Eric Dulin Collection: Short Stories and Poems

by Eric Dulin

In Memoriam The Fall

  Poem over death and guilt

  (Related to the universe of my novel Condemned)

  Many think time is the solution to everything

  But I can guarantee you that they are wrong.

  What can you do when the thing you desire

  Will forever be out of grasp?

  Nothing.

  These eyes have worn through hope and despair,

  Hate and love once flooded my veins.

  Yet here I am, with the universe to call my own,

  Where time and space is meaningless.

  Revenge has been tried a thousand times,

  But nothing I do brings me peace.

  When a mind only remembers and never forgets,

  It is hard to make ends meet.

  So, alas, here I am,

  Waiting for Death to overcome its fears.

  Then I could be joined with the ones I love,

  You Victoria, and Gaius, is he grown?

  This void of space is an endless plain,

  And I search but can never find what it is that I seek.

  What cruelty did we commit for the Ancients to forge us so?

  Death is such a fickle thing,

  A release from this prison that is life.

  How many eons must I spend here,

  Knowing what I seek is on the other side?

  The fool that hopes to live forever should reconsider,

  For there are far worse things than Death.

  I’ve stared down Death and spat in his eye,

  And yet he is too scared to make a move.

  I open my arms and beckon him forth,

  But here I stand, free and without harm.

  So, what can one do when there is time for everything?

  Nothing, that is what I can guarantee.

  Death is what brings purpose to life,

  A reason to fight for the ones you love.

  But when you can live forever,

  And you lose the ones dearest to you,

  What do you have left?

  Analysis:

  This poem, like the prior short story, details Zorrul specifically as he reminisces over the Fall. It comes to show how revenge and anger can never overcome the grief of death, and there are far worse things than dying. The last word, which is implied by the emptiness, is meant to be “Nothing,” showing how a life without any purpose is a worse fate than death.

 

  Dark Side of the Moon

  Literary Short Story

  A world of creation, a world of destruction. A world of lavishness, a world of frugality. A world of the young, a world of the wise. A world of redemption, a world of retribution. A world where the strong ate, a world where the weak starved. A world of opportunity, a world of deception. A world of the dead, a world of the dying.

  This world enveloped the lives of Kichner and her fellow workers of C Block, 74th Division of Hollow Colony. All two thousand of her comrades served their three Queens with undying fervor, along with the other hundred thousand souls who called Hollow their hearth. Constructed on the Northern fringes of the many colonies of Algonia, it held guard along with her sister colonies near the frontier of the Feeding Grounds from which their food was harvested. They were sacred grounds hidden amongst the bases of three dozen ancient oaks that watched over all in their silent slumber, the last of what once had been a great forest brought to destruction by the Big Ones. The sun’s radiant rays danced across the grassy meadows of Algonia, untouched and unscathed by time as a gentle breeze swept through the lands, ushering forth a wave of warm air. The serenity was merely an illusion for the darker powers at work.

  For Kichner and her brethren of Hollow, the times were not well. A new race had come to challenge Algonian dominance of the meadow, and when the Algonians could have wiped out the intruders with little bloodshed, they had chosen not to. They figured the intruders would be defeated by the older colonies in the Northern Hills or by collapsing in on themselves with their malicious ambitions, but the opposite happened. The Algonian’s adversaries exploded in a raging innumerable tide, sweeping away all resistance under their lightning black tides that were darker than night. Colony after colony fell in rapid succession, and soon a dozen nations and a million corpses lay crumbled at the feet of their foe.

  The Javalonians were smaller than Algonians, but what the attackers lacked in size they made up in mobility. Under the iron might of their leader, Queen Jarvinia, they sought domination over the weak as they viewed themselves the supreme race, destined to conquer all. But Kichner, along with the millions of other Algonians, would not surrender their sacred hearths so easily.

  The Algonians, however, believed that they had time to prepare for the costs of war. The three dozen ancient oaks provided a key strategic point for the Algonians, having long protected them from the intruders with their vicious predators and harsh terrain. But last night, the night of a full moon, the Algonians found in horror that six Big Ones had devoured the trees with their great machines, reducing and uprooting the lands to nothing. Worse than losing their major feeding ground was the fact that the great barriers dividing the two forces had been breached; they waited for an inevitable storm.

  Kichner was hard at work in Tunnel Quadrant D6 of Hollow, expanding the colony for the new young. Dirt and dust clogged the cramped air around Kichner and her fellow workers, but she was so focused on her work that she paid little heed to the conditions. She helped a comrade dislodge a pearly white stone which plopped into a pile of mud, the white forever stained by the filth as a worker took it away. Kichner had been working for most of the night when the alarms of the fall of the trees had created the perfect conditions for an invasion. Her limbs were sore, her muscles fading her as she worked on will alone. Her heart thumped as fast as her breaths. One of her comrades tapped her. “Kichner?”

