peterhongwrites

[peterhongwrites]

Turning the Crescent Moon Round: A Novelization of Kirby's Adventure is now available to download and read on my page for free. It's a roughly 60-page written adaptation of one of my favorite games, Kirby's Adventure. I started work on this story nearly 10 years ago; I'm releasing it now as my love letter to the franchise for its 30th anniversary earlier this year. You can read it as a standard PDF, or as a (very limitedly) interactive text game.

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[Announcement]

This blog has a Twitter now: https://twitter.com/p_hong_writes

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Post-Script to “The Tithons”

It is proverb, prophecy, and proclamation to the Tithons: The child comforts the crumpled father.

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The Tithons

The Tithons were a people born to live and die three times, each time adapting a resistance to their killers.

Jeremay: I. Lived a happy life. It makes death worse. II. So Jeremay jumped to the sun, rising stronger than anything. III. But one day sliced his cranium on a pointy moonray.

Yaminn: I. Thought her first death at 13, and became immune to herself. II. The next 70 years, prosperous. Died of old age. III. Now, a self-assured, ageless super grandma. Shot by an envy bullet.

Tutus: I. Died of broken heart at 21. II. Unshaken by tragedy, he next died by banana peel at 42. III. The final death at 63. He wasn’t sure: a comedy?

Ganny: I. Died in childbirth. Lamented their missing life. II. It wasn’t all bad. In adulthood she could birth as much as wanted. Died of old age, hundreds of children. III. Final death: parts scattered, on her behest, by the countrymen of the nation her children founded.

Hilbern: I. Died in traffic. Now no car could pierce his hide. II. Second death in a tragic argument over status of golf carts. III. Laws were erected to protect him. But the law took his final life.

Grimleif: I. Died of illness. Arose healthy. II. Died of a great fall. Arose strong. III. Strangled by kangaroo.

Bobson: I. Died of overwork. Always thought we were doing too much, but didn’t know if anyone felt it too. II. A single-handed labor force. Died again of dehydration. Thought we were thirsty, but didn’t want to ask. III. Well. Who knew guns were deadly?

Beta Johnny: I. Incredible style. Death by coolness overdose. II. A second life, completely immune to coolness. Wasn’t worth it. Died again. III. Beta Johnny, forever caught between opposing forces of cool and lame.

Slayer: I. Death by GPS. II. Immune to getting lost, she felt obligation to kill the Minotaur. Gored in the chest. III. Once she got back up, that motherfucker was numbered. Died at 87, hero.

Sandrason: I. Optimize your death. They set it up from thirty angles. But when it all came together, first came the point… II. And on impenetrable skin, the squeeze… III. And finally, the crash.

Ty-Biller-Smiths I. A happy first life, married with children. II. After his first death, renamed himself Biller, a crook. Stole millions in the heist. Years later, shot by his partner. III. Unable to be adored or betrayed, he smoothed his toupee and became Smiths. The press took his last statement: “Someone has to go. I don’t like it, but it’s not gonna be me.”

Crone and Craw: I. When Crone drowned at sea, Craw caught in a parachute accident. II. When Craw went to war, Crone died of peace. III. Craw grasped hearts. “Oh Crone. It’s happened.”

Jane: I. Took a normal name to hide herself. First death on discovery. II. Second life, she felt so relieved. Why do we let ourselves feel like this? Died letting go. III. At 77, she left feeling happiest in the last 10 years of her life.

Morti: I. Couldn’t bear the loss of his favorite finger, so let blood flow. II. Grew back an indestructible finger. No longer his favorite. Destroyed as the submarines locked into shore. III. An invincible body. Settled down and passed at 67, a fantastic baker.

Nan: I. Safety freak, she resigned herself to fate: one day, no matter how she tried, she would stub her toe. Death by complications. II. Now impervious of harm. Said she liked movies, but never went. Died at 63. III. At the very end, she told me: “I didn’t do it because it felt good then. I felt like crap. But the memories always feel good.”

Trevis: I. Purity was a burden. He wanted to be over with it. But the first impurity inoculated him. II. He read the book of every human thought, and it was terrible. But it was his duty. No one else could find everything to love. III. Never martyred, but died the same: an image.

Tu-Rai: I. Tragedy killed them of a broken heart. II. Next life, unhappy. Unhappy is worse than broken. III. I want a refund on that one. They were the same.

Sanna: I. Like an onyx stripe of sarabande, layers of time wrapped around each day, the anniversaries wound over and over, strangling her with its tape. II. Sanna, reborn a time traveler. The food you eat is hollow. The drink you drink is dry. III. At Sanna’s grave, you may hear her voice and take her counsel, wise after eternities of burial.

King Tithon: I. In 4045 A.D.E., the king, last of Tithons, dies of loneliness. II. Another Tithon is born from him, a companion. He later takes a cyber-bullet for the king. III. Splinters of the king, of the other, repopulate Neo-Tithonia.

Tithon: I. Poor Tithon, the father, old that his skin is chitin and his bones are sticks. II. Tithon journeys to his many children, seeking the wisest of them. III. The final lesson they give: “That’s the only to be right. No one can argue, or challenge it. Maybe it’s not loving, but it’s final.”

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Block Town One, Two, Three, Four, Five

Block Town 1:

I’d moved myself into Block Town about a month when I found the Block Town Spa, back when work was just getting tough. I get curious sometimes, and I pass by every day, so I figured I should try it once. I liked my one try, so I checked in about every month after that. I like to take in a few at the steam sauna, then slide into the hot tub and sit there, just soak there. Nothing better. It really works.

I’d been a regular by the time I saw it down in the pool. There was a door down there by the light bulb, wiggling on the tile. I tried to kind of ignore it. But, again, curious, and the door got me thinking. One day, I took a breath, closed my eyes, and dove down. I wasn’t exactly scared but, I didn’t know what to expect. When I opened my eyes, I looked around. It was a lot cozier than I expected. Little though-- just like a room, basically. I saw a purple velvet lining around me, a couple retro vinyl chairs, and a karaoke machine. Then I noticed them: Randy from the auto shop was there, along with Jacob and Lee, a few other guys from town. They all laughed, introducing me, cheering, sharing arms with me like old friends. They showed me how to work the machine, and after that, we went round after round on karaoke into the night. By the time I went back to my car, my eyes were creaking and all the singing and yelling had scratched my throat up. I drove home feeling so tired, so so satisfied.

I started going every week. Me and the boys try to sneak in a few drinks, then we dive in. We take turns. Put our fingers in belt loops, Randy does some classic, I do the Beach Boys. All of us sound like we’re dying. Been having a lot of fun in that little room. Glad I found it.

Block Town 2:

Johnny’s new shoes were the biggest thing in town for a while. Johnny got the coolest shoes in the world, 1999 Retro Blazers. Everybody was talking about them. You’d walk outside, see your neighbor. “Hey, good morning,” you’d say. “Morning,” they’d say. “Johnny’s shoes are really cool,” and then you’d go. “Johnny’s shoes are great,” they’d agree. After a while, we all just spoke one voice. Johnny became a whole celebrity to the town. Some people say he was different before he got famous. I wished I knew enough to say the same.

Block Town 3:

Block Town has rebels, same as any town. They wear their hair poofy and big, leather jackets with the collars popped. But they’re pretty different once you get to know them. They’re “rebelling against rebels”. Trying to do something right every day: volunteering at the soup kitchen, donating for the kids, campaigning for good and protesting against bad, cussing while they do it. Now, I’m not scared of them. But I wouldn’t take them in a fight. Never.

Block Town 4:

Block Town was split down the middle about it. The court case of the century, they were saying, a dispute between the parsley chewers and the people who thought parsley wasn’t all that. Everyone had a side. Mary stopped talking to Barry. Jenny started planting parsley in her yard. Johnny, the man with the nicest shoes in the world, even showed up on TV to talk for the pro-parsley on Channel 6. It got so big, we were about to split Block Town right in half, and we all asked the President of Block Town to step in.

The President didn’t say much. The President never really wanted to be President. He was just kinda pressured into it. Circumstances. Parents. He watched TV all day instead of getting to his presidential duties. One day, he watched a movie on his big flat screen, an old one about love, loss, and the war. After that, he got all excited, and decided to be a good president. We’ve never had a war since. I’m voting for him next election. Voting against parsley before that.

Block Town 5:

Block Town’s always had a place for the Bird People. They made it to Block Town over a hundred years ago, right after Birdland fell apart, and they had that war. Block Town’s got the biggest Bird People population this side of the coast. The Block Town Birdland Association always puts on a cultural event each year. I think a straight week in April, usually. They put on shows for a holiday of theirs, teach about their culture, their language. I’ve heard everyone gets into this singing competition they do every fest. I think this’ll be the first time I ever go.

Block Town 6:

Nana had a best friend named Sunbo, who came from the sky and had the sun for a head. She liked to show him off. Sunbo was kind of a weird kid, sent down to look after Nana, make sure she grew up alright. Sunbo was about 3”4’, and when Nana was good, he’d spit out a toy in one of those plastic capsules from his mouth for her. Everyone started getting kind of sick of Nana when they saw Sunbo hanging around.

Every winter, he had to hibernate, so Nana’s dad put him in the closet where he slept in his arms, til spring came back around, and a toy spat out for Nana. Nana wasn’t always good, but she always did wait for Sunbo.

Nana had bullies, but they weren’t so bad. They didn’t stuff her into lockers, or throw rocks at her. No, Nana’s bullies liked to challenge her. They liked to get in Nana’s head and just, nudge, nudge and see what happened from the other side of the fence. They always had some new dilemmas for her after school. One day in Winter, Nana snapped, and she smacked the bullies around and stomped them flat. She expected Sunbo to be mad. He wasn’t, though. Instead, Sunbo spat out every kind of toy he could. Nana had to say sorry to the others kids’ parents, but she was okay, honestly.

Block Town 7:

Pet Sounds is probably my favorite album in the whole wide world. But me and Lee, who runs the record store, we don’t see eye to eye on that. Lee’s shop is the nicest place on the planet, I think. I go there twice a week at least, Mondays and Tuesdays usually after work, and just listen to Lee go. I show him an album, and he’s always got an opinion. It’s the funniest thing to me. I just grab one, hold it up to his face— he’s always got something.

“Pet Sounds is perfect,” I say. “It’s uh, I think, track 11. ‘I Guess I Just Wasn’t Made for These Times’. And the theremin. Nobody but Brian Wilson, The Beach Boys, and the 60’s could make a theremin sound sad like that.”

“It’s cheesy,” Lee says.

“It’s cause it’s The Beach Boys they can pull it off.”

Lee stays quiet sometimes. Today, he tells me, “I served in the 60’s.”

“No kidding?”

“Yeah,” Lee says. “Ask the prez.”

Anyways, Lee was born with a record player in his head, and I like to throw in some Pet Sounds every time I’m there.

Block Town 8:

The best Italian restaurant in town, and probably anywhere, only shows up on days when it’s raining. It’s kind of a pain, but once you get there-- it’s worth it. The steam just rises up from the hot zitis and spaghettis and tortellinis and breadsticks up into the rain, where it gets dark. You won’t see anyone outside on days like these. The whole town piles in. All of us wet from the rain, thunder strumming in the back, hot Italian food on the wood, all of us, good and hungry. The owner of the place always listens to our troubles, and always, always has the right thing to say. Saw Jenny’s kid here and he’s got parsley in his Stromboli, best Stromboli in the world. And Jenny’s kid was in tears, munching on his parsley. “It’s okay?” Jenny’s kid asked. And the owner, I heard him say, “it’s not. But that is.”

Block Town 9:

For the holidays, the whole of Block Town decided this year to travel to another town. The town picked itself up, held those streets together, and hiked it over to Solvberg, a nice old, historic Dutch town. We plopped down right on Solvberg, our houses peeking through their houses, our cars chatting up their cars. I looked in the windows of some of these Solvberg shops, little handmade things and clocks. Wind chimes at every store, shortbread smell everywhere. I held Randy and Jacob and Lee’s hands, and we all tightened up from the winter chill at night. Block Town at peace, and so was I. I saw Jenny strolling her kids through the shop, and Johnny’s shoes showing off for the townsfolk, and Lee brings me back some authentic fudge, telling me he’ll never change his mind.

At the end of the trip, me and the boys, Nana and Sunbo, the parsley likers and parsley haters, the rebels, even the lowdown President came together and took a picture.

“Cheese,” we all said. Only some of us smiling, but all of us happy.

The picture came out perfect.

[peterhongwrites]

(Ch. 12) Hugh Jadhav and Death’s House

Hugh ran the kitchen faucet. And Death slinked out into the sink.

“Hello, Hugh Jadhav,” Death said, flowing down the faucet.

“Hey,” Hugh Jadhav said to Death.

Death pooled in the sink.

“So. How you doing there,” Hugh said. “Take a wrong turn somewhere, or…?”

“Ah. I have an explanation,” Death said. “I so enjoyed the last time I was in the water, that I decided to take a swim.”

“Uh-huh,” Hugh uh-huh’d.

“I swam for a long time. It was very nice.”

“No kidding.”

“But then, I swam somewhere dark and tight. Then I fell. And now I’m here,” Death said. “That is my explanation.”

“Okay, okay, solid. It’s good to see you,” Hugh said. “Hey, stay here a bit. I was ‘bout to make some grub.”

“I am happy to see you, Hugh,” Death said. “Yes, I will.”

Hugh whipped his head, and waved Death up. “Come on. Sit on down. I’ll whip up some tea.”

“Tea?”

“Yeah. Tea. It’s good. Sorta like coffee.”

Death sat in the sink.

“I kinda need the sink to make the tea,” Hugh said.

“Oh.”

Death walked over to a bed. Death sat himself down.

Hugh set a tray on the kitchen counter. He set three white saucers on the tray. They clattered, clatter, clatter, clatter.

“I’ve been lazy lately. Haven’t washed all the cups,” Hugh said.

He opened the cupboard. Cups were inside the cupboard. They were arranged alphabetically. Hugh set three cups on the saucers. One glass, one plastic, one porcelain.

“You like milk, or nah?” Hugh asked.

“I don’t know what that is,” Death replied.

“Sweet or bitter?” Hugh asked.

“Oh. Hm,” Death replied. “I like bitter. But I like sweet too. I like both.”

“I’ll throw a little milk in,” Hugh decided.

Hugh set the milk onto the counter. Then the kettle, and bags of tea to the side. He poured water into the kettle, then put the kettle onto the stove. Gas flame flickered to life, as the ticks of the stove dial clicked up to “high”.

“You can make tea a couple ways,” Hugh explained. “All you gotta do is boil some leaves in some water, then boom, tea. If you’re good, you brew it yourself.”

Hugh set three teabags into the cups. One, two, three.

“If you’re a dirty lowlife like me, you use these little bags. They’ve got the leaves already in ‘em.”

“You’re a dirty lowlife, Hugh?”

“It’s a joke.”

“Oh.”

The steam from the kettle circled into the room.

“I didn’t know.”

“I know how to brew the real thing. My dad taught me when I was real young.” Hugh rested his hands against his back as he waited to boil. “Hey, how old are you?”

“Hm,” Death said. “Unfathomably so. And yet infinitely infantile.”

“Yeah, around that age,” Hugh said. “If my dad saw me do this, he’d be crying. So, I guess, good thing he’s not here.”

The kettle fumed.

“Okay, I’ll turn this bad boy off. Tea’s coming soon, kid.”

