Phthalo Blues: Fragments Read online

  "Ryuu, I'm talking to you!" Larvos couldn’t stand to watch this phony messiah looking at a map of Tiberia, pretending to strategize Crimson Blade's next move. Larvos knew exactly how Ryuu chose the next location to attack. It wasn't some genius strategy as part of Ryuu's master plan to conquer Tiberia. Ryuu simply waited to receive his orders from his mysterious contact in AW Corp. Larvos understood from very early in the war, that Ryuu was nothing more than a subordinate, taking orders from some phantom entity. Ryuu liked the attention, and was happy to play the role of leader, and be seen as a master military general. But the real mastermind and genius behind their plan, the real leader of Crimson Blade, was Max Wolfhart.

  Ryuu was just a puppet and show piece. Larvos didn’t know the true identity of Max, but it was clear, Ryuu was getting his battle plans from somewhere other than his own military expertise. Ryuu was very secretive and protective over his relationship with Max, and keeping Max's identity hidden from Larvos. Perhaps it was Larvos' own fault, that he had entered into this unholy alliance with Ryuu, without fully understanding all the parties involved.

  "What are we doing next?" Larvos demanded to know.

  "Patience, Larvos." Just the way Ryuu pronounced his name, made Larvos twitch. "We mustn't act on impulse. Every move is critical." Ryuu spoke, while looking at the screen, with his back to Larvos.

  "We've been fighting for over two years; my men are tired. When is this going to be over?" Larvos leaned back in his chair and rested his cowboy boots on a nearby crate. This was one of his rehearsed moves, part of his own act.

  "We are close, my friend. The end is near." Ryuu turned to engage Larvos, face to face. "IronCorp have burned through most of their resources. They've had to hire renegades at a premium, just to keep up their numbers. They're on the edge of financial ruin. Their stock prices will collapse, and when they do, it will all be over." Ryuu raised and clenched his fist, as if he was giving a speech to an entire regimen. Larvos was so painfully tired of these well practiced performances between the two of them.

  "Is our goal to conquer Tiberia, or defeat IronCorp?" Larvos asked.

  "It's both. We can't do one without the other. This will be the next target." Ryuu pointed to the screen.

  "A hospital?!? I don't think that's a good idea." Larvos approached the screen and pointed to a different location in Tiberia. "Why not here? We could catch the IronCorp army in a pincer attack."

  "No Larvos, it must be here." Ryuu pointed to his original target.

  "My men are starting to voice concern over our actions. They don’t feel comfortable destroying so many civilian targets." Larvos tried to reason with Ryuu.

  "My men don’t like it either, but this is the only way to make IronCorp and Tiberia submit. We must persevere, even if it means getting the blood of innocent civilians on our hands. You knew it was going to be like this. You can't turn away now just because you don't like looking at the casualties of war." Ryuu was disgusted at Larvos' lack of conviction. For Ryuu, Larvos' inability to kill mercilessly for the good of his people, was a weakness.

  "What's the point of conquering Tiberia if all that's left is a pile a rubble? Is freedom for our people worth selling our souls?" Larvos was so deeply conflicted.

  "At the end of this war, we'll have to live with our actions, but our people will finally be free. I'll shoulder the burden of the innocent lives lost on my conscience, so my people won't have too. Will you do the same?" Ryuu looked at Larvos with an ice-cold stare. There was no emotion in Ryuu's lifeless eyes.

  "I will." Larvos replied.

  5. FAREWELL TO THE ARTIST

  Valley Village

  Day 4 Month 7 Year 2032

  The artist put the final touches to his painting. With a few stokes of his brush, his work was finished. The scene depicted a beautiful summer's day and focused on a mountain in the center of the canvas. The subject was something the artist had looked at for most of his life, but only now, in his twilight years, had he decided to capture the scenic beauty on canvas. With a smaller brush, dipped in red ink, the artist signed the painting, and named it 'Mystic Mountain'.

  "Not bad for an afternoon's work." He chuckled to himself.

  After cleaning his brush, he tidied away his paint supplies and left his finished painting to dry on the easel. The aging artist groaned, as he stood up straight, and slowly walked towards his kitchen table. There lay a small wooden basket, which the artist took under his arm, ready to leave his small log cabin. As he left, he looked back at the painting one last time and smiled.

  The artist strolled down the winding foot trail, which led from his cabin to Valley Village. The cabin was located up in the mountains on the western side of Middle Continent. It was as beautiful a scenery as you could imagine. Nature ruled this place and the small human population respected their master. They were guests in this area of outstanding natural beauty. Half way along the path, between the cabin and the village, there was a junction. The route split into two directions, one way led to the village, while the other, led up a mountain in the near distance. The artist walked this path countless times, and whenever he reached this intersection, he looked up in awe in appreciation of the mountain in the distance. For this artist, who lived a simple life, getting to experience this view was a luxury he cherished every single occasion. On this day, the artist was even more grateful for the magnificent view. Having just committed this epic scene to canvas, it now seemed even more magical.