  It was Althea, one of her oldest friends. “Althea, where have you been?”

  “Not even a hello? Quadrant E4, if you must know.”

  “Forgive me sister, the long night has taken the best of me. What are you doing here?”

  With combined effort, the two managed to dislodge another stone. “Once this passage is complete we can rest, and I like my sleep. Imagine what it will be like tomorrow, with all the talk of war flying through the ranks.”

  The fatigue in Kichner vanished as energy buzzed throughout her body for a new desire. A desire that rose in a scorching wave of fire. A desire that made her heartbeat explode, pumping fiery blood through every cell in her tired body. A desire that rid all other desires. A desire for war.

  War. It was the foundation on which both the Algonians and Javalonians came to power. It was in the heart of every Algonian, but surely none had become as devoted or embracing to war as Kichner. War had even overtaken Yalak in Kichner’s heart, the Creator of Life. It was a rage for the youth, longing for violence and bloodshed for even the most trivial of reasons; sometimes no reason at all. War was the mightiest of honors to bestow on oneself, to serve in a glorious war for Algonia and the Queens.

  “Yes, glorious war! Oh, we will finally be able to fight! They will sing of us in the Hall of Warriors, of our march, our crushed enemies! Of our magnificent victories, rivaled by none!”

  “Don’t get too carried away, we are workers. I doubt we will even see the field.”

  Kichner wanted no discouragement. “We will fight, we have to. This will be the biggest war for many generations, why would they exclude us from glorious war?”

  “Who says that, who keeps chiming of glorious war?”

  Kichner recognized the voice; one of the lone older workers. She spoke little, and the only reason Kichner remembered Lavica was because she had once yelled at her for dropping a small stone on her foot, not worthy of such a response. Neither Althea nor Kichner replied.

  “It is you, Kichner, isn’t it?”

  “Why does it matter?”

  “Stop. We don’t need to hear of your nonsense, of your glorio
us war.”

  Whether due to her hype or that she failed to think, Kichner said, “Why? Because you can’t go?”

  “What? You dare say such a thing?”

  If Lavica wasn’t missing a limb, she would’ve proved much more terrifying as Lavica turned to face Kichner, barely working. “Let me tell you what I think of your glorious war. Glorious war is the reason that all of my friends are dead. Glorious war inspires you babbling fools to die for reasons you don’t even began to comprehend. Glorious war is why I am alone and old, surrounded by young. Your glorious war has taken everything from me. Everything! Some say Yalak spared me, I survived by His grace. I would rather die in peace than live in agony, the only true reward of your glorious war.”

  Kichner, along with the other dozen workers in the passage stared in frozen horror at Lavica as she lashed forward. However, several workers already pulled Lavica back as Althea led Kichner to another section of the passage to ease the tension. “Embrace the dark side of the moon Kichner, or it will claim your soul just as it claimed mines.”

  The icy words reverberated through Kichner like the ripples of a still pool disturbed by a stone. “Don’t listen to her, she is only an old mumbling fool.” Althea glanced at Lavica as she was taken away to prevent her blasphemous teachings from reaching others.

  “I hope so.”

  After the brief confrontation with the older worker, Kichner and Althea finished the passage before their group was dismissed to their sleeping chamber. They were greeted by Songrad and Shaisha when they entered the dark room; old friends of Kichner as well. “Ah, back at last!” Songrad said, the smallest yet oldest of the group.

  “It has been a long night. Have you any word of the frontier?”

  “Very little, it is still quiet on all fronts. Why?”

  “Why? For the glories of war of course; what other reason?”

  “Oh Kichner, still consumed by your fantasy of war. As if we’ll ever fight.”

  “Not you Songrad, you’re a little on the short side.”

  “Hush sister, you needn’t be so brusque. Imagine what the soldiers think of us,” Shaisha said, who had always assumed the role as the guardian of Songrad despite being the youngest.

  “Hah, as if I’d want to fight.” Songrad’s tone undermined her words.

  “So, nothing then?” Kichner asked.

  “Well the Western Queens are upset with the due course of action, they insist that the Eastern forces make the offensive and they’ll provide support.”

  Kichner paid as much attention to the Queens of the West than she did to peace. It was a small, isolated sector of Algonian colonies that had over time grew farther and farther apart. “They can squabble all they like. They will not be leading the war. So is that all?”

