I boycott making a comic today to protest every prick of a client who ever tried to kill my creativity. Instead, I give you FUCK THIS CLIENT by a fellow artist.
This is a short story I wrote a few years back for the Indo-Norwegian writing competition.
Every great nation or society or for that matter, even a person’s character has been built on the ideal of curiosity. The curious nature of man has supplied some of his greatest inventions over time. Man’s curiosity can be sufficed by a peep over a fence, sending out emissaries, or more recently, clicking on the subscribe button on “facebook.” The information so obtained has successfully, for centuries, laid rest to the inquisitive nature of man. This information additionally has the characteristic to create or dismiss further curiosities. The history of civilized mankind is full of mention of emissaries that served this very purpose. The political and social histories of many kingdoms have been created through the documentation by such emissaries. This story is that of one very such emissary, a very unique one.
Deacon Miles, a young man in his early 20’s of the most ideal aptitude lies awake in bed by the open wooden window, the absence of which could easily leave the old yet neat cabin in complete darkness. The torn curtains covering the window have been unsuccessful in keeping the sunlight out. Deacon is a man of order, but only when its presentation is required. A packed backpack with some essential patchwork holding it together, a box of Camel BLUE cigarettes that hasn’t recovered from being damp, no lighter, a cell phone, a camera and Deacon himself, flipping through the pages of a comic book on Vikings are the present contents of the small, collapsing and yet comfortable bed. The things on the bed somehow seem to be lying around in an orderly manner, as if they were merely taken out of their natural habitat and neatly relocated here. The comic book is in the native language, which he has not familiarized himself with yet. It was not what he was sent here for, his agenda was entirely different and since it was demanded of him to complete it; he won’t deflect unless it was at his own cost. And his cost in his present situation was not much cared for.
Being able to make very little sense out of it, he placed the comic book aside and began looking at the fluttering torn curtains. It bothered him; firstly because, torn, is not how curtains are meant to be, secondly, because they allowed flaring strokes of sun directly at his face, and mainly because he wasn’t going to be around long enough to bother putting new ones up. He clearly remembers how the curtain came to tear and that he had immediately realized its implications however short-lived they were going to be. He remembers all this detail, as it had happened just yesterday.
The strikingly pretty Klara and Deacon had walked into the very same room, as they sat on the bed; Klara suggestively closed the windows to block out the sunlight that bothered Deacon. Klara was in love with him and was sure to do anything to keep him happy. Deacon remarked while trying to push her blissfully textured hair behind her ear, “Klara, I know what you are thinking, but I sincerely suggest that you get me drunk first.” At the end of this sentence, he burst out into a chuckle like a 5 year old would at the grand success of his prank. Klara responded to this with mere indifference treating him like a mischievous 5 year old that he was pretending to be. As she poured the remaining Aquavit with every intention of emptying the bottle tonight, her indifference turned to a sheepish smile which she could climb mountains and live in caves to hide from him.
Minutes later, Klara’s wrist was being held above her head on the pillow, while Deacon’s face is buried in her neck, his damp lips opening and closing trying to taste the Aquavit that he poured on her, while rubbing the ice cold glass on her perfect skin, driving her to shrivel every time it touched her skin. Klara now drew his lips closer to hers. They kiss, making it hard to breathe. His tongue tasted so sweet in her mouth that she would think of it to be edible and pass along a light nibble at it. Deacon’s only reaction to this was to try and nibble back at hers. He was kissing her upper lips, gently pulling on them while her tongue rubbed on his lower lips. They were so close to each other now that the only thing left was to be one with each other.
Deacon was preparing to enter her. She acknowledges by moving her waist into position. As he began his entry, he released his grip around her wrist to guide himself into her. Klara has her eyes closed, and as she realizes his efforts to enter her, grabs his broad shoulders and pinches them deep with her black polished nails. The instant he is completely inside her, she opens her eyes that are now moist and are glistening to the slight bit of light that is peeping through the gaps in the window pane. Deacon moves in and out of her rhythmically and she is responding to each of his thrusts by swinging her hips in waves. They lock lips like they would never let go. Deacon uses his strong arms to lift her up in a jerk and onto his lap making it easier for her to move at a pace that pleases her. He guides her movements by placing his palms on her adorably shaped derriere, while moving his lips in careful motions along her perky breasts that were now leaping in a circular motion complimenting the movements of her hip. Klara felt like she has never felt before. Tightly crossing her legs around him, she grabbed the curtain to enable her to move higher than her grip on his shoulders would let her. Deacon sensed that she is about to reach her ever favored part of the act, the part where she gets her utmost pleasure. He carefully moves his lips on to hers and guides them to a sensuous kiss. As they both climaxed and Deacon set her down on the bed, her senses were yet to return from where they had been and she forgot to let go of the curtain, ripping it at the centre. Both layers of it! Deacon cautiously placed her on the bed and while still inside of her, rolled her to her side, so he could lie beside her and watch her slowly slip back to reality. Klara could never forget this night or any of the nights she spent with Deacon or for that matter the days she spent showing him around her homeland.
