kelseyjunemartin

[kelseyjunemartin]

Worm Treatment

“This is for you,” the man at the kiosk in the mall said, extending a sample out towards me. He was slender and handsome and well groomed, with lush brown hair flowing nearly to his shoulders. In his hand he offered me a clod of dark soil, wriggling with dozens of tiny white worms. Translucent little subterranean things. Meant to be underground, out of sight.

I paused with my bundle of shopping bags in tow, and frowned at the handful of grimey things being shoved in front of me. The man’s manicured fingernails were caked with soil. The worms squirmed and slithered like serpents.

Along the back of the kiosk were lined several shelves stocked with dirt jars, coming in a variety of different earthy colors, each squirming with little maggoty worms. Beside the shelves sat a salon chair, along with a roller cart full of brushes and spray bottles. The sign at the top read ‘Worm Treatment Rejuvenation.’

“Uh, no thank you,” I said with a grimace.

“You won’t regret it,” the man said. “The first treatment is fifty percent off.”

“No. I’m good,” I said, shaking my head.

“I can tell that you're stressed. I see it in your lines, and in your hair,” he told me.

“Um, rude,” I said, placing an arm to my hip. “Why on earth would anyone want those filthy worms on them?”

“They’re not filthy. They’re cleansing.” The man tossed his hair back. “I use them all the time.”

I raised an eyebrow at that. I had to admit the man did look good, with smooth skin and sleek hair. “What do you do with them?” I asked.

“It’s a simple process,” the man explained. “You simply sit in that chair while the worms crawl over your scalp. They’ll do their magic and you’ll be stress-free and rejuvenated in no time.”

“That sounds gross,” I said.

“It’s refreshing, actually,” he said, all smiles.

I bit my lip. “Half-off, you said?”

“That’s right.”

I shook my head again. “No. What am I thinking? I’m not putting worms in my hair.”

“Why do you have so many shopping bags?” The man asked. “Do you need those things or are you stress shopping?”

“That’s not any of your business,” I said. “No thank you. I don’t want your worms.”

“Suit yourself, but you’ll lose the half-off discount if you say no now,” he said.

“What? Why so?”

The worm man shrugged. “That’s just how it is.”

I stared at the man. He stared back. We held our eyes locked with the busyness of the mall swirling around us. “Oh, alright. Fine. Let's try this worm treatment.”

The man sat me down in the salon chair. Then he used hair clips to group together my locks into large clumps. “Do you have a preference on the worm type?” he asked.

“Dealer’s choice,” I answered.

Thoughtfully, the man chose a jar with reddish-brown dirt and pink worms. I clenched my eyes shut as he scooped out handfuls and lathered the contents into my hair. The worms wiggled through my stands. Grimy, fleshy, dirty, squirmy. The worm therapist spread them out evenly along my parts. My instinctual reaction was to wince and yelp, so it took all my effort to sit still in the chair. The worms nestled beneath my hair and against my scalp. “Eeeee . . .” I whined at the feeling of them wriggling over my head.

But the worms didn’t stay atop my head. I could feel them squirming their way inside my skull. It wasn’t painful. It wasn’t even gross. It was actually a somewhat pleasant sensation, a bit like being tickled. Soon enough the worms were crawling through my brain the same as they move through the earth. The tension all throughout me suddenly released and I slunk back in the chair. Bit by bit I felt all the worries and stresses of my life melt away. I was no longer worried about finding the perfect birthday gift for my daughter. I was no longer burdened by the custody fight with her father. The pressures of the office unknotted and slipped away. Bills faded to the background. The unexpected expense of replacing the washer and dryer was no longer a concern. It was as if the worms were consuming my troubles and leaving me with only peace.

Before I knew it the worm therapist had leaned me back into a sink and was washing out all the worms and dirt.

“That was amazing,” I said.

“I knew you’d like it,” the man said. “Shall we schedule your next appointment?”

[kelseyjunemartin]

An Accident

My wife fell down the stairs.

So tragic, so unfair!

She’s left this world for the heavenly.

My wife is dead, woe is me!

It was an accident.

An unfortunate incident.

Everyone’s innocent

A legitimate imminent ambivalent event.

My wife fell down the stairs.

I swear I wasn’t there.

I was elsewhere

attending to affairs.

I found her after the fact.

In fact, too long after the chance to enact

any kind of medical intervention.

She was dead, no question.

At the base

of the staircase,

her body snapped,

her face still stunned,

blood everywhere,

she ruined the rug.

It’s a tragedy,

a catastrophe,

unavoidable,

probably.

My wife fell down the stairs.

Always so careless. Probably impaired.

If she could stay sober

she might have been spared.

She might have been spared

if she had known her place

and stayed downstairs.

If she had stayed down.

If she didn’t always frown.

If she looked away when I messed around.

My wife fell down the stairs.

Bannister bloodstains stuck with hairs.

It was an accident.

Of this I am adamant. 

A definite accident with adequate precedent.

My wife fell down the stairs.

I don’t know how it happened.

Why do you keep asking?

It happened. Who cares!

What’s next for me?

Insurance policy.

Then probably

find wife number three.

[kelseyjunemartin]

Ferdinand and Isabella

“Isabella, I gotta tell ya,

I’m pretty upset.

I’m off fighting wars for ya, making scores for ya,

And what do I get?

A royal vacancy awaited me

after Henry died so I tried to ride

with speed across the countryside

and when I arrive, what do I find?

You’ve crowned yourself Queen.

Its obscene.

