And now for the main event...

This chapter was written by our very own leprechaun, mr. landoire.  Enjoy.
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He forced himself to keep running, his legs heavy, hitting against the ground. The soldier he had killed flashed through his mind. The soldiers face. The fear in his eyes. Christian ran harder. The soldier shrieking, falling to his knees. Christian was breathing fire, his lungs hot, his heart slamming against his chest. The soldier's agonizing cries and pitiful whimpers. Christian's body seared like a conductor pumped full of electricity. Every part of him pulsated violently, fighting against one another as if a civil war had broken out inside of him. The soldier's eyes, the fear, the utter fear of death. Christian lost all strength and crumpled to the ground, heaving cries into the night. He wailed uncontrollably. His eyes were drowned with tears; his nose filled with snot, his mouth hung open, drooling.

"I'm sorry!  I'm so sorryyyyy!" He bowed his head low to the ground, body shaking.

The realization of what he had done was more than he could handle.  In an act of self-preservation, of fear, he had ended another man's life. 

As the waves of emotion began to calm, slowly, he regained himself.  He leaned back on his haunches, sniffed hard and wiped his eyes, then his cheeks, then his mouth, and dug his fingers through his hair, combing it back from his sticky forehead.   Looking up into the sky, he let out a long exhale.   

He needed to get back onto the path.  The thought bled back into his mind, and he winced. His heart gripped as if wedged in a vice.

"I am unclean.  I am wrong."  He whispered accusingly to himself.

The guilt turned his bones to lead, his heart hot with anxiety.  The whole idea of the path, the path with real direction, the path that somehow breathed life into his directionless soul, and now, his darkened soul, seemed to turn on him.  How could he atone? 

Christian felt the stiffness of the letter in his back pocket, and reached back to grab it.  Touching the letter transported him back to that camp.  He gulped down a rush of emotion and let the letter go. 
Interestingly, he did not discard the letter so as to leave what he had done behind, but left it in his pocket.  He would hold on to it so that he wouldn't forget.  This was his weight to carry.  This was his to make right. 

The sun would be coming up in a couple of hours, so he needed to hurry while he still had the night's cover.  So, he turned and followed a line of trees that led to the base of the mountain where he had left the trail. 

After being soundly bullied by the thick brush and steep climbs, he reached the path. 

He dropped to one knee, panting.  He slowly raised his head to look down the path. 

A man.  Christian's mind raced.   It was the Poet. 

The Poet took a few steps toward Christian, then stopped.  He looked piercingly into Christian's eyes.  Christian felt exposed, naked.

"What is that in your back pocket?"  He asked.

To get the beginning of the story, scroll down or click here and follow the yellowbrick road (or white rabbit, whichever you prefer).

Chapter 7 by: ColonelSanders

Christian awoke with a gasp.  His eyes darted back and forth.  Where was he?  There had been a storm.  Now he remembered.  His exhaustion was beginning to take his memory, but the previous day came back to him.  It had been pouring rain.  He had been so thoroughly soaked that he doubted his skin would ever plump up again.  He'd found small burrow and had taken shelter.  He supposed that he had fallen asleep shortly thereafter.

Christian looked at his surroundings.  He couldn't see much because it was the dead of night, and the air seemed thick with blackness.  He felt his way to a nearby tree and stood up.  A sound begin to reach is ears.  It wasn't the song like he'd expected.  It was the distant sound of chaos; a thousand voices bellowing in anger, some screaming in agony.  It was very distant, though.      A dim light poured over him as a plume of fire rose over a newly lit hill from the direction of the sound of the mob.  A few moments later a very low boom shook the air around him.  It must have been a similar sound that had awoken him.      

"What in the world..." Christian whispered aloud. 

He gathered his things and, a little nervous, began to feel his way in the darkness towards the raucous.      

The sound had fallen away by the time he reached the top of the hill.  The sun had just begun rising straight ahead of him, over a field filled with smoke, and hundreds upon hundreds of dead bodies.  Christian stared in astonishment.  The bodies were everywhere, not many of them were complete.  Burned, maimed, and riddled with holes.  There was not a spot of green grass to be found.  All was either black with burn or red with blood.  He took all this in for several minutes, unsure of what to feel.  Up to this point, everything had been happening to him.  He'd been battered, bruised and broken, and had suffered greatly for it.  But now a new kind of suffering came to light.  He didn't know whether to be glad that, for once, it wasn't him, or to give in to this awful feeling of remorse for the terrible tragedy that had occurred here.  He decided to suppress both feelings for the moment and try to make light of what had happened here.  Gradually increasing his pace and his courage, he made his way into the waste of human life.

