iamzlaw

[iamzlaw]

Entre clichés et leitmotivs (1)

Bien qu'une seule soit disponible en intégralité pour le moment, j'ai déjà deux histoires longues à mon actif.

Drop It Like It's Cold

Home Sweet Home // Bien Chez Soi

C'est un point de petite fierté pour moi, car j'ai vu tant de belles histoires être laissées inachevées que ne pas offrir de conclusion à ce que je publie est l'une de mes hantises. Donc être déjà arrivée à une fin et me diriger vers une autre a quelque chose que je vois comme rassurant.

Côté nouvelles en français, j'en ai 5 entre 1 000 et 3 000 mots, et 41 en-dessous de 500. Des nouvelles en anglais, pour le moment, je n'en ai que 31 de 500 mots.

J'ai aussi des tas d'autres histoires mi-longues (ou en tous cas qui je l'espère seront mi-longues) en attentes :

En français, Le Sorcier du Sous-Bois, Wrong Neighbourhood, Born to be Dead, pour ne citer que celles dont le titre est arrêté (même si les deux dernières auront sans doute droit à une version francophone de leur titre au moment de leur mise à disposition, par souci de cohérence).

En anglais, de plus en plus de graines de projets que je commence à imaginer mener à terme s'accumulent dans mon dossier d'ébauches, même si aucune n'a encore de titre tout à fait définitif pour le moment, hormis peut-être Your Grace.

Bon. Je n'étais pas vraiment partie pour faire ce bilan au moment de commencer ce billet, mais finalement, ce n'est pas plus mal qu'il soit posé là.

Là où je voulais en venir, comme le titre le laisse plus ou moins présager, ce sont les motifs qui se répètent dans mes écrits. Pour certains, ce sont de choix conscients, pour d'autres, ça a été une véritable surprise pour moi de me rendre compte des similarités. Vous êtes prêts ?

Les prénoms inattendus

Dans DILIC, Oscar est une fille. Dans HSH, Andy est également une femme, et Fred aussi. Et dans le Sorcier du Sous-Bois, il y aura un garçon qui s'appelle Beth.

Pour la première, c'est tout simplement inspiré de l'animé Lady Oscar.

En ce qui concerne Andy et Fred, ce sont des prénoms qui ne sont pas impossibles pour des filles, simplement plus souvent portés par des garçons, de la même manière que Camille est plus souvent porté par des filles. Dans le cas d'Andy, sur ses papiers, elle s'appelle Andrea Mandy, et c'est donc une contraction de ces deux prénoms (ou l'inverse, comprenne qui pourra). Fred n'est en revanche pas un diminutif, mais l'origine de ce prénom est tellement tordue que je ne sais pas si je l'avouerai jour.

Enfin, pour Beth, c'est le raccourci de quelque chose, mais je ne peux pas en dire plus tant que l'histoire n'est pas parue. =)

Sans que ce soit la majorité des prénoms de mes personnages, il y en a donc quelques-uns de subversifs et propices aux qui pro quo.

Les petits génies

Bien que de tempéraments tout à fait différents, Josh dans DILIC et Jack dans HSH sont tous les deux réputés pour leurs facilités scolaires.

Josh est plutôt du genre à ne pas trop s'en rendre compte, ne pas en faire tout un plat, un peu le prendre comme normal, pour acquis. Je suis de l'avis que les individus réellement intelligents n'en font pas des tartines, et c'est ce stéréotype dont hérite Josh. Il n'écrase jamais personne par rapport à ça. Il y a un seul incident majeur au cours de l'histoire sur ce sujet, et il le prend plus comme embarrassant que flatteur.

Jack, lui, est un peu plus piquant. S'il n'est pas condescendant d'emblée, il sait faire se sentir petit quiconque lui taperait sur le système. Il est moins patient, aussi. Sa rapidité de réflexion l'amène souvent à s'ennuyer. Si c'est bien pratique parfois, il est tout de même souvent agacé d'être à ce point séparé du reste du monde. Il essaye aussi très souvent de faire ses preuves dans des domaines où ses méninges ne lui confèrent pas d'avantage particulier.

Aussi différents soient-ils, les deux personnages s'efforcent d'utiliser cette caractéristique qu'ils ont en commun pour rendre service. Je pense que je ne serais pas la bonne personne pour raconter une histoire dans laquelle le facteur limitant serait l'intellect des protagonistes. Je n'ai aucun souci avec des niveaux et des voies de culture et d'éducation différents, mais je ne me sens pas capable d'écrire un personnage foncièrement fondamentalement stupide ou même seulement avec un handicap mental. Je ne sais déjà pas écrire les enfants, c'est pour dire…

Les orphelins

Dwight, de DILIC, est orphelin car son père est mort avant sa naissance et sa mère quelques années plus tard. Passé entre les mailles du filet, il grandit dans une communauté clandestine.

Nelson, de HSH, est orphelin car abandonné d'abord par son père biologique bébé, puis par sa mère biologique et son beau-père vers ses 5 ans. Il est cependant adopté par deux hommes avec qui il forme une nouvelle famille.

Sans que je puisse affirmer avec certitude si c'est entièrement dû à leur situation familiale, aussi bien Dwight que Nelson sont les meilleurs amis qu'on pourrait imaginer.

Les blondinets sans filtre

Hannibal et Kayle sont tous les deux blonds et extrêmement pénibles. Ils ont aussi tous les deux des raisons de l'être, très similaires d'ailleurs, maintenant que j'y pense. Et, dans une moindre mesure, je pense qu'on peut dire que Jack rentre également dans cette catégorie.

