A strange thing about the internet is its relation to what an artist will do next. Audience input and criticism can directly influence the casting of a Marvel movie, for example. That immediacy can be a good thing or bad thing.
I’m bringing that stuff up because: I started writing this fantasy trilogy a couple weeks ago. I’m hella deep in the game at this point; a few chapters are done. I’m sitting on a masterpiece and nobody even knows it. JK, sorrynotsorry. I am going to post chapters of it, and if it seems to get a good response and I have time I’ll just keep doing it until I have the whole trilogy done. I have thought a lot about this whole world, and I think I could really take a decent stab at it. Even if I get a really bad response, I might just keep writing it anyway, lmao. You’re always welcome to get in touch to let me know I’m awful or great.
The trilogy is called THE LORE OF FORLORN. It’s inspired by stuff like Star Wars, Harry Potter, LOTR, Eragon, The Hobbit, etc. In addition, I’d like to play around with the form of the novel a bit more like I tried to do with my second novel. I have been reading a lotta Danielewski lately, and I love that approach to making a book. Sometimes the way the pages are presented to you is a lot more important than what the pages contain, for example. Reading becomes this wild ride! It’s almost like the book has a director instead of an author; you’re orchestrating this experience and thinking not only about the story, but in terms of images, and trying to shape the book in a way that combines the two in a cool way. I have had a blast experimenting with my writing in that manner. (As a result of that, there are certain things I feel that are lost in translation when I post the work here, but whatever. Here it is for now).
The following is:
Prologue & Chapter 1 of THE LORE OF FORLORN - BOOK ONE: THE NASCENT STAGE. You can read it here, and later I might add a PDF if I feel like it.
Thanks for reading.
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BOOK ONE :
THE NASCENT STAGE
PROLOGUE
The year: 2075. Global warming has caused a total and utter societal collapse. The humans that survived the first wave of the disaster now live in a post-apocalyptic planet that was once referred to as "Earth." It transformed.
A planet that barely resembles its prior form. Now nicknamed, "Forlorn."
Although experts predicted the disaster for years, no one was quite prepared for what it meant. The failure to address abnormal weather patterns led to the most unprecedented consequences the planet had ever seen.
There was no structure. The system was a mess. It happened gradually at first; there was once a moment when human beings were able to write the whole thing off. Many people believed global warming was a hoax initially. Weather patterns became increasingly erratic, until finally people could not ignore it anymore.
By the year 2050, almost all beachfront properties were absolutely destroyed. The government stepped in and ordered everyone living near the vicinity of an ocean to vacate. Several thousand families were forced to live elsewhere. With so many people thrust into homelessness and poverty, the government had no choice but to step in and create massive, dull, grey, prison-looking experimental housing projects for everyone. The many tales to come out of the poorly thought out housing projects are for another book.
For awhile, it was actually a helpful solution. But of course, the planet is an indifferent beast. The government housing would end up being merely a band-aid to the situation.
By the year 2060, several other families were left without homes. Weather patterns were so erratic in certain regions, one day there would be severe rainstorms and flooding, the next it would be snowing, and in the same week it could potentially get as hot as a desert. The living conditions were unbearable for that fact alone; humans no longer had the luxury of choosing to live in a place of their favourite weather conditions. There was no more "California" or "Canada" weather. It was fucked up all over.
The internet suddenly stopped working one day. People lost track of time. They had to figure out how to remain in contact with any surviving loved ones while they still could.
By the year 2070, it was virtually impossible to plant anything anywhere. Food was getting harder and harder to acquire in general. It took a very long time for everyone to unanimously accept, but it finally became clear to everyone the stakes were much different. People either stuck with their families, or joined one of the many gangs that formed in the wake of this new lawless society.
With no more access to burgers or any type of meat being easily and readily available, humans quickly turned to cannibalism. Murder was already being practiced regularly by a lot of people already, but this was sickening; people were actually cooking up the bodies of their prey after killing.
It was rare, but another route people would take was to become an “independent” or an “outlaw.” These folks never lasted too long, but if you were brave enough to fight for yourself it wasn't a bad living. Having only one mouth to feed was a hell of a lot easier than taking care of an entire family.
