Dugenheim Part 1: The Loss

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
The first chapter of this partly humorous, partly intense series of short stories. Dugenheim is a boy who is about to go through a traumatic loss, but out of it, he will discover his true potential as a wizard.

Submitted: September 27, 2012

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Submitted: September 27, 2012

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Chapter 1: The Loss

Dugenheim’s hand slipped from the stone folds carved in the robes of the statue. From above, he could hear maniacal, chaotic snickering. It sounded like a pig about to get its head chopped off. Dugenheim focused his attention on climbing. He had no idea where he was, how he got there, or why he was climbing, but he didn’t question it. He had one thing on his mind. Climb…just climb until you get to the top. His hands hurt as he hauled himself up onto the statues lower lip. He glanced upward into the nostrils of the statue. A winged pigmy gorilla poked its head out of the left nostril, and suddenly flew away, his gesticulating wing brushing across Dugenheim’s head causing him to lose his balance. He flailed his right arm which caught on the pigmy gorilla by its leg. His legs flew from the lower lip of the statue, and the gorilla flew upward, elevating Dugenheim to the forehead. Dugenheim let go of the little creature and caught onto the wrinkles on the statues forehead. He used the wrinkles as hand-holds, and shoved his legs against the wall. He pushed up the wrinkles like a ladder until he reached the top one. There was nothing to grab on to above him so he lunged sideways, and gripped onto the ear hole. He pushed his foot into the oriphus, and heaved himself up on top of the ear. Finally, he reached the top, and pulled his body to the top of the statue’s accursed, bald head. The surface was hard, and cold on Dugenheim’s knees. He caught his breath then stood up. Upon looking up, he saw a black, robed figure. The figure turned around and slowly stepped toward him. Dugenheim noticed flaming red eyes in the center of the canvas of darkness that was his face. The figure reached up and pulled down the hood. The thing had a man’s face with skin the color of ash and soot. His hair was just a bundle of flames, and he stared into the purple eyes of Dugenheim. The figure licked its lips and readied a scream. “Shmur!” it yelled. Fire shot out of its mouth at Dugenheim, but before the fire could burn him to a crisp, the statue gave out and crumbled to the floor under him. All Dugenheim could see was the red sky as he spiraled to the ground in a free-fall. “What is the answer?” a voice said. Dugenheim woke up in class; a nun was standing over him. He dropped his head. “I don’t know,” he replied. “Front room. Now! I’ll be seeing you soon,” said Mrs. Haggerly with a sneer.

 

 

 

 

** *

Dugenheim never had been the best student. Heck, many people in the village thought he had no brain. They think that the crazy mage up in the tower in the middle of the lake created the child to show that he is still powerful. But no, that fat, disgusting Diabeticus only wished he could ever create something beyond a ham and cheese sandwich. With all the work Dugenheim had to do back at his land in the village, it was hard for him to think of anything beyond what he could do to finish his chores before sundown. He knew that he was going to grow up to be just another farmer. And so would his sons and daughters and entire family line; stuck in this loop of eternal farming. Dugenheim called it the family curse. So what’s the point of learning? He told himself. Dugenheim wouldn’t even try in school at all—If It weren’t for the constant whippings. If he got the dunce hat three times in one week, then he would get 15 lashes from the evil, beady eyed Mrs. Haggerly. Her long nose, long, slender limbs, pale wrinkly skin, and very large nostrils made her look slightly like some sort of crow women. The school did this so that if these kids went to someone for work, the person who they were asking could see if they are worthy or not by the amount of scars on their back. So it had become very hard for Dugenheim to supply extra money for his family, being that the numerous amounts of scars on his back made him incapable of being hired for even the most simple of tasks.

Dugenheim was walking home from school one evening, massaging the sores on his back, through a road riddled with houses on both sides. At the end of the path was his home. Small, weak looking, and made of the weakest straw around…but it was his home and he was proud of it. A smile was creeping up on his face, when some black figure charged past him. The black thing was faster than anything Dugenheim had even; There one moment, and gone the next. Four more shot by him before he realized they were running into his house. Dugenheim’s eyes widened as he saw a small red glow through the crack in the door left open by the black figures.

“No,” Dugenheim said almost to himself. The last thing he heard was an ear numbing “Boom!” before he blacked out.

** *

He woke to a sky of black and felt like he was being cooked on a fireplace, which wasn’t far from the truth. There was a log sitting diagonally across his chest, the top of it aflame. He gripped it with his hands and began to push it off of him. It fell to his side and split in half, leaving behind a two flaming logs and a glowing mound of black dust. Dugenheim slowly rolled over to his stomach and put his hands onto the ground and tried to push himself up. Pain immediately shot through his arms and he collapsed once again to the floor. He once again went on his back and lifted his hands to his face. They came up bloody and black. A racking cough fit suddenly shot through him, and each cough caused a horrible pain in his chest. He lifted his upper body until it was at a perfect 90 degree angle. His head slowly crept downward, scared of what it would see. Where the log once laid, was a glowing streak of blood with thick ash both bordering the cut and scattered around in it. In agony, he looked around him and saw smoldering ruins of what was once his house scattered everywhere and even worse—his mother’s flaming corpse lying only a few yards from him. Her head turned toward him and her mouth wide open; it appeared as if she was staring straight at him, crying for his help. Tears began to streak down his face when he saw the humongous fire pit that once was his house. Gritting his teeth, Dugenheim used his hands to lift him to his ashy, shaking feet. He could hear a ruckus coming from his left, towards the lake. There was a large blue dome reaching up almost to the clouds. Dugenheim knew immediately, this was the work of Diabeticus the wizard. Through the ringing in his right ear, he could hear more explosions coming from around him every few minutes as he limped towards the lake.

As he reached the field that besieges the lake, he finally saw what was causing a ruckus. It indeed was a dome leading from the edges of every shore of the lake up to the clouds and finally connecting. There was a small piece of land, no more than a quarter of a mile in diameter, in the middle of the lake. This land held up the castle (more of a tower than a castle) that Diabeticus resided in. Diabeticus was standing atop the tower, arms crossed, looking sternly around him at the villagers pounding on the dome, which Dugenheim now realized is made completely of ice.  The villagers were yelling at Diabeticus to let them into the dome for safety, to harbor their children, or to just save them from these things that were destroying their homes.  Dugenheim hobbled up to a part of the dome which was inhabited by no one and began pounding on the door as hard as he could.  Each hit took an effort as he struggled to breathe through the smoke in his lungs and his deteriorating strength led him to drop his arms.

 “Please,” Dugenheim cried as loud as possible, which only came out to a whisper. “I have nothing left. No family. No home. No one o love or care for. Please. Please….please.” He fell to his knees, too exhausted to keep himself up anymore. Leaning against the ice dome, Dugenheim knew this was his final hour. There were no tears; there were no thoughts, only disbelief. Disbelief that this could happen so fast. That life could be so…cruel. He heard a “Doy-ing” and fell forward, flat on his face. He grunted and used all his last strength to rise to his knees and lift his head. Dugenheim’s eyes shot wide open, staring straight into the dark red eyes of Diabeticus—he was in the dome.


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