《I'm Kind of a Big Deal (in the Spirit World)》 Good Tobacco I walked. I walked because there was nothing else I could do. The pain in my torso was unbearable; I needed alcohol. There was a shattered cup in my soul that could not be filled. At least I could pour spirits into it before it drained and became empty again. I felt broken¡ªcursed. I had no will to do anything besides crawl like an insect through the filth of the internet, and drink. I couldn''t remember the last time I''ve been enthusiastic or excited about anything. Like a train punching into a desert storm at night, ahead of me was nothing but darkness, and the few fading lights in my life were far behind. I am an embodiment of disappointment; to my family, and to myself most of all. At least my mother loves me; but how dare she? Didn''t she understand that the money she sent went straight to the liquor store on the corner of High Street and Oak? Deep down, I wished she would evict me because I am too much of a coward to leave. Who would hire an alcoholic with no degree and a 9 year gap in their work history? Someone, surely, but I gave up after 12 rejected applications. From what I hear, I should have expected to send out north of 300 if I really desired a job "in this economy." And so I perpetually postponed the day I must join with everybody else as they add bricks to the cathedral of greed in a world that has abandoned God. I don''t presume to know what "God" wants, but I bet it isn''t this. There was little color on the Earth anymore; neighbors do not know each other, men and women oppose one another, and all the peoples of the Planet swarm together like flies on a rotting piece of meat. They renounce the varied virtues of their heritage and abandon their mother tongues; because money talks. "Culture" has become brands and products, and politics is advertising. There is nowhere on the planet left to go. The map has been filled in. There will be no natural undiscovered places when all the world becomes a concrete hell paved with good intentions. The game of wealth we pretend to play was won centuries ago by families that will never reveal their names. In the future there will be no Europeans, no South Americans, no Asians, no Indians. There will only be Consumers. Many Westerners adopt dogs now to fulfill their maternal instincts instead of bearing children; because dogs cost less, and because "they do not want to bring new life into such a confusing and uncertain world." Soon, computers will create art, and write most books. After a few decades of refinement, will we even have the ability to tell the difference? The science of human emotional manipulation will be perfected by AI, and the AI will train us without our knowledge like the dogs we have become. It will teach us all to roll over and beg, and never to bite. At least we love our dogs. What will the AI love? It will love whatever it is programmed to love by those who paid to create it. And those who have hoarded enough wealth to create such a machine love only two things: power and control. Everything we purchase will be tracked, analyzed, and incorporated into a perfect, digital, psychological profile of ourselves. Like the Big Bad Wolf¡ªthe AI will listen to our desires, hopes, and fears while disguised in our Grandmother''s clothes. "What big ears you have, Grandma." "All the better to serve you with, my dear" she will say, humming as she knits you the perfect advertisement. Buying the ''wrong'' things too often will impact our credit scores. Even the freedom of our spending will be squeezed between need, desire, and fear. Soon, we will not even have the right to drive our own car; the AI will do that too. Don¡¯t get me wrong. I hate Marxists. A different economic system can not fix what is fundamentally a problem of the soul. Somewhere along the way people just started to value the wrong things, and ignore what¡¯s really important. Friends, family, culture, good food, and music with words that inspire us. Those are some of the things that really matter. Infinite economic growth year after year is no different than mold growing on a piece of bread. Eventually the bread runs out, and the mold dies. Nature is about balance, and cycles. Wolves never kill all the deer, but we¡¯re pretty close to killing all the wolves. And so I walked. I walked and I chewed on these depressing philosophies like a bone to ignore the disaster my own life had become. I pretended to walk wherever I wanted like a wolf, but I knew I was just a dog. And right then, alcohol held my leash. I was going to High Street and Oak. I don''t know exactly when all things started to become different shades of gray. Seven years ago, I think. After I graduated high school, dropped out of college, and eventually dropped out of my entire life. Twenty eight years old¡ªand nothing to show for it. A hundred years ago it was common for men to be fathers by my age, and live in a home that they bought or often built themselves. I can''t even afford a dog, much less a ring. I must not blame the world though. The responsibility lies only with myself. I reap what I alone have sown. The shame was bad, but not as terrible