Your ceremony don’t mean a damn thing.

You can’t do this without me.

This was supposed to be my land.

But you took the crown, underhand.

With serenades and parades,

and charades,

whatever it takes

to coronate.

You may have manned the stand of your homeland,

but you overstepped your husband.

Isabella, you’ve gone too far.

Who do you think you are?”

“Who am I?

Its funny you should ask,

Been wondering why

I’ve been given the task,

gotta keep the kingdom together,

and end the civil war,

gotta treat the people better,

and prepare for the Moors,

gotta rebuild the kingdom’s treasure,

and there’s a church to restore.

Who’s gonna do it? You, Ferdinand?

You’re like my father and my brother,

you don’t count God in your plans.

You only count money and the lines in the sand.”

“The people will not take

a woman head of state.

They won’t leave their fate

in the hands of the emotionally irate.

This affront will not stand.

I’m the man so I demand

to wear that crown, King Ferdinand!

Hope you had fun being number one

of Castile and Leon.

But now you’re done, hun.

Move you down a rung.

Its good that I’m here

so I can make it clear

to the nobles and our peers

that a man is at steer.”

“I may be young and a lady, but trust me baby,

my grace is an asset.

My face is impassive.

My faith is expansive.

My place is where my ass sits.

All my life I was locked away

so I may await

a marriage to benefit the King’s estate.

God had his tests for me.

He threw his best at me.

All I had was my mother and my books and some priests for friends.

All the while Henry hosts feasts and spends

the treasury on armies, parties, properties, and sins.

The kingdom isn’t happy so the war begins.

I lost my mother and my friends and most of my books.

Law abandoned the land to the swords and crooks.

They wanted me to pick a side,

but inside, I knew I could not comply.

Neither side had the right to fight.

Then finally, an answer God supplied.

Henry got poisoned, and Alfonso died of the flu.

They left the kingdom in tatters.

I did what I had to do.

It’s the people, not the leader, who matters.

My dear Ferdinand, please understand

I alone had to take a command.

Because of your distance and inaccessibility,

I alone brought Seville some civility.

To the east you got a kingdom of your own,

but you still want me to throw you a bone?

You’re weak willed and politically unskilled.

You want to be top sovereign? Sorry, that position’s filled.

This city won’t be kneeling to anyone but a Castilian.

This tension, I’m feeling. But I am done dealing

with fools who think they can rule.

I know I might be flawed

but at least I’m not a fraud.

Who do I think I am?

I’m an agent of God.”

[kelseyjunemartin]

The Real Deal

Jamie and the other kids threw rocks in puddles while they waited outside the fairgrounds. Their ruckus went unnoticed amidst the lights and sounds of the carnival. Jamie sighed and dropped his handful of rocks. He looked at his watch. It was approaching midnight.

“There he is!” Lindsey shouted and pointed to the figure approaching on a bike.

All the kids circled around Kyle before he had even stopped.

“Do you have them?” Jamie said, pushing his way through the group.

“Yeah. I’ve got them. I said I would,” Kyle replied and reached into his backpack. He pulled out a folded up cloth. Everyone hushed and leaned in as he unwrapped the cloth, revealing two hand-minted gold coins.

“Woah!”

“No way.”

“Is it real?”

“Of course it's real,” Jamie said and patted Kyle on the back. “Kyle said he could get them and he did. He’s the real deal.”

“How did you get them?” Noah asked.

“My mom found them cleaning out a storage unit,” Kyle said. “They’re Spanish bullions and worth a lot.”

“But won’t your mom kill you when she finds out they’re gone?”

“It will be worth it. A chance to see a dragon only comes around once in a lifetime, right?” Jamie said and held his fist up to Kyle.

Kyle nodded and bumped fists. “Right.”

“Oh my gosh, you guys are so lucky.” Lindsey said. “Why does it have to cost a gold coin?”

Jamie shrugged. “Dragons don’t accept credit cards, I guess.”

“So how do we do this?” Kyle asked Jamie as he handed him his coin.

“We have to find the dwarf monk.”

Kyle had been certain Jamie was just pulling some kind of stunt, and he’d admit he made the whole thing up about the dragon after he showed him the coins. But, sure enough, after scouring through the hordes of guests and carnies they found a dwarf dressed in brown robes by himself at the snack tables. His head was shaved in the center just like a medieval monk, and his sandals were kicked up another chair as he sipped from his goblet.

“We want to see the dragon,” Jamie said.

The dwarf barely looked at them. “You can’t afford it.”

“We can,” Jamie said, holding up his coin. “Thanks to my friend here.”

The dwarf sat up and looked from the coin to Kyle. “Those are yours?”

Kyle gulped and nodded.

“Fine,” The dwarf said. “I’ll take you to the dragon if you think you know what you’re doing.”

The dwarf monk finished his goblet and led the kids through the maze of tents and booths, all the way to the back where an enormous tent was pitched about fifty yards away from the rest of the carnival. Kyle couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed such a large tent before now. As they walked through the dark, Kyle sweated profusely in the chill air.

“Are you sure about this?” Kyle whispered to Jamie.

“You want to see the dragon, don’t you?” Jamie replied.

“Yeah, but this is all so weird.”

“Well, if you’re afraid you can turn back,” Jamie said.

“I’m not afraid,” Kyle said, crossing his arms.

At the entrance, the dwarf pulled back the canvas flap and gestured through the doorway. “The dragon is inside. Pay your tribute and all will be fine.”