There were tons of shady businesses that popped up in the landscape of this new bawdy world. One could find brothels, drug dealers, abortionists, bars, and more with ease. The people of Forlorn had given up all hope. They were all tainted with the knowledge that they were resigned to a miserable existence until they died.
Forlorn went on like this for years. By 2075, the few inhabitants of the wretched planet had settled into a pathetic groove. They quietly survived.
*****************************
CHAPTER 1: THE BOY
The boy looked across the landscape of his home as the sun set: another day gone. Each day went by seamlessly, one after the other, and he never felt like he was making progress. It was almost like each 24 hours of his life was interchangeable with another. You could switch one day for another, he wouldn’t even notice - that was how uneventful the boy’s existence was.
Roger was a young man born at the wrong time, or so he felt. Were it a decade or two earlier, he might have had a chance at fulfillment and happiness. That was before it all came crashing down. Unfortunately for Roger, he was one of the miserable people of Forlorn born into poverty, pain, and suffering. His youth was stolen, lost to the depressing circumstances the world had given him.
He could have become a musician, or an actor. Roger saw himself in the arts in some role or the other. For the first decade and change, his life was quite normal. He was one of those kids born at that weird point in humankind when global warming was getting much worse, yet society was still able to pretend it wasn’t real. Roger’s generation was the last group of young people who could remember a time when they were allowed to have dreams, and the adults around them encouraged such thoughts.
For the first part of his life it appeared as though he really had a decent shot at making his dreams come true. The fact was clear as day: this Roger kid was something special. He was a big hit at school, and any type of extra-curricular activity he was involved in he somehow automatically excelled. He had a future, we’d all be seeing more of him somehow, and that was unanimously agreed.
“This guy is like the Obama of our school.”
“A natural leader.”
“Excellent posture.”
“Perfect form.”
“Roger, you’re destined for greatness.”
“You will go on to do remarkable things.”
“We can’t wait to see what you do with all your talent!”
“You’re gonna make us proud.”
“We can feel it.”
“Roger: you are headed upward!.”
That was all a distant foggy memory now, appearing in his mind more often than he wanted. It was getting to be a daily occurrence; he’d find himself doing some menial task and in his brain he’d see flashes of his life before it all went to hell.
Instead of fame and fortune from a singing or acting career, Roger would end up spending most of his days tending to his ailing parents. They both incurred horrible accidents during The Great Onslaught and initial wave of The Disaster.
His father fell victim to The Swamp Rats, a gang of cannibals that formed for the sole purpose of helping each other find humans to kill and eat. Their golden rule was: each member of the gang would never go hungry ever again. They stuck together, and that is what set them apart from other cannibal gangs to emerge in the wake of The Disaster. There was a strange sense of integrity and honour to the way they conducted themselves, even if it was something as unsettling as what they were interested in.
What The Swamp Rats were highly skilled at was planning ahead if need be. While other gangs would just immediately resort to unspeakable violent acts as quickly as possible in order to eat whatever they could find, members of The Swamp Rats would find someone and observe them from afar for awhile before taking any action. They would watch and study the person, learn the pattern of the victim’s life, take mental notes, and figure out precisely when the person would be at their most vulnerable.
For Roger’s father, that meant it was one night he’d be exiting his car and heading inside. The Swamp Rats knew from weeks of research they only had about a short 15-second window of time to pounce on the poor man. In those few seconds, they were able to attack him and sever half his left leg before he miraculously managed to fight, escape, and head inside his home. He would never be the same.
Roger’s mother did not lose any limbs, but she was still unfortunately the victim of incredible violence. It was simply just a case of being at the wrong time and place: a gang saw that she was isolated one day while she was out trying to obtain cooking ingredients in the forest. It was usually not a problem; she knew exactly where to look to acquire the special sage needed for the perfect stew. It never took that long, and some of the forests of Forlorn were absolutely gorgeous. It was a great place to visit on a day gangs were not present; Roger’s mother was found beaten quite severely and left for dead.
In the wake of all this unlucky violence, Roger was left with the much difficult task of having to take care of two sick, aging parents. His situation was pathetic, but what would he do: abandon his parents? His conscience would not let him leave his mother and father until they were restored to full health. Roger would do anything in his power to help them recover as much as possible.