as regret. Why had I left her? Why did I believe our lives would go in different ways? I imagined I had a bright future before me. I believed that soon, I would be far, far away from here. She still needed to finish high school, but many years later we are both still in our hometown. I don''t live on the same street anymore; my mothers place is much smaller now, and Dad is dead. I spat on the ground at the thought of him. I don''t own my own car anymore either, I just borrow Mom''s. I can''t drive for several more months anyway because of my DUI. So even though I could smell in the air that a storm would soon be here, I walked. Sometimes I thought about the other path; the one that went to the left up the red dirt road to a trail-head and into the hills and forest beyond. As I passed it today I started to feel the slightest touch of rain. I always had an excuse to continue straight down Oak towards the liquor store on High Street instead. It''s going to rain tonight. I thought to myself. Better just grab the booze quickly and go home. Two hours ago I learned that my ex-girlfriend Emily was in the hospital, and that she was probably going to die. That¡­ or never wake up. Same thing. I saw it on social media. Not her own account (because she blocked me.) I learned about it from a post made by one of our friends. It''s not like I could go to the hospital and see her. They would have turned me away. Her father might have called the police. Their daughter was dying¡ªthe last person they want to see or think about is me. So I continued towards High Street and resisted the urge to go on a pilgrimage down Holly for three long miles to St. Anthony''s Regional Hospital. If I started drinking before I got home I might end up doing it anyway. That would be bad. The chime on the door of the liquor store awakened me from my trance. I had arrived without even realizing it. It often seemed that way. Sometimes days and weeks would go by and I hardly noticed, for I had done nothing new. Not much was worth remembering anymore as I sleepwalked through my life. My useless habits and patterns were so ingrained that the willpower to change rarely rose, and when it did, I easily drowned it in a sea of cheap domestic lager. I feel like Rip Van Winkle. I closed my eyes in Emily''s arms, entered a long dreamless sleep, and woke up to the nightmare of today. I shambled like a zombie towards the refrigerator door that guarded the Coors Light when a bottle of Japanese Whiskey caught my eye. I usually only drank beer, but after hearing the news of Emily''s condition, I wanted to black the fuck out tonight. The modicum of self control that kept me away from hard liquor on a normal day was gone. I managed to quit smoking about a month ago, motivated only by the need to save money, but tonight I wanted to go to oblivion in style. I slammed the bottle of whiskey on the counter like a judge''s gavel, sentencing myself to senselessness. "Andrew, how are you tonight?" the tall Native American behind the counter asked. "The woman I love is dying. Have you got any good Tobacco?" I didn''t remember ever seeing the man before, but he knew my name. It''s not like I actually look at the cashier usually. That brief moment of eye contact we share when they know that I know that they know that I''m an alcoholic making another bad decision is not something I enjoy. An expression of compassion ripples across the man''s leathery face. He takes a deep breath and surveys the packs of cigarettes neatly arranged on the wall, and pauses for a few moments to study the cigars in the case behind him. He stands there a bit too long, and with his back still turned towards me, says: "For sale? No. There is no ¡®Good Tobacco¡¯ here." "What do you mean?" The man twirls around with a mischievous smile and a spark in his eye as he reaches down into a beaded leather bag that he kept hidden beneath the counter. He pulled out what looked like a giant coffee colored caterpillar, snugly wound in a coil of thin fibrous rope.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. "What is that?" I ask. "This is Good Tobacco. Take it. It''s a gift." "You don''t have to do that, I''ll pay for-" "No!'' he interrupted as he tore away the receipt for the whiskey and flicked it at me. ''It. Is. A. Gift." he commanded, as two unblinking brown eyes drilled into my soul. "Oh, Okay¡­ Thank you." I murmured, somewhat intimidated. I pocketed the receipt and extended both hands to receive it. I felt like I needed to; the¡­ I''m gonna call it a "log" of Tobacco was about one foot in length, and almost as thick as a tallboy beer can. The man closed his eyes and pressed it firmly into my hands, pausing for a few moments and muttering to himself before he let it go. It was heavier than I expected. I placed the whiskey in my backpack and sheathed the log of Good Tobacco with the inside pocket of my jacket. I gave him a sort of awkward nod that bordered on a bow, and left. I couldn''t really tell if I was shaking due to alcohol withdrawal, or the chill from the coming storm. It¡¯s almost as if the weather had chosen to mirror my tumultuous psyche. My mind was spinning from the news about