Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

Seducing Medusa
Seducing Medusa
Seducing Medusa
Ebook320 pages4 hours

Seducing Medusa

Rating: 0 out of 5 stars

()

Read preview

About this ebook

A True Love story about a man with a mental illness who must go on a quest into the Land of Sain to save his unborn daughter.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherScribl
Release dateJan 25, 2018
ISBN9781476361079
Seducing Medusa
Author

"Professor" "Mustard"

some say a rogue ninja who was banished from his village because I remind them of a matter of honor I did and they ignored others an agent for hope come join me

Read more from "Professor" "Mustard"

Related to Seducing Medusa

Related ebooks

Humor & Satire For You

View More

Related articles

Reviews for Seducing Medusa

Rating: 0 out of 5 stars
0 ratings

0 ratings0 reviews

What did you think?

Tap to rate

Review must be at least 10 words

    Book preview

    Seducing Medusa - "Professor" "Mustard"

    CHAPTER 1

    On his wife’s battered space freighter, among the debris left from the Mon invaders, Gord, arriving too late, sifts through the refuse that makes up the hatchery. The Mons who occupied it only a short while, gutted out the hulls, dismantling all the life systems so that now the freighter lays a wasted flame of leaking dark matter, a cemetery of shadows. Signs of life once existing are in the hallways, the outlined borders of the crew’s bodies are burnt into the walls where the light detonated into shadow. Their image burnt into the retina of the distorted chamber corridors, the only thing left to show where once was vibrant life, now entombed with a nameless headstone to mark the passage of their lives and dreams and accomplishments. They disintegrated completely, in the grasp of space’s cold empty vacuum, everything the light touched, left exposed, inside the hollowed out compartments instantly died, vaporized.

    Deeper in the heart of the ship, in the hatchery, broken hatchlings, pups, with their heads cracked open and their hearts, leaking yolks, lay scattered from off the shelves and across the floor.

    On the bottom rack is a pup not quite cooked. It sits on a bolt driven into the hatch and the pup is holding the hand of another puppy, who is immobilized and not yet aware. Gord smiles at the last of his wife’s litter. He breaks off a nuzzle from the main pipe and shakes it into a canister. He examines the contents, it is orange blue yolk, mother’s milk. He looks at the two pups and then back at the remaining yolk, doubtful, there is only enough for one soul.

    Do you want it all for yourself? Gord asks.

    The pup looks at his playmate and looks at the can, looks at his playmate and looks at the can, and a blue light clicks and he shakes his head no and returns to holding his playmate’s hand. Gord smiles again at the little guy,

    Ok, he says, You both will have to share then,

    He pours the soul into both of their open hearts, the batter rising as he seals it. Still no movement from the playmate, Not quite finished, says Gord, and he pulls a piece of clay off of the healthy pup and molds it into the other who now slowly awakes. He reaches down and gingerly holds the two pups in his palms carrying them to the outer deck, where his light radiates while they gaze at a view of infinity above and below.

    Gord talking to the miniature figures in his hands continues, This freighter is five miles long, yet now while traveling, its hull stretches over a distance of twenty million light years. Time and space are bred in the dark, but the light, the crumbling edges, is where we exist.

    The pup opens its mouth in a silent ‘O’.

    Gord lets the breath out of him and sighs, How ironic that I, creator of galaxies, am now confessing my sins to a delicate, fragile newborn just created. The pup made of star matter, shines in a shimmering rainbow spectrum, then it blinks twice in red. Perhaps it is because you are so innocent and pure, you don’t know evil, you do not judge. There are many types of hell, and the Mons are consumers of it, and they have my wife.

    Those spaghetti faces, blinks the creature.

    Gord, fighting his urge to despair, smiles a little, We got to work on your vocabulary. He stares off into space, She thought she could make peace with the Mon, but there is no peace there. They, a race born of char, are invaders from the murky sinkholes of space, they leave worlds, empty strainer holes, dripping, lifeless, burning destroyed rock of waste plummeting through space, fire in the sky, barren of even ash.

    He pauses to see if the immobile creature is taking this in. It nods.

