A project done for Language Arts...and a short story for a contest

[Cameron]

Alright...I've got two stories here, one a fanfiction for Greek mythology (it was sort of forced upon me by my teacher, so it isn't the best of works...) and another a work slightly reminscent of Evangelion, in metaphorical style only. I don't like either of them, but the second work is still under development. Originally it was meant for a contest, but seeing as how I didn't make the cut, I'll be revamping it shortly so it makes a bit more sense.
So...yeah.

Here's Nirvana and Olympus



The crossroads sat in awe of the twilight. It reigned down from the skies in a hail of silver and white, enigmatic and yet more revealing than any person could ever be. In truth it stretched beyond the end of the universe, but no one could be bothered to see or walk that far, it was just too inconvenient. At the road’s end sat a small traffic light, crooked and bent, letting out faint light from all of its signals at once. It blinked once or twice, and as it did so, the realm flickered into life. From the recess of life surged fourth all sorts of creatures, they came into being in the twilight and there they lingered for a while. One group set up shop made from stars, selling the finest antiquities that the beginning of time had to offer, while another stretched an arm of infinite and inconceivable proportions to pluck a single fruit from the Milky Way. The silver and liquid-like arm withered and shifted under the heat of the star it had just harvested, but it shook the flames off and lowered it downward towards it’s head. A thing resembling that which could bear no resemblance fumbled with the ordinance of the universe for a moment in an attempt to stabilize the suffering of life in co ordinance with the request of a passing tourist. All six of It’s heads mumbled suspiciously as the being failed and formulated a black hole, then willed the body to shuffle off to the nearest entertainer.
Under the faltering light of the lone stop light, a man, still in possession of his mortal form, stumbled down the northern road, the clogs strung to his feet slipping often on the lumps and potholes formed from the curvature of space time. A Buddhist’s wide brimmed straw hat rested on his brow, and underneath it flickered twin suspicious eyes. Not especially wicked pupils, mind you, but ones hastened and made weary by a lifetime in war-torn Mongolia. His body had been put to rest only moments before, though the actual distance between the then and the now was eons, but his mind and, as a result, this apparition of his soul was quite unstable.
As all those of his religion believed, the Buddha had met him on the moment of his death and his cosmic birth. One second, he had been loitering on the battle field, attempting to open a pacifistic eye in the minds of his fellow Mongols, the next he was hurtling into the afterlife with naught but a thump on the head as the cause. His spirit had been deployed several miles down the road he was traveling now, and he couldn’t help but wonder if his god had any reason for this except to try at his patience. The mere seconds he had waited for all of his life, that final encounter had been nothing but a glance from his god and a mysterious ‘hmm’. After that, the monk had simply been waved away.
Slouched under the traffic light, he stared rather rudely out into the midst’s of the biblical assortments of oddities living out there lives in front of him. Only minutes ago he would have administered more of a subtle stare, but he had lost a lot of faith in his ideals and morals after his moments exchanging thoughts with the Buddha. All his beliefs in the very prospect of becoming what he had dreamed of all his life, a reincarnation of his Lord, even a good Samarian, had been shattered in an instant.
A slight breeze wafted by, though that was quite impossible in the fundamental state that this fragment of reality existed in, and, to the monk’s annoyance, his hat wafted off. He shifted his weight upwards and started towards it, his staff creaking with the sudden absence of weight. The wind led him and his hat a ways away from the crossroads. With some frail determination the monk managed to get a jump on the gust, and as his outstretched hand brushed it’s edge, a large and translucent arm gripped it. It’s owner was humanoid in the loosest sense, a silvery blue thing with a gapping maw and two small eyes located on the back of it’s head.
“This yours?” It bellowed, a burst of hot breath steaming from the recess of it’s bowels.
The Buddhist nodded dumbly, his hand receding back to rest on his staff. His eyes flickered up towards the creature’s head…neck stub…whatever it was. Something resembling a train conductor’s cap sat upon the area past the jawbone. He gazed at it in a befuddled manor, then yanked the hat from the being hesitantly.
His new acquaintance waited for a moment as the monk clasped the straw covering onto his head, then stared at him with tiny black eyes and asked, “So, where you heading?”
Yanking the hat down over his own exposed eyes, he shrugged. The being tilted his head quizzically, then hefted his own shoulders and chuckled in an almost mocking way. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll take you to see father Zeus, he often knows how to fix a troubled soul.” With that he seemed to lose interest in the Buddhist, and turned around to step up into a large contraption that seemed to form out of thin air.
Yet again taken back, the monk sighed, and muttered, “My soul isn’t troubled.” Before he stepped forward into the machine.

