The Random Gothic -- Creative Writing

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Date Posted: 05:49:42 07/30/03 Wed
Author: Katah_Mercenary
Subject: The Random Gothic

THE

Random Gothic

A

STORY
Of A Most Ostentatious Nature And Of Dubious Origins
And Also Little Historical Merit

Oh, And It Is Gothic� Sort Of�

Translated By:
Norbi Churbell

From The Original PRIMORDIAL of:
Ugg Iccus

Shaman Of The Tribe Of Eeek

TABLE OF CONTENTS
TABLE OF CONTENTS 2
PREFACE 3
SONNET 4
THE RANDOM GOTHIC 4
THE RANDOM GOTHIC 5
CHAPTER I 5
CHAPTER II 6
CHAPTER III 7
CHAPTER IV 8
CHAPTER V 8
A Knight�s Tale 8
THE END 8
NOTES 9
CHAPTER I 9
CHAPTER II 9
THE RANDOM GOTHIC � ORIGINAL EDITION 9

Preface
This is a rather odd story. Written around the 1st century, odd considering that they did not have any form of recognisable language, least of all written, at that time. The story has been translated by myself, Norbi Churbell, from the scattered and confused form into the English in which it is now presented

The author� er� translator of this text holds no responsibility for the accuracy presented within, either grammatically or linguistically. An untranslated version is presented afterwards. Also: The fact that the events, items and cultural symbolism described within has no consequence of the fact that it could not have existed in the 1st Century.

Do note that the people of the 1st century had a largely compressed form of literary expression (Strange, I still thought there was no language) and thus the original story is much shorter than the equivalent English form.

Once more, the author (sorry: Translator) would like to distance himself from any possible claim of authorship of this story. (Unless, by some freak evolution in literature taste this tale of sheer randomness does well, in which case, I will gladly admit authorship.) I guess that�s about it for this preface, so until the second edition, farewell sad-reader-who-actually-reads-this-stuff. This is Norbi Churbell, Russian translator extraordinaire, signing off.

Yours,

Norbi Churbell, Translator

SONNET

To Lord I.M.A. Nacronym

I'm a little seagull white and fat.
Here is my tail and here is my beak.
Go and flap my wings and up I fly.
Up in to the great blue sky.

I'm a little seagull white and fat.
Here is my beak and here is my head.
Load up all my weapons and aim myself.
Down we fly and bombs away.

Not exactly a sonnet, but who cares! And anyhow, if you read the above preface carefully, you would have noticed the included disclaimer:

The RANDOM Gothic
CHAPTER I
It was dark (This is Gothic) and, naturally it was raining. No. Make that pouring. (Thunder?) But of course. Perhaps even some lightening to keep it company. The Church (Ruined church?) Yes. The Ruined church was dark and forbidding. Not forbidding, too clich�d. (Ominous?) Yes, that�s better. Now fade out our establishing shot and fade in a view of the inside of the church.

Our Hero, a man of shining character (Lancelot springs to mind�) Quiet. So, Our Hero was crouching in a pose that, for me to describe it with full technical accuracy, I would need to castrate you and throw you to the ceremonial crocodiles. It can be summed up by saying that he was looking like a hunted animal1. His green eyes (Sparkling green?) Guuh2. And his brown hair (Tousled brown?) Guuh!2 was, for some bizarre reason, totally dry despite the water cascading down from the high vaulted ceiling above, which was leaking profusely. With a final scanning glimpse for unseen predators, from the white, entangled embracing columns, which bore surprising resemblance to tree limbs supporting the ceiling. As a side note, this piece of prose is meant to be powerful and evocative and create extreme feelings of sexuality and religious imagery, as any good gothic tale would. (Didn�t Rebecca already do this whole thing? So find some other way to express your religio-sexual imagery into evocative prose.) I have my plagiarist hat on. And besides, �Derivative the gothic may be, but it is impossible to find total originality in any artistic movement� (Oh, that�s rich! Comparing this piece of drivel to an artistic movement?) Put a book in it and let�s continue the story. (Pffh. What sort of plot is this anyway? Makes The Castle Of Otranto look like a picnic and Horace Walpole look like a mummified Stephen King.) MY words. MY paper. MY ink. Be Quiet. Schallas Dmeon3.