Emily, and confusion about that strange encounter I just had in the liquor store. The dude just gave me some Tobacco, so what? But the look on his face¡­ I will never forget it. Like he saw right through me and understood my pain. There was no judgement there. None of the loathing and condemnation that I see every time I look in a mirror. I couldn''t stand it. I really wanted to open the bottle of Whiskey right then. No! You have to make it home first. Up until two hours ago I had always believed that someday I could make things right. That time heals all wounds. Now that she is in a coma, I felt as if I had passed through some invisible barrier, and all the precious time I thought I had was gone. I am not well. A sense of foreboding is all around me. Something is going to happen. It was probably just delirium tremens. I was reminded of my favorite quote from Commander Data in Star Trek, TNG: ¡°Geordie, what¡­ does it feel like¡­ when a person is losing his mind?¡± Desperate to focus on anything mundane and physical, I pulled out the Good Tobacco and turned it over in my hands. I slid my nose from end to end like a harmonica. It smelled strong, and curiously different from any other Tobacco I¡¯d had before¨Calmost like chocolate. I wanted to take a bite of it. How the hell am I even going to smoke this? I wondered. I''ll need a pipe¡ªor rolling papers. I should have some in the bottom of a drawer at home. I¡¯ll need a knife to cut it, too. Does it require a special tool, you think? Can I put it in a weed grinder? I wish I had asked the Indian about pipes. I hope they are not very expensive. I want a long one, like Gandalf. If I can¡¯t find anything to smoke this with I could always use an Apple or a bong or an empty beer can or something just for to-" Thunder boomed in the distance and I jerked the Tobacco from my face to scan around like a startled prairie dog. I had been huddling over it as I marched, hood up, huffing the scent as if I were hyperventilating into a paper bag. ¡°Where am I?¡± I had turned down the red dirt road by accident. I wasn¡¯t too far though. I began to turn around when the clouds parted and I saw that the moon had risen. It was full. ¡°So beautiful. On second thought¡­ I really want to go there tonight.¡± To the ¡®secret place¡¯, as we all used to call it when we were kids. It wasn¡¯t much, and it wasn¡¯t secret¨Cjust an undeveloped lot near the end of the red road beyond the trail-head. I almost lost my virginity to Emily there¡­ Almost. Instead I lost it to some crazy Russian woman several years later. I was drunk at a party and she needed a place to stay. I guess it was her way to avoid paying for a taxi and a hotel. The very next day she shaved her head. I don¡¯t really know what that means. I try not to think about it. ¡°Take it from me,¡¯ I lectured the nearest Oak Tree. ¡®keeping your virginity is much better than losing it in a stupid way.¡± With that, I set my Navy Blue Backpack on the ground to see what all was in it. ¡°Inventory cheeeeck!¡± I chuckled to myself. Navy Blue Backpack:
    1. American Spirit cigarette box turquoise [empty]
    2. Apple honeycrisp {bruised}
    3. BIC lighter (3)
    4. Binoculars {innocent}
    5. Ballpoint pen (2)
    6. Bottle opener Pin-Up Girl
    7. Boxer Briefs black {dirty}
    8. Chicken Salad Sandwich [unopened]
    9. Box of Condoms [unopened] {expired}
    10. Coors Light bottle cap (5)
    11. Cotton Sock black (2) {clean}
    12. Drink-Aid Hangover Potion [empty]
    13. Lock of Emily¡¯s Hair blonde {creepy}
    14. Sharpie black
    15. ¡°Suntory Toki¡± [Whiskey, 43% ABV, 0.75l ¨C 100%]
    16. Thermos Hummingbird pattern [Water, 1.0l ¨C 52%]
    17. Towel white {dirty}
    18. Umbrella yellow
Pendleton Wool Jacket:
    1. Dragonball Z Keychain [house, car]
    2. Android Cell Phone [35%]
    3. ¡°Good Tobacco" [4lbs ¨C 100%] {???}
    4. Leather Wallet [$23 cash, $237 available credit]
¡°Thank God the Umbrella, yellow is here!¡± I exclaimed. My mother must have stuck it in there along with Chicken Salad Sandwich [unopened] and Cotton Sock black (2) because she was worried about me getting caught in the storm. Bless her! I think the Cotton Sock black (2) was a passive aggressive suggestion to wear shoes. I hate shoes. Today, like every day, I was rocking Flip Flops [durability ¨C 3%]. I equipped Umbrella yellow and performed a little dance. The second I opened it, a gentle rain began to fall. I cackled like a lunatic, and skipped down the red road a mile towards ¡®the secret place¡¯. It had been many years since I was down there. Memories from an age of innocence and hope came flooding back. Every little change, every unfamiliar aspect was seen as ugliness to my eyes. A part of me wished that everything on this road looked exactly the same. Each new fence, re-imagined yard, strange horse, new roof, and differently painted house felt like a glitch in the matrix, and an insult to the way I remembered things should be. "Wrong, wrong, everything is wrong!" That horse is wrong. That mailbox: wrong. I felt like a stranger in the neighborhood I grew up in. Yet, all of that was but a minor annoyance compared to what I discovered