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Post your stories

Gaffer Gamgee

Apr 23 2008, 1:17am

Post #1 of 6 (361 views)
Post your stories Can't Post

Hey all, thought it would be a great idea to have a thread where we can actually post stories that we have written, and then have people give some constructive criticism etc. All stories are welcome, however you manage to fit them in....within the limits of the board rules, of course! (ie. no inappropriate language, references, etc.) Also, people can request stories etc. btw, LOTR or Tolkien related stories are especially welcome! Hopefully I should be able to get a good number of stories in this post for us all to enjoy. If somebody else has already got another thread like this, please let me know - I did try to search for something like this, but couldn't find it.

Heed the words of the Gaffer. For even if they not be wise, they are worth listening to.

Gaffer Gamgee

Apr 23 2008, 4:28am

Post #2 of 6 (193 views)
First Story [In reply to] Can't Post

To start us all off, I have here one of my own works that is actually just the start of a story - like most of what I've written - but it actually could be a stand-alone, I reckon. Though I always seem to have one problem with my writing: it's too short for an actual story, but it's too long for a short story. I'm somewhere in the middle! Anyway, this is a story I wrote for my English teacher that had to have somewhere in the beginning, 'He/She stooped...' and this is what I came up with.



Jarred walked along the road, examining the sidewalk. He stooped to pick up a coin. This coin would have looked ordinary to most people, but Jarred could tell that this wasn’t your average coin. As soon as he had picked it up, he knew that he had been right – this was not a normal coin. But he had been right in the wrong way. Jarred sighed as he looked at the plastic coin in his hand. This happened too often – one in ten coins he found might be kept, and the rest were either normal coins, or like this one. He rubbed the coin in his hand, feeling the plastic, and then dumped it into the bin at the side of the road as he walked past.

* * *

When Jarred got back home, it was getting around dinner time.
‘Come on, luv, where you been?’ his mother called. ‘Set up the table!’
‘Sure, Mum,’ Jarrod called back, counting out cutlery from the drawer as his older sister put the glasses on the table and his father set out the drinks.
Dinner was never a rushed affair at their place – probably because of the superb cooking skills displayed by Jarred’s mother, but arguably also because all there was after dinner was homework, washing up and bed; Jarred’s family had no TV or computer. For this reason, Jarred could be found in his bed shortly after dinner on most nights; this night was no exception. As Jarred fell asleep, however, a strange light entity surrounded his bed, and proceeded to move and whiz about all night. Jarred’s sleep, however, was unabated; he slept better than he had for days.

* * *

The next morning when he woke up, Jarred started to pinch himself; however, before he could do so, the reason that he was going to pinch himself pinched him. (See if you can get your head around that!)
‘Wakey, wakey,’ it said. ‘I haven’t got all day you know.’ The voice belonged to some sort of creature that was directly above him. It was probably about his height, but it had a strange dark-purplish colour. It was dressed in – what was it? Persian? Egyptian? Arabian? – attire, with a bare torso. Thankfully, it wasn’t levitating, but it was probably doing the next best thing – it had no feet, but a long, thick tail, and it was using it to prop itself up. Jarred supposed that it was a he, but he surmised that you couldn’t really tell – maybe both the males and females had flat chests, deep voices and facial hair. Or maybe there was only one gender. Or maybe it would be better to just get up before the – whatever-it-was – did something or other.
‘What are you?’ asked Jarred as he got up off the ground.
‘Finally, you’re up,’ replied the thing-a-ma-bobsy as it took a cigarette and lighter out of thin air and proceeded to light the cigarette and then throw it over his shoulder – it vanished almost before it had left it’s hand. ‘I am probably what you would call a genie, or something similar. I’m here to tell you that I’m not. I’m a habijicunk. Don’t even try to pronounce it. Just call me Mr H. Okay, introductions over. On with the formalities.

