Keela Sal

Another spur of the moment idea. Sorry. No picture with this one. If you're curious, try to find the meaning of "Keela Sal".

Keela Sal
by Bevie James

Episode One – Part I

The beacon on the Watchtower flashed continually. Like a cry in the night it repeated itself over and over again. And it was a cry. A cry for help. Once again, the city of Hamilton was in danger from marauders. Once again they were desperate to be saved.

Keela sat on the hilltop overlooking the bay which contained Hamilton, it’s port and the wealth it contained. In the distance she could see the sails of the Monte pirates on the sea. Their bright red dragon emblem announcing their coming with force.

Three ships. That would mean two to three hundred pirates. Difficult enough for the Hamilton defenders. But these were not just ordinary ships. These were Monte warships. That meant their best fighters would be aboard. They were after more than plunder, although they would not turn their noses at the wealth Hamilton had to offer. Probably, they were also after women. Their previous captives now too old to amuse. Or just plain dead.

Keely looked down into the town. Even from this great height she could see the people running to and fro, desperate to hide both themselves and their precious wealth. Shops were locked up. A lot of good that would do. Hadn’t these people ever heard of battering rams? No. Anything and everyone within a stone’s throw of the wharf was open to be taken, burned or killed. Women were being rushed to the base of the cliff which stood behind the town like a tall and useless sentry. There were caves down there. Perhaps they could survive long enough for help to come?

She shook her head. Perhaps. Perhaps not. It was just as a likely the townspeople would make a bargain with the pirates. Give up so many girls in exchange for not destroying the town completely. The lives of a few for the lives of many. They could always make more children. But a town? Hamilton must survive.

It was tempting to turn and walk back into the forest. Leave the people of Hamilton to their fate. After all, if they were going to establish a city of wealth along the coasts of the Crystal Sea, where pirate lands were as common as mosquitoes in marshland, then they should have bothered to establish an army. But there was no money in maintaining an army. Armies were expensive. Better to hire for help when it was needed. And so Hamilton had done. They had successfully fended off three major attacks by buying help from their neighbors. But this time they had miscalculated. They had waited too long and ignored the warning signs. Now it was too late.

Had it only been the town and its riches Keela would have left. But she thought of the girls, and how terrified they would be, and the lives they would be doomed to live once they fell into pirate hands. It was a life she knew from her past. It was a life no girl should have to live.

Sighing, she rose from her crouch and began making her way down toward the town. It was possible she could take out a ship from here. But that would drain her completely, leaving the town to face the two remaining vessels on its own. And with one ship gone they would not be in a bargaining mood.

Damn it! Why couldn’t pirates just content themselves with stealing treasure and killing a few worthless merchants? Why did they have to include children in their plundering? Keela Sal didn’t want to get involved. But she couldn’t forsake the girls.

Toolah: Legion Master

This is the opening of a new story I was just given by the Muses. I hope you enjoy it.

Mountain's Fury
by Bevie James

He tossed the great beast down in a heap. It’s lifeless eyes stared unseeing to the horizon. What a pity it had had to be killed. But crops were threatened. Children had been killed. Why had it left its place in the mountains?

He drew his weapon and cut the rambeast open, spilling the steaming insides onto the ground. Then he built a fire and tossed the guts into the flames. Digestive organs went first, to prepare the way by consuming the spiritual food to be found along the journey. Then the lungs and cleaning organs, to make the way safe. And finally, the heart, to guide the beast true to the other side.

The meat and bones would remain here, to be consumed by any who would partake. To honor the fallen animal Toolah chewed on a hind quarter. Then he cut the giant horn from its head and tucked it into his pack.

Kneeling before the carcass he bowed his head and chanted the sacred words. The meat was for whoever found it. The smoke would draw them. With luck it would be found by the parents of the slain children. Then, in eating the meat, parent and child would again be together.

He finished his prayers and left without looking back. There was nothing more to do. Or see. The rambeast had been a magnificent creature, in appearance like a giant ram. Only the rambeast was carnivorous. Why had it left the mountains? Toolah didn’t like it. Surely this warranted further investigation. He would rest a day or two and then climb up to the rock peaks and see what was afoot.

Toolah followed the nearby stream down to where the local village lay. Here, the stream pooled and formed a quiet pond. About forty small huts surrounded it. The pool was their source of water. And small fish could be speared by the skillful.

He was spied before arriving and everyone who could was out awaiting his return. First among these was Kittah, the village leader.

“The beast. It is dead?” asked Kittah. Toolah grunted. “It is good.”

Toolah paused and glared at Kittah. Kittah’s small five-foot frame shook in Toolah’s eight foot shadow.

“Not good. Needful.”

“That is what I meant. Needful. It is good you filled our need. It is bad the rambeast came down from the mountain. Two small ones eaten. Mothers. Very sad. Rambeast should have stayed on top. But dead now. All is good again.”

Toolah shook his head.

“Not good. Rambeast came down for reason.”

Kittah nodded his head. “Reason simple. Rambeast hungry. Bad winter. No food up there.”

“Maybe. If so, then more come.”

This news did not set well with Kittah, or the other villagers. A fearful murmur spread quickly.

“What do we do?” asked Kittah. “When Legion Master go other rambeast come. Eat more children. Trample more crops. How long before Legion Master return?”

Toolah turned and looked up the mountain.

“Toolah not leave yet. Toolah find out why rambeast come down.”