Je ne sais pas, il y a quelque chose dans le fait d'avoir quelqu'un dans la pièce à faire preuve d'une honnêteté brutale qui fait avancer le schmilblick plus vite. Il y a ce paradoxe que j'observe selon lequel tout le monde dit préférer la franchise, et pourtant, lorsqu'ils y sont confrontés, ils sont généralement mécontents.

Voilà. Je vais m'arrêter ici pour cette fois, car je pourrais encore continuer assez longtemps sur les schémas qu'on retrouve au travers de plusieurs de mes histoires. Je reprendrai peut-être un autre jour si le cœur m'en dit. J'espère que ces petites anecdotes vous ont plu, et peut-être même, pourquoi pas, vous ont donné envie d'aller mettre le nez dans mes écrits. C'est en ligne, c'est gratuit, pas besoin de créer de compte, et recevoir un gentil commentaire fait toujours ma journée. Quoi qu'il en soit, chez moi ou ailleurs, je vous souhaite une bonne lecture !

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Home Sweet Home // Bien Chez Soi

S02E04 - Cross Stitch // Chassé-croisé

Crédit photos : cottonbro studio

[iamzlaw]

Qui est Caesar Quanto ?

Le tout premier épisode d'Home Sweet Home se déroule le jour du dix-huitième anniversaire de Caesar. On pourrait penser que ça le rend central à l'histoire, et pourtant, il apparaît constamment comme mis à l'écart, et ce sans aucune malice de qui que ce soit autour de lui, en plus.

Je dois admettre ne pas trop apprécier les personnages qui sont réduits au statut de victime. Je préfère quand des évènements hors du contrôle de qui que ce soit doivent être gérés plutôt que le résultat de mauvais choix. J'ai de grands méchants – parce que malheureusement c'est une occurrence naturelle que j'ai observée – mais mes personnages s'en dépatouillent du mieux qu'ils peuvent sans jamais sciemment rendre les choses plus difficiles pour tout le monde. C'est mon équilibre entre réaliste/pessimiste et utopiste/optimiste.

Caesar est sans doute un peu l'enfant du milieu par excellence. Le rôle d'aîné est clairement endossé par son grand frère, plus âgé de cinq ans, et celui de benjamine par sa petite sœur, même alors qu'elle n'a qu'un an de moins. En dépit du fait que Mae soit pour le moins farouche lorsqu'il s'agit de se défendre et de défendre ses proches, elle reste quelqu'un que Caesar cherchera toujours à protéger et mettre en priorité, dans la mesure de ses capacités.

Justement, la mesure de ces capacités est très certainement le facteur limitant de Caesar, et c'est ce contre quoi il lutte constamment : un manque de confiance en lui assez tenace. Encore une fois, on se demande pourtant pourquoi. Son père, son oncle, son frère, sa sœur, sont tous à disposition pour l'épauler. Studieux, il est bon élève sans faire d'éclat. Timide de nature – il tient de son père, et cette tendance est encouragée par les personnalités qui l'entourent –, il n'est certes pas particulièrement populaire, mais il ne reçoit aucune animosité indue non plus. En tous cas jusqu'au débarquement de Jack (qui jette son dévolu sur lui parmi tous les élèves du lycée, pour des raisons que l'un ne saurait pas plus donner que l'autre). Mais même là, les bruits de couloirs infondés dans lesquels il se retrouve embarqués affectent plus sa sœur que lui. C'est elle qui se bat pour défendre sa réputation alors que les théories des amateurs de ragots glissent sur lui sans l'atteindre.

Le chemin sur lequel s'engage Caesar au cours du récit est peut-être l'un de ceux qui me ressemblent le plus en tant que porte-plume. Mes premières visions de sa situation ont d'ailleurs été teintées de ma propre situation adolescente à l'époque, avant que je ne perçoive les distinctions entre lui et moi. Ce n'est que bien plus tard qu'un autre point commun à surgi de nulle part. Mais ça, ça commence seulement à être exploré dans la saison 3. ^^

J'apprécie toujours le caractère introspectif de Caesar, qu'on retrouve un peu moins chez les autres personnages, beaucoup plus embarqués dans l'action. Son détachement du reste, par le ressenti d'abord, puis physiquement ensuite, m'a autant aidée que posé des difficultés. Son arc est probablement, selon moi, l'un des plus aboutis, car il est celui qui grandit le plus durant la fenêtre de temps qu'on observe. La façon dont il trouve sa place, ou tout du moins la découvre puisqu'il l'avait depuis le départ, me touche. Mais qui n'apprécie pas une petite montée en puissance ?

Comme toujours, si ce survol du personnage de Caesar vous a intrigué, je vous rendez-vous sur mon Écho, où toute la première saison et la moitié de la suivante vous attendent déjà à l'heure où j'écris ceci.

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Home Sweet Home // Bien Chez Soi

S02E03 - Caged Bird // Prise au piège

Crédit photo : Engin Akyurt

[iamzlaw]

INKTOBER 2024 - 31 - LANDMARK

"You can't just leave like this!"

She slammed the door he'd just opened back closed, and kept her hand on it, ostensively standing in his way.

"Watch me," he answered calmly.

His eyes matched his tone as they confronted her angry glare. He didn't try to go around her yet. It was like he knew she would move eventually and had time to wait for it to happen.

"There's still some things left for you to do around here. There must be."

He sighed with melancholy.

"When I first got here, the Grand Canyon and Ayers Rock were pretty much the only things that stood out on the surface of this Earth. Maybe Mount Fuji, too. Not that I don't like the Everest, but I find it overrated. The point is, since then, I have travelled far and wide, and I feel pretty confident in saying that I have, indeed, seen everything there is for me to see."

"I can't believe that."