The boys held out their bullions to the dwarf.

“No. You pay the dragon itself.”

Jamie and Kyle stepped into the fire-lit tent and the flap closed behind them. A wooden platform surrounded the edge of the entire tent encompassing a deep dark pit. They clutched their coins tightly. Jamie moved towards the platform railing.

“Wait!” Kyle spouted. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this.”

“We have the gold. We’re fine.” Jamie said.

Kyle looked down at his coin. Flecks of gold paint had rubbed off onto his hand.

“Come on, you said you weren’t afraid.” Jamie said, then cocked his head slightly. “You can hear it breathing.”

Jamie leaned over the railing. “I think I see it.”

Kyle closed his eyes and took a long deep breath, then he joined Jamie at the edge of the platform. Respiration echoed out the pit. Humid air rose past their faces.

“It's too dark. I can’t make it out,” Kyle said.

Jamie pointed to the tiny glints of light around the edge of the pit.

“Those must be coins. I think we need to pay,” Jamie said and tossed his bullion down. It clinked against the gold pieces below.

Kyle held out his coin, but hesitated.

“Go on. Do it,” Jamie said.

“I can’t.” Kyle stammered. “Its-”

“Do you wanna see the dragon or not, Kyle? I thought you were the real deal.”

Kyle dropped his fake coin into the pit of real treasure.

Two yellow eyes blinked open. The shuffle of coins rang as the faint traces of a large body stretched out. deep laughter bellowed out and the yellow eyes faced upward at the boys.    Kyle stumbled backward and fell to the floor.

“Jamie, they were fake!” Kyle yelled as he crawled to the doorway. “I painted them! They were fake!”

“You what?!” Jamie gaped.

Before it could fully sink in, the giant scaly beast emerged from its lair and snatched the two boys who had stiffed him. They screamed and the dragon roared. Their ruckus went unnoticed amidst the lights and sounds of the carnival.

[kelseyjunemartin]

The next chapter of my prehistoric fantasy series is now live on Royal Road.

[kelseyjunemartin]

The epic crossing of the wilderness between the borders of Karhide and Orgota symbolizes Ai coming to understand the gender-less society of the Gethens. The Gethens are sexless androgynous beings except during their mating cycle, called kemmering, in which they temporarily adopt male or female features. Throughout the story Ai's failure embrace the Gethens, and Estraven in particular, as bi-gendered beings has hindered his mission to bring the planet into the Ekumen.

Ai and Estraven's journey is a raw and pure exposure to the natural elements of Winter. Ai must face the wilderness, and except un-tamable forces of the world. This coincides with Estraven's kemmering, in which Ai is forced to accept Estraven as partly a woman, the raw natural way of the Gethens.

Their journey is a literal and symbolic crossing of boundaries, representing Ai's acceptance of the realities of Gethen life, and the friendship he forms with Estraven. This journey and realization is what allows Ai to complete his mission.

There is also significant blurring of boundaries in the book. Of course, male and female are blurred for the Gethens. The actual border between Karhide and Orgota is blurred in the wilderness. The catorgization of the Ekuman is confused. Ai doesn't know whether to consider Estraven an ally or opponent. It's important to Ai's journey that he learn to understand the beyond the boundaries.

[kelseyjunemartin]

Escape from the Bloodkeep Character Analysis: Sokhbarr

Sokhbarr, the Bog Lord, is a primordial beastman and master of the swamp creatures. He knows his beloved swamp beasts won’t be accepted anywhere else in this world except under the reign of a villain like Zaul’Nahz, so he has committed his swamplands to the dark lord’s service. The Forces of Light won’t tolerate monstrous creatures and hunt them down. He himself looks like an amalgamation of different beasts. “He is an ancient, prehistoric, weird swamp creature. Horns and turtle shell, crocodilian teeth, lizard-goat, nightmare creature from the swamp.” Sokhbarr’s physical appearance reflects his outcast status, same as his swamp beasts.

We first meet Sokhbarr when his closest companion, a screambeast named J'er'em'ih, the last of his kind, is in the midst of giving birth. A screambeast is a dog-like shape-shifting lovecraftian-type creature. However, J’er’em’ih does not birth a new screambeast, but instead some other kind of monster that someone had a nightmare of. There won’t be anymore screambeasts until someone has nightmares of them again. Even in dreams, there lacks a place for Sokhbarr’s precious creatures.

Sokhbarr shows great love and affection for his monsters. He is obviously very close to J'er'em'ih, often taking greater care of his companion than himself. Sokhbarr also calls upon and gains the friendship of the lava mog. And he shows concern over the treatment of the wyverns.

Sokhbarr's and J'er'em'ih's gross nature is repeatedly disparaged throughout the show. Sokhbarr even admits he was certain Zaul'Nahz would eventually turn on him and his swamp. During the fall from the airship he thinks "how alike the Bloodkeep is to the towers of men and elves beyond it.”

During the battle in the Tomb of Ultimate Evil, Sokhbarr’s swampy grossness is acknowledged and appreciated by the Ancient Evil Ones, affirming that Sokhbarr and his swamp beasts do have a place in this world. In the end, Sokhbarr attends J’er’em’ih giving birth to a litter of screambeast pups, having now been dreamt into existence, confirming their rightful place in the realm.