Hand met handle, as Hugh picked the kettle up. The glow of the stainless-steel warmth wrapped around his palm. Hugh lifted his shoulder, and swung the kettle around. Elbow bent, and arm crooked into a triangle, he carefully craned the kettle trunk into each cup. He’d dip the kettle down an inch, the water steaming, streaming up to the lip, then tip it right back up.

Like Autumn, the water soon simmered itself to a wooden, dark-brown tint.

Hugh repeated this again, two times.

“Hey, pick a cup,” Hugh asked.

“Oh. Let’s see…” Death said.

The porcelain cup had flowers painted on it. The glass cup was clear like water. The plastic cup had dinosaurs on it.

“I like the one with the flowers.”

“Cool. No one’s stealing my dinosaur cup today.”

Hugh picked up the tray with both shoulders, and held it against his chest. Hugh walked toward the bed. Halfway through, he stopped at a glass door along the way.

“What is that?” Death asked. “I don’t remember that.”

“New mouth to feed,” Hugh said. Hugh knocked on the door with one arm, balanced the tray with the other. “Hey. Open up. I got tea.”

The door did not open.

“Yeah, okay. I’m leaving it here. Just don’t forget ‘bout it, cause I’m not picking it up later.”

Hugh bent down. He set the glass cup and saucer down in front of the door. Then he stood up, and set the tray down on a dresser between the two beds. Death sat on one bed. Hugh sat himself on the other.

Hugh fished the teabag out from Death’s cup, and poured milk, just a little, inside.

“Bon appetit,” Hugh said.

“Bon…?”

“Yeah, I don’t know what it means either, but basically, we can eat now.”

“Ah. Thank you, Hugh.”

Death picked up his porcelain cup. Hugh picked up his dinosaur cup. Hugh took a sip of his tea.

Death bit into his cup. The porcelain crunched under his teeth. He chewed, sounding the clatter of crushing shards. A waterfall of tea rained from his lips.

Hugh stared. But, he stopped. He looked into his cup.

“Eh. Everyone’s got a way.”

“I like tea. It’s good. It’s sweet, and bitter. I like that. I’ve never had anything like tea.”

“Well, I’m real pleased to hear it.”

The two drank their teas, and the clock ticked by. Ghosts of steam floated up into the ceiling. Rays of light filtered down on the carpet, pressed through window squares. Specks of dust floated like plankton inside.

“So, hey,” Hugh said. “Let’s talk. Let’s shoot the breeze. I wanna know what you’ve been doing since last time.”

“I’ve been swimming,” Death said.

“And?”

“And I’ve been swimming.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes. After we went fishing, and you left the classroom, I dove into the water. And I had a swim. And I swam here.”

Hugh sat back. “So, last time you saw me, that was the fishing trip.”

“Yes.”

Hugh clicked his tongue, and sighed. “Don’t remember a freaking second, huh,” he whispered to himself.

“I’m happy I found myself here,” Death said. “It’s difficult finding anywhere else to stay in this school.”

Concern rose in Hugh’s voice. “Hey hey hey, wait a sec,” Hugh said. “Don’t you have a place here?”

“I do,” Death said. “I like to stay elsewhere.”

“Jeez,” Hugh said. “You had me scared there. I was thinking for a sec, here we go, another mouth to start feeding.”

Death looked down at the carpet fibers, the wave of the tide, the grey motion.

“So. Got a dorm?”

The walls of the dormitory, four of them, stalked around Death.

“No.”

“You commute off-campus? Come from home? Got a house?”

“A home?”

Hugh blinked. “Uh… Jeez. Okay, a home is kinda like--”

“I know what a home is,” Death said.

“Oh,” Hugh said.

Death stood, unblinking. “Okay then. Hugh?”

“What? What is it?”

“Let’s go.”

Death leapt off the bed and grabbed onto Hugh’s arm. Death motioned over to the faucet.

“Uh,” Hugh cocked his head. “Uh, hey. Buddy? No offense, but uh, I think that’s gonna be a tight fit for a guy like me.”

Death looked at Hugh. Death looked to the faucet. The faucet was small. Hugh was bigger.

Death focused on the faucet. Death focused on why Hugh couldn’t fit. Death figured out why. Then, Death murdered why.

“Hugh. Let’s go.”

Death tugged on Hugh’s arm, and whisked him through the faucet.

The inside of the faucet was dark. It was tight. Hugh thought about sighing, as he zipped from narrow pipe to narrow pipe. But he couldn’t find the energy. Also, he’d probably drown if he did.

After a long journey through the faucet pipes, Hugh and Death were spat out the other side. Hugh coughed. His hair was sopping wet. Drops of water dripped from all over.

Then the water vanished. Each drop turned to nothing. Hugh was completely dry. Hugh’s cough, no more.

Hugh looked around himself. Hugh looked at nothing. All around with him nothing. Nothing but Death, at least.

“This is my home.”

Hugh raised an eyebrow. “Huh. So this is your place. Funny, I dunno why. Not sure what I expected, but I guess I kinda expected…” Hugh searched for words.

“What did you expect?”

Well,” Hugh said. “When you said home, I was kinda thinking… I dunno. Like a real house.”

“What does a real house look like?” Death asked.

“I dunno. I guess you could think of it like… four walls,” Hugh’s fingers linked together, “set up kinda like a square. And a triangle roof like this,” his fingers pushing up into a tent, “square windows, you know, and a door to walk in.”

“Oh!” Death exclaimed. “I know what you’re talking about. I’ll do it.”

“Do it?”

And so Death became a house in that moment, with four walls arranged in a square, and a triangle roof, and a door to walk in.

Hugh’s eyes grew wide. “Wo-o-o-o-wee, kid. I knew you had tricks but...”

“This is a house, right? Go on, Hugh. Walk in.”

Hugh knocked on the door of the house that was Death. The door felt like solid mahogany. His hand recoiled, “eugh.” Hugh opened Death’s doorknob. Hesitating, Hugh walked into Death.

Inside Death, there was a living room, a kitchen to the side, and some stairs leading up to the second floor. Death was well-furnished, with a couch, a television, and a lamp right in view.

“Okay. I’m gonna say it. I’m gonna let this sentence squirm its nasty way out of my mouth, and we’re gonna have to live with it,” Hugh said, “it’s actually super nice in here. Your insides are really tastefully arranged.”

“I saw a television show a few times,” Death said. His voice echoed from inside. “On a television. This is how I learned what a house was.”

“Yeah? You did a good job copying the TV; this place is ritzier than mine.”

Death stood still, as houses did.

Hugh stepped towards the kitchen. “God, I hope I’m not hurting you in here by walking around everywhere.”

“No, Hugh,” Death said. “But it tickles.”

“That is so much worse than literally anything else you could have said.”

Hugh wandered into the kitchen, his head scanning around to catch the sights. The kitchen was as well-stocked as the living room was well-furnished: the walls hung up rolling pins, frying pans, spatulas; the countertops boasted wood cutting boards and stainless-steel pots; there were cupboards, a pantry, an off-white fridge.

“I think that TV show you watched must’ve been some screwed up American sitcom,” Hugh said. “My dad’s a chef, and we don’t have a kitchen this… middle class.”

“I remember on the program,” Death said, “people would come here. One person in particular. They had earrings on, very pretty. And short blonde hair. They would wear this apron every time they came here. And they would cook, just like you cook, Hugh.”

Hugh saw an apron hanging off a knob in the a wall. Hugh cocked his head. He threw up his shoulders. Hugh put on the apron.

“There was always something on the frying pan. The person with the earrings looked down at the pan and talked, and they always looked so strange. I didn’t understand why they looked like that. They sometimes would talk to no one at all. They wouldn’t eat the food either.”

Hugh turned the notch on the stove. With a few clicks, a blue flame lit to life.

“I bet they always made bacon and eggs, or hashbrowns, or some other delicacy of Suburbia like that.” Hugh poured oil onto the pan. Hugh cracked eggs onto the pan. The eggs slid and settled onto the pan. “How’s this, huh?” The clear, crystal egg whites fried solid in the heat. “Look at me, I’m some upper-middle-class blonde, I gotta make breakfast for my husband who doesn’t love me cause society’s a jerk and this is we gotta do.”

Hugh brought the eggs to a sizzle. Soon they were done: sunnyside-up. Hugh turned off the heat. He’d cooked up eggs. He looked at the eggs. The eggs sat on the pan. The eggs looked back.

Hugh grabbed his head and started laughing. Hugh stood laughing, and fell back onto a stool, and then Hugh sat laughing. “God, what the heck? What even-- what even is all this? Jesus.” Hugh said. “I dunno if I’m sitting on your kidneys right now or-- or what the eggs would be, oof. I cooked a meal-- what am I doing with it?”

The sizzle in Death’s walls choked away into silence. And Death only heard Hugh then.

Death wanted to speak.

“Hugh. Hugh, I want to tell you something,” Death spoke. “Hugh. I don’t think I really know anything either.”

Hugh’s laughter faded away. Hugh looked up to Death’s voice.

“Hugh,” Death spoke, “I haven’t been here very long.”

A wind blowed through a window, tossing aside curtains.

“I don’t… I don’t remember.”

“Okay. You don’t remember,” Hugh repeated, sitting up.

“I remember one thing. When I came to this school, there was someone, or something. I think that was me. I’m not sure. If it wasn’t, I had to be someone or something else, before.”

Hugh crossed his arms. “Alright. I’m listening.”

“I just don’t know very much. Every time I look at something. I don’t know what that is. I have to ask you questions, always.”

“And that’s fine with me.”

Death paused. “Would whatever was before me ask those questions? Did they know? I keep questioning myself. Am I that someone-or-something? How much?”

“Okay. How much do you think?”

“I think,” Death said, and a sad tone snuck into his voice, “I’m something new.”

“Alright. Now I gotcha,” Hugh responded. “Cause that actually makes a lot of a sense, to me.”

The curtain rode a ripple of wind.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Cause I’m kinda the same way.” Hugh rested his back forward. “I think I’m new too.”

“How?”

“Well. When you talk to me ‘bout all that, ‘bout knowing someone that was there before you, but being something new… It sounds to me like me and my parents.”

The sun was shining outside, where there was nothing.

“Where I’m from, it’s weird for a guy like my dad, and a woman like my mom to get together. It’s even weirder being born out of ‘em. And honestly, I’m probably even weirder than that. So, when I think about me, and everything before me, I gotta think-- you know, how many times has that happened? I must be something new too.”

Death did not speak. Not for a long time. But the wind then carried his voice, a weak whisper now. “There’s a man they want me to meet.”

Hugh let Death speak.

“They say he’s someone who knows me. We’ve met each other before. We were close, they told me.”

“And you…”

“I’m afraid. I think maybe, when we meet, it will be like everything else. I won’t know him.”

Hugh rolled around his neck, with little cracks and pops sounding off one-by-one. “I’m sorry, buddy.”

“Why are you… apologizing?”

“I dunno. Just feel like I gotta,” Hugh said. “Okay. There’s no one who hates what I’m ‘bout to say than me. But here’s what I’m gonna tell you.” Hugh turned his head up at the ceiling. “You know more than you think. Alright? Don’t think you don’t know know anything. You do.”

“What do I--” Death’s voice rose, “what could I know?”

“You know a lotta things,” Hugh said. There was a spot on the ceiling. Hugh concentrated on the spot. “You know what tea is. You know what houses are. You definitely know what tasteful furniture is.”

The spot was a brown circle, a stain in the wood.

“I don’t know what those words mean.”

“You do,” Hugh said. “You know me, too. So you know. If you really don’t know this guy, I think it’ll be okay. You’ll be okay. You can figure it out.”

As Hugh finished his words, the four walls faded out, and the windows disappeared one by one, and Hugh kept his eye on the circle. The circle stretched itself out, and grew hands, and grew eyes. Hugh stared straight at Death, no longer a house.

“Thank you,” they said. “Hugh Jadhav. Thank you very much.”

[peterhongwrites]

(Ch. 11) The Beauty and Beast Parallel, and Hugh Jadhav

Somewhere very far from the Ambrosia School of Burgeoning Divinities, and yet very, very close to its border, lies The Kingdom of Flowers. It is a beautiful place (or it was, in some time). Each day in the Kingdom, the sunflowers would over shine the silvered clouds, and the bellflowers rang over the bright morning dew, and the birds-of-paradise sang happily over the glassy green grass, knowing the perfect nature of the land.

More beautiful and perfect than the birds or sun or anything in the Kingdom, however, was its own lord, King Narcissus himself. Born with an ivory shine, and a precious light in his petals, King Narcissus brought the sun to shame; no subject could ever deny that he was only the most beautiful thing in the world.

So beautiful was King Narcissus, in fact, that he (as the beautiful often do) grew a vanity in his heart, and refused to marry none other than a suitor as beautiful as he. This presented a problem, of course: no creature, no jewel nor perfectly sculpted craft could ever hope to match the King’s radiance. As the King grew older (though no less beautiful) in his long, futile search, he one day came across a pond. There he came to an epiphany. He wedded his own reflection in the Springtime that year. Then again in the Springtime, (for it is always Spring in the Kingdom of Flowers), he bore his first child with his groom: young Prince Mugwort.

Prince Mugwort, child of the two most beautiful men to live, was twice as beautiful as either; and news quickly spread through the kingdom of his perfection. Soon, it was considered life’s greatest privilege to have laid one’s eyes on Prince Mugwort’s face, and even a small passing glimpse of the Prince was highly sought after. So beautiful was Prince Mugwort that they adorned and decorated him with lavender, and set him into a bouquet after birth.

But as Prince Mugwort’s beauty grew twice as beautiful as his fathers’, his vanity grew twice as large in turn. Just as Prince Mugwort’s beauty became renowned through the kingdom, so too did his cruelty. Those who could not stand to Mugwort’s beauty were given to the scythe. Servants who had upset him were met with unkind fates. Subjects were trimmed and pruned for his entertainment.

As Mugwort grew, his cruelty only grew with him. And so Mugwort grew, and Mugwort grew, and Mugwort grew, until he reached the height of his throne’s first step. Finally, now that the Prince had come of age, the King decided that Mugwort would take his studies at the academy, and sent him on a longship off to The Ambrosia School for Burgeoning Divinities.

Mugwort only continued his cruel deeds after arriving at the School, and quickly asserted his dominance within its halls. His beauty was so powerful, that any of his cruelties, any of his abuses, cowered before the face that was his birthright. .

Then, one day. Prince Mugwort, attending one of his Freshman classes, lashed out against a teacher. Ms. Magpie, the instructor of the class, had commanded the Prince to lay over his grip on the student body. In response, the young Prince rose his thorn against her.

As punishment, Ms. Magpie spoke an evil chant, and told the young Prince:

“Ugly is the prince, whose roots bear down in stone. Hated, who blooms in sulfur, stale marble.”

The teacher placed a curse on the Prince: a curse so that anyone to lay eyes on Prince Mugwort, from any land of any realm, would view him as only the ugliest thing they could possibly imagine. The Prince’s beauty-- and his command-- were no more. Instead of laying themselves down at his feet, the people now ran in terror. Instead of gifting the Prince offerings, they battered and spit at him. In fear and despair, the Prince escaped. He ran to find solace in his kingdom. But Ms. Magpie’s curse had afflicted this too. The realm and all its inhabitants were petrified in white marble. His subjects would never look upon him again.