‘At some point yesterday, you would have picked up a plastic coin and rubbed it in some way, shape or form. Whether you can remember doing this is neither here nor there. The fact is, you’re here, and that’s the only way that you could’ve gotten here. By rubbing the coin, you activated a system that alerts me. I then wait around until you head off to Drowsy Land, and then I pick out the thing in your head that you are wishing for – as long as it does not involve anything deemed ‘Adult Only’ by the Habijicunk Board, et cetera et cetera, you get the picture. Now, I take this wish, and I grant it. You are at the moment in an intermediate between your world and the wish. I just have to tell you all this so that you aren’t left here wondering where you are and all that. Also, you have license to deny doing all this and return to your world. I have a form here’ – and he took a short strip of paper, again from thin air – ‘that you need to sign if you want to go to your wish. If you do not sign the form, you are returned to your world pronto and your memory of all this is erased.’ Jarred mentally recoiled from the sudden rush of information; he quickly tried to sort out the situation. Could this be a dream? No – he had felt the pinch Mr H had given him; that was not an option. Could it be an elaborate hoax? If so, what would they (whoever ‘they’ happened to be) have to gain – the worst he could do as far as he could see is sign the form and end up in no-man’s land – which would be another thing too unlikely too occur, so he didn’t factor it in. But the real question that these all led to was this: should he sign the form? But to answer that, he just had to ask one more question . . .
‘What’s the catch?’ Jarred asked. Mr H grimaced.
‘I can’t tell you what the wish is until you have either signed the form or refused to sign it,’ he replied. ‘And you can’t refute your decision – and also, you have no chance of coming back here again. The coin will no longer work for you.’ Jarred thought quickly. If he didn’t sign the form, and it turned out to be something really good, he would regret it for – well, until he had his memory wiped, which wouldn’t be long at all, but yeah. But if he did sign the form and something bad happened, he would probably regret that too. But what were the chances of anything bad happening, really? It’s not like he made bad wishes.
‘How long would I be in the wish for?’ Jarred asked.
‘Until it was completed,’ responded Mr H. ‘Say, for example, you wished for a new bike – which you didn’t, by the way, nobody seems to like the bikes – you would stay in the wish until you had gotten tired of the bike, at which time I would take you back, wipe your memory and all that. But you do have a minimum staying time of twenty four of your hours – after which you can choose whether to go on or go back, a trial period if you will.’ Jarred knew his choice now. If it was only one day for something bad, he could just go back at the end of the day. It would be a cinch.
‘I’ll sign,’ stated Jarred. He took a pen (which had again materialised from thin air) from Mr H and signed the form. Then, as soon as he handed the form and pen back to Mr H, they vanished once more.
‘Good!’ exclaimed Mr H. ‘Now, there are a couple of things you will need to know before I tell you what the wish is and take you to your wish. After I take you to the wish, I will no longer be with you. I will come back once, after the first day, and after that only if you wish to be taken back. When you so wish, call my name three times and I will come. Then I will take you back.’
‘Very well,’ considered Jarred. ‘But what was my wish?’
‘Since you asked, here it is,’ Mr H answered. ‘Your wish was thus: to live by yourself, in a place with nobody else, just you. A place of beauty, which could sustain you for your whole lifetime. Here is your wish.’ And upon saying this, Mr H cast his arm up, and beside him appeared an image: it was almost like an empty hole in mid-air, a black hole, and an image was being projected onto it, or was in it. The image was of something like an island; a very small island, only perhaps one kilometre square, no more. It was an island, floating through the darkness; and on this island, there were many trees, fruit trees, nut trees, and the like; there was also a stream, winding its way out of the ground and back in again; there were many animals there, but none were attacking each other; all played, slept and ate together in the one space. As well as this, there was a small hut, made of sticks and rope; and as he watched, Jarred saw that inside the hut was a bed, a hole (which he presumed was a toilet), and a shelf. There were some smaller things inside the hut as well, but he couldn’t tell what from this view. And, rising up in the middle of it all, was a hill; and perched atop this hill was a massive fig tree, the largest Jarred had ever seen; and you would have thought that some of the trees would have withered and died because of the competition for water, but it was not so. All the trees were healthy, strong and tall, bearing larger (albeit stranger) fruits and nuts than Jarred had ever seen! And Jarred saw all this on the island, and he could not hold himself back. He dived through the hole, and was suddenly diving through space towards the island. It was the greatest experience imaginable, this sensation of – flying.

