I've been wanting to bring myself into writing again, since it was something that when younger I always thought I'd do forever. Some of my writing below:
(Feedback would of course be appreciated! I'm trying to figure out where to go with my writing.)
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Short Story: Daetraho (2010)
! Shortly after finishing my higher education, which did its job of turning me into a man of
logic and science, I came upon one of the greatest discoveries anyone has made in years. This
was around the time that our technological knowledge increased enough for most of us to
abandon our interest in the natural sciences, as it became clear technology would bring us more
power than the exploration of our rather aged planet.
It took place during one of my frequent visits to the Colombian countryside, one of my
many homes and the source of life for half of my family. Following an enjoyable discussion with
my family on the cultural impact of fixed prices as opposed to open bargaining, I strolled outside
to enjoy a night sky that would not be visible almost elsewhere due to the disease of light
pollution. At first, my most pressing emotion was the urge to understand the way of life of those
who have knowingly done the same thing for decades (as opposed to the rest of us, who end up
doing it unknowingly), but this abstract matter soon abandoned me as a glitter went by my legs,
making a scraping noise where it touched my american blue-jeans. Luckily, the night was clear,
allowing me to see the small creature that had stopped right in front of me to gaze at the moon
that like a mirror was retuning its gaze.
The creature was one that my imagination could have not conceived had I not first seen it.
My first impression was that it was some sort of ferret, with sleek hair that shone as brightly as
the stars. A closer look, however, allowed me to see this creature came nowhere near such a
common label. Its ears were remarkably long, almost as long as its body, and they were freely
fluttering in the wind like silk tassels; until it saw me, at which point they became as rigid and
sharp as blades, sticking out of its head like a pair of antennae long enough to reach my chest
from the ground. Its eyes pierced me like those of an eagle, but what shocked me more was its
face, which had the pointy, stuck-out nose of a hound and a wide, tooth-less mouth similar in
shape to that of an ape.
Apparently, the creature was less surprised by me than I was by it, as in seconds its ears
went back to their original form and its face became less tense, almost smiling, if it was even
possible for this creature to do so. As I began to recover my nerves, the creature approached me
and curled itself around my leg close to the spot where it had touched me before as it ran. Its ears
began to vibrate and produce soothing noises, and a look at its face reassured me that this was
not a rural demon. As minutes passed it became obvious this strange being would remain
attached to me (rather quickly, I thought) and would probably follow me inside as soon as I felt it
appropriate. I hope this part of my account will satisfy the dozen or so hunters that have
approached me wondering what kind of technique I employed to capture such a swift creature
without producing any type of physical or psychological harm.
Before proceeding with the experiences I had with my new companion, I find it necessary
to share some data on this creature. Being no biologist of any kind, I fear I can only mention
those things I was able to take note of at that time from plain observation.
First of all, the image I perceived during my first encounter with the creature was
reaffirmed by closer observation, with the exception of the eyes. I quickly noticed under the light
of day that its eyes were foggy, probably affected by cataracts. Whether this was some sort of
attained condition or its natural state I cannot tell. Nevertheless, even if the creature was unable
to see the way we humans do, it was a certain fact that its gaze was extremely communicative.
This is something I confirmed from the comments of other people who had the chance to see it
up close: everyone remarked on how it was very easy to understand what this creature felt from
the way it looked at you.
The second interesting observation was regarding its skin. It was, at first, arguably
impossible to see its skin due to the nature of its fur, which was so greasy some of us conjectured
its skin did not produce sweat but some sort of natural glue similar to that of trees. Actually, it
was initially possible that what we thought was hair was actually the skin surface, until we saw
that, like human hair, it fell, grew back, and could be poked and slashed with sharp objects
without producing scars or blood. Following this discovery we made numerous attempts at
reaching its actual surface, but unfortunately we were unable to, as whenever we went too deep
in its fur with one of our tools, it became impossible to move the tool further in or out due to the
stickiness of its grease. For a long time this was a source of humor, the fact that the creature was
forced by circumstance to continue living while having pens and prongs eternally stuck to its fur.
I must also note that the fur had a greenish tone reminiscent of moss, although some of us who
observed it early on noticed occasional shades of pink, silver, or blue.
A third observation worthy of note dealt with its movement. During the night I witnessed it
first it had been impossible to categorize his movement through the earth as the crawling of a
snake or the quick, small steps of a ferret. The answer was much more fascinating. This creature
had two large forelegs close to its neck area. These were somewhat thick, and could be
considered smaller versions of the legs of a fox or a common dog. Immediately behind these
forelegs were many more legs, and the further these were from the creature’s head the smaller
they became, until they became lost in the fur. Most of us theorized that the creature probably
had an infinite amount of legs, infinitely decreasing in size to fit its body length completely from
neck to tail. One of the local pig breeders claims to have counted eighty-two legs before he lost
count and visibility (as his magnifying glass became yet another object eternally stuck to the fur.)
