‘Tickling Butterflies’ – Death’s Empty Space

Tickling Butterflies is an epic fantasy, containing 128 fairy tales that together create one huge story.

Here’s the story so far. The story continues:

 

Death’s Empty Space

(Containing a mystifying account of a small, empty space.)

 

“Tell me what happens after death, Death,” said King John the Cute.

Death paused and considered his answer. Then he said, “I do not know what happens after death.”

“He’s lying,” said Minister Vazir, who had lost his fear of death over the past few weeks.

“I only speak to the king,” said Death, who did not deign to look at the minister.

“You will speak with whomever serves me,” said King John the Cute. “Answer my question truthfully.”

“I do not know what happens after Death.”

“Surely,” the king said, “you must know something.”

Death hesitated. “Something… Yes.”

“Tell me that something.”

Death waited one minute, a minute that seemed to last almost three minutes and thirty three seconds. Then, at the end of that minute, he spoke. “I shall tell you what I have seen of the Afterdeath.”

Back in the days when I was young and roaming the land without purpose, during the first weeks after I came to be, back before I had the list in my hands, before I had taken my first soul, back when the land was bright, I came upon a hole in the ground. A strange and terrifying plant guarded the hole, but he made no aggressive moves towards me and allowed me to approach.

This is the hole that leads to the place you call the Afterdeath. It is the hole in the ground that leads you to whatever it is that happens after death.

The hole beckoned to me. It was as if it called for me to explore it. I felt it belonged to me.

I walked in.

There was a short path underground, and beyond it a small light. Seeing the small light convinced me that the path was somehow leading up and into the sunlight.

I walked the short path. But it led down.

At its end, I saw the entrance to a small room. The room was closed on all three sides, and open only in the direction I came from. The room was no bigger than three feet one way and three feet the other. There was no way out. There was nothing further. There was nothing beyond it. The room did not lead to anything.

I tried to walk into the room, but the air itself fizzed and fizzled and burned me and stopped me from advancing. I stopped, and when I stopped, the air changed color, and turned into a black screen. Today, I know that what seemed like a screen was actually some kind of door, and it is a dark door through which light does not pass and no one can see.

I tried to pass a few more times through the black door, but always it blocked my advance.

I tried to look in again, but light did not pass through the closed door. Disappointed, I walked out of the hole in the ground.

Weeks later, when Igda Bigda’s soul was in my grasp, I felt a need to return to the hole in the ground. Eager to learn more about my own nature, I decided to obey my need and see where it leads. I kept Igda Bigda’s soul in a bottomless pocket in my robes, and walked for eight days and seven nights, until I reached the hole.

I walked down the short path. The dark door was still dark and still closed. I felt a need to take Igda Bigda’s soul and pass it through the door. Although the door did not open, when my hand touched it, Igda Bigda’s soul left my hand and moved into the door and past it, disappearing from my sight.

There were sparks of light when she passed, but only for a second. I could see Igda Bigda’s body being reformed, and the small room was suddenly full of objects I did not recognize.

Then the sparks were gone and the darkness returned.

Many years have passed since. I have lost count of the centuries.

During the thousands of years that I have been alive, I had never been able to get more than a rare glimpse of the other side, nor have I been able to enter my own domain. But the few rare glimpses I had seen of the other side have led me to guess that for each creature I put in the afterlife, a space grows specifically for that person, where he, she, or it can roam freely. One time I believed I caught a hint of a large, green park. But I may have been mistaken, for I have never seen it again.

What the souls see, what they do, what they know once they are in my domain – I can attest to none of this. I do not know what happens after death. Nor will I ever know. For even when Death dies, he cannot pass through that door. I have claimed the souls of other Deaths in my time, and their souls rest with me in my bottomless pocket, for the door to the Afterdeath does not allow them passage.

And this, King John the Cute, had been the story you requested, the story of Death’s domain, which you call the Afterdeath. Once more, this was also a story of Death’s first days. Are we done?

“We are not done, Death,” said King John the Cute. “I have more questions for you.”

This has been the story of Death’s second story in which King John the Cute learned of the mystery of the Afterdeath.

 

(To be continued on Sunday…)

‘Tickling Butterflies’ – Death’s List

Tickling Butterflies is an epic fantasy, containing 128 fairy tales that together create one huge story.

Here’s the story so far. The story continues:

 

Death’s List

(Containing an astonishing account of unknown forces.)