It was amazing! He tested it thoroughly, flapping his arms, kicking his legs, doing breaststroke, freestyle, somersaults, backward somersaults, handstands on air, backstroke, butterfly . . . the list went on and on. He made a complete fool of himself, and had a ball doing it, especially considering that there was no-one there to see that he was making a fool of himself. And the really great thing was that you didn’t feel nauseous or anything, even when you were upside-down, or diagonal, or sideways, or slant ways, or any ways that you can think of, really. It was truly fantastic! And to be doing it in space, looking at tens of hundreds of thousands of millions of billions of trillions of zillions of gazillions of stars . . . well, it was simply breathtaking. But these are just words. It is extremely hard to describe these sort of events, especially when you were not actually there, but just being told about it, and the best that you can do is imagine. I ask you, shouldn’t they raise author’s wages? I really do think so. If you think that you can do a better job, please be my guest, and please don’t come up with something like Gadsby. That would be a nightmare. (If you are not familiar with the book Gadsby, it is a novel that is written without using the letter ‘e’ once, and ‘e’ happens to be the most commonly used word in the English language. If they ever tried to translate Gadsby into a different language, they might be in a spot of bother. After all, it is 50,000 words. What on earth was Ernest Vincent Wright thinking in 1939 when he wrote that? ‘Hmmm, let’s see how big a book we can make without using the letter ‘e’. It’s going to be a tough one, lads! Stiff upper lip and all that! And it’s got to make sense, Digby, no random words all jumbled up!’ But now I’m dribbling on, and we should get back to the story. Hopefully this won’t get cut out in the editing process . . .) Anyway, getting back to it.

Presently, Jarred realised that he was getting closer to the island, and righted himself from his fiftieth backwards somersault in quick succession. (An impossible feat, I must add, unless one does happen to be floating in space without nausea.) Now that he was closer to the island, Jarred could see it in much greater detail, and he floated in wonder down towards this amazing work of art. For that is what it really was – it could not be expressed adequately enough as an island. As he touched down, Jarred felt the soft, springy grass; smelt the sweet smell of the flowers; and heard the stream, running its way around the island as the animals drank thirstily from it.

I’m actually here,’ thought Jarred as he made his way towards the hut. ‘In some sort of Utopia. It’s fantastic! ’ As he entered the hut, Jarred could finally see some more of the things that had been in there. There was a clock on the wall, which was good, because he had no watch, and he couldn’t tell the time from the stars. He could also see that the bed was very simple – just the normal framework, then a few sheets, some for a mattress. There was no pillow. Jarred couldn’t care less. He could always use leaves if he needed them anyway. When Jarred examined the toilet, he saw that it led down to a massive shaft that went down for as far as he could see. He could also see that there was no toilet paper – another obvious use for leaves – but upon thinking this, he wondered where the animals deposited all their waste, for he had neither seen nor smelled anything of the sort as yet. He resolved to look into it as soon as he went out.
But what really held his attention is what he had seen before on the shelves when he had been in the – he supposed he could call it an intermediate – and had looked through what he guessed had actually been some sort of portal, however that worked out. For there, in all their glory, great quantities of coins lined the shelves. Jarred was tongue-tied, gob-smacked, flabbergasted, astounded, lost for words – and that happens to be all I could think of without referring to a thesaurus. Jarred examined them all in wonderment, for they were near every type of coin that had ever been made – and he had them all.

Jarred still couldn’t believe his good fortune (even though he didn’t believe in fortune, luck or circumstance, or any other of those words that you find in the thesaurus under these words). He spent the next three hours (or at least three hours by the clock on the wall) looking at every single coin in his new collection, polishing them, and sorting them. When he was done, he decided to explore the island. But, when he was outside, he thought to himself . . .
If I could fly through space when I came, will I still be able to fly now? ’ The physics didn’t exactly work out, but they didn’t work out when he tried to comprehend how he could breathe out here in open space, either; so he decided to give it a go. He deduced that the best place to try would probably be on top of the hill, so he walked up to the top. It was not a very steep incline, so it was relatively easy work. When he got to the top, Jarred proceeded to try out all that he could think of. He flapped his arms – nothing. He jumped up and down – nothing. He ran and then jumped – nothing. He flapped his arms while running, and then jumped – nothing. He actually tried to do a backwards somersault, like he had in space – with the painful result of him ending up flat on his back. But then he spotted something. Relatively high up in the tree, he saw something that looked suspiciously like – a diving board. He gulped as he guessed its function. He started to climb.

