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PostSubject: The Tales of Stupidity Redux   The Tales of Stupidity Redux Empty28.02.14 3:26

---Chapter 5: Aran ---
The Long Story, of One so Isolated.



A recent journalist from The Yew Nork Chimes caused a viral pandemic of social media uprising toward its viewers both locally and internationally. A massive leak of information was found in his recent logs in his journal before his untimely death. The unknown journalist centralized his most recent works toward a young male that lived in a mysterious, foreign land simply labeled as "Pyrite." Further news about the mysterious young boy never appeared except from within the original journal. The journal reveals background information of Pyrite, the journalist's journey in Pyrite, as well as even the disclosure of the young boy's name: Aran.

February 28, 2014. The City of Marcasite, Capital of Pyrite. Was quite a grim, dull place to live in for those few days. The morning before, I woke up from my comfy residence with a smile that awaited me at my workplace in the Yew Nork Chimes. However, that smile did not come to fruition since I was forcefully transported out of the country to this wicked place. Ten years working for the YNC, and now they've made me exploring undiscovered land. I question if I'm just a mere journalist, or perhaps the guinea pig for some imperialistic plot-to-be. Such is life.  

But...the land of "Pyrite" wasn't so bad, it had some authentic sights and the weather wasn't that hot. What frightened me about "Pyrite", was that it barely had any inhabitants. Throughout my first day I managed to only share eye contact with ten other people, a few of them being the hotel manager, the translator as well as the camera crew. It was a dry, desert-like land. Though "Pyrite" preserved its ancestral decor and traditional values in Marcasite, the majority of the land as well as portions of Marcasite were just covered in cemeteries which were filled with corpses similar to water that filled up to the brim of a glass.  It was a shocking thought to behold, as if the dead could truly outnumber the living. I heard strange rumors that the dead often ascend from their tombstones late into the Pyritian nights, and perhaps gave a whole new meaning to the phrase "living graveyard" to those they might had encountered. As usual, I kept myself distanced from the few remaining Pyritian citizens and followed my orders. I took out the old, raggedy piece of paper that had my directions. My task was to find a boy, but also a man who protected the boy. The only direction that the paper gave me was to simply head toward the direction of "The Old Tower."

I discarded the piece of paper and made my way onward. Quite frankly, it was a long, painful walk. The desert winds blinded with sudden sand, the shrieks of scavenging vultures echoed throughout the sunny skies, and also the disorientating murmors of the civilians that gossiped behind my own shadow. I needed a break, I sat down on a broken pillar that rested in a public market. My thirst quickly quenched as rejuvenating mana from Heaven in the form of bottled water. The crumpled remains of the plastic container fell into a pit of sand as I gazed upon two particular figures near the only bench in sight.

I saw an elderly man that wore royal garments that resembled similar to a religious priest. He sat remotely still, idle as his decrepit, wrinkly face kept still as he gazed toward the young boy who slept next to him. The color of the boy's hair was his most unique trait, I'd say. It was glimmering, almost blinding me as well as the fact that each hair follicle was of a pure white hue. It was otherworldly, an uncommon sight in my Pyritian journey. However, the boy was poorly dressed. He wore red shorts one size too big and a T-shirt with various stains commonly found from trash in dumpsters. His impoverished complexion had shown distrust and discomfort toward the elderly man, as he stood up from his seat and slowly gave out the following order.

"Arise, young Aran! Follow, before it is too late! " The elderly man commanded loudly. He tapped the boy's head numerous times to awaken him, the man's patience wearing thin.