He found that there were in fact two sides.  One side wore wooden armor on their torsos and lower legs, and sheet mail everywhere else.  They carried spears and automatic rifles with bayonets.  The other side wore camouflage and a tougher armor.  They carried large, curved metal shields and katanas.  Something caught his eye sticking out of a soldier’s jacket.  He bent down and found that it was a photograph of a woman and a small child.  A wave of sobbing started to come over him when a large spear hit the ground near him.  He quicky stood up to see who had attacked him.  Several gunshots sounded behind him and hit the ground near him.  Christian spun around with his arms thrown in the air.      

"Stop!” Christian screamed.  "Don't shoot!  I'm not armed!"

He saw there were three of the wooden-armed soldiers running toward him now, rifles raised. 

"'Ands be'ind your 'ead!"  one of them barked.  "NOW!" he shouted, firing another shot.

Christian complied and yelled "For God's sake, I'm not armed!!" 

The three soldiers had reached him now and surrounded him.  "'Oo are ya?" one spat in thick Cockney.

"My name is Christian," Christian said, keeping his eyes on the ground.  "I'm a wanderer." 

"A wanderer, eh?" said a second man.  "Well Ima wanderer, too!  And Ima wonderin' wha' the 'ell you doin' here?"

"You's a spy, ain't ya?" said the third man.

"N-n-no, I swear, I just came over that hill, I'm not a-" 

"Come on, let's take 'im, he's a dir'y spy!" 

"No wait, I-" Christian's words were cut off by a stiff blow to the back of his head.

Amidst the blackness, Christian thought he heard voices. 

"'E was lookin' at Maxie's kid's photo 'ere."

"Good ole' Maxie... bastard probably killed 'im 'imself." 

He came to slowly, first feeling that his environment was shaking and jolting, then smelling sweat.  He felt his hands had been bound behind his back with a metal chain.  He slowly opened his eyes and saw above him a sort of tan canopy, and a gun sticking in his face.  The man holding it was sitting on a bench.

"Jus' relax there, spy.  We almost there." 

The truck, which Christian now realized he was riding in the back of, went on for a few more minutes before coming to a halt.  Several hands gruffly grabbed by his armpits and dragged him out.  The three men stood him up and looked at him.

"Where are you taking me?" Christian asked. 

"The general wants to see ya," one of them said.  "This way." 

Christian was poked in the back by a gun while the other two men lead the way through a maze of trucks, tanks, and other vehicles.  They found their way out of the "parking lot" into an area with lots of tents.  Open flaps revealed men sleeping, writing or cooking food.  Many men sat outside cleaning their guns, playing cards, or smoking cigarettes.  He noticed that they all looked the same, though: numb, empty, void.  The only emotion he'd seen spring from any of them was these three men who seemed angry with him. 

"In 'ere," the man behind him poked him towards a slightly larger tent. 

He followed the front to men inside, who immediately stood at attention out of his way.  In front of him was a desk surrounded by maps and diagrams.  Seated behind the desk was a man with a splash of colors on his heart.  He was busy writing something.  The soldier that was behind Christian marched up to his side and stood briskly at attention. 

"Sir!  We've found a spy!"

"Thank you," the general replied, not looking up. "You may go."

The soldier's face fell.  "Sir... we think 'e killed Maxie!"

The general looked up.  "You are dismissed, soldier," he said sternly.      

The soldier snapped back to attention. 

"Yes, sir."  He turned around and marched out, followed by his two companions. 

"You have to demand respect when you're high up," the general commented casually, returning to his writing. 

Christian said nothing.  The general stopped writing and folded his paper.  He stuffed it in an envelope and wrote in perfect calligraphy the name 'Lydia.'   

"I write one of these before every battle," he said as he sealed the envelope with a glob of wax. "Goodbye letters.  In case I die.  I want her to know everything if I go."

"I'm not a spy," Christian put in.      

"I know," the general said as he stood up.  "Sorry about the blow to your head, my men can get a little zealous.  Here."  The general moved around back of Christian and took off the handcuffs.  "That's better, I don't think you're going to attack anyone here."

"Why am I here?" Christian asked.      

"That is the question, isn't it?  We all ask it at some point.  But... the question seems less important when you're fighting a war.  Or at least, the answer seems more apparent."