    They are evil scum. They plundered our home world, burning through its resources, using the life to feed, draining it, to fuel their armada of ships to go to the next. The Mon, deMons, even feed on themselves, always battling for power, but under the lash of a new leader, Sain, they, with unspeakable acts against nature, have grown very strong. They rule most of the universe. They are invaders, bred to fight, slaughtering our peaceful loving people, with bodies a fiery mass of muscle and bulk. Cast out of hell they are the flame broiled cattle, coming in as many types and shapes as processed patties, they are called the minotaur, with fire in veins, and hot magma eyes.

    The little creation blinks and a blue light flickers on, then off, I’m want smile tail, it says.

    Gord tickles it beneath its ear, Time is growing scarce, a short definition you should know before we are cast out… We are bitter enemies of the Mons, Gord continues, his eyes lost, searching the night’s maze of stars for answers to questions he doesn’t know, We are Gel, anGels, more water-based. Our bodies are more fragile but we are not the weaker ones. We Gel can manipulate the water in our bodies, into different forms. Like how you were created. Understand?

    The pup sits down crosslegged in his palm and nods its green button head.

    Do you know what the ‘yolk’ is? In the center of each universe, the nuclei? It, is incredible life matter, it itself is alive, it is our Creator, our God. The pup’s eyes open wide and it sucks its cheeks around its thumb.

    Gord continues, his voice changing pitch and sounding like a memorized melody or song, his eyes tear as he sings to the abandoned deck’s bridge, comforting only himself, Think of God as an ocean, and every living thing is a small puddle of the same ocean. We all have water of life in us, even the tiniest insect or plant, we are like puddles of water who are walking in the desert, if just to appreciate God the Ocean more, and when we pass away our life blood flows out of our body and returns back to the sea of souls, our Creator, the Ocean. From greatest to smallest, he tickles the tummy of the Pups, all have a little bit of our Creator in us. Now when all of the water, all of the souls are together, forming one mighty Ocean that’s our God, Understand?

    So when we meet another life form, the God in me bows to the God in you. That’s where all life comes from and goes. However, the Mon, how do I say this? They have dammed the water of life, of God. They block our souls from rejoining the Creator, the Ocean. That is why we fight. That is why they are so horrible, feeding off of suffering, they mutate and pollute the water of life. They are demons and must be stopped.

    "Even the basic nature of our races, fire and water, fight. We are natural enemies, we cannot exist in harmony with them, and neither can they with us.

    But we are different, we have consciousness and compassion. Oh Lord, how many lives have I ended by snuffing out a planet here, Know how much life is in a single cubic square of dirt? An infinity! And I extinguished entire star systems! Insanity! How much blood is on my hands? The ghosts of innocents, those I’ve turned into demons, waiting, pulling, to get their meat hooks in me? Oh Lord, forgive me.. father, mother forgive me…

    I need you to tend a very special garden. Do not be afraid though, you will be in my house and you will never be alone, you now have each other, bonded together now forever, as I, your Father, am to you. You are a puddle who can tap into an ocean, and will always stay connected to your missing half, friend you share a soul with, co-spirit, always alongside you, together you are whole.

    I do not know if it would be better without knowing emotions… but understand we all cast ripples, everything sends out vibrations, but I give you the chance to learn, and if you take it know that what happens to one, through a chain reaction of sorts, organized chaos some call it, happens to all… from small cell vibrating inside a man, to a man vibrating on a planet, and the planet vibrating in a galaxy... on it goes. If you wish this, you will learn the rules, you will be responsible, a player, no longer an innocent, and subject to punishment and loss. Do you want to know emotion? To have a mind? To love? It is your choice, one I shall leave you with.

    The three watch, the puppies holding hands, they stargaze out the observation deck, as galaxies are consumed in the wake of the war, brilliant flashes in the sky, countless star systems, the wasted, are torn apart and forever vanish, yet also they see great exploding systems born.

    We are like god to the natives of these worlds, many species are captured, through much pain, such incredible terrible pain! Some are altered into death machines some go extinct, all suffer.