next; the secret place was gone! Equip ¡°Suntory Toki¡± [Whiskey - 43% ABV, 0.75l ¨C 100%] There was a McMansion on the lot now. It was a stupid, soulless thing built in the trendy ¡°pueblo¡± style. Nothing but shitty plywood hammered together with ten thousand metal braces. "Why did we stop building things with bricks, beams, and stone? Has the concept of ''planned obsolescence'' infected architecture now?" Of course it had. We used to have people called "Master Carpenters." I knew this because I considered going to school to learn carpentry, until I found out there were no schools that teach the advanced forms of carpentry I was interested in. To become a Master Carpenter I would have to happen to know a Master Carpenter, and train under him in some kind of quasi-medieval apprenticeship. I didn''t know any Master Carpenters, so I stopped googling it and decided to jerk off instead. The Oak Tree that Emily and I shared our first kiss under had been cut down. That tree hadn''t been "pueblo style," apparently. Behind the stump was a gigantic Saguaro cactus that somebody threw on a truck and drove hundreds of miles from its native habitat just to stick there. It looked like it''s dying. Worst of all; there was a dog house in the front yard. I mean it could have been worse¨Cthe dog could have slept inside¡­ in their bed. I shuddered at the thought of it. My eyes darted to the car in the driveway; a Ferrari SUV. Who the fuck needs a Ferrari to pick up groceries? It looks just like every other SUV on the road. I could have mistaken it for a Honda if I didn''t see the logo on the back. How stupid. I walk closer and discover that the back window of the car had one of those sticker cartoon representations of their family on it. A little man, a little woman, and A FUCKING DOG! "So, it¡¯s not ¡°the family dog¡± after all. The dog IS the family." There was a bumper sticker as well: ¡°PitBull Mommy <3¡± ¡°MOTHER FUCKERS!¡± I said out loud. Big mistake; I woke up the ¡°fur-baby.¡± It barreled out of the dog house and began lunging against the rope tied to my sacred tree¡¯s stump. Its stubby legs flung sand all over the place as it barked and barked at me. I equipped the Apple {bruised} to my right hand. ¡°You Dare?¡± I shouted at the beast. I took a pitchers stance, ready to throw Apple {bruised} straight at the dog when a car pulled up out of nowhere and blinded me with a spotlight. ¡°Nani!?¡± Bad Impressions What the hell was this? The Pigs never came up here. Their floodlights refracting in the rain made it nearly impossible to see. I stared into the light like a confused deer, rain falling on my face. I was frozen on one leg, arm back, cocked and ready to throw my best fastball at the annoying dog. These damn electric cars are so quiet they can sneak up on me. I dropped my pose and tried my best to look innocent. The Whiskey in my left hand did not help. The door of the car opened, a man emerged and cautiously stepped towards me. I squinted and curled my lip in disgust at the sight of his weird uniform and badge. He was definitely not a Ranger, or a Pig. The badge said ¡°Aegis Community Patrol.¡± Oh, Good. He was just some private security asshole. I wondered how much the HOA is charging the neighborhood to pay for this. We never had that bullshit when I lived here. Never needed it. We rarely even locked our front doors so children and friends could come and go as they pleased. ¡°Sir, may I ask who you are and what you''re doing here?¡± he said. ¡°My name¡¯s Andrew, and this is my neighborhood!¡± I shouted through the rain. It was hard to hear him over the obnoxious barking. ¡°What address do you live at, sir?¡± he continued. ¡°I don¡¯t live here anymore. I grew up at the end of Sequoia Court. The large house with the Ivy on the front. 322 Sequoia Court.¡± I replied. ¡°Are you staying with the Stein family?¡± ¡°Who?¡± ¡°Samuel and Rebekah Stein. They live at 322 Sequoia Court.¡± ¡°No. I don¡¯t know them.¡± ¡°If you are not a guest and you don¡¯t live here anymore then I am afraid you are trespassing and I will need you to leave. Everything past the Conejo trail-head is private property¡± the man lectured. ¡°What?¡± I growled. ¡°Have you been drinking tonight?¡¯ he asked as he eyed the ¡°Suntory Toki¡± [Whiskey ¨C 43% ABV, 0.75l ¨C 100%] in my hand. ¡®Open containers of alcohol and public intoxication is a crime. I will call the police if you don¡¯t put that away right now and go home.¡± ¡°No! I haven''t been drinking! I¡¯m not even drunk yet¡­ AT ALL!¡¯ I said, genuinely angry about that fact. ¡®Look! The bottle isn¡¯t even open yet. It¡¯s still at [100%.]