"Try me. I have walked the Great Wall of China back and forth a couple of times. The Colosseum and the Acropolis were complete when I first saw them, the Leaning Tower of Piza was standing straight, and the Great Sphinx had a nose. The Pyramids of Giza, Chichén Itzá, Angkor Wat, the ruins of Nasca, the Macchu Pichu, Petra: been there, done that. And in their glory days, too. The Sydney Opera house, the Statue of Liberty, the Eiffel Tower, Big Ben, Saint Basil: I have selfies with all of those. I'll spare you the exhaustive listing of every place I've visited, but you get the gist. What more is there?"

"They built those; they can build more."

"Can they, though? All they've done is destroy, lately. The Lighthouse of Alexandria is just the earliest and most notable loss off the top of my head, but every time they fancy a war, they can't seem to keep it at killing each other – as if that weren't bad enough – they also have to take priceless monuments with them. And they're done rebuilding. Too much effort, I guess. Face it: this civilisation is done. They've bounced back too many times, they've grown complacent, and now they're too far gone to come up on top. The bad is overthrowing the good. I've seen it happen before, and beauty never comes out of that situation."

"Maybe something greater will take their place."

"Then maybe I'll come back at that point. If it comes. I have all the time in the universe. And so do you, by the way. Why do you care so much whether I stay or go?"

She recoiled almost like he'd physically hit her. Up until that moment, she hadn't imagined he could possibly be oblivious to the answer to this question.

"Forget it. You're right. It doesn't matter. Go, if you must."

All this time spent sightseeing around the globe, and it never even occurred to him that he might have become someone else's landmark, in the end. Was it really worth trying to explain it to him?

[iamzlaw]

INKTOBER 2024 - 30 - VIOLIN

Stella had never seen such a happy bunch of musicians. She had been in marching bands and orchestras, but no matter how joyful or enthusiastic the people in those groups had been, they could never have matched the energy her eyes were beholding now. This gave the word show a whole new dimension.

The three boys in the middle of the pub looked alike enough to be brothers. Maybe cousins? In any case, even though they each had a different eye colour, they all had that same wild mane of wavy auburn hair on their head and freckles on their pale cheeks.

One of them, front and centre, was playing his violin like Stella didn't know a violin could be played. He kept jumping all over the place, tapping his feet, shaking his head as much as he could without his chin ever leaving its resting place at the base of his instrument. His fingers moved so fast and dexterously on the neck that she had trouble keeping up with them. But somehow, he never missed a note. Not that she could tell for sure, since he wasn't using sheet music, nor playing any tune she'd ever heard, but it all felt intentional, purposeful; he was passionate. His other hands wielded the bow with such intensity that specks of dust and rosin could be seen floating around in the dimmed light of the tavern, like little sparks flying off of him and his instrument, granting him a fairy-like aura. Every now and then, he flipped the accessory around to come pinch the strings instead of rubbing against them, before picking up where he'd left off, the whole process completely seamless. He looked and sounded possessed by some benevolent musical spirit.

Around him, his two acolytes had another use for their own violins. They were flinging them around by the pegbox, like makeshift hammers, preventing anyone in the crowd from reaching the one playing. Although it came close a few times, they never touched anyone, however. And whenever they got a moment of respite from those of the patrons most eager to have them quit their little number, they joined in with their companion for a little bit, not as skilfully but definitely as delightfully. The few notes they brought to the melody gave it an eerie sort of aftertaste, like something you enjoyed without being really sure you'd heard it, and for some reason you would be incapable of reproducing in any way no matter how hard you tried.

Because she had arrived smack right in the middle of it, Stella did not know how this thing started. The boys barely looked old enough to be allowed in such an establishment, and based on the mixed reactions in the assistance, music was not part of the agenda for the evening. They weren't asking for money either, and they were more likely to incite a riot than to make a profit if they received any. Whatever was their reason for doing this was, Stella did not want them to stop.

[iamzlaw]

INKTOBER 2024 - 29 - NAVIGATOR

Hands and forehead on the steering wheel of her pickup truck, eyes wide open, Eva is starting to regret her choice of copilot for this road trip. On the passenger seat next to her, her college room-mate Becca is fumbling with a paper map, one of those that folds like an accordion.

"You did say you could read a map," grumbles the driver.

"I can. These are forested areas, and these are roads, towns,…"

The blonde girl points at various parts of the map with her index finger, completely unembarrassed.

"Anyone can see that, Becca!" snaps Eva.

She straightens herself back up in order to glare at her passenger. Becca just stares back unblinkingly, sure of herself.

"No, they can't. Reading a map is not as simple as it seems. Lots of people get confused by the legend, the orientation, the scale…"

"What good is deciphering a map if you can't tell me where to turn based on what you see on there?"

Becca purses her lips. She is starting to dislike her room-mate's tone.

"In my defence, reading a map usually happens while sitting down at a table or standing up leaning over it, not while cramped up in a moving car."

"That's actually when and where most of the map-reading happens. And besides, we've been parked on the side of the road for twenty minutes!"

"Let's be honest: I figured you'd ask me to plan an itinerary before we left, not to come up with one on the fly, as we were going! Why didn't you do that, huh? Who's really to blame, here?"

To calm herself, Eva takes and lets out a deep breath.

"I'm not blaming anyone. You're right, we both made mistakes. But that doesn't help us go the right way to get to where we're going, does it?"

To that, Becca has no answer. She was excited to go on this trip with Eva. Up until she invited her, she had felt like she only tolerated her. They were assigned to each other by the administration's office, and they didn't have much in common at first glance. Despite both being equally pretty, each in their own way, Eva was a popular cheerleader while Becca was the nerdier type.

"We could ask that guy," she suggested after a while.

"What guy?" asked Eva, confused.