The creature, or Enoch, as he was known, was a master of the technical arts. Once a arrogant and conceited human, he relinquished his humanoid form after meeting with the head of the Greek pantheon, a colossal figure by the name of Zeus. Although his hand was often unmerciful and unforgiving, he possessed a knack for philophical wisdom that most men of his era would have killed for. Even in the current day and age, centuries after the actual practice of worshipping the Lord of Clouds and the King of Gods had died off , uncertain spirits often sought him out to put their worries to rest.
Enoch was the pilot of a semi-automotive device that required thinking on a sentient level to traverse the biblical railways. From him the monk realized that there is not one predetermined afterlife, well, there was, in a way, but from this single area that was recognized as the crossroads a thousand different universes came into perspective. It was only because he harbored the most faith in Buddha at the time that he was dropped into Nirvana, but now that his belief was waning, the rest of heavenly creation was open to him, and right now, he was speeding onwards towards the celestial representation of the Mount Olympus.
“Oh, you’ll love Athena. All that self-recognition you people are interested in, well, she’s the foremother of it. Intelligent thought, that sort of thing. Zeus is better with actual soul searching, human relations, I guess.” Enoch chuckled at this, his hands shifting over a set of seemingly abstract controls, “After all, in the old form of reality, he was the one who shaped your destiny. Our destiny, technicalities, technicalities.”
The Buddhist nodded quietly, his eyes lingering out the window of the beastly vehicle for a moment. Outside, the countryside rushed by, hundreds of huts flickered by as did men and women each one waving briskly at the sight of the machine. Oxen pulled carts which plowed the soil, cattle grazed absently as goat legged humanoids goaded them on. Centaurs and dryads frolicked amongst the fields as giants clapped gleefully and bellowed dim witted approval. With a click the track shifted, and all of a sudden the sea met the Buddhist’s eyes, where faint remnants of Athens’s once great navel fleet did battle with scourges of the deep alongside the mystical spirits called Sea Nymphs. Eventually, out of annoyance, if nothing else, Poseidon rose upwards and separated the two warring forces.
The creature at the helm of the machine gasped in wonder and excitement every time a new sight graced his beady eyes, but the monk found it all rather monotonous. Maybe something was wrong with his soul; maybe some sort of horrible thought caused him to cling to his newfound distrust of the world. Whatever the case may be, it only cause his interest in this god, this Zeus, as Enoch had called him to spike exponentially. Could it be that this new deity could fill the gap in his soul that had been formed by the betrayal of the Buddha? These thoughts waved through his mind as the track sunk downward into the foul and dank recesses of Erebus, the world of the dead. His eye lids slowly caving downward, the man could have sworn that he caught a glimpse of the lord of the dead, Hades, and his faithful bride Persephone atop their thrones of flesh and bone. The two of them waved cheerily as the monk faded into the depths of sleep.

“Er, sir? Sir?”
The monk’s eyes creaked open, then immediately slammed shut again as a blinding burst of light pierced what protection the window of the vehicle produced. Groaning, he sat up and flexed his arms and legs, well aware that he’d been asleep for the better part of the day. Now, beyond the horizon, the sun slowly careened past the horizon, creating a glare unique to the twilight. Taking a risk, his eyes flickered open once again, this time meeting Enoch’s flapping jaw in place of the light.
“Sorry to wake you, but, well, we’re here.” Shuffling over towards the contraption’s entrance, the being yanked down on a heavy brass switch, causing the frame to hiss and the door to slide back. The monk sat up and managed to make his way to the exit, rubbing his eyes as he did so. In front of him lay a paradise.
In the center of the courtyard where the machine’s tracks cut off, a large fountain sat spraying out nectar while a garden of wondrous flower bloomed around it. Intricate pillars sprang from the ground, leading forward towards the monk’s inevitable destiny. The gods and goddesses littered the clearing, the wise Athena compared tactics with her step-brother Ares, the merciless god of war, while Aphrodite, one of the most elegant and vain of creatures to have ever touched the ground, pranced about the flowers. Mighty Hephaestus lay curled up under an apple tree, contemplating the beauty of his wife and stroking his deformed leg, Hermes dodged to and fro, spreading the gossip of the immortals as Dionysus passed about his wine. Apollo whittled away the time by strumming out a tune on his lyre that would have melted the heart of Typhon himself while Artemis whistled to the same tune, notching up and firing her bow at the same time. Hestia and Hera set out attempting to obtain a fragment of peace and tranquility, while Demeter tended to the trees and plants of her orchid, sustaining mortal plants in a heavenly area, forming a literal bond between heaven and earth.
Grinning slightly, the Buddhist made his way through this assorted group, waving hello, shaking hands, and nodding his head when the need arose. They were an interesting bunch, he decided, though a bit too rough at the edges. Maybe that was what the Buddha lacked, that twist of humanity that allowed you to connect with those you worshipped.
As his clogg coated feet swept up the stair leading to the Inner Sanctuary of Mount Olympus, the monk gazed backwards towards Enoch, his confusing contraption of a vehicle, and the gods and goddesses that watched him progress, almost in a manor of saying, “You must go on, if not for yourself, then for us!”
Confused by this notion, the Buddhist decided that it didn’t really matter; all that he knew was that this Zeus may be able to help him find his place.

