Each Tuesday, rather than a POSSIBLY
IRRITATING ESSAY, I'd like to both challenge you and lend a helping hand. I
generate more speculative and teen story ideas than I can ever use. My family
rolls its collective eyes when I say, "Hang on a second! I just have to
write down this idea..." Here, I'll include the initial inspiration
(quote, website, podcast, etc.) and then a thought or two that came to mind.
These will simply be seeds -- plant, nurture, fertilize, chemically treat,
irradiate, test or stress them as you see fit. I only ask if you let me know if
anything comes of them. Regarding
Fantasy, this insight was startling: “I see the fantasy genre as an
ever-shifting metaphor for life in this world, an innocuous medium that allows
the author to examine difficult, even controversial, subjects with impunity.
Honor, religion, politics, nobility, integrity, greed—we’ve an endless list of
ideals to be dissected and explored. And maybe learned from.” – Melissa
McPhail.
F Trope: “jerkass
gods” (CS Lewis Till We Have Faces
and Neil Gaiman American Gods)
Current Event: http://www.wftv.com/news/news/local/9-investigates-dolphin-manatee-deaths-indian-river/nZYSx/
Abril Molina stood
with balled fists on her hips. “They did this, you know.”
Santiago Ribeiro
pursed his lips and said in a low voice, “It’s the easier answer. You know,
blaming jerkass gods rather than taking responsibility for polluting the lagoon
ourselves.”
Abril bristled,
“You blame Humans for this?” She grunted, “I know you hate all of us who are
pure blooded Humans…”
“Please! Don’t
bring magism into this! I may be three fourths elf, but I can no more conjure
poisons from the water than you can conjure a will-o’-the-wisp to light your
way to bed!”
Abril turned to
belt him. He caught her fist but was powerless to stop her words, “How dare
you! I am no magist! We’ve been friends since...oh, I don’t know, since I had
to change your nest litter! I am no more magist than you are thoughtful.”
Stung, he released
her and returned to the side of the lagoon. Squatting, he reached out and spread
his fingers, lowering his hand until it was centimeters from the surface. He
closed his eyes, took a deep breath and stilled himself. After a few moments,
the same stillness seemed to flow from his hand and across the surface of the
lagoon, traveling from shore and farther and farther into the water.
The stillness
spread until the air seemed to stop gusting; even the light grew gellid,
thickening until the image of near-elf and water appeared to be a painting.
After some time,
dark began to creep upward from the water. Boats, barges and skiffs collecting
dead animals slowed until the stopped moving. Abril felt her breath congeal in
her lungs and could not breathe.
Then Santiago
stood up, turned to her and said, “We are both right.”
“What?”
“True war brews
and this is but the first skirmish.”
“There’ve been
other die offs! Twelve years of them – how do you explain that away with
magic?”
“It’s the dolphins
and the manatees.”
“What?”
“It’s the dolphins
and the...”
“No, no! I know
what you said, I mean to say, ‘What have dead dolphins and manatees...”
“And the pelicans
and the algae and other microscopic life,” he interjected.
She nodded,
adding, “…and pelicans and phyto and zooplankton have to do with magic and
pollution?”
He lifted his chin
to the farthest reaches of the lagoon, the water between a barrier island
complex, “There is a war brewing.”
“Between who?”
“I can’t tell, but
the gods jerking the strings have stuffed each dolphin and each manatee with a
spirit and they are the front line – and the manatees are losing.”
“Which side is the
good side?”
Santiago turned to
look at her, his gaze boring deeply into her own. Abril shuddered as he said,
“In the war between these gods, their only good is their entertainment.”
Names: ♀
Uruguay, Spain; ♂ American Hispanic, Portugal
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