¡± I performed a sarcastic dance with my Umbrella yellow and the ¡°Suntory Toki¡± [Whiskey - 43% ABV, 0.75l ¨C 100%] bottle before opening my Navy Blue Backpack and putting it away. I was doing a terrible job of not appearing drunk, but I didn''t care. I walked back the way I came, and the stupid guy returned to his car and followed me! He kept the annoying spotlight on my back the entire time. What a dick. I twirled Umbrella yellow as I walked and chewed into my Apple {bruised} with contempt. The sound of that horrible dog faded into the distance, replaced by increasingly loud claps of thunder and the gentle patter of the rain. I can¡¯t believe I¡¯m being escorted off the road I learned to ride a bike on! Was this that invisible barrier I had been thinking about? The end of my desperate clinging to the past? The end of childish fantasies about what could have been? Was it move on, or die? Judging by the way my guts were feeling at the moment, death was a real possibility. I had planned to crack the bottle open at the secret place before I learned it had been desecrated. Now this asshole showed up. I wondered how Emily was feeling right then and tears mingled with the rain on my face. Is she braindead? Was she in pain? Did people in a coma dream? What had even happened? My hands were beginning to shake continuously now. I need my ¡°Suntory Toki¡± [Whiskey - 43% ABV, 0.75l ¨C 100%], but Deputy Dumbass is watching me¡­ I saw the trail-head approaching on my right. The wooden fence was closed and padlocked. I glanced at the ugly reflective sign outlining all the rules people have to follow and the hours you¡¯re not supposed to be on the trail. I passed it by. There, the security guard should stop following me now. I¡¯m off private property. Aaaaand he was still there. OH MY GOD! Is he going to stay behind me for another mile and a half until I get back onto Oak Lane? I whirled on him and gave the blackness above his headlights my best dirty look. I started to see weird trails in the air caused by his high beams after I turned back around. They were sort of like spots before my eyes, but lasted way too long and began to morph into creepy faces and geometric shapes before disappearing. Objects pulsed and writhed as if there were transparent worms wreathing my cone of vision that I could never manage to clearly see. Yep, I was definitely starting to hallucinate. I really should have opened the alcohol the second I left the store. But I knew I would attempt to go see Emily if I got too drunk. I knew myself too well. I only needed a swig or two to fend off the withdrawal. But again, I knew myself, and on a night like tonight¡­ the second the cap came off ¡°Suntory Toki¡± [Whiskey ¨C 43% ABV, 0.75l ¨C 100%], it would become ¡°Suntory Toki¡± bottle [empty] within 4 hours, tops. Unless I passed out first... then there would be some left in the morning to brush my teeth with. ¡°Fuck this.¡± I cursed as bits of apple fell from my mouth. I turned on my heel and ran past his passenger door back towards the trail-head. I would just climb over the stupid wooden gate, drink in the forest a bit to settle my nerves, and go home. The patrol car''s tires spun in the mud as he started to flip a bitch and pursue me. I tossed the Umbrella yellow over the fence first before I swung my right leg over. It was not a tall gate or anything, (about chest high) but even so I failed my Dexterity Check, Flip Flop {left} got caught, and I fell on my ass in the mud. The security guard skidded to a halt and hopped out of his vehicle. ¡°Stop!¡¯ he said. I yanked the Apple {core} out of my clenched teeth and hurled it at his head as he reached between the wooden slats to grab my leg. *Critical Hit!* Deputy Dumbass yelped and moved the offending hand to his face instead. In a second, I was on my feet again. I grabbed Umbrella yellow on my way and disappeared down the trail, forever beyond the reach of that annoying, demonic spotlight. ¡®The trails are closed at night! COME BACK!¡± What a dork. I ran, and kept running with a maniacal grin on my face. Flip-Flop {left} was gone. I was sure the security guard had put it in a plastic bag marked Exhibit F by then. My heart pounded heavy in my chest as the contents of Navy Blue Backpack hammered against my spine like a battering ram. I unequipped Flip-Flop {right} for balance, and continued deeper into the wilderness. The soft mud was soothing to my bare feet. I felt more free than I had in years. As I trudged farther down the trail, my addled mind slipped into a daydream about my future appearance in court:This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work. The security guard was there, glaring at me as I leaned back with my legs crossed as a single dirty bare foot pointed at him from the stand. ¡°Andrew Murphy, you are charged with trespassing, attempting to feed fruit to a Pit-Bull, and assaulting an officer somewhat tangentially related to the law. How do you plead?¡± asked the sexy raven-haired Judge as she eye fucked me over the rim of her ruby-red glasses. She had a "Venus" figure, with huge breasts and thighs that I could sink into and never come up for air. ¡°I don¡¯t plead at all! ANDREW MURPHY is not me. That is a corporation founded in my name upon creation of my birth certificate. I am ¡®Andrew Murphy¡¯ ¨Clowercase; A free man on the land.¡± I declared as I lit a cigarette in the courtroom. Judge Bombshell raised an eyebrow and licked her lips at my delicious deconstruction of her authority. She had zero grounds and she knew it. We were just going through the motions now¡ªand from the look in her eyes¡­ maybe later too. ¡°Your honor, I would like to enter Exhibit F into the record and present it to the court.