 

“My first question to you is this,” said King John the Cute. Death, who refused to sit down, listened closely. “I have heard it told that you carry a list of those who must die. In the story I have heard you are not the one who controls the names on the list. You do not choose who dies at your hand.”

“How do you know this?” Death demanded.

“I wish to know,” King John the Cute continued, ignoring Death’s question, “where the list comes from. I wish to know who puts the names on the list. Who is more powerful than Death? Who decides who lives and who dies?”

Death lowered his head. “Very well. I shall tell you the story of the list.”

The story of the list is the story of my first days in the Land of All Legends, Death said, as he began to tell his tale.

Once upon a time, I had simply come to life. I was not born, I simply was. I was this size, with this voice, wearing these clothes, and holding this scythe. I looked around and saw that I was standing among rolling green hills, and the light of the day was quite bright. That is what the Border of Nothing looked like during those days.

I did not know who I was. I did not know my purpose. I only knew how to speak and how to think. I knew how to look and how to hear. And I also knew my name: Death. But at the time, I did not know what that name meant.

For seven days and seven nights I wandered the land, discovering its secrets, looking at its creatures. And yet, I talked to no one. I touched no one.

Then, at the end of seven days and seven nights, I was standing on green grass, when a sudden movement near my feet awakened my interest. I looked down. A blade of grass was stirring, and nothing was touching it, not even the wind. Another blade of grass stirred. And another and another and another, until the all grass around me was moving for no reason I could fathom.

Then the green grass turned golden and shiny. The shine turned white, and the grass broke into small objects, objects I later learned were magical fairy dust. The fairy dust rose into the air, danced before me, then coalesced into a shiny square in front of my hands. The shine shone less and less brightly, until it disappeared completely. In its place was a piece of old, yellow parchment that cannot be torn. The parchment was empty.

Not knowing what to do, I reached forward and touched the paper of the parchment.

The instant my fingers touched it, I knew this was what I was born to do: to touch this yellow parchment. It felt right.

The grass beneath me was gone, and the land had turned into a dry desert. All but a single blade of grass remained, still green. Then the single blade stirred, as well, slowly becoming fairy dust, slowly rising into the air, swimming in it. The small amount of fairy dust danced in the air above the yellow paper parchment, then sank slowly upon it. And where it touched the list, it had turned to writing. A name was written now on the paper: Igda Bigda.

Not knowing what to do now, I walked around the Land of All Legends and asked everyone I had met who Igda Bigda was, and where I could find her. At the end of a two week search, I found her.

During my travels, I had noticed that everyone has a special aura, which as far as I could tell only I could see. The brightness of that aura changes from person to person. On Igda Bigda, the aura was a remnant of a flicker. Unable to resist, I tried to touch it. And when I did, Igda Bigda died, and her soul was in my hand.

At that moment, I knew that this was my purpose. I knew what the word ‘Death’ meant, and I knew who I was and why I was here.

At the moment I took her soul, the writing on the yellow paper parchment turned to dust and fell to the ground, more lifeless than the grass it had been.

Over time, I learned that a creature’s aura was the amount of life still to be lived by the creature. Over time, I learned that the names on the yellow paper parchment were creatures I was meant to touch, whose lives were flickering at an end. Over time, I learned to tell by a person’s aura how much time they had left. And yet, if I ever touched a life that is not yet over, if I ever tried to take a life whose time has not yet come, my arm would burn. When I had met the mysterious creature that had taken my hand, he had no aura, not even a flicker. And yet he spoke. When I touched him, he did not die, nor did it hurt me. I have never experienced such a thing.

But these were not the only things that I had learned. Over time, I have seen trees and chairs, blades of grass and flowers, and inanimate objects of all kinds turn to fairy dust which turns to names that appear on the piece of paper parchment I carry. And once I had taken the souls of the creatures whose names appear on the list, the writing turns to dead dust.

Thus for every living object whose life I take, the life is taken out of a non-living object in the Land of All Legends. For every death that takes place, the Land of All Legends dies a little, too. Once upon a time, land and new creatures were appearing all the time, and so there was more life than death. But for centuries, this has not been the case. Now both land and creatures are dying with no new land, no new creatures being created, and very few creatures being born.

To answer your question, my king, I do not know what manner of creature commands what words are written on the parchment. I do not know who chooses the names or how they are chosen. For all the time I have been in the Land of All Legends, never have I seen a hint of this.

