|My profile story...Page 1 of 1 |
|I'm using this as my profile, right now. Gets a hell of a response from the people who take the time to read it.|
It was a dark and stormy night when the intrepid Montanan first entered the domain where the fish-people play. He stepped carefully into the fray, where a man's sense of self could easily be lost, torn asunder by a poisoned arrow of feminine wiliness. The virtual landscape dripped with the blood of lost dreams and the splintered hopes of perfect feminine pulchritude, but our hero had fought many battles against greater odds and with fewer ramparts as he now possessed.
As silently as he could he continued on mustering his courage. Alone in a wilderness that few should have to travel, and where only the strong could survive. Deep down in his heart he knew there was someone out there for him, but that someone would have to be very special, and the lightning of Zeus would have to penetrate his thickening skin and pierce a hardening heart. Only a very special lady would have the wiles to enter the then weakened tissues previously impenetrable.
Further into the confines of the virtual landscape the Montanan continued. His eyes darted here and there as visions of comeliness intermingled with unspeakable terror. He was in a world unlike anything he could imagine. He felt his resolve dwindling as Faustian promises were hurled at him by the inhabitants of the Fish World - some too difficult to ignore, but for the little voice in his head telling him not to move too quickly. Adrenaline from avarice and fear poured through this veins, and leaked out to be lost in the virtual wilderness. He continued on knowing that the promised land lay ahead in some knoll not far away.
Heartbreak beckoned at every turn, as he sought to reach out to those with promise. His ego was systematically being skewered by those who found the chinks in his armor, using their indifference to drain away our heroes sense of self worth. Onward he went, blood poured from wounds received in the battle of the sexes; the thorny branches of disdain ripping open the wounds and leaving deposits of "sap" on our hero.
A light! The light of friendship shines ever so briefly on his face as our beleaguered hero stumbles on. Around him stand a few beams of light, those who had taken a moment to get to know the traveler, and learn of his truer purpose. Even those comely lights, however, were being doused by time, distance and apathy. Few remain.
Hope can be kindled by the kindest of gestures, but they must have a truer nature to stand the test of time. Our hero knows this and allows for it in his journey. "I know it's out there, somewhere!", our intrepid Montanan chants to himself, "Somewhere, lies the treasure I seek!". Zeus stands poised to wield his lightning bolt at the man, to allow Aphrodite to do her work. The needs of our hero are few and varied: he seeks only one who can place her chin on his shoulder without the use of an apple crate, when he, or she need a shoulder for strength; she must have the beauty and skin of Aphrodite, herself, but without her need to play in the field with the other travelers who envy her beauty, and wish to possess her; A woman who's devoted, intelligent and honest, qualities which our hero possesses and believes in with all his being.
Undaunted, our Hero continues on his quest, his spirit dampened by rains devoid of honor, and rampant with pettiness, but onward he trudges. Seeds of hope do grow in the virtual wilderness as every day brings forth a new adventure; he's constantly asking himself "will this diversion remove me from my path, or could it be the thing that leads the way to my treasure?"
Our intrepid hero entered the watering hole clearing where the fish-people had gathered: predator and prey co-mingling for survival. The competition was fierce, and the looks thrown his way showed the contempt of the strongest. With delicate tread, the Montanan made his way past the beasts to get his fill of the life-giving waters. Snarls and cackling made the hairs stand up on the back of his neck; his nerves drew taut as he listened for a telltale sign of attack.
The waters were refreshing, but the conditions were tense and troubling. As he quenched his thirst, he rinsed off the wounds he'd received in the wilderness. Even though he was king of the predators, among the herds and prides, the Montanan felt outnumbered and for that a spark of doubt raced through his consciousness: he could easily be waylaid.
A predator bedecked with gleaming fangs, smelling blood, sidled up beside him as he drank from the cooling pool. It considered his wounds, but otherwise ignored his presence and also drank from the pool. As our hero turned to leave -his thirst satiated, the predator gave him one last cursory glance and turned it's attention back to the pool, with a cautionary growl.
Refreshed and strengthened by his drink and now ready to press on in his journey, the Montanan made for a hasty, but cautious exit. The direct path seemed to be the least dangerous.
STAMPEDE! Several of the more skittish of the beasts fearing for the loss of a strong protective contender raced toward the edge of the clearing to which our hero was heading. The sudden blockade gave our hero pause, and a spark of worry - rarely present in our hero's life - stopping him in his tracks. The beasts gazed upon him. "Is that desperation in their eyes?", the intrepid Montanan thought to himself. But to him his course was clear, and he wanted to continue on his life's journey.
The Montanan was diverted, but intent on his course. He moved into the fray that blocked his exit. They moved along with him seeking his counsel, if not by request, but by action. He allowed it, as long as it didn't deter him. Their prods and pushes made him very aware that his lack of interest had made them despondent, which then lead to aggressiveness. He bravely ignored them, and exited the watering hole clearing.
Back in the wilderness, the Montanan could finally breath a sigh of relief. His resolve had been strengthened by his encounters at the watering hole. He knew that his path was the right one, and to allow any occurrence or creature to change it would mean defeat. He pressed on, knowing for certain that the end of his quest would soon be reached. He knew there would be further encounters with the flora and fauna of the wilderness, but he knew what lay ahead he could handle with ease, and humor.
Onward the Intrepid Montanan charged...
As he stepped from the forest onto the wide plains of the virtual landscape, our hero viewed a spectacle: a Pyramidal City of Gold.
The vision blurred, and danced, as the heat of the day reach it's zenith. Once again his lips were parched from his travails. He mustered what strength he had left and made for the city with hope rekindled.
As he stepped into the cityscape he knew that he was in a world unknown to him. After years of living away from the bustling crowds, he wasn't sure he could bear it any longer.
He stood transfixed, looking at the inhabitants of the lower-city streets. Ghastly apparitions reminiscent of vultures ambled here and there as they picked off the ground the discards of the cities upper-level dwellers. Sometimes it was the corpse of a once bright and beautiful creature. They didn't appear to notice our hero until he strode close to one of the discards that interested them so. The Montanan was then easily forgotten, as they continued on with their feast.
The Montanan stepped onto the road leading further up into the city; it's cobbled roads becoming smoother and less treacherous as he climbed. The scavengers didn't move this far upward into the city, but heron-like creatures walked about cleaning up the messes that came from above and discarding what they didn't care for to the lower residents. They scoured the ground they walked upon greedily snapping up all that they could find. Again, the Montanan was of no consequence.
Further up into the city our hero shuffled, gasping for something to drink, and a decent morsel to eat. His personage was still ignored, but from time-to-time a look of disgust, or even disapproval would mire the visage of a passing Peacock, or Parrot. The Montanan tried to make contact, but was readily blocked from sight as an Ostrich, or Emu placed it's head deeply into the sands of ignorance. He was in amongst the crowd, but very much alone.
The cities streets turned to gold as our Hero reached it's Zenith. There atop the highest spot in the city sat hundreds of Eagles, Owls and Hawks. All were squawking at the intruder in their midst. A man of highest caliber in his own sanctum, but here only a drifter; a creature of ill repute.
The Montanan, stood tall in front of his detractors, weakened by his journey, yet hiding that fact from those that scrutinized him. Proudly he stood before them unwilling to bend to the will of the creatures deriding his presence. There he stood, alone, but happy in his solitude. Soon they would once again ignore his presence, but for now, not a single one of them could take their eyes off the belligerent who dared to stand before them as an equal. Unafraid of any consequences the Montanan stood, laughing, strengthened by their fear. As strong a character as they would ever encounter.