    Gord, replays the memory and watches again, tears inside his eyes burn anew, as his brothers are slaughtered and his Queen, Even, on a mission of peace, is surrounded and captured by the frigate destroyers of the Mon brigade. The Living Universe makes changes to intercept, but Gord can only hear the laughter of the Mon in deep space, laughing at his wife’s tormented screams, as they force her to swallow several suns, and infect her with their flame. Gord, watching his wife die and become part of the infection, smashes his fist down snapping the countertop. She has a wound that will never heal, and now she is spreading the festering disease.

    Too late, he picks up the tiny stars that once made up her eyes, looking at her, as she looks deep and lovingly at him.

    Bye my Love, I can no longer exist, she whispers.

    You will not die, you will heal from this, he says crying.

    Oh my thorn, now alone on an empty rose stalk, there is no flower left to flourish, but still you protect the idea of the flower. This petal falls further then the wind can carry it.

    Gord must isolate her, her touch is poison, and they both know it. She cries as he leaves her embrace. You must cast me out, my Love, she says, My thorn..

    You, my rose, I will not rest until you are free in my arms again! There is no known cure, but I can stop it from spreading, I can draw the poison out into me, I can do that much. I will send you to the outside of the Universe, but I cannot go, for it is inside my body. I must hurtle you through the stars, in slumber, till the day when you will awake.

    The prison he constructed for the Mons, he now uses on his wife. A new living cell, a new substance of sentience, a living tree, whose wood can hold a spirit, capturing it in the prison of gods, where they stay in hibernated sleep.

    In such a way he captures the spirit of his wife, Even, in a mystical tree.

    Gord turns to his two garden tenders. You can have anything you desire, except, do not eat the fruit of Even, it is tainted, he tells the two with eyes alight and dimples winking. He withdraws his knife, a black thorn, from its scabbard, remember we always have a choice he says, even if it’s just to open our eyes, or take a deep breath.

    Now I must apologize beforehand… His voice trails off with a sad smile, and he swallows the prison tree seed with his wife’s yolk.

    Gord holds the blade up then shoves it with force, puncturing his chest. Pushing the blade, he slowly inches it deeper until leaning forward, in agonized breath, his face, a mask of torment, relaxes and a small sigh escapes his lips as he falls over, dead. The blood seeps out in a pool from the dagger in his heart.

    Something besides lifeblood spills out, some cloudy form, a black sphere swirling, the sickness he swallows from his wife’s veins, the Mon’s poison that will have killed her, but now will ultimately destroy this end of the universe, leaving rotting worlds choked off, and continuing to spread until it eats the heart of each system out.

    It grows big and bigger, consuming; the edge of it crumbles wider and as more items fall inside its swallowing mouth, pockets of fire ignite all around and it begins twirling like a cyclone. Spiraling, the dark fiery mass explodes out of his chest.

    The little pup replays their creator’s words to his soul mate, I will send you to the outside of the Universe, but I cannot go, for it is inside my body. Then, I must hurtle you through the stars, in slumber, till the day when you will awake. The pup reaches out and they hold hands. They step down together.

    As the room compacts around them, shrinking, imploding, they both walk across the counter and, with a slight hesitant pause, step into the chaotic mass growing out Gord’s chest, the first beings to enter the doorway to the outside of the universe, poisoned before it ever began.

    As the stars zoom by, from deep within, the pup listening to the heart beating hears a mystical voice rising, You must follow the Light. Chase it. Chase the Light. You must chase the Light. Chase… the Light…. Chase… Light…. chase Light… chase.... Chase…

    Chase? shakes Moon, Chase wake up!

    CHAPTER 2

    Chase, Chase! Chase, I have to go to yoga, you need to get up, you promised, remember? Let’s see how did you say it? Shackle my treasure tail to your war vessel, the way you phrased your marriage proposal in Klingon, and Yes, my answer to your question, by the way. Ha! You’re such a dumbass! He hears laughter and smiles through the window of pain, before sleep pulls him back down, a naked lamb chained to a mountain train.