[kelseyjunemartin]

Escape from the Bloodkeep Character Analysis: Maggie

Maggie is the dark lord's demon girlfriend and the daughter of the evil diety, Gogmoth. At the beginning of the show Maggie languishes in a perpetual anticipation of Zaul’Nahz proposing. She resides in a ruby tower within the Bloodkeep, surrounded by trappings of beauty and romance. However, Maggie doubts the love in her own life. In fact, she wonders if he is only interested in her because she is the daughter of his patron demon. Maggie feels overshadowed by her boyfriend and father, and feels uncertain of herself.

Maggie's journey revolves around realizing Zaul'Nah was not good for her and establishing her own sense of identity.

Maggie is associated with fire. She has magical fire powers, red fire eyes, and gives a flaming birth. She contributes fire to the swirling tornado after winning the fight in the Tomb of Ultimate Evil. Even, her ruby tower is a flame-like image.

She also has a fiery temper; as displayed when she smashes her room apart with Sistra, shouting her signature "Don't touch me!" in combat, and when she berates Ipskix.

Fire also represents passion. Maggie is clearly passionate about self expression, as shown during her shopping trip with John Feathers.

“I’m just trying to think. I don’t know if I can pull off a hat.” - John Feathers

“John, stop it. Literally stop it.” - Maggie

“I don’t know. I feel like once you become a hat guy, you gotta commit.” - John Feathers

“No. You can be whoever you want to be.” - Maggie

She shows the same support when Sohkbarr expresses interest in wearing a skin hat. It's important to Maggie for others to express themselves, likely because she herself feels lacking in that regard.

She rivals with Leiland for Zaul'Nahz's time and affection. After Lord Z is vanquished Maggie and Leiland verbally attack one another, establishing the resentment between the two of them. It's interesting to note that Maggie is associated with fire and Leiland is associated with ice.

Also after Lord Z is gone Maggie reveals she is pregnant with the dark lord's child. This connects her with motherhood and new life. During the fall after the airship battle there is a merging of new life and fire symbolism, as her fire breaks and she goes into labor.

As she lies in labor next to a dying John Feathers she discovers she has healing flame powers, and heals John with a fiery touch. This is a power no demon has possessed before, signify the development of her own sense of identity. This coincides with the birth of her own son.

After realizing Lord Z didn't appreciate or respect her, Maggie decides to name her son Leiland Jr., ending the feud between the two. “I’m naming my son after the name of yours that I prefer.” A symbolic rejection of Zaul'Nahz. Also another instance of Maggie encouraging someone to embrace their self.

It's fitting that Maggie is connect to fire, birth, and healing. Fire is purifying, allowing space for new life to flourish. Maggie creates a new life for herself, literally births new life into existence, and helps create a new kingdom for Evil.

[kelseyjunemartin]

The next chapter of my prehistoric fantasy web series is now on Royal Road.

[kelseyjunemartin]

Treasure Island is a classic that's easy to love in its many incarnations. However, an interesting difference between the book and its film adaptations is the overall tone. The book portrays a more grim and harrowing experience for Jim versus the spirited adventurous tone found in the films. The danger, death, and betrayal have a significantly more negative impact on book Jim. The book ends with him having nightmares of the island.

"Oxen and wainropes would not bring me back again to that accursed island; and the worst dreams that ever I have are when I hear the surf booming about its coasts or start upright in bed with the sharp voice of Captain Flint still ringing in my ears: 'Pieces of eight! pieces of eight!;'"

[kelseyjunemartin]

Escape from the Bloodkeep Character Analysis: Efink Murderdeath

Efink is an elven oracle who turned from the Forces of Light to be a cleric of the ancient demon Gogmoth. She seeks not only mystical abilities, but also to satisfy her own ego. She calls upon the fortune-telling Norns for guidance, but more so for flattery. Efink covers up her insecurities with constant praise. She is always dripping wet, as if she just exited a pool, her self always dowsed. She is married to Percival/Stalker, the king of men, elves, and dwarves; though she regrets the marriage and quickly abandoned him along with the rest of the Forces of Light.

At the beginning of the show Efink has a brief and urgent vision that feels strange to her, as if it came from another source than her normal visions. She sees an image of a young Zaul’Nahz with a corporeal body at a fountain of blood. The vision is only a brief flash and leaves Efink confused. This moment establishes Efink's association with blood.

After Zaul'Nahz is vanquished, Efink's oracular abilities fail her and her visions of success prove false. She insists on a blood pact with the other lieutenants, furthering her association with blood. “I think we should make a blood pact to each other. Because without each other I do not see any sort of victory happening.” The other party members reject the blood pact idea, but Efink brings it up again at least one other time.

At the battle in the Scary Volcano Efink confronts her father, Telmeir the Calm, revealing that he has never shown Efink much attention or praise, suggesting that is a main reason for her neediness. Also, Efink’s dim-witted husband, Stalker, arrives at the fight and she has trouble deciding whether she wishes to finally divorce him or not.

“Are you planning on divorcing Percival?” - Telmier the Calm

“Well, uh, oh, maybe . . . . What is important is if he is king, then I am queen.” - Efink Murderdeath

“Oh, do you want that?” - Telmier the Calm

“Well, are you proud of me is all?” - Efink Murderdeath

“Wow. That’s desperately sad. Alright, let’s continue fighting.” - Telmier the Calm

After Stalker is swallowed by the lava mog, Efink secretly rescues him. They make a fool-hardy attempt to pretend Stalker has joined the villains. Despite claiming that she is keeping him around because he is the king, it's apparent that Efink indulges in Stalker's sincere compliments.