Thankfully, the tree was easy to ascend, so he had no problem getting there. The hard part would be what he needed to do when he got there. First he just tried flapping while on the board, and then jumping up and down when that failed. This caused so much wobbling that for a moment Jarred thought he would be thrown off. However, he managed to keep his footing. When the board had stopped wobbling, Jarred steeled himself for what he was about to do. He brought back to his mind pictures of himself cart-wheeling through the sky, soaring, gliding, wild and free. When he thought of this, he was come over with such a feeling of ecstasy and adrenaline that he ran forward across the board, jumping at just the right moment to land back down right at the very tip of the board to get that maximum spring, launching himself out into empty space.

Well, that's it. Please let me know what you guys think, and donate some works of your own!

Heed the words of the Gaffer. For even if they not be wise, they are worth listening to.

(This post was edited by Gaffer Gamgee on Apr 23 2008, 4:30am)

Gaffer Gamgee

Apr 23 2008, 4:37am

Post #3 of 6 (203 views)
Second story [In reply to] Can't Post

My second story here was, again, for my English teacher - we had to research a culture and do a story on them. This one is actually finished, a complete story, thankfully, though it is quite lengthy - anyway, I'll leave you to decide. I have some translations of words at the bottom for weirder ones. I can also provide pronunciations for the hard words if anyone is interested.


Khenemetankh looked over the wide expanse that he knew so well, the expanse that was his home. Over to the left he could see Iteru, the Great River. It divided their land and gave life to their country. But it was also why Khenemetankh was here. For Khenemetankh was not his true name. His real name was simply Henry. He was using the name Khenemetankh as a disguise – he did not want to reveal his true identity. His duty here was to stop the deterioration of Egypt (or Deshret, as it was called by the locals, and some others called it Kemet) into waste and ruin – for something was going to happen, very soon, that would disturb Egypt’s way of life forever – unless Khenemetankh changed it. He could still remember what his teacher had told him before he left to arrive here.

‘You must disguise yourself, Henry,’ his teacher had said. ‘We shall give you a new name – Khenemetankh. A bit lengthy, but then all names are lengthy around there. And don’t forget what you need to do – don’t forget the reason you are going. We are all counting on you, Khenemetankh. If you do not succeed, our country shall be left in famine forever.’ With that, he had given Khenemetankh a vial containing a small amount of liquid, and had secretly told him what it did, and how to use it. He had then dressed him in the closest they had to the clothes of where he was going. Then he was off, after a quick travelling lesson.
‘Just pull the lever, keep in mind where you are going, and make sure that you can always see the sun or moon – if you can’t you will never find your way. Now go, Khenemetankh. May you travel safely.’

Khenemetankh watched the moon high in the sky. It was a full moon – the seventh of the year. Khenemetankh knew that meant he had little time. The flooding of Iteru would occur within a week. If it did, well…his teacher would have made a miscalculation. If it didn’t – that’s when Khenemetankh took action. He heard footsteps behind him, and turned to see Rehotep, another boy about his age whose house he was sharing. He had turned up at Rehotep’s house about a year ago, claiming to be a poor worker with no home. Rehotep’s Mut and Baba had welcomed him in, and Khenemetankh had stayed in their house, along with Rehotep’s little sister, Meryetmose. Rehotep walked up beside him and looked out to where he was.