There, Mugwort, wandering in the ruins of the his kingdom, found himself in his old castle, where he hid within its boroughs, and remained there for the rest of his school years.

Then, in what would have been his final year of schooling, something strange had happened in the Kingdom of Flowers. In the now empty world, one man stumbled onto the castle grounds. No one had been to the Kingdom in ages, and yet, a traveler had simply walked in. Mugwort spied upon the traveler from his castle. The traveler was a student, like him; dark-skinned, and dressed in a cotton sweater vest.

Mugwort called onto the traveler, and with a mighty shout, declared onto him:

“Leave now, stranger.”

The traveler looked up. He yelled back, in turn:

“Okay! Yeah! Great idea!” The traveler muttered to himself under breath, He paced around. Then he yelled, “you got a map or...?”

Prince Mugwort growled to him. “Leave now,” he said, “or sup on the greatest horror your eyes may ever drink.”

The traveler replied: “Okay! Left? Right? Keep going straight?”

“Why have you ventured here?”

The traveler grimaced, and threw his shoulders up. “Hey, you’re asking me.”

Scowling, Prince Mugwort dropped down from his tower, and landed in front of the traveler. He displayed himself, his hideous visage, before the stranger. “You have brought this upon yourself,” the Prince roared, “look upon me, look, and gape in terror.”

Hugh, the traveler, looked up. Hugh blinked. “Uh. Sure?”

Mugwort growled. The man had not turned away. “Leave now. Do you now know where you stand?”

“I… literally don’t know where I stand.”

“Very well,” said Mugwort. “Listen traveler. Listen. Your ears tremble, the soil shudders, as now I remember the tale of the Kingdom of Flowers.”

And the marble petals and marble groves, and marble branches and marble eyes of the Flower Kingdom turned to Mugwort as he told the traveler, the 10 paragraphs that boxed around his life.

After telling his tale, Mugwort fell to the ground, and spoke.

“And now, you understand.”

Hugh plopped cross-legged onto the ground halfway through the story. He sat there now, flat on the ground, with arms crossed, eyes sober.

“That’s horrible,” said Hugh.

Mugwort, tossing aside his head, said nothing.

“Hey-- I think, if I see that teacher around, I’m giving ‘em a piece of my mind.”

Mugwort turned himself away from the traveler. “You do not understand.”

Hugh rubbed his shoulders, and rolled around his neck. “I’m serious. That’s screwed.”

Mugwort said nothing.

“Anyways,” Hugh said, standing up and stretching his back. “I liked your story.” Hugh coughed. “Didn’t notice any directions in it, though.”

Mugwort said nothing.

“Okay, okay,” Hugh said. “I got a friend who’s good at this kinda thing.”

Hugh pulled out his phone. Hugh called Al. Hugh hung up.

His phone in hand, eyes still on the screen, Hugh said, “Hey. If you wanna come with me when he gets here, feel free to--”

“I do not.”

“Fair. Okay,” he mumbled to himself. “Hey, I’m gonna work on some stuff. You got homework? I’ll let you copy if you want.” Hugh asked. Mugwort snorted.

Hugh opened up the mouth of his backpack and pulled out a few sheets of loose-leaf paper. He slid a pen from his breast-pocket sheath. And he got to work.

A few times, Hugh called out to Mugwort. “Hey, Prince, you do classwork here?” He asked. “You eat good?” “Like it here?”

Mugwort never responded. Eventually, Hugh stopped asking.

Time passed. Hugh finished all his extra credit. More time passed. Hugh had nothing to do. In response, Mugwort’s tower loomed forward.

“Hey, Prince,” Hugh spoke at Mugwort, “if you’re okay with me having a look,” he said, “don’t say anything.” Mugwort did not say anything. Hugh walked into the tower.

Time passed. For hours, Mugwort heard nothing. The marble world of the Kingdom was stiff. Then, a voice. Looking up, Hugh’s head stuck itself out high above from a tower window. “Knew it!” He called. “You don’t eat good.”

His head popped back into the tower. Mugwort turned his head down. Then from a higher window, Hugh’s head poked out again. “Hey Prince. No offense, but this place is kinda...” he called. “Also, you gotta hit the books-- I found your old tests.”

Time passed. Day turned to night. Hugh stuck his neck out the highest window of the tower, shouting, “hey! Get in here already! You wanna get pneumonia?”

Mugwort stayed out. Hugh slid down the long staircase and back to the ground. He gestured Mugwort inside. Mugwort did not speak. Hugh tried to pull Mugwort in. Mugwort did not move. Hugh clicked his tongue, sighed, and walked back in.

Hugh zoomed up the spiral staircase. He found a bed in the top suite, with a blanket. He balled the blanket up. He threw it out the window. The blanket ball fell on Mugwort’s body. The blanket ball sat on Mugwort’s body. Hugh marched outside, spread the blanket over Mugwort, marched back in.

Mugwort was so still, he seemed indistinct from the stone world around him.

Time passed. Days passed. Hugh spiraled up and down the tower. Hugh learned the lay of the land of the Kingdom. In daylight, he called for Mugwort to wake. “Hey, morning.” At night, he called Mugwort in to sleep. “Get in here, come on, you’ll die.” Mugwort did not return inside. In the downtime, Hugh would scribble on Mugwort’s desk, a study guide to follow for class.

Months passed. The Kingdom of Flowers passed into Winter, and Hugh stoked the hearth of the castle towers. Now weak and cold to the touch, Hugh finally drew Mugwort inside. He lit candles by Mugwort’s bedchambers; he charged his phone battery in the electrical outlets.

When Mugwort recovered, he spoke to Hugh, for the first time in months. “Stop it.”

Hugh picked up a textbook from his bag, and drew his eyes to it. “Not my name.”

“Just stop it, now.”

Years passed. Hugh grew into a man; taller (but not by much), broad-shouldered, with a straight chin. Hugh sewed old papers into new clothes. Still, he charged his cellphone, waiting. A candle always lit by Molock’s bed.

Hugh grew into his 20’s, and into his 30’s, and into his 40’s, and old. He cooked a porridge of gravel and marble in the castle stove, learning year by year how to garnish and simmer for the prince’s tastes. He spoke in the afternoons, rocking in an old chair he’d fixed, talking at Mugwort to little response.

In one of few replies, Mugwort spoke one day: “I don’t know.”

“The name’s Hugh Jadhav, by the way.” Hugh replied. “It’s been I dunno how long, and I guess I never told you. But it’s Hugh.”

“I didn’t know the way out.”

When Hugh has grown old, and he fits into his old uniforms again, and he has lit a match for the candle in Mugwort’s room, his phone would ring with a text. “Be there soon.” it said.

Sticking his wrinkled face out the top suite window, off in the distance, Hugh could see a blur coming near.

“There he is,” Hugh said aloud. His old hand creaked and met the match with the candle wick. He turned to Mugwort and licked his lips. “It’ll all be over soon, prince.”

Mugwort looked at Hugh, now so old that he must have been close to death. Hugh could barely sit straight.

The blur sped closer, closer to the tower.

Hugh got onto his knees, stood himself up. “Hey! Over here!” He called. “God, he’s helpless.”

The blur sped closer. Hugh walked down the tower stairs. Mugwort paused. Then followed.

“C’mon, prince,” Hugh said. “I’ll introduce you. Hey, once he gets here, I could even take you back to the dorm. It’s nothing fancy, you know, I mean, it’s a dump, but so’s here. No offense.”

Hugh reached the bottom, and out the door. Mugwort trailed behind. Mugwort half-expected Hugh to collapse.

“Hey!” Hugh waved. “I’m getting slow.” Al broke full speed. He could see his face. “Hey!”

Al ran. Al ran to Hugh. “Hey!” He ran past Hugh. He pulled his sword up.

“Get back!” Al said. He pushed Hugh behind him.

Mugwort laid motionless. The tip of the blade at his face.

Hugh marched in front of Al. “Hey, hey!” He said. “Stop that!”

Al grimaced. “Move, Hugh!”

“Ugh, you--” Hugh said. “Put that freakin’ thing down. This is Mugwort. He’s a prince. He lives here.”

Al glanced back. “He?”

“Look, just--” Hugh took Al aside. Mugwort watched them talk over in the distance. Then Hugh came back. A frown sank on his face. “Sorry ‘bout that.” Al kept a hand at his sword. “He’s just a meathead.”

Mugwort snorted.

“I’m,” Hugh started, “huh. Guess I spent a while here; didn’t even know.” Hugh stretched out his back. “Oof,” he said. “I’m getting back to my dorm now. Know things just got weird but,” Hugh said, “if you wanna come, y’know.”

Mugwort snorted again.

“No.” Mugwort said.

“Okay, that’s fine. Again. Sorry ‘bout that. But if you change your mind, I think-- this is gonna sound dumb as hell, just listen-- just start walking. Any direction, anywhere’s fine. If I know this stupid school and its stupid hallways-- and god, I do-- you’ll find me.”

“If that’s all the directions you have,” Mugwort replied, “you could have left a long time ago.”

Hugh sighed. His eyes closed, just for a moment. The sigh formed into a fragment of a grin. “Nah. I don’t think so.”

Hugh turned around. “Okay. I’m ditching you. Hey, don’t be a stranger, prince. Don’t forget homework.”

Hugh walked away, and left.

Mugwort laid down on the petrified grass. He laid there for a long time, not moving. He laid long enough that the marble winter came to the Kingdom of Flowers; then to Spring again. Mugwort may have sat on the once-green white for months.

Then Mugwort got up. He started walking. He had no direction; chaining one step to the other. Many times, he turned back (he always knew the way back), but soon enough would turn forward again. Each step below, the earth turned to marble at his touch. Behind him, the memories of marble floor faded away.

One day, after unknown days traveling, with no food in hand or water to drink, he found a door in his path.

Mugwort stood at the door. He was still.

One day, the door opened. Hugh came out of the door. Hugh looked exactly as he did when he’d come to the Kingdom of Flowers.

“Oh,” he said. “hey. Prince.“

“Hugh Jadhav.”

“Wow, you’re fast.”

“I didn’t know,” Mugwort said. “The way.”

Hugh gestured inside. “Well, come on in already. Hey, if you wanna stay...”

Then, Al’s face poked around behind Hugh. He focused his eyes, and realized. “Hugh!”

“What?” Hugh turned his head around.

Al marched over to Hugh, and the two began talking in private. Hugh threw up his hands. Al groaned.

“...you can’t seriously...” Mugwort heard Al say.

Hugh’s voice was quieter, “...your bed…” was all he could make out.

Mugwort planted his feet in the ground.

The two stopped. “There’s no room,” Al said clearly. “What’re we gonna do with no room?”

Hugh pinched his forehead. “Then we’ll give him your--”

Then, the boys heard a humming. Hugh’s eyes widened. “Hey--” Before he could react, a golden backpack fell from the ceiling.

At once, Mugwort studied the bag. It was beautiful, pure silken metal, more beautiful than anything Mugwort had seen.

The humming grew, and with the next row of seconds, a momentum swung thicker and thicker through its music. A stiff melody unfurled in the sound; then, as the tune bloomed wide open in the swing of the song, a brilliant light spooled out from the backpack pocket. It sailed through the air. Like notes to a bar, each thread of light fell into place against the wall, one by one. The light formed a rectangle-shape. The rectangle formed cracks in the wall. The wall there transformed: now a door, made in thick, opaque glass. The door opened itself up: a marble castle room peered from the other side.

Hugh crossed his arms, and looked at Al. Al sighed.

Hugh turned to Mugwort, and grabbed at an arm. “Hey. Listen to me, just a sec. Stay here a bit, alright? Bet the food’s better here the crud at home, and the extra space isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.”

He tugged Mugwort forward. Mugwort did not move. “Okay. I get it.” Hugh let go of Mugwort’s arm, and let him be.

One day, however, Mugwort decided to walk inside.

[peterhongwrites]

(Ch. 10) Hugh Jadhav and the Riddles of the History Hallway

Alder’s neck creaked around, groaning centimeter by centimeter by centimeter towards Al.

“Ah,” Alder said, head turning, turning, turning.

Alder’s neck wound closer with each tick of the clock hand.

“A friend of Hugh’s.”

After a steady minute of turning, Alder’s eyes were now aimed straight at Al.

“Good to see you, Aldanza.”

“Sheesh,” Al said, under his breath. “Did he always do that?”

Hugh’s backpack sat on a table. The table was facing away from Al. And Hugh was sorting, carefully, gingerly, through his backpack.

“Hey,” Hugh replied. “Quit it, Al.”

Hugh did not look back at Al.

“What? What’d I say?”

“Just quit it.” Hugh said.

Hugh’s arm dug through textbooks and binders.

“Hey, whatever man,” retorted Al. “I didn’t have to come here.” Al leaned back onto a table. “You know, at first, I was like, hey! I’m the one getting back to the dorm at night, and Hugh’s the one out? What’s up with that? But well. Looks like you’re just the same old sourpuss you’ve always been. The world’s not ending anytime soon.”

“Don’t gotta worry,” Hugh said. “It’s all, same old, same old.”

Al blew a raspberry. “You got that right.”

Al’s words echoed across library walls. Hugh focused on his bag.

Hugh bit into his lip.

“Don’t gotta worry,” Al repeated, shaking his head.

Hugh did not reply.

“Well, anyways,” Al said. “Let’s get to it. Why’d you wanna see me?”

Alder’s eyes stood over the scene.

“What,” Hugh asked, “I need a reason?”

“Uh. Yes?”

“I don’t--”

Hugh caught the glint of something gold in the depths of his backpack. He shoved it aside, immediately. “Ugh--” Hugh guttered, under breath.

Al crossed his arms. “You don’t?”

Hugh winced, and clucked his head. His mind raced for something to say.

“Well,” Hugh started. “Uh. I’m, y’know--”

“I know…”

“Y’know, y’know, I’m,” Hugh said. His mouth ran on, “I’m a, I’m a prep.”

The gold flashed again. Hugh hid it again. He bit into his lip again.

Al raised an eyebrow.

“Okay. Continue…”

Hugh grasped for words. “I’m the, the super prep prodigy. Yeah?”

“Uh-huh.”

Hugh turned to Al.

“I’m the super prep prodigy,” Hugh said, and went on, “so y’know, me, I’m gonna be at the library sometimes.”

Alder’s eyes stood over the two.

“Uh...” Al said, pursing his lips, “okay. You’re the super prep prodigy. Got that. One question, though.” Al then asked, “why haven’t you passed out here before?”

Hugh did not answer. His mouth opened. No words came out.

Hugh turned his head back. His hand held onto a backpack strap. His hand was heavy.

The two boys faced opposite directions.

The library was silent.

Then Al had an idea. He sharpened his words. He unsheathed his grin. Next, he said: “Okay, okay. You know what? I’ll drop it. I get you. I do. I get why you want to see me. It’s cause--”

“--Cause,” Hugh interjected. “Cause-- we’re friends.”

Al blinked.

“That’s what you were gonna say. Right. Cause-- we’re friends.”

Al’s grin fell.

Hugh stood still.

Alder stood still.

“Okay,” Al said, pointing back towards the door. “Well. If that’s cleared up. Class is starting soon. You got History, and I got Dueling. If that’s it, then...”

Hugh saw another, brighter flash of light in the darkness of his backpack pocket. Hugh reacted; Hugh zipped the bag up.

“Okay, if that’s all, if that’s everything,” Al said, “I’m gonna take off. See you wherever you pass out next, I guess.”