And this, King John the Cute, had been the story you requested, the story of Death’s list, which was also the story of my first days as Death.

“Thank you for the story, Death,” King John the Cute said. The ministers, advisors, and general help around the two were silent, frozen in fear and awe. “Yet another mystery to solve – a creature who dictates Death’s deeds. Now to my next question—”

But King John the Cute stopped in the middle of his words, as a picture on the wall began to glow. It was a picture of King Charming the Fourth, the previous king, and it slowly glowed in shimmering radiance. Then the radiance broke apart into shimmering fairy dust, which danced in the air, in front of Death.

Death took out his list.

The fairy dust settled upon the list, and, with a last glow, turned to writing.

Death looked at the new name silently.

“What name does it say?” King John the Cute asked.

Death looked into the king’s eyes, only a foot away from Death. “It says ‘King John the Cute’.”

The ministers, advisors, and general help gasped.

King John the Cute did not take his eyes off Death.

“If I had my hand,” Death said. “I would take your life right now.”

“But you don’t,” said King John the Cute.

“No. Surely, as soon as I regain it, I will touch you.” Death looked down. “I assume now that our bargain is void and that you will not help me get my hand back.”

“You assume mistakenly, Death,” said the king. Once more, the ministers, advisers, and general help gasped. “I already know I am going to die young. I know it will be at Death’s hand, be the hand on Death himself or on the one who stole it. I may yet find your hand and restore it, a year and seven months from now, and then you will slay me.”

“Yes,” said Death.

“Our bargain is still on,” said King John the Cute. “If you answer all my questions, I will do my best to restore your hand.”

Death looked at the king with calm respect. He had never seen anyone behave like this. “We will see how true you are to your words,” said Death, “and we will see if I hold up my end of the bargain. I may answer or I may refuse to answer. What is your next question?”

This has been the appalling story of how King John the Cute’s name came to appear on Death’s list.

 

(To be continued on Thursday…)

Guest Post at SF Signal: Keep It Stupid Simpleton

A new article of mine has been published over at SF Signal. A new trend in high-tech, called GOP (“Guest Post Optimization”), brands SF readers as stupid. Here’s a taste:

 

A few days ago, I got a phone call from an unknown caller.

“Am I speaking to Guy Hasson?” The woman was cordial.

“Yes,” I said, wary.

“I read your guest post in SF Signal,” she said as if we’re old friends. “The one about the zombies.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Strangers don’t usually call me about these things. There’s a reason God created email.

“And I saw no one left any comments,” she continued.

“Yeah?” I said, warier and warier.

“We can help you with that.”

 

Read the entire post here. Oh, and read the comments, too.

‘Tickling Butterflies’ – A Bargain with Death

Tickling Butterflies is an epic fantasy, containing 128 fairy tales that together create one huge story.

Here’s the story so far. The story continues:

PART 6

A PROPHECY OF LIFE

A Bargain with Death

(Containing a dire meeting of two powerful beings.)

King John the Cute returned to the palace and Death waited for him.

Chariot dropped King John the Cute and Benjamin Miller, the seven hundred year old orphan boy from another world, in the middle of the court. Death stood there, waiting.

All the king’s ministers, advisors, and general help stood in the court yard, as far away as possible from Death. Even Benjamin Miller, upon setting foot in the palace, took a few steps back. Chariot floated upwards instinctively.

King John the Cute approached Death without fear. He stood inches away from him, and said, “What are you doing in my palace, Death?”

“I seek your help.”

“Mine? To help you cause more death and destruction?”

“I no longer cause death and destruction. My hand has been torn from me by a mysterious and powerful creature that cannot die. Now he walks the land with my hand, able to take lives at whim. I need the king’s help in putting things back as they were. You are faced with a choice, my king. That I walk the land with my hand once more, able to kill responsibly, as I always have… Or that he walk the land, able to kill irresponsibly, whenever he desires.”

King John the Cute was reminded of a similar dilemma, back when he was a young boy in the town of Bambooville. In deciding to perform a good deed for an evil witch he helped her do evil but stopped her from doing great evil.

King John the Cute said, “I have important tasks, more urgent than helping Death. And yet, I will make a deal with you.”

Death was angered. But all he said was, “I am listening.”

The crowd of ministers, advisors, and general help around the king and Death held its breath, awaiting the king’s words.