  A small stone building with a windmill stood at the entrance to Valley Village. Inside, a young man hammered a piece of metal against a large black anvil. Rocky was the blacksmith's apprentice, who had just started to learn this ancient craft.

  "How's it going, Rocky?" The artist gently mumbled.

  Startled by the voice, Rocky accidently struck the metal at the wrong angle.

  "Ahhh, damn it!" Rocky looked up to see who had broken his concentration. "Oh, hello Mr. Willy sir. Apologies for my outburst and foul language just now." Rocky grinned nervously, embarrassed by his loss of temper.

  "Oh no, it's quite alright, I'm sorry for disturbing a man at work. Looks like you've finally got the hang of it." The artist's voice was soft and comforting. He spoke with grace and wisdom.

  "Thank you, Mr. Willy, sir. I still have a long way to go." Rocky held up the piece of metal he was trying to shape.

  "Is it a horse shoe?" The artist asked.

  "No, it's supposed to be a latch for one of the farmers trailers. I just can't seem to get the shape right?" Rocky let out a sigh.

  "Keep at it Rocky, it takes many years to master a craft. I'm still learning to paint myself!" He chuckled loudly.

  "Oh, Mr Willy, sir, you're too modest, your paintings are the best I've ever seen." Rocky was a simple boy, entering adulthood, but he knew to respect his elders.

  "You're a good boy, Rocky. I'll leave you to get back to shaping your latch." The artist smiled and walked into the village proper.

  "Have a good day, Mr. Willy, sir!" Rocky looked again at the piece of metal he was trying to shape and realized just how much work he still needed to do. It would be many years before he could call himself a blacksmith.

  The artist hobbled slowly along the stone path which led through the village. It was surprisingly busy. Local villagers were outside performing their daily tasks. These were mostly farmers and tradesmen, who'd lived in the village for generations, whose profession would be passed down from parents to children. Farmers children would become farmers. Carpenters children would become carpenters. Therefore, it was only natural that the daughter of the village doctor, had a keen interest in medicine, and would most likely follow in her mother's footsteps. In fact, here she comes right now, to greet the artist in the village center.

  "Gooday Mr. Willy, nice to see you out and about!" Henna's voice was full of youthful enthusiasm.

  "Henna my dear, how lovely to see you!" The artist smiled; it had been over a month since he had last seen her. Living in the log cabin, up in the moun
tains, just outside of the village, meant he didn't see the villagers regularly. In his old age, the path from the cabin to the village had become more laborious and difficult to traverse. Now the artist would only visit the village a couple of times a month, at the most, just to stock up on essential supplies. "How's your mother?"

  "She's fine, same as always." Henna was a teenage girl who grew up in the village. Her long blonde hair flowed like silk. She was the definition of innocence. Although she was still at school, Henna helped her mother at the village's small medical clinic. Thinking of the clinic, triggered a memory in the artist's aging brain. There had been an unusual incident in the village recently.

  "Oh, that reminds me, how's the patient?" The artist remembered the boy who had been brought to the village.

  "I'm just on my way to the clinic to see him now." Henna voice was noticeably more energetic when talking about this subject. She held up a small basket with some flowers. "I just picked these, I thought it might be nice to decorate his room."

  "That's very thoughtful of you my dear. Is he doing any better?" The artist could sense Henna's excitement she had for this young man.

  "My mum says he's not getting any better, but he's also not getting any worse, which is actually a good sign. He just lays there, sleeping." Henna imagined what it would be like when the young man awakened from his sleep. It was like a fairy tale.

  "Maybe he's waiting for his princess to give him a kiss?" The artist chuckled cheekily.

  "What do you mean?!?" Henna's face went bright red. It was as if the artist had read her inner most private thoughts.

  "I'm just teasing you my dear. I won't keep you from your prince any longer, good day." The artist gracefully bowed.

  "Mr. Willy, sir! Please, I'm just performing my duty as a medical professional. But, do you really think he really might be a prince?" Henna wanted to believe her fantasies could come true.

  "Why don’t you give him a kiss and find out?" The artist's comments were too much for Henna, who stood speechless, as a mixture of embarrassment and excitement made her blush so hard, she thought she might faint from the idea of actually kissing the man. The artist carried on his way through the village, and left Henna to enjoy her fantasies.

  Finally, the artist reached his intended destination; a small market area where he could buy some fresh produce. He only came for a few eggs and some vegetables. Thanks to some early success he achieved as a young artist, he never worried about money, he had enough to live off for the rest of his life. The artist was something of a prodigy, and his early career had been full of fame and glamour. Then rather unexpectedly, he vanished from the public eye, and chose to live the rest of his life in the peaceful surroundings of the mountains on the western side of Middle Continent. He had realized from an early age, just how superficial the art world in the mainstream was. The artist quickly grew tired of the disingenuous hollow praise he received from so called 'expert art critics'.