Hugh’s shoulders fell.

“Hey, uh, hey Al,” he said.

Hugh stood and spoke before his backpack.

“Tell me,” he continued. “Now, don’t go and make a big deal outta this, but--” He sputtered a few empty breaths. Then, he said: “Tell me,” he went on, “real quick, tell me I’m gonna have a normal day.”

Al paused.

Then, he burst into laughter. “Jeeee-sus, Hugh.”

Hugh lit up red, warm and embarrassed.

“Hey, quit it!” Hugh yelled. “Just say it quick!”

“This is why you wanted to see me? To tell you you’re gonna have a normal day?”

“What?” Hugh stuttered. “What’s-- what’s wrong with it?”

”God, you are so weird, Hugh.”

Al laughed and laughed. He couldn’t stop.

“You know what? Never mind. Forget it Al. Just forget it!”

“Seriously though!” Al went on. “You want me to tell you you’re gonna have a normal day? Can’t you like, tell yourself? Believe in yourself, or whatever? Be all inspirational? You can do anything you set your mind on, Hugh!”

“I believe in myself! I believe in myself plenty! You think I can’t do it myself? Tell myself a couple teeny-tiny words? I know I can do it easy!”

“But you want me to tell you anyways?”

“Cause I can’t be the one to say that, I mean, I can’t just wish good luck to myself, that’s like, like…”

“Like what, cheating? Or jinxing it?”

“I don’t know! Something like that?”

“Oh my god, Hugh.”

Hugh bent straight up. “You know what? Forget this, forget everything. I’m getting to class.”

Hugh turned, threw his backpack around, and swung it onto his back.

“Hugh, come on.”

Hugh marched to the doorway.

“Hugh. One last thing.”

Hugh was at the doorway.

Al yelled across the room: “you’re gonna have a normal day!”

Hugh stopped. Then, he turned around.

“Alder! I’ll see you later! And you!” Hugh blew a big raspberry back.

Then Hugh turned, and took a step outside into the hallway.

Hugh paused. He heard Al’s laughter behind him. He heard Al’s laughter fade away. He looked straight ahead.

The hall in front of him was carved and paved from stone and brick. It stretched miles and miles ahead.

“You’re gonna have a normal day,” he repeated under his breath. “You said it. Not me.”

Hugh stepped onto the path.

Hugh’s left foot stepped forward. Hugh’s right foot stepped forward. Hugh was walking along the path.

Hugh was going to have a normal day.

Hugh walked right, left, right, left down the stone path.

“Normal,” he muttered to himself.

Hugh’s sneakers padded and echoed on the stone.

A mile passed. Hugh saw nothing. Hugh expected something. Some days, something would have happened by now. But nothing was normal enough too. Hugh reminded this to himself. Another mile passed. Still, Hugh saw nothing. Ten miles passed. Still, nothing.

The sound of his steps bounced along the walls, tracking from behind.

Then, a hundred miles in, Hugh still saw nothing. But on mile one-hundred-and-one, Hugh saw something. In front of him stood two figures: Mr. Lie and Mrs. Truth. Behind Mr. Lie and Mrs. Truth, the path forked in two.

Hugh had met with Mr. Lie and Mrs. Truth many times. He was very familiar with the two.

“Okay,” Hugh said to himself. “Just gotta get through this.”

Mr. Lie and Mrs. Truth cleared their throats.

“One of us can only lie,” one said.

“And the other can only say the truth.” The other said.

In unison, they spoke: “Can you tell us whi--”

“Oh, uh…” Hugh interrupted. “I got this one. If you ask yourself what the other one… no, wait, uh, that’s dumb, that’s not right, hold on.”

Mr. Lie and Mrs. Truth stared at Hugh. They were wordless.

“It’s uh. I know this one. It’s…” Hugh rubbed his temples. “Oh yeah. Um,” he pointed at one of them. “If you asked the other one what the right path was, what’d they say?”

The two blinked. Again, they spoke: “The left--”

“Okay! Thanks a lot, just gonna slide on over to the right path…” Hugh waved a quick goodbye, and scooted around the two onto the right-side path. The two teachers were still as statues. Their eyes were frozen, mouths ajar.

Hugh sighed in relief. “Wasn’t so bad,” he muttered to himself. Hugh felt his shoulders untense a little. He took a clear breath. “Just another normal school day. Just another, weird, normal school day at this weird, stupid school.”

Hugh marched steadily along the road. He stepped his left foot forward. He walked his right foot. Mile, to brick mile. As he walked, the stone path ahead of Hugh began to erode grain by grain. Bricks were crumbling into sand. The straight road was swelling into vast desert. Hugh did not stop, did not turn. Desert winds tempted new directions, and the sands filled up in his shoes.

After wandering for days, Hugh saw another figure ahead, a figure he recognized as another teacher. She was tall. She was as large as a building. She was entirely made of stone. She was Mrs. Sphynx, and Hugh too knew her well.

Mrs. Sphynx opened her mouth to speak. Hugh spoke: “Okay, for the record-- oh, whoops, you first.”

Mrs. Sphynx sighed. “No, Mr. Jadhav. Continue.”

“Okay, for the record, just saying: not so clear that the whole deal where it’s like, the times of the day are, y’know, supposed to be times in a person’s life. Y’know, in the riddle. Dunno if that’s a thing lost in translation or…”

The two figures were stood as pillars in the flat desert sand.

“Oh, it’s man. The answer’s man.”

“Yes, Mr. Jadhav. Happy to see you’ve studied. Please proceed forward.”

“See you.”

Mrs. Sphynx closed her eyes.

Hugh proceeded forward.

Hugh was confident now. History class wouldn’t be far. Hugh felt himself relax. He dusted off the sand from his clothes, smacked the sand from out his shoes. His walk was firm; he was prepared for the last leg of his journey. He marched on, ready for class.

In only a few short minutes, Hugh could spot it: the door to History class, right behind one last section of hallway. Only one last challenge remained.

In front of the classroom, Hugh saw yet another figure blocking the path. The figure was silhouetted, featureless. It had arms, he could make out, something like legs, and nothing like a face. It was all jagged. It hung down in the air, suspended from ceiling lights.

Hugh did not recognize this figure.

“Normal day,” Hugh repeated.

Hugh continued. The hallway around the figure warped as Hugh walked closer. It ached, and pulsed forward. It breathed ragged. It was wounded, Hugh could tell. Injury bled plaster out from the walls onto the floor. Gashes scarred the tiles of the entire hall.

Hugh approached the figure. Hugh stopped. Hugh cleared his throat. And Hugh spoke:

“Whatever you got,” Hugh said, “whatever crazy brain teasers you’ve got cooked up for me, I’m ready for it.”

The figure wriggled its head towards Hugh. It swung quietly in its sling.

Seconds of silence.

Then, breaking it, “Hugh Jadhav.”

Hugh exhaled through his mouth. “Me.”

A muffled sound sobbed from the walls, repeating twice, once more, then stopping.

“Come on. Said I was ready.”

The hallway breathed in and out. From the lights, the floors, the tiles.

The figure spoke:

“The Kingdom of Flowers,” it said, from scars. “The marzipan shelled. And in the bouquet, the Beast Prince. You will walk their path, and drink of the lavender. The curse is challenged. The sacrifice is offered. The decision is given. But the sacrifice-- the sacrifice is destroyed.”

Hugh took a moment. The breath of the hallway sank heavy onto his skin.

“Okay,” Hugh confessed. “Gotta admit. Had a lot of tough riddles before, but, might wanna ask for a little hint here.”

The figure lowered itself down.

“It is not riddle, Hugh Jadhav.” Another muffled sound, stuttering three times. “Crueler. Prophecy.”

Hugh tried to breathe. He breathed in the hallway breath. Hugh stopped. For a second, he could feel breath hung in his lungs.

Then, Hugh asked one question: “When.”

“Already,” the figure replied. “You know it. It has already happened.”

A piercing light pointed to the road in front of the hallway, flew straight across the tile, and Hugh watched it flash away, cresting over the view of a faraway kingdom, land carved and covered in a clean white marble.

Hugh remembered.

“Cut,” the figure slithered. “The days, cut into shavings.”

It put its hands on its faceless face. “Isn’t it. And severed in sections. Unfair. The journeys of Hugh Jadhav.”

Hugh’s eyes were locked on the floor below him. Hugh did not move.

After a second, Hugh stepped forward, around the silhouetted figure.

“I got absolutely no clue,” Hugh said, walking away, toward the History class doorknob, “what the heck you’re talking ‘bout.”

Hugh walked farther and farther from the figure. Farther and farther, away from the hallway, walking not on the tiled floor or within the walls: away from the hall entirely.

“Normal day,” he repeated to himself. “Gonna have a normal day.”

In the distance, Hugh could see a golden light, blinking into his eyes. He grabbed onto the doorknob. He turned away.

[peterhongwrites]

The Creed

                                                 15 over 3: 1. In the beginning yoon tae and his sons isaac isaiah on a leather pleather strip of boat under light bulbs over milk diet honey pulpit teeth: I love you. 2. The adults drinks on hands we were in the closet strung up with bedsheet the Philistines find us in the river surrounded pulpit teeth: I love you. 3. He who gave his life to the Apostle Esther Deacon Yoo with white sheets paper plastering the nails that will plaster the walls that will plaster pulpit teeth Love you. 4. the congregation that will build build build the house build the trees build the community

Then, It snapped (down) at the end of a hymn                                                 15 over 4: When it arrived late on the third and 7:00 sidewalk rolling its wheels The tires coughed, eyes slicked glossy with shades, it stood itself up proclaimed: 1. Paint with wafer paint with styrofoam, she started, 16 by 12 inches paint with glass looking 4x4x4 build the fence with pulp 2 of each and welcome to the neighborhood 2. Floss the fiber glass in the window, going on, I had 3 of them then and walked them down numbers numbers numbers 3. Have you been lately? asking, 2 weeks ago and now today night, will you please for me? 4. Hugo, continuing, when are you getting over that damn 2nd grade cold of yours? 5. He put his hand (s) on my shoulder on 7:33 and it hasn’t (left) since 6. Finally sang: bubble gum snap the rock and roll music C#, D7 On that night, the escape route, anoint the children one by one in soda pop                                                 15 over 5:

1. He is the knowledge and the glory and the truth forever In him: Amen 2. Cousin told me they drank without believing and hit with a Dodge a week later Amen. 3. I heard if you beat the high score one-hundred times, you unlock the secret level. Amen. 4. Swallow a Warhead through your throat and it’ll plant its roots inside then blossom, (underneath) Amen. 5. Stuck-- stuck there for 2 weeks. And you weren’t (there) Amen. 6. I heard, at the (end), him say the love will let itself in one day. Amen. 7. Light blinked red. (blinking) (down) 8. (underneath) (underneath) the love seeped its way to me (underneath). 9. (Lost?? The Piano will usher your way out) 10. The blood that for binds the water in we us covenant the Amen 11. I promise I didn’t do it forever and ever Amen.

[peterhongwrites]

Rune Poems #1

1. Name Here My name is 홍 나 이름이 홍

                                            (Like a hat on a unicycle!)

I am Eighteen (18) years old. 나는 열여덟사요

                         The words may be hard but                                       please keep trying!

2. Vocabulary I am...                                  나 You are…                            너 There is…                           저기 Here is...                             집에                       (X) Today is…                           화요일 Today is…                           너무 따뜻해           (X) My favorite food is…           스파게티 I am…                                 배고파                   (X) My parents are…                있어                       (X) This color is…                     예뻐                       (X) I am…                                 있어                       (X) I am…                                                               (X) I am…                                 저기

3. Cherry Tree ㅆ--                    ㅆ~          twin cherries glossy                   red off the branches.

4. Harvest ( Jelly candy epidermis cured in collagen and

sweet sucrose cellulose chopped protein with starch dusted dates

The third degree is the glue under layers melanin and crafts )

糖

5. 8-9-9-1 code: 8-9-9-1 refer back to BLOCK: a1 11-LINE: go back to

PRINT:

{October fire means nothing to October when I was still there}

6. The Nursery

                         3 little Gom 곰! 가 한 나비 있어 have one butterfly!                                        아빠 나비 엄마 나비 아기 나비                           Daddy butterfly! Mommy Butterfly! Baby Butterfly!

The crocodile is coming.                                                                                                         아구 가 무서워                                                                                                                              X

                                              The crocodile is coming.                                                                                                         아구 가 무서워                                                                                                                              X

                                                              The crocodile is coming.

                                                                                                                        아구                                                                                                                         나와                                                                                                                           X X

                                                                                                                  요 요 요!                                                                                                                         아뻐                                                                                                                         앞어                                                                                                                         압퍼

돌이 언제야?

7. Pictures a. Room: (______i______)

b. Snowfall: * ^ * ^ * ^

c. Guards at the Wall &i___&i

d. Snail! _@<II

e. Cliff IIIIII_!i_______

f. Ocean Sunset ~~~~O~~~~

g. Key O------_--:ii:

h. Rule ? > ! > . > ;

i. First Choice $ - l - i

o

8. Bring a Souvenir

                                                            Do you 좋은                                                             have someone 남자                                                                         you 두                                                                     like? 있어?

                                                            I found it in                                                                  이태원.                                                            Pretty, ain’t it?

                                                                                                  The blanket                                                                                                    I told them                                                                                                         ㅇㅋ                                                                                                    In morning                                                                                                       sheets

9. Definitions 家 - This one is there. 月 - The week starts with this. 洪 - This one is going. 饺 - This one is delicious. 男 - This will sting some day. 木 - This one can build you a house, or fire. 王 - I wouldn’t remember you. 姚 - This one is not delicious. 祖母 - This one had to work. 漫畫 - Can your eye see the frames? 教会 - This is where we found it. 韓服 - Where did it go? 北 - Where were you? 四 - This one might hurt you. 山 - We came from here, some day.

10. A Ghost Story A ghost story... ㅇ The eye ㅠ The fangs ㄹ The body ㅕ The arms ㅇ The tail 호호호

11. The Result How did you do? 뚝뚝뚝 잘못 했어?

Very ㄱood! Very ㄱood! Very ㄱood!

[peterhongwrites]

Attempts at Sijo #1

1. Fruit tumbling down, tumbling down / down the end of the mountain I cracked the peach open in halves / and inside, found a pearl Silver light, I chewed up / and swallowed in tiny pieces

2. History class three years ago / we opened the windows for Fall

and all our papers flew outside / in a dovetail forking the sun

and spread away in all directions / shell floating, coating the Earth

3. If you hook on your fishing crook straight onto the cliff, then whip your grip up and around you’ll see your line whine and fly as you tug the sun in circles take a look: sky a clear mirror bound

4. We lifted off / off the lid on the brown twill / cardboard box A sea of / clapping hands flood all the corners / of the room each of us / floating atop staring up at / ceiling stars

5. That tree of theirs / was no good spitting out / titanium seeds

bombing down / numbered fruit. So we picked / and pruned and pickled

and ate up / all of their roots til they gnarled up / and withered

6. In the subway tunnel             a coat of wind washed over me breathed away my layers             the years in the rings in tree trunks find the time underneath:             the disaster of nineteen nine-eight

7. Plant flowers with blue chalk zig-zag moondust on the red brick let the morning light water them and the sidewalk sand breathe One day, when the city rained, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.

