Life & Death 'Gray Wolf and the Warlock Cowboy

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Science Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Author's Note:
LIFE & DEATH Is completely a Fantasy/Fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of my imagination or are used Fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales are/is entirely coincidental.

Chapter 1 (v.1) - Life & Death 'Gray Wolf and the Warlock Cowboy

Submitted: May 17, 2010

Reads: 196

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Submitted: May 17, 2010



Frìgedaeg, decem-mênsris 25, 2012: Friday, December 25, 2012-

The clammy moonlight night caused a glitter over the cobblestone walk-way. The swaying lanterns scrapped the lamp post causing an eerie echo in the air. The stone and rock buildings were shadowed and erect. The archaic buildings and quaint little houses, sat not even two feet from one another. Looking at them you could see ware and tare, here and there. No sounds were found, anywhere.
A lone man sat on an olden bench, which faced away from a calm, peaceful river. Dark puffs of smoke blew out of the opened mouth on an acorn pipe he was gasping on. Something about him was not quite suitable.
The man attire a large pall cloak, which seemed riffled and scaled like dragon tusks. Atop his head he bared a rather crooked pointed hat. He conceded long pure silver hair that, twisted and curled down to the middle of his back, however unlike most men in his clique, who wore the same type cloak, some outrageous hair, and smoked the same acorn pipe, he had no beard on his face.
A man dressed in a Sunday suit, a large hat, and a very expensive pair of boots, walked out of one of the stone slab buildings. If you looked into his brown eyes hard enough you could see all the pain and suffering throughout the universe. The man which, sat on the bench hollered and motioned for the other man.
"Hello, there. You're not from around here are ya? Yep, I could tell. I know everyone in this small town, from route 3, ta Thunder Mountain. Wha's tha'? My name, my name's Inujin. Th's all ya need ta know far now. Go ahead have a seat, have a seat. There is some-thing's ya ought to know 'bout our small town--"
His eyes were closing together and a hesitating smirk over grew on his face. A sudden gust of wind blew agents him and the stranger.
"-- You see that man over there? Th's Jowdie McNeil. He owns the local paper prints. He writes mostly 'bout snot nosed little punk ass bastards', but I guess that his articles do have a truth typed in them somewhere.
Oh looky com-in down the sidewalk. That's Mrs. Stetson. Her husband and her own tha Uni'dith Ranch 'bou' ten miles from tawn. They carry a verity of stock, feed, and of coarse they sell, buy and trade Uni'dith's. Wha's a Uni'dith?
"Well my lad, a Uni'dith is a mix between a horse and a large phoenix, with'a small golden horn on top their head. They're easy to catch, if you know where to look. But they're not cheep, once bought me a lime-green-un, I did, and it coasted me a leg and an arm; it did, than she fell sick and a week later I had to put her down.
“Terrible, the way they do it, it is. First they pluck their feathers, then they inject this Xethic into the bloodline, it causes them ta become week and then they fall ta the ground and then they set them ablaze. But thankfully, our small tawn has a law agen's it. Ya have ta go clear ta Album ta put them down. But let's get back to our tawn, OK?
“Let's see, hmm... Err... Ah there we go. See the girl hid-din' behan' tha flower pots over by Sally's Greenhouse? Tha one is wear-in ' the camouflage. Yes, that is Serina Vampir. She is one daughter of the Queene herself, NO! IT'S QUEENE NOT QUEEN! She calls herself "Wombat-Warrior" and runs around tawn dressed like tha' all tha time. Her brother Vullek.--Died in an explosion 'bout ten years ago. So, please, we don't speck of him to anyone, but don't get me wrong we gratefully respect what he did for our tawn. I mean his name is a symbol, a legend, and a hero ta all us.
“Ah you see tha' young girl overstand-in' by Harold's Grocery? The one readin' the "HELP WANTED" sign. Her name is Aerie Castle, Always firs' in her class, wanted to be a scientist. Her mam and dad were killed 'for she could even walk. They were com-in' back ta tawn when a spooked Uni'dith flew past them. The guard at the Tawn Hall saw them turn around an' head for that runaway survey. That was the last time anyone saw them alive. 'bout a week later the constable rounded up a posse and took of in search of them.
“They must have searched for days. Well, they finally found their wagon. It was beaten up and burned pritty bad, and apparently, it was rampaged by a tribe of novinace Indian's. But ya know what?
“The deputy looked inside and had ta back away, for in Mrs. Castle's arm was the remains of a small child about the same age as her own.
