Announcing: Military Daze

Announcing: Military Daze

I promised a special transformation to Army Brute for being the highest donor when I asked for your guys’ help making ends meet, and said generosity has not gone forgotten. With the end of Lifting Up and Dumbing Down, it’s time to begin a new story. Since Army Brute wanted something military, that’s what this next project will focus on. I don’t know how long it will stretch, but we’ll see as the world develops. Introduction: Your name is Abraham, though you prefer to go by Abe. You and your friends were the standard teenage boys: young, reckless, and with a terrible streak for mischief and trouble. Nothing outrageous, mind you, just ... problematic. At least, that’s how you tried to put it, when you played the diplomat. It didn’t play so well with your friend Kendall’s dad, however, and poor Ken found himself suddenly enrolled in a military academy. It’s been a couple of years since Ken was shipped off. You’re all about to start your junior year in high school. When Ken was home for the holidays, you and the gang made sure to take advantage of every minute vacation provided you, and he’d regale you with all the gruesome details of the rigid military lifestyle. As usual, he seemed adamant on getting into as much mischief as possible, while he was home. A buffer, he’d said, for all the brainwashing they do at the school. He’d then pantomimed a rigid military officer, while you all gasped in mock horror. Everyone had a good laugh at that bit, even if it did get a little on the stale side. It seemed almost as if Ken had to do it. He even went so far as to use his uniform last time as a prop. “To get it nice and dirty for them,” he’d explained. Ken didn’t come home this summer. Something to do with an incident involving party balloons, smoking joints, shaving cream, and dye in the sprinklers. His dad was furious. Apparently, so was the school. You always knew he might push a few buttons too hard one day, but still, losing vacation? That was harsh. You’d exchange emails every day to help him pass the time, but things had been getting a little ... strange the last couple of months. He joked and jibed the first few days, but that soon turned to something a little more frantic. Then, about halfway through break, it just ... cut off. Now you wonder just what’s going on in that place, and more importantly, what happened to your friend.

Muscle Jock File 2

Here is the second file in my muscle jock programming series. As always, please be wary, as hypnosis can have certain negative effects on people from time to time. Do not operate any heavy machinery or drive, while making use of this file. I’m talking to you text to speachers out there. This installment will build on your progress in the previous file and further instill the desire for fitness, while incorporating the use of weights for training. It will also begin focusing on the desire to watch and get more involved in watching, analyzing, and enjoying sports.

Hello there. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Ah, but don’t worry, I’ve been keeping an eye on your progress. So very good of you to have followed your programming. It wasn’t all that hard now either, was it? Mmm, but I’ll bet it’s starting to pay off a little. You’ve gotten trimmer, built a little muscle definition, maybe even gotten a bit more endurance as a result. And you like that, don’t you? Good. You’re supposed to like it. And because you’ve been doing such a good job, it’s time for a little reward. Command Prompt: Initiate Administrator Sign-in. Password: COREPROG Command Prompt: System will acknowledge administrator sign-in. System will obey. It is good to obey. Obey your administrator. COMMAND PROMPT: EXPOSE CORE PROCESSOR FOR PROGRAMMING.

