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Chapter 1
“It’s the sun!” I yelled, hanging most-way out the open window of my all-but-parked on the freeway Plymouth Horizon. “It’s always there!” Exasperated, I shook my open hand, palm up, one more time at the long lazy line of cars stretched out ahead of me before letting it fall loudly against the side of the car. Heading East in the early morning, sun glare backups are common but to me, mind boggling. Hadn’t any of these people ever heard of sunglasses? I slurped coffee from my travel mug and, though a semi-karmic force, dribbled Columbian Roast down my front.
“I should just wear a bib.” I thought. I held the mug between my knees, since the 1989 Horizon is from a pre-cupholder era, and dabbed unhelpfully at the coffee stain with an errant napkin. “Actually, I just shouldn’t be drinking coffee at all. It’s and addiction and it shows weakness of the character and is bad for my breath and teeth and what else, heart? And it destroys the rain forest and fuels the conglomony of Maxwell House. From now on, I am just going to buy fair trade, organic, locally roasted, bird friendly peace-coffee.” Giving up on the brown stain drying neatly in the center of my light-blue polo shirt, I inched the car, Christened “Dante,” forward.
I tried not to look at the clock. I rarely wore a watch but had placed a sticky-backed travel clock on the dash in such a way that it was obscured by the steering wheel. Of course everything in the Horizon was obscured by the steering wheel unless you were a seven foot tall hunchback. But my wavering eye strayed and I saw it was nineteen minutes after.
God, I was going to be late again. Working at a Zoo was not all it was cracked up to be.
Chip was going to be furious, and I still had to stop for the damn donuts. I cranked up the volume on my radio, blasting Kiante’s “Morning Cutlery” college radio show so loud the mesh covered speakers rattled irritably. Loud music was like Prozac. When one didn’t have money, clean clothes, air conditioning or donuts, one still had the ability to blast loud punk music to rattle the hatchback windows.
The music mellowed my mood and I slipped into the Zen of stop and go traffic: clutch, break, first gear, release break, clutch, gas, OM. What a modern mantra. Sighing, I slipped from fury into “the Zone,” driving like automatic writing the path I take to work each day, drifting towards the exit lane as my turn off approached.
I let my mind wander and started brainstorming what b-roll Chip and his Channel 6 production crew might shoot for the weekly kids television show, “You Belong At the Zoo” (dissatisfactorily abbreviated YBATZ) Granted, I should have had the schedule all written out, typed in Courier 14 point double-spaced, double-sided, but YBATZ was no Sesame Street. Hell, it wasn’t even as well produced as “Cooking with Mr. Food”. It usually consisted of Shannon pitching interesting and educational stories to Chip, and Chip replying “what else do you got?”
When I finally pulled into the employee parking lot and spied Chip’s Channel 6 van, I realized I’d forgotten the donuts. “Shit.”
But then she saw something odd. Not only was Chip’s big white van in the lot, but Channel 10 and 12 were there as well. The only time more than one news crew made it out to the Onami Zoo was when there was a birth or severe weather (one of those “what do you do with the animals on a hot day” fluff pieces).
Monday, March 09, 2009
Telove-prolog
Prolog
Kabris waited as if suspended in a dream. Long, narrow legs folded beneath him, his cape hanging limply at his shoulders. He was a great bird in hibernation. He drew slow and constant breaths. It was the only movement - the gentle in and out of his chest - that proved he was alive. Behind his closed eyes, behind the darkness of his trance, he was deep in concentrated thought. And all of his thoughts were concentrated on Match. The One-who-would-surpass, his equal in power, even while only half his age. The One-who-would-surpass, the dark eyes of his nightmares. The One-who-would-surpass, the one thing that kept Kabris alive. His chest rose and fell, the slim hands folded across bended knees. Sickly thin from the fast, paper white from the immeasurable time spent underground. Kabris used his mind to keep the constant vigil, knowing that someday, the young untrained mind of the One-who-would-surpass would give him the extra energy he needed to break from his tomb. He only knew what he expected, he only knew what he had dreamed of and imagined for all the days that added to months which added to years that Kabris had sat. He had spent the first while conditioning his body, breaking what natural barriers he could with magic or willpower. He had overcome the need for strength, he had overcome the need for little more than token nutrition taken mostly from the air. He breathed in. He breathed out. He reduced the need for movement, and devoted all of his energy to the search, the hope, the dream, and the knowledge that Match would be presented to him.