  “That’s all I’ve heard.”

  “Then I am off to rest, I’m sure we’ll have a long day tomorrow.”

  “Agreed sister. Good night,” Songrad said.

  The group dismissed themselves one by one after Kichner, who moved to her corner where she always slept as the dozens of other workers were settling down. She had long grown accustomed to the firm earthen floor that for countless nights she slept upon, and her body would have as easily accepted a rough rock as a suitable bed with the fatigue that pulsed in her body. She stretched her worn limbs as she collapsed on the ground, taking a final breath of the stale air as she nestled her head against a clump of dirt; her mind the entire time trying to salvage Lavica’s words for an answer.

  Kichner wasn’t sure where she was. Her body was gone, but yet she was still alive in a world of darkness. An endless abyss surrounded her in the void. Then the darkness engulfed itself in a hurricane as everything snapped into a single point of space as everything snapped to focus. She was outside of Hollow, along the base of the cold hill under the starry night. Thousands of Algonians were outside; Songrad, Althea, Shaisha, Lavica amongst them. They were going towards something, but what? The stars were the only source of light in the sky, but they held no direction nor guidance for those below. Then a western wind came in an instant with a force of a thousand gusts as the entire colony was swept away. Yet Kichner still stood as everything before her was cleansed from the western winds. The winds of the west were relentless and unforgiving, and soon they swept across the stars and even the moon. The wind began tugging on Kichner, and she could only see one speck of light left; a small segment of the moon not yet succumbed to the darkness. Then the darkness engulfed her in a torrent of power.

  Kichner jolted as she awoke. Her sisters were still asleep; she had awoken in the middle of their resting period. Her limbs trembled, not of fatigue, but of fear. She had never experienced such an image, and she shook her head as she collapsed, knowing her body needed every ounce of rest it could get.

  For two weeks Kichner and her fellow workers and friends continued working, expanding the colony as fresh workers poured in faster than they could build. With each passing day, Kichner’s desire for war forged a connection as strong as the bonds linking life to the sun. Lavica was shifted to a different unit while Althea also fell under the hopes for a glorious war. Songrad continued to act without a care for the thing. Instead, Songrad had shifted her focus onto worship of Yalak for peace between the two nations, a focus that Shaisha also followed while Althea and Kichner held similar respects for war.

  On the night of a half-moon as Kichner and her sisters slept, alarms shattered the serene silence of the colony. Kichner awoke after a struggle with her fatigued body, but once the messengers spread word that the Colony was mobilizing for war, all signs of weakness vanished from her body. Several worker units were being sent with the Guard, and Kichner’s was one of the chosen. Songrad stayed behind, deemed too small to fight on the offensive as Kichner, Althea, and Shaisha followed eight hundred of their fellow workers through the dark tunnels of the colony to the surface. But one of the thousands, not called into action said to the others, “You fools march to you own deaths! Turn back and there may be salvation for you all!”

  “Don’t listen to her, she is only an old mumbling fool,” Althea said as the old adversary was taken back to the colony.

  They climbed out in the thousands, the lights of hundreds of stars illuminated the workers and soldiers who mobilized into battle formations. One of the outer colonies had been attacked by the Javalonians, and they had called for the aid of other colonies to send reinforcements. The assembled force began their march in jolly unison as the cries of battle and scent of blood filled the air. Cheers and songs of war danced in the air as the army marched, preparing for the glorious war ahead. A light wind from the west brushed the force; the silence before the storm.

  In no time, Kichner and the army came across an escalating battle as allied colonies sent their forces with matching opposition from the Javalonians. The colony that had called for aid was in a desperate situation; the enemy had penetrated the interior of the structure and broke the lines of the Algonians, who fought in mixed patches with their swift adversaries to the death. Thousands of the dead and the dying littered the field in a forest of limbs as both sides fought in brutal melee combat; tearing, gouging, biting, disemboweling, decapitating, and in other means defeating their opponents. The colony seemed lost in many aspects, but many things changed as the reinforcements entered the fray.

  The Javalonians were water against stone as they clashed with the new forces. Keeping strict lines, the Algonian forces fought back wave after wave of the intruders as they marched over the dead to salvage what they could of the colony. Kichner and her friends were near the middle of the force, and her blooming desires had finally been grasped as she crawled over the dead after the quickly shrinking Javalonian forces. Occasionally tearing off the limb of a long dead adversary to proudly wave in the air, nothing could disturb her from this moment of glory. Nothing except for the great black swab that swelled in the darkness, obscured from the faint light emitted by the moon.