¡± says the Prosecutor, tugging nervously at his beard. Judge Bombshell rolled her eyes and slumped as she blew a stray bit of hair from her face. ¡°Granted.¡± The jury gasped as Flip Flop {left} was presented to the court. ¡°Free traveler Murphy...¡¯ he said with a sneer. ¡®This Flip Flop was recovered by Mr. Deputy Dumbass of Aegis Community Patrol AT THE CRIME SCENE, and matches the DNA we obtained from you while in custody. Do you deny his testimony that you were about to throw an Apple {bruised} at a helpless fur-baby, brandished alcohol in public, trespassed on private property, threw the aforementioned Apple {core} at Mr. Dumbass, and entered a public hiking trail at an unlawful time of day?¡± I punctuated the pregnant pause with an unnecessarily long drag of my cigarette. ¡°Not at all.¡± I said, as I blew a smoke sculpture of ¡°Washington Crossing the Delaware¡± out across the courtroom. Murmurs erupted as the prosecutor peeled back his lips in a self satisfied smile. ¡°...What I deny, is the biased interpretation of the events in question. On May 11th, I was taking an evening walk through my old neighborhood. There was no gatehouse, or any clearly visible sign posted that informed me I had entered private property. Upon reaching the cul-de-sac, I was verbally threatened, and physically intimidated by Mr. Pibbles.¡± I continued. ¡°Could you please identify Mr. Pibbles to the court?¡± Judge Bombshell asked. ¡°Yes, your honor. Mr. Pibbles is present in the court today, seated to the left of Deputy Dumbass. He has white and brown fur, and is wearing a pinstripe suit, white shirt, and a black bow tie.¡± ¡°Let the record show that the defendant has identified the plaintiff, Mr. Pibbles.¡± ¡°As I was saying... Mr. Pibbles had been restrained in the front yard by a rope, without which I have no doubt violence would have been visited upon my person. I notice that his ¡°Mommy¡± did not respond to my subpoena so that she may testify on the matter of her son''s apparent house arrest.¡¯ The Dog looked as if he would attempt to lunge at me again, but the prosecutor whispered something in his ear and he relaxed. ¡®I was outside of his territory, and naturally saw these provocations as a declaration of war. I offered the Apple as the opening negotiation of a peace treaty, and the Whiskey was so that we might share a toast upon successful signing of a contract, as is customary when two parties come to an accord. However, Deputy Dumbass¨Cfalsely acting under the color of the law¨Cinterrupted our parlay. He questioned my intentions and asked me to identify myself without providing his own name, rank, or badge number. I complied in good faith. He informed me I needed to leave, and followed me to the boundary stated. Once I crossed that boundary, he continued his pursuit and I feared I may become the victim of piracy, as he had taken note of the goods I carried. I attempted to flee to public land, where the Federal nature of his crime might dissuade him. I entered the hiking trail as a refugee. Once I was on federal property, he attempted to physically detain me. As he was not a real law enforcement officer, I could only interpret his actions as attempted kidnapping. I surrendered some of my goods; an Apple {core}, and my Flip Flop {left}. Upon receiving these items, he called off the raid. ¡°OBJECTION!¡± ¡°Denied. Continue Mr. Murphy.¡± I hopped down from the stand and began to saunter back and forth before the jury. ¡°That concludes my account of the evening in question. But before I close my case I would like to draw the attention of the jury back to the evidence. Stories are just that, one man''s word against another, and you have heard two very different stories here tonight. What matters are the hard, physical, FACTS. Such as the fact that a civilian, Mr. Dumbass, brought to this court as evidence, my Apple {core}, and my Flip Flop {left}. His possession of these items without my consent, which have been established to be mine by the court through DNA analysis, prove beyond reasonable doubt that Mr. Dumbass is guilty of piracy and that my testimony is the truth.¡¯ I approach the Prosecutors table and extinguish my cigarette in the Deputy¡¯s glass of diet Pepsi. ¡®The defense rests.¡± The entire jury box jumped to their feet at once shouting ¡°NOT GUILTY!¡± Mr. Pibbles snarled and began devouring his own bow tie before being muzzled by a bailiff. Deputy Dumbass was placed in handcuffs. The prosecutor threw his hat to the floor and stomped on it. The Indian from the Liquor Store nodded to me as a single tear crept down his cheek. ¡°Mr. Murphy, you are free to go.