“They had gone back ta try ta save tha' little boy. But ya know life's funny that way. They risked their lives and in the end not an one survived, not even that little boy. But do you know what was really puzzlin'? Ta this day they still don't know who, or where, or even how tha' boy got in tha' satiation. The only I.D. the boy was wearin' was a small heart shaped locket, which had an Ol' photograph of a young girl 'bout his age and scratched onto the locket was; K. W. B. And Z. K. W. Forever.
“The constable has the locket; it hangs in the same place that it's been far the passed 11 years, right next to his gun cabinet, between his 497 and his two twin 357's. Don' know why he has them. He never carries a gun. Just a precaution I guess, or rather, maybe they give him a sense that this tawn belong with him, whether than the Queene.
“Now you see that strange lookin' girl, over by Third Street and Casio Line. That is the lovely, Carolina Smag; her family is the second wealthiest family this side of the Tea Mountain.  Over there fa's'! Tha' is Damiene... Um, don't reckon he has a last name really. He may look weird ta ya, but he is one of the best guy's in tawn. He is and, boy is he strong. Why, I've seen him lift up a whole truck before. Of course tha truck was empty, and tha tires were off lying' toward tha side.
“Uh-Oh... Err... Listen. Tha sun is soon risen' and well, things jus' ain't safe 'roun' here. But before I leave, mind tell-in' me ya name?
“Ah, Yes I heard ya were movin' ta tawn. Well, from me and tha whole tawn 'welcome'."

Long said legends of this tale have been told from generation after generation. However, this mythical story has been cast aside longer than any other. The time for it to come about and heard again is at present. There once lived countless beings with supernatural powers, which changed the world in a way no one could explain. With every wand, death stick, Staff, or snap of a simple set of fingers, one was able to see into the future, cast oneself into the minds of others, or even rule-the-world.
Long tales have been heard, but never have been proven of fact or fiction. Of these tales came the complete story of, three Books, each handwritten in three different series’, one entitled, life & Death, second, there came, Love & Hate, and finally, many years afterward, Peace & War, each consisting of one complete series, but each in separate forms. Many years warped and drained the snakeskin books, (of their silky texture,) since their placing onto an elder cased bookshelf, by the trembling hands of a half-living scrawny woman. Her face scarred deeply by age. Upon her waist, she abode a deranged ruby dress resembling of fish-scales and cow leather.
A fired lantern scuffled its way off a nearby table. The dim flame, which burned the shortened wick, burned dry. A large hand seized the broken lantern. “Ma’ter -- ma’ter -- V’give me,” A squealing voice blurted out. “Grinder knew no’ ov what he has done, ma’ter Vlame! Grinder’ll apolo’ize. Sorry!” The voice was imminent from a small goblin-like-creature, with beady eyes that sunk deep into its oversized head. Its face, instead of a normal human shaped nose, held two large holes like a garden snake. Its teeth bent here and there, grown crooked, and stained with unsighted black marks, were chattering from nervousness.
“That is okay, Grinder. You’ve only done what I’ve told you too.”
“But, ma’ter Vlame -- BLOOD --”
There was silence.
Grinder placed one of his cold, hairy hands around its master, as blood raced down the floor streaming into a vast fire. The flames grew quick. And flashed them selves to life along the spilled darkened blood.
“Master Flame is happy Grinder, do you not understand?”
“Grinder does no’ under’tand, ma’ter Vlame.”
“Oh, Grinder -- Same sweet Grinder -- that we all have come to know and love!” She lay stroking the sides of his hairy little face with the side of her arm.
Her arm finally came to a resting stop, seized, and dropped to the floor. Her milky eyes lay dormant, wide-open, and bloodshot. The flames grew inch by inch, surrounding the whole of the large burning room.
Some wondrous years had come and had now all gone, and now the long forgotten manor, grown over with weeds and crabgrass, looked as though it was the most dreadful house on the block. None of the other Victorian-framed homes seemed as dark-lit. It sat on the edge of 22nd street for more than 400 years, without ever being bothered, (of course, who in their right mind would ever want to visit a haunted house?)
A speeding coupé diverted into a grass-covered drive. The doors clicked as it vigorously opened with an ear-spitting scratching sound. From the passengers’ side door, two prissy white-fur boots, with large crunching sounds, anchored swiftly to the lose gravel. Amongst those boots strode two bright un-tanned legs, neither obese, nor bony, although just the right size for the mid-sized girl, who so sneeringly cursed underneath her steamed breath, from the disliked looks of the elder empty house.
