A thank you to Uwe/Fietsen and Tony/Tubehead...

Highlander · March 12, 2009, 07:09:38 PM

A bit off the wall this one and I have no idea if it will work or not... I mentioned elsewhere that I do a bit of writing, in a minor way, and have a short, sub 1000 word story, originally titled, "Duel Existence", I wrote as a literary joke for a friend in 2003... I've re-worked it and am putting them both here (only some minor changes required to make them fit the characterisations)... The story does owe a nod to "Metal Hurlant" - "Heavy Metal" for it's stylisations...

I'd appreciate comments, good or bad, from whom-so-ever...

This was not edited to my usual standards, and I just discovered that I can-not lift straight out of Word into the forum - Just be thankful that I'm not posting one of the 100,000 + stories...

Danke, Herr Hornung... Danke...

Anyway, this one is for Uwe, Tony skip down to yours...

Fietsen – A Duel Existence...
By Ken Stewart (copyright 2009)

My name is Uwe...
By day, I lead a very ordinary existence as an Arbitration and Litigation Counsellor for an international law firm.
My work is mundane in the extreme; soul destroying, mind numbing tedium!
I often question myself 'Is this all I was put here for? To rake over the same old arguments, to paw over the same legal minutiae, dealing with the detritus of society, again and again and again...'
Oh how I am cursed...
I suffer all the indignities the Gods choose to throw at me; this failing body a travesty of what could be; dealing with fools and imbeciles, dolts and ignoramuses that think they know what it is to live; but I know there is more to life than this...
I lead a second life, a life I yearn to live, where... I... belong...
I have tried to leave this travesty of a life behind me and live my dream that is not a dream, but I keep being returned, to this!
Ohh to sleep, perchance to dream... to die, perhaps to live... for when I dream... ohh when I dream, I... am... free...

I am called Fietsen... Fietsen the Destroyer...
The Gods spared nothing when they created me... eleven crechs of hard muscle and sinew, a brow ridge as hard as the Iron... Rock... itself, a flame red mane, eyes as sharp as the Arak... ohh... and how I am endowed; the merest sight of it slipping out from beneath my battle fnarg has sent many a Cruch-Pach fleeing for fear of their very life...
But what I live and breathe for, is my weapon, my instrument of destruction, my SKRIBSONAN...
Skribsonan has an edge that can cut a Sarg asunder in a single pass; over six crechs in length, it vibrates to the touch; like all of its kin it has a life of its own; it glows with it; it lives for battle, for destruction; it must be fed, fed on blood, on the blood of the Cruch-Pach!
My Skribsonan awaits feeding now, for I am about to enter the realm of Thrak; the obscenity that describes itself as Ruler of all it surveys! Well, after today, when I have separated the single cell it calls a brain from its bulk, it will survey nothing, save for the lining of my stomach, where its eyes will lie, after the feasting...
And now Skribsonan, to battle...

With another victory assured, and the feast completed, I chose a wench from those that entertained us, to bed for my own delight. I dragged her, screaming, to Thrak's own chambers; its body still quivering from where I threw it from the battlements, after the necessary removals...
She feared for her life when she saw what she was about to receive, but she was a good match, a capable wench; skilled in many of the old ways...
Once we had completed the rituals I allowed her to stay with me; a moment's comfort as I relaxed, her breasts an ample place to rest my head...

Suddenly, I awoke; body drenched in sweat; the smell of battle, feasting and debauchery still upon me...
I know that this is wrong...
I feel it instinctively...
I should not be here; I belong there, not here!
I live for the night; for when I can return, to live, as Fietsen!

I am known as Fietsen the Destroyer.
I live a life ruled by violence, mayhem, butchery, rape and pillaging, but I am a sensitive soul, trapped in this barbarian's body.
I know this to be true, for when I sleep, I dream...

Many thanks for your kindness, Tony...

The name of this story is a crude realisation of the name "TUBEHEAD" in Gaelic...