Aran, now known, got up from his momentary slumber and regained his energetic composure after a couple of yawns and stretches. He then glared at the elderly man who quietly, yet quickly walked in the direction of a tower seconds prior. Aran followed him but with footsteps so clumsy, while I pursued Aran and kept reeling in the flow of information. Unknown to the boy however, the elderly man strictly told me not to involve myself in any of Aran's affairs that he might face in our journey. So I agreed, shook hands with the man, and here I am doing this all for the Yew Nork Chimes...
February 28, 2014. The Old Tower, Ancient Pyritian Landmark. Marcasite, Capital of Pyrite. A few hours have passed. The sizzling sun slowly settled off into the horizon, as we eventually found ourselves glaring through the holes and stone remains of the Old Tower Gates. We all took a break before heading inside. Aran glared contently toward the recent sunset, while the elderly man waited for us near the entrance with all of his patience. On the other hand, I focused specifically toward the tower itself. First of all, the tower had seen better days, however its outer structure remained intact to almost perfect quality.  An intriguing story with such mystery that no one should ever miss the opportunity to listen...yet the Pyritans as well as the elderly man rejected my many requests. Perhaps it was recently restored? Maybe the Tower was invaded long ago and all that was left was the Tower itself? So many questions...Nevertheless, I'll take this opportunity. Though I may have been forced into being here, the Old Tower had started to change my skepticism, perhaps it had became my main motivation of even tagging along with Aran? I'm not so sure anymore. The Old Tower looked like a tall, grand structure, rejuvenating with life compared to the rundown huts, shacks and markets that plague the city. Also from the observations that I gathered, other than the inn that I stayed in as well as some occasional street lights, the Old Tower had the most use of lighting and consumption of electricity. From afar, the entire city of Marcasite could be shrouded in darkness while the tallest tower shined through. Not only did the light made me feel more safer near its presence, it made me even more curious to dwell deep within the Old Tower.

"Enough pondering, the Old Tower awaits us..." The elderly man ordered us as both Aran and I stood up and followed him quickly.

We slowly entered the Old Tower, darkness ironically ensued us. As we dwell deep in the Tower's darkness, I felt the subtle sensation of Aran holding my hand. Initially I felt relieved, however my emotions began to fade away at a sudden sight of light that emanated in front of our path. As we traveled further into the seemingly endless pool of darkness, the light became sharper and sharper until it was easily identifiable in my eyes.

Four levers. Four unique, different-colored levers blocked my path but gave me interest. The elderly man smirked and observed Aran and I. Aran was as confused as I was, as we didn't know what would happen if we used any of the levers. I closely examined each of the levers before proceeding. Before I did that however, I told Aran to stand back and made sure he didn't touch anything. Like a virtue in life, he did what I asked. The lever that was the most left of all levers had a shade of dark grey. It looked bland, untainted with decorations and color with the perspective of innocence.

Right of the first lever, was a lever that was adorned with a light orange hue but had the essence and metaphorical texture of a brown metal similar to that of bronze. As a journalist, I was trained to be objective in most to all possible scenarios. However, this scenario was too much, even for a veteran like me. Whether I gave a peek or a glare toward the lever, the lever gave me the potent sense of ignorance. Its dull, dented and broken texture mocked me almost toward a ravage, almost inhuman sense of mind. I regained my composure minutes later, and continued my observations.

The next lever was a better sight for the eyes and mind. Silver, silver. The color and texture of this lever was certainly silver. Back when I traveled to places within my freewill, I began to memorize the texture, sight and smell of silver after numerous visits to currency exchanges, mints and even on the local streets. Though in this day and age, silver is quite common compared to the likes of platinum and diamond. Regardless, I would take a silver coin than a million bronze tokens any day.

The most far right lever, shined with glimmering gold and adorned with gossamer most bold. The richest of all levers from what I've seen. Gems were embedded on the lever's base. Gossamer cloth decorated the lever itself, and transformed the lever practically to a mounted scepter of a king. Royalty and wealth, was the epitome of what I thought of this golden lever. Nothing...Bronze...Silver...Gold...?

From the looks of it, all of these levers were under the pattern of natural resources in terms of economic rarity. One particular observation other than the initial thoughts of the levers, but of the light we encountered previously. Not all of the levers shined a brilliant light, but only one. The light spawned from the first lever, the lever of innocence. I extended my hand forward, grasped the lever, and took my chances by pulling downward. Aran gulped, slightly nervous while the elderly man behind us gave a chuckle.

The earth below us began to rumble, and darkness was forcefully replaced with light until it was filled to an all-white void. I was beginning to lose my sense of reality, if all of this was a dream. Particles created from utter nowhere fused among themselves to craft into stairs to a higher platform, and to a higher purpose.

"Welcome to the Old Tower, young Aran. All will be explained eventually, but for now, this will be your training ground." The elderly man suddenly stated, before suddenly vanishing into some unfathomable reality.