“Just as I have vowed that you will not have my soul, even after I am dead, so I have vowed to reveal the hidden secrets of the Land of All Legends. Share your secrets with me, and I will help put Death’s hand in its owner’s hands. Refuse to share your secrets, and I will send you back to roam the land alone and unaided.”

A long silence ensued. No one dared breathe. Death was thinking.

After two minutes and twenty-two seconds, Death spoke, “We will see. I may share information or I may not share. What is it that you want to know?”

King John the Cute never took his eyes away from Death’s face. He said, “For you I have many, many questions. Sit down. Let us begin.”

This has been the dismaying story of how Death began to reveal some of his secrets.

(To be continued on Tuesday…)

‘Tickling Butterflies’ – The Winds of Chance

Tickling Butterflies is an epic fantasy, containing 128 fairy tales that together create one huge story.

Here’s the story so far. The story continues:

 

The Winds of Chance

(Containing the auspicious tale in which Al the Average returns to our story.)

 

Al the Average was a big believer in letting chance have its way with him.

Al the Average had grown up in a small house in Bambooville, a tiny town in the farthest corner of the farthest shire in the farthest land of the Land of All Legends.

When he was nine years old (and John the Cute was still in his mother’s womb) Al the Average was playing in a field of wheat, and a tornado appeared between him and the Bambooville. Al the Average did not know what to do. The tornado seemed dangerous. As it headed straight for him, it tore trees out of the ground by their roots. Al the Average did not know in which direction he should run because he did not know in which direction the tornado would go.

After five moments of panic, Al the Average decided to close his eyes and surrender to chance.

He heard the tornado approach, and through closed eyes he imagined another place and another time. He felt the wind begin to strike him, and he began to tell himself a story about True Love.

Suddenly, he felt the wind lift him into the air. And yet he did not open his eyes, surrendering to chance and the Fates, and imagining a more peaceful story than this.

After being shoved this way and that, and after feeling like he was falling down a slide,  his feet touched solid ground, his body was unhurt, and the wind was gone.

When he had opened his eyes, he discovered himself in another world. It was a world of tall buildings and rooms that lit up during the nights without candles. It was a world filled with roads in which not horses rode, but mechanized carriages on wheels. Most importantly, it was a world with a lot of music, music that usually played on a strange box called a ‘radio’.

Without knowing how he had gotten there, without knowing what that world was, he fell in love with that place.

But when he woke up the next day, he found himself back in the wheat field outside Bambooville. He was disappointed that it had all been a fantasy. But then, upon a second glance, he discovered a radio at his feet.

He had been to that other, strange world!

The radio could be turned on, but it only played a strange kind of uniform noise.

From that point on, whenever there was a windy day, Al the Average would return to the wheat field, close his eyes, and hope to return to that magical world.

During the next fifteen years, Al the Average had returned to the magical world only twice more, never knowing how he had gotten there, never knowing how he had returned. But every time he came back with a souvenir from that place.

On his second visit, he returned with a book that included stories about some of the friendly creatures that lived in nearby cities, like Little Red Riding Hood, Snow White, and Jack and his beanstalk. This was strange, because Al the Average did not know Little Red Riding Hood was famous enough to have a book written about her.

On his third visit, he returned with a machine called a ‘glider’. This machine allowed people to soar through the air and the wind as if they were a bird.

When Al the Average was twenty-four years old, he put the radio on one of the shelves of his fixit shop, because he liked to listen to the noise when no one was around.

John the Cute entered his shop, and inquired about the radio. In a moment of weakness, Al the Average explained what a radio was. John the Cute loved the radio so much, that he told everyone in town about it.

Too late, Al the Average realized his mistake, hid the radio, and denied everything. Soon, the talk of the radio died and people began to speak of other things. Al the Average believed his mistake had been a small one, and that nothing of great importance had occurred.

Two years later news came to Bambooville that King Charming the Fourth was dead, and that John the Cute was now king. Two weeks after the king’s coronation, Al the Average was walking back to his shop when he saw one of the king’s soldiers ride into town and stop at the fixit shop. Al the Average followed the soldier afar, as the king’s man asked everyone about Al the Average. When no one knew where Al the Average was, the soldier began to ask everyone if they had ever seen a special seashell called a ‘radio’.

There and then, Al the Average understood that King John the Cute would never rest until he took all of his possessions from him and forced him to tell all his secrets.

Come nighttime, Al the Average snuck back into his shop, took his book, his radio, and his glider, and ran away from Bambooville forever.