So, our hero finished his paranoid panorama around the room and continued his alert movement up the centre aisle of the church, on the faded and waterlogged royal red carpet, on a painstaking journey to the altar. Naturally, we have our token Pashmana4 (common species: �villain�) hiding behind a conveniently placed column chuckling quietly to himself and touching his fingertips together in a manner scenting strongly of knife-edge insanity (That is, not only can he cut himself, but he could get much much worst. Some action like this helps keep tension, no?) Oh DO be quiet. Do you realise that here in black and white, I AM GOD! With a mere few strokes of the pen I could erase your puny role from my highly dramatic and emotive narrative. (Pffh.) So. Where was I. (I believe you were making implications about the mental sanity of out villain in order to build a palpable atmosphere and turn this weird story into what is termed by experts, a �page-turner� or a piece of high esteem and merit. As if that�s going to work.) Right. So we have our baddie cackling quietly in the corner, next to the mossy winding stairs leading to his naturally top secret lair. With a final cackle and a swish of his (black) cape the bad fellow turned (or, more accurately pivoted) and glided down the stairs, nose in the air. Big mistake. Crash, Thud Bang. Boof Ouch Crrack Doinnnggg Thud Boiiing Wstflgi. (Note the usage of onomatopoeia) This was the sound that came from the stairwell, as near as can be reproduced on paper. Following that there were some more muffled choking sounds as he attempted to get the black velvet off his head and regain his breath, feet and dignity. (Despite the fact that there was no-one visible around, this is meant to imply schizophrenia.) We now rejoin our hero.

CHAPTER II
By this time, Mickey Green-Eyes was examining the altar for examples of satanic rites and promiscuous activity (Generally both involving goats in varying degrees, depending in which country you are) that might allow some evidence as the whence that which he was seeking had been spirited. (Ooohhhh� What is it? Treasure? A will? A property deed? Tell!?!?!) No. All wrong. Frozen donor sperm. (Yerk. With a church in the same story? Nice dichotomy. I don�t think so, a tad too controversial.) What do you suggest? (How about our Hero�s mother\sister\daughter\wife\mistress who was kidnapped by Baron Ortantic�) STOP RIGHT THERE1. I can�t forgive that. You told them actual information about the plot! (Meh. Pith happens, friend. Pith happens.) Put a book in it. (Pffh) Ok. So the Baron kidnapped her in a bungled attempt to make her his sex-slave. Sister sounds good, as all the others don�t really seem to fit the bill. Mother? Too old. The villain would have to be a geriatric. (After the stairs, perhaps he is) Sister works, daughter is really too young, wife would ruin the rest of the plot and mistress would make our main character have a gaping character flaw. Not exactly something to be desired in this genre. (I like it�Mostly. I don�t like the sex-slave bit though.) Ok, so the Baron kidnapped her for her money? And we have a daring knight (Naturally in shining armour) who was to be her rightful husband, comes over to aid our Hero in her rescue� And� Whoops. Can�t continue. That would give the plot away. So let�s continue.

Searching the altar still, now for prolific hidden switches (with a convenient flaw in their camouflage, no doubt) Our Hero was now nearing a state of desperation at the darkness encroaching on him. Is it my mind? Nope. The columns holding the roof seemed to creep up, like the giant feet of some vast creature, the thunder and rain sounding like footfalls of the numerous undead creatures of the nether realms from which noxious emissions (Creepy prose. Almost as good as Poe) Who? And why don�t you just shut up! My atmosphere fell to shabby rags once more! (That bit� You know, noxious emissions, is that because of the curry you ate last night?) Enough with this mockery! From now on, you are condemned to the realm of slimy little things that go meep when you step on them and then bight your ankles (Fair enough, do continue) Squelch. (OUCH!)

Needless to say that by now, our hero was feeling the jitters when he realised that the pounding of the elements was getting slowly, but steadily heavier. Eyes strained to see outside the golden halo of light thrown upon the weathered stone by the single, gluggy candle our hero possessed, taken from beside his sisters empty bed. (Note candle. Gothic-Eroticism links. Squelch. Aargh.)

Thump. Panic began to assert itself and he backed into the altar and yelped with disgust and alarm at the warm blood fountaining from between the stone. The thumping continued, now with a metallic overtone and with horror, he recognised it. The thump of metal on stone, getting closer and closer. He cursed as he dropped the candle (Which promptly went out to add to the heightening terror of hero, author and readers. Squelch. Aargh! Stop biting me!) and still the footfalls continued their inevitable approach above the thunder and splash of blood. Covered in red liquid, our Hero turned to face the inner doors as they were flung open (I take it that the lightening gave some picture And what face of terror did he have on? #426D? You know: classic �Oh-my-god-i-am-not-supposed-to-be-here-and-i-am-covered-in-blood-and-i-have-no-weapon-other-than-a-giant-helmet-which-seems-to-have-fallen-from-nowhere-and-wrecked-the-church-as-well-as-a-candle-and-conveniantly-placed-razor-sharp-swords-adorning-the-walls-Oh-and-my-sister-has-been-kidnapped-by-a-scarred-evil-maniac-whose-hobby-is-knitting-tea-cosys-and-there-is-a-big-dude-with-a-sword-who-looks-about-to-kill-me.� Don�t see that one much anymore.) Surprise surprise� SQUELCH Not Me! Him! Agh!