Blistered boards bowed away from the frame of the aged house that showed a painted picture of a scorching red-hot fire. The little light, which shone, came from the tree-hidden sun, shimmered onto the gritted broken glass, which was set onto molted windowsills. Large grained blots of stained ash was scattered throughout the rickety siding. The girl swerved her long, dark splitting purple and blue, hair away from view of her face. Her hands held to her running nose as she began a chain of unwanted sneezing attacks.
Alone, blue and gray wolf sat, watching and yawning, under a shady pricked bush. The wolf laid silent, unlike most wolves. His characteristics were strange for a wolf. And even stranger, that it did not act against the girl, who was turning blue in the face from all the sneezing, as she swayed her hand in front of her self pelting toward the wolf and screaming as loud as she could without taking breathe. A quiet breeze fluttered by, and the girl kicked up dirt and gravel. She faced the house. The wrinkled forehead and scrunched up nose indicated she was lost deep with hatred and remorse. Her arms a few times smaller than her legs, however, they two were the perfect bonny size. Her right wrist bared a profound mark of teeth-bite, which seized, not to the inside of her arm as if most would do, but seized pointing outward. Each tooth mark was precisely correspondent with the last.
Redirecting its attention on the weathered sidewalk, the wolf gazed as the girl clambered the onward steps. A drained, depressing howl screamed from the jaws of the wolf.
The day was turning out to be like any other with a soft wind that set a hasty chill across fogged mountains’ on that Friday afternoon as the kids raced untamed back and forth across the dirt road. The cloudy sky was bright teal and fair. Wheezed zooms of smoke whizzed higher and higher into the sky, bursting into sheer glitters of colored blazing firecrackers‘. Watching in ah, stood a small child, who was no larger than a fire hydrant, which stood in front of a printing's press, carried a newspaper held in the air, and waved drawn to his side. He yelled "Inka Inka." Though to you this might have sounded strange, to him and the natives’ of Flow, this was their native language, which meant something like 'extra'. On the paper in deep dark print was written, ye' Ole Town of Dark Hollow.
Surrounding in circle form rooted from the darkest soil, grew trees ghostly white skeletal trees. A ghastly whistle had screamed out. A steaming hot freight train drawled its route down a long, narrow rail. On over, gathered a small pack of playful tan wolves. They wondered whether they should scamper or just slowly take it straightforward through the woods. A crowd of people stood and watched the colorful kites, and balloons gliding across the clear skies. The small town was full of commotion.
Throughout the small town a group of people, dressed in long black and tan garments watched as a small sable feline ran down the street knocking over some warped up garbage cans on its self. However, on 22nd street, there was hardly any noise, just an old truck pulling up the dead end road. A strange, shadowed man hollered, "Park it over there under the trees."
Across the street in a cold, weary, Victorian-Gothic house, the cast iron gates swung back and forth, and made an eerie, sound that screeched. Two gigantic hellish statues stood on either side of the gate, between one another they stared, as if they were to protect someone or -- something. Their eyes were round, bright green, and flat marbles.
It was the first year that Overton Dreamwright had truly began to pay attention to the changes around him; it was the first year that they met each other and when all the weird stuff started to happen. The day was just like any other, except he felt as if something was wrong, but he could not put his finger on it. He leaned backward to look out his window in his small bedroom. Not much had changed. The Forest of ghostly greenish white colored trees stranded for miles and miles. Out back was his beautiful rock and flower garden. He found himself overwhelmed by the sound from the next house. His new neighbors Davied, and his daughter, Harmoney just began to move into the big white Victorian house next door. The chimes on the weird hysterical clock chimed. "Eleven-thirty, already?” He asked aloud.
In the kitchen, the pots and pans moved across the room, from the stove to table. As his mother Rosa, dashed back and forth fixing breakfast. He could smell the eggs and sausage as it fried in the skillet. He rose up off his bed and walked to his small bathroom. The floor was wet and slippery; the bathroom was no larger than a small walk-in closet, the sink in front of the toilet and beside that was the bathtub. He reached for a towel and then he turned on the hot water. He raised his head, only to see himself in the mirror; his eyes shinned a greenish-white color. They were usually sky, or a whitish blue, but he was too busy to notice. He pulled his shirt off over his head and then pulled his nightclothes off; not wearing underwear, he climbed into the tub to relax awhile. He grabbed the soap and started to wash his body.
