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Short Stories from Djinnai

Saturday, 28 October 2006

The Lady and the Spiders
Mood:  incredulous

The Lady and the Spiders

A short story by R. Manson

A lady and her friends were sitting around a table one day.  They sipped tea ad spoke of the things that had happened recently in other parts of the world.  The peculiar rumors were of a man of crows, in Cromwell, who had sparked a revolt leading to the king being cast away by the townspeople.  It of course continued that the people now worshipped the man of crows as a god or a king.

They were far out in the woods so they hadn't had visitors in a while, or so it looked.  A young man who was tall and broad shouldered was stumbling through the dark wood and he was not at all happy.  He was dressed in the shreds of what had been an expensive suit.The lady walked out quickly and her friends stayed inside to talk amongst themselves.  The lady's scarlet dress fluttered in the fall wind as she ran to meet him. 

He explained that it had been his wedding day the previous day when his village was attacked by a group of mercenaries.  The lady invited him into her home, not showing the young man her devilish smirk that had crept across her face in a quite disturbing fashion.He came in and no one was around the table yet many cups were set out.  They were all still filled with tea.

A spider crept across the table and the lady in the scarlet dress picked it up and set it out the window.  It was followed by three more.  Then the young man, who had been terrified of spiders since he was a young child when he was in an accident involving a poisonous spider and a back-stabbing friend, saw another spider and squished it immediately.The lady shrieked in a shrill voice and ran out of the room crying.  The man, deeply sorry for upseting her, quickly followed.

He weaved through the long corridors of the one floor house and finally found the woman in the scarlet dress in the last room.  Well, he didn't find her, he found her dress in scattered shreds. He turned around to walk out and a large web covered the door.  Thinking that it must be a dream that he was having, he rubbed his eyes vigorously.  But no matter how hard or long he rubbed, the web would not disappear.

He shrieked in terror finally realizing that it was not a dream and his murderer silently slipped behind him.  His head was off in only one chomp of its mighty fangs.  After it had devoured the rest of the body, it shifted back into the lady and she put on a new scarlet dress.  She called back her remaining friends and there they sat, speaking of other oddities, until the next visitor came.

 


Posted by czar-of-crows at 9:33 PM CDT
Updated: Saturday, 28 October 2006 9:46 PM CDT

Czar of the Crows
Mood:  incredulous

Czar of the Crows

 

A Short Story by R. Manson

 

An auburn fog accompanied by a group of mahogany clouds always hung around the town of Cromwell.  The murky stones that made up the homes of Cromwell were for ever and a day, damp, with the infinitesimal drops of rain which fell every day at precisely 8 o’ clock A.M., 12 o’ clock P.M., and at 8 o’ clock P.M.  Everything always happened routinely.

 

 

The children would rise at the first rainfall, make breakfast for themselves and their families, get dressed in their best clothes, and go immediately to school.  Then, at the second rainfall, they would go home and eat, get dressed in work clothes to help their parents with their family’s business, and help until the third rainfall of the day.  They would then go to sleep and then begin their routine the next morning.

 

 

The adult’s day went much the same and nothing ever changed in Cromwell.  But then, on one day deep into the month of October, the 31st to be exact, the winds of existence began to whistle a new tune.  The leaves fell to the left of the trees instead of the right.  The first rainfall began at roughly 8:15 A.M. now instead of its usual 8 o’ clock beginning.  And the rainstorms were a lot shorter than usual.

 

 

The beautiful bird’s songs, which they would sing the each and every day, were replaced by the constant caws of crows.  The black birds had replaced each and every bird and they were seldom silent.  Their black feathers and beaks were always gleaming in the pale light of this odd world.  The children now woke up much later and they never made the food.  They never went to school on time and when they did go to school it ended near 5 o’ clock at night.

 

 

Then, as the clock struck 7 o’ clock P.M. precisely, when everyone was at home discussing the odd changes, there was a solitary person arriving in town.  He was shrouded in a brown, hooded robe with a large crow perched on his shoulder.  This crow was wearing a crown of pure gold on its head, and looking at everything strangely.  It cawed so loudly that everyone in the whole town came straight to the town square where this stranger had stopped.

 

 

Lifting his hands high in the air he proclaimed, “People of Cromwell, for to long you have followed the same daily routine.  While you hide within your little bubble of safety the outside world has turned to finding new cures for what causes deaths, new lands to live, new metals to build with, and most of all new ways to arrange themselves to fit everybody’s schedule.  I now call you to do the same!”

 

 

This small speech had sparked an idea in the heads of the town’s people.  When the king of the town came the people revolted casting him out of the town along with his family and followers because they were the reason that the changes had never taken place.  Then, turning back towards the shadowy figure that had been speaking to them, they saw something extremely peculiar.  The robes had dropped down to the soil and out flew thousands of crows and ravens cawing and screeching like never before.

 

 

The last remaining crow was the one with the golden crown.  And where the figure had stood before there was the words “Czar of Crows” carved exquisitely into the stone.  The people of the town soon created new jobs and allowed their children to do as they pleased.  But the event that had happened almost one thousand years before had not been forgotten.

 

The writing was always remembered as the people passed by the town square.  And there it stayed for ages to come, remaining the only thing that would not change in the town of Cromwell.


Posted by czar-of-crows at 8:54 AM CDT
Updated: Saturday, 28 October 2006 9:40 PM CDT

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