I was left alone with the boy, left alone with the boy to watch him train and to traverse through the Old Tower. I began to lose my track of time, what seemed to be hours could be days and vice-versa. I will not quit however, because I cannot quit. I'll see this through until the day I inevitably die in this,foreign, forsaken land.
February 29, 2014. The Room of Beginnings, The Old Tower. {Path of Innocence.}

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PostSubject: Re: The Tales of Stupidity Redux   The Tales of Stupidity Redux Empty09.01.16 0:11

---Chapter 6: Swindle11---
The Short Story, of One so Powerful.

January 8, 2016. It was the first night... no one knew he was gonna be in small-town South Carolina. It was only the fucking first night too, but that stupid kid just had to fuc- Wake up, Mr. West! Wake up, Mr. We-

"Easy, kid. Just calm down and take some deep breaths. Tell us what happened."

...Alright, I'm calming down. Just shut up, alright? Let me speak, lady... You know what, can I get some water? I think I deserve some tonight if I'm not getting any respect or sleep."

"You heard the kid, give her a cup of water."

Thanks. Anyways, look. The Eighth was just supposed to be a good time for me and my friends at the Yeezus concert. We paid our tickets like months in advance because it was fucking Yeezy, you know? We were all big fans of Yeezy ever since he dropped Graduation. Although my friends thought Through the Wire was the best, but fuck them when I say Graduation was him at his absolute prime. It doesn't matter, doesn't it now, old lady?

"What doesn't matter?"

Me and my friends' interest in Kanye. It doesn't matter now since some kid ran up stage and charged at him with a fucking shank. We were standing below Kanye too, and he even looked at me when he spitted out Power. 'No one man, should have all that...'


It was supposed to be, but he fell down before he could finish. The kid didn't even let him finish his hook, like, what a fucking monster. How could he do such a thing?

"That's what we're trying to find out, kid. Although we would normally send you off to your parents or hopefully to another guardian if they were not present, I would like to ask you a few more questions since you directly saw the incident."

Agh, whatever. Just give me the stupid questions so I could go home and cry more.

"What is your name, miss?"

My name? It's Jan.

"Last name?"

Jan Argenta, look why do you even care? Shouldn't you pester some other people about their now-dead idol? God, I just can't even. Yeezy shouldn't have gone out like that...

"Your name is important to us, and we understand the emotions you are currently going through after witnessing the incident."

If you understand, shouldn't you let me go and see my friends? Why am I still here?

"We believe that you know something about the boy who killed Mr. West."

I-I...I don't know anything about the dude. He was just some random kid that stood close to me. We were bumping to Kanye but that one kid just stood there staring at him...Fuck, no. No!

"What else did you see, Jan?"

The shank! He held the fucking shank in his hand, probably gripping the fuck out of it during the whole show.

"Anything else, Jan?"


"We already know what he held and where he stood, but what else? What did he wear, what did he look like? He appeared roughly the same age as you, so you must have seen him in high school."

O-oh, sorry... I was too into Yeezy during the whole show that... I couldn't focus. Yeah.

"Are you sure, Jan? You wouldn't lie to the police, wouldn't you? We have confiscated another concert goer's phone for video evidence, and we have found a glimpse of you staring at the suspect for a good two minutes. I'm sure you've had a good look, Ms. Argenta."

Lady, I don't know why you're so aggressive suddenly toward me, and I just want to go home. But whatever, the dude had a dark blue hoodie and a black hat. Also...


He had two scars across his face, looked like the number eleven.

"Scars? Resembling the number eleven? Anything else?"

N-not that I know of. There were flashing lights everywhere, so I couldn't really see much from far away other than the people beside me and Yeezus.

"Are you sure?"

Positive, miss. Why would I lie?

"So, you are certain that you do not know the suspect at all, other than he had these scars, wore a black hat and a dark-blue sweatshirt, and also that he murdered Kanye West?"


"You have a bit of explaining to do, Jan."

W-what? I already told you everything I know! What gives?

"We found the torn-off ticket receipt from the suspect's corpse, and traced it back. His ticket was found in the system along with five other tickets under a single account name: Janise Argenta. Your name, Jan. Care to explain?"

I-... I don't know what you're talking about. I only stockpiled everyone's money and used it to pay it all under my name since it was easier and less hassle. They trusted me and I gave them tickets. I never paid for Tyler!

"Who is Tyler?"

N-nobody! I didn't say anything. Are you deaf, lady?

