleeps, but none of them could be readily said in polite company. He attempted to move his arm in his still half asleep state, and realized he had effectively cocooned himself inside of his blanket. That had probably contributed to the strange dreams from the night before, Zeus… ha. Mark rolled over and began to inch his away across the mattress towards his bedside table. Where lay the letter given to him the previous night.

 

Sudden realization hit him like an overly loud alarm clock, which just happened to have happened simultaneously with the actual event. Unfortunately when the idea had struck him he thrust out with one hand, finally freeing it from the bedding, but accomplished nothing but hitting the table and knocking it over. He rolled back over, the sheets unraveling around him, and pressed the snooze button on the annoying digital machine.

 

Marked picked up the letter and pushed by table back into a standing position. He should have really bought a bed frame by now, and some more furniture. His bedroom was the most sparsely furnished room of the house. He hadn’t been able to make it out of his girlfriend’s house with much as it was. The only reason he had this stuff because it was the closest at hand when she decided to begin throwing things at him, and that was also the point where he added onto his mental list to never date a body builder.

 

Mark rolled off the mattress and padded into his bathroom. He picked up the toothbrush and squeezed out an oversized dab of toothpaste. Inandoutandinandout… As he scrubbed his teeth began to lose himself in thought. Inandoutandinandout… He should probably go; he had given Zeus his word, and going back on a god probably wasn’t a good idea. Inandoutandinandout… He should have a sword for this, real heroes always had swords, or axes, or a hammer. Inandoutandinandout… He used to have a baseball bat, it was metal at least, but he had left that at her house. Inandoutandinandout… There was a tree out front; maybe he could get a big stick off of that. Inandoutandinandout… He finished brushing and spat the foam into the sink, and rinsed his mouth out using the horribly burning cinnamon mouthwash that apparently killed 99.99% of germs.

 

What was he thinking? He couldn’t just go with a big stick, and besides they would probably give him something before he left, but then again he shouldn’t show up looking like he had no idea what he was doing. Mark left the bathroom and returned to his bedroom, and selected just what he needed from the pile of clothing in the corner of the space.

 

An hour and one scalding shower later he was standing outside of the pub. It was indeed an ugly little pub, every angle seemed to slope downwards no matter what angel he looked at it from.  The chipped black paint was peeling off the large sign over the door, but despite that he could still read the deeply grooved green lettering. Cross Roads seemed like an appropriate name, maybe the owner had a sense for drama. Mark hefted the large stick onto his shoulder and smoothed his over shirt. He had chosen the black jacket over a white t-shirt. It seemed appropriately dramatic, or at least as dramatic as his wardrobe could get without sequins.

 

The door creaked ominously, the kind of ominous only achievable with long hours of careful rusting in just the right places. Mark walked in and attempted to stand confidently, but his eyes watered and throat burned from the rancid cigar smoke choking the space.  He coughed a few times, and every head in the room turned to him. Only a few of them appeared to be normal. In the corner were several with milky white eyes and bleached bone faces. In a table next to him was a man who seemed to simultaneously take up all four chairs, yet at the same time none at all. At the bar sat a man, who apparently had no need for a barstool.

 

Mark made his way over to the bar, waving his hand in front of his mouth to dissipate some of the acid gasses. He sat in a stool, and the moment he did every face turned back towards their respective drinks. One instead turning back to the eight or so cigars he was smoking, each held by a different hand.

 

Needless to say Mark was in a state of shock at this point, and had probably been say since the day previous. After seeing a god your mind generally opens up to the possibility of strange creatures, but after a lifetime of either your parents or teachers drilling into you that fairly tales are not real, and then an event like this. A part of you wants to believe in Santa Claus, but the rational part of you begins to question all the logic gaps. At a point like this when concentrating on sleigh speed and air velocity of reindeer instead of the matter at hand could prove deadly, the human mind will push it all aside and just accept everything put forth to it.

 

Before Mark’s mind snapped from this state of acceptance he had already ordered a drink, gin n’ tonic, and the barman was sliding his drink over to him. Mark caught his eye, a gesture quite unusual for the usual bar goer when their drink is full. The bar man came over, but not before rustling his large white wing, two of which sprouted from his shoulder blades. Though they looked unlikely to support his weight, one was full sized and rather impressive, but the other, the one he had scratched, was barely a nub with a soft coating of down.

 

“Mr. Grennich?” asked Mark with a slight pleading tone entering his voice.

 

“Yes, my name is Armaros Grennish. I suppose you’re Zeus’s contestant. I suggest you don’t finish that drink then. Dimensional travel is difficult at the best of times, and making sure what’s in your stomach stays in can be quite a bother.” Armaros pulled the glass off the counter and dumped the contents into a sink. Mark watched them sadly as they drained; he could have done with something to calm him down.

 

“Well, come on. The opening ceremony starts in less than an hour. You need to have something better than that stick.” Mark knew it… he was getting a costume.

Author's Note

The first chapter of this has been published. So now I have high hopes for this story. I will be appearing in the third print addition of Indigo Rising Magazine. You can read my article at:

Indigorisingmagazine.blogspot.com

Just scroll down and I'll be there. Anyway, I was wondering if anyone could catch the mythological references in this chapter. Just say what they are and what mythology they are from. There is one obvious one, and two subtler ones.

Reviews

[Aggie Skeleton]

One instead turning back to the eight or so cigars he was smoking, each held by a different hand.- The hundred handed ones I think? Can't remember my Percy Jackson crash course. Zeus of course, and there goes my brain. It was a nice chapter, caught my attention, like evreything you write does.

[DeathByChoice]

Not entirely sure what the references are, but a good chapter over all. Nice job!

[Quinn B.]

Good job on both another chapter and getting published! Once again, I loved the pacing and writing style for Mark.

[Senseless whatever]

Interesting way to go. Good scenes and an even easy read overall.

[Huggy Bear]

Interesting opening chapter. I like it a lot:)

[Ice QueenJen]

I know of Zeus, which is the most obvious one. But I was not looking for any others; rather found some misspelled words. Which detracted slightly from some parts of the story, like right before you talk of Santa Claus- you say 'fairly tales' when I think you meant fairy tales.
A good read over will point out where the others are. But thats great you are getting published, I am happy for you!