Additionally, while the crown is being reforged Efink has a conversation with Lilith in which she admits she only tolerates her husband because, “I love that he loves me,” further demonstrating her shallowness and neediness. And the superficiality of her relationship with Stalker is fully realized when she pushes him off the top of the Bloodkeep to prove her loyalty to the party.

During the fall after the airship is destroyed Efink is forced to consider how empty her egotism and prophecies have been. “You’re in a cloud of chunks of wood, holding a wheel that steers nothing. And the metaphor of holding a wheel attached to nothing and how that relates to your oracular properties is not lost on you.”

Efink has been abandoned by all her spirits and gives up on looking outward for insight, and instead looks inward. She finds strength in the balance between Good and Evil, and in her friends. Then, completely dry, another vision reveals the meaning of the blood fountain to her.

At the battle in the Tomb of Ultimate Evil Efink unexpectedly decides to kill the Ferryman and take his place as the steward of the blood pool, capstoning her association with blood.

“I must become the necroboatman. And I must grant myself the right of balance and power to decide who becomes the new crowned king.” - Efink Murderdeath

“If you ask to be the prophet of Evil itself and dwell here in the forever beyond—” - Ancient Evil Ones

“In the wetness of blood?” - Efink Murderdeath

“Oh, sure. The blood fountain comes with.” - Ancient Evil Ones

Efink's newfound power is symbolized by her blood-soaked appearance. Blood comes from within. She needed to look inward to discover herself. Now she is dowsed with her inner confidence.

"Do I look better covered in blood than ever before?" - Efink Murderdeath

"I can only speak true to you. You look fucking great." - Olag

[kelseyjunemartin]

Escape from the Bloodkeep Character Analysis: Leiland

Leiland/Kraz-Thun is the leader of the the Vinguri, the dark lord's wraith servants. He has given up everything to serve Zaul'Nahz, to the point that he is figuratively and literally withering away. He has even given up the name Leiland in favor of the name his master chose for him, Kraz-Thun. He wears a crown of chains imbued with a piece of Lord Z's soul, symbolizing his subservient bond. Leiland has developed an unrequited co-dependent relationship with the Lord of Shadows. It is apparent that Lord Z's cruelty has worn at Leiland when he has to chant to himself "You are loved. You are important," before speaking with Zaul'Nahz.

Leiland's unfulfilled desire for approval from the dark lord leads to resentment against the other Vinguri and especially Maggie, the two of whom repeatedly snap at each other throughout the show, clearly rivals for Lord's attention.

More than any other character, Leiland is associated with failure. He is introduced as he returns from another failed attempt to retrieve Lord Z's crown from the two halflings. Leiland's many failures are embodied by his multiple encounters with the halfling, Galfast Hamhead, who constantly eludes him.

Leiland's inner journey revolves around realizing his loyalty and service to the dark lord has been misplaced. This is epitomized during the fall from the airship as he witnesses Maggie in labor. “Falling, as the wreckage passes by him and he’s accepted this, failure after failure after failure. His eyes close, as he just feels the wind rushing past him, thinking that all the sacrifices he’s made for the lord that is now gone. ‘What have I accomplished? Nothing. What reason is there to remain and endure?’”

His transformation occurs when he realizes he deserves someone that appreciates him. This is found after the party decides not to resurrect Zaul'Nahz, but to instead crown Maggie's newborn, which she decides to name Leiland Jr. “I’m naming my son after the name of yours that I prefer,” Maggie says. This shows the two of them overcoming the resentment that Lord Z had stoked between them.

After accepting the baby as his new liege, Leiland undergoes a symbolic and actual resurrection where he reemerges cast in angelic white. “Hide no longer behind your helmet. I would have the world behold the face of my right hand,” Leiland Jr. tells him. The casting aside of the chain helm demonstrates Leiland's development into a stronger more independent person that no longer needs Zaul'Nahz. Afterwards Leilands failure streak comes to an end and he proves a vital help in the battle at the Tomb of Ultimate Evil.

Leiland's journey concludes with him now serving Leiland Jr., who represents a new better kind of Evil. Though he is given one final task by his new lord, pulling together the last loose end for Leiland, and that is to bring him the head of Galfast Hamhead.

[kelseyjunemartin]

Grimble's Curiosities

“I know exactly what will interest you,” Mr. Grimble said to the young couple browsing his wares to furnish their new home. He led them to his furniture aisle, briefly glancing out his shop window at the men hanging a sign on the store across the street.

“We’re not looking for anything too fancy,” the young woman said as they passed the china sets and rare coins.

Mr. Grimble turned from the window back to his customers before he could read the sign. “I don’t consider my items fancy, per se,” he said. “I prefer to think of them as special. Each of my wares is completely unique, with its own special history and meaning. You want your home to be special, don’t you?”

“Well, yes, of course,” the young woman said.

“Then this is the thing for you,” Mr. Grimble said, stopping in front of an antique European office chair. “These were manufactured during the height of the post World War I industrial boom. Very popular amongst businessmen. They oversaw many great operations while lounging in these chairs. This particular piece I know was owned by a Belgian clock factory owner. Most were destroyed in bombings and fires over the next few decades, but the clock maker loved his chair so much he had it sent overseas to keep it safe.” Mr. Grimble walked around the antique admiringly. “This isn’t just an office chair, it’s a throne.”

The young couple seemed unimpressed. They looked at the price tag and shook their heads.

“I’m not sure it’s really us, you know,” the young woman said.

“Of course,” Mr. Grimble said. “Let me show you some other items I know would be perfect for you.”

