Conflict, A Gold Watch, A Witch and A Catfish

The heroic tales of our hero.

Conflict

I was born in the year 1818 contrary to your belief of my supposed age of 20 years. How this is possible you ask? The answer is it’s not… for an ordinary human being, but I am in fact, extraordinary. So much in fact, that I remember every significant detail of my journey so far so grab a comfortable seat, grab some popcorn and a drink, and lay back and have your mind completely blown!

I remember it vividly; the year was 1818 and I was not more than a day old when the conflict began. I was laying in my crib, made of the bones of the defeated enemies of my guardians, when I heard the bang, and then not-long-after, the screams. As a child of not even two days, I was startled, I wasn’t ready for anything intense at this tender age; all I wanted to do was drool and fall a bunch of times. There was no time for that, however. The screams that started from miles away grew nearer and nearer, and it was at this time I realized that I had to stand up and fight despite my baby like frame and inability to stand, if I was to survive this attack, I would have to advance in my years by a considerable margin. Luckily, I had god-like powers and this was as easy as making up a story that you were born in the year 1818…

Anyway, back to my undoubtedly true story. I went from a mere 51cm to 10 ft tall for this battle sequence that had already taken all of my siblings and both of my parents. But the legacy of my family would live on with me. Now you can imagine that this being the year 1818 and me living in the U.S. (did I mention that?), this takes place in the Wild western times, and so the weaponry at use was far inferior to the stuff we have nowadays in the year 2017. But, did I mention that this attack was orchestrated my the undead?! That’s right! I, a newborn 2 day old baby (who may or not be a demi-god), took on a whole army of the undead by myself with nothing more than a crossbow and stagecoach. The conflict lasted what seemed like a decade, but in reality, it was over in 1818 days; how fitting. I’ll sum it up in as few sequences as I can as I’m sure you won’t want to hear every detail, but if you do, then I can supply an added installment of this great tale of my life and the demi-god condition.

Anyways, so there I am; a 10ft tall meta-human warrior inadvertently crushing the crib as I grew into this ultimate being. The undead come crashing through the door, moaning and groaning, with their mouths open and eyes closed, arms hanging off their body. This was my first battle, but something inside me knew that this is what I was born to do, I wasn’t meant to be an ordinary being, I was born to save the world from everything and everyone who posed a direct threat, and this was my first test. They outnumbered me 1818 to one, but I had something they didn’t have, well two things. The first thing I had was that I had heart, and they were just mindless animals feasting on the living any way they could. The second thing, I would argue, that’s even better is that I had a kick-a*s theme song for when I was beating them senseless and sending arrows through their heads and through their knee caps. I also had a squirrelly companion, but we will get on to that later, as he plays a huge part in this the ultimate tale.

The first one came at me in break-neck speed. “I’m not kidding!” He literally broke his neck as he threw himself towards, so he was by far the easiest of the 1818, now 1817. Now obviously, him being an undead, I knew he wasn’t actually dead, but his spine was gone, so what damage could he do to a 10 ft being such as me, the ultimate warrior? The answer is not a lot, so I just ignored his existence and focused my warrior efforts on the remaining 1817. The next phase of their attack (yeah, sure Nate, like the brainless zombies had a strategy…) consisted of several of them coming at me in sync; this was going to be a tougher ask than the first who dispatched himself for me. I reached for my bow and begun to impale them all into the walls with my hell-fire made arrows, and even managed to get one attached to  the spot in which my crib used to lay, great irony. There were a few that nearly caught me with their gaping jaws, but because half of my body was made of adamantium; their attempts to eat me were fruitless, and so I made it out of the second attack unscathed. The third and final phase of what I like to call “The first 1818 battle of the 1818 undead in the year 1818” was definitely the hardest I was to face, because it was time to face the undead boss while the remaining townsfolk zombies came at me from everywhere trying to drag my focus away from the main guy (I swear this all really happened). They were so annoying, the two day old me had thought, as they ducked and dodged each one of my hell-fire made arrows. The big boss was winning the battle, but who would win the war?....

                 ***

And so we continue the tale of our hero, and all of the struggles he has faced in his epic journey through the barren years of humanity and all its evils. So where we? Ah, yes…who would win the war?... Well, there is something I have to address before we resume; you’ll notice that I referred to myself as our hero in this second instalment. That is because, the world is not yet ready to understand the truth about the past that has been, but will continue to imagine the past that has been written, to protect you from the horrors that our hero has faced so that you can all be as you are. Still following? Great, so here we go. Hang onto your butts folks, this one’s a doozy!