The quaint wind, which was brushing against his dark-complicated skin, was blowing through the small half-opened window as he laid his head back. While in the other room, his mother was busy answering the door with a mouthful gesture.
Who else, but, the new girl on the block, Harmoney, in her high-fur-boots stood on the far side of the door, tiptoed, looking in through the high glass windows.
“Hullo, Miss Vampir. Would Overton be home -- I was wondering if he would be interested in accompanying me to the celebration tonight.”
“Sure…Harmoney -- is it dear? He’s in his room still asleep from staying out late last night.” Overton's mother said and pointed down a long, small hallway, which looked to lead to a primordial rotund frame door made out of an occult oak, or cedar and had abnormal symbols marked around it. Harmoney began down the hall. She sustained a small basket in one hand and a black book in her other. As she made her way to his room, she reached her hand out to feel the door; it was icy cold and very vigor to open, as if locked. She pushed it inward and almost thrust it down. She stuck her head through the half-broken door and looked at Overton's room. She saw that everything was in its own place. Everything was dazzled and neat, his trophies, pictures, and even his books were stacked straight on his bookshelf. She walked over to a mid-sized door, cracked open, and she glanced inside and saw Overton, inside the bathtub, soaking among caressing bubbles, masturbating. She softly chuckled. Overton set up inside the tub spilling out water onto the slippery floor. He was scared and shocked as she walked into the bathroom.
"Hello." Harmoney said refined, as she looked at his hard six-pack, and dark white skin.
"WHAT THE --? WHO ARE YOU?" Overton screamed as he tried to cover up his naked body. Harmoney was quiet at first then; she spoke up and said. "I'm Harmoney -- my dad and I just moved into the house next door."
"Oh, yeah, I remember seeing you getting out of your vehicle this morning."
"What -- this morning? What‘d you mean? I didn‘t seen you, or anyone!"
"Yes -- you looked as though you had come from a great distance." Her eyes puzzled as she looked at him. She was wearing a tight Gothic-black dress, with light pink stars, hearts, and diamonds embedded on it. With gloves that matched and covered up her whole arm. Her hair was jet black with a strand of deep sea-blue and a strand of dark violet, both hanging from front her face. Her eyes were light baby blue, with large black pupils, which stared gone astray into the distance. She had encrusted a shady, but exceptionally shiny cherry-apple-red lipstick. Her teeth were smooth, straight, and as white as fresh fallen snow. On her neck, Overton noticed a rather sparkly, cute, peace of precious metal, which was in the pattern of a petite ‘H’, which stranded from a white gold band down her bonny chest.
Overton lay there inside the bathtub scared and nervous with the intention she would holler, drop what was in her hands, and enhance a scene with his mother, but she did not, she just stood there staring at him. She held the small BI-color russet and leaf-green basket and the extraordinary blackish purple book safe in her arms. Harmoney moved over to the toilet and calmly she sat down. She slowly pushed her tinny eyeglasses, straighter to her high-cheeked face. Which if Overton had not of noticed her doing this, he would not have seen them at all. She moved back and scuttled her withdrawn hand through her long flowing hair. Harmoney stopped, and then looked into the light, which was shinning in from the small window. Her hands covered her face as she let out an undersized, quaint, squeaky sneeze. Overton looked at her and asked, “Are you okay?”
"Yes, I'm fine, thanks." she said to him, and sniffled. "Do you own a dog?" She asked
"No -- why?" Overton asked as he rubbed his throat slowly as if something was not right.
"‘Cause I'm allergic to dogs. ‘Bout four years ago, I was bitten by a small inu. And, I went into a coma for two years." She pointed to her incriminating scar.
"Really -- I wonder... Maybe I could help you with your problem --"
"That sounds great!"
"Okay, just let me get dressed and I'll see what I can do."
Harmoney stood up on trembling legs and almost fell into the bathtub, just barley catching her arm on the edged banister of the tub. She stepped back into his bedroom while he shaved and groomed himself. Then, peeked back in through the crack of the door from where it was not shut securely just trying to get one final look at Overton's hard six-pack. She turned around and glanced on his dresser, in the middle there, set a large black book glowing a dark green color. She walked over to it and reached her hand out to feel it. It felt cold like the door, but scaly like a rattlesnake. Just then, Overton popped out of the bathroom door. "Don't touch that!" he screamed as he ran over to place it back on the dresser. "That book belonged to my grand-pa. It's the book of the living and the dead. Everybody that's ever lived or died is written inside this book." Then he seemed more or less calm then before.
She looked confused as she asked, "How does it do that?"