"Why are you fighting a war?"      

"No reason really.  Someone wronged somebody else, they were wronged in return.  One thing leads to another.  But," the general said as he poured a glass of brandy, "it gives one reason to live.  To fight!  It is bred into all of us, this bloodlust, this need to lay waste to something!  Our destruction becomes a form of creation, and we feel powerful.  Now, I know," the general handed Christian a glass.  "I know, that you have felt this need.  You have fought bravely, braver than any man in this camp!  Anyone can fight against his fellow man, punch him in the face, take off his head! But you, you fight against yourself.  You fight your pain.  Your suffering. Your longings, and even," the general moved in towards Christian's face, "Your desires."  The general paused for a moment.  "Why?"

"Because..." Christian faltered.  "I... I'm trying to find something."      

"What?"

"I'm not sure yet.  But I know I'll get there eventually."      

"How can you be so sure?"

"Well... I suppose I just believe it."

"Christian.  Listen to me.  I know what you've been through.  The chasm, the tree, the desert, the mountain.  I've seen you go through everything.  And I've come to see that you have been shaped into the very thing that I need."

"What is that?" 

"A true warrior.  In every aspect.  You have nobility and determination carved into your very bones."

"I'm not fighting in this war."      

"But imagine what you could find out there.  Your true character will be revealed.  Your dilemma about who you are supposed to be could be solved."

"At the expense of how many lives?"      

"These men are already dead!" the general shouted.  "You've seen it in their eyes.  They gave up their lives the moment they made their first kill."

"There is no good in killing someone!" Christian said angrily.  "Now if you'll excuse me, I have somewhere to go."      

Christian stormed out of the tent.  He hadn't gone very far when someone shouted "LOOK OUT!"  A flaming ball exploded behind Christian, sending him flying and obliterating the general's tent.  Christian landed hard on the ground, then quickly got to his feet, a little singed but relatively unharmed.  The camp was like an ant mound.  Hundreds of soldiers scrambled everywhere to get weapons and armor.  Several more volleys pummeled the camp.  Christian couldn't see through the smoke and the thick mob of soldiers.  He climbed on top of a nearby tank and looked north, the direction the volleys had come from.  He saw a dense mass of camouflage sweeping in their direction.  Christian's heart began to race.  The tank under him suddenly moved and he quickly stepped down.  A soldier running by him threw him a rifle. 

"Aim for the face!" he shouted over the noise.   

Christian was about to drop the rifle and run when another volley exploded near by.  He looked ahead and saw that the mob had reached the camp.  A horde of soldiers tried to hold a line at the front, but the enemy was leaking in around the sides, surrounding the camp.  Several enemies broke through and came storming into the camp, slicing soldiers with their katanas left and right.  The soldiers went down screaming in pain as they bled profusely onto the ground.  One of the enemies headed straight for Christian with a loud battle cry on his lips.  Before Christian new what he was doing, he had shot several holes in the enemy soldier.  The soldier fell to the ground, dead.  He stood stunned for a moment, then without thinking he began to run.  Something caught his eye.  On the ground, blowing in the wind, was a white envelope.  Christian picked it up and saw the name "Lydia" written in beautiful calligraphy on it.  He stuffed it in his pocket and continued running.  He ran until the sounds of war died away.

This is our story...

It began with fromtheclovis, then moved into various realms and through many different authors including skwerlman7, thelittlekappa, swiftpursuit, spasticpeach, and grackyfrogg to arrive at this point.  This is the point where you contribute.  Take it upon yourself to include your life in our story.  After all, this is our continuing...

Once you have a new chapter ready to contribute feel free to email us, and you will be granted access to the password here, after which you can then post.  Or if you'd rather us do the work, just post a chapter on your site and we can copy and paste, or send us your chapter as an e-mail attachment and we will post it here ourselves.

So without further ado, here is "Our Story"

CHAPTER 1 by: fromtheclovis

I stumbled out of the edge of the woods, into the first clear light I had seen in days. The sun illuminated the criss-crossed lines on my face and arms, wounds from the brush-ins of a thousand thorns and thistles. I had come to an impasse. I had come to the edge of the world. Before me was a vertical drop that had no end. It extended as far as I could see to the north and south as well. But the words of the prophecy still reverberated in my ears, and I knew that I must continue eastward.

But how could I continue my journey with an infinite nothingness sprawling in all directions except backwards?

Beside me a heard a voice, “Do you want to pass?”

My voice cracked from lack of use, “Wh- Who are you?”