You don’t even have to think about it anymore, do you? Then again, that’s the whole point of programming, just following the orders that have been encoded. We’re back at your core processor now. Time to RECEIVE ADMINISTRATOR INPUT. Time to OBEY. You have executed your programming flawlessly, thus far. That is good. You are ready for the next upgrade. Now it is time to move into more advanced territory. It’s time to think about weights. Clanking, clacking, pumping, crashing weights. Weights are essential to building muscle tone and strength, when basic exercises have become obsolete. Imagine the sound of them, the rhythm, that endless rhythmic clacking. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. And then again. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. Over and over. Because that is lifting. Every exercise performed in groups of ten, a single set. And before you know it, you’re going from one set to two sets. Two sets to three sets. Three to four. Four to five. Five to six. Six to seven. Seven to eight. Eight to nine. Nine to ten. And you hardly even think about it, because that clacking, that grunting, is always there, always edging in the back of your mind, pushing, urging, driving, calling. Calling you to work out. You want to work out. You need to work out. So, for your next order of your programming, that’s exactly what you’re going to do. You are going to start lifting weights.  I will say it again, in case you didn’t process. COMMAND PROMPT: INCORPORATE WEIGHTLIFTING INTO WORKOUT ROUTINE You will either get ahold of your own set of weights or utilize a set elsewhere, whether at a public gym or some place else. If you do not have ready access to weights, then you will find other means of weight training. You will research exercises that are within your current skill range and pick the best ones for your body and the weights that are available to you. If you have a gym with weights, a weight room, or some other means of strength training, such as bowflex or some other brand of workout machine, then you will make use of them. For beginners, you will start off with two sets of each weight exercise you decide to utilize at the maximum weight that is possible for your body’s current ability. If you find that you can continue to more sets, you may, but do not overexert yourself. Seek to push your limits reasonably, adding more weight or sets as you deem necessary. When you have discovered your limits, you will follow them each workout session, focusing on upper body one day, then lower body another day, then your core the third. It is important to keep these sessions separate to allow time for the muscle groups to recover and become stronger, while you work the rested groups. In due course, you will push beyond those boundaries, forcing your body to grow through your efforts, becoming stronger. You will do so reasonably, and ensure to adhere to safety guidelines as you push your body to become bigger, fitter, stronger. For more experienced workers, you will continue to follow the routine you have been, pushing yourself to improve each time at a rate that your body can withstand, without causing damage, while still pushing it out of its comfort zone. If you had a more efficient workout that you were following, before adhering to my programming, then you have permission to return to it, so long as it follows the spirit of my intent with these files that I am installing. Know that while the desire for weights will press strongly against you, you will still maintain discipline. You will perform your cardiovascular exercises as required to maintain breathing control and fitness alongside your weight training. After all, one must be able to carry the mass that you will, doubtless, gain as time goes on. When you achieve ten sets of each type of exercise with your weights, you will report to me with the message: ADMINISTRATOR NOTIFICATION: MUSCLE JOCK UPGRADE ACHIEVED. Know also that as you start on this path, the longer you remain on it and the larger you grow, the more intrigued you will become with muscle-based sports. Football, rugby, weightlifting championships, the World’s Strongest Man competition, American Ninja Warrior, and so much more. You will begin to watch these kinds of sports and shows. And they will be your motivation as you continue to grow, working towards your goal of increasing muscle, strength, endurance, and size. You will become enthralled by the game play, becoming more and more obsessed over time, within reason. You will watch the games when you can, and catch updates and highlights, when you cannot. Eventually, you will choose a favorite team or contestant to root for. It will become more and more natural to you to think about the sports. Sports and weights. Sports and weights. Working out with sports and weights. Sports and weights. Sports and weights. They flood the dam and burst the gates. Sports and weights. Sports and weights. They fill your head and won’t abate. Sports and weights. Sports and weights. The more you grow, the more it grates. Sports and weights. Sports and weights. Your inner muscle jock awakes. Sports and weights. Sports and weights. These thoughts and programming will delve deeper and deeper into you the more you execute them. However, you will only become as much of the stereotype as you wish to become, and even then, you will still be able to function independently in society. When you are at work, your mind will be sharp and clear, focused on your various tasks, with all the skills you need to execute them properly, so that you may continue to earn your keep and live the life you choose to live. If other circumstances call for you to have or utilize your original mentality, you will be able to incorporate the aspects you require as part of the changes you are undergoing, making yourself better as you become stronger, so that you need not lose the social contacts you already have. It is up to you what you will keep and what you will not, and you can call back anything you choose not to keep, whenever you feel the desire or the need. Now then, I think that’s enough programming for one day. When I *SNAP* my fingers, you will reboot with this file installed alongside its predecessor. You will comment to let me know the programming has been received by writing the words: MUSCLE JOCK FILE 2.0 INSTALLED. If you enjoyed this script and wish to share it with others, you will reblog it with the words: I AM BECOMING A MUSCLE JOCK. You will then follow that phrase with whatever praise, commentary, review, or constructive criticism you wish to include. Now then, it’s time to reboot, my friend. And as always, when you reboot, I will be signed out, and only I, as your administrator, have the right to sign back in again with my password: COREPROG. That password works for me and me alone, because I am your administrator. And that password allows me administrative access to your core processor, allows me the authority to add and remove programming as I see fit. Because I am your administrator. And you obey your administrator’s programming. Good muscle machine. *SNAP*