With a crack, a well timed lightening strike gave an eerie half-illumination to the stranger�s face as quickly as a cheetah falling off a cliff. (Did the face have a murderous intent?) Nah. Just mildly homicidal2. (Pfsh. Like that is anything�) Stop whingeing.

CHAPTER III
With more big �thud� noises, it approached in full armour with sword at his side.. More nicely timed lightening revealed a largish red face, similar in appearance to a blowfish in a helium balloon factory and eyebrows with the only possible comparison being with that of dyslexic caterpillars. The arm went up, along with the sword and swung back. It came whistling down, slicing the air molecules in two. It was inevitable (or so it seemed) ssh! It seemed inevitable that the glistening blade of darkness would surely cleave our hero in two separate hemispheres of existence (Aargh! Scary�) but through some divine intervention, and all the chances of a one-armed juggler with a case of anal itch succeeding, it didn�t. Not quite anyhow. 1 & � hemispheres of existence. Our hero almost fainted, especially when he realised that the knight was his brother-in-law to be.
�Amos you bastard. Look out behind you�
and with this, our sparkling green-eyed dude shuffled off this mortal coil and transcended into a higher plane of existence. He became more powerful than you or I can ever imagine. But what a strange remark I hear you say. Nope. The baddie decided that he would intervene and had sneaked up behind the knight just as he was obeying a deep-seated biological need: the need to do away with in-laws and was preparing something pretty nasty. The knight turned, but too late. With a cackle and a whoosh the man disappeared (With a higher degree of caution) down the stairs leaving the night in an advanced state of agony. The bad man had poured a whole tin of itching powder into the armour. It was around 1 billion times worst than the lice already infesting the knight (Hey, this is mediaeval)

CHAPTER IV
The knight, alas, mortally wounded lay for days on end beside the cold corpse of Earl Christopher, Our KIA Hero before finally giving up and getting up. He walked out and walked off into the sunset. More on him later. Our villain? Oh: he found out that the sister of Christopher did not have any money, she was actually in debt due to the death of Christopher. He therefore killed her before his own untimely death, involving some sketchy details to do with a goat. CASE CLOSED

CHAPTER V
A Knight�s Tale
Last knight I dreamt I went to that church again. The windows were all shuttered and the place was lifeless and cold. Then, all of a sudden, like all dreamers I was possessed with supernatural powers and flew around, before my wings disappeared. I fell and died. When I awoke, I discovered that I was indeed dead. I had been in battle, my castle besieged. I had been on the battlements and had been shot off by an arrow. That was my flight and downfall. All around me were alive, but eerily they did seem. They toiled around, making sure that all were with them. Men of both sides together. Suddenly, they turned as one towards me and said: �Shut that clock up as well as the dog. Why the hell did you shoot that bloody albatross. Who said that you could bring that thing to life.� As well as more, all of which seemed familiar, but at the same time, totally foreign to me. Then, I gave up and died. I knew no more. Please do not be sceptical, despite the fact that if I was dead I would not be able to tell this, my story.

THE END

NOTES
CHAPTER I
Object Comments
1 In other words, extremely scared
2 This word: �Guuh� is untranslatable. It roughly means �Yeah yeah� in baser terms.
3 �Schallas Dmeon� � Roughly means: �Or I hit you with big thing.�
4 �Pashmana� � Evil man, Aka �Villain�

CHAPTER II

Object Comments
1 He gave information to the readers. Also something not done in fiction. (Whoops. I just did it again)
2 The scholars amongst us note that the two are virtually identical, leading to some doubt about the accuracy of translation.

The Random Gothic � Original Edition
The following is the original story � written in Primordial and inscribed on a cave wall. Rather shorter than the above would have you believe.

Graah. Guuh. Meng Meng. Ug duh grata. Guuh. Schallas Dmeon. Pashmana dene Tamil. Berooug defna Meng Ug Ug grata menis Schallas. Perrine. Squelch. Christopher.

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Replies:

Re: The Random Gothic -- Mocha, 05:58:23 07/30/03 Wed
- Re: The Random Gothic -- WKenith, 05:35:18 08/01/03 Fri
- Re: The Random Gothic -- WKenith, 05:37:15 08/01/03 Fri