Teotha-Ceann – A Duel Existence...
By Ken Stewart (copyright 2009)

My name is Tony...
By day, I lead a very ordinary existence as working for Wellington Council in New Zealand, specialising in grants for sheep farmers.
My work is mundane in the extreme; soul destroying, mind numbing tedium!
I often question myself 'Is this all I was put here for? To rake over the same old arguments about how many acres of land can be set aside, to paw over the same legal minutiae, Cheviots or Black face sheep, again and again and again...'
Oh how I am cursed...
I suffer all the indignities the Gods choose to throw at me; this failing body a travesty of what could be; dealing with fools and imbeciles, dolts and ignoramuses that think they know what it is to live; but I know there is more to life than this...
I lead a second life, a life I yearn to live, where... I... belong...
I have tried to leave this travesty of a life behind me and live my dream that is not a dream, but I keep being returned, to this!
Ohh to sleep, perchance to dream... to die, perhaps to live... for when I dream... ohh when I dream, I... am... free...

I am called Teotha-Ceann... Teotha-Ceann the Destroyer...
The Gods spared nothing when they created me... eleven crechs of hard muscle and sinew, a brow ridge as hard as the Iron... Rock... itself, a flame red mane, eyes as sharp as the Arak... ohh... and how I am endowed; the merest sight of it slipping out from beneath my battle fnarg has sent many a Cruch-Pach fleeing for fear of their very life...
But what I live and breathe for, is my weapon, my instrument of destruction, my SKRIVOGELONAN...
Skrivogelonan has an edge that can cut a Sarg asunder in a single pass; over six crechs in length, it vibrates to the touch; like all of its kin it has a life of its own; it glows with it; it lives for battle, for destruction; it must be fed, fed on blood, on the blood of the Cruch-Pach!
My Skrivogelonan awaits feeding now, for I am about to enter the realm of Thrak; the obscenity that describes itself as Ruler of all it surveys! Well, after today, when I have separated the single cell it calls a brain from its bulk, it will survey nothing, save for the lining of my stomach, where its eyes will lie, after the feasting...
And now Skrivogelonan, to battle...

With another victory assured, and the feast completed, I chose a wench from those that entertained us, to bed for my own delight. I dragged her, screaming, to Thrak's own chambers; its body still quivering from where I threw it from the battlements, after the necessary removals...
She feared for her life when she saw what she was about to receive, but she was a good match, a capable wench; skilled in many of the old ways...
Once we had completed the rituals I allowed her to stay with me; a moment's comfort as I relaxed, her breasts an ample place to rest my head...

Suddenly, I awoke; body drenched in sweat; the smell of battle, feasting and debauchery still upon me...
I know that this is wrong...
I feel it instinctively...
I should not be here; I belong there, not here!
I live for the night; for when I can return, to live, as Teotha-Ceann!

I am known as Teotha-Ceann the Destroyer.
I live a life ruled by violence, mayhem, butchery, rape and pillaging, but I am a sensitive soul, trapped in this barbarian's body.
I know this to be true, for when I sleep, I dream of being a sheep farmer in New Zealand...

That's alll f...f...f...folks...

clankenstein · March 12, 2009, 09:58:31 PM

thats cool i like it-enough to bring out the baa barian in ewe!

uwe · March 13, 2009, 07:05:36 AM

I now need a superhero outfit. In clown burst.

Glad the scratchplate found a worthy use.

Dave W · March 13, 2009, 08:41:38 AM

If I go to Babel Fish and translate this from English to German to French to Greek and back to English, it starts to make sense to me.

I think. Maybe.

Pilgrim · March 13, 2009, 10:34:16 AM

Quote from: Dave W on March 13, 2009, 08:41:38 AM
If I go to Babel Fish and translate this from English to German to French to Greek and back to English, it starts to make sense to me. I think. Maybe.

Let me guess. The resulting secret message is "QWERT YUIOP", right?

Basvarken · March 13, 2009, 10:49:37 AM

Wow, I only gave up after about ten sentences... Guess I'm getting used to your posts Ken

uwe · March 14, 2009, 05:18:18 AM

Ken has certainly raised the bar when it comes to the required intellect necessary to follow thread discussions here.