"There's a hitchhiker about a hundred meters from us. He probably knows the area. He can be your navigator, since I'm not doing a good enough job for you."

"Are you crazy? We're two girls travelling alone; we're not picking up a hitchhiker. Especially a grown man."

"He seems nice."

"Famous last words…"

"At the very least we could ask him for directions."

"And then leave him on the side of the road?"

"You're the one who doesn't want to pick him up!"

"So let me get this straight: on top of not being able to navigate a map, you're also just as incapable of navigating social cues?"

[iamzlaw]

INKTOBER 2024 - 28 - JUMBO

"What's it like being a Giant, Jimbo?" asked Lulu.

The Gnome was sitting on the highest branch of the highest fir tree, his little legs dangling off his perch, his eyes gazing at the stars. Leaning against the trunk of a neighbouring evergreen, weaving a basket to keep his hands busy, James barely had to lift his chin to look up at his tiny friend.

"Much like being a Gnome, I imagine," he answered calmly.

"C'mon! Be honest. I'd like to know," insisted Lulu childishly.

That was a common temperament for his kind. It took so little energy for them to be agitated that they could afford to be. Lulu never got mean, however. That's why Jim liked him. The Giant took a deep breath, considering his next words:

"Well, everything looks small. And it takes ages for us to eat, or make clothing for ourselves, because we need so much food and fabric. Also, we move slower than most other things, which can be frustrating."

The Giant was grimacing at the thought of how annoying birds got in the Summer. They came in droves to feast on the flies that the Giants couldn't even feel, ironically giving them the same sensation the insects would if they did notice them.

"But in the end, you can still get to faraway places faster," protested Lulu to the last cited drawback.

He envied that skill in particular. It took one step for his friend to cross his village. Technically, he more went over it than crossed it.

"That's true. But like I said, that just makes the world feel small."

"You're also much stronger than most things."

Lulu couldn't imagine not fearing anything, never being worried that something could hurt you or eat you. Gnomes were really easy prey, whereas Giants had no predator whatsoever. And to top it all off, they practically never fought among themselves. On the contrary, Gnomes were quite prone to skirmishes. They were rarely serious, and they resolved quickly, but they still often lead to a few bumps and bruises. On the other hand, the least busy member of a Giant community was pretty much always the healer…

"Yes, but that's more dangerous than anything. Remember your uncle Otto? Beatrice almost killed him! And all she did was sneeze in his vicinity."

The Giantess had felt really bad about the incident. The two species cohabited peacefully, but it was not without efforts. Despite everyone mostly being careful, all it took was a few seconds of inattention.

"Oh, please! Uncle Otto is a drama queen! He always makes a mountain out of the tiniest inconvenience!"

"He was bed-ridden for three months, Lulu."

The Gnome rolled his eyes at the solemn look on his tall friend's face.

"Whatever. I'm not buying that being gigantic is as terrible as you say it is," he said after a little while.

"It's not. But it's no more all fun and games than being tiny. There also advantages to your size. Ah, what it must be like to have access to natural shelter…"

[iamzlaw]

INKTOBER 2024 - 27 - ROAD

I've heard that when you're lost in the wilderness, you should look for a road. And when you're safe and sound, at home, or at the very least surrounded by people and/or civilisation, that sounds logical. That sounds like rational advice to give out. It sounds like it makes sense. But does it really?

Roads are a good point of reference because almost every human culture has them in one form or another. And, by design, they are things that cover a lot of ground, so it should be statistically more likely to come upon them that anything else, even when you have no idea where you are or where you're going. Not to mention, roads happen to lead somewhere, which is handy when you're trying to find your bearing; if you follow a road long enough, regardless of direction, it's eventually going to take you to another better point of reference, or at the very least people, who should be able to give you one.

When you think about it, roads are essentially the concrete — pun intended — manifestation of what connects us in the physical world, as a species. We use roads to trade, to travel, to communicate. Mostly positive things. Reversely, ill-intentioned people usually try to avoid roads. So yes, upon first consideration, finding the road does sound like a good plan when you're lost.

But really, is it ideal to be looking for one of the flattest infrastructure known to man? When you're lost, dangerously lost, and you obviously have no way of contacting anyone, I don't care how dense the network is, finding a line a couple of meters wide at most, zigzagging across the area you are lost in, does not seem like the easiest thing to do. It's not even guaranteed it is going to be lit up in any kind of way. Or that there is going to be any noise on it, depending on the traffic on the particular stretch you have a chance of coming upon. And there is no reliable natural indication that you're going towards it rather than away from it, is there? It's a needle in a haystack. Are your odds of finding a road really higher than your odds of being found?

I'm beginning to think that the best thing to do is to avoid leaving the road altogether. And if you must, if you have not other choice, that your life depends on it, then you should be equipped. Have a map, a solar-powers satellite phone, a compass, the works. And be prepared, too. Learn to read the stars for the region and season you're in, and familiarise yourself with the landscape. And after all that, if you get lost anyway… get as high up as you can, and try to attract attention from as far as possible. Because let's be honest, if there is any road in the vicinity of someone getting lost, it's most likely going to be one of the less traveled ones, isn't it?

[iamzlaw]

INKTOBER 2024 - 26 - CAMERA

"Excuse me, Miss, please don't touch that!" the shop attendant blurts out in a panic.

Luckily, he manages to reach the young woman just before her index finger comes into contact with the antique camera in front of her. He lets out his breath in relief as she stops dead in her tracks.

"Why not?" she asks despite her obedience.