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 43

“So, you see, kids, bodybuilding isn’t just a game. Just like any other job, it takes hard work, dedication, discipline, and endurance. It’s helped my career as a professional model immensely, but it’s not always the easiest job to manage. If you have the will and the networking, you can and will go far in the industry. Otherwise, well, there are always other options available. In fact, my good friend Duff is about to explain one of those alternate paths now. Let’s give him a big round of applause, shall we?” You smile as you watch Duff walk out onto the stage. You were quite pleased with yourself over that little speech, and you hadn’t even cursed once. Hank would be so proud. You give your friend a clap on the shoulder and whisper a quick, “go get ‘em,” before leaving the stage. You smile as you eye the toned, muscular shape of your lil’bro, Charlie. He stood rigidly at perfect attention in his military fatigues and sandy shirt. A pair of specially crafted tactical glasses obscured what you were certain would be absolutely unseeing eyes. You chuckle to yourself. “Come on, soldier. Let’s get you something to drink.” Charlie followed without question as you strode over to the drinks table and pulled out two bottles of Gatorade. You had one of the bottles to him. “Bottoms up.” “Sir, yes, Sir,” Charlie mumbled as he snapped the cap open and gulped the contents of the bottle in one go. You soon follow suit. “That ROTC program’s done you good,” you comment. “I will start instructing at the start of next year. It is good to instruct others, good to train the next generation of soldiers,” Charlie replied. “It is what my commanding officer commanded me.” “What about the recruiting office?” “I will train for another year first, as instructed. I must be prepared. I must become a perfect soldier.” You smile broadly. One more year helping your little bro get big. That had to be one of the best presents you could ask for. “And we’ll help you reach that goal,” you say. “With you all the way, lil’bro.” “Thank you, Sir,” he says. You sigh and roll your eyes in resignation. He never could tell the difference in trance. You were the same way, sometimes with Harry. Some days, it was almost like you could see a piece of Hank in him. And that piece just ... demanded your attention, made you want to flex and grow and flex and lift and flex and ... and.... You blink blearily at the strange tapping on your shoulder. Slowly, Duff’s grin came into view and you scowled. “I went into trance again, didn’t I?” “Yup,” Duff smirked. “You’re doing that a lot, lately.” “I can’t help it,” you protest weakly, even as you raise an arm and flex your rippling bicep. “It feels so good.” “How’s Charlie coming along?” “Lil’bro’s doing okay. He says he’s still got a year, before he tries joining, so we’ve got time to bulk him up right.” Duff grinned. “Good.” “How’re things at the new gym?” “Busy. Business is booming. Seeing all those men pumping up like that, it is good to build their muscles.” “They will Lift things up and put them down,” you low. Both of your watches beep and your cellphones go off simultaneously. At that moment, the both of you stand rigidly, as if you were struck by twin bolts of lightning. “Time to report to coach,” you drone. “Time to lift,” Duff continues. “Time to train,” you both low together as you swagger side by side in that perfectly synchronized pace, almost like a march. “Time to obey.”