8. Hidden in the water tower / they found a freshwater altar

On top of the altar / they found a freshwater idol

and the freshwater idol / found a temple in dozens

9. Mine, mine, the jewel bug eyes / mine, mine, the jewel bug eyes

find them in veins, ore, chambers / pickaxe them through and hear them silent

wouldn’t talk but palm language / the facet sight curled in fingers

10. In the night rain, car eyes weep

their eyes into long bright streams

leaking runny to the other world

Back 6th, there was a toy store

Plastic grass planted behind glass

Next time, we gotta go there

[peterhongwrites]

(Ch. 9) Hugh Jadhav and the Library Intermission

Hugh’s backpack hit the library desk.

“Okay, so, uh,” Hugh said.

Hugh swept off the dusty table. Dust flurried left and right.

Alder stood in front of Hugh. Alder stood still.

“Yes?” Alder replied.

The sixteen walls of the library breathed with stiff, page-sweetened air.

Hugh swatted around the flakes of dust. “Here’s what I--” Dust caught in Hugh’s throat. “Ack-- sorry-- ack! Sorry, redo.” Hugh coughed, coughed, and took a breath. “Here’s what I got for you this week. That’s what I wanted to say. Yeesh.”

Alder’s eyes were set on Hugh.

“Yes?”

Hugh continued. “Now I don’t-- I don’t wanna get your hopes up.” Hugh’s bag stood tall on the table; taller than Hugh. “So, you know, don’t hold your breath. I just figure, it’s worth a shot. Might as well try. Can’t hurt. Or whatever. You know?”

“Yes, Hugh Jadhav,” Alder replied, “I know.”

“Yeah, so,” Hugh replied. “Lemme just fish that out for you…”

Hugh sized up his bag. His hands slid along the metal teeth of the zipper.

“Okay. Uh. Hold a sec.”

“Take your time, Hugh Jadhav.”

Hugh’s fingers grasped onto the zipper tab, and pulled its stream down open.

Hugh plunged his hand into the depths of the backpack.

His hand sank deep, deep in the bag.

“Uh. Maybe more than a sec.” Hugh muttered to himself.

Hugh felt his hand first press against the crust of the “A” section. Inside, he felt arithmetic, apples, and the aristocracy.

“Junk,” Hugh mumbled. “Look at me, holding on all this junk.”

“Steady, Hugh.”

Then, his hand drilled down through the mantle of the “B” section. He bored through boron, the history of the Bolsheviks, Benjamin Franklin.

“Tch. Might take a while.”

“Take your time, Hugh Jadhav,” Alder repeated.

“Yeah, I know, I know.”

His hand dug deeper through the earth of the “C” section, now: Calculus, Chemistry, candlemaking.

“C’mon, c’mon.”

“Take your time.”

Hugh’s hand sped down, deep past the “D” section.

“Tch,” Hugh said, dodging a dart. “Stupid.”

“How was your day, Hugh?” Alder asked.

Danger leaped out at Hugh. Hugh dodged again. “Uh. My day?”

“Yes, Hugh.”

Hugh reached down to “E”.

“Not dead yet, so I guess, ‘bout as well as it could.” Hugh’s hand traveled through the empire. “Chem was kinda rough. Big test this morning. Half the class didn’t make it.”

“Oh,” Alder said. “That sounds serious.”

“Yeah, well.  Funeral services are gonna be next week.”

Hugh dived down to “F”.

“How did you do, Hugh?”

Hugh dove faster through the bag. “Okay, probably. Not really worried ‘bout that, honestly. Chem’s not my problem. Just wanna have a lab partner that doesn’t go off and choke it in some tragic accident, for once.”

“That sounds difficult.”

A fire broke out in the main pocket. Hugh’s hand stopped.

“It’s whatever, “Hugh replied. “If you wanna talk hard, there was art today, and uh, hope my teacher’s into dada.”

“They might be. It’s possible.”

Firefighters froze the fire. Hugh’s hand continued.

“I dunno. I think I might not be much of an art guy. Just don’t have that technique down.”

“I am sure you will be fine.” Alder said. “Art is a personal process, more than a physical one.”

“Yeah, well. Not so good at that touchy, feely stuff either,” Hugh said. “Call me zero-for-two.”

Alder didn’t move a single muscle, but Hugh could hear a smile in his voice. “Oh, Hugh, I wouldn’t say that.”

Hugh’s hand darted straight to “G”, now.

“Alright, alright, now we’re getting somewhere. Wait shouldn’t be so long now.”

“Take your time.”

Hugh slinked past Ganymede, and garbage, and a collection of gel-pens. He slid past a book on Ghana, a glass menagerie, and gnocchi. He reached past gondolas, a load of gibberish and--

Then, he stopped.

“Aw, crud.”

“What?”

“Ran into a gate.”

Hugh’s palm rested flat against the cold, metal face of the gate.

“I can get past it, but it’s gonna take a little. Just hold on a sec.”

“Of course.”

A wave rippled out through the library walls, surrounding Hugh, surrounding Alder. The walls rose at the bookshelves in the east, peaked at the book-cliffs in the south, fell at the book-shores in the west, and died in the book-fields in the north.

As the wave passed over Hugh, Alder saw how small the student was underneath it. Above, the walls roared and lunged and crashed and hissed. Below, Hugh, a speck, with his hand still wrenching through the backpack pocket.

Alder cleared his throat.

Alder asked Hugh: “How have you been doing? Since the other day?”

Hugh paused for a second. Hugh got back to work.

“I dunno,” Hugh replied.

Alder continued. “How are you feeling?”

“I dunno.” Hugh kept his eyes on the bag. “Could tell you, same old same old. Wouldn’t be a lie, you know.” His voice fell into a mutter. “Just making stuff more complicated, like always.”

“Hugh,” Alder said. “Can I ask, what’s complicated?”

Hugh sighed.

“I dunno. God, I gotta stop saying that, I dunno.” Hugh shook his head, and continued opening the gate. “You really wanna hear this?”

“Yes,” Alder replied.

The drywall tide circled around again, cresting higher.

Hugh looked down. “If you wanna know, then… I guess it’s kinda like,” Hugh looked up. “Like…”

“Take your time, Hugh.”

“Yeah, don’t gotta tell me,” Hugh replied. “It’s like. I dunno why I’m still holding onto all this mess.” Hugh paused. Then, he continued. “I’ve been thinking, I could probably try to forget about it if I wanted to. My friends have. I dunno if it’s cause of magic or whatever, but it’s all just gone for them. I think, sometimes, last couple days at least, it’d probably make me happier if I did too.”

“But you aren’t.”

“But I’m not. I’m not forgetting,” Hugh said. “That whole day-- I don’t even really know what to say about it. It still feels like some weird dream I had. But it happened. I know it did. It reminds me every day it did.”

“Hugh,” Alder said.

“I guess... with the whole, reminding myself thing, I needed-- I still need to know-- it was all real.”

“Hugh,” Alder replied. “I was there. I am here now. It was real.”

Hugh breathed out. “Yeah.”

“Hugh,” Alder said. “You are just trying to understand what happened.”

At that moment, Hugh finally unlatched the gate from behind, and opened it up,

“Okay! Enough on me! Gate’s open, so just gimme a moment.”

“I will give you that moment, Hugh.”

Hugh moved his arm through the bag. His fingers clasped tight around something. “I dunno how this thing got stuck here but...”

Hugh reeled his hand out the mouth of the bag.

“Okay! Here it-- is!”

Out from the backpack fell another, golden-colored backpack.

Hugh reacted quickly.

“God-- damn it! Urgh!”

Immediately, Hugh kicked the golden backpack under a table, and recoiled back.

“God! Leave me alone!” Hugh cursed. “Christ’s sake!”

Hugh’s head ached. Fingers moved to temples to rub it away.

“Ugh. I swear! It’s like some horror movie, just following me like that. ‘Cept the horror is-- it’s nothing, it’s tacky school fashion. God, gimme a break!”

Alder spoke.

“You are right,” he said, “to be fearful of it.”

Hugh turned back to Alder.

“Hugh Jadhav, you are right…” Alder spoke, “you are right… you are right...”

“Hey, hey, don’t strain yourself,” Hugh said. “I get it. The bag’s bad news. You can’t tell me. Don’t hurt yourself.”

“Hugh Jadhav…” Alder’s words trailed off. The name faded in the air.

Hugh sighed. “Okay. Let’s try a take two. If that thing’s gone--” Hugh pointed to the gold bag, “I bet I know where the other stupid thing is.”

Hugh sucked in a lungful of breath, clamped fingers on his nose, and dove cannonball-style right into the backpack.

Alder waited. Stalks of books waved next to him, in the library wind. The walls had calmed down now, and hummed quietly. Emotions beamed down from each one, onto the desk, the backpack, and the librarian. Their soft colors, spilling on colors, spilling over the scene.

Three or four minutes passed.

Then Hugh, on cue, jumped back out of the backpack. He landed heavy on the floor. He gasped for breath. Air flooded back into his lungs.

“Hooooooo boy,” Hugh wheezed. “Just, just lemme take a moment, just a sec for myself here.” Hugh stretched his back out. “Hooooh, okay. Okay, okay.” Hugh stood himself up straight. “Alright, I’m good, I’m good.”

Hugh clutched his catch in one hand. “Kept you waiting long enough, but here’s what I gotcha. Take a look.” Hugh held up a small, thin sewing needle in his fist, made of gleaming gold.

Alder was still.

“Uh. You’re looking, right?”

“I am looking.”

“Stupid question,” he whispered. “Okay, so. Before anything, lemme just remind you, just a moment,” Hugh said. “No holding your breath, alright Alder? Promise?”

“I will not hold my breath,” Alder said. “I promise.”

“Okay. So…” Hugh held the needle between his fingers. “I picked this thing up last night. Went through a heck of a lot just to pick this up, you know. Did you know there’s this whole, like, underground settlement somewhere in the basement of the school?”

“No,” Alder replied. “I did not. How was it?”

“A big old pain, that’s how it was. It was unbelievable. There was this disaster in the halls-- I guess there’s always some disaster in the halls-- and then a whole hour-long thing with the school supply store there, and I got in this big stupid fight...”

“Are you unhurt?”

“...It was such a--” Hugh stopped.

“You were not harmed along the way?”

Hugh took a second to pause. He patted himself down.

“Oh. Uh. I guess I’m fine. Uh, didn’t need to pat to show that but, uh...”

“Good. That is good to hear, Mr. Jadhav.”

“Yeah, good. So.” Hugh said. He shifted back into conversation.  “It was a huge pain, had to fight, confronted my mortality, yadda yadda, anyways. Take a look at this.” Hugh twirled the needle in his fingers. “This here’s a Gold Needle.”

“Gold Needle?”

“Yeah, basic name, isn’t it?”

“Very descriptive.”

“Tch, that’s for sure,” Hugh rolled the Gold Needle around. “This thing’s supposed to cure petrification. Like if someone’s been turned to stone, you just prick ‘em, and that’s that, poof, everything’s fine.”

“I see.”

“I know you aren’t like, petrified, technically,” Hugh went on, “like you aren’t literally frozen in stone…”

“No.”

“So, that’s why I don’t want you to hold your breath.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah. Uh.”

Hugh stood there with his needle, silent.

“Hugh. Let’s try it now, then.”

“Oh, yeah, duh.”

Hugh took the needle, and pointed it to Alder. “Okay. Just gonna, gonna poke you with this needle. Uh. We were clear on that, right?”

“Of course, Hugh.”

“Okay.”

Hugh looked over the needle. The needle looked over Alder’s skin. The needlepoint was shiny. The needlepoint was sharp.

Hugh had a thought.

“Okay, funny story,” Hugh said. “So. I was just thinking about my, uh, well, my uncle. I have this uncle, and he’s, he’s,” Hugh struggled for the word, “he’s one of those, acupuncturists.”

Alder said nothing.

“I was thinkin ‘bout this one time, I had to stay with him during work cause my mom and dad were super busy. I ended up watching him a little at his job.” Words kept pouring out of Hugh. “You ever seen acupuncture take place? It’s the weirdest thing ever. He’d just sorta, flick those needles in. You don’t even see them sink in. He’d just, flick them, and they’d be stuck there, like that.”

Hugh’s hands wobbled.

“He told me, after the job, he told me this whole thing to just imagine all the acupuncture points, and how to know where to hit.” Hugh looked at Alder. Hugh looked for the points. Hugh saw skin, on skin, on skin. “And he said, if you hit the wrong point, everything gets thrown off. Everything…”

Hugh put the needle down.

“Um. Alder. I dunno what to do with this thing.”

The breeze curled around Alder, like a statue, and passed.

“Take my third palm, Hugh.”

Hugh’s eyes searched for Alder’s third palm. “This?” He said, pointing.

“Yes.” Alder said. “Trace your eyes along its lines. You should see a point where they intersect, in a sort of cross.”

Hugh’s eyes traced the lines. Hugh traced them to the cross.

“Strike the needle there.”

Hugh tensed up. He centered the needle over the middle of the cross.

“There. Okay. There.”

The metal felt cold in his hand. The spindle, thin and tiny in his fingers. He thought again about his uncle. He saw his rough hands flicking in each silver pin. He saw each one, sticking out in the soft flesh. He saw pressure points, glowing, overlapping, messy.

“Okay. Whatever. It’s there; let’s just do this thing,” Hugh said.

Then Hugh stuck the needlepoint in.

Hugh was still.

Alder was still.

Hugh was still.

Alder was still.

Hugh was still.

Alder was still.

Alder was still still.

Hugh drew the needle back.

“Well.”

Hugh slumped over in a chair growing next to him.

“Hugh?”

Hugh hunched over. “Guess it was right to tell you not to hold your breath.”

“You think so?” Alder asked.

Hugh looked straight at the floor.

“I’m sorry, Alder. Really.”

Alder replied, “it is okay, Hugh. It is okay.”

“I know I gave you that whole dramatic speech before ‘bout helping you.”

“Hugh.”

“I gave you that whole spiel about it.”

“Hugh. I am fine.”

“But I guess, so far, I’ve been a liar.”

“Hugh Jadhav,” Alder said. “That isn’t right at all.”

“Alder. It’s okay. Don’t gotta be nice for my sake.”

“I am not.”

Hugh looked up at Alder.

“I am being perfectly honest,” he continued. “Hugh, I appreciate all you’ve done so far. I do. I appreciate you coming here. I appreciate your conversation. I appreciate you coming to help me.”

Hugh sank. “It’s just. Alder. When my body was stuck in that book it was-- I’m not gonna lie, it was awful. Just… awful. And you. You’ve been like that for how long now?”

“I understand, Hugh. And it is kind of you to want to help me.”

“I dunno about that.”

“Hugh. It’s true.” Alder moved nothing, yet Hugh could feel his presence shifting towards him. “I’ll tell you right now, I’ve been in this state for a long time now. Longer than you have been alive. Longer than your world has existed. Longer than your mind can know.” The books stalks waved around Hugh, as Alder spoke. “And over that time, I’ve met students like you. Not too often, but always someone. They want to talk. They want to help. They try.”

“And?”

“And that’s it. Nothing has changed.” Alder’s words hung. “But I don’t feel frustrated, Hugh. Do you want to know how I feel, Hugh?” Hugh could feel warmth off of Alder’s voice. “I feel happy, Hugh. I feel happy that you tried for me.”

Hugh shook his head.

“Yeah, well. Bet you’d feel happier if you could move.”

The clock hand ticked against the hour then. Next period was soon.