“Maybe Cita can help.”

Toolah and Kittah turned to see a young woman standing near. Even next to Kittah she appeared small, but she could easily have sat on Toolah’s shoulder without him noticing.

“How you help?” asked Toolah.

The woman (girl) smiled, impishly.

“Cita already know.”

Something New to Read

Let me begin by apologizing. This isn't a true hero story, although the one character certainly demonstrates the qualities of a hero.

And, it's more than 500-words. This is just a draft copy. I know I should have edited it. But I lacked the energy. It was enough to write in the first place.

This came as a sudden inspiration. Hope you enjoy it.

Billy Joe and Bobby Jean

by Bevie James

(Wow! I didn't see that until just now. Cool! haha)

Billy Joe was a pretty young thing. She grew up in a small town on the east side of The River. Her parents were poor and she had to work as a house maid at an early age. She was paid six copper coins for a day’s work, which she dutifully brought back to her cottage and put in the family coffer: a small clay bowl.

She lived in poverty but she never complained. She just went to work each day, cleaning the houses of the village’s more wealthy. And every day she put her six copper coins in the small clay bowl. People liked Billy Joe. They liked to call her ‘BJ’.


Bobby Jean could have been pretty. But she wasn’t. When you looked in Bobby Jean’s eyes you saw malice and contempt. And this inner attitude wore on her face like a sneer and a frown.

Bobby Jean grew up in the same small town as Billy Joe. But Bobby Jean was no poor. On the contrary. Bobby Jean’s father was Village Magistrate. They were the wealthiest and most powerful family in the entire valley. As such, Bobby Jean never had to clean her house. She had Billy Joe to do that. What Bobby Jean did with her time was lord her family prestige over others. People didn’t like Bobby Jean. Bobby Jean wished people would call her ‘BJ’. But they had other names.


When Billy Joe would clean Bobby Jean’s house, Bobby Jean would try to find the most awful chores for Billy Jean to do. Empty the chamber pots. Wash them. Scrub were the family dog had had an accident. Clean up the vomit from grandma’s illness. Clean grandma.

And Billy Joe did all she was commanded. For Billy Joe was poor, and her family needed the money. So she did not complain. She just dutifully did what she was told, got paid her six copper coins, and put them in the small clay bowl in her cottage.

As time passed and the girls grew, Bobby Jean looked for more and more things to order Billy Joe to do. It irked her that the servant never complained. It bothered her that Billy Joe was always smiling and sweet. She hated it that everyone liked Billy Joe more than herself. She had to humiliate this girl. How?

And then one day she had Billy Joe give her a bath. And during the bath Bobby Jean realized something for the first time: Billy Joe was pretty. Her eyes were serene and loving. There was a gentleness of spirit which was attractive. And so Bobby Jean kissed Billy Joe. And then they made love. And from that day on Billy Joe lived with Bobby Jean. And Billy Joe’s family was well off.

But she did not cease her maid work. She liked to visit the homes of others and clean for them. So every day Billy Joe would go out and clean. And sometimes Bobby Jean would help her. The would collect their six copper coins and put them in a small clay bowl.

And from that day on the villagers would say to anyone who needed a maid: Go up to the big house where you can get two good BJs for the price of one.

The Sad Lonely Life of Writing

You know what one of the worst things there is in life? Being busy.

Being busy gives us purpose, and we derive a lot of our self-worth from having worthy things to occupy our time: family, friends, hobbies, shopping, medical visits, and (I guess) work.

But being busy becomes a major problem for people who like to write. Who need to write. Who can hardly exists if they don't write something. Anything. Even if it's just an idea they know they will never explore. They have to write something.

Unfortunately for these people, busy is a bad thing. And yet it isn't.

Time with family? Absolutely. Especially if the family concerned is spouse and/or children.

Time with friends? Of course. Especially if the friend/s are buying. And REALLY especially if there is a chance the friendship could blossom into something more.

Time for hobbies? Everyone needs at least one hobby.

Time for shopping? Well, duh!

Time for medical visits? If you have insurance.

Time for work? Only if you need the money.

All of these things take up time. But just as important, many of them also take up creative thought.

Keeping children amused requires a lot of creative thought. Keeping a spouse amused can require creative thinking. For some spouses it's just wham, bam, thank you, ma'am. But some need other kinds of stimulation.

Shopping is a creative process.

And so it goes.

Which leaves precisely what for writers to utilize when they sit down (or lay down or stand up) to do what they were born to do? Write?

Very little.

And for that reason you have seen virtually nothing posted on this blog in months. For, believe it or not, trying to come up with an interesting story of 500-words on a regular basis is incredibly draining - even to the most prolific of writers.

Look at Bevie! Nothing here in two months.

According to Bevie's blog, there HAS been a hero story written. It just went a little bit over 500-words. About 40,000-words over.

Which brings up something else you may not be aware of. It is far easier to write a 40,000-word novel than an interesting 500-word piece.

Why?

Who cares?

But Legion of On-Line Super Heroes officially has eight writers. But they are all busy. They really are. And the guilt writers feel when they remember they thought they would write all these words on a schedule only to find they didn't is pretty bad. Eventually, they avoid everything that reminds them of it.

Too bad they're writers. Everything reminds them of writing. So the poor dears struggle with other projects.

Visit their blogs. Many of them are active bloggers. You can read their works there, too.

Meanwhile, let's hope that they can all be blessed with time to do what they were born to do: Write.