The Statement!

The Oldest Story Ever Told (repost)

Here is a newer story (technically speaking).  This is just an excerpt.  The entire Story is for download as a .pdf at the end.

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THE OLDEST STORY EVER TOLD (EXCERPT)

BY: JOSHUA FLOYD

So the two brothers decided to make a contest of their rivalry. A wager. A battle of wits. Life and Death.

Death, being the passive type, did not act first, as Life had already decided to.

“I will create myself across the universe!” He bellowed. And when he spoke, he spread life in all directions. With this came the animals and the plants and the bacteria, and man. The universe was filled with motion and vigor and excitement. The sounds of Life could be heard everywhere. He smiled at his brother.

Death raised an eyebrow, accepting the challenge. “Then I shall create Mortality,” he said curtly. And thus Death begat death. Living things became subject to not living. Their fleshy liveliness could be snuffed out. No longer were they absolutely permanent. Though they did not die with time, as time did not yet exist, they could die.

Life was unphased by this gesture from his brother, for he had anticipated such measures from his cold sibling. “They will not kill each other unless they must,” he said. “And so they will not ever perish fully, you pale brother.” There was a moment where Life thought. “So it is my turn now?” He continued.

“Yes,” Death said quietly. “What shall you do?” He added.

“I will create Fire,” Life said. “To give even the coldest of the dead a warmth that fulfills them. A hope that sustains them. With this fire the coldness of your touch will be forever rebuffed!” Life beamed a smile with the luminesence of a million suns. And fire came to be. Hope restored itself unto Life’s creations.

Death felt a twinge of contempt for his sibling. But such was the nature of their game.

“Is it my turn?” He said in a cool whisper.

“Indeed,” Life answered. “What shall you do?”

“Very well,” Death said. “I shall create cool rains to wash away the burning of all the fires you’ve lit.” He paused. “And with it may there be washed away the hope your warm fires have given the living things that they may continue on forever.”

And so there was rain, and the fires of hope and warmth could then be extinguished and done away with. The coals would turn to black mud and the wood that mankind burned became soggy and would not light. The warmth of the hope of living things would wane like the pale Moon.

Life did not immediately reply. He was taken aback at the severity of Death’s countermeasure, so he collected his thoughts before continuing. With a careful eye, Death watched his brother’s face.

“Then I will create something even more powerful than living things,” Life began. “I will give all living things Language. With it they may tell stories of the fires that were. And their hope will be restored. The language will carry them through the darkness. They may know each other better and be more alive because of it. Even at the expense of their mortality, they may leave a legacy for those that live when they do not.”

And languages flourised. The trees and the animals connected. The winds themselves rustled in faint tongues. Man created books and texts and music. The oceans became alive with sound and song. The stars themselves emitted powerful wavelengths of heat and light between each other. Stories pervaded the Universe. Every story imaginable could then be created. Stories of life and death, and of fire and water, of earth and sky…they all came to be.

Death was impressed by such a gesture. But it was a maneuver he had expected his lively brother to make. With much restraint of emotion, he exercised his next move. Carefully he observed the many acts of creation already accomplished. He was clever and meticulous with his thoughts.

“I see,” he said icily. “Then I shall use this language of yours to create the idea of Power.” He said. “The languages will define who or what wields strength and dominance over the next thing.” He said. “With Power, your creations will turn in on themselves, consuming each other, leading them all to me.” He smiled calmly at his glowing brother.

And Power came to be. Animals became predators and prey. Plants became parasites to each other. The ocean and moon tugged violently upward and downward upon themselves. Gravity compelled all that wished to go outward to come inward. Men designed wealth and luxury and prestige and poverty. These things spread quickly. Before long, many of Life’s creations were attacking each other. War began amongst the living. Violence and conflict consumed the joyous story-telling of the Universe.

Life was dismayed. He was awestruck and devastated. “How can you do such a thing!” He bellowed at his brother.