    A parting vision, it is of the goose waiting for soup, talking to a pathologist in a suit behind a desk cubical, she repeats again, If there is a fly in my soup I shall say, in a dignified voice, You’re Quackers! and if they wish me to deliver eggs they must serve me crackers! I don’t want eggs! I want world peace! and Chase awakes from a long distant dream.

    He was given a mission, a mission of greatest importance, to save… save… what? It’s forgotten, he remembers seeing screaming faces in the spreading darkness ignite in the wake of the retreating light. The whole cosmos yielding in desperate need of salvation, in great pain, something only he can do to save them, an atom bomb of urgency ticking in impending doom, groping hands pulling at him to rescue them, crying anguished pleas, save… or else… or else… what? it’s gone. Chase finds himself inside the comfort of his economical sized two bedroom apartment.

    An alarm is ringing, the same one, he has the vague recollect, piercing his dreams hours ago, becoming the background soundtrack to his nightmare. The screeching picks up speed and shrieks into his bloated overloaded sensory drive. His mind, on fire, is overwhelmed processing a mammoth hangover with amplified awareness of other invading sounds, of roosters and crows giving sermons from rooftops with microphones, before turning into T.V. static. Shapes cling to the ceiling and stick like peanut butter pancake batter in his sight. The bright light coming in through the window pane shines in a kaleidoscope of colors that he recoils from as if it is a giant roach-woman searching for love, antennas rapidly frisking him, pulling him in her and sucking clean his insides, in the dark and savage corners of his mind. Objects in his vision cascade and dance, banging, shrieking, yelling, mockingbirds, scaring the train conductor as he blows the whistle, the shadows crawl rapidly back up the walls, the pain is too intense for him to ignore, he needs desperate relief.

    He rows an aircraft carrier through his ear canal, flooding the sewage grates deprecating up out his suffocating head, wishing to board her, the kamikaze swarm of flies puncture his swollen bloodshot eyes, seeing his room’s objects disintegrate into ash, the final nuke explodes, his ship drowning in a typhoon redeemed unsalvageable, he shipwrecks into the siren’s rocks.

    His fingers push into his temple sinking into his brain, to break in and pull it out. He yanks the cords connecting the back of his brain to the alarm clock, fumbling for them on the floor, he, successfully rips every plug from the wall outlet out, as the ceramic desert mosaic style lamp goes crashing down and shatters into twenty pieces. The buzzing stops abruptly.

    His migraine hangover headache is a torture he, with his own unaided will, cannot endure alone. He needs the help of something higher, or more immediately, some drugs. He rolls onto the floor now, swimming over the industrial carpet of dirty clothes and boxes of books, all types of poetry and spirituality, of Zen masters, religion and witch craft, voodoo, and parenting and trashy romance, animals, druids, mythology, knocking over the latest one, Birdhouse Blueprints, his plan to build birdhouse condos all along the roof of the complex. His heart racing in survival mode, now he hunts the top of his night table knocking everything over ripping the drawers open, searching for the white plastic bottle with burning red top, till finally he, struggling with the child proof safety top takes a handful of pills and waits for them to kick in, thinking ‘Oh my God this is bad, the worst ever’ he tries to remember and can only think of Star trek, why?

    The last thing he remembers is being in charge of his girlfriend’s sister, Hailey. It was a costume party and he had dressed up, last minute, very badly, as a Klingon in Star Trek. His mission was to ‘keep Hailey happy and away from her ex - Jack’, and boldly go where no man has ever gone before.

    He remembers sticking very tightly to the costume party code and throwing himself into the role. The stupid Klingon translation book he had stuck to all night, might have been a little over the top, perhaps really annoying to others, but for a moment of time, he was more then an ordinary man, he was a representative of star council high command, a Klingon, on a mission of peace to pilot the Vulcan cruiser across space into the depths of deep oblivion.