She does not look like she's used to antique shops. Bubblegum in her mouth, brightly coloured makeup, flashy clothes, a smartphone in her hand; a far-cry from the older more uptight crowd he is used to seeing in his establishment. But he tries not to judge people by how they present. Even when they try to preserve appearances, seemingly yielding to societal pressure, they cannot refrain their inner nature. Despite her modern looks, this young lady could very well be an avid collector of antiquities, couldn't she?

"First of all, because there is a sign the size of your head saying 'PLEASE, DO NOT TOUCH'. Second of all, because I'm asking nicely. And third of all… because it's old and fragile and more importantly cursed. So please, keep your hands to yourself."

"Cursed? This old camera is cursed?"

She points at it, and his hearts skips a beat at how close she comes to brushing against the object.

"That's right," he confirms with a polite smile.

Funny that this is what would register with her, but he can only blame himself for bringing it up.

"Well, I don't believe in curses, so if you're saying that to freak me out, it's not going to work."

She crosses her arms and stares him down. She seems used to getting her way. His own wrists tucked behind his back, he does not let her attitude dampen his resolve to keep her safe.

"So none of my other very valid reasons not to touch has stuck with you, then…" he mutters with a smile.

"Ever heard of the phrase 'the customer is always right'?"

So much for her proving appearances to be deceiving…

"Look, if you end up cursed on my watch, the paperwork alone is a real hassle, and if at all possible, I'd like to avoid that."

"When is the last time anyone was cursed by this camera, exactly?"

"Fortunately, about two republics ago, now. Do you really feel like breaking this lucky streak?"

"And what happened to them? The people that were cursed?"

"The camera took a picture, and they became trapped in it. It is now hanging in the back of the shop, if you want to see it."

"Why leave this in plain view if you believe it to be dangerous, huh?"

"Let's just say it has a mind of its own, like many other items here. As you can see, it is not for sale."

"I'm calling b…"

He isn't fast enough to stop her this time. She disappears upon contact with the camera, only to reappear in an almost life-size picture of her standing in this very shop. He did warn her…

[iamzlaw]

INKTOBER 2024 - 25 - SCARECROW

Two men in overalls are sitting on a wooden bench, on the side of a dirt path running along a cornfield. One of them is leaning back, both arms outstretched onto the back of their seat, staring into the sea of cereals in front of them, gently swaying in the midnight breeze.

"There's one thing I don't get about scarecrows, dude," he says after a while.

"Which is?"

His friend is hunched forward, eyes closed, massaging his stiff neck.

"What are they so darn creepy for?"

The other man stops rubbing his fingers on the back of his head and opens his eyes:

"Well… It's in their name, isn't it? They're meant to be scary."

"Sure, they're meant to be scary. But to crows, though. Why are they always made to look scary to people as well?"

"I guess there isn't any reason to think crows aren't scared of the same things humans are scared of."

"They're evidently not! They're scared of things like bright lights, loud noises, and sudden movement."

"All of which could easily be scary to a person," reasons the calmer man.

The more agitated one clicks his tongue and purses his lips, clearly unsatisfied.

"All right. Then why also go for things that crows aren't even guaranteed to be scared of? Like grimacing faces and raggedy clothing?"

"To be fair, I'm pretty sure the very first scarecrows were just vaguely human-shaped packs of hay, wrapped in loose clothes left flapping in the wind, to create the illusion of someone standing in the field, thus dissuading crows to come and eat the crop."

"That seems reasonable. That's not creepy. That's no jack-o'-lantern face with flaming eyes and a hellish rictus. And what's with those wide-brimmed hats, too?"

He gestures to the scarecrow glaring back at them from across the road, standing tall over its domain. It is a fine specimen, that much is true. There's no fire inside the pumpkin that was used for its head, but it's still a pretty daunting sight.

"Sometimes I wish you were on drugs, Bart," answers the quieter man anyway.

"I'm not on drugs!" protests Bartholomew.

"I know. Which is odd, because that would explain so much of what goes through your head."

"You just lack imagination…"

A bit insulted, Bart straightens up and crosses his arms. His companion sighs.

"Obviously, the object has evolved over time, aesthetic features being added to the purely practical ones. Many people enjoy being scared, these days: Halloween is a popular celebration, haunted houses are popular attractions, and horror movies a popular genre."

"But if people did enjoy being scared so much, Tib, don't you think our job would be getting easier?"

Annoyed, Tiberius grunts, grabs his machete and hockey mask at his feet, and gets up from the bench. Technically, if people enjoyed being scared, their job as bogeymen would actually become harder, wouldn't it?

"I can't believe you think glorified coat hangers could ever be a threat to us."

[iamzlaw]

INKTOBER 2024 - 24 - EXPEDITION

Sitting at a table in the corner of the local watering hole, a woman is studying a couple of maps, by lantern-light. Despite her activity, she does not seem to mind the drunken sailors celebrating being back to shore after months at sea, nor the miners unwinding after a hard day of digging, still covered in soot. After all, they are part of the charm of the place, and even the other quieter patrons appear amused by their antics.

At one point, a man in a unironed shirt enters the bar, and goes straight for the woman as soon as he has located her. He hasn't even reached her that she raises a hand to stop him, before even looking up from her work.

"Let me guess: you're mounting an expedition, and you'd like me to be your navigator."

His smile widens. He isn't even going to bother denying the accusation:

"You're the best one out there."

"I'm really not."

"You are to me…"

She sighs, and lowers her hand to interlace her fingers in front of her.

"Let's expedite this, Ludwig. Let's spare ourselves the embarrassment. I'm not going on another nonsensical adventure with you, a wild goose chase across some jungle or desert, just so we can prove yet again that nothing is ever going to happen between us."

"It's submarine exploration mission, actually," he corrects sheepishly.