                  ***

That is the question we ask and battle to find answers for. However, the real battle was between our hero and the big boss. Now, I never did tell you what the boss looked like in part one (that’s what we’re calling it), this is mainly due to the fact, that I don’t believe there could have been any association between the “boss”, and the undead our hero had defeated, and also because I wanted to give you something to look forward to (because, like our hero; I’m awesome (but we are definitely NOT the same entity). Are you ready for what comes next? Our hero had just finished dealing with one of the undead townsman/woman (I don’t remember which, it’s hard to really distinguish between them when they are dead y’know) when out of nowhere, the rest of the pack where set by a purple blaze. It was beautiful, and it seemed like our hero had finally caught a break, but that break was as short as something very, very short. He turned his head to look upwards into the black, red sky. Wait, black, red sky? Since when is the sky black, red. Oh, it was no sky that he was looking up at; it was only a F*****G DRAGON!

A dragon ten times the size of him, one who breathed purple fire, and was so big, that it could have been mistaken for the sky. What would our beloved hero do, in the face of absolute evil? High tail it the heck out of there, I mean sure, he was a meta-human, demi-god, basically indestructible force. But, he’s only three days old, and he’s faced with a dragon that literally is the size of the sky! He made it to the door of his home and even got through it unscathed, but just as he thought he was safe, the creature swooped down, and with its right wing, levelled half of the structure that our hero had secreted himself in, causing debris to rain down upon him and the dead corpses. To escape the falling debris, our hero makes a dashing effort to roll out of the way of every single piece of it. (What can I say, the guy had some serious skills). Upon his last acrobatic dive and roll he managed to aim one of his fire arrows to penetrate through the dragon’s wing, giving him more time to escape from the debris falling all around him and plan his next attack.

Our hero scrambled free from his dwelling to inflict one more damaging blow on the terrifying creature, but he was beaten to the punch (or fire in this case). The dragon gaped open its mouth to unleash the most fearsome fireball-attack the world will never get to see, and engulfed our hero in flames! The fire wouldn’t stop either and it was becoming more and more powerful, and our hero was becoming less and less powerful. It seemed as though, the dragon was to be triumphant in the conflict, but let’s be real, this is a story of our hero; a story of conflict, a gold watch, a witch and a catfish. Have you heard anything more than conflict so far? No? Exactly. Just as it seemed that all hope was lost, our hero managed to strike a devastating blow onto the flying monster. With a quick pull of his bow, he fired two hell-fire arrows (one in the head, and one in the heart of the dragon) simultaneously, ceasing the dragon’s effort to turn him into ash. After the beast was struck, it let out a painful, high pitched, enormous squeal and crashed to the ground with dust particles flying everywhere, temporarily blinding our hero. The dragon had been slayed, and once again, our hero had been triumphant.

As our hero laid on the ground next to the winged menace he had just defeated, blinded from the dust, there was more danger that would follow.

(Remember Zombie #1818? The one who broke his neck because he was travelling at break-neck speed. He’s paralysed, but he’s not dead...well technically he is, but you know what I mean…)

Well, anyway, zombie #1818 (Yes, that’s what we’re calling him/her/it) was the only undead who survived the initial dragon attack and collapsing debris that followed it. So, just as our hero thought he was safe for a little while; he wasn’t. (At this point, you feel sorry for the poor guy, he’s only a few days old, and he’s already had to fight off against zombies and a dragon, still better he than you, right?) As our hero bum shuffles away from the dead dragon, he feels a cold, cold sensation grab him from behind.

Before our hero can even react, zombie #1818 has already begun to claw away at his armor, and the Kung-Fu like grip of the undead… person (much simpler) is almost unbearable for our hero as he struggles to wriggle free from its clutches, with the zombie only inches away from his flesh. He had no weapon. His bow was lost in his final battle with the dragon moments earlier. It seemed as though our hero would not live beyond his 48 or so hours…

So where did we leave off? Oh, yes, that’s right, our beloved hero is once again in tremendous peril. This time, he has no weapon, he hasn’t even the strength or the awareness to do anything to change his fate " which at this stage seems like certain death. Zombie #1818 has now been clawing and pawing away for quite some time now at our hero, and it is very likely that his next few scratches will spell D O O M for our hero. Only 3 days old, and this poor young chap has fought against the undead, a giant dragon, and now the undead again, and you thought you had it hard when you were a child.