***
One evening, Roger felt particularly more depressed than usual. He fed his mother applesauce, staring silently as it dribbled down her chin disgustingly. I can’t believe this is my life now. Roger had that thought several times, but on that day it was worse. He wiped his mother’s chin neatly with a napkin, and then continued feeding her. A mess eventually pooled up on her chin once more, prompting Roger to get the napkin again.
“You’re doing a good job, Roger. Thank you.”
He fed her a few more dollops of the repulsive applesauce, and she fell asleep.
Roger’s father was still awake, but just about ready to fall into a deep slumber for the night.
“Is there anything else I can do for you father?”
“No, thank you. You’ve done a great deal of good already for the day,” he said with a smile.
Roger thanked him, and began leaving.
“Wait…..”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, nothing. I just wanted to say thanks again for all that you do. You may not realize it, but you’re a great person.”
“Thanks. I guess.”
“It’s true, Roger. I know you feel that your life has been a total failure and you wanted more than this, but….what you’re doing for us……don’t think we don’t appreciate it. We love you.”
“Love you too.”
*******
The next morning, Roger prepared a perfect breakfast with omelettes, toast, butter, jam, coffee, scones, orange juice. It was just a classic sight.
“Is there anything else you’d like?”
“No, this is good. Thank you.”
“I can tell when something’s wrong. What do you want more than anything in the whole world? This all means nothing if it’s missing the most important thing.”
It took some more convincing, but Roger’s mother finally admitted she wanted something else. She went on to explain she was missing the IslandComavand of her youth. It was a very rare beverage that was passed on from generation to generation in her family for hundreds of years that was said to improve overall wellbeing and health. She had begun making the drink recently, but she was missing one last ingredient.
“Roger, if you could find a way to acquire Sloyve for me it would mean the world. It’s the last thing I need for the recipe.”
“I’ll get it.
Sloyve was a purple plant that grew in the darkest corners of The Forest of Lillyballs. It was the only place Roger could think of that would have such an obscure request. The Forest was not known for being safe, but it also wasn’t very troubling either. Roger was not very worried because The Forest of Lillyballs was only inhabited by elves, and he didn’t think they’d mind his presence too much.
The elves of Forlorn were among the many fantastical&wondrous creatures to emerge in the wake of the apocalypse. Elves were generally non-threatening folks unless they were provoked. They mostly kept to themselves; in fact, that’s all they liked to do. Elves liked to fuck a lot, and the elf population started going through the roof very quickly in Forlorn when they arrived. No one knows why elves like to fuck each other as much as they do, but they sure seem to enjoy it. The weird thing about elves is they never seemed to fuck outside their own race, they preferred to fuck other elves or no one else at all.
Roger walked along the dark forest, fully expecting to have to deal with a dangerous confrontation of some sort very soon. He felt a sickening movement in his stomach as he realized he was lost. Then he started thinking the worst: what if I died here? I don’t want to die in this forest alone! This is terrible. This is awful. What have I done?
At that moment, Roger tripped over two elves buttfucking in the dark.
“Hey hey. Kid kid.
“Hello. Hello.”
“You you there. There.”
“There. There there.”
These two elves who appeared out of nowhere spoke to Roger as if it was the most normal thing in the whole world. He had trouble adjusting to the reality of the situation for a second.
“Hey guys….Don’t mind me, I’m just looking for Sloyve. You can carry on with your usual programming.”
“Haha haha.”
“Funny. Funny.”
“We cannot continue.”
“Cannot continue. Cannot.”
“Why not?”
“We don’t like interruptions.”
“Don’t like. Don’t.”
“Oh, I see what you’re saying. Sorry again about that. I’ll be on my way.”
“Hey hey. Wait a second, wait a second.”
Roger kept walking as the elves stood there staring. One elf finally broke the silence and said to the other, “Don’t worry. We’ll be in contact with him again soon. I can feel it.” They continued staring at Roger as they telekinetically sent good vibes his way, and led him on the proper path to finding the Sloyve.
When Roger finally found the Sloyve, he immediately knew it to be the correct plant; its purple hew had a small trace of neon none of the other plants in the vicinity possessed. It was instantaneously recognizable as a special, magical plant. Roger plucked from the soil, and made sure to carefully wrap the Sloyve plants safely for his mother. It would be an arduous journey back home.