Then a flicker. Only light, like a moth wing. A touch that the untrained would surely ignore. Kabris’ eyes sprung open, pupils wide to almost complete blackness. He had felt it. And he knew it. Match, the Nightflame, the One. But Kabris had other plans. He knew his role in the life of the young prophet, knew his destiny as a teacher to the greatest being that would ever be born of the small planet Telove. But Kabris had decided, in the years of banishment, not to let Match surpass him. He knew that if he could hold him in check, the power of the boy would become his own. And he knew that when this happened, all the years alone and patient to the point of madness, would be worth it.
When he had descended, been forced into the cave, he had been a Nightflame himself. But as he now unfolded his tall thin form, he was reborn. He felt the trembling of life and energy and the flow of power from the untrained soul of Match Nightflame through the soil and rock above him. The opportunity was now upon him. No need for elaborate spells or gestures, Kabris used the power of his mind to wrap around the needed strength and use it to overcome the barriers that had been placed centuries ago on the cave to keep him contained. It was easy as stroking a kitten.
He rose through stone without so much as disrupting a particle. Up though the ground, he winced and smiled as the sunlight hit his pale skin, his crystal blue eyes. He truly was reborn, in the white and glaring gaze of the benevolent Gaithperia. He was no longer a Nightflame. He was now a Whiteflare.
Kabris waited as if suspended in a dream. Long, narrow legs folded beneath him, his cape hanging limply at his shoulders. He was a great bird in hibernation. He drew slow and constant breaths. It was the only movement - the gentle in and out of his chest - that proved he was alive. Behind his closed eyes, behind the darkness of his trance, he was deep in concentrated thought. And all of his thoughts were concentrated on Match. The One-who-would-surpass, his equal in power, even while only half his age. The One-who-would-surpass, the dark eyes of his nightmares. The One-who-would-surpass, the one thing that kept Kabris alive. His chest rose and fell, the slim hands folded across bended knees. Sickly thin from the fast, paper white from the immeasurable time spent underground. Kabris used his mind to keep the constant vigil, knowing that someday, the young untrained mind of the One-who-would-surpass would give him the extra energy he needed to break from his tomb. He only knew what he expected, he only knew what he had dreamed of and imagined for all the days that added to months which added to years that Kabris had sat. He had spent the first while conditioning his body, breaking what natural barriers he could with magic or willpower. He had overcome the need for strength, he had overcome the need for little more than token nutrition taken mostly from the air. He breathed in. He breathed out. He reduced the need for movement, and devoted all of his energy to the search, the hope, the dream, and the knowledge that Match would be presented to him.
Then a flicker. Only light, like a moth wing. A touch that the untrained would surely ignore. Kabris’ eyes sprung open, pupils wide to almost complete blackness. He had felt it. And he knew it. Match, the Nightflame, the One. But Kabris had other plans. He knew his role in the life of the young prophet, knew his destiny as a teacher to the greatest being that would ever be born of the small planet Telove. But Kabris had decided, in the years of banishment, not to let Match surpass him. He knew that if he could hold him in check, the power of the boy would become his own. And he knew that when this happened, all the years alone and patient to the point of madness, would be worth it.
When he had descended, been forced into the cave, he had been a Nightflame himself. But as he now unfolded his tall thin form, he was reborn. He felt the trembling of life and energy and the flow of power from the untrained soul of Match Nightflame through the soil and rock above him. The opportunity was now upon him. No need for elaborate spells or gestures, Kabris used the power of his mind to wrap around the needed strength and use it to overcome the barriers that had been placed centuries ago on the cave to keep him contained. It was easy as stroking a kitten.
He rose through stone without so much as disrupting a particle. Up though the ground, he winced and smiled as the sunlight hit his pale skin, his crystal blue eyes. He truly was reborn, in the white and glaring gaze of the benevolent Gaithperia. He was no longer a Nightflame. He was now a Whiteflare.
Candleboy-first start
First start..
I won’t live to see 20. That’s what the doctors say. My body is hot to the touch. My blood could boil at any minute.
I don’t have a home, but I live with many people. Just not all at the same time. Nick is one of the people I live with. He’s 28. He runs a hole-in-the-wall bookstore on 3rd street. I don’t think it even has a name. It just has “Bookstore” painted on the side of the building that we all live in. It’s not a dirty bookstore, either. It’s that actual real bookstore that keeps old, rare copies of Shakespeare and Homer and has sections on Metaphysics, History and Art. Nick loves me. I do not love him. Not like that.
Tansy is a girl. She has huge tattoos of waterfalls on her back and black tribal bands on both her arms, but you can still see the scars. Tansy is 22 and works at a bar. She lives in an apartment with Sean.
Sean is Irish. He steals.
Tamora is a witch. She and her brother Naytan live together and practice their rituals on the ever-changing array of ladies that work this part of the city. I don’t know what kind of rituals they practice.