He climbed atop the highest hill in the shire, and jumped off, using the glider. Al the Average closed his eyes and surrendered to the wind, allowing the currents of air to carry him this way and that.

For two weeks he was in the air, with his eyes closed, being handed from one wind to another. For two weeks, he dared not open his eyes, allowing chance and the Fates to have its way with him. Then, when the winds tired of him, they gently put him and his glider down.

Al the Average opened his eyes, expecting to be in some remote spot, or perhaps even in the magical world. In front of him, he saw the gates of the palace. The Fates and the winds had dropped him at King John the Cute’s doorstep!

Al the Average quickly dropped the glider, and with his book and radio, jumped into the nearest river. Al the Average closed his eyes and surrendered to the currents, allowing him to pass from one river to another, then to the currents of the open sea. For two weeks, he let chance and the Fates and the currents have their way with him. And then, when the currents tired of him, they thrust him gently onto solid ground.

Al the Average opened his eyes, expecting to be in some remote continent no one had ever heard of. In front of him, he saw the gates of the palace in Capital City. The Fates had dropped him at King John the Cute’s doorstep once more!

Al the Average held the book and the radio even tighter, and ran as quickly as he could. He ran for four days and four nights. He ran in a straight line, trusting his legs more than he trusted the Fates now.

At the end of four days, exhausted, Al the Average stopped to take a breath. Near him, a young blind woman rested on a bench.

“What would you be breathing so hard about?” she said.

“It is nothing,” Al the Average panted. “The king wants to see me. He wants to me tell him my secrets. I would rather be anywhere but there.”

He had felt safe confiding in a woman that could not see, could not identify him, and could not run after him.

To his surprise, he felt the woman’s grip on his neck. “Is that right, now? My name is Sarah O’Connell, you scoundrel, and no one naysays the king when I am around!”

For the first time, Al the Average realized that the woman was not blind, but had a cloth around her eyes; and that her strength was the strength of ten men. Her hand around his throat and still blindfolded, she began to drag Al the Average by the neck in the direction of Capital City. “Come,” she said. “We have a little trip ahead of us. I hear the palace is lovely this time of year.”

This has been the auspicious tale in which the Fates brought Sarah O’Connell back to the presence of King John the Cute.

 

(To be continued on Sunday…)

‘Tickling Butterflies’ – Little Soldier Blue

Tickling Butterflies is an epic fantasy, containing 128 fairy tales that together create one huge story.

Here’s the story so far. The story continues:

 

Little Soldier Blue

(Containing the ghastly story of a perfect soldier.)

 

Little Soldier Blue hated the army. But it was also clear to him that he needed a job. It was clear to him because his parents had made it clear to him that he needed a job. His father, Big Soldier Blue, and his mother, Big Soldier Wife, both expected him to go into the army. Big Soldier Blue came from a long line of soldiers, and Big Soldier Wife came from a long line of soldier wives.

By a strange coincidence, on Little Soldier Blue’s eighteenth birthday, Prince Charming the Fifth rode into town and gathered all eighteen year olds and suggested they join the prince’s army. The prince offered money, and Little Soldier Blue accepted, even though he was not sure that it was the right job for him.

On the first day, all soldiers were given uniforms and a magic silver box.

All soldiers put their feelings inside the magic silver box. But Little Soldier Blue held on to his feelings and his box remained empty.

Prince Charming the Fifth did not rely on the boxes to gain his soldiers’ loyalty. During his trial of fire, he had conceived the perfect plan to gain his soldiers’ loyalty. The prince knew, as all royalty does, that the feeling of anger makes a person certain that he is right and equally certain that the person making him angry is wrong. The angrier the person, the more certain he is that he is right, and the more certain he is that the other person is wrong.

And so, the prince’s training consisted of making his soldiers angry.

With each passing day, Little Soldier Blue became angrier. With each passing day, all soldiers around him became angrier.

With each passing week, Little Soldier Blue became certain that he was right. With each passing week, all the soldiers around him were certain that they were right.

And during all that time, Prince Charming the Fifth was the angriest of them all, and therefore everyone agreed with him that he was right. His anger connected with everyone else’s. Everyone agreed with him that he should be king. The more right and more righteous and more angry the soldiers became, the more certain they were that King John the Ugly should be killed.

Within a month, Little Soldier blue was mighty angry, and he felt better about being in the army, and he knew that King John the Cute should die. And he was surrounded by soldiers who felt exactly the same feelings all the time.