    He remembers up to the point of playing an intense few games of quarters, and standing on top of his chair and lightly pelting his girlfriend Moon and her other friends with change to make it hail, not rich enough to rain. He remembers calling Jack a dickhead and telling him to go fuck himself, an insult made doubly worse, in his mind, by his perfect pronunciation of each word in the Klingon tongue, something he felt was lost on the crowd but is a lot harder than one might think, but the point was made with fists punching into faces and then his masterful stroke of genius when the cops arrived, of quickly switching costumes from Klingon to a cheap mask of Treebeard, the walking and talking tree, saying great pick-up lines like ‘Got Wood?’ and ‘You’re not sinning if the fruits not forbidden! and You’re apples, I’m oranges, and together we make a perfect pear.’ and scurrying out the back door, with Hailey, to meet up with the main group back on their home ground at the Morgue, their local bar, where Moon works at. The rest of the evening is blacked out and remains even more shady and evading.

    From out of his room he hears ‘Dancing with Wolves’ playing on the TV again. Chase, the director, takes the last two coffee biscotti cookies from his hidden stash in his sock drawer, and goes out to practice lines with Magnolia their actress in training. The biscotti are heavenly and he savors the first bite, as it fills him with joy but then it leaves an emptiness, and his fiend cries out in wait for the next bite to fulfill his taste buds dark power, satisfaction never complete.

    He gets ready for his role as a Native American brave as, laying on the carpet, propped on elbows, smiling in her bunny pajamas, long hair disheveled, is Magnolia his friend.

    Squall, me seek Moon, howl howl

    How how? says Magnolia, suddenly very serious and in her role, She out yoga, with master Yoda, uh… medicine man.

    He nods, she is at yoga practice with Drew, the Star Wars nutcase.

    Me hungry need biscotti. She rubs her tummy maintaining a stern face, and motions in the shape of the biscotti with her hands before solemnly placing them over her tummy. Got you? Give me! she motions again towards his biscotti then pretend places it in her mouth.

    One in hand worth two in bush, he says proudly nation warrior, non-committal like, his own belly protesting in hunger, the fiend inside urging him to devour the biscotti, but against his will he tosses her the last one.

    She growling low, grins showing teeth and acknowledges his gift with a tight lipped wagging snarl.

    I really think your body language, tone of voice, says Chase, and facial expressions have greatly improved in your training. What is the next audition for the Little Village Theater? he asks.

    She solar beams, Next one in three days, I’m going for the drunken pirate wench whore. She sees his smile, Shut up.

    Oh wow! That should come very naturally, practicing a long time for.. he notices her pouty eyes and laughs, That’ll be a stretch huh? Sounds like a lot of fun. Let me know if you need practice.

    She is smiling again rocking back and forth in her bunny pajamas. Grinning at him she chews the biscotti, dazzling her full set of white teeth, and natural rash make-up wiped clean, and turns back to the TV. As how many times I have offered my services to you, you never want to jump my bones, Moon must have a spell on you, gonna give me a complex. Nevermind I find you ugly as fuck, and very unattractive and unappealing but that almost makes it worse, you know? What is it her spiritual ‘third vagina’ she is always talking about?

    That’s usually called ‘third eye’ and its no discredit to you. You are smoking hot. Just my dog loves her.

    Stain does follow her everywhere, I never thought about it but maybe it’s because of her animal magnetism, or maybe her scent? I mean if she can get a dog to follow her like that think of what she could do to a guy. I’m going to ask her.

    Chase painfully yawns holding his head together, Know, why do so many people always think about sex so much? It is layered in my thoughts, woven in. Think enlightenment is not just a freedom of fear but also of sex and lust?

    Magnolia shrugs, I don’t know, you’re the philosophy major, maybe it’s in the packaging? and then her eyes roll up in thought, Girls love packages, big ones! But like if the package is small, it better cost a lot.

    Well if I must have lust, let me feel the energy and be attracted to the whole world, not just a select few. I mean, no exclusions. I want to be in love with every person, each tree, feel the heart pounding rush from every bird and every bee.

    But we all give off different vibes, it’s built in, the packaging is what I’m trying to say. I do not think you have a choice, but sex can be a beautiful experience, where else is such wild energy released, completely natural, you know?

    Only thing worse than how society caters to big boobs in tight pants is how some people spend their whole lives to build the biggest tomb. They are so preoccupied with death that they never live, he switches topic back, "Let me know if you want group support at your audition,

    Enjoying the preview?
    Page 1 of 1