Highlander · March 16, 2009, 06:01:28 PM

...

lowend1 · March 16, 2009, 06:43:09 PM

Can I be "Flatus The Asphyxiator"?

Highlander · March 17, 2009, 07:14:24 PM

Flatus – A Duel Existence...
By Ken Stewart (copyright 2009)

My name is Lowend...
By day, I lead a very ordinary existence working in the parts department at the Chrysler plant, down town...
My work is mundane in the extreme; soul destroying, mind numbing tedium!
I often question myself 'Is this all I was put here for? To rake over the same old arguments, "why has this order, why has that order, why has the order for the cam belts failed to be delivered, again; re-threading the paper in the same dreaded dot matrix printer, again; dealing with the boss who JUST-WILL-NOT-GET-OFF-MY-BACK, again and again and again...'
Oh how I am cursed...
I suffer all the indignities the Gods choose to throw at me; this failing body a travesty of what could be; dealing with fools and imbeciles, dolts and ignoramuses that think they know what it is to live; but I know there is more to life than this...
I lead a second life, a life I yearn to live, where... I... belong...
I have tried to leave this travesty of a life behind me and live my dream that is not a dream, but I keep being returned, to this!
Ohh to sleep, perchance to dream... to die, perhaps to live... for when I dream... ohh when I dream, I... am... free...

I am called Flatus... Flatus the Asphiaxtor...
The Gods spared nothing when they created me... eleven crechs of hard muscle and sinew, a brow ridge as hard as the Iron... Rock... itself, a flame red mane, eyes as sharp as the Arak... ohh... and how I am endowed; the merest sight of it slipping out from beneath my battle fnarg has sent many a Cruch-Pach fleeing for fear of their very life...
But what I live and breathe for, is my weapon, my instrument of destruction, my CHRYSLOBAN...
Skribsonan has an edge that can cut a Sarg asunder in a single pass; over six crechs in length, it vibrates to the touch; like all of its kin it has a life of its own; it glows with it; it lives for battle, for destruction; it must be fed, fed on blood, on the blood of the Cruch-Pach!
My Crysloban awaits feeding now, for I am about to enter the realm of Thrak; the obscenity that describes itself as Ruler of all it surveys! Well, after today, when I have separated the single cell it calls a brain from its bulk, it will survey nothing, save for the lining of my stomach, where its eyes will lie, after the feasting...
And now Chrysloban, to battle...

With another victory assured, and the feast completed, I chose a wench from those that entertained us, to bed for my own delight. I dragged her, screaming, to Thrak's own chambers; its body still quivering from where I threw it from the battlements, after the necessary removals...
She feared for her life when she saw what she was about to receive, but she was a good match, a capable wench; skilled in many of the old ways...
Once we had completed the rituals I allowed her to stay with me; a moment's comfort as I relaxed, her breasts an ample place to rest my head...

Suddenly, I awoke; body drenched in sweat; the smell of battle, feasting and debauchery still upon me...
I know that this is wrong...
I feel it instinctively...
I should not be here; I belong there, not here!
I live for the night; for when I can return, to live, as Flatus!

I am known as Flatus the Asphyxiator.
I live a life ruled by violence, mayhem, butchery, rape and pillaging, but I am a sensitive soul, trapped in this barbarian's body.
I know this to be true, for when I sleep, I dream about automobiles...

Lowend - the real secret to a good modification of this story is having personal knowledge or access to details - tried to find your name and details but too many postings and drew a blank, somewhat like Tony's... Uwe was easy - lots of detail to find...

Whos Next...? (good album, that one...)

lowend1 · March 17, 2009, 08:07:17 PM

Speechless. Pretty accurate, at one point in my life anyway - and entirely appropriate. A thousand thanks!
I am leaving now to be fitted for my uniform/costume, made of brown neoprene.

Highlander · March 18, 2009, 07:02:06 PM

All part of the service...