‘Thoth is bright tonight,’ commented Rehotep. Khenemetankh nodded.
‘Why are you always out when Thoth is brightest?’ asked Rehotep. Khenemetankh looked at Rehotep thoughtfully, wondering what he should tell him.
‘It is the seventh time that Thoth has been so bright this year,’ Khenemetankh relinquished finally. ‘Iteru will flood soon.’
‘That is true,’ acknowledged Rehotep. ‘But that still doesn’t answer my question.’ Again, Khenemetankh pondered his reply. If he revealed too much, Rehotep might try to stop him. And that would end out the worse for Rehotep. But if he didn’t say enough, Rehotep would keep questioning him, and Khenemetankh needed time to get ready.
‘I was watching Thoth at its brightest because at one of those times I would have to make a trip,’ Khenemetankh carefully said.
‘How would you know which one it would be?’ asked Rehotep.
‘When it was the seventh bright of the year, and Iteru had not yet flooded,’ replied Khenemetankh. ‘And this is the case now. I leave in the morning for Abu Simbel.’
‘Abu Simbel? But that’s so far away!’ protested Rehotep. ‘Why do you have to go there?’ Khenemetankh thought fast. He could either lie…or say that he couldn’t say, which would arouse suspicions.
‘I need to find my Mut and Baba,’ Khenemetankh lied. ‘They told me that something would happen at this time of year, and that they would need me back again.’

He turned back towards the house and started walking towards it. Rehotep followed him into the house. As Khenemetankh entered the building, he heard the sound of the flute and harp – Rehotep’s parents were very musical. Khenemetankh went upstairs to his room; he needed to get ready for the next day. As he started packing his bag, he noticed the sounds of voices downstairs, and the harp and flute had stopped. Khenemetankh sighed. He knew what was coming next – Rehotep’s Mut and Baba were going to try and stop him from going; he had seen it happen when he left his family to come here. He heard their footsteps as they ascended the stairs. They arrived at his doorway and looked at him anxiously.
‘We have heard that you are leaving us,’ stated Rehotep’s Mut. Khenemetankh did not dispute the statement.
‘Why must you do this?’ asked Rehotep’s Baba. ‘You have a good life here.’ Khenemetankh sighed.
‘Yes, but I must find my Mut and Baba again,’ replied Khenemetankh. ‘They are waiting for me in Abu Simbel.’
‘Well, if you must go, you must,’ sighed Rehotep’s Mut. ‘We shall pray that Bes may protect you.’ Khenemetankh nodded silently, and waited for them to leave. Rehotep’s Mut and Baba stood there for a moment, shifting their weight uncomfortably. Then they left. Khenemetankh sighed with relief. He had thought it would have been harder than that. He started packing his bag again.

The next morning, Khenemetankh was up bright and early, to try to skip any long goodbyes. However, he was a bit too late. Rehotep’s Mut and Baba were waiting at the foot of the stairs for him.
‘Since you are leaving, we have something for you,’ Rehotep’s Baba announced.
‘Something that will protect you on your way,’ continued Rehotep’s Mut. She drew something that had been hanging off her neck – an amulet known as the eye of Horus. Khenemetankh nearly gasped aloud. This amulet must have cost them a fortune. It was a very special amulet that was thought to ensure safety, as well as many other more obscure properties, and was often made with gold, silver, or lapis lazuli. This one was only made with wood, but it was polished to such a degree that he could see the reflection that the rising sun gave off it.
‘It was given to me by a craftsman when he saw me on the street with next to nothing,’ Rehotep’s Mut told. ‘He took pity on me and gave it to me to keep me safe, among other things. Now, Khenemetankh, I pass it on to you, as you proceed on this perilous journey.’ Khenemetankh was astounded. The amulet didn’t really do anything, of course – or so he thought – but the simple act of her giving something so precious to him amazed him.
‘I…I don’t know what to say,’ he stammered, as Rehotep’s Mut lowered the amulet around his neck.
‘There is nothing to say,’ Rehotep’s Mut crooned. ‘Just bring yourself back, after your work is done.’ Khenemetankh found himself – for absurd reason – nodding.
No! he thought. You need to get back home straight after you have finished your job! But the deed was done. Now, he either had to go back on his word, or come back here some time. At the moment, he really couldn’t decide, so he stored it in his mind for later. Rehotep’s Mut and Baba waved goodbye as he walked out the door with his bag. When he got a hundred metres or so away, he turned back towards the house and had his last look at what his home had been for the last year. He took a deep breath, and turned around and started walking.

