Song of the Sea Serpent

By Marcy

I wrecked my car, and it’s all that sea serpent’s fault.

I was driving to the beach, north of Salem. The sun was bright off the water and my sunglasses weren’t cutting it. Last time I buy aqua-tinted lenses just to match one outfit. It’s all about polarized lenses for me from now on.

Anyway, I was reaching up to adjust the visor when I saw it. It looked like a dragon – but with no wings. Just a huge scaly body, the color of basalt and ocean glass, its eyes as bright and yellow-white as the sun that was reflecting off the water behind it. Steam churned from its nostrils and rose from its back. It arced into the sky, the bottom half of it still submerged.

And it sang.

I will never forget the sound of its voice. It was clear, crystalline, pure. It sang to the sun, wavering there above the surface, treading water with a hidden tail. Its voice rang through the summer air, swirling in the clouds and drifting on the salty ocean breeze. I closed my eyes and fell into the melody.

I awoke, my car halfway submerged in the tide, tire tracks stretching behind me through the sand back to the road. The serpent was gone, replaced by flashing lights and freaked-out beachgoers.

And I hummed the song the serpent sang all the way to the asylum.

Everyone knows Minotaurs can’t drive.

Everyone knows that Minotaur’s can’t drive. It’s more than just the hoofs and the horn-to-head-room issue; it’s a mental possessing thing. Minotaur’s are natural maze dwellers, so the linear progression involved in most driving trips messes with their heads. Straight lines and Minotaur’s do not mix. This all pales in light of their overwhelming instinct to lurk and then jump out and scare people – this hard wired reflect does not translate well when these bull headed beast get behind the wheel.

But it was late, and I’d had one too many and, to be honest when you have been friends as long as Stan and I, you stop seeing the horns, hairy legs and the washboard stomach- you just see your buddy. Personally I blame the designated driver campaigns you see on TV all the time. They never tell you the real deal, like buzzed driving is drunk driving, but it’s always better than letting your friend Stan the Minotaur drive. PSAs are never big with details or particulars.

Pity.

Now don’t get me wrong, the arresting Orc made a lot of sense when he pointed out that Stan had polished off a barrel or two all by himself. But we all know that wasn’t the real problem. I tried to make a case for racial profiling, but the judge wouldn’t go for it. Stinking elves, always so logical and calm and focused on facts. He can pretend to be impartial but he was just made because Stan ran over his son. I mean the kid was already 600 years old, what more did he want from life?

Anyway, that’s why I lost my license. And my freedom. And my skin. Oh, yeah the loss of skin hurts, but luckily the magic keeps me from dying of infections or passing out from the pain. So, it’s only another year or two and Stan says he’s really sorry. He’s going to traffic school next weekend. That Stan… what a guy.

-Brihack

Writing Assignment: Pesky troll

By Matt

“Honest officer, it wasn’t my fault.”

How many times has that line been used over the years to get out of a ticket or explain an accident? Well in my case it was true, it wasn’t my fault. Sit back and you’ll hear the tale of the time a troll wrecked my car.

It was late winter, March in fact. I’d just gotten some bad news at work. I work at a word factory, see, and I’d just found out I’d have to work 16 hour days, six days a week. Now if that’s not a killer schedule, I’m not sure I understand what a killer schedule is.

Now as you can imagine, as I left the factory, I was in a pretty rotten mood. I mean, it was a two hour drive home and now I only had eight hours to drive home, get some dinner, go to bed, and then get up and start all over again. That meant I was going to about 3 hours sleep a night at best.

So there I was on the freeway, humming along at a cool 75 miles an hour, listening to the afternoon DJ on the radio make some of some poor drunken unfortunate. It was snowing a bit, but the roads were just wet. It was a pretty easy drive, all things considered for late March. I was in the last half-hour of the trip as I hit the city and I was getting pretty groggy. That’s why when the troll appeared, I thought it was just a paranoid delusion. Little did I know…

The troll appeared as I was passing a one of the massive tractor-trailers with two trailers hooked up to it. I pulled alongside the behemoth, hauling food for the local uber-super-duper mart. That’s when I heard it…

From somewhere in the back there was this low growl, which sounded suspiciously like my cat, who I knew wasn’t in the back seat. Just the same I glanced back through the rear view mirror. Seeing nothing, I passed it off as being a product of my weary mind.

I punched the accelerator and my car's 250 horses pulled it past the lumbering semi. As I pulled in the right lane again, I heard it again. That same low growl. This time, it seemed a bit closer. Again I looked in the rear view mirror. Nothing. I turned my attention back to the road. That’s when it happened.

The growl came again. This time it sounded as if it had come from the seat next to me. I looked over and saw it. The troll was about five feet tall, with coffee- colored skin covered in festering boils. His face was dominated by a massive nose and fat, ugly lips. His eyes, mere slits were like looking into the soul of darkness itself. Most strange, though was what came out of its mouth.

“I say, chap, nice of you to notice me. Might you give me a lift to Eleron? I’m frightfully late for a pillaging seminar, and if I don’t arrive soon, I just might be sacked. Couldn’t have that now, could we? I’m afraid my people’s idea of sacking is quite unpleasant.”

At this point, an odd feeling came over me. My stomach grew tight, my breath coming in gasps. As I tried to focus on the wheel, the road started growing more indistinct, until there was nothing but blackness.

When I awoke, I was surrounded by firefighters and policemen. My car cocooned around me, I was unable to move more than a few inches. There was no sign of the troll. After about an hour of frantic work by the rescue workers I was freed and taken to a waiting ambulance. As I was being put inside, I noticed a street sign. Eleron Boulevard.