The darkness was overwhelming, eternal and all consuming. It seemed to engulf everything it came into contact with, destroying the mind and belittling the senses. In fact, all that the Buddhist could do was smell the heart lifting fumes of incense, a fond memory from his days back in the temples.
“You remember that, do you?”
The voice was great and powerful, yet gentle and so very caring at the same time. The monk couldn’t help but shatter his self imposed vows of silence, whispering “Yes, I do….I do, and I long for that smell.”
“So you do still find pleasure in the embrace of your god?”
“I…Suppose I do. What have you to say about this, oh….oh great Zeus.”
“To be honest, nothing.” The monk blinked out of surprise, “There’s nothing I can say to determine your destiny, it’s entirely your decision, it’s your words which decides what happens to you.”
“Well…I devoted my life to the Buddha, to atoning for my sins so I could bask in his presence. Yet, as I reached him, he s nothing like I had imagined him to be.”
“Hmm…I have a son, did you know that? I have many sons, of course, but this one, he was human, and as a result, he was defiant. His name was Heracles and through his existence he suffered through the bearings that my wife, the lovely Hera, forced upon him. However, he died by the hands of another being and when he rose to join us amongst the clouds of Mount Olympus, she embraced him with open arms. You can’t judge a person the first moments you meet him or her in life, and the same follows for the afterlife.”
“So I should seek out my god? I should attempt to connect with him again.”
“Of course, you can do whatever you want. I’m simply saying that a first impression can be deceiving.’
“Yes, yes….I think that…..I think that’ll seek out the Buddha that was in my heart all along, the image I had of him.” At this, the monk heard a chuckle, and he found himself to be laughing as well. “Please, before I go, can I see you?”
“Of course”
Then, the darkness receded back into the bowels of Erebus, and in it’s place formed light, a shining and brilliant light, so enticing that even the monk felt himself tempted to go forth and bask in it. After shifting for a while, the light took form into a human shape, a wondrous man with a beard that weaved down towards his feat and eyes that gazed deep into souls and judged them with the genius of an immortal.
“Now you see, you truly see, don’t you?”
The Buddhist blinked and gulped, nodding warily. His vision had blurred and the world was stirring into a collage of miraculous light and brilliance. It was no longer Zeus that sat before him, but the eulogy to all wisdom and power, his lord, the Buddha. “You…you are both.” He said quizitivly, pulling his hat off in respect.
“I suppose. I am everything, yet I am nothing. It’s a rather interesting predicament, something your people have dubbed omniscience. Some such nonsense, not really important from a cosmic perspective.” The deity smiled warmly and was engulfed in a sea of platinum and golden flame, shrinking down and reforming into a young boy, thin eyed and upbeat. “I am all, everyone as well as every place and time.” Now the ground warped upward around him, causing the God’s body to condense and reform into that of a tiny flea. “Confining me to one title, or many for that matter, is truly pointless.” Despite his current nearly microscopic size, the voice that emanated from the bug was just as mighty as it always had been. “Again, I can be everything and nothing at the same time. But what am I truly? That is true wisdom, the knowledge of how to live, how to become one with me.”
These words echoed into what seemed to be eternity itself, time sped on, life began and was abolished, as were worlds and distant cosmos, while the Buddhist sat there and thought. This time, wasting no effort with dramatics, and simply changing into a tall, lanky woman with a flash, the God approached the monk and smiled at him. “So, do you know what I am?”
“You are…you’re my Buddha, my soul. Yet, you’re true faith in its purest form, are you not?”
At this, the God chuckled and nodded, and simply said, “Yes.” Then, after bowing slightly, It turned and began to tread through the ether, to the depths of existence. “Make what you want of this knowledge, interpret it however you please. All that matters is that you find peace, you know?” Then It was gone.
The monk stood there for a moment, silent and pensive. Gazing back towards the light behind him and the haven of Mount Olympus, he sighed, pulled his hat down over his eyes, and made his way out.