The young man looked around the shop and said, “Um, I don’t think you have what we’re looking for. Thanks.”

Mr. Grimble thanked the young couple for visiting and smiled as they walked out. After they were gone he sighed and sunk into the clock maker’s chair. He tightened his grip on armrests and looked back out the window. The sign across the street was up now. It read, Coming Soon. Francesca’s Trivialities. Mr. Grimble wondered what the hell a triviality shop was.

–

For days Mr. Grimble watched from his counter as customer after customer exited the triviality shop with useless crap and smiles on their faces. They left with cheap Chinese toys, common thrift store clothing, and mediocre knick-knacks. And barely a soul had bothered to pop inside his curiosity shop, let alone buy anything. So when he heard the bell attached to his door jingle, he greeted the schoolteacher over-excitedly.

She was looking for anything related to astronomy, as she was an amateur enthusiast. Mr. Grimble’s heart leapt. For some time he had been trying to unload a vintage 50’s telescope, used by the team that discovered the first binary pulsar.

“Oh my, how interesting,” the schoolteacher said. She asked many questions about the piece, growing more excited as he told its history.

This is how it’s done, Mr. Grimble thought to himself. You don’t just heap a bunch of garbage on as many customers as you can. You find the right item for the right person and that’s the sale that counts.

“And what is its magnification?” The schoolteacher asked.

“It had a magnification of 150X,” Mr. Grimble said. “Not as powerful as others at the time, but ideal for minimizing brightness glares.”

“What do you mean had?” the schoolteacher asked.

“Well, the telescope is no longer functional. Its worth comes strictly from its historical value,” Mr. Grimble told her.

The schoolteacher’s face soured. “Ah, I see.”

She quickly browsed the rest of the shop, finding nothing to her liking. Mr. Grimble returned to his counter and watched the schoolteacher cross the street to the triviality shop. After much longer than she had spent in his store, the schoolteacher reappeared with two large bags looking very satisfied. Mr. Grimble wondered what on earth she found over there instead of here. He spent the rest of the day watching the store across the street, gripping his hands together tightly, until a lanky woman with a bandana tied over her hair flipped the open sign to closed.

–

In the back office, Mr. Grimble poured over his record books. It was clear sales had flatlined since the opening of the triviality shop. Curiosities could not compete with trivialities, it seemed. Mr. Grimble scratched his head aggressively, unsure what he should do.

The front door bells jingled and a woman’s voice called out, “Hello! Hello!”

Mr. Grimble returned to the display floor to find the lanky woman with the bandana checking out his selection of mirrors.

Mr. Grimble tightened his fists. “Can I help you?”

“Oh, hi, yes, are you Mr. Grimble?” she asked. “I’m Francesca, from across the street. I just wanted to come by and say hello and introduce myself.” She extended her hand to Mr. Grimble, who reciprocated with one stiff shake. “I’ve wanted to stop by and see your store for a long time,” Francesca continued, “but I’ve just been so busy with the opening and all. You know how it is.”

“Sure,” Mr. Grimble said.

“So, wow, you got a lot of neat stuff here,” Francesca said, strolling through the aisles.

“Are you looking for anything in particular?” Mr. Grimble asked.

“Oh, I’m never looking for anything in particular,” she said and picked up a porcelain dove off a shelf. “Hey, I like this.”

“That’s not right for you,” Mr. Grimble said. “Its part of the Kaolin Collection. You’re not a collector, are you?”

“No. I’ve never heard of Kaolin,” Francesca said.

“Well, it belongs in a collection,” Mr. Grimble said, clenching and unclenching his fists.

“Oh, OK,” Francesca set the dove back on the shelf.

Mr. Grimble relaxed his hands and took a deep breath. “Here, I have the perfect thing for you,” he said and ushered her to a display of wall mounts. In between a taxidermied antelope head and a framed ticket to the Brisbane World’s Fair hung an eighteenth century battle axe. Its handle short and engraved with a spiral pattern, the head almost as long as the handle, the back of the head bore a faded crest.

“My god, you can’t be serious?” Francesca gawked.

“It’s Spanish. Made sometime around 1780. A common weapon of the royal army. The stamp on the hilt suggests it was owned by a sergeant. It was recovered from a sunken ship off the coast of Florida. I have the papers to prove its authenticity.”

“Mr. Grimble,” Francesca said, shrugging her arms. “What would I possibly do with a battle axe?”

Mr. Grimble grabbed the axe with both hands and removed it from its display hook. He held it upright in front of him, admiring it, then offered it to Francesca.

“Hold it,” he said.

“No, really,” Francesca waved her hands at the piece.

“Please,” Mr. Grimble said and stepped closer to her. “See how it feels.”

“Well,” Francesca said, tapping a finger to her chin. “I never have held an antique Spanish weapon before, and who knows if I’ll get another chance.”

She took the axe from him.

“Wow, its heavy,” she said, awkwardly handling axe, holding the blade as far from herself as possible. “Is this thing sharp?”

“I keep all my wares in pristine condition.”

“Uh-huh,” Francesca said. “You know, I think I’ll pass on the battle axe.” She handed it back to Mr. Grimble. “But I’ll take that dove, though.”

“Yes, of course,” Mr. Grimble said.

Francesca walked back down the aisle to grab the porcelain dove.

Mr. Grimble tightened his grip on the axe.

Originally Published in El Portal (2017)

[kelseyjunemartin]

The next chapter of my web novel, Great Journey, is on Royal Road.