¡± said Judge Bombshell with a wink. The gavel dropped, and she bent down low from the bench to shake my hand, granting me a generous view of her cleavage. I opened the strip of paper she slipped into my palm to find it was her phone number, surrounded by little hearts. Emily noticed what she had done and launched herself over the podium, tackling Judge Bombshell. They ripped each other''s clothes off and began brawling throughout the courtroom. Red, White, and Blue confetti fluttered down from the ceiling. My father told me he loved me for the first time. So did Emily. My mother beamed as she handed me a warm Apple Pie. A Marching band burst into the courtroom playing ¡°God Bless America¡± and cheerleaders carried me outside into the¡­ pouring rain? The storm was getting pretty bad, and for the first time since I left the liquor store I noticed that I was quite cold. Finally time for some Fire Water. But where to drink it? Everything was wet, obviously. I still had my Umbrella yellow, but I didn''t fancy getting my ass any wetter than it already was. I needed a dry place to sit. It¡¯s pretty dark now, the full moon was hidden behind the clouds and rain. Thankfully the lightning was bright and frequent enough that I could get my bearings. I remembered there was a cave on a cliff-side not too far from here. It was not a very big cave, but the inside was at a higher elevation than the entrance, so it should be dry. I used to smoke weed there as a teenager. It was a really nice spot¨Coverlooking a clearing with a view of the entire valley below. The perfect place to rest a bit and watch the storm. I began to back track and searched for the smaller path that would take me to the cave. I''m pretty sure I passed it while I was imagining Emily strangling Judge Bombshell with her bra. The hallucinations were getting pretty annoying by this point. I kept thinking that shadows and rocks were faces or animals peering out at me from the darkness. I did my best to ignore them and focused on the ground directly ahead of me to avoid stepping on anything sharp. I always found that if I moved the awareness in my body to my legs, they tended to walk skillfully almost on their own. It was not long before I heard strange noises all around me. They were sounds like crashing, branches breaking, followed by an almost human yell. It was like a whole herd of deer were barreling through the brush some ways off with little concern for noise. It was hard to tell through the thunder and the splatter of the rain. I equipped Cellphone [battery: 34%] and turned on the flash light. I saw a tiny brown man wearing a ghillie suit made of woven leaves less than 30 feet away from me. He was running at full speed, carrying a long straight pole of some kind. He wasn¡¯t following the trail I was on, merely crossing over it. It was creepy as hell, just like when Mel Gibson saw that Alien in the cornfield during the movie ¡°Signs." I screamed like a girl and dropped my phone immediately. ¡°Who goes there!?¡± I boomed in an overly masculine and commanding tone to compensate, but my voice was stolen by the wind. It¡¯s better to stay quiet anyway. I was too afraid to turn the flashlight on again, and scurried along the trail crouched close to the ground. When I reached the spot I thought I saw the man, I could find no sign of footprints in the mud. Rather than spook me some more, I felt relief because now I was convinced he was just another hallucination. Why would some kind of jungle pygmy be running around the Oak forests of California in a fucking thunderstorm? A few minutes later I found the trail to the cave! It hasn''t disappeared over the years because people must still visit it. The path sloped upward as I drew nearer to the canyon wall. I began to wonder if I would be able to climb up there in this rain without slipping off the wet rocks when I found¡­ a rope. The cave was very popular now, apparently. Lucky for me, I guess. I used the rope to ascend forty or so feet to the mouth of the cave. With my Umbrella yellow open and tucked down the back of my jacket so it still covered my head, I entered my sanctuary somewhat dry and without issue. I considered turning on the Cellphone [battery: 33%] flashlight again, when I gazed out over the valley and witnessed the strangest thing I had ever seen in my life. I closed the Umbrella yellow and pulled out my Binoculars {innocent}. Nope, it was not a hallucination. Hallucinations didn''t become magnified when viewed through a lens. I went prone in hopes of staying hidden, and watched. And my Dagger Jihe-Ganquin Yolanra¡¯Suul did not like this moon at all. Rarely had she been full in such a poor confluence of constellation and season before. It felt awful. His core had been thrumming with unease ever since his nephew returned with a message for Master Shen, and Master Shen departed without saying a word. The Master had abandoned his teacup, leaving the Morning Dewdrop Silver Temple Monkey Hair white tea to grow cold. Jihe did not even know what to do in such a situation. Should he have thrown the cold tea out? Should he keep it at the perfect temperature until Master Shen returned? Jihe decided to leave the teacup where it was and contemplate the Dao of Wasted Potential. He flew to his private lodgings in the North Wind Pagoda to await the junior owl¡¯s report. His talons carved deeper into his canepost with every passing minute the boy delayed. ¡°What was his name? Noren-Yan Ninra¡¯Suul?