My Father died in a house fire I set. My Mother ran away after he died and I ran in the other direction. I lived with an uncle for a while here in the city until my Mom sent me a letter. Then I got lost in the city and was never found.
I’ve had that damn letter from Mom for so long. Then one night, it was raining and my body was steaming and sirens were wailing in the background and I decided to burn Mom’s letter.
I didn’t know if I felt freedom or despair as I watched the corners of the paper turn black in my hands. I didn’t want to feel anything. I wanted to cry and to scream. But all I did was watch the corners of the paper turn black.
Then Tansy found me and told me that Nick was dead.
It was raining, and the air was dense with wet hot dogs, wet hot dog venders, gas, oil, vinyl. Wet cats, drenched anthills, garbage and the faint smell of sulfur.
Rain is nice, I decided. I like the way it makes me feel. How everyone else must feel. Lucky bastards. Not that I’m bitter. The fact that a lot of people have it easier than I do doesn’t make me bitter. Going through life as a medical hazard that could spontaneously combust at any moment isn’t enough. Just because my projected life span is less than 30 years. It’s not the length of one’s life that counts, it’s what one does with the intervening time that counts, right?
I was just thinking it would be a good time to go and see Nick. He misses me. I know. I’ve never been in love. I should word that better, I never let myself fall in love. I have enough to deal with.
But Nick does love me, I’m afraid. I’ve tried reason and I’ve tried renunciation. Now I just let him do whatever - he can watch me, he can hold my hand if it makes him happy. But he knows about me, and he knows my days are numbered. And though he doesn’t think I know, he keeps one of those candles in a Jesus jar burning next to that old picture of me.
I won’t live to see 20. That’s what the doctors say. My body is hot to the touch. My blood could boil at any minute.
I don’t have a home, but I live with many people. Just not all at the same time. Nick is one of the people I live with. He’s 28. He runs a hole-in-the-wall bookstore on 3rd street. I don’t think it even has a name. It just has “Bookstore” painted on the side of the building that we all live in. It’s not a dirty bookstore, either. It’s that actual real bookstore that keeps old, rare copies of Shakespeare and Homer and has sections on Metaphysics, History and Art. Nick loves me. I do not love him. Not like that.
Tansy is a girl. She has huge tattoos of waterfalls on her back and black tribal bands on both her arms, but you can still see the scars. Tansy is 22 and works at a bar. She lives in an apartment with Sean.
Sean is Irish. He steals.
Tamora is a witch. She and her brother Naytan live together and practice their rituals on the ever-changing array of ladies that work this part of the city. I don’t know what kind of rituals they practice.
My Father died in a house fire I set. My Mother ran away after he died and I ran in the other direction. I lived with an uncle for a while here in the city until my Mom sent me a letter. Then I got lost in the city and was never found.
I’ve had that damn letter from Mom for so long. Then one night, it was raining and my body was steaming and sirens were wailing in the background and I decided to burn Mom’s letter.
I didn’t know if I felt freedom or despair as I watched the corners of the paper turn black in my hands. I didn’t want to feel anything. I wanted to cry and to scream. But all I did was watch the corners of the paper turn black.
Then Tansy found me and told me that Nick was dead.
It was raining, and the air was dense with wet hot dogs, wet hot dog venders, gas, oil, vinyl. Wet cats, drenched anthills, garbage and the faint smell of sulfur.
Rain is nice, I decided. I like the way it makes me feel. How everyone else must feel. Lucky bastards. Not that I’m bitter. The fact that a lot of people have it easier than I do doesn’t make me bitter. Going through life as a medical hazard that could spontaneously combust at any moment isn’t enough. Just because my projected life span is less than 30 years. It’s not the length of one’s life that counts, it’s what one does with the intervening time that counts, right?
I was just thinking it would be a good time to go and see Nick. He misses me. I know. I’ve never been in love. I should word that better, I never let myself fall in love. I have enough to deal with.
But Nick does love me, I’m afraid. I’ve tried reason and I’ve tried renunciation. Now I just let him do whatever - he can watch me, he can hold my hand if it makes him happy. But he knows about me, and he knows my days are numbered. And though he doesn’t think I know, he keeps one of those candles in a Jesus jar burning next to that old picture of me.
Candleboy-second start
It was raining, and the air was dense with wet hot dogs, wet hot dog venders, gas, oil, vinyl. Wet cats, drenched anthills, garbage and the faint smell of sulfur.
Rain is nice. I like the way it makes me feel. My body steamed as the droplets of fine mist hit my hands and evaporated. Sirens were wailing in the background and I decided to burn Mom’s letter.
I watched the corners of the paper turn black in my hands. I didn’t want to feel anything. Freedom, despair. I didn’t know if I wanted to cry or scream. All I did was watch the corners of the paper turn black.