  The final straw came when he lost, what he considered to be at the time, a prestigious art award, to a young female artist, who clearly lacked any genuine talent, and whose art had no real artistic value. The young woman had simply come from a very wealthy family, who had the right connections and influence to ensure she could enjoy a successful career as an artist. Anyone could see that her art was mediocre and bland, but this didn’t matter. Money and influence determined who was successful in the art world, and the artist couldn't stand to watch his beloved art compared to such unworthy peers. He wanted no part of it, and luckily for him, he had already made a small fortune from a very young age. That's why he disappeared to his cabin, never to be seen again in the spotlight. Now the only audience he served was himself, and occasionally, he would share his art with the local villagers.

  The point is, for many decades, the artist was able to live his life in solitude, as he wanted, without the need to worry about money or finances. Now many years later, he lived a frugal life, only living off the bare essentials. He stocked up on some fresh eggs and vegetables, before returning to the path which led back to his cabin. He waved at friendly locals as he slowly walked back through the village, carrying his small basket.

  The journey back to the cabin took much longer, as this time the path went up hill. It was much easier to go down, than it was to go up, especially for the artist and his aged body. Eventually, he reached the intersection where the path diverged and took another look at the glorious mountain in the distance. Just a couple of steps later, he felt a sharp pain in his chest, and collapsed to the ground. His fresh eggs rolled down the path, unbroken, as his basket lay upside down. The artist had managed to fall on his back, and lay looking up at the image, which brought him so much joy throughout his life. He knew this was the end and was grateful that his last moments in this world, would be this vision of something so beautiful that he cherished. It was almost prophetic, as the sun was beginning to set behind the mountain. The artist had no lingering regrets, he simply wished he could enjoy this majestic sunset for as long as possible, before entering his eternal sleep.

  6. BULLY

  Tech City

  Day 7 Month 1 Year 2021

  One by one, they took turns beating the small defenseless boy in the school playground. He lay prone, covering his eyes, trying to hide from the bullies who tormented and struck him mercilessly.

  "That's what you get for telling the teacher!" The young teenage leader of the gang, who ruled the school playground, gave the boy one final kick to the stomach. "Next time, I'll kill you!" Mickey thrust his heel down into the boy and spat on his victim's carcass. When he was finished, Mickey stood with his group of friends, who cheered him on. They towered over the beaten boy, who was frozen still, trembling with fear. "Come on boys, let's get out of here." The pack of hooligans ran off into the playground, leaving their victim to wallow in defeat.

  Gradually, the beaten boy picked himself up from the ground, and found enough courage to stand up straight. He was a small chubby kid, who hung his head in embarrassment. It wasn't the beating which hurt him, it was the social shame of being picked on by the 'cool gang' of the yard. He ran off, fleeing the scene as quickly as he could, back home to his parents.

  ~

  "Clyde! You're home early." The warm welcome of his mother was a comforting embrace. "My gosh, what happened to your knees, did you trip and fall? Your school uniform is filthy." His mother rushed over to him and wiped him down with tea cloth.

  "Just tripped while I was playing in the playground. It's no big deal. Mum, what's for dinner?" Clyde was starving. He had been forced to hand over his lunch money to Mickey. When he tried to tell the teacher, it didn't end well. It wasn't that he had a problem handing over the money, it was that he just wanted to eat lunch. He tried to reason with Mickey, and offered him half, so that he could still buy some food at lunch time. This drove Mickey into a rage and Clyde had to hand over the full amount. Now he'd gone the whole day, since breakfast, without anything to eat. He'd long forgotten about the beating he took in the playground. Now all Clyde wanted was to put food in his belly.

  "Dinner won’t be ready for a couple of hours, sweetie." She rubbed his cheeks; she knew what had happened. Every time Clyde came home hungry, it was because the school bullies had taken his lunch money again. "Why don't I make you a little snack to keep you going until dinner time?" Clyde smiled at her lovingly. "Go take off your shoes and please take off that filthy uniform. I'll have it washed clean for you, ready for tomorrow."

  Clyde ran upstairs to his room and changed into some fresh clothes. When he returned downstairs, his mother had prepared a delicious spread of cookies and milk. A big smile came over Clyde's face, as he put cookie after cookie into his chubby mouth. It was all that was needed to make him forget the ugliness he had experienced at school. All he wanted to do was stay at home with his mum and eat cookies for the rest of his life.

  "Those bullies took your lunch money again, didn't they?" Clyde's mother continued to prepare the family din
ner, while she chatted to Clyde in their modest townhouse kitchen. Clyde's family weren't rich, but they weren't poor either. They lived in a nice suburban area of Tech City. "That Mickey is such a little monster. I'm going to call his parents and tell them he needs a good talking to."