"It doesn't matter, Lu! I can see it from here. You're going to turn that chair around, sit down on it with your arms crossed across the back, and bat your eyelashes at me until I rearrange my whole schedule to accommodate you. Then we'll go, and you'll get bossy, to the point of not listening to me at a crucial crossroad, which is not only going to make me very mad, but also endanger everyone involved. And the only way you'll find to apologise to me, is to admit I was right later on, during some grand heroic gesture, somehow saving the whole crew, but alas never getting us anywhere near what we were looking for in the first place. We'll get close to each other during the whole ordeal, but then we'll be home again, and we're just going to go our separate ways as we always do. Does any of this sound familiar to you?"

"So, you're saying batting my eyelashes works."

"Don't play dumb. The flirting is nice, and the travelling does hold some level of appeal, but this is exhausting. We're never going to truly explore anything together, are we?"

Slowly but steadily, his face grows serious. She is being honest with him, and all he can do is joke about it; that won't do. He has to match her tone. She deserves that much.

"I wasn't aware that road was of that much interest to you."

"I don't know that it is, Ludwig, because we've never actually taken a single step onto it. But as long as you keep barging into my life like this, I can't move forward. Can you?"

[iamzlaw]

INKTOBER 2024 - 23 - RUST

"It's yours if you want it," said the salvage yard owner dismissively.

She didn't even remember when that particular piece of rubbish had come in. It might have been here when she took over the place. Either way, it was now part of the walls, like so many other scraps of metal like it in this literal dump. It would probably be worth more melted down than as it was, but she had never gotten around to doing that, prioritising newer discarded equipment, easier to dismantle.

But now, there was a little lady staring at it intensely, so she figured she might as well get rid of it if she had the opportunity. She could always use the space.

The girl seemed fascinated by the the object in question. It hardly had any shape anymore, but she did recognise it must have been a droid once. A humanoid one at that, based on the semblance of a face she swore she caught a glimpse of, beneath the dirt covering every square inch of it. That depression had to be an eye socket…

There was barely anything left of what must have been its body at one point. It was just a hollowed-out husk of a formerly great mechanical marvel, the remnants of an engineering prowess of the past, the rusted shreds of a once upon a time impressive exoskeleton. There certainly wasn't any sign of any limb left, but it took little imagination to figure out where they would have fit originally.

"I'll take it," agreed the girl, without so much as a glance towards the woman.

The latter didn't mind. No skin off her back. Good riddance, actually.

The girl reached out to touch the cold hard steel of what she estimated to have been the imitation of a ribcage when it was first designed. It was quite banged up, bent and torn in some places, but she could see the potential. Its original form would not be too hard to restore, with the right tools. And she had those tools.

Her fingers slid up, brushing against the metal, zigzagging to avoid the most damaged areas and focusing on what few points of reference remained. She could see it. Although familiar with most vintage models, she did not know which one it could have been exactly, but it didn't matter to her that she had no blueprints to refer to. Even when she did have such documents at her disposal, she took liberties. Being a purist had always seemed boring, to her.

Stepping onto the broken appliance laid down just below the droid, the girl got closer to her new project. She was now face to face with it. It would take a lot of spare parts to make it any kind of functional. So much so that some wouldn't even consider she restored it but rather that it had been a spare part of its own to build an entirely new thing.

A single rusty tear, running down what was left of a cheekbone, gave the girl a good argument against such criticism.

[iamzlaw]

INKTOBER 2024 - 22 - CAMP

Two dozen people in their early twenties are standing at attention in front of a man in his forties. All in a similar outfit, they form a line, in front of which he is pacing calmly, wrists crossed behind the small of his back.

"Welcome to Camp Heartfall. You have all been selected based on your athletic, intellectual, magical, and emotional capabilities. None of you should be lacking in any department, but in the event that you should find yourself short in any way, please, do NOT hesitate to rely on your team mates. You are expected to function as a whole, the constituting parts of a very well-oiled machine, working toward the same goal. In other words, no competition will be tolerated among counselors. Is that clear?"

"Sir, yes, Sir."

To this spontaneous, unanimous, and unwavering assent, the corner of the drill sergeant's mouth twitches as he refrains a full-on smile. It's nice to see the camp is finally finding its pace. When he was where they are, they weren't even half as many volunteers.

"You should be able to relate to your charges, to anticipate their actions as well as their needs, and protect as well as contain them should the need arise. Campers come in all shapes and sizes, and I promise you not all of them will present the same challenges. Stay alert. You are smarter, faster, and stronger than any of them, there is no question about that, but there ARE more of them than there are of you. If any of them poses a threat to the rest of the group, if any of them seems to be initiating any kind of mutiny, in any way at all: isolate them. Getting the campers on your side, which starts with making them understand that you are on theirs, is your first order of business. I don't have te remind you of the riots of '04. Nobody wants a repeat of that…"

Without needing to ask for agreement, he sees chins nodding up and down as he speaks.

"I recognise some familiar faces among you. Some of you were here as campers, once. Good. That will be of help. Rely on your knowledge of the terrain, and pass it along to your colleagues. That being said, fresh eyes are also a good edge to have on one's side, so do not make the mistake of underestimating any question, no matter how naive. It's a delicate balance, but one I'm confident you will find."

A few glances are exchanged among former campers, who have already clocked each other.

"Finally – and trust me when I say I know how complicated this one can get: no fraternising until the end of Camp. Cohesion is encouraged, but distractions are prohibited. The debriefing week at the end of the session was specifically designed to put any tension that may have arisen at ease. But until then, I require laser focus from you."

Suddenly, a man in his thirties appears behind the sergeant and whispers something in his ear.

"Well. Ladies and gentlemen: they have arrived."