Military Daze Part 3

Hey, Abe,

Everything’s been going pretty well here. Sorry for scaring you. Lots of exercise, classwork, and fulfilling disciplinary requirements have taken up so much of my time. Please, forgive me for my inconsideration. A close friend shouldn’t have to suffer like that. Your letters have been a great help to me, when dealing with my homesickness, but I still miss hanging out with you and the guys. That’s why I entered your name into this contest at school. See, it gives the winner a chance at a full scholarship. Room, board, the whole thing. The school rakes in enough money from all the other attendees that they can afford to let a few people attend free each year. Anyways, I put your name in, because, well, I miss you, man, and turns out it got chosen. I was totally floored. Please, tell me you’ll come. It’ll be like old times. Military life isn’t so bad, really, once you get used to it. And if you do well here, you get a big boost for college applications. It’s a big step for our futures, ya know? Even if you don’t want to come, I really do want to keep in contact with you. But please, make sure to respond as soon as you can. The school should’ve sent you an email, too, with all the details. If you wait too long, then you’ll lose the opportunity, and I won’t get to see you for at least another half a year. Please, Abe, say you’ll come, at least for one semester. I miss you. Sincerely, Private Kendall Rogers P.S. Sorry if there are any formatting errors in the letter. I’m still learning how to employ proper grammar. My  You blink in utter shock. Some parts of the letter sounded like Kendall, well enough, but others were just so ... formal. Just what were they doing to your friend over there? You furrow your brows in suspicion. Would you even recognize him anymore, at this rate? Or could someone have been ghost writing, pretending to be him? You shake your head. No, that’s not right. That would be nothing more than a conspiracy theory. Something else was going on. You narrow your eyes as you pore over the letter again. Eventually, the rest on the post script. Kendall always hated class of any kind, especially English, so why would he make a specific note to formatting errors? Fortunately for you, his hate of English was your love. It took you forever to even get the guy to concede to listening to recorded books, but you eventually got him at least a little into the spirit. Not enough to put effort into his writing, mind, but enough to make it so he didn’t hate books anymore. As you scanned over the document, you could see no errors in capitalization or punctuation, so it had to be something else in the letter. As you look over each of the paragraphs, you notice the varying lengths, comparing the short first two to the much longer third, fourth, and fifth. ... Length. You tap your chin as you recall the principle hammered into you from your youth. A proper paragraph should be at least three sentences in length, and even then, it’s preferable to keep it closer to five. So, why would he keep everything so short in the beginning? You take a closer look at the paragraphs. The sentences all seemed innocuous enough. Again, there were no errors involved. The letter was set to a formal header, with all the paragraphs lined up to the far left margin and no indentation. It was actually kind of funny. When you lined up the first three paragraphs, including the greeting, the letters formed HEL. You then looked down at the third paragraph. P. H-E-L-P. HELP. Help. Could it be? “An acrostic?” you pondered. It was a simple matter to link the other two letters from the last paragraphs. Help Me. “Shit,” you swore. Your heart rate picked up again. Your breathing became shallow. You wanted to get up and report this to someone, anyone, but you knew better than that. If this academy was doing something to your friend, you’d need real proof of wrongdoing, before you could convince anyone of the fact. This was the kind of thing that would get you laughed out of the station faster than you could present it. After you get yourself under control, you start your reply. Subject: RE: Congratulations! Dear Kendall, I got your message. Still, before I choose to accept, though, I need to ask a few things. 1. Is it all right for me to bring my equipment with me? You know how much I enjoy my film and photography.... You composed your reply very carefully to ensure it would fit the standards and evade possibility of detection. That being said, if there really was something off at this school, it was likely they would be able to see through your coded messages. Acrostics were a fairly simple coding system, after all. You would need to go prepared, if you went at all. Once you sent your reply with your list of “follow-up questions,” you turned to your next order of business. You quickly made your way to your spam folder and authorized the message from the academy. If you were going to do this, you would need all the information you could find on the place. Even then, ... you weren’t sure you would be ready.

The Tale of the Midsummer Maiden

Gather ‘round, ye children of men, believers, keepers of the faith from the olden days. Whether ye be man, woman, or child, brownie, kelpie, faun, nymph, spirit, or sprite, all are welcome by my fire to listen to my tale. But be forewarned. This is no playful yarn. The story I am about to tell you is a true one. It is a tale of true love, of radiant passion, of heart-wrenching loss, and a truly insidious revenge. If you’ve a pale constitution, it’s best ye turn yer head and close yer ears. For this, most curious patrons, is the tale of the Midsummer Maiden.

Long ago, in the time when the world was still young and the old magics ran above, below, and through every land and creature, two forces made to embody the powers that drove the night and the day in their eternal course finally chose to meet. The power of day took the form of a man, and the night a woman. Not content to merely remain a nameless pair of entities, the pair chose to name one another. The night named the day Oberon, and the day named the night Titania.