I’ve had that damn letter from Mom for so long. Ever since I got lost in this city. Ever since the arson investigation ended and I was cleared. Legally, my name may have been cleared, but my conscience wasn’t. I knew I killed him.
I was just thinking it would be a good time to go and see Nick. He misses me. I know. I’ve never been in love. I should word that better, I never let myself fall in love. I have enough to deal with.
But Nick does love me, I’m afraid. I’ve tried reason and I’ve tried renunciation. Now I just let him do whatever - he can watch me, he can hold my hand if it makes him happy. But he knows about me, and he knows my days are numbered. And though he doesn’t think I know, he keeps one of those candles in a Jesus jar burning next to that old picture of me.
I won’t live to see 20. That’s what the doctors say. My body is hot to the touch. My blood could boil at any minute.
I walked towards the building we Tansy is a girl. She has huge tattoos of waterfalls and black tribal bands on both her arms, but you can still see the scars. Tansy is 22 and works at a bar. She lives in an apartment with Sean.
Sean is Irish. He steals.
Tamora is a witch. She and her brother Naytan live together and practice their rituals on the ever-changing array of ladies that work this part of the city. I don’t know what kind of rituals they practice.
My Father died in a house fire I set. My Mother ran away after he died and I ran in the other direction. I lived with an uncle for a while here in the city until my Mom sent me a letter. Then I got lost in the city and was never found.
I’ve had that damn letter from Mom for so long. Then one night, it was raining and my body was steaming and sirens were wailing in the background and I decided to burn Mom’s letter.
I didn’t know if I felt freedom or despair as I watched the corners of the paper turn black in my hands. I didn’t want to feel anything. I wanted to cry and to scream. But all I did was watch the corners of the paper turn black.
Then Tansy found me and told me that Nick was dead.
Nick rans a hole-in-the-wall bookstore on 3rd street that didn’t even have a name. It just has “Bookstore” painted on the side of the building that we all live in. It’s not a dirty bookstore, either. It’s that actual real bookstore that keeps old, rare copies of Shakespeare and Homer and has sections on Metaphysics, History and Art. Nick loves me. I do not love him.
Rain is nice. I like the way it makes me feel. My body steamed as the droplets of fine mist hit my hands and evaporated. Sirens were wailing in the background and I decided to burn Mom’s letter.
I watched the corners of the paper turn black in my hands. I didn’t want to feel anything. Freedom, despair. I didn’t know if I wanted to cry or scream. All I did was watch the corners of the paper turn black.
I’ve had that damn letter from Mom for so long. Ever since I got lost in this city. Ever since the arson investigation ended and I was cleared. Legally, my name may have been cleared, but my conscience wasn’t. I knew I killed him.
I was just thinking it would be a good time to go and see Nick. He misses me. I know. I’ve never been in love. I should word that better, I never let myself fall in love. I have enough to deal with.
But Nick does love me, I’m afraid. I’ve tried reason and I’ve tried renunciation. Now I just let him do whatever - he can watch me, he can hold my hand if it makes him happy. But he knows about me, and he knows my days are numbered. And though he doesn’t think I know, he keeps one of those candles in a Jesus jar burning next to that old picture of me.
I won’t live to see 20. That’s what the doctors say. My body is hot to the touch. My blood could boil at any minute.
I walked towards the building we Tansy is a girl. She has huge tattoos of waterfalls and black tribal bands on both her arms, but you can still see the scars. Tansy is 22 and works at a bar. She lives in an apartment with Sean.
Sean is Irish. He steals.
Tamora is a witch. She and her brother Naytan live together and practice their rituals on the ever-changing array of ladies that work this part of the city. I don’t know what kind of rituals they practice.
My Father died in a house fire I set. My Mother ran away after he died and I ran in the other direction. I lived with an uncle for a while here in the city until my Mom sent me a letter. Then I got lost in the city and was never found.
I’ve had that damn letter from Mom for so long. Then one night, it was raining and my body was steaming and sirens were wailing in the background and I decided to burn Mom’s letter.
I didn’t know if I felt freedom or despair as I watched the corners of the paper turn black in my hands. I didn’t want to feel anything. I wanted to cry and to scream. But all I did was watch the corners of the paper turn black.
Then Tansy found me and told me that Nick was dead.
Nick rans a hole-in-the-wall bookstore on 3rd street that didn’t even have a name. It just has “Bookstore” painted on the side of the building that we all live in. It’s not a dirty bookstore, either. It’s that actual real bookstore that keeps old, rare copies of Shakespeare and Homer and has sections on Metaphysics, History and Art. Nick loves me. I do not love him.
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