[iamzlaw]

INKTOBER 2024 - 21 - RHINOCEROS

Despite his naturally dark skin, Officer Yadunbé looked quite pale when he came back into the Police station. So much so one of his colleagues, Detective Buma, stopped him to enquire as to why:

"What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Ugly crime scene," answered the man in uniform, nodding pensively.

His eyes were lost in thought, and he was shivering at whatever he was remembering.

"That bad?"

"Well… The techs are saying it feels like The Rhino is back."

"Damn…"

At the sound of his partner and mentor swearing – a rare occurrence – young Detective Ikali looked up from the paperwork he was filling out.

"Who's Zeraïno? Some kind of organised-crime hitman?"

Both older men turned to him and laughed, amused by his ignorance, as legitimate as it was for his age. At least, that put a little colour back in Yadunbé's cheeks.

"Nice guess, but The Rhino is not a surname, it's a nickname. It was given by the press to a serial mass murderer a couple of decades ago," offered Buma.

"Serial mass murderer?!" the rookie exclaimed in shock.

"Whoever they were, The Rhino killed more than three people, more than three different times, so yeah, that makes them a serial mass murderer."

"Why call them The Rhino, though?" asked Ikali.

"After the animal, of course," explained Yadunbé.

"But… rhinos are adorable."

Ikali could not connect the idea of a horrific crime with that of a rhino. They were such noble creatures. You would not want to be in their way, because they're so strong, but they're not usually aggressive unless provoked. He truly loved seeing them grazing on the side of the road on his way to work. And he had great memories of working around them on his uncle's farm as a child.

"That's true. But even nature's tank had a rough go of it at one time. You're just too young to remember."

"What happened?"

"They came very close to extinction, once. Conservation efforts were made, but nothing seemed to work."

"What changed?"

The two senior officers exchanged a looked, trying to figure out how best to put it.

"Someone decided to… take care of the poachers, so to speak."

"So that's why the killer was baptised The Rhino? Because they saved them?"

"The rhinos are not the only critically endangered species they helped save. But because of the way the victims were killed, the medical examiner on the very first crime scene said that the spirit of a rhinoceros must have come back to haunt these people."

"What would that even look like…?"

"The poachers were impaled then trampled to death, kid. Rhinos can do that. And they have, in the past, when threatened. You don't hear about things like that anymore because we have found a balance with them, but it wasn't always that way."

"You said all this happened decades ago. If there aren't any poachers anymore, why would someone emulate The Rhino now?"

"Unfortunately, whatever it is, I fear the answer to that question cannot be good."

[iamzlaw]

INKTOBER 2024 - 20 - UNCHARTED

"Hold on to your hats, folks, 'cause we're venturing into uncharted territory!" bellows the Captain of the ship as he expertly spins the wheel.

"Is this wise, Captain?" whispers the woman standing directly behind his right shoulder.

She is in a law-enforcement uniform, and looks just as serious as her job, a stern expression on her face as she talks through gritted teeth. If he is as concerned as she is, it is not visible in his smile.

"Well, Marshall, I have whirlpools twice the size of this boat to the East, and surfacing bedrock to the West. And I don't have to tell you about the storm front coming from the South; you've seen it for yourself. So yes, I do believe going North is the safest course of action at this point. The moment I get an opening to an area that is on my map, I promise you I'll take us there."

Behind them, a couple starts arguing, the woman lightly punching her husband on the arm:

"I told you this honeymoon was a bad idea!"

"You're the one who wanted to go on a cruise!" he protests.

"I'm not talking about the cruise, I'm talking about the location."

The Captain sighs and turns around to face his passengers. They all huddled behind him as the turbulence started. He stretches out his hands towards them in a gesture of reassurance:

"Folks! Calm down. None of us made a mistake, here. This area is not known for bad conditions, and there were no weather report predicting even the slightest hint of what we're seeing now. Nobody could have seen this coming. We're making the best of an unexpectedly bad situation, but we'll get through this. Please, do not turn on each other, because it is NOT helping."

As the newlyweds hug out their differences and the Captain gets back to his wheel, the Marshall remains tense.

"There has got to be a reason why these waters are uncharted…"

"Yes: because no ship has ever come back from them."

"And that doesn't worry you?"

"I'm more worried about known dangers than unknown ones. I'm navigating as carefully as I can. You can trust me: I was born on a boat, and I'll die on one."

"This is not comforting at all, actually!"

"I mean die when I'm old and wrinkled, like all my ancestors before me. We are a people of the water. We are good at this. Really good."

"Any idea what could be in there to take all the ships down?"

"I've heard all the stories ever told about the ocean and the sea, and as cocky as that sounds, I'm confident I can face any of them. This is what I was born and raised to do."

"I wish I shared your confidence."

"Then how about focusing on how cool it will be for us to get to name this place, when we're the first one to come out of it?"

"You're right about one thing: you do sound cocky."

[iamzlaw]

INKTOBER 2024 - 19 - RIDGE

"All you have to do is get to that ridge. Past that point, you'll be safe."

His aunt's words – among the last ones he would ever hear from her – were echoing in his mind as he walked. At first, it had seemed like a reasonable target, but now that he had been alone in the wilderness for a few days, he was not so convinced anymore. Surely he did not need to go that far to lose his pursuers? Surely they wouldn't go to such lengths just to catch him? Maybe he could stop now, and he would still be all right? When he had been looking at it from the village, the ridge did not look so remote, but now, even though he had been steadily going towards it since he'd left, it felt out of reach.

Other strong arguments against his caretaker's advice were bouncing around in his head: why that ridge in particular? What made it so special that, upon reaching it, he would be out of harm's way? How ridiculous of a reference point was it? Besides, if the people chasing him could get to the ridge, what would stop them from going over it like he was supposed to? None of it made sense.