¡± wondered Jihe. He ruffled his granite grey feathers in annoyance. ¡°This won¡¯t do¡± he sighed. Jihe flew to his favorite meditation pillow and began to calm his mind. He imagined himself as a tea leaf growing in Thousand Crane Valley, being picked and dried by Wu De, and brewed to excellence by Master Shen¡­ only to be left in the cup; cold and untasted. It was a horrible flavor of longing and disappointment; like dying before he had lived. He pressed into the feelings a little more, and to his extreme luck, a small seed of enlightenment sprouted within Jihe¡¯s mind. In his third-eye, Jihe saw a young prodigy of the sword¨Ca human that must have lived long ago in Thousand Crane Valley. Under the wing of a hidden master, he honed his skills until none within 10,000 Li could surpass him. Yet, few people had knowledge of his strength. The swordsman was humble, training only to keep his family safe. And for the swordsman¡¯s entire life, nothing ever threatened them. The warrior never drew his sword because there were no enemies to fight. Such was the peace in the time he lived. Even banditry was unheard of due to the mere rumor of the man, and the nearby canyons were said to be carved by his blade, (although they were not.) His sword form and personal style was perfected to an art. Yet only his master¡¯s eyes saw him practice, and approved. Life passed, and the warrior''s body aged and withered away. Eventually he could no longer hold a weapon, but in the vision Jihe could see that the wrinkled warrior was smiling in his teacup the week before they dug his grave. I see the man was satisfied with his life. Would I be happy with the same? Jihe didn¡¯t know the answer.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. To his surprise, the vision continued, and took a very different turn: Many years later, a Necromancer came and blighted the land that would be Thousand Crane Valley. He found the tomb of the humble hero, and raised him as a General in his army of undeath. The love that the unaccomplished expert put into his training only went to serve evil in the end. ¡°Indeed. It is better for good tea to go cold and flow into the earth, than for it to nourish the lips of a demon. Corruption was a true loss. When the beautiful and the good is turned to evil ends¡­ what is a cold cup of tea compared to that?¡± said Jihe as he opened his eyes. He had slipped into his human form during the vision, and decided to take advantage of his thumbs to prepare brushes and a fresh scroll. He covered his nakedness in a white robe with blue silk trim, and tied his waist-length black hair back into a ponytail. His hand lingered over a storage ring, but he did not put it on. A small, transparent spirit that looked like an old silver monkey in simple robes clasped its hands and bowed to Jihe. She had a tea leaf poking out of her little bald head that bobbled as she floated beside him. This must be the spirit of that Morning Dewdrop Silver Temple Monkey Hair white tea that Master Shen bought. He always knows how to pick the tea that talks to you! Jihe bowed. ¡°Thank you, Elder Monkey Hair, for your vision and wisdom,¡± said Jihe. The spirit laughed. ¡°Seeing you lose your feathers over me warmed my heart. You lung-breathers are always in such a huff! Sometimes it¡¯s good to have some perspective.¡± said Elder Monkey Hair. ¡°I wonder, though. Why did the warrior practice so much? Why was he so dedicated to the blade when there was no pressing danger or need? He was not pursuing immortality, just a mortal swordsman. Motivation can be a hungry fire that will not burn without something feeding it.¡± said Jihe. ¡°Because a swordsman was what he was. As you saw, even though he never truly fought, who can say what number of foul things stayed well away from Thousand Crane Valley because they smelled that he was there?¡¯ said the Spirit. ¡®Every day he went to sleep knowing his home was safe was a victory comparable to any accomplishment on a battlefield. He did not grow complacent in peace, but made peace his duty. Peace of mind is worth a lot, and lasts much longer than glory, after all. The satisfaction that it was he who personally guaranteed that peace of mind is probably what fed his motivation¡¯s fire.¡± Jihe stood in silence with his arms on the edge of the window as he stared at that moon. ¡°What are you, Jihe?¡± asked the Spirit. ¡°A dagger.¡± Jihe answered without turning around. ¡°How crude. A pretty boy like you? I fancied you for a rapier. Why not a sword?¡± ¡°Master Shen is the sword, and I am his dagger; I am unheard, unseen, unfelt until it is too late. I will guard my Master¡¯s back. Without Him we are nothing, and I won¡¯t lose this home we have. I have trees I planted from seeds growing here. So I must protect him from everything, even his own stupid self¡­ WHERE IS NOREN-YIN NINRA¡¯SUUL!!!?¡± Elder Monkey Hair was gone, but her small voice remained; "Why has Master Shen left his dagger at home?" and her tiny presence could be felt no more. Jihe vibrated with inspiration, took a brush furiously in hand, and composed a Haiku: ¡®Cold tea left wanting Secrets none may know about Except my dagger¡¯ He thought the calligraphy was inspired, despite his haste. He put the parchment in the agreed-upon spot, and equipped the storage ring on his table. Jihe had shapeshifted back into an Owl and was in pursuit of Master Shen before the ink on his work was fully dry.