Hugh stood up from his chair. “Period 3’s coming up in a couple minutes. I better get going.”

“Yes. Don’t forget your things, Hugh.”

“I won’t.”

Hugh re-organized his backpack, and zipped it back shut. He slung the strap around his back, and turned to the door.

“Well.” Hugh said. “Be back next week.”

“I’m looking forward to it, Hugh.”

“Okay.”

Hugh’s back was turned to Alder.

“Next week,” Alder repeated.

“Next week,” Hugh repeated.

Hugh walked to the doorway.

At that moment, without Hugh or Alder noticing, something had started to stir on the library floor. The golden backpack, hidden underneath its table, began to hum. Its humming began quiet, and firm. Softly and slowly, the humming grew. Over the next row of seconds, a momentum swung thicker and thicker through the music. A stiff melody was starting to unfurl in the sound. Then, as the melody bloomed wide open in the momentum of the song, a brilliant light seeped out from the backpack pocket.

The light pooled in the pocket. It grew, beginning to sculpt and mold itself. The light separated, shaping into thin, invisible threads. The threads streamed out from the pocket. The threads became wind. The wind drifted out into the room.

The wind was being called. It whirled, spun, and swirled around the walls. Its destination was close. The wind spiraled up. It hunted through the air. It found its target. It darted forward. It sank against Alder’s skin.

“Oh, Hugh,” Alder said.

“Yeah.”

Slowly, Alder groaned his neck, and his head twisted an inch towards Hugh.

“I wanted to say, take care.”

Hugh sighed. He looked back. “You too.” He looked forward.

Hugh continued to the hall. Hugh walked on through.

And then, Hugh realized. “Wait--” Hugh turned, snapping back to the library.

[peterhongwrites]

Post -

[3]

After the war in (27) Great-Grandpa walked the country for 3 years and found it folded deep in a burrow.

It was a bird or something with wings (??) with humming feathers and many notes and long, long, curved lips. (28) Great-Grandpa held it between index and thumb, and the bird started to whistle at him through fibers. (29)

He gave it a waterdrop, nectar, and the whistling grew, spooled together. Great-Grandpa then felt a bow cut in, hymn letters in the tunnel unfolding, and the bird unraveled, spoke/sang to him:

“There is peace, there,” wings tuned. (30) A long held string. A direction. G - 6 Soft. Piano.

The roots strangled through the burrow, like fingers, in a choir.

A solo minute. “Victory?” Great-Grandpa, chorus. The bird turned to him. Fibers, arranged to notes.

“Peace.” (31)

Great-Grandpa, so scared now, took his wings and flew away.

The orchestra (32) followed him, the cello, brass, gong, viola playing where he went and now it plays in feathers their drumbeat, 1 their drumbeat 2, their drumbeat 1, (33) their drumbeat through me. (34)

[peterhongwrites]

(Ch. 8) Hugh Jadhav in: The Book

Hugh felt sick.

Hugh’s stomach felt sick. His skin felt sick. His head felt sick.

Hugh felt wrong.

Hugh looked again. He had to see if anything changed.

Hugh’s eyes dropped back to the book.

Nothing had changed.

From inside the page, Hugh’s second pair of eyes looked up.

Hugh’s eyes met with Hugh’s.

Hugh covered his eyes. Hugh’s other eyes still saw the world inside the book, surrounding him.

Hugh’s two sets of lungs inhaled, inhaled, exhaled, exhaled, inhaled.

“This is sick,” Hugh said.

He turned to the librarian. The librarian stood still.

“You. Librarian,” Hugh said. “Tell me what the hell’s happening here.”

Outside the book, Hugh experimentally twitched his right hand. His hand inside the book did not move. Inside the book, Hugh twitched his other right hand. His hand outside the book did not move.

This was no doppelganger. Hugh knew it now. This was no body double, or separate copy. This was different. This was Hugh. Hugh was outside the book, watching his own body, inside the book. Hugh’s mind was split between two bodies-- one outside the book, one inside.

“Hey. Hey hey hey hey hey hey hey,” Hugh exhaled. “Tell me what the hell’s happening. Tell me-- tell me how to get outta here.”

The librarian stood still.

“Hugh Jadhav,” the librarian said.

“I know my name,” Hugh said. “I know that. Tell me how to get out.”

Hugh’s eyes stared at the page in front of him.

Hugh’s eyes looked at the paper world around him.

“I’m sorry,” the librarian said, “try closing the book.”

Hugh’s hands (the pair outside the book) grabbed at the covers. Hugh tried to close the book.

He couldn’t. Hugh couldn't close the book. He had the strength. He had the will. But Hugh physically could not move his hands to close the book.

“It’s not working,” Hugh said. “Librarian, if you-- if you’re screwing with me right now--”

The librarian stood still.

“...If you’re trying to teach me another backhanded lesson like this, lemme, lemme tell you--”

“I apologize, Mr. Jadhav.”

Hugh inhaled, inhaled.

“I apologize for the situation. But I would like to tell you,” the librarian said, “I would like to tell you, were it my choice to make, I would not allow this to happen to you. Were it my choice.”

Hugh felt his lungs heave in his throat.

“Librarian, you-- you, you’re telling me this, this isn’t you?”

The librarian stood still.

“You’re-- telling me someone else is doing all this?” Hugh swallowed. “Who? Who’s doing this?”

“I,” The librarian spoke, “would like to tell you. I would like to tell you.”

“But…” Hugh replied. A realization hit Hugh. “You can’t. You can’t, can you?”

“I would like to tell you.”

Hugh choked out a laugh. “God. Okay. O-- Okay. God. I get it now. I get it. It makes sense. You can’t tell me. Someone else is stopping you. This whole time, someone else, someone else has behind you, controlling you. And right now, now, you can’t tell me. God,” Hugh continued.

The librarian said nothing.

“I get it now. Why you never move-- you can’t. All this time, I just thought you wanted to make us all uncomfortable. But you really can’t move. And it’s been someone else’s fault. The whole time. Hah. Haha,” Hugh laughed again. “I’m sorry, librarian. I pegged you all wrong.”

“Hugh Jadhav. I am sorry.”

“Librarian. Tell me your name. Sorry for everything, but right now, I just, just wanna know your name.”

“I would like to tell you,” the librarian said.

“I’m sorry. Can you tell me?”

“My name is Alder, Hugh Jadhav. I am Alder of the Library.”

“Okay. Alder. Alder. That’s a nice name. Okay, Alder,” Hugh continued, “if I… If I get out of this thing. I’m gonna look for something to help you. Okay? Hear me, Alder? I swear it. Promise.”

“I would like to,” Alder said.

“Okay. But I… I gotta get through this first, I think. I gotta-- gotta get out of this stupid book.”

“I am sorry. Hugh Jadhav,” Alder continued. “You know now, what you must do.”

“Yeah, I know. It sucks, but I know. I’ll do it. And I’ll get out. And I’ll find a way to get you out too.”

“I would like to say,” Alder said, “I wish you luck.”

“Thanks. I mean it, Alder. Thanks.”

Hugh turned his eyes to the book. He inhaled, inhaled, exhaled. He inhaled, exhaled, inhaled. He exhaled, inhaled, exhaled.

Hugh focused on his body inside the book. His eyes outside the page closed shut.

Hugh blinked. His eyes inside the page opened wide.

Inside the book, Hugh looked to his front. The world of the page stretched on to the distance. A sentence streamed past him. At its end, Hugh saw the word, in four letters, “door”.

Hugh shuddered. He still felt sick. His other body shivered in the cold of the library. Hugh stepped forward. Carefully, he moved only one of his four feet. Then, carefully, another. Hugh was walking now. Hugh walked on, one foot after the other. Hugh walked through the sentence to the door. Hugh opened the door. Hugh walked through the door.

Inside, the sentences continued. Hugh walked along the path of the sentence. His mind strained to keep the rhythm. One foot, then the other. A world of words surrounded Hugh. Flocks of verbs passed Hugh by. Punctuation shaped Hugh’s path. Hugh continued walking. One foot, then the other. At the end of the paragraph, Hugh caught a familiar sight. He saw Molock, with another door behind him. Hugh stopped.

“Molock,” Hugh said. “That’s you, right Molock?”

Molock replied, “hi, Hugh!”

“I mean, like,” Hugh said, “Molock. The real Molock. Not some, like, spiritual representation of Molock. Right?”

“Hm… Good question! I dunno!” Molock danced around the door. “Maybe I’m the real Molock… maybe not! Who’s to say! Maybe I don’t even know!”

“God,” Hugh breathed out. “Okay. Okay,” he told himself. “It’s okay, Hugh. Okay,” he inhaled. “Real Molock, fake Molock, whatever,” Hugh said. “What are you doing here?”

“Beats me!” Molock exclaimed. “But you know-- and this is just my opinion, but it’s kind of obvious. Right?”

“Molock,” Hugh said, “I don’t wanna play any games today. Just tell me what’s going on.”

“Sheesh. Impatient,” Molock said. “But you know, you’re smart Hugh. Just try and guess.”

Hugh shook his head.

“Some kinda trial. Some kind of crazy, stupid trial.”

“Yep! You really are smart, Hugh,” Molock patted Hugh on the shoulder.

Then Molock spread his arms, presenting himself. “Yep, it’s all some personal trial. See, I’m guarding this door here. If you wanna get past me, you gotta fight for it!” Molock took Hugh’s hand, curled it into a fist, and laid it to his cheek. “Come on! Plant me one, right here. One good left hook! I wanna feel it!”

Hugh took his hand back.

“No. I won’t.”

“It’s the only way, Hugh!” Molock seemed to bounce as he spoke. “Gotta beat me if you wanna move on. Come on. Let’s do it like the boxers do,” Molock jumped onto his toes and threw a few mock boxing punches.

Hugh felt Molock’s punches softly tap against his body.

Hugh was stalwart.

“I’m not slugging you in the face, Molock.”

“Come on, Hugh. I’m made of strong stuff. I can take it. Hey, I’d be more worried about your hands than my face.”

“Molock, I’m not gonna fight you. I’m not! That’s that.”

“Hugh…” Molock turned around back to the door.

“Yeah?”

“Hugh,” Molock felt around the door as he spoke, “lemme tell you something. Seems I have to teach you a little lesson.”

He traced the outline of the door with a hand, then struck it. “See, here’s the secret. Sometimes, you just gotta take on some hard choices, so you can grow as a person. We all have to do it, Hugh. Me. You. Everybody. It’s all part of the thing we all call, life,” Molock spun back to Hugh. “Hugh! You gotta learn to look at two bad options and say, hey! I can live with this one.” Molock’s sharp eyes cut straight to Hugh’s. “And so there’s your choice. If you don’t fight me, it’s simple-- you can’t leave. Them’s the consequences. And then, you stay here. Forever.”

Hugh bit the inside of his cheek.

He sat down, turned away from Molock.

“Screw that choice. I’m not hitting you.”

Molock bent over to Hugh’s ear.

“Not even if you can’t leave?”

Hugh shook his head. “Not doing it.”

“Not even if you’re stuck here forever?”

“I said I’m not.”

“Not even if you can’t go to your classes? Even if you end up failing?”

“No.”

“Not even if you never see the outside again?”

Hugh said, “I’m not hitting you.”

“Wow,” Molock said. “What a wuss!”

“Yep. Call me Big Wuss.”

“Hah! I like you Hugh. You’re funny.” Molock sat down next to Hugh. “You’d really want to spend eternity here, with me, just cause you don’t wanna punch a guy. With me! That can’t be an easy choice to make.”

Hugh looked hard at the floor. “Don’t go saying crud like that. Of course it is.”

“Hm?”

“Course it’s an easy choice.”

“Oh! Hugh,” Molock hummed, “so noble of you. You’re a nice guy, aren’t you Hugh?”

“Nothing nice or noble about it,” Hugh said. “It’s an easy choice to make. Not cause I’m noble, or nice, or anything. Cause I don’t think, no matter what I do, I’ll be here forever.”

Molock raised an eyebrow. He readied a question mark. “Explain?”

“This isn’t my first rodeo,” Hugh said. “I’ve never gotten stuck before, and I don’t think I’m getting stuck here today. Listen-- being trapped here, forever? I can’t even imagine that. I’ve been through these journeys a million times now, and at this point I know-- as long as I do what’s right, I get by. So there’s nothing noble or great about not hitting you. That’s just what I gotta do. I know it already.”

“Huh,” Molock replied.

Hugh sat still.

“But what if it’s not?” Molock asked.

Hugh concentrated hard on the floor. “It is.”

Molock sharpened the edge of his grin.

“But what if that’s not the lesson you have to learn? What if the lesson you’re meant to learn today means having to hit me?”

“Then it’s not my lesson,” Hugh replied. “Then it’s a stupid garbage lesson I don’t need to learn.”

“Wow. Confident.”

“It’s not. Just what I know.”

Molock shuffled around Hugh. “And this choice, this is what you want, right?”

Hugh blinked. “I don’t know what the heck want has to do with it.”

“But it is the decision you want to make?”

Hugh sighed. “I dunno.”

Molock stood up. A silence.

“I dunno what that means. I dunno what I want.”

Molock stared at Hugh. Molock stared hard.

“Hugh,” Molock said.

Hugh replied, “what?”

“Hugh Jadhav?”

Molock cleared his throat.

“What, Molock?”

Molock said nothing.

“Molock, what do you--”

“Hugh Jadhav.”

A smog, thick and glistening, began to seep from Molock’s eyes. The smog shimmered like flurries of snow, or jewels. Then, someone else’s voice, entirely unfamiliar to Hugh, pried out from between Molock’s quotation marks. “Hugh Jadhav. You must do as you desire.”

Hugh’s eyes widened. He turned back to Molock. “What the…”

“You must do as you desire,” the dialogue continued. “What do you desire?”

Hugh stepped back. He tensed himself.

The smog left Molock’s eyes. The voice faded.

“Oof!” Molock grunted, in his own voice now. He fell forward, and caught himself.

Hugh squinted his eyes.

“The heck was that?”

Molock dusted himself, and stood back up. “What?”

“That. What just happened. The whole, Exorcist routine.”

“Oh,” Molock’s head cocked to the right. “I don’t know.”

“Hey, don’t screw with me. If you really know what that was…”

Molock lifted his shoulders. “Hugh, you know me. We’re friends. I wouldn’t do that. Whatever it was you think I did.”

Hugh sighed again. “Whatever. I don’t need to know. And anyways, we can talk later.” Hugh turned to the door. “Are you gonna open it now, or do I have to spill my heart out a little more?”

Molock stuck his tongue out, and winked. “Nah! That’s plenty. Let’s get this door opened.”

The letters spelling out the door opened up. Hugh and Molock walked through the open door, and  stepped onto the lettered path. They traveled through the book. They progressed through the page first left, and then down. Their names swam through passages of text, as they continued on. Shoes crunched over bumpy sentences. For at least a whole paragraph, they kept on, walking side-by-side, or one and then the other.

Then, the two stopped. They saw another familiar figure in the distance.

This time, Death waited for Hugh at the end of the road. Another door was set in the sentence behind him. Hugh and Molock stopped at a punctuation point in front of him.

Death spoke:

“Hugh.”

Hugh walked over to Death. “Hey. You’re here too, huh. You okay there?”

Death said: “To pass into this door, you must defe--”

“Hey, I already went over all that junk. We’re not fighting, I don’t need to fight you to keep going, I got it.”