It helped – or rather it didn't – that he finally had time to think about it all. When the danger was clear and present, getting as far away as possible made sense, and he did not question the specifics. Now that he was no longer under immediate threat, fleeing seemed less pressing.

Of course, if he was wrong, and they did catch up with him, he would not have another opportunity to escape. By the time he noticed them on his heels, it would be too late. They would not let him put this much distance between him and them again. So, on the off chance that his aunt's advice was correct, he soldiered on.

It took him several more days to reach his destination. By then, he had decided to get there out of sheer spite, just to know whether or not his aunt had been right. He didn't know what he would gain from it, but he wished he could tell her somehow, in case she ever had to give the same advice to someone else. He could never bring her the information either way. Whether or not there was a safe place beyond that ridge, there would be no journey back.

The good news was, there was some sort of translucent barrier running along the ridge. The bad news was, there was no guarantee that those hunting him would not be able to go through as he was about to, or that there weren't people just like them on the other side anyway, if not worse. But he'd come so far. He knew for sure what awaited him if he went back, and it couldn't be pretty, whereas there was a modicum of hope of indeed finding a better place if he crossed that line. So, he took a deep breath, and went through.

[iamzlaw]

INKTOBER 2024 - 18 - DRIVE

It was pouring outside, and I hadn't seen any pedestrian in hours when a little lady came out of nowhere and into my cab. She startled me when she opened the door. It slammed behind her as she sprawled herself across the back seats, drenched, hugging herself. She only uttered one word:

"Drive."

I chuckled. Although I'd heard that line many times in cheesy movies, in all my years as a cabbie, I'd never had anyone say it to me for real.

"This isn't a romantic comedy, Miss; I need an address."

"How about now? Still need an address?"

There was an unexpected metallic click as she straightened up. I frowned and looked at her more closely through the rear-view mirror, only to see her still holding her right side with her left hand, but aiming the barrel of a pistol at the back of my neck with the other.

To be fair, I had never had a gun pointed at my head before. I had never had a gun pointed at me at all. I don't think I had ever even been in the presence of a firearm. It's not that I'm particularly against them – I understand they can be of use in some instances – it's just that I had thankfully never found myself in such a situation. Until now, it would seem.

Without saying a word, I swallowed, both my saliva and my smile, and started the car. There weren't many more vehicles around than there were people on foot, so that made circulation fluid. I didn't even bother starting the meter. I just kept picking a direction at random at every intersection, usually following the green light. I might have been driving in circles and I wouldn't have noticed. Every now and then, I risked a glance at my passenger, in the mirror, and she never flinched. The rain was so bad no one would have seen what was happening in here even if it hadn't been dark already. No help was coming.

"Look, I might not need an address, but I can't just drive around aimlessly forever. Do you maybe have an area in mind? Are we running away from a place in particular?"

"Marvin, is it?"

She must have read it from my ID, displayed on the back of my headrest.

"Yes. My name is Marvin."

"Well, Marvin, all I need is to keep moving until the Sun comes up, faster than I could ever walk or run. After that, you never have to see me again. You can go to the cops for all I care. Do you think you can help me with this?"

At least she wasn't adding verbal threats to the physical one she already presented. I couldn't figure out what would require a wounded woman with a gun to drive all night, but I found myself asking the stupidest thing instead:

"Don't you… own a car?"

She winced at the question.

"…I can't drive."

"Oh. Because you're hurt," I deduced.

"No, because I can't drive!"

[iamzlaw]

INKTOBER 2024 - 17 - JOURNAL

Dear Diary,

I hope you don't mind that I call you "Dear" even though we've just become acquainted; I simply didn't know what else to open with. This is my first time holding a journal, after all.

The suggestion to start one came from my therapists. They have it in their head that documenting what goes through my head day to day could maybe help me make progress. What they would consider progress, I do not know for sure. I am not as enthusiastic as they are at the prospect, but since I'm locked up in here without much else to do, I suppose I can afford to give it a go.

If I'm being honest, it feels a little nice to have something to call "Dear". Scary, too. Because it means I have something to lose. I guess I should avoid writing too many important things within your pages, this way, I should be all right even in the event that you are taken or destroyed.

I know you're not going to ask – if only because you cannot ask, since you're an inanimate object – but I think I should clarify that I am not a crazy person. The fact that there is an entire team of specialists dedicated to studying my behaviour, and convinced that their is something deeply wrong with me, is not a good indicator of my mental health. I feel fine. I am fine, really. I'm not a danger, to myself or to others, at least as long as they are not a threat to me, and even then, I'm not sure I could actually hurt anybody. This whole situation is a complete misunderstanding, as far as I'm concerned, but there is no changing anyone's mind on the matter, so here I am, telling it to a notebook.

Full disclosure: I don't exactly know what happened to put me in this position. I don't know what caused the explosion. All I know is that it was NOT me. Not directly, at the very least. They are saying I went into a fugue state, had some sort of dissociative episode, even though I keep telling them I remember everything. I don't understand it, but I remember it. I did not wish for anything, call upon some ancient magic, or feel any sudden rush of energy. I was not particularly sad or angry at the time of the blast, either. It just happened. Why I was the only one that survived it, and without a scratch too, is just as much a mystery to me as it is to everyone else. But now they think I have pyrotechnic superpowers, or maybe that I'm possessed by a demon or something. If that were true, I'd definitely be able to get out of here, or whatever is watching over me would help me do it, but I guess my captors haven't thought that far. Or they think I'm devious enough to pretend to be powerless.

Anyway, that's where I'm at. Good night, Diary. Maybe tomorrow I'll have more pleasant things to tell you.