Prince Charming the Fifth had also learned, during his trial of fire, that soldiers must care for their fellow soldiers before they cared for their families.

And so, at the end of every night, the soldiers played games in which one of them was being rescued by the others. And after a month, the soldiers felt as tight as a family. For the first time in his life, Little Soldier Blue felt that he had a family that approves of what and who he is, a family that understands him, a family that shares his anger. Little Soldier Blue was loyal to his new family and felt certain that he would willingly lay down his life for all his soldier friends.

The third lesson Prince Charming the Fifth had learned in his trial of fire, was that his army needed to be desperate for his approval. He wanted to make sure that his loyal army would be truly loyal, and wanted the soldiers to be loyal because they sought his approval.

And so for every day for an entire month, Prince Charming the Fifth made sure that he told each and every soldier three times that he was not good enough, and one time that he was getting slightly better. So it was for every soldier. So it was all the time.

In that way, Little Soldier Blue felt he was improving, but also felt that he was never good enough for Prince Charming the Fifth. And yet, with each good word from the prince, he became more loyal, and tried even harder to get the prince’s praise. He wanted Prince Charming the Fifth to tell him how good he was. After a month, it was the most important thing he wanted. It was equally as important as killing King John the Cute.

Little Soldier Blue knew that if he killed King John the Cute, the prince would tell him that he was a perfect soldier and would love him greatly.

And so, after three months of training, Little Soldier Blue became the perfect soldier. Then, to make Prince Charming the Fifth even happier, he opened his box, locked his emotions in it, then threw it away.

This has been the ghastly story containing exact details of how Little Soldier Blue became the perfect soldier. This has also been the unpleasant tale in which Shadowy Death stood silently and in the shadows, allowing Prince Charming the Fifth to create an impressive army.

 

(To be continued on Thursday…)

‘Tickling Butterflies’ – Death and the Minister

Tickling Butterflies is an epic fantasy, containing 128 fairy tales that together create one huge story.

Here’s the story so far. We are in the middle:

Death and the Minister

(Containing the fearsome story of Death and the minister.)

Once, during the time of King John the Cute’s journey to the Land of No Respect, Death returned to the king’s palace. Upon his last visit, he took King Charming the Fourth’s soul. Upon this visit, he headed for Minister Vazir’s room.

It was the middle of the night, and only Minister Vazir was awake.

Death entered his room, and Minister Vazir’s mouth fell open.

“I am Death,” said Death.

In spite of the fact that Minister Vazir had put all his fears in a box, what little specks of emotion remained of his fears caused his heart to race. “I am Minister Vazir,” he said. “Have you come for me?”

“Not today,” said Death. “I seek King John the Cute.”

“King John the Cute,” said Minister Vazir, trying to breathe steadily, “is on a quest at the Land of No Respect at the moment. Do you seek to claim his soul?”

“Not at present,” said Death. “I seek him in another matter.”

“Well… As I said…” Minister Vazir slowly regained his breath. “He is out for a few days at least. Why… Why… Why do you seek him?”

“I seek his help.”

“Why… Why… Why does Death seek the king’s help?”

Death hesitated for a minute and sixty one seconds. Then, deciding on telling the truth, he raised his amputated right arm. “A mysterious being has taken my arm. I can no longer claim anyone’s soul, while he can claim the souls of anyone he wishes.”

“You can… You can… You can no longer take anyone’s souls?” Minister Vazir could not take his eyes off the amputated arm.

“My arm is stolen. I cannot take souls. I must see the king.”

“Well… the king will be out for many days…”

“Very well, then,” Death said. “I shall wait for him.”

Minister Vazir considered the situation. “Perhaps it is best, Death, that while you wait, you will wait in my room, away from others’ eyes, so as not to create a panic.”

Death sat down on Minister Vazir’s chair. “I will await the king here.”

Minister Vazir considered the situation further. When he had told King John the Cute his story about how he had put his great fears in a silver box, he had promised the king that he would open the silver box and put his fears back in his body. But he had not done so since their conversation. Perhaps this was the perfect opportunity to do so? He would put back his fears in his body, and face his fear of Death, which surely must be the worst, without there ever being a danger of Death claiming his soul.

While Death waited, Minister Vazir opened the box and put his fears back in his body.

While Death waited, Minister Vazir felt his fears fully.

With Death in the room for fourteen days and fourteen nights, Minister Vazir learned to overcome his fears and to live with Death.