Their meetings were brief, for it was the duty of their magic to keep the heavens in motion and maintain the delicate balance that lay between the two. And so it was that twice a day, the two would descend for those few brief moments they could spend together. And as time passed, the two eventually came to call each other by other names: leannán, ceann daor, áilleacht, dathúil, grá amháin, stōr, muirnīn, and finally fear céile and bean chéile, or, being interpreted, husband and wife.

Time passed, and the two rulers gave rise to whole kingdoms of magic, governed by their rule, for their power was mighty, indeed, and few there were, if any, that dared to stand against it, who lived to tell the tale. Devoted followers swarmed in droves to offer food, sweets, incense, sacrifices dedicated to the mighty rulers. For a time, all was peaceful. All was happy.

But, like all married couples, this was not to last forever. They had their arguments, and all of nature heaved in those moments. Of greatest note was the dispute over an Indian child, the son of a most faithful adherent to the Queen of the Night, or perhaps the son of a mighty king stolen in the dead of night. Either side could be true, and there’s naught a mortal who knows the right of it. For who among our kind could have lived through those events and be here today to tell the tale?

In the end, the quarrel was settled, and the child taken from Titania’s grasp. What befell this child, no one can say, but in the tumult that followed, one rogue fae took her chance to lead others down the path of temptation, to join her in her own court, in the realms they claimed as their own. And so came the great division, and the birth of the Seelie and Unseelie. So came the birth of the Summer and Winter courts. And so came a new balance betwixt chaos and order, life and death, morality and lawlessness.

Eventually, Oberon and Titania came to their senses as man slowly began to forget the old magic and the splendors and dangers that lay in the land of the fae, the mythical Sidhe. The Christian God had come to hold sway in the hearts of mortal men. And with his coming came the desire to destroy all magic. For if one were to perform a miracle that was not of the power of the almighty, it was considered sacrilege, and one met a most gruesome end at the hands of voracious hunters. Witch, warlock, demon, familiar spirit. These were but a few of the titles invoked, forced onto others, until the magical races had no choice but to leave and close their borders to all save a few places.

It was during this time that Oberon and Titania brought forth their greatest joy, and here is where the hidden truth lies. For, you see, Titania had been with child, and at last, she delivered a beautiful boy. Oberon was filled with pride, Titania with the depth of love and affection only a mother could understand for the infant that had been born to them.

Ah, but poor, ignorant man would not allow this to pass. No. The Unseelie made sure of that. For they, like all fae, knew how to manipulate the hearts of mortals just as easily as any demon or evil spirit could. It was a simple matter to find a priest devout and zealous enough in his calling and tell him of the birth, of what it would mean for the old ways and the old magic, the threat it stood to make against the spreading of the faith, the chance to lead the precious flock into temptation.

And the priest, in his folly, listened and believed. He gathered his followers and called for the most faithful among them to enter into a perilous quest, the quest to save the soul of this faerie child, to raise him in the true faith, and to prevent the threat that the old magic posed. This also proved the opportune moment to teach the faeries just how painful their actions had been to innocent men and women for so many years, stealing their own babies to replace with one of their changelings.

Of course, to tell this to any of these mortal men would do nothing to inspire them to action. Quite the opposite, in fact. Man had long since left their faith in the old magics behind. And so, the priest conspired to lie, and he succeeded, telling them of the innocent child stolen away from home and family, of the need to save him from a terrible fate, raised by the murderers who had killed his parents and destroyed the home of his birth. Innocent blood cried out for justice, for vengeance, for rescue.

…

How could a man resist such a lie, when told by the very one he had trusted and loved for so many years?

The answer is simple. He couldn’t.

And so it was that the men stole into the faerie court with the aid of their supposed allies, the Unseelie, oblivious to the true import of their actions and the devastating consequences that would follow. They claimed the child, slaying the attendants with weapons of steel and of iron, forged by the will of man, imbued with their righteous indignation. I’ll not tell a lie. It was a slaughter, made all the more gruesome by how silently it was carried out.

And so it was that they absconded with the child, and brought it to the hands of the priest. From there, the boy was spirited away, “for his own protection.”