Khenemetankh’s journey to Abu Simbel was uneventful, whether because of the amulet or some other reason. On the third day that he left Rehotep’s house, he could see Abu Simbel as a smudge on the horizon. By the end of the day, it was much clearer, and Khenemetankh went to sleep, content that the next day would finish his task.

Khenemetankh woke the next morning unsteadily. He had had a bad dream. He had dreamt that the Egyptian gods had been angry at him for what he was going to do, and had cast him down, into the Underworld. Khenemetankh didn’t believe in the Egyptian gods, but it still gave him reason to wonder…Khenemetankh shook himself. Now was no time to get cold feet – though that was unlikely in Egypt’s climate. Khenemetankh got to his feet, shouldered his bag, and continued on his way.

As he entered the city, Khenemetankh did not notice many people on the streets. As he got closer to the heart of the city, though, there were a decent number more, and many merchants selling their wares.
‘Menes! Hey, over here, Menes!’ one of the children cried. Khenemetankh gritted his teeth. The child probably knew him from one of the times he came near here to work – they called him that because Khenemetankh was too long a name too remember. He did not like the name Menes. Come to that, he did not like the name Khenemetankh, either – but he would have to put up with that. At least Menes was better than what some of the older children called him – Panahasi.
‘Menes! Come on, Menes! Come and play!’ another child called. Khenemetankh ignored him and continued towards his destination.

As Khenemetankh neared the cliff that dropped down to Iteru, he noticed a crowd of people gathered by the edge, noting Iteru’s low waters. Khenemetankh went past them – he needed to find a place by the river where there were no people near. He scanned the cliff line for a place, and noticed a secluded area just over the next rise. When he reached it, he crouched down, and took out the vial that his teacher had given him that long year ago. It was still intact, holding just as much liquid as it had before. With a careful look around him to check that there was nobody near enough to see what he was doing, he uncorked the vial, and slowly tipped it so that the contents would spill into Iteru, just as…

‘Khenemetankh! What are you doing?’ a voice cried. Khenemetankh hastily re-corked the vial, hid it away, and stood and turned in one movement to see Rehotep running towards him.
No, he thought. This fool could ruin everything!
‘What are you doing here?’ asked Khenemetankh, slightly angrily. ‘You should be with your Mut and Baba at home!’ Rehotep recoiled from his acid stare.
‘Well, that is to say…I…’ he stammered. ‘I mean, you didn’t expect me to let you go by yourself, did you? I’m going to help you find your Mut and Baba, and then I’m going to make sure that you come back home with me!’ Khenemetankh sighed. This was going to make things very difficult.
‘Thankyou for your offer,’ he replied hesitantly. ‘But I really don’t need your help. You need to go back to your home. Or you can stay here if you want. I don’t mind.’ Rehotep shook his head stubbornly.
‘I saw what you were trying to do,’ he accused. ‘And I’m taking you to see the high priest.’ Khenemetankh raged inwardly. How dare he! Telling on him like a little child! Rehotep should be ashamed of himself!
‘You go and tell your high priest if you want,’ Khenemetankh replied smoothly. ‘But by the time you have, I’ll have done it and been gone.’ Rehotep laughed.
‘I’ve already told someone, silly,’ he scorned. ‘They’re on their way. There’s nothing stopping it now. You’ll get prosecuted for attempting to poison Iteru.’

Just as Rehotep said this, a small band of people appeared on the scene. They didn’t look much, but they had the air of command about them. They walked up to Rehotep and Khenemetankh.
‘You’re coming with us,’ one of them declared. It was an order, not a request. Khenemetankh sighed; he had no choice. He let himself be escorted away by the officials.