Our hero could began to search around, blindly for his trusty crossbow, but to no avail. Zombie #1818 had reached the soft flesh of our brave warrior, and as soon as the skin was cut through, our hero would be no more…

Did I mention, that our hero could not speak? Because he can’t, I mean, despite all of his powers and demi-god likeness, he is still only a few days old after all. He could make but some mere human sounds or too, like the ooooos and aaaaaahs of a gospel choir perhaps. Anyway, I’m getting sidetracked, back to the story we go, because wouldn’t you just know it, there’s a curveball, a plot twist just around the corner and it’s a twist like nothing you’ve ever come to expect. I hope you are ready to have your mind blown…

The zombie’s hands (if you can call them that) were cold and rigid, and now they rest on our hero’s unprotected right arm. What is our hero to do, but accept his untimely death at the hands (if you can call them that) of an undead paralysed townsperson. Then suddenly, it appeared. The saving grace. The ace in the whole. The wild card. The prayer to which our hero never prayed for, but was going to get because the story must go on.

Just when it seemed like all hope was lost, our hero lifted his head up, eyes closed so as to avoiding the burning rays of the sun, a silhouetted figure appeared overhead. The shadow was a small winged creature, and it was drawing nearer and nearer to our hero’s face. He opened his eyes, only to be confronted with a flying squirrel.

The squirrel swooped down and with its small, but sharp, claws, it took a the zombie’s arm clean off and gave our hero a fighting chance at survival despite the overwhelming odds against him. Zombie #1818 let out a haunting moan, and tried to grab our hero with his only remaining arm, but once again, the squirrel was to come to our hero’s aid. This time swishing down and catching the zombie’s neck, resulting in the decapitation of the undead being. Our hero leapt of the ground immediately, and tried to catch the attention of the winged beast, but before he could find his place, the squirrel was gone, leaving behind it, a single gold watch…

A Gold Watch

And so that brings us on to our second part of our hero’s tale (as I’m sure you already realised). The gold watch was the most specifically decorated piece our hero had ever seen, but then again, it was probably one of the first sights of his, that along with the undead and that pesky dragon. Nonetheless even to a mature eye like ours, eyes that have seen much of the beauty of the world to date; this watch was special. The intricacies of the design around the clock face and the glistening of the dial. It really did seem magical. It seemed like something not from this world. And who was this winged creature who had saved our hero? Where had it gone? So many unanswered questions, and by now you’ve probably realized that I am the type of writer who builds on the suspense; I’m not going to leave you with all the answers right away, that would be boring, right? I hate boring.

Anyway, back to the story, our hero’s story…

Our hero scrambled himself to his feet with a tired effort, and he proceeded to dig around in the dirt for the gold watch that the squirrel had dropped. After a few moments scraping and digging his bloody and bruised hands through the golden flakes of sand, his eyes battling the dust, he came across the timepiece once again. Incredibly, there was no dirt, no sand, no dust, nothing, on the watch; it was gleaming in the splintered sunlight and was in immaculate condition. Perhaps the most obviously peculiar thing about the watch was that there was no movement of the hands; it simply did not function as was its purpose upon construction. However, as you may have gathered, this watch was not designed to be a time telling device, but more on that later…

Now, as you all know, our hero is but a mere child, younger than a child in fact. I mean, infant? Look, I’m not exactly sure what you would call him (age wise) at this precise moment, but he is a guy who is pretty badass thus far, so I mean, does it really matter how old he is? Thought not. He has just come face to face (watch out for the pun) (oh, look two puns in one) with this shiny, gold watch, and the truth is, he has no clue what on earth to do with it. In his mind, the only thing he can do is try and find the flying squirrel who saved him from certain death, and maybe he/she’ll know what to do with this mystical device.

Being a curious young chap, our hero begun to investigate the watch more closely. He started by prodding at the various sections of the watch’s face and then soon the dial, and he even fooled around with the strap. Sadly, nothing happened. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get the darn thing to do anything useful, and so he launched it back into the dirt from which it came. Then, out of nowhere the sand begun to part like the red sea (yes, that’s right, a bible reference " that too was a story about a hero triumphing against the odds among other things…) the sand rippled through the earth and the hole became wider and wider until our hero could barely find a safe haven. His feet gave way and he fell face first onto the gritty sand below him. He dangled off the edge, flirting with gravity and nearing the centre of the …. (let’s call it the sand parting, actually no, that sounds just very, very lame… I mean, hmm.. hold on… ah, I’ve got it, the Sand Hole (we’re going with that, it’s not perfect, but then again, this isn’t Casablanca) Sand Hole. Once again, it seemed as though our hero was on the edge (literally) of death, but he clawed and scratched with all his might to reach the only remaining surface of land, but even that started to disappear into falling dust and sand. There was nothing left to hold on to and our hero had fallen…