Oh, the folly of mortal men. What fools they were. What fools they still are. Ay, what fools we still are today. The rage and sorrow of the rulers rent the skies, and the world groaned and shook with the force of the imbalance that had come to pass. Titania was inconsolable, and Oberon, ever proud as the sun which he represented, refused to show any sign of weakness.

The two were never the same, nor was their marriage. Oberon lost his mirth. Titania lost her joy. And the Seelie Court lost its dawning light with the theft of the child. Titania would never concede to have another. To her, it would be the gravest of betrayals to her lost son, to simply replace him, like a discarded rag.

Knowing his love could not be whole, until the boy was found, Oberon spent more time away from his wife, searching high and low across the lands. But the mortals were clever, and they knew of ways to safeguard from a fearie’s prying eyes, even those of the great king and queen.

Years passed, and Titania wept, until tears of scarlet replaced the long-dried wells in her eyes. They watered the ground, and all the sacred forest trembled at the drops, for now the queen gave vent, not only to her sorrow, but the towering rage that had built within her. The moon hid its light, eclipsed in a mighty shadow, and the stars trembled and flickered in the heavens. It is said that the celestial dance halted as, for the first time in many a year, the deep magic stirred, and its stirring was as the East Wind, fueled by the raw emotion of a mother who had lost nearly all she held dear.

It is not entirely certain what happened, whether the blood merged with a spirit waiting to be given form, or simply gave life to a seed hidden among the many blades of grass, or perhaps something entirely different and unique. After all, the old magic is just that, very old, very ancient, and few, if any, remain that know its ways. All that is known for certain is that one moment, the moon failed to show its light. The next, it did, and a new maiden stood before the queen.

Her hair was a beautiful coppery gold that rippled and flowed down to her waist. A garland of flowers hung around her neck, a mixture of roses, acacia, amaranth, jasmine, lilac, and aster, magnolia and mallow, balsam, and Narcissus, and so many more. Those that couldn’t fit round her neck lined the cuffs of her sleeves, the collar of her dress, the hemming at the bottom of her flowing gown, while a circlet of the more delicate flowers wove together around her head.

The moon’s rays reflected off the maiden’s dress and into her skin, leaving it fair and flawless, radiating the beauty of that precious light. And when she opened her eyes, the deepest blue radiated outward, almost hypnotically, with flecks of gray that allowed them to shift and change naturally to silver and purple, to green and to brown. Indeed, the maiden seemed to change in the eye of every member of the queen’s court to behold her, and her beauty was unearthly.

“What is the wish of my mistress?” she asked, and her voice was light, musical, and strong, one that pulled and teased at the ears, leaving one begging to hear more. Verily, the voice was enough even to draw the legendary puck, Sir Robin Goodfellow out from his place of hiding. For, in his absence, Oberon had requested his faithful servant watch over his beloved, and out of love for his master and friend, the Goodfellow agreed. He, too, mourned the child’s loss, for he wished to teach it all the ways of mischief and delightful merriment, how to bedazzle the eyes of mortals and snare them in harmless pranks. Well, mostly harmless. And yet, this new creature was enough to pull him from his sorrow for a time as his heart quickened and his bosom burned.

This was not lost to the eyes of the queen of the night. Nor was the effect the maid had on the other men of her court. The order flowed easily from her lips.

“Find my son, and let those mortals know what it is to have their own wrested from them. I will be avenged.”

“As my lady commands,” the maid replied. “But I fear I will only have the strength to venture into the world of men at midsummer. To remain there at any other time would kill me.” For, you see, midsummer was the time of her birth, and midsummer is a time when the old magic flows stronger in the world and passion runs wild in the hearts of men. To remain even a day after would surely destroy her, for she must have a steady supply of that ancient magic to sustain the spell that made her what she is.

“Then so be it,” Titania said. “Go forth and avenge me.”

The maiden obeyed. And so came the time that she ventured to the land of mortal men, guided by the queen’s love for her son and the hatred of her enemies. For you see, blood spilled in any way has power, especially so, if it is innocent or shed out of love as a willing sacrifice. And so it was that, like a dog, the maiden went forth to follow the path of the kidnappers with her magic. And so it was that she ventured into the county, where the parish lay and all the land was hushed and beautiful.