The men took him before the high priest, and a collection of other priests. Khenemetankh stood under armed guard, and there were guards at every entrance. The high priest spoke.
‘Young man, you stand accused of trying to poison Iteru. The punishment for this is quite severe. Do you refute this accusation?’
‘Yes, I do,’ proclaimed Khenemetankh. ‘Something has not happened yet that even you priests must have noticed. It is past half the year, yet Iteru has not as yet flooded.
‘This is not a good sign. If Iteru does not flood soon, Egypt will suffer famine, starvation, and dehydration, and eventually the population will perish.’ Most of the priests were muttering to each other as a response to Khenemetankh’s speech. The high priest, however, maintained his watch on Khenemetankh.
‘And how does this relate to the accusation?’ the high priest inquired.
‘The contents of the vial that I attempted to empty into Iteru would have caused Iteru to flood within three days,’ Khenemetankh replied. ‘I was not trying to poison Iteru, and consequently, you all; instead, however, trying to help Egypt at large.’ Now Khenemetankh had all of the priests astonished, even the high priest.
‘This is quite a claim,’ the high priest replied at length. ‘Undoubtedly, Iteru has not yet flooded, and this is cause for worry, but how this…this vial may change this, I fail to see. However, whatever the properties of the vial, we cannot allow you to empty the contents of it into Iteru, for our and Egypt’s safety.’ Khenemetankh fumed. The nitwits! They were putting his country, his family, at risk! He couldn’t let that happen! He quickly tried to think of a way to circumvent the high priest, to try and think of another thing that would distract them from his task, something that they might think would work…and he had it. The one thing that just, just, might work.

‘High priest,’ Khenemetankh ventured. ‘What if I said that I knew another way to help Iteru? One that did not involve this vial, and one that could not possibly poison the people of Egypt?’ The high priest was taken aback.
‘You have another method?’ he inquired. ‘This is quite astounding. I must hear of it.’
‘Of course, high priest,’ Khenemetankh replied, inclining his head. ‘You know of the properties of the sacred lotus flower against disease? These properties are great, but under a blessing given by you, the high priest, they could have even more potential. I suggest an arrangement of sacred lotus flowers, all blessed by you, the high priest, to be dropped in the flow of Iteru, so they shall be carried all the way through Egypt. As the lotus flower protects us from disease, so shall it protect Egypt from infertility. Then, within a week for certain, Iteru shall flood.’ All of the priests reacted differently to this idea. Some gave their immediate support; others were more hesitant; and others were completely against it, saying they should rely on the gods alone, calling him Sokkwi Wati. But then the high priest called for silence, and all heads turned towards him.
‘This method is one of the most sensible ideas that I have ever heard,’ proclaimed the high priest. ‘May preparations start at once.’

Khenemetankh was overjoyed that his ruse had worked. Now he had to just slip the contents of the vial into Iteru when no-one was looking, and get back to what would take him home. He was no longer under armed guard, because the high priest trusted him because of his contribution. Nonetheless, Khenemetankh would not be surprised if the high priest had sent someone to watch him, just in case. Either way, he could not go to the same spot that he had before; there would undoubtedly be someone waiting there. He went via a circuitous route to another spot that he had seen the other day; it was slightly more secluded, as well as a bit more enclosed. As Khenemetankh neared the spot, he made sure that nobody was following him, and then quickly walked over to the edge of the cliff. He took out the vial and carefully uncorked it. All of its contents, thankfully, were not spilled; he would need all of it to make the process work. He again checked his surroundings for people, but, thankfully, the area was devoid of inhabitants. Khenemetankh carefully turned his hand to let the contents spill over into Iteru, making sure that they entered the water and were not just left on the rocks below. When he was satisfied, he drew the vial back, corked it, and put it away.