Uh...that was a bit long, wasn't it? Well...here's Predetermined Applications, a far shorter yet more subtle piece, written only about a month ago.



“It’s all predetermined.”
“Even his birth? Is that predetermined?”
“Yes. Nothing is new if you know where to look.”
“But…It’s already been, yet you know what it will be?”
“Time is no boundry for technology”
“In a way, that must be more of a nightmare than anything else. “
“I don’t have dreams.”
“You can have one without the other, you should know that.”
“…I suppose.”

Green walls and a pale light, swaying and swinging, casting fickle shadows about the walls and eyes of the surveyors. People stood in that room, people thought things in that room, wondrous and marvelous things, and disastrous dreams, horrors that mirrored the marvels of God himself. All of it was part of the mind, of the stream, of his head and his self, of the knowledge he held and the soul he denied. The cortex breathed life unto the nerves, and all was felt and all was feared. Eyes flickered to the side, gripped the entwining cords that conveyed his power into further might for the binding of conscious images, and with a rush, they were laying, burned and dead, on the tiled and bland floor.
Something stirred around the men, he could feel it, although, was he even a he? Was he a she, an it, a thing, a personification of an intangible force or a thought of the smallest being? Whatever the case was, it decided that it was a he, and so it was. Everything around him quivered with the force of sentinence, and all began to understand what he had predetermined to be. All was meant to be black, without sight nor sound. The void of space was what he desired, so it came. Everything faded away into the darkness, and all was black.
With a pop, the swaying light flickered out of existence.

“Are they really going to follow through with this?”
“The operation prides themselves with their ability to comply with demands.”
“What do you think the chance is of them actually succeeding?
“Around point nine eight three percent. Not a very likely amount.”
“Anything to worry about?”
“There’s always the slight chance that the program will be completed. If that were to happen, the world would find another monster clawing at its roots.”
“That thing’s just a regular niddhogg…”
“Hmm.”

Light surfaced again, from a primordial soup, the mix of creation and of life, to rearrange the concept of existence yet again. Now he found himself staring at the field of battle, a plain of corpses and sorrow. However, the corpses were of the imagined reality, the cortex deduced, and the sorrow was nothing more than a construct of what life could be. No, his mind had determined that that particular image was nothing more than an elaborate mental disposition. The truth was that his eyes were not lying; his irises shuddered and focused, re-iterating on their earlier claims that the fear they had sighted was there. A gun barrel, pressed down upon his forehead, cocked and ready to end his existence, fulfilling a predetermined claim that he was worthless.

Two operatives, a Mr. Charles Smith and a Ms. Pariah Jones, were leased out to operation Bleak, a government organized program meant to rectify what was predetermined long ago by the thoughts and fears of countless men and women. With their guns loaded, the two had infiltrated the system, a large network that traversed through the depths of the earth, with every intention to kill the result of whatever monstrosity the paranoid bureaucracies of the world had birthed to control mankind. People stood in their way, of course, but they were leveled amongst the chaos that was born within human ambition. So, with little real resistance, the two contacts reached their destination, weapons failing, and threats flinging from their mouths.
However, they were met by nothing more than a child.
His eyes were pale yellow, and at the same time they were piercing gray, bright enough to blind a man. Hair wafted in small tuffs, wavering with his jerky movements, creating a sense of pain.
Pariah’s gun was drawn; trembling in her trained hands, ready to unleash a lethal instrument of her beliefs into the boy’s head. Her finger jerked forward, but the boy, in calm yet frantic retaliation, said, “My life, what is and what can be, is none of your concern. It is best if you go.” The voice was everything at once, every being and every realization that ever graced the earth. She couldn’t fight it; those horrible eyes and those words…Pariah Jones dropped her gun to the floor and began sobbing.

“What did they do?”
“They advanced him.”
“Really? Are they allowed to do that?”
“Of course not. Forced evolution is a horrible thing.”
“Huh… So, will he live?”
“Maybe, maybe not. Not everything is predetermined.”
“I’m not so sure..”