This has been the fearsome story of how Minister Vazir put his fears back in his body and learned to overcome them.

(To be continued on Tuesday…)

‘Tickling Butterflies’ – The Last Rule and Regulation

Tickling Butterflies is an epic fantasy, containing 128 fairy tales that together create one huge story. Here’s the story so far. We are in the middle:

 

The Last Rule and Regulation

(Containing the daring tale of an heroic escape from the Land of No Respect.)

 

Once upon a time, during his quest to save the Land of All Legends, King John the Cute had travelled to the mysterious Land of No Respect. There, he met a sad man in the mountains who told him great truths which had been gained at a terrible price.

That sad man’s name was Benjamin Miller, an orphan from another land. Once he had finished his tale, King John the Cute came to his feet.

“Surely your realize,” the king told Benjamin Miller, “that your story has not yet come to the end.”

“My story is over,” said Benjamin Miller. “It is simply that I cannot die.”

“Benjamin Miller, I am on a quest to find hidden truths about the Land of All Legends, to discover its secrets, and to save as many lives as possible. Perhaps I will save yours. I promise you here and now that I will do my best to help you find a way home.”

“There is no use,” said Benjamin Miller. “I have given up that hope centuries ago. Do not waste your time.”

“You have told me great things, to which I must give quite a lot of thought. But you have also given me hints as to where to proceed. If the Original Monster travels between my land and your original land, then we must find him. We must learn what he knows, we must learn the secrets of that other land, we must learn the secrets of the Original Monster, and we will use our knowledge to help you get back to your own land.”

“I have tried. For decades. The Original Monster is elusive beyond words.”

“I am the king. I have more resources than you have ever had.”

“You will not find him. You will not be able to bring me back to my world. The mirror has shown me the truth.”

“The mirror has shown you that someone is writing stories about you,” King John the Cute corrected him. “But it has not shown you that you will never return to your home.”

Benjamin Miller thought about that statement. “That is true,” he said, surprised.

“Come, let us leave the island together and return to the palace, where I can continue my quest.”

Benjamin Miller took a step back. “No, no. You do not understand. We can never leave this place.”

“Why?”

“Because of the last rule and regulation of the Land of No Respect. I have been here for centuries, and I have learned all the rules. And the twentieth and last rule and regulation states clearly that you will always achieve the opposite of what you really want. I wanted to leave, and so I have been here for all these years. Ochi wanted to kill the doctors, and so he was killed himself. That is how the Land of No Respect works, and its rules and regulations are magically enforced on this island.”

King John the Cute considered this statement for one minute and eleven seconds. Then he took a deep breath and exclaimed, “I am the king of the Land of All Legends, and I decree that the rules and regulations of the Land of No Respect will have no hold on me or my friends!”

The king’s voice echoed through the island. Through the glasses with the magnifying qualities, Benjamin Miller could see that everyone in town had stopped and looked around, searching for the source of the voice.

“Chariot!” King John the Cute’s voice boomed across the land. “Come to the top of the mountain! We must leave immediately!”

For a long minute, Benjamin Miller looked around, afraid that something might happen to stop their escape. But then a cloud peered in through the caves.

“At your service, my king,” said the cloud.

“Come,” said King John the Cute. The king took Benjamin Miller’s hand, and helped him climb aboard Chariot.

At the king’s orders, Chariot rose into the sky and quickly floated away in the direction of Capital City and the palace. Soon, the island of the Land of No Respect was a dot in the ocean. And soon after that it could no longer be seen over the horizon.

This has been the daring tale of an heroic escape from the Land of No Respect. This has also been the splendid story of the first time John the Cute, the boy from Bambooville, truly felt like a king.

 

(To be continued on Sunday…)

‘Tickling Butterflies’ – The Laughter Fashions

Tickling Butterflies is an epic fantasy, containing 128 fairy tales that together create one huge story. Here’s the story so far. We are in the middle:

 

The Laughter Fashions

(Containing the century-spanning tale of laughable fashions.)

 

Sadness struck me upon learning the truth, Benjamin Miller began the end of his story. My despair was deeper than it had ever been. I had no hope. Everything I had desired was gone. I would never see my parents. I would never return to my world. I had become another story in the Land of All Legends.

Upon exiting the Fun House Mirror wagon, I had enough strength to ask the guardian about where Sylvia had gone. But once he said he did not know, all strength left me.

The guardian brought me to the town. They looked at my despair and could not cope with someone who was extremely not funny and did not laugh at anything.