"Tyler Crawfish. Junior in Redtown High School who had a reputation as an avid boxer and the notoriety among his peers as a local swindler. Apparently during his thefts, he had been caught in a fight that had his face slashed by two, long finger nails. He had given up swindling ever since. Is that him?"


"What are you hiding from me?"

I'm not hiding anything, ma'am. I'm really not! Honest!

"He was a nice kid who cared for his friends that he would steal money and get himself cut up for them. Was he in a relationship, Jan? Tyler never planned on hurting anyone unless he had outside influence telling him to kill Kanye West. His parents left him at an early age without any record of them referring to Mr. West, and his friends appreciated his presence and encouraged him to go to Mr. West's concert. If it wasn't friends or family, was it out of love? Jan?"

Stop talking, now. I don't want to say anymore. Just shut up, shut up!

"Last call, Janise. You can't run away from the truth, forever."

I have never felt so appalled by this... Why are you doing this? Sure, he loved me, but I never loved him! I was only with him for the money he stole, but he was useless to me after he quit. I couldn't just leave him, it would break his heart. The Kanye concert was close... so I thought I could come up with something for him.

"So you made him kill Mr. West and himself because you wanted to be free from him? I'm sorry, miss. You are paranoid and heartless."

It was the only option! I never even liked Yeezy, anyway! Him and his stupid career, him and his stupid fashion brand and his shoes... They're all stupid! All of it is stupid! It's amazing how stupid one man could be! I never wanted to bound myself in love with a guy like Tyler. So it was a win-win situation to me! I have no regrets, lady, except having to fucking go talk to an ugly ass pig like you.

"Janise Argenta, I am charging you with the murder of Kanye West and Tyler Crawfish. You have a hefty number of years in the future behind bars. You have one hell of a life ahead of you. Take her away. We're done here."

N-No one man should have all that power... No one man s-should have all that power!

"The clock's ticking, I just count the hours. Huh, catchy."

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PostSubject: Re: The Tales of Stupidity Redux   The Tales of Stupidity Redux Empty10.01.16 17:14

---Chapter 7: Capricorn Hunter---
The Short Story, of One so Lonely.

There comes a time when a doctor has to use more than their seven, eight, or whatever how many number of years they studied to save their patient. No definition or demonstration could have helped the doctor when the time came. He had known when the time came, but not what to do when it did. The Doctor had experienced such a time in his life, as he was suddenly burdened with the life of a women trapped in make-believe. Years have past since the Doctor and said woman had their moment of relevance in the news, but all of it is just swamped in academia now. Nonetheless, I had the opportunity to have a conversation with the Doctor, and he had eventually showed me archival footage years ago that documented his research. Below this introduction are my recordings of the day which involved my interview with the Doctor, as well as my thoughts on the archival footage I saw. I ask you this once and only once, do you trust me?

January 9, 2016. I had woken up for the two thousandth morning with eyes opening toward the Victoria poster on my ceiling. It had been two thousand days and two thousand nights since I had been intrigued by Victoria, or perhaps the name she self-proclaims herself: The Capricorn Hunter. I had seen and collected images of Victoria the person, but not Victoria the warrior, the queen, the Capricorn Hunter!

She appeared sad, almost distraught and confused within all of the photos that the press had violently flashed upon her. Her disheveled black hair and her baggy, worn-out brown eyes emanated fear. Or were her eyes green? It matters not in those monochrome photos anyway. Those media pigs showed nothing but recklessness and harm toward Victoria, and had caused her to look that way in those photographs. Yet there lied a spark of confidence and vigor in her voice when I watched all of those archival footage snippets on the Internet. She exclaimed that she was ahead of her time, and I believed her! She wanted to go back to her kingdom in Chevalier and to her sisters Ariel and Claire!

I had believed her story since the day I had saw her face, unlike that petty Doctor who treated her like a lab rat and a tool for fame. She was lonely and abandoned as a child, so she needed as much assistance that was given to her. The poor queen felt so out of touch with the modern world as she begged for help like a peasant. The only ounce of help she received was from a coincidental meeting with the Doctor. Damn his experiments and testing. He treated her poorly according to the news articles, and I believe she wanted justice and freedom. Freedom back to the time she came from. Ever since I learned of her, I had sworn myself to help the