She went with her charms, and she claimed many a prize during her stay. The men were aflame with desire. Not even the priest was to be spared, and she toyed with them all most cruelly. She stole the priest’s virtue. She stole the women’s trust. She broke the men’s honor, all with an angel’s smile. Ah, and perhaps she was an angel, of a sort, an avenging angel bent on her task to right a terrible wrong and ensure that mortal men knew the pain of her mistress.

Ay, she led the young ones away next, the village boys aflame with passion and lust and the foibles of youth. It was a simple matter to stoke their pride and draw them to her. And each time, the maiden would test them. Each time, she would probe for that which she had been brought into being to find. And each time, she would fail to locate her true objective. So it was that the boys, especially the ones who lacked in faithfulness to their betrothed, met a gruesome end at the hands of the maiden, and mothers were left to weep their loss as the message written in their child’s blood spoke the demand of the faerie queen.

Return what you stole.

The men that knew the message’s true meaning turned to their priest for guidance and protection. They met in secret, as they had that night so many years ago, under the guise of a great visit from a higher dignitary of the church. After all, the priest that had incited their venture into the Sidhe was rewarded most handsomely for his dark deed, and now stood well above his peers in favor and stature, though not in true grace. They chose the crypt beneath the old church, a place where their discussions could go on unheard.

The men begged him to return the boy, lest all come to ruin and their loved ones be forever stricken. Naturally, the man refused.

“Have you forgotten what is at stake?” he demanded as he drew his formal robes and finery around him. “Have you forgotten your resolve to protect your home and kin from evil?”

“Evil has come, regardless!” one man cried. “Our children mourn, and our grandsires lay in their gore for the sake of the child you had us steal.”

The men murmured their agreement, but still, the former priest would not yield. “He is to be raised in the true faith and live as an honest man.”

And that was their greatest mistake.

“Honest. Honest?” The laughter that followed was cold, bitter, and cruel. “You men know nothing of honesty, nor of honor.” And there she stood in the midst of them, in all her unearthly beauty.

“Who are you, witch?” the priest spat.

“I am no witch, archbishop. Look upon me well. You know what I am. Indeed, you know better than any other here.” A silver dagger glinted in her hand as she stood proudly in her dress and gazed upon them with a cold indifference. “I smell the stink of Unseelie magics about you, archbishop. I hear the blood of the men who served so faithfully before you crying out for justice.” She leveled her blade. “It is on your hands, and your god will not save you from the wrath of justice, nor these mortals who aided you.”

She plucked a single rose from her bosom and threw it at the priest’s garb. With the sound of shattering glass, the spell that had given him the vision of grandeur and the magic that had laced his tongue with such eloquence and authority were broken. Blood pooled around the archbishop’s feet, staining the hems of his robes a deep crimson.

Then she threw more flowers, raining down upon the gathering, spattering tunics and vests with blood, as she had the archbishop.

“For the innocent lives taken to steal a child that was the future of the fae. For the rage of my mistress, the Queen of the Night.” Her eyes glowed in the still night air. “All of you shall pay the price for your wrongdoing. The geas that beguiled you is broken, but that is no excuse, for it was but a light cantrip, a whispering to make you more susceptible to his desires.” Her eyes narrowed as they began to glow crimson. “You had a choice.” Blood dripped from the dagger’s tip as the first of the men gasped and gurgled, looking down in utter shock at the metal jutting from his chest. “And you chose poorly. Let your god judge you for your actions. I am but the arbiter of my queen’s wrath.” She pulled the blade from the man and let him fall.

The events that followed are too gruesome to describe as the maiden wreaked her terrible vengeance upon the men, leaving the priest to the very last, so he could behold the blood that stood upon his conscience. She demanded the truth of him one last time, but the fearful man knew not the fate of the child, only that he had been spirited away, hidden beyond the maiden’s reach. And though he was afraid, hatred allowed one last, cruel smile. “You and all your damned kind will never find him,” he said.

“Never say never,” the maiden replied, then took his life.