As Deacon recollected these occurrences, his phone received a message from Klara. It read, “Last night was the perfect way to say good bye. I loved every moment of it. I’d really love for you to tell me if there is anything I could do to keep us together. Try not to forget what we had when you return to the other women from your home.” Deacon immediately responded to this with, “I know, me too, I shall, I shall not.”
He waited for a reply. He wasn’t expecting one, but he’d hoped for one, finding none, his attention diverted to the clock on the phone. His shocked gaze then shifted to his wrist only to confirm his fear that he had lost track of time. This was easily achieved in this part of the planet for a foreigner such as him. The sun doesn’t set like it did where he came from. In precisely 14 minutes a new day would dawn and the sun hadn’t vanished like it was supposed to 6 hours ago, like it should have elsewhere on the planet. If it wasn’t for the fact that he had digested all the ‘matpakke,’ his new addiction, and smoked fish he ate earlier and was now feeling hungry, he would still believe that it was just late in the evening. In the very next 13 minutes, he needs to submit his final report of this exotic alien land to his bosses. They had sponsored his entire trip. A trip that he wanted to take since forever! One that he had fought to qualify for! He was not one to disappoint them, not after having gotten so far.
He hurries to his laptop computer, opens up his elaborate documentation, only to reconfirm that he is yet to add an appropriate title to his work. All his colleagues in this line of work would have first figured out the title, before they even began their research. He always had a way with words and thought that he would extract a title from the content that he would so magically weave. He sits down to read it chapter by chapter, skipping the details. The details were already registered, while he wrote them, while he read them out to Klara to verify the facts for him. Klara knew that he could get his facts right. She would listen to him only to try real hard to find faults in him and improve the man she loves. A level of improvement that Deacon or for that matter no man knew, existed. A utopian level of improvement that all women crave her man to be in!
Chapter one was titled: “Arrival” This chapter clarified that he arrived here at what the locals would call the start of summer and that he was in for a surprising amount of daylight. The chapter also contained all about how the region was rich in oil reserves and the discovery of which was crucial in determining the political stand on whether to join the union of the neighboring countries or not. The chapter’s high point was the content about how the region was of paleontological and geological importance. He did not get a title from there or rather chose not to.
Chapter two was titled: “Glowing skies” This was his favorite chapter, researching and writing it alike. He had a great run tracking down the elusive northern lights and even more fun trying to photograph them with a camera that most other photographers rendered obsolete. Everyone has moved on to digital technology in the hope of satisfying their immediate curiosity of how the pictures look. Deacon prefers using the beat up and apparently more time consuming 35mm technology instead. His attempts to blend in wouldn’t have succeeded had he used the highly advanced equipment from back home. Making crude modifications to this camera, travelling to places with names that he could hardly pronounce and most amusingly, meeting Klara all occurred during the composition of this chapter. He took a long breath, and almost giggled to himself. He had his title. He had no reason to read his chapters on the colorfully recent Constitution Day parade. Or his motorcycle rides along the coastline and across the breathtaking Atlantic road. Even for that matter, his visits to the many scenic waterfalls. Including the one that turned out awkward just by virtue of its name, Bridal Veil. All of the material he had gathered and created this travelogue had one common factor in it. Klara! Her presence or her absence.
He types in the title, includes the supporting documents, offers salutations and hits send. While what he thinks to be the achievement of his lifetime is leaving for his bosses and whom he considers as the rightful owners of the content, he looks around the cabin and steals a glance outside the window at the stump around which Klara would fasten her bicycle. By the time his thought completes, there is a blinding yet non surprising blue flash from his laptop.
All his belongings, the items arranged on the bed are gone. The empty Aquavit bottle, the glass he drank from. All of it, gone! As if they were returned to their natural habitats. He looks at the still present laptop and it reads “MISSION ACCOMPLISHED. RETURN HOME” before it vanishes too, consuming the flash. All that remains is the glass that Klara drank from. While his gaze is sticking to her glass and is trying to return to the empty tree stump outside. The sun that was thought to weirdly follow a horizontal path after midnight is as against the vertical one is now following a new trajectory along a new axis. In a third dimension, towards him! The shadows of the objects that the sun was casting remain unaltered though.
As the sun reaches him, he turns his back to the sun that is now a foot away from him and puts his head down and verbalizes the title he gave to his documentation, “Valhalla, complete with glowing skies, just as promised.” In a split second all is returned to normal. All but the fact that he remains in his place, instead of back home, to be conducted by the sun and that his camera and phone with a message from Klara have returned to the bed.
This was Deacon Miles’s conquest that he endured bravely. The struggle to see and experience beauty in a strange land! He had championed at it. To him, the glowing skies and the glow in Klara’s eyes were the spoils of his victory. He chose to remain on this planet, however strange it has been, to reap them. His right to Valhalla had been earned.