Death looked back, unflinching. “What thing have I done but attempt to show you what I already know to be true?” He replied. “I am the better of us two, do you not see?” His words slid cruelly into Life’s ears.

DOWNLOAD FULL STORY AS .PDF HERE!

-The Statement!

(Source: thestatementis.blogspot.com)

Posted 1 year ago 2 notes

The Month of the Rat (an excerpt)

 “The Month of the Rat”

by: A. Frantzich

October is the month for all those hoarders out there in Fresno to scour the streets and exercise their less-than-admirable motivations to indulge in their neighbors’ trash. Incensed by the rule that one man’s trash is another man’s treasure, the frugal rats of downtown all hop into the back of the communal pick-up truck and find their way to the designated sections week by week of the annual street trash pick-up and return home with fixer-uppers, planks of used plywood, and the very lucky, occasional new mirror, cracked only in the corner. Mysteriously, things vanish by morning and that bump in the night is just the tailgate folding down, only with a little too much eagerness. Children wake up in the morning and see the new couch in the living room: “There’s only one stain on it!”. Wives are ecstatic that they finally have enough chairs at the dining room table to seat all twelve of her children, her mother, her uncle, and her husband without making them double up fold-out chairs for supper. After the month of October, people live like kings and queens; egos are high for the year to come for their new old possessions give them something to be proud about. They may be dirty and they may need repairs, but they are new to their homes and that’s as good as any department store purchase, just without the oversized box, which could have been used as the kids’ new play toy for the next week or so. The treasures are plenty; the smugness is wide-spread in Fresno.

———————————READ THE REST AS .PDF HERE!——————————————

Ms. Frantzich contributed this story from over in California.

(Source: thestatementis.blogspot.com)

Posted 1 year ago

Et Cetera

Et Cetera.

By: Elias Rodriguez

There is a woman who wakes up one morning only to realize it is much too early in the morning to be awake so she tries going back to sleep but sleep isn’t going to come easy she learns after lying in bed for twenty minutes to no avail so she does all she can to coax unconsciousness into repossessing her which includes switching the television on to a program guide channel and bringing the volume down to a low murmur as well drinking a glass of warm milk which actually really honestly works for her clichéd as it may seem plus plugging in the air conditioner for its hypnotic humming etc. She does all this and still struggles to fall asleep. She figures it’s because she’s trying too hard to fall asleep, thinking too consciously about it, putting too much energy into an act diametrically opposed to having energy put into it etc. She loosens up and relaxes and forces herself not to think about sleeping and she gets so god-damn close like practically gone but suddenly thinks, “I’m finally falling asleep!” which of course snaps her consciousness back to attention and she silently scolds herself for fucking it up at the last second. She makes another attempt at slyly slipping into sleep but midway through her faux relaxation efforts she becomes acutely aware of how faux they are and to make matters worse she glances at the clock, realizing she’s been up for forty fucking minutes already which causes her anxiety to skyrocket which makes trying to fall asleep even harder which she is also acutely aware of which boosts her anxiety even more etc. It’s basically a snake that eats its own tail, a vicious cycle, perpetual sleeplessness that begets anxiety that begets sleeplessness that begets anxiety that begets etc, etc. After it’s been an hour she debates whether or not her efforts are even worth it considering that the alarm signaling the beginning of her day will buzz in less than two hours and she feels quite awake at the moment and the extra time getting ready for work might be nice etc. But then again she didn’t get to bed very early last night or the night before or the night before that so every minute of sleep she can snag counts and she knows even if she feels alert and okay at the moment that probably won’t be the case five hours from now when she’s at work and dead tired without the option of stealing two hours’ rest etc. It’s while weighing her options that she falls asleep.