“Oh,” Death said.

“So yeah.”

Death sat down quietly on his part of the page.

“I see,” Death said.

Death was a black blot on the parchment.

“Hugh.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m not sure what to do, then.”

Hugh and Molock stood over Death.

“That’s okay,” Hugh said. “Hey. Can you open the door for me?”

Death turned to the door. “Oh,” they said. “I will try.”

Death stared at the door. Death stared for several seconds. Death tapped the door with a finger.

“Oh,” Death said. “I don’t think I can.”

“Crud,” Hugh said. “Guess I jumped the gun on the whole thing.”

Molock tapped his foot. “So… what now? We do what we did last time? We re-enact the last room? Hey, you,” Molock pointed to Death,”tell Hugh he has to beat you to learn a lesson about tough choices.”

Death started, “Hugh. You must defeat me to learn a lesson about to--”

“Nah,” Hugh said. “Sorry, I don’t think that’s gonna work. It’s a trial. And that wouldn’t be, you know, natural.”

“Okay,” Death replied.

The three of them were flat on the page.

Hugh coughed. Molock tapped his foot again. Death crossed his legs.

“Hey,” Hugh asked Death, “how did you get here?”

“Oh. I’m not quite sure. I think I may have been looking for you.”

“And you,” Hugh asked, “ended up here?”

“Yes.”

“And when you got here, you already knew what to do?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know anybody who would’ve done this?”

“No.”

Hugh scratched the back of his head. “I’ll be honest. I got no idea what the heck any of that means.” Hugh crossed his arms. “Okay, wait. I got one. Whoever set all this garbage up is a creep, and I’m gonna kick his butt when I find them.”

“Right on,” Molock said.

Death looked straight at Hugh.

He spoke, “Hugh. I want to tell you. I am glad you are here.”

Hugh replied, “uh. Me too, I guess.”

“Hugh,” Death continued, “I believe I have been here for a long time.”

Hugh sat down. “Well,” he said. “Me, and Molock, we’re here now. So no sweat.”

Death stared in closer.

“Hugh,” Death said.

“Uh. Buddy. You sure you’re okay?”

“Hugh,” Death said.

“Hey. If you aren’t okay, just--”

The other voice cut in then, and Death’s eyes shone under the smog light.

“Hugh. What is it that you desire?” It asked.

“Oh,” Hugh replied. “Not this baloney again.”

The voice continued: “To take what you desire, you must know what you desire.”

“Okay. Number one desire right now!” Hugh yelled, “leave me alone! Get out of my face! Stop asking me questions!”

“Hugh. What is it that you desire?”

“I told you! Screw off!”

“Is that really what you desire?”

“What kinda hokey question is that? Yes!”

“Truly?”

“Yes!”

The voice stopped. It left Death. The smog faded from his eyes.

Death looked blankly at Hugh and Molock.

“Oh,” Molock said, “that’s the thing I didn’t do.”

Hugh marched over straight to the door. “Hey,” Hugh said, “I’m getting real sick of this creepy thing. We’re getting out of here.”

“I cannot open the door, Hugh.” Death said.

“We’re getting out of here,” Hugh repeated. “We’re getting out of here, cause I wanna get out of here.” Hugh kicked at the door. “Come on, stupid door. Lemme out!” Hugh heaved a heavy kick into the door. “Open up!”

“Are you... sure that’s gonna work?” Molock asked.

“No,” Hugh continued kicking. “But I don’t gotta be. All I gotta do, is want to, real bad.”

“Hugh,” Death said, “you must defeat me if you wish to pass through that door.”

Hugh continued kicking.

“I don’t, and I’m not. I’m kicking this stupid door in, and that’s that.”

Hugh continued kicking.

“Hugh, if this whole place is wanting to teach you something, then--”

“Then it’s gotta let me through! Cause no way, no way it’s gonna let me miss its final stupid lesson.”

Hugh continued kicking. A huge “thud!” slammed against the door. Hugh’s leg recoiled.

“Hugh, your leg…”

“Is gonna be fine. It’s gonna be fine, you two. It has to be, cause if it’s not, I can’t the kick the crud out of whoever’s behind this. And that, that’s not happening.”

“Hugh, we--”

“It’s gonna be-- fine!”

“Hugh--”

“I’m saying, it’s all--”

Hugh heaved one final kick right into the door. The door cracked open, and fell down into lettered splinters.

Hugh panted.

He fell on his knees.

Hugh panted.

He coughed, twice.

Hugh panted.

“Fine,” Hugh pulled his head back. “We, we’re getting on through. Let’s go, guys.”

Molock looked at Hugh. Death looked at Hugh.

Hugh marched down the page. Molock and Death looked at one another. They paused. There was an unspoken moment of thought between them.

Then, they followed Hugh down.

The final path of the book stretched far down the page.

It stretched down.

And it stretched down.

And it stretched down.

Hugh walked the far path. His eyes outside the page opened up slowly, and followed his other body down the page.

At the end of the sentence, Hugh and Molock and Death saw a pedestal. On the pedestal was a backpack. Hugh’s eyes squinted at the backpack. It shone a lustrous gold.

“That’s it, huh,” Hugh said.

Molock and Death stood still.

“So. Now what,” Hugh looked up. “You, guy upstairs-- what do you want out of me? Huh?”

“Hugh,” Molock said. “It’s pretty obvious. Right?” Molock pointed forward. “Look at the backpack.”

Hugh looked at the backpack. “Yeah, so.”

“Hugh. I believe, you have to take on the backpack.”

Hugh blinked. “No,” Hugh said. “I won’t-- I mean, I can’t.”

“You have to,” Molock said.

“No. No way that’s good,” Hugh responded. “Putting on some random backpack inside a freaky spirit book? Nuh-uh. I’m keeping my back safe and secured.”

“Why do you not want to put on the backpack?” Death asked.

“I just said,” Hugh continued. “It’s dangerous. Anyways, lemme just bust through like last time and--”

“Why don’t you wanna put on the backpack?” Molock asked.

Hugh blinked again. He took a step back from Molock and Death.

“Uh… Because of what I just said? Guys?”

“Why don’t you wanna do it?”

Hugh took another step back. “What? You.. You want more? Okay. Okay, I’ll give you more. Just look at it, for one-- gold? A bright gold backpack?”

“Why?” Death asked.

“It’s-- it’s tacky. Especially with me. I mean, look at me. Orange sweater vest. Khakis. Gold backpack? Nuh-uh.”

“Why?” Molock asked.

“Because! Because…” Hugh felt sweat fall. “Hey. The hell’s going on with you two?”

The voice returned. It spoke, in Molock’s place: “Hugh Jadhav. You must do as you desire.”

It spoke, in Death’s place: “To take what you desire, you must know what you desire. What do you desire?”

Each curl of smog unfolded with an opal flicker.

“Jesus!” Hugh yelled. “I told you! I keep telling you! I want you to stop going after me! I want you to leave these kids alone!”

The voice spoke, “what do you desire?”

The two advanced on Hugh. Hugh stepped back, towards the pedestal.

“I don’t know! Back off!”

The voice spoke, “what do you desire?”

“What do you want out of me? You keep asking me, and, and you--”

The voice spoke, “what do you desire?”

“I don’t know! I got no clue! So screw off already!”

The voice spoke, “what do you desire?”

“Back off! I told you! Back off!!”

The voice spoke, “what do you desire?”

Hugh’s hands shook, scrambled at the air. They wrenched onto the cold, soft metal backpack.

“Is-- is this what you want?” Hugh’s fingers dug tight into the bag. “Huh? You want this? You want this thing? You can have it!”

Hugh threw the backpack towards the two. Teeth clenched together. Without stepping out of their march, Death picked the backpack up by the strap. They proceeded.

The voice spoke, “what do you desire?”

Hugh pressed his back against the end of the path. His entire body arched away.

“What do you desire?”

Death and Molock’s shadows fell over Hugh. Death and Molock loomed over Hugh. Death dropped the backpack at Hugh’s feet.

“What do you desire?”

“Shut it!”

“What do you desire?”

For a second, Hugh felt a hand curl into a fist. The hand uncurled. Hugh backed into the corner.

“What do you desire?”

“Shut!”

Hugh’s hands clamped over his ears.

“What do you desire?”

“I said, shut!”

Hugh’s eyes stabbed at the backpack.

A thought edged jagged in his mind.

“What do you des--”

“Shut! Shut it already!” Hugh yelled. “Okay! Okay! You want me-- you want me to take this? Huh? This stupid, tacky thing?”

Hugh seized it in one hand.

“Okay! Fine! I will! I’ll take it! And when I find you-- I’m giving it back! So…”

Hugh zipped the bag open.

“Get out!”

The two came closer.

“Get out of here! Scram!”

The two were inches away. Hugh held tight onto the backpack. Hugh’s knuckles grasped white onto its straps. Hugh closed his eyes. Hugh crumpled down. Hugh ducked.

At that moment, a brilliant light seared from inside the backpack.

Then, Hugh heard nothing. No voice. No footsteps.

Hugh breathed.

Hugh breathed heavy. He breathed heavy.

Hugh opened his eyes.

He looked close to the floor. Hugh turned his head up.

Molock and Death had disappeared.

Hugh turned his head further up.

In their place, Hugh looked up to a new figure. The figure was dressed in gleaming gold-plate metal. In their hand, they held a sword, glowing a light-blue glow.

Hugh breathed. Hugh breathed, and waited.

Hugh waited.

The figure spoke, in a familiar voice: “Hugh.”

Hugh breathed again. Hugh coughed, and held his chest.

“Hugh,” he repeated.

Hugh coughed again. “You… I know you,” he said, catching his breath.

“Hugh,” he repeated.

Hugh couldn’t get up.

“Hugh,” he repeated. “What do you want?” He asked.

Hugh shook his head, and collapsed down on the floor.

He breathed. “I…” He wheezed, “I want…” He wheezed, “I wanna go back to the dorm,” he said.

The figure’s helmet looked on silently.

“I don’t wanna walk,” Hugh said. “Just, please. Take me back to the dorm.”

The figure nodded. He carved a hole in the book. He walked through the hole. He took Hugh through. Hugh felt both his bodies reunite.

Then the figure closed the book in his hands. He strode to a far-off shelf in the forbidden section, and slid the book in. He held onto Hugh. He lifted Hugh onto himself. Then, holding tight onto Hugh, he walked out of the library. Together, they went back to their dorm room.

[peterhongwrites]

Budae-Jjigae gguh Rut Tin

In the morning,

shirt and tie the sun squared in a sip of bi - bim - bap two polished dress sandals a palanquin humming in the driveway

In the afternoon,

at work counting down a sundial tipping eye glasses sheets of mulberry drifting the desk a feather drops of bone-char ink journey to a cooler of rice wine flagon sharp lips grapeseed rumors

In the evening,

a four-man drive home wood frame of village the chief at the TV his man unbuttons hanbok onto bamboo moonrise waning

the kids speak good night fathers say mansae a lantern blows away away away

[peterhongwrites]

(Ch. 7) Hugh Jadhav and the Fishing Trip of Tranquility

Hugh opened the door to 2nd Period class, and walked through.

Inside the classroom was a vast ocean. Hugh was on a boat on the ocean. There was a fishing rod in Hugh’s boat.

Ms. Plais was at the blackboard. “Ah, Hugh,” Ms. Plais said to Hugh, “nice of you to join us today. We’ll be having a bit of an unorthodox class today.”

“No kidding,” Hugh said.

Hugh’s boat wobbled on the ocean surface. Hugh wobbled on the boat.

“There will be no lesson plan, and no tests,” Ms. Plais said. “Today, we will calm our minds, through the art of fishing. That will be all. Please try to fish throughout the entire length of the class.”

Hugh’s boat bobbed away. It drifted from Ms. Plais.

“Uh. Will do, Ms. Plais,” Hugh said.

The boat drifted far away from Ms. Plais. Soon, Hugh only saw a speck of her. Then, nothing at all.

Hugh turned to the water. It was clear. It stared at him, with his own face. His face waved in the ocean tide.

“Okay, fishing,” Hugh told himself. “Just fishing. We can do that. No big deal. We can do fish.”

Hugh felt around the outline of boat. It was small and wooden, barely wide enough for Hugh. Hugh picked up the fishing rod in the boat. He felt the weight of it in his hands.

Hugh cast the line of the fishing rod. The hook broke clean into the skin of the water. It sank. Hugh held the reel ready. Hugh kept the pole steady.

“Fishing,” Hugh repeated. “For regular old, fish.”

Hugh sat in the boat. It continued to drift. The blue ocean completely surrounded Hugh. The blue sky spread wide over him. There was no sign of land. Only blue stretching on blue. Hugh fished for several minutes. He caught nothing. Hugh reeled in an empty hook. He threw his line back in again.

Hugh inhaled in the ocean air. It was clear, with hardly a trace of salt.

Hugh waited.

Hugh waited.

Hugh waited.

Then Hugh felt a tug. Hugh stopped waiting.

“Fish,” Hugh said, “the regular old fish.”

Hugh spun the reel. Hugh pulled the line. Hugh fished up his catch.

Death was on the end of Hugh’s hook.

“Oh, thank the lord, Heaven, Jesus Christ,” Hugh said. “It’s just you.”

“Hello, Hugh,” Death said. The hook was caught between his teeth.

“Didn’t expect you there, but geez,” Hugh went on, “am I glad it’s you, and not like, some stupid living ethical dilemma.”

“Ah,” Death said, “thank you for your kind words.”

Death hung from the fishing line. His head poked up from the water. He stared up at the boat.

“Hey,” Hugh said, “you can get in here, you know, if you wanna. Boat’s cramped, but there’s probably room for two.”

“Oh,” Death replied. “Thank you. I will do that.”

Hugh reeled Death to the boat. Hugh grabbed onto Death’s hands, and pulled him in. The boat rocked side-to-side on the waves.

Death settled himself on the other end of the boat, as Hugh gathered his line back together.

“I wanted to feel what water was like,” Death explained.

“Water?” Hugh said. “Could’ve picked a better place than a classroom for that, you know.”

“Yes. I see that now. What are you doing, Hugh?”

Hugh blinked. “Uh. Geez. Classroom fishing, I guess. You’re my first catch, actually.”

Death did not blink. “I see. An honor, Hugh.”

“Er, I dunno about that. Hey, watch out,” Hugh angled his fishing rod back, and slung it into the water. “There.”

A sea breeze swept over Hugh and Death. It curled around the two. It swayed the boat, swayed, swayed it away.

“You know,” Hugh said, “you can fish too, if you wanna. Not to force you or anything. But if you got nothing better, and you think you wanna try, feel free.”

“Ah,” Death said. “Please explain.”

“Fishing. It’s like… you know, fishing, you try to catch fish. Uh, and fish, fish are like those little animals that live in the water.”

“Ah.”

Death leaned to the water. Death pressed his hand on the surface. Death pressed his hand further in. Death sank his hand into the water. Death waited for a fish to catch.

“Uh… you know, honestly, I see where my dumb little explanation screwed up here,” Hugh said. “But you gotta have one of these pole things to fish. Just makes the whole process easier.”

“I see. Where can I get one of these poles?”

“Here, I’ll--” Hugh felt something tug at his line, “hold on a sec.”

Hugh reeled the fishing rod up. On the end of the fishing rod was another, identical fishing rod.

“Huh,” Hugh remarked. “Sure is… convenient.”