These legs moved at ridiculous speeds when it was touching the ground, something that made its
movement silent and graceful.
The last remarkable observation we were able to make at that point was that its mouth was
only used for facial expressions. The creature did not eat any food we gave it, and whenever we
opened its mouth to understand why, we only saw a deep, black hole, devoid of color, smell and
purpose. Also, as mentioned before, it emitted sounds not from within but through vibrations of
its ears. When its ears were in their tassel-like form, the sounds were soothing and harmonious.
When its ears were sharp and alert, the sounds emitted were noisy and exasperating, like chalk
on a blackboard, releasing one’s anger with only seconds of hearing it. I recall that someone who
came to observe the creature days following its discovery, probably a tourist of the region, made
the astute observation that both sounds had the common ability of distracting its hearers from
any other source, and theorized that this might be the demon responsible for the lack of interest
and attention people in small towns show towards global movements and politics. However,
remembering my first encounter with the creature, I remained convinced that it was not a demon.
The days passed quickly in the Colombian countryside as the interest of the local people
over the creature grew. However, the time for me to return to the United States came, and seeing
how the creature was attached to me since our meeting, I had to go through the difficulty of
traveling with it. The concerns I had to face to be able to bring it from one country to another by
plane were many, and I have decided not to steal away the reader’s time by explaining in detail
how exactly it was done. Eventually, I found myself in my apartment in Miami, with this curious
creature as my companion.
Here began a series of events most of those who read this will recognize, as the coverage
from the media was unsurprisingly excessive. With help from certain close friends from my
university days, I was able to rock the scientific community with this discovery and it soon
became a popular image in all publications, local and international. As more and more people
came to know the creature, the public reaction kept on changing from surprise and ecstasy to fear
and disgust. Animal rights groups often attacked me to “free” the animal, while scientists often
used legal tools, such as lawyers, to also pry it away from my custody for the sake of their
business. Some religions and cults saw it as holy and literally sent me artifacts and written
prayers for “His consideration”, while other religious groups saw unholiness in its features and
asked for its sacrifice. The madness, many will remember, continued for months, although it took
less time before the creature fueled more controversy through its unexpected changes.
Indeed, upon its arrival to the North American country, its behavior became much more
erratic. The presence of technology sent it on frenzies, often involving constant changes in
temperament and excessive shedding of its fur. The most surprising moment was when, during
one of these frenzies, the creature found several of my personal gadgets–cellphone, electronic
agenda, watch, portable video game, MP3 player, etc.–and began to violently eat them, stopping
only to vomit a phlegm of a light blue color that made seemed radioactive. This incident was
from then on a common occurrence, and to my misfortune I had to pay thousands of dollars to
replace the property of journalists, scientists and other personalities that came to study the
creature. Not only was there a problem in the fact that it began eating such devices, but also in
the fact that, even though it was losing more hair than normal, more and more objects became
stuck to its skin. I was informed by scientists that this might be a result of more frequent
vibrating of its ears, which somehow created magnetic fields that drew towards its body small
metallic objects that then became stuck to its skin.
As the media cared to show the public, these erratic changes led to a completely different
appearance from that I first saw in that moonlit night in the countryside. Its fur completely fell
out revealing black scales covered in greenish goo that was probably the source of its natural
glue. The eating rampage left its lips scarred and reddish from cuts caused by chips and glass,
while the loss of fur made its hound-like nose seem more like a scaly horn with holes. Its eyes
became glassy and clear, and the creature communicated more awkwardly than before, meaning
that, ironically, the loss of its cataracts essentially harmed its perception of our world and our
perception of its condition. Meanwhile, the sheer amount objects that became stuck to it quickly
decomposed (thanks to the greenish goo) into a rotten pile of oxidized metal that turned into a
solid shell covering the creature’s body, mostly its back. This made his movements sluggish,
awkward, and it became clear it was moving by the effort of his two foremost legs, while the
smaller ones behind dragged as they were unable to carry the load on its back.
The end of the creature’s life was announced with the last change it faced. One afternoon it
ceased completely to use its ears, which fell like sticks to the ground, limp and useless, looking
more like roots in their furless state. The harmonious sounds that I had gotten so joyously
accustomed to thus ended, to be replaced by what I can only call the most infernal noise emitted
in this world. Instead of pleasant vibrations, this sound consists of a heavy, occasionally highpitched
grunt that goes on eternally and ceases only for seconds during the day. It did not come
from the limp ears but from its previously purposeless throat, and with each hellish grunt also
came drips of the disgusting, light-blue fluid.