"I don't know..." Overton replied "...But It has something special about it." Overton stopped and sniffed the air. He smelled an abnormal, but relish scent. Unexpectedly his antique grandfather clock rang. "Twelve o’clock?" he asked, "I'M LATE!" he screamed as he rushed Harmoney out the door saying, "I'm sorry, but I'm very late." He persuaded her out of his way, ran down the petite hallway, kissed his mother, grabbed some toast and zoomed out the front door. He made his distance over the decayed bridge. As he passed the train tracks, he smelled that strange smell again. Slowly he looked all over the place, but sensed nothing out of the ordinary. Then, made his way to the small café; were the town villagers were hanging out, having business dates, devouring hot-dogs and a strange type of cotton candy, and just being plain stupid. The local fire department was playing musical instruments.
Overton reached his hand back and chanted, "On thou back, large and black, the instrument afar, bring thou guitar." Suddenly, there on his back a black guitar case appeared, with the strap over his right arm. He snapped his left-hand fingers and a guitar pick appeared in his hand. Then, walked over to the fire department, put his case down, and opened it. As he took out his guitar, he placed the tether around his right arm and neck. He plucked it in G cord then went to C, trying to get it to sound in tune.
He looked over to the clique and nodded his head. There was a brilliant flash and he started to play a melody much like the Star Spangled Banner. The town became quiet -- very quiet. The citizens had placed their triangle hats on their hearts and everybody stood up. They started singing in matrimony.
With a scream from an unopened bottle, some man was forsing the lid from, the community standing timbers illuminated with flares of gold, pink, silver, and a ruby red. The bridge that Overton had ran over, now looked brand new, was now lit up with streamers that ran zigzag from one end to the other. Overton came to a spectacular finish. He looked down and noticed Harmoney from the crowd, then saw Davied standing a little left of her. Overton sat his guitar down and ran over to meet them so quickly that in a blink, he was gone. As he made his way to greet them, he moved for their car. He threw his hands to the ground and said. "This place I am, this place I see." He disappeared only to reappear next to Davied and Harmoney's coupé, parked in front of the long forgotten auction building. Davied was not paying attention and had not seen it, but Harmoney did. She stuck behind her father as they made their way to the car.
"Hey Overton," Davied said. Harmoney kept quiet because she knew she had seen Overton's naked body just a few hours ago, and she acted somewhat shy. She did not want him to tell her father, and scared of his strange book, and about how he mystically appeared in front of their car. All these things ran through her mind like a carousel.
Overton reached over to shake Mister Greene's hand. They shook their hands up and down twice, squeezed once and then dismembered. Overton then reached for Harmoney's hand and as she grabbed his hand, a beautiful bouquet of black and red roses appeared in their hands. Harmoney dropped them on the ground. Davied had seen this cheap parlor trick, not very enthused about it he had gone over and sat down in the front seat of his car, and hollered for Harmoney to come on so that they could leave. She waved good-bye to Overton and then sat down in the drivers’ seat. Even through she was seventeen, she still had not earned her driver's license, or permit for that matter, but her father insisted of her to drive him everywhere. They went to the store, the Dark Hollow Café, the Shady Trees Mall, which was the hottest place in town; everybody raced cars, ate, hung out, and even sometimes shot and broke into the place.
Overton's cell phone started to flash and ring. As he answered it, Harmoney tried to start the car, but the battery set without spark and only made a dreadful clicking noise. Overton had been talking in the distance too soft and too far for anyone to hear over the noise of the town, but the last words he said were 'Unit 41, over and out.' with some kind of security code. He walked over by Harmoney's car and snapped his fingers. The car started and both Harmoney and Davied shocked and still surprised headed for their home. Overton walked back across the river, a nice older woman, who was selling hot-dogs, came over to him and said that he had done a nice job as to when he played in the band. He smiled at her and walked on. When he got on the bridge, he felt a cold chill go down his spine. He quickly started to run. Neither his feet nor he made a sound. As he picked up speed, the trees started to blow very hard. The sky turned a blackish-grayish-white color. As he ran, he chanted, "Ancient gods and goddesses, I invoke thee, waters from the sky let it be."
He came upon a bench that he used to sit on as a young lad. He walked over to it and had a flash back. He saw himself sitting on the bench as a kid in the start or about the middle of fall. A tall skinny man, dressed in long purple robes and carried a long wooden staff, filled with white or a grayish smoke, appeared out of nowhere. The man had on a very large brown sunbonnet, with one side of the bill down and the other side flat. He had a long white beard and long flowing hair. Overton could see everything from where he stood.