When he got back to the place that he had left his bag, he was thankful that there was no armed soldiers there either; he did not want to have to try and explain to them where he was going. He picked up his bag off the bed that he had slept on last night, shouldered it, and walked out of Abu Simbel with not a look back. But, as he reached the high rise from where he had viewed Abu Simbel for the first time on his journey there clearly, he could not resist turning to see his last view of the city; and what he saw astounded him. Almost the whole city had gone out to the banks of Iteru, and they were all throwing lotus flowers into the river, as Khenemetankh saw the high priest blessing the flowers to help Iteru to rise and flood once more. Khenemetankh smiled. It was not something he did often, but the sight of these people throwing flowers into a river – that was now so thick with lotuses that it nearly looked white itself – in the belief that it would help Iteru to rise, made him show such a display of emotion. Khenemetankh knew that as the number of flowers passed all the other riverside towns and cities, they would also throw lotus flowers in, and the wave of hope would sweep infectiously over Egypt. He also knew that Iteru would flood, and that the people would rejoice and be merry once more. But not because of the lotus flowers. Because of the empty vial that he still carried. Khenemetankh took his last look at the city. Sighing, he turned around and continued on his journey.

Three days later, he arrived back at Rehotep’s house. Rehotep was not there, of course – he was probably still coming back from Abu Simbel. His Mut and Baba probably didn’t even know where Rehotep was. Thankfully, they weren’t at home, so Khenemetankh did not have to explain anything. He drew the eye of Horus amulet from around his neck and placed it on a table. He knew he could not take it with him. Then he went out of the house and around the hill a bit, to find his ride back home waiting for him.
Home, here I come, he thought. He opened the door of the machine, pressed a few buttons to set the co-ordinates, checked and re-checked the settings, made sure the sun was in view, and then pulled the lever. Khenemetankh and the machine vanished from the world in a puff of smoke, flashing lights and loud noise.


Four thousand five hundred years later, a boy called Henry appeared back in the place that he should have known forever, but that he had changed to the way it should have been. And he had the grandest tale to tell, a tale that would send everyone’s mind abuzz.


Abu Simbel – old village
Baba – father
Deshret – the Red Land
Hedj – white
Iteru – Great River (the Nile)
Kemet – the Black Land
Khenemetankh – one who is joined with life
Horus – high, above
Menes – unknown
Meryetmose – beloved child (female – for male, remove the ET)
Mut – mother
Panahasi – the barbarian
Ra – sun
Rehotep – peace of Re (or Ra)
Sokkwi Wati – little rebel fool
Thoth – leader
(not all name meanings may be completely accurate – some grammatical errors may have occurred in the translation)
That's it. Hopefully I get some other stories apart from mine in here soon!

Heed the words of the Gaffer. For even if they not be wise, they are worth listening to.

(This post was edited by Gaffer Gamgee on Apr 23 2008, 4:45am)

Superuser / Moderator

Apr 23 2008, 4:46am

Post #4 of 6 (215 views)
Just a quick note for newbies [In reply to] Can't Post

Since this *is* a Tolkien related site, the Fan Art board is primarily for Tolkien related art and Fiction. Not a problem for this one thread but, in general, we wouldn't want it to become a regular occurence. If anyone is looking for a site to post non-Tolkien Fan Fic, Fan Art, etc. keep an eye out for people with links to their fan fic in their footers and PM them asking them where they like to post it. Many of our members write fan fic that isn't all Tolkien related. Suggestions from you nice folks would also be welcome here

Most importantly - Welcome to all the new users who have joined recently!! Smile

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White Gull

Apr 23 2008, 4:43pm

Post #5 of 6 (169 views)
Interesting! [In reply to] Can't Post

You have ability in writing! I, personally, haven't found the TORn message boards the best place to receive interest and feedback for fanfic. Occasional on-topic drabbles, vignettes and poetry are appreciated, but if you want constructive feedback you might look elsewhere. Three sites that can be helpful are:


I'm sure others have helpful links, too.

Thanks for joining our gang here, and I wish you lots of success in writing.


Poetry has been to me an exceeding great reward; it has soothed my affliction; it has multiplied and refined my enjoyments; it has endeared my solitude; it has given me the habit of wishing to discover the Good and Beautiful in all that meets and surrounds me.
-Samuel Taylor Coleridge

White Gull's Fanfic

Gaffer Gamgee

Apr 24 2008, 2:09am

Post #6 of 6 (337 views)
Thanks [In reply to] Can't Post

thanks for the sites - but I don't really write fanfic, though recently I have come up with one idea....

Heed the words of the Gaffer. For even if they not be wise, they are worth listening to.


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