[kelseyjunemartin]

In the Open

“Oh, fair Prudence, you shouldn’t have followed me back here. You weren’t meant to see this,” I said, walking the shocked girl off the croquet field, away from the scene of the conjuration. The scaly deer-like body of the beast wobbled as it attempted to stand on its newly materialized, corporeal legs. Its neck sprouted into a tangle of hissing snake heads, which snapped at my colleagues as they tried to corral the darkling.

I told my chaps to finish the ritual, and that I would be right back.

Guiding my fiancé away from the bloody mess of the equine carcass, we walked out the spell circle to a pleasant little sitting area on the manor’s sprawling lawn, beneath a ivy woven trellis dotted with honeysuckles. “You should be upstate with your mother,” I said to her.

Damn you, woman! You’re ruining my moment, I thought.

“That thing wasn’t there before, Claremont,” she said. Prudence had a dazed blank look, and all the color had evaporated from her cheeks. “One moment, there was the horse, then the burning smell, and then that . . . that thing appeared. What was that thing? What happened to the horse, Claremont?”

“Yes, you do love your horses, don’t you?” I said, ushering Prudence into the bench seat where we could look out towards the gardens, and beyond to the woodlands surrounding the estate. Fragrant honeysuckle helped mask some of the burnt flesh smell.

“The horse caught fire. The flames were black. How could the flames be black?”

I brushed her hair behind her ear. “Well, it was a black horse, my love.”

“Then it exploded.”

“Only a little. Calm down. Only a little.” I said. “See, there’s barely any horse on your dress.”

Prudence lazily rolled her head downward to her cream colored gown, now splattered with hairy, meaty flecks. It was the palette of our favorite dessert at the country club, the raspberry crumbcakes. Her eyes widened and she started to hyperventilate.

I could just let her panic, let her spiral, I mused, but quickly shoved the thought away. I couldn’t bear not waking up to her face each morning.

“There, there, everything is fine now,” I said. Then I snapped open her folding fan and fluttered her with cool air. “I hated–absolutely hated–that we had to use that horse as a gateway. But, sad to say, a hellport does require a living being of a certain size.”

“A hellport?” she repeated, still panting.

I transferred the fan to her own hand, so I could wipe away the bloodiest chunks off her lap with my handkerchief. She swished the fan limply. I sighed. “Yes, a hellport.”

The thought of explaining hellports to her, let alone darkling conjuration, utterly exhausted me. How would I even begin describing the Dark Dreamer’s realm? Her mind wasn’t ready for this. And I hadn’t the time. The first few moments in the material realm were vital for a darkling’s consecration. And yet, it would not do to leave Prudence on her own at the moment, lest she slip into utter insanity; or worse, break our engagement.

She was supposed to be boat shopping with her mother for the weekend. Not here. Not now. I wanted to shake her and shout at her for deceiving me and yank at her pretty hair. This was supposed to be my time.

But also, at the same time, she was my bride-to-be wasn’t she? Should I not be able to share myself with her? A man has that privilege, doesn’t he?

“A hellport is sort of like an eggshell. But alive,” I told her.

Prudence blinked at me with woeful eyes. “And it hatched,” she said with a tremble.

“Exactly!” I said, patting her wrist. “Nothing so strange about an egg hatching.”

“That was my parent’s horse. Springbell.”

“Yes, she was a good horse. Of good girth.” I said.

“Why did you bring that thing here?” Prudence asked.

One of my colleagues hollered from the croquet field that the submission spell wasn’t working, and that Kyle had been bitten.

“There’s too many heads. We’ll need a more powerful incantation,” I called back to him. “Just hold tight. And tell Kyle to lie down out of the way, before the venom immobilizes him.”

“Spells? Venom? Darklings? Eggshells?” Prudence said. “Good, heavens, Claremont, what is going on?”

“I know that when we first started seeing each other, we promised we wouldn’t keep any secrets. We were going to be honest right from the beginning. But, my dearest, I’m afraid I haven’t been entirely honest with you.”

Prudence stared at me desperate for an explanation.

“I haven’t been honest with myself, possibly,” I said, thoughtfully. “And it's hard to be sincere with your partner when you're not so with your own self. But, I believe that I can be true with you, because I’m certain you would never tell anyone about my activities. Least of all your parents”

“What have you done with the money they lent you?”

“Relationships are hard for a person like me,” I said, feeling myself open up. “You could say I’m never satisfied. Always looking for something more. Rather, something not of this world. I have a drive. It’s a part of me.”

“Claremont, what are you saying?”

“The thing of it is, I may be just a little, somewhat involved with practitioners of the dark arts,” I confessed.

The snake-beast shrieked and inhuman, corrupt sound, followed by the panicked squeals of one of my colleagues. Prudence started to turn back towards the croquet field, but I stopped her. 

“No. No,” I said, twisting her head to look out over the manor gardens, backdropped by the woodlands beyond. “We should be fully honest in our relationship, about the fact that I cannot be fully honest with you all the time.” I wrapped my arm around her shoulders as we stared across her family estate. “I have more complex interests than common men, you know that. And it just won’t do to have to explain them to someone as—let's say gentle—as yourself.”

My occult companions shouted and pleaded for a short while, but soon all we heard was the tearing of flesh and crunching of bones.

“You really should have been with your mother, but, I don’t know, perhaps this is for the best,” I said, thoughtfully. “This truly has been something we needed to discuss.”

We could hear hissing, and sense the lumbering movement behind us. Prudence almost bolted up, but I held her down tight. Slithering snake heads coiled round to Prudence’s side.