At the end of long discussions, they came up with a solution. They put me here in the mountain, and dug caves that, with the aid of glasses of magnifying qualities, looked into every part of the Land of No Respect. That way, sitting here, I could see everything that was going on on the island: so many funny things, so many ridiculous things, so many silly things. They hoped that with the centuries it would improve my mood.

I have been sitting here for almost five hundred and fifty years with sadness in my heart, and only the funny creatures of the Land of No Respect keeping my sadness slightly above great despair.

During all those years, every day that I have spent here, someone came and gave me food and water and slapped my face with five pies of whipped cream.

Over the centuries, I have seen creatures come and go, observed fashions appear with great excitement and disappear in disrepute. I have seen the island ruled by an incompetent police force that constantly bumped into each other. I have seen decades of ridiculous clothing fashions, meant to be funny rather than useful or appealing. I have seen decades in which the fashion was to make fun of anything that had just been said, simply by mimicking it. I have seen decades in which the style had been to throw things on one another. I have seen decades in which the fashion was to insult each other quietly and with clever words and to never touch. I have seen decades in which pooping was considered the greatest invention of modern times. I have seen decades upon decades of silliness, wackiness, zaniness, and ridiculousness. And that silliness, as much as it caused me pain, has also saved my sanity.

And that is the story of the happiest land in the Land of All Legends: the Land of No Respect. And it is also the story of the saddest man in the Land of All Legends: Benjamin Miller. And now, King John the Cute, you know my story in its entirety.

 

(To be continued on Tuesday…)

 

 

 

‘Tickling Butterflies’ – Benjamin Miller and the Magic Mirror

Tickling Butterflies is an epic fantasy, containing 128 fairy tales that together create one huge story. Here’s the story so far. We are about to go off the road:

 

Benjamin Miller and the Magic Mirror

(Containing a mirror-image tale of the previous story.)

 

After Sylvia vanished from sight forever in the mirror, Benjamin Miller continued with his story, the view in the mirror changed. Since I was looking at the mirror, the Fun House Mirror had now decided to show me my own truth.

I saw a man sitting over a desk, writing in a notebook. The man was overweight and bald and old. His few hairs were brown, and his eyes were sharp green. He was writing words upon words on a yellow notebook. Already, the notebook was half filled with what must be the work of months and months.

I leaned in, and looked over his shoulder, careful not to touch the mirror and fall into it.

He was just finishing a sentence, and without trying to read, I saw my own name, ‘Benjamin Miller’. I began to read the sentence he had just finished writing. This was it:

“My name is Benjamin Miller,” began Benjamin Miller, “and I was not born in the Land of All Legends. I was born… somewhere else.

Suddenly, the man with the green eyes was tired. He put his pen aside, and leaned back. Then, with a gesture, he closed the notebook, turning back all the pages. This allowed me to see the first page. There it clearly said, in great big block letters:

TICKLING BUTTERFLIES

BY

GUY HASSON

And it was at that time, at that moment, that I understood the truth about myself.

I was born in another place, a three dimensional world that is not at all the Land of All Legends. I was born in a world where stories are told to children, but I ended up in a land where those stories lived and died. But now… after almost a hundred and fifty years in the Land of All Legends, I had become a story myself! I had become a story that someone else is telling! Someone in my world is writing stories about me! Parents in my world are telling stories about me to children, just as I was told stories about Snow White!

The image in the mirror vanished, and I fell to my knees.

I knew then that I would never find my way home. I knew it, clear as any truth, that I was bound to stay as a story in the Land of All Legends for the rest of my life. And I knew that since I could not die of old age, I would remain a story forever!

For a moment, Benjamin Miller coughed.

“Excuse me, King John the Cute. I must clear my throat.”

King John the Cute sat silently and waited until Benjamin Miller cleared his throat. In the meantime, thoughts of other lands, of stories, of writers, and of children listening to stories filled the king’s mind. Was this the secret of the Land of All Legends? Did King Charming the Fifth know about any of it? Was something coming over from this other land, causing great harm to the Land of All Legends? Was the other land the cause of the Land of All Legends’ sickness? Was King John the Cute part of a story written by someone who had never seen him? Was King John the Cute a two-dimensional character in a story? If he was, what did that mean?

King John the Cute had only begun to consider these things, when Benjamin Miller finished clearing his throat and began the end of his tale.

 

(To be continued on Sunday…)