The Lions

  History has forgotten which event led to the other but it is well known that when New York stopped reading, the city was home to the shadows.

   The shadows came with dark clouds over head and the city turned gray and misty. It's unclear if people could see the shadows but it seems that everyone knew they were there. They waited in the corners, in the empty seats on buses, and in classrooms when class was out. They didn't move but were everywhere filling up rooms with their inky, stagnant, dark presence weighing down the stale air. People weren't afraid, they were resigned and uninterested in the shadows; they were largely uninterested in anything. They walked languidly down the sidewalks, they sat idly at their desks, and they ate boring, flavor-less food; the dark specters hung limply all around them like jellyfish, sucking the color and energy from the city. The hum-buzz-click of the city had become a whisper... a whimper... and a sigh.


   Nobody knew quite what was wrong with the city. Few could remember it ever being different. But deep in the back of the people's stomachs, they felt that something was amiss. A group of concerned citizens managed to shake off the malaise long enough to gather together. Through grunts and nods and unorganized sentences they agreed that something was wrong and someone... should do... something. A few long pauses passed when everyone forgot what they were doing, but someone regained their focus by throwing a bottle feebly and then tumbling over.


   They asked the city for help. They appealed directly to the foundation of the land for a solution to the undefinable problem. The city paused for a moment, considering a course of action. Then it rustled and stirred. Dust lifted and hovered in the air. The City inhaled and gathered itself... Then in a flash, a beam of light shot through the clouds. The beam fell to the city floor where two great, mighty, golden lions stood. Looking over the tops of the buildings they surveyed the dreary expanse with impassive regality. They drew a mighty breath that chilled the city and froze the shadows; the dust waited apprehensively. A roar erupted from the lions and every part of the city reverberated with the din. The people felt their bones shake with warmth as the shadows relaxed their grip. The lions leapt into the sky and bounded down the street in opposite directions, the sunlight glimmering in their bright golden manes. Light followed them between the buildings as their hair slid over the tallest windows, knocking pigeons off windowsills. They leapt lightly over buildings like they were toys, pounding down the streets with paws as large as taxis. Beams of light broke through the cloud barrier everywhere the lions went; the city was coming alive again. Roars echoed and the air shook, every street rumbled, every building quaked, every room filled with lights and colors as books were shaken off the shelves, they flew open and words filled the air with their music.


   The lions eyed the pockets of shadows and the specters vanished in gray puffs. The beasts slowed and met together in the center. They peered over the city, ensuring that their work was complete. They had shrunk to only slightly larger than normal lions. They had given their color and energy to the city and were now a noble shade of stone. They climbed with great dignity up a large flight of stairs. Laying down slowly, they came to rest.


   They remain there today, waiting to spring into action, should the city ever again need their powers.

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   This is story that sums up a lot of what I think is important. I tried to bring in my love and respect for words and stories into it (that would be why it sounds like I swallowed a thesaurus). Apparently my vocabulary has even surpassed my various spell-checkers, they told me that "regality" wasn't a word... well I showed them.  Also I had some issues with leapt/lept/leaped, anywho...


I hope you enjoyed it,


Joey

Excelsior

There once was an ancient people.  These people were strong, brave, and proud.  The people lived on a great island cut from the land by two mighty rivers that emptied into a mightier ocean.  Naturally, the people were very talented boat makers, but strangely they never traveled very far.  If a boat got too far from the island the people would miss their homes and they would quickly return.  They didn't need anything but their island.  The gods of the island were very kind to the people, giving them rain and sunshine and a breeze.  The gods lived in the sky and the people loved their gods and were loved in return.

Not far into the mighty people's noble history the craftsmen of the society became fed up with the people who refused to travel in the great boats the craftsmen built.  They wanted their talents to be appreciated and for their hard work to not be wasted.  They called a meeting on the island and insisted that the people put a use to their great skill.  The people kindly explained to the boat makers that though the boats were indeed very well made, they simply didn't need to travel very far.  They reminded the boat-makers of all of the wonderful things the island had and how unnecessary it was for anyone to go very far.
  
One man stood up and suggested that they take the opportunity to thank the gods for all they had done for them.  He looked upwards and began to speak his thanks.  A woman pointed out that the gods were a great distance into the sky and he would have to speak up.  Of course, she was correct so the man politely nodded his thanks to the woman and raised his voice.  The others suggested that even this was far too quiet so the man stood on his chair to be closer.  A great discussion grew from this; everyone had their own ideas on how best to make their thanks heard.  Each person had for so long thanked the gods privately that they had no idea how wrong everyone else had been.  After quite some time the debate degraded into a contest over who shouted their thanks from the highest point; this was clearly the most important consideration for communicating with beings so far up. 

An aged boat maker watched this discussion silently from the side, thinking to himself.  After some consideration, he rose slowly to his feet and silently waited for the crowd's attention.  He asked the people if they would like to be higher up.  They said yes.  He asked if they would like a better way of reaching the heavens.  They agreed eagerly.  He asked if they would like the talented craftsmen of the island to build things so that everyone could reach their gods.  The people were silent.  They had no idea that this could be done.  The other craftsmen were shocked as well.  Silence gave way to a single hesitant voice answering in the affirmative.  Then another voice, then a few more, then a bunch of people happily yelled "Yes!", and then everyone was shouting yes and cheering.  The old man waited for them to settle down.  The people all fell silent once again, and looked expectantly at the old boat-maker.  He bowed his head, drew a low breath, and looked at his fellow craftsmen.  "OK," he said, turning to leave, "Let's get to it."


They started with trees.  They climbed the highest trees to their highest point and when they couldn't reach their gods they built structures into the trees to lift them even higher.  When the structures got too big for the trees to support, the people built stands and supports and walls to allow them a higher point.  They built towers on their homes and then they built their homes into the towers.  Soon everyone was living as far off the ground as they could manage.  The craftsmen were busy as they had never been.  Everyone was eager to get further into the sky to better thank the gods who had bestowed upon them such a wonderful existence.  They expected their gods at each new vista and never lost hope that they were just a little out of reach.  Never finding their gods, they continued to build. Their children built, then the children's children built,  and so on.


The people built and built and built.  They reached and reached and reached.  They stretched their arms upwards for generations, trying to thank their beloved gods.  They built some of the tallest structures the world has ever seen but eventually the people forgot about their kind and generous gods.  They forgot about the gratitude that they wished to bestow.  But they didn't forget to build.  They continued their quest throughout the history of the island.  Old people left and new people came but whoever was there felt a need to build that they had experienced before.  The spirit of the island urged the inhabitants  ever upwards and even to this day the island is home to great, big, tall buildings, though few remember why.

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OK, so this is my story and this is kind of the point of this blog.  For me to post my stories.  I have a few of them so far, mostly about New York City.  I think it's a shame that New York doesn't really have more mythology and folklore.  I'm kinda trying to contribute to that in my own humble way.  I have really high aspirations for my little stories and I'd feel silly if I wrote them down, but I hope you like them, and I hope you share them.  I want to release them all under creative commons so that everyone can do with them what they want.  I really will get around to it, the problem is that I don't really know which way to go about it.


The stories are intentionally bare and simple.  I plan on changing them and letting them grow and evolve and I want everyone to kind of take them and retell them in which ever they see fit.  That would really excite me.  So please, fix my stories, change them, make new ones, and then tell them to everyone.  If someone wants a specific version of a story let me know and I'll specifically release it under CC and you can go nuts.  Please let me know what you do with it though, I mean, you don't have to, and I promise I won't try to make suggestions, I just want to know what happens to them and where they run off to.


More to come,
Joey