In less than two hours the woman’s alarm buzzes, startling her into the waking world. She’s confused at first, doesn’t remember falling asleep in the first place, suspects she grossly overslept, can’t seem to find the snooze button etc. She quickly gathers her bearings and goes about getting ready for work: she showers, eats a granola bar, brushes her teeth etc. She leaves her apartment and drives to work through slow, sleepy traffic etc. She works. She leaves work and drives home through slow, anxious traffic etc. At home she unwinds with cheap wine and TLC and a TV dinner and dimmed lights etc. She stays up long after her eyes have started to burn from sleep-deprivation until finally her boredom exhausts its list of possible procrastination tools and carries her off to bed, where she sleeps for a few hours before waking up much too early in the morning. She struggles back to sleep etc. Her alarm wakes her. She gets up, goes to work, works, goes home etc. She goes to sleep and goes to work and goes home and goes to sleep and goes to work and goes home and goes to work and goes home and gets a day or two off from work before going to sleep and getting up for work the next day and going to work and going home and going to sleep etc. One early morning where she finds herself hopelessly lost in a train of thought – having ditched all pretenses of trying to go back to sleep – she remembers how, when she was a child, sleep felt like a well-distinguished bookend to a long and illustrious story. She compares it to now, when sleep seems to be what it really is: a brief and transparent transition from one nondescript day to the next. Some nights she doesn’t sleep at all and that’s when the illusion really falls apart. She’s in the middle of this train when the alarm buzzes and she gets ready and goes to work etc. She works with a guy who is new at work and she kind of falls for him she thinks. They flirt at work and go out together afterwards and they invite each other to their respective apartments sometimes etc. Eventually it’s official: she is his girlfriend and he her boyfriend. Things are great for a good while; they communicate well, have pretty satisfactory sex almost each day they spend together which ends up being a lot of days etc. Soon the relationship gets serious and they move in together. She sleeps like a rock now.

The woman falls deeper and deeper in love with the guy she thinks and they start talking about marriage, kids, buying a house up in Sheridan eventually etc. They get married, have kids, buy the house etc. They live there for some years. She wakes up one morning and awakens her children and gets ready for work while yelling at her children to rise and shine already you can’t be late for school again and drives them to school and drives to work and works and goes home etc. That night her husband snores so boisterously she wakes up much too early in the morning and struggles back to sleep, however this time the snoring isn’t the soothing white noise she’s grown accustomed to and even depended on for a solid night’s sleep but rather it’s the irritating nuisance that disturbed her from slumber in the first place. She takes her kids to school and goes to work and works and goes home and cooks dinner because she had to learn to cook after having a family because that’s just what moms do, Lily, and sets the table etc. She goes to bed with her husband and has sex with him but it’s not like it used to be at all and it even grosses her out a little. He falls asleep, snores, and it grosses her out a lot. She fights tooth and nail or is it nail and tooth gosh I always mix these things up for every second of sleep and it’s never ever enough and she grows unhappy, falls out of love with her husband, divorces him etc.

The woman wakes up much too early in the morning during her first night’s sleep at her new apartment etc. She goes to work etc. She goes home etc. She meets a new guy and thinks she may be falling for him but she’s much more guarded this time around because girls you’ve just gotta be, no matter how nice they may seem at first they show their true colors eventually and you may not like them believe you me I’m speaking from experience here okay yes Em I am referring to your father. She dates this guy for a while and goes to work and goes home and wakes up much too early etc. She gets kind of old, her wrinkles don’t disappear when she twists her face this way or that, she goes to work etc. She figures she can certainly keep her options open and be on the constant lookout for The One, but for now it’d be wise to settle with this guy because girls you can only live in Lala Land for so long. She works and gets what sleep she can and works etc. She gets older and older until she doesn’t have to work anymore or simply can’t it’s never quite clear. She becomes gravely ill and one night while trying to sleep as an IV is pumping chilly fluids into her body and a rather cumbersome breathing apparatus placed over her mouth and nose is starting to feel heavy on her face, looking very gaunt and pale and awful, she thinks. What the woman is thinking is anyone’s guess, but maybe she’s considering how there are periods even after sentences that end in et cetera.

Et Cetera submitted by Elias Rodriguez.  We at The Statement! extend our personal thank you for such an excellent and interesting story.

(Source: thestatementis.blogspot.com)

Posted 1 year ago