“Oh, there’s one,” Death said.

“You know,” Hugh said, “it’s kinda suspicious that I got this thing right when I needed it,” he continued, “but you know? Whatever. I’ll live with it. Don’t wanna have to share a pole if I got two.” Hugh passed his pole to Death. “Here. You use my pole, and I’ll use the sketchy pole.”

“Thank you.”

Hugh waved the pole in the air. “Now, just do like me, okay? I’ll try to be specific this time. You just gotta, hold the rod like this-- like that, yeah, and cast it,” Hugh cast the line, “then wait ‘til you feel some kinda tug at the end of the line. If you feel something, it’s probably a fish, trying to eat your hook. Once you got that tug, reel it in, with this thing,” Hugh reeled the line in, “and you can take the fish from right here.”

“Okay, Hugh. I will try.”

“Okay. And if you don’t do so good, or don’t like it, just quit. Simple as that.”

“I will, Hugh.”

“Okay. Well, lemme stop yammering into your ear now. Time to fish.”

Hugh angled his hook back into the waters. The world was quiet.

Hugh waited.

Hugh felt strange, sitting in his tiny ship. Everything around Hugh felt strange. Here he was, Hugh thought. He was plopped on top of a boat. The boat was flat on the ocean. The ocean stopped straight at the horizon. The sky stretched over the horizon. A single, white cloud swam as a whale above. And Hugh was a speck below. Hugh felt like a toy, in a world like a toy set, or a child’s bathtub. The toy boat continued to drift on the sea. The sea continued to stretch beyond the boat. There was nothing beyond it, Hugh knew-- save maybe, far away, the white edges of the tub.

Then, Hugh felt a tug. Hugh fished the tug up. On the hook, a perfectly smooth sphere, with glowing clouds of many colors.

“You want this?” Hugh held the sphere in one hand. Death shook their head. Hugh set the sphere down on the boat. He could hear faint whispers from inside its core.

“We’ll just set it here then, and hope it doesn’t go off and kill us.”

Hugh fished again. Hugh fished the hook up.

This time, Hugh fished up a can. The can swam with a school of boots, tires, and other cans. They jittered at Hugh. “Okay, okay, jeez, quit worrying,” Hugh said. He threw the can back in. The school quickly swam away.

Hugh fished again.

Hugh fished up the boat of the Concept of Gravity, his classmate. “Hey,” Hugh said. The Concept of Gravity pressed down on the planet at a constant rate of force towards the center. “See you,” Hugh said. The Concept of Gravity’s boat sailed away. She continued to press down on the planet at a constant rate of force towards the center.

Hugh fished again.

Hugh fished up Ms. Plais. Ms. Plais spat out water. She asked:

“What is the product of 18 and 24? This will be on the test later.”

Hugh replied: “432.”

Ms. Plais unhooked herself from the fishing rod, then sank back into the deep.

Hugh fished again.

Hugh fished up the lost continent of Atlantis. It was heavy. Hugh tossed it back into the ocean. Catch and release.

After fishing for hours, Hugh leaned back in his boat, stretched his shoulders, and rolled his neck around. Quietly, he rested his eyes on the white, glistening shimmers of the sea. Tiny peaks of ocean carried single drops of sunlight, carried, carried them away. Each one rose and sank over another in a steady rhythm, set to the music of the waves. Hugh watched his boat carve out its trail through the peaks, watched the trail gently cleave the water behind him, then watched the trail fade far away.

“You know,” Hugh began to say, “for real. If I’ve ever gone this long here in school without something trying to teach me some backhanded lesson, or getting monsters sent after me, or trapped in a crazy hell maze, or whatever, I can’t remember it.”

Death continued fishing. “Is this good?”

Hugh laid back.

“Tch. I dunno. It’s weird. That’s what it is. It’s like I’m just waiting for all this to turn on me.”

Hugh felt a tug at the line. Hugh fished it up.

A large, bloodthirsty, man-eating kraken hung from the hook.

“Oh, there it goes. Never mind, everything’s normal,” Hugh said.

Hugh tossed the kraken back far into the sea.

Hugh continued fishing.

After another hour, Hugh stopped, and took a swig of water. In the blue distance, he caught the sight of a brown speck sailing in towards them. Hugh set his bottle down. As the speck came closer, he could see the shape of another boat. As it came closer, Hugh could hear a voice shout faintly from the boat: As it came even closer, he heard the voice say:

“Hyoooooo! Yo-ho! Yo-ho!”

Hugh put his hands into a cup around his mouth. “Molock? That you?” Hugh shouted.

“Hah! You remember! Huuuuugh! Huuuuugh Detention Guy! Hold up!”

Molock sailed his boat over and parked it next to Hugh’s. He stood tall on his small ship, with horns reaching high in the air, the stance of a proud captain. Heaps of fish sat on the other end of his boat.

Hugh blinked. “Molock. In class already, huh. You okay?”

“Aww. You’re so sweet Hugh! Worrying about me…” Molock chuckled. “But it’s no biggie. I feel great. Anyways, hey, look what I can do!”

Molock dug a claw into a fish. Fire swelled over the fish. The fire subsided. Underneath, the fish had become a large, bloodthirsty, man-eating kraken.

“Cool, right?”

“That’s…” Hugh said, “pretty awful, actually.”

“Nope, it’s cool! Now…” Molock threw the kraken into the ocean. The kraken swam a circle around itself, then darted down into darker waters. “Ta-da! A Molock original!”

Death felt a pull on the fishing line.

“Uh, okay Molock.”

“Impressed, Hugh?”

“Uh, you want me to be honest, or...”

“Of course!”

“Uh, actually, I dunno that you do.”

Molock pouted.

“Hugh. I just want a little approval. Can’t you just give it to me?”

“Hold that for a sec,” Hugh said.

Another boat sailed by towards Hugh. Al was on top of the boat. Al waved to Hugh. Hugh waved to Al.

“Hey! Hey! Over here!” Hugh shouted. “Geez, guy needs glasses, I swear. Hey! Right here!”

Al’s boat floated a steady path to Hugh. Its bow pierced through the clear air, pointing closer into view. Then, as it came near, Al turned, and parked the boat right on Hugh’s other side. Three boats now floated together on the ocean surface.

Al looked to Hugh. “Hey, Hugh,” he said. “Hey, uh… oh, hello, I guess we’ve never met.” Al looked to Death, then Molock.

“Friends of mine. Uh. I guess,” Hugh replied.

Al laughed. “Wow. You have friends other than me? This is crazy. Unprecedented. I gotta sit for this one.”

“Oh, get off it,” Hugh said. “Guys, this is my roommate, Al. Feel free to introduce yourselves.”

“Wait,” Molock said.

“Al,” Death repeated.

“Roommate?” Molock said.

Molock and Death stared at Al. Al stood still.

“Uh, okay then. Nice names, you two.”

“So you’re the roommate…” Molock said. His eyes sized Al up, from top to bottom. “Huh.”

“Huh? Why the huh?” Al said.

“Huh. I see,” Molock said. “Anyways. I’m Molock.”

Al blinked. “What’s the ‘huh’ about? Huh?”

“Nothing,” Molock replied. “Nothing big, anyways. Let’s just drop it for now, okay?”

Al squinted. “Uh. Okay?”

Death stood up from his seat. “I’m Hugh’s friend.” Death extended a hand to Al. Al, stuck in his own boat, couldn’t reach their hand. Death sat back down.

“Got that,” Al said. “Anyways…”

“I mean,” Molock continued, “you’re just… not what I expected. You know?”

Al blinked again. “Hey, what happened to dropping it?” Al turned to Hugh. “Hugh, don’t tell me. Have you been gossiping about me to all your friends?”

“What? You? You gotta be joking. You think all I talk about is you?”

“I can’t believe this, ���Al said. “Here I thought you were a sweet, innocent, trustworthy friend, and now I see you’ve betrayed me like this. I cannot believe this.”

“God Al, I can’t believe you.”

Al blew a raspberry, then grinned. “Anyways. Personal attacks and betrayals aside… I just came over to show off my haul. Look here, Hugh.” Al blew a fanfare with his mouth, and presented a stack of fish behind him. Their scales shone like jewel facets in the sun. Their eyes hummed many colors. They piled and piled up like a hill on Al’s boat.

“Oh. Huh,” Molock said, carefully nonchalant. “That’s okay, I guess. Perfectly fine, for the average person.”

Molock leaned slightly in his boat, again revealing his own stock of fish.

“Hey…” Al said. “You. Molock, right? You aren’t trying to start anything, are you? Cause if you’re trying to start something...”

“What? Me? Nah, no way!”

Al’s eyes squinted tighter. He reached into his pile. “Right. That’s good cause, no way anyone’s got something more impressive than my catch here. Check this out, guys,” Al held up an enormous fish. Its many wings shuddered. Its horns were sharp. “This one’s at least 60 pounds, I bet. Eh?”

Molock coughed.

Another large, bloodthirsty, man-eating kraken wriggled up from Molock’s pile of fish. “Oh!” Molock exclaimed. “Sorry. These guys are always so frisky.”

Al frowned. “Nasty,” Al said, “I think that’s a better word.”

“Wow, you really aren’t what I expected.”

“Hey, are you gonna tell me what that means already? Huh?”

“Well…”

“God,” Hugh said. “We all sound like big stupid kids.”

Molock and Al looked at Hugh. Their three boats swayed to one rhythm, as the afternoon wind settled down. The sun began to dip into the waters. Molten light flecked the sea surface with flowing gold scales. The outlines behind each of the students were lit with a soft orange flame.

“I mean, we are,” Hugh remarked. “We’re all big stupid kids.”

Suddenly, Death stood up. “Oh,” Death said. “I think…”

Death reeled in his hook. The line retracted back, and pulled up out of the water. At its end, an ordinary, small mackerel wriggled in the air.

“A regular old mackerel, huh,” Hugh said. “Ew. I just thought, huh, that kinda makes sense.”

Death placed the mackerel’s twitching body into the boat. Death stared at it. Hugh stared at it. Molock stared at it. Al stared at it.

Hugh listened to the rattle of the ocean waves.

“So like,” Hugh said, “does anyone here have any clue what grade we’re getting for this.”

The four were silent. The single white cloud now floated far in the distance.

Al shrugged his shoulders. “Beats me.”

[peterhongwrites]

(Ch. 6) Hugh Jadhav: 8 Legendary School Supplies

Hear, Hugh Jadhav, hear: the Legend of the 8 Legendary School Supplies!

Sprawling throughout the many realms of the Ambrosia School of Burgeoning Divinities, a single legend travels through hushed whispers and folk tales. It is the Legend of the 8 Legendary School Supplies. Each of the 8 Legendary School Supplies hides a powerful, tremendous power. Each was forged by one of the 8 powerful Legendary Staff Members. They are hidden in powerful, forbidden places. They are guarded by powerful, terrible Guardians. They are numbered:

1. The Genesis Pencil

First among the 8 Legendary School Supplies, is the Genesis Pencil. The Genesis Pencil is a small #2 pencil, said to be capable of creating entire continents through its writings and drawings. It is believed to have been forged with wood fibers from each of the school’s thousand floors and homerooms, and set with graphite tempered in the heart of creation. Witnesses of the Genesis Pencil’s power state that a single stroke of its lead brought forth entire sections of the school; their skies, their halls, their classrooms, their seas, their mountains, their students. It is valid on all tests, and does not need extensive sharpening.

The Genesis Pencil is thought to be father of all the 8 Legends.

2. The Eraser Omega

The second of the 8 is the Eraser Omega. According to school-wide myth, the Eraser Omega was formed out of the rubber of a non-existent tree, and may erase anything on which it rubs itself upon. Where its pink skin touches, it leaves only void, and faint wispy shavings.

It is said that the Eraser Omega and the Genesis Pencil waged a great war against one another on a certain test, leaving a place where one’s existence would dim and flare intermittently through each question. The whereabouts of this test are unknown. Accounts conflict on the subject.

3. The Silken Backpack

The third of the 8 is the Silken Backpack. It is a backpack spun from pure gold thread, sewn with several roomy compartments and many convenient pockets. Of special note is its back pocket, imbued with the ability to produce any object the backpack’s wearer needs. Little other information exists on this particular Legendary School Supply. Beware the temptation of the Silken Backpack.

4. The Inch Ruler of Heaven’s Mandate

The fourth of the 8 is the Inch Ruler of Heaven’s Mandate. Anything measured with the Inch Ruler of Heaven’s Mandate is given a rating on any criteria its wielder wishes. The rating the Inch Ruler of Heaven’s Mandate declares is absolute; it becomes objective, universal fact.

There exists a story passed down from the many regions of the Science Wing that a student once measured something with the Ruler, which found the aforementioned something to be Good. The moralities of all things, from all realities, were irreversibly changed since. Knowing an objective Good, the many worlds bent their ideals around it.

5. The Binding Binder

The fifth of the 8, the Binding Binder, is an 2-inch loose-leaf binder which can imprison anything within its three-metal rings.

The legends say this about the Binding Binder. In its first ring, the Binder holds things of physical substance. In its third ring, it holds the things of the conceptual world. In the second, things of liminal status. If one were to look inside the Binding Binder, they would first see hidden planets, desk drawers, papers, forgotten figures, pens, continents, and other tangible objects orbiting around the chain of first ring; then watch as the tangible slowly gave way to the intangible, beginning with the half-conceptual and subjective (friends, wise sayings, kind whispers) and eventually moving to pure, long sealed concepts (which include lost color, two forgotten emotions, a terrible grief, and more). It is incredibly space-conscious, and has a painted graphic on its cover.

6. The Pocket Aegis

The sixth of the 8, the Pocket Aegis, is a pocket protector capable of protecting its wearer from death 13 times.

Long ago, its original user met an unfortunate fate after a 14th consecutive slip on a wet, freshly mopped hallway floor. At their funeral, which all the students of the school attended, the original wearer was buried in a locker, as most agreed it fit well with their sense of fashion.

7. The Light

Thousands have been victim to the Light, seventh of the 8 Legendary School Supplies. The Light is an incredibly powerful and incredibly dangerous highlighter pen. Any object or being marked with the Light begins to radiate an irresistible importance and relevance. Those who witness the Light’s bright neon ink will soon think of nothing else.

Areas that have come in contact with the Light are said to have been put away by the Principal himself. Stories conflict on the fates of the students and faculty members enraptured by the Light: in the Eastern regions of the school, it is told that the victims of the Light, unable to leave their obsessions behind, were exiled away to a hidden land along with them; in Western and Northern sectors of the school, it is generally believed that the afflicted, deprived of their fixations, became one with the walls where they stood, and that their voices may still be heard quietly from within them.

The Light contains several different colors of ink: yellow, green, blue, pink, and orange.

8. The Conceptual Calculator

The eighth and final legendary school supply, the Conceptual Calculator, is a compact calculator with buttons for all known concepts and existences printed on its surface. With the Conceptual Calculator, one can calculate the combinations of any two or more things. Legend states that the Conceptual Calculator was confiscated and hidden after a student used it to calculate the sum of yellow and utilitarianism, during a closed-note exam. Said student is rumored to still be in detention to this day.

9. A Ninth Legendary School Supply

Whispers exist of a secret 9th Legendary School Supply, but none have been able to confirm its existence.

Heed the power of the 8 Legendary School Supplies. Beware their harrowed influence. For if any one of the eight should fall into any being’s hands-- the worlds will be shaped by their few fingers!