"May I sit down, young man?" The man asked.
"Yeah," Overton replied.
The old man bent down beside him. His skin was pale, yet he seemed to be very nice. He reached into his pocket, took out an old pipe, put it to his mouth, and asked the younger Overton if he had a light. "No... Sorry,” Overton said.
"Oh, I do hate to do this, but," the old man said and stopped. As Overton watched his younger self and the old man, he then reached his hand out, "NOOO!" He screamed. The old man reached his hand up and said in a deep, mystical voice "Wind, water, lightning, and fire, come to me, let me see, in my hand a flare, now I see it there."
Overton watched his younger self-stare at the old geezer, as the old man's hands burst into flames. Young Overton jumped over the bench and knelled down hiding in fear. The old man stuck his hand back and said, “Don’t be afraid.”
"But," Overton said scared and shocked half to death.
"Your thirteenth birthday is coming up this month, is it not?"
"Don't answer him!" Overton screamed at his younger self.
"Yes it is." Young Overton said in a scared, shaken voice; "But, how did you know, sir?"
"I know everything son." The old man answered. "I know when you're sleeping, awake, eating, when you're sitting on a bench." The man went on.
Overton remembered that dreadful day. He had forgotten all about it until that day, but that was the first day his life changed for better or for worse. He went on to remember the old abandoned laboratory, Knwênknà, but it just vanished. He remembered Zack SvenGali, Kenneth Divination, Sam Johnstone, and Decoda Tuft, and all the rest of the notables’ who sacrificed their lives to save the town.
"Hey, Scootder -- Scootder -- Scootder." An embodied voice whispered echoing along the surrounding mountains bouncing back on the valley of the town. Overton found himself awaking on the black-iron-bench. "What was that all about?" He asked. He rose up; his legs were stiff from where he sat so long. He made his way back to 22nd street; he could see Harmoney as she unpacked the trunk of the car. Her stuff looked dreadfully heavy spread throughout every one of those boxes. She positioned her high heels up the rooted path leading to the steeps. Just before she reached the foundation of the steps, the uppermost boxes stumbled from her hands. Wham, Overton had somehow managed to appear next to her, and catch the bundle of boxes before they stammered into the ground.
"You probably should be more careful." Overton said enthused and flirtingly smiled and giggled at her. He rose up to open the door, just as Davied walked out talking on his cell phone. "Yes sir, I have th -- hey Over--ton." Davied said and then walked away, still talking on his cell phone.
"Don't mind him." Harmoney said eagerly. They made their way into her house; and walked into an old room. Inside the room there set a bed, an exceeding couch, two small windows on either side of the wall, a small writing desk, and a small television. Harmoney made her way over to the bed and plopped the box down. "Put the box on the writing desk." Harmoney said happily. Overton set the box down and was about to turn around, but he noticed, lying on top of a dragged sheet, the book that Harmoney had earlier, it was the same blackish colored book, now he could read what it said. "U.N.K.N.O.W.N." he read in a whisper just as Harmoney ran through the door.
"NOOO!" She screamed, "That's my book! We all have something we must hide from public." She hollered, "You have your book and I have mine!" Overton feeling a little ashamed, started for the door. Harmoney rushed up behind him and wrapped her arms around his neck. As he turned around, the wind blew Harmoney’s split bangs around her and Overton. She stood tiptoed, slowly closed her blue eyes, and softly touched her tender lips onto his. Pushing his back against the walls, Overton swayed his arms away from both of them, eyes wide open, and not sure, what was really happing as Harmoney slowly French kissed him.
"Damned t’Hell!" Overton said angrily "I already have myself a girlfriend. How would she feel it she saw this.
"Probably very hot." she said flirtingly.
"No! Damn-it no!” Overton replied.
"Okay!" Harmoney said. Overton usually did not curse, however, this time Harmoney had pissed him off; and feeling insecure about the kissing Harmoney just betide to place before him, and he felt outraged.

Later that day, Overton then lined up to play at the local fireworks show, but the manager had changed his plans, and had the best southern gospel pianist in town; Sims Howards’ to perform. Overton and Sims had gone to school a few years ago, but things had changed, they were not friends any more and had gone their separate ways. Overton was very pissed now. He strode off walking by the old playground. He sat on an aged bench and chanted, "I Command thee now, to the all, listen to my desire; RAIN FALL!" The sky grew black with clouds. Overton, drenched, rose to his feet and walked around, his eyes shimmered, a bright yellowish- green color, with a smart-ass-smirk on his face. As he walked, he noticed an old friend of his. As he made his way over to greet him, it started to rain.