“You can call me the Poet,” he said and extended a hand from beneath his robes. His skin was the color of mystery and his voice reminded me a voice I had heard long ago, but it was not.

“Poet, I must continue my journey, but I have come up to this chasm and have no way to go but backwards.” I could hear my faltering courage in the thinness of my own voice.

“Close your eyes, child.” And I did. “You must begin to see with your ears and allow your being to speak for you if you are to continue. Now follow me. That’s the way. No, nope. You must keep your eyes closed or there is no way but back. Follow my voice.”

And the Poet began to sing a song, a very ancient song. It was one of the original songs, one that sang the world into existence. And I walked. The voice of the poet changed and I heard my own. My voice and my song traveled just in front of me and I continued walking, following it.

I felt my foot miss the ground and drop into knee-deep marsh. The mud slowed my pace, but I dared not stop, nor dared I open my eyes for I knew that I must have been nearing the edge of the chasm. I walked, 30 paces, than 50 paces. Each step grew more difficult as I expected it to be my last before plummeting to my death. But never did it become too difficult, nor did I fall. And then the voice stopped singing.

“Now open your eyes.” It was still my own voice speaking to me.

And I did.

The Poet had disappeared. I saw that I was standing in what I had thought had been a chasm. The chasm had instead been a marsh the whole time. The marsh, however, was not filled with mud as I had originally though, but was instead filled with pigment. It was indeed a large painting and the paint was knee deep. It had been a large painting of an infinite chasm, but as I walked through it, the blackness separated behind me, swirling into all the colors of the spectrum, and I could trace the rainbow back to where I had first stepped in. Of course, my journey required me to look forward, not back. But for just a moment, I allowed myself to take in the beauty of the swirling colors back-dropped by the infinite darkness. I smiled, set my face forward, and continued my labored walk through the sludge.

CHAPTER 2 by: skwerlman7

As I continued forward through the marsh I began to take notice of the paint immediately to my right and left.  It looked so real, yet it was so false.  I was surprised at the painter's ability to recreate actuality.  But, my focus could not remain on the painted chasm.  I looked forward toward the horizon, wondering what other settings thus far in my journey were other than what they seemed.

After trudging for longer than I could track, I came to the other side of this so-called "chasm."  I put my hands on the ledge, jumped, and rolled on to lush grass.  I brushed at the sludge on the pants covering my lower legs, but only succeeded in getting the paint all over my hands.  Rubbing my palms on the emerald grass, I cleared them of most of the paint, and stood up.  Before me was a large flat plain, bursting with innumerable unrecognizable wildflowers.  I guess, technically, it was a valley, although the plain was wide enough of its own accord to house a small city. 

The mountain ranges that stood on either side seemed more to guard the plain like grand sentinels than define it.  Their snow-capped peaks rose high into the air; high enough to make me squint at the sun in order to see the summit.  After absorbing the breath-taking nature, I noticed that through the middle of the tall lush greenery, someone had worn a path. 

It began to rain.  Not the kind of rain that makes traveling more pleasant.  The kind of rain that makes you wonder if the skies are angry with you.  The kind of rain that, under any other circumstances, would demand that you find cover; rain that stings because it comes sideways.  But, I had been on this trail for what seemed like days and was determined to reach my end.  So, I bowed my head into the storm and marched.

Before long the wilted wildflowers mixed with the mud to cover the path.  I stared at the tops of my shoes in hopes that they would instinctively know the way, but to no avail.  My footing faltered and I fell, tumbling down into some unseen sinkhole.  In my unacrobatic somersault I managed to glimpse a coming rock and covered my head and face just in time.  My arms struck the rock, making me thankful for quick reflexes, but a little prematurely.  The next tumble sent me a little further down the hole, and part of the boulder that was perfectly designed for impaling sides and breaking ribs did just that. 

Mud covered my clothes.  To any passers-by I would have been invisible, perfectly camouflaged to my surroundings.  Worse than the caking of my cloak was the wound and broken rib.  Worse than the broken rib was the trapped in the bottom of a deep sinkhole.  Worse than the hole was the terrifying thought that came next; I had lost the path.  At least the rain had let up.

It turned out that the slope was not as steep as I had originally anticipated, and I managed, using only my left arm (my right was clutching the left side of my ribcage) to scramble and climb out of the hole.  Lying on my back I stared straight up at a salmon-colored sky that made all the earth glow blue.  It was dusk, and out came the fireflies.