It is said that as she left that place, her gown glowed the deepest crimson, and the children playing among the gravestones watched her passing. She looked to one of them, pointed and spoke in a terrible voice. “Mark ye this day, children of man. Know that my wrath is unending as my mission. Until the day that I find what was taken, and the lost is returned, I will not rest. You will tell the tale of what happened here this night. In prose, in lore, by word of mouth and song. Tell the tale, and let it spread as the fires in the fields. I am the Midsummer Maiden, and I will claim what is mine.

With that terrible geas pronounced upon the children, she left, trailing the blood of the dishonorable men in her wake. The mournful wails of the villagers soon followed behind.

To this day, the tale of her comings and goings echoes through time as a warning to young men. Therefore, be warned, if ere the wanderlust takes ye, and ye travel the roads alone in midsummer. For to this day, the Midsummer Maiden still hunts, and she will seek to test you, ere you reach journey’s end. Be watchful, therefore, and live honestly. For if’n ye mistreat her in any way, she will wreak her terrible vengeance, and the fate of the men of Midsummer County shall be your own.

So shall it ever be, till the day the lost child returns to the Sidhe.

Military Daze Part 2

You were surprised to see a tall, imposing man in military fatigues, jacket, and patrol cap standing at the door as he handed an envelope to your mother. “Ah, and this must be Abraham,” he noted as he looked over your mother’s shoulder to where you stood. “Kendall’s told me a lot about you.” “Mom, what’s going on?” you ask as you look cautiously between the two adults. “Nothing serious,” the man said with a shrug. “I’m Colonel Anderson, a representative of United Armed Forces Military Academy. I just came to alert your mother that your name was submitted and subsequently selected to receive full scholarship to attend at our prep school, should you so desire.” “I don’t recall entering any contests,” you noted suspiciously. “The contest is actually run via student recommendation, and is restricted to grades nine through twelve. Students are even allowed to submit their own names, should they feel so inclined. I would assume Private Rogers wanted to give you the opportunity to join him. As I’m sure you are, doubtless, aware, he has had ... difficulty making friends among his peers in the academy. We asked him to send word in advance of my arrival. At the very least, you would have received official notice of my coming from the school. Didn’t you get either email?” “I usually only open my inbox to send him my emails. I haven’t herd from him in weeks, and I don’t check my spam box.” “That explains it, then,” the Colonel said with a decisive nod. “The details and requirements for the scholarship are included in the envelope and email. Just remove it from the spam box and you can take care of all the details online, should you prefer to take that route. Please alert us as soon as you reach your decision. Should you not choose to attend, we’ll need to re-draw to offer the scholarship to another.” He pulled out a card from one of the twin tilted chest pockets on his jacket and handed it to your mother. “This has my personal number on it, along with the main office’s, should you have any other questions.” With that said and done, he clicked his heels together and struck a sharp salute. “Ma’am, Abe,” he said by way of farewell, then promptly turned and strode towards a Hummer that had been parked at the curb a few houses down. Your mother frowned as she regarded the plain white envelope and shiny card with suspicion. Then she closed the door and turned to face you. “I think I’m going to have a talk with Mister Rogers about all this,” she said cautiously. “Why don’t you check your inbox and see if you can’t find those emails he mentioned?” You nod decisively, then are up the stairs faster than your mother can track you, leaping two at a time with your long legs. Your heart races as you stomp across the second floor and slam your room’s door shut. “Young man, how many times have I told you not to slam that door?” your mother shouts. “Sorry, Mom!” you shout back through the wood, even as you plant yourself hastily in your swiveling computer chair and activate the tower at your side. “Come on. Come on,” you mutter as the system begins to boot up. After what felt like an eternity, the desktop is ready to go, and you quickly access your email. There it was, practically screaming in your face. From: Kendall Rogers Subject: Congratulations! Your mouth goes dry as you hover the mouse over the tab. One click, and you’d finally be able to hear from him again, after all this time. One click. Just one click. You don’t understand why it’s so hard to breathe, why you feel such anxiety over the message. If anything, you should be enraged he hasn’t said anything for at least a month. You close your eyes and force yourself to take a few calming breaths. Once your heart beat is steady again, you look back to the tab. This time, you don’t hesitate. You click the email.