“Don’t move. Don’t make a sound,” I told her.

She trembled and stuttered out terrified breaths. Then the snake heads slid onto her shoulder. Prudence whined in horror, but bless her heart, she remained as still as she could, even as a snake slithered through her hair. Shortly thereafter, the multi-headed snake creature darted its way into the foliage surrounding the manor.

“I’m so glad that we got that out in the open,” I said.

[kelseyjunemartin]

Daredevil TV Show Intro Analysis

The intro depicts a red liquid, presumably blood, pouring over a figure of Daredevil, Lady Justice, and over images of New York City. New York is figuratively bled by crime. And Daredevil both causes bloodshed and bleeds for his city.

The red isn't just blood, it also is the color of passion and fury, two defining characteristics of Matt Murdock. As Daredevil he is at once painting the town red as he spreads justice, and seeing red as he lets stress and violence overtake him.

There is also a pairing of opposites taking place. Lady Justice is connected to Matt's persona as a good-willed attorney that fights for justice with the law. This is contrasted to his Daredevil persona which fights against injustice extra-judiciously.

Another opposite present is the contrast between Daredevil and the angel outside the church. Matt embodies both demonic and angelic qualities. He uses violence to perform good works. Also, he must lie and manipulate to protect himself and those he cares about.

The very first shot in the intro is a close-up of the cloth over Blind Lady Justice's eyes. A sense of blindness presides over the intro because the images are hidden until revealed by the blood. This emphasizes the themes of blindness in the show. Justice is blind. Love is blind. Blind rage.

[kelseyjunemartin]

The Masterpiece

I had never heard of this man, this bewildering artist simply called Mikey as his nametag declared. Nevertheless, his exhibit garnered more attention than any other piece at the gallery. His space, nay, his stage, had a perpetual line of visitors awaiting their chance to experience his artistry. The curators of the event must have had the foresight to know his performance art would attract the largest crowd, for his stainless steel cart from which he created his masterpieces was located in the back, somewhat distanced from the other exhibits.

As not to appear too eager, I browsed the other pieces, half-heartedly admiring the portraits and landscapes and sculptures, occasionally commenting to a fellow fan of the arts, but it was the line to Mikey that had my true attention. After spending only a fraction of the time with the other artworks than I normally would have, I took my place amongst the other guests in line hungering for their turn with the splash out artist.

“Next,” he called, and the line moved forward slightly.

Mikey had bound his dreads into a pinned up ponytail, capped with a visor. He wore a matching apron with his nametag in the corner. He wore latex gloves and, never missing a detail, had a splotch of mustard on his forearm.

After watching many satisfied patrons leave his cart with their own original creations crafted right before their eyes, Mikey finally called “Next,” and approached the glass window separating the performer from the audience.

“How may I help you?” Mikey asked me, friendly, inviting. This was a man whose whole purpose was to share his art with others.

“Help me?” I said. “Sir, by engaging in your work you would not only help me, you would honor me.”

“Uh, right, OK.” Mikey said. “Bread?”

I wasn’t quite sure what he meant, then I noticed the placard listing multiple bread choices. My curiosity increased tenfold. Were we, the audience, to participate in the creation of these works? “Italian,” I replied, hoping it would be a choice Mikey would approve of.

He silently retrieved a loaf from beneath the counter and placed it on a sheet of parchment paper before cutting it open lengthwise. I awed at the mindfulness in which he executed the cut, clearly the hands of someone with hundreds of hours of experience.

“Meat?” Mikey said next.

I saw that placards existed for each step of the artwork’s creation. There were so many choices. I was suddenly perplexed.

“What do most people get?” I inquired, knowing I must seem amateurish to the man.

“Probably turkey,” Mikey said, with no air of judgment. “But hey man, this is for you. Not anyone else. Watchyu want?”

“I suppose I shall have the roast beef.” I replied, exalted with a rush of applying my own person onto the piece.

“Cheese?” Mikey continued.

“Oh,” I said, tapping my chin. “Pepperjack. No, American. No, pepperjack.”

I tugged at my shirt collar, uncertain with my choice. However, Mikey paid my indecisiveness no mind, and added the cheese slices.

“Veggies?” He said, sliding the parchment paper down the counter.

I leaned in closer to the glass window to examine my options, my many options. Truly, no two creations had to be the same. There was infinite potential within Mikey’s craft.

“How much can I get?” I asked.

“As much as you want,” Mikey said. “But personally, I think less is more when it comes to the toppings. You know what I mean?”

“Yes, I think I do.” I nodded, absorbing those sage words.

I reexamined my choices, carefully considering what veggies could say the most with the least embellishment.

“I’ll take black olive, red pepper, and,” feeling a bit bolder, “onion.”

Mikey assembled the last ingredients and folded the creation closed before cutting it in half at a diagonal. Then he wrapped up the piece and handed it to me.

“That will be four eighty-nine.” He said.

“Yes, of course,” I could hardly believe that such an incredible experience came at such a reasonable price. I withdrew my checkbook and wrote the artist the specified amount. Upon handing the artist his check, his eyes widened.

“Wow. Thanks, brother.”

I reveled in his usage of such familiar association. Indeed, there was a kinship between him and me. Both of us contributing to the artwork’s creation, neither knowing exactly how it would unfold.

“No, thank you,” I said. Then I looked for a place to sit, where I might further endeavor to appreciate the masterpiece in my hands.

Originally published in El Portal (2017)