Three days of enduring that noise finally managed to destroy my faith in the creature, and
just as quickly as it had become attached to me I began to think of it as the monster it had
become: a resentful demon that, in its pain from the load it so willingly adopted, had decided to
release its anger and frustration towards me through that exasperating grunt. Distracted for such
a long time from my thoughts and desires, I finally decided to unceremoniously destroy the
pathetic life of the creature that had captured my attention and surprise on that distant night in
the simple countryside of a forgotten country. I smashed its head several times with a baseball
bat, thinking only of the freedom its death would bring to my life. But by some irony of fate, and
probably as some sort of sick vengeance on me for having brought it to an environment filled
with frustration and distraction, the creature’s demonic grunt continues to ramble within my
head, haunting me during my now constant nights of insomnia and taunting me sometimes with
the promise of freedom that shall only come with my own death.
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Random writing I did that I'm considering developing into a full story(2013):
! No man can claim more confidence or comfort than Johannes Harling. As he waltzes around the streets, his amber-colored suede jacket flapping incessantly in the summer breeze, he gazes forward at all times. Never fearing a pebble in his path or the scurry of a stray roach, never wondering if a step might bring the doom missteps had brought to greater men.
It would be hard for anyone to imagine that this man, now on his way to dictate the future of hundreds of men, came from a history of insecurity and fear and a culture that, were it not for him, would have brought stagnation and dust to the legacy of his family.
“Johan, I have no problem admitting that your face is the ugliest I have had the misfortune to look at,” His mother, Sofia, would tell him often during the many meals they shared in the solitude of a family of five. “But if you must take anything from that is that if you don’t have drive in life you won’t get anywhere thanks to those looks.”
This love often shown by his mother was abundant from other people in his life since he was young. So beloved was he that within his first four years of life he had accumulated an astounding catalogue of nicknames. So many, in fact, that before finally getting used to the sound of Johannes at the age of eight, he would respond to Fistface, Foulgaze, Buffalo, Fugalo, Eyesore, Mindsore, Wallsnogger, Anti-lust, Miracleproof, Surgeon’s Bane, Sophie’s easiest choice (his mother’s favorite) and the ever classic Buttface.
Not being comfortable with so much warmth during his youth, Johannes would often find himself locked in his room while the world went by outside. Through those books he could ignore the constant talk of visitors and siblings, and forget the daily hazards and chores of living in the rural town of Suchua. He could forget about handling pigs and chickens and feeding his father’s trotting horses, and instead immerse himself into the simple charm of Orwell’s Animal Farm.
“Hey, wallsnogger, what are you reading? Is it some girl book?” would say his ever-eloquent brother Hunter upon entering their shared room. Johannes would then consider answering that it was actually a book about animals in which Hunter himself seemed to be the pig protagonist, but a couple seconds thereafter he would realize a couple of punches would bring no help to his already unfortunate face. Instead he’d close the book and pretend to be doing something boyish.
“Why do you always touch your balls when I ask you that? You’re so weird, I’m telling mom.” And thus Hunter would bother him no more that day.
It’s not that Hunter was a bad person, but unlike Johannes he was more connected to that stagnation that his family was particularly fond of. His great aspiration in life was to follow in the steps of his father, Stephan Harling, who had earlier in his life inherited the farm bought by his grandfather during the first days of Suchua. Due to this desire, Hunter was probably the most boring of the Johannes’s siblings, all of whom were considerably eager to ascend from the boring family farm life, but no more likely to escape it. Joan, for example, always aspired to design furniture and would often be found giving advice to neighbors on how to further improve the ambiance of their living room while only spending a handful of coins on extra yarn and a couple of buttons. However, due to the fact she was six years older than Johannes and eight older than Hunter, her aspirations had began to die of old age as she took over the duties of their mother at the age of fourteen, as every rightful daughter was meant to do. Johannes would often look at her and feel bad that being a woman had imprisoned Joan so much. Perhaps it was this feeling that gave rise to his habit of touching his testicles when trying to establish his manliness. After all, in this town they were the keys to a freedom Joan would never have.
“I do have a drive mom,” Johannes responded to the loving comment of his mother after reflecting on his manliness during dinner.
“I’m happy to hear that hon,” responded Sofia more out of habit than interest while she busied herself with cutting her husband’s meat.
“I want to travel to the city and write books!” he finally yelled exuberantly, anticipating that Hunter would otherwise intercede with his daily anecdote on which type of fertilizer was easier to throw.
“That’s great, Johan. If people only see your words, I guess you don’t have to worry about your face after all!” Responded his mother while forcibly dissecting the stubborn meat.
Johannes was glad to know his mother was eager to support him. While Hunter resumed his fertilizer stories, he couldn’t help but wonder what sorts of books he’d write and which farm children would enter his worlds. Perhaps he could do more than Orwell himself and write not just about animals, but also about the world and politics, and even world leaders! His name would be the one lonely boys would memorize in the future, and his stories would be the ones to inspire them to escape a present that was extending itself far too much into the future.
This night and this emotion would remain in his memory even as he walked years later with confidence and comfort by his side. The only thing that managed to escape his memory in those later years, but not his line of sight during that particular night, was the small tear from Joan and her nostalgic smile as the put a neatly triangular piece of meat in her mouth.
