The Enemy of the Good (eideteker) wrote in roman_a_clef,
The Enemy of the Good

Roman à Clef, Episode 1

Episode 1: "It's Like This, Officer."
A hot and windy August afternoon had the trees in constant motion. With a blade of grass between her teeth, Crystal Methuselah sat beneath the largest of an isolated cluster of trees in a sweeping field, thinking about why exactly her life stunk. As her mind wandered, she thought first of her parents, working hard in the market to sell their produce. Was that all her life was meant to be? She thought, then, of the city; of hustle and bustle of life with a pulse, and felt a longing. Her mind was taken with a bright and nameless vision, and she stood slowly, not sure where she was going or why. Almost without the full process of a decision, she was off and disappearing into the eastern horizon.

* * *

Emwitobway labored deep into the night, feverishly constructing his redemption. Banished for his ideas, for following the intellectual paths of the white man, he was alone. He worked many nights, and many days, and the work was hard. When the work was done, he saw his creation, and it was All Good.

Proud of himself and his creation, he returned to his people. Those who had cast him out were, at first, wary. They crowded around him in a circle and beheld his creation. They saw that it was All Good. And so it was. Emwitobway brought his creation to his tent. Then, showered in praise, he joined his people in the joyous celebration of his return.

When the creation awoke early the next morning, it sat bolt upright and its opened eyes were flooded with images beheld for the first time. It slowly made its way to its feet, then to the tent's entrance. Casting back the flap, its senses were filled with information and stimuli beyond imagination. Children playing, and women singing as they went about their daily chores. The scents of food, grass, and filth. Even the taste of the air was new. The creation witnessed all this, and knew it was All Good. But was it not itself All Good? Something was wrong. For the first time, the creature looked within itself deeply, and it beheld chaos and a constant struggle. And so he knew himself, and he knew his mission on this planet which he knew not the name of.

All Good walked through the tent flap and out into the settlement. He grabbed the first person to walk by roughly, and by the neck. In his iron grip, he turned the adolescent male about, this way and that, unconsciously crushing his windpipe. When he had learned all he could from his study, he casually tossed the youth aside, breaking the neck of the discarded in the process. He moved to study the next subject.

All Good made his progress through the tribe, but not without notice. Everywhere, there was spilt blood, women screaming, mangled bodies, children crying. The people ran from him in fear. And All Good laughed, because for the first time the world outside matched the world within; the universe was in balance and he was happy. It was All Good.

* * *

"It's like this, officer," began the short, greasy club owner. "I hired this new guy, this big Lug to be my new bouncer." Unconsciously, the club owner mimicked a man twice his stature, puffing out his chest and raising his shoulders. He resembled a small simian trying to scare off a predator, and it was all the policeman could do to stifle a chuckle. "He was supposed to start tonight, being it's the first of August and all, and I like to keep my books strictly legit, y'know? I color within the lines, dig?"

* * *

"Lug showed up for work at sunset, still feeling unsure of himself. Certainly, he had the physique for it, but could he really use physical means to eject some violent, rowdy drunk? According to the terms of his newest employment, he'd have to. Otherwise, what was a big thug like him good for? His mind continued to wander, perhaps harkening to distant lands, when he was snapped back into reality by a query from the handsome club owner. 'So, big guy, are you ready for your first night of work?' he asked. 'Yes, sir,' Lug docilely replied, dazzled by the managerial prowess of the club's owner. 'Good man. Now get out there and do exactly like I told you.' At his boss' bidding, the big man went outside. There, quite the line had formed. This is, after all, the hottest joint in town. At go time, he began letting people into the club one by one, screening for the best of clientele. It was not such a bad job after all. Then the trouble started.

"This one guy, who calls himself Prometheus, showed up demanding entrance. He had no ID, no membership card, and no money. Of course, Lug wouldn't let him in, as well-trained as he was. 'Sir, I am going to have to ask you to please step out of the line and let the other people through,' the bouncer told him. 'No way!' shouted Prometheus, and he started waving a gun in the air. What does a guy like Prometheus need with a gun? Who knows? Then the gun goes off."


"Officer?" asked the nightclub owner of the smoky darkness where the policeman had stood raptly listening, mere moments before. He had since slumped unceremoniously to the dusty ground of the alley, his notepad fanning like a peacock's tailfeathers and his pencil rolling noisily away. The club owner followed it with his eyes until it and they were stopped by a man holding a gun pointed directly at him.

"No witnesses," was the last thing that he heard, as a small piece of lead tore spiralling through his brain.

Drawerings by sobriquet, Words composed and arranged by eideteker. © 2005, all rights reserved.
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That absolutley rules that you called them drawerings. You are my hero!
We can be heroes. Just for one day (a month).

(For the record, I also like my credit. I mused over what to put aside from "Writeings by" for a short while. Couldn't say words by, because I didn't make up the words. I just put 'em in order.)
Ordering of words by..

Sweet. It's about time the larger world got to see this story, and illustrated, even.
We both said at seperate times that if we knew someone who could draw, we'd do a comic book. Well, it's a step in that direction.
In other news, I still can't spell separate.
i enjoyed it, thus far.
what kinds of input are you looking for? i have some suggestions but wouldn't want to be rude.
Rude suggestions are my favorite.
heheh. ok, then--
"Lug showed up for work at sunset, still feeling unsure of himself. Certainly--

this paragraph had me a bit confused. the double quotes at the beginning suggest that somebody within the story was relating the story. it didn't end with double quotes, so i assumed that this paragraph continued into the next--spoken by the club owner.

then it didn't make much sense to me why his tone sounded more like the narrator.

so i'm thinking--maybe the double quotes weren't supposed to be there?
Ah, you stumbled onto the club owner's superpower, which is Narration. It's a cool power, unfortunately, it's of little use to him now.

Keep your eye on the details; you'll pick up on certain things long before the other readers from the looks of it.
wee. i feel like i do when i find eastereggs in a homestar runner skit. it's a sort of stunning-tingly sensation that has me drooling like a 4 year old after having spotted an unreachable icecream cone.
well, not really, but it was fun to try and describe the look.

beck: good on you, drawering again. i don't have anything clever nor witty to say to you, currently. keep up the good work.
Thanks. That's really my first time taking a pen drawing and digitally coloring it. It's pretty basic, but not bad for a first effort. I think/hope you'll see progression on this front as we go through it.

And don't worry, you probably understand the story better than I do, and I'm involved. AND I have the next several installments available to me. Whee.