Overton hysterically laughed. Then, something caught his attention. He sniffed the mist in the air. It smelled of burnt ashes and vapor from combustion. He turned his head around his shoulder to look at an ordinary tree that two small boys climbed, just as he looked the tree grew with burns and dark ash marks. Then, out of nowhere this boy, about the same age or a little older, then Overton appeared. The young boy just starred toward Overton. "I know that guy." Overton said puzzled. "I've seen him somewhere; I know I have, but where?" They moved closer and closer together, until they were side by side, they faced one another. They just starred at each other. Overton asked him his name. "Frodude,” The strange boy answered; he was wearing black robes and a yellow shirt; he had bright red hair and was very calm, and shy, although he was fidgety. Overton had broke-out into some kind of weird questioning about Frodude.
"Are you okay?" Frodude asked.
"Yeah... I'm fine." Overton answered, "Let’s go for a walk."
"Okay?" Frodude said, though he knew not what this was about, but he stood sure of his self.
Their reflections’, along with a dozen other passersby’s, beamed across the many darkened windowsills, as they walked along the center playground of the aged school cafeteria. The clouds, which were blackened along the outline of the mountains, drizzling harder now. Covering over their heads with long black cloaking hoods from their shrouds as so they would not feel the bitter droplets of rain. Overton offering suggested that they back to his house until time for the fireworks. Frodude agreed.
“I imagine this to be your first time in the softness of the fog, here in Tea Mountain.”
“No -- I have been here a time or two -- back in my late childhood.”
“So, you know your way morally, then?”
“No, it seems I’m as lost as a hungry Fountain Troll.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, I cannot, for the life of me, remember this path.”
During their hiking walk, Overton swung his hand down to the ground and said, “Come to me, let me be, it’s time to see.” Suddenly the long forgotten clay road in front of them had changed into an open meadow. There were wild flowers, sheep, an open pound, huge rocks, and a clear blue sky. Frodude acted confused, but he had an evil grin hidden on his face. They walked over to a long-standing, abandoned, building. The windows were cracked and the roof fallen-in, still as amazing as it seemed, Overton clambered up the stone steps and walked inside anyway. He hollered back, echoing across the his new friend, "Are you coming or aren't you?"
"Yeah, possibly not?" Frodude answered with hesitation.
Overton stepped out of the doorway. His clothes had somehow changed, showing his true evil, a black western shirt, black Gothic/cowboy boots, and a black belt wrapped around his neck and shoulder, with an image of a phoenix grasped across it. He had a black Gothic/cowboy hat on his head. His eyes had gone completely black. He lifted up his arms and flew down beside of Frodude. In his hand, he held his strange book, and grasped on to a rusted pitchfork. He took off flying, brushing the tips of the uncut grass, through the air.
Frodude put his rubbery hands by his sides. A ball of fire busted out. He studied for a minute and then took to the sky, chasing what looked to be Overton, zigzagging back and forth through the trees. Frodude sat on a huge fireball, and hovered in the air. Overton looked back to see him. He knew that if it were the old geezer he would be using fire-magic most of all. They looked in a stare.
Overton laughed hysterically. Frodude levitated on the fireball and at this time, he had changed -- Changed into something inhuman. His clothes now pure white, as large red and yellow flames burned among the stitching. His body had grown over with exceeded hair; his eyes shimmered like fire. He had branded on the side of his neck just under his ear; a type of symbol that looked much like a serpent wrapped around a small type of thee sixes. His hair set in flame. Frodude, with his face covered with warts, horns poking from his scalp, and blistering red skin, looked worse than the Devil himself. "Very good, young one.” Frodude said in a profound voice, "Very good indeed; you have learned a lot in the past four years."
Overton just stared at Frodude. Two of Frodude's teeth were sticking out, very pointy, very sharp. His eyes were a mystic black color. The wind started to blow, soft and gentle against their cloaks. Suddenly, Overton's book of Life and Death flew out of his hands. It reappeared in front of Frodude. "You still have a lot to learn." Frodude said faithfully. The book opened and Frodude looked inside. Every page on the book was blank.
"Where is the book?" Frodude asked very harsh and rough. Overton started laughing as he disappeared into a blurry circle. Frodude took off to grab him, but just barley missed him. Frodude stopped in mid-flight.
"So you want to play?" Frodude asked as he looked around. He tried to see Overton, but did not. Suddenly, Overton appeared in front of Frodude in a grayed smoky mist, which surrounded all of the land. He reached his hand out and snatched the book from Frodude's and then disappeared, which left Frodude lost and confused.

Back in the fogged streetlights of 22nd street, the streetlights were dim and jolted; the Gothic house lights blinked on and off as demented bats flew out from the chimney. From out of an old alleyway, the small black cat hissed at Overton's presence. The moon shined a blood red over-top of Overton's home. The gates swung half-open and half-closed. A long necked voucher sat on the far side of the mansion; there were weird types of whaling sounds echoing from the ally. "Harmoney, Go to bed already." Davied hollered from his room.
"In a sec. Dad." She answered back to him as she stood there peeping out her window, watching Overton as he made his way up the side of the street. He glanced over to her window, with a disturbed, half smile on his face. Harmoney jumped back behind the long curtains. HE SAW ME! She thought to herself. She was anxious, from the look Overton had given her. As if she wasn't sure whether she felt love for him or was it, just her thinking of him all of the time that made her think about his hard rock body, and deep mystifying eyes. Harmoney licked her lips slowly, in a circle from her bottom left to the top right. Then, she realized that Overton was standing in his yard staring at her through her window.
She ran and turned the gas off the chandelier. Then, she made her way to her bed. She lay there on her back, which was tight as she squirmed and tweaked trying to find a comfortable position. The trees swayed, as the winds grew wild as the night went on. Over in Overton's room, the room flashed a mixture of rainbow colors. Lying in his small bed, Overton was having all kinds of weird thoughts. He knew that weird Frodude person would return, but he was ready for him. He turned facing the south side of his room. He crossed his legs and he laid his hands on his knees. His middle fingers and thumbs just barley touched each another. He closed his blue eyes and began to chant "Sssiiieeesss, dddhhhrrr."
The grandfathers’ clock was chiming on twelve of the clock; suddenly Overton's hair started changing to a bright silvery-white color as it grew out all over his body. His body started shaking utterly fast. He opened his eyes. They were a dark black color. There were green spots scattered all around the iris. A great Gothic punk-ass-smile grew on his face; very slowly, he levitated up in the air. He sunk down through his bed like a spirit. And slide underneath the house, to an unknown type of laboratory filled with computers and test tubes. There were strange types glass tubes filled with a blue water substance inside them. There were mettle computers two giant glass chambers, mounted on the old stall by a small piece of mettle and a long rusty pipe. Overton glided his way into one of the rooms, beside the door was an insecure sign that read; warning. He looked in front of himself, his reflection starring right back. Though both of them looked the same, it was clear that neither of them were the same. Standing this side of the mirror, guarding his own, stood Overton, with lengthy fanged teeth that curved at the bottom and measured back up to his extra-outsized ears. Dashingly inside the glass stood another Overton, a smarter, evil, looking Overton, who wore a brightly drawn lab-coat, glasses, and held himself in a goriest manner.
"Damn you, I thought I sent you to Hell?” The reflection said.
"No, I'm still here! No man can kill me." The evil looking Overton said as he laughed. His face looked as though he had just been in an endless, brutal fight. His left eye was swollen shut. He had a fat upper lip. He had a dark black and blue spot on his cheek, and he had a scar on his forehead with about four or five stitches sticking out of a dried up bloody wound. He reached his hand back to where his reflection could not see what he was doing. As they stared at each other, a wand appeared in his hand.
They talked about the changes of the moon and stars. Then, they stopped and eagerly smirked at one another. Then, suddenly the evil Overton said, “See ya' later!" as he reached his hands up holding the wand.
“You’re first!” the patronizing reflection demanded. The evil-Overton then jumped to his left as the reflecting-Overton shot out a bright light from the tip of his angel-white wand. With a loud whamming sound the evil looking Overton found him at a standstill, as the mirror shattered into a million glittering pieces. The fanged, big-eared Overton ran through the wall, which held the mirror just seconds before, as if it was not even there.
Finding his route roundabout the bushed maze of the garden, Overton franticly forced his way through the worn out branches of a sculptured bush, of dark violet blossoms. It was nearly three of the clock now as he had made his way across the street hiding behind the leaves of the trees. He stuck his index finger in the side of his mouth, and then pulled it out incredibly fast, making a loud-echoed noise. The trees started to sway back and forth and the wind strengthened with force. Then without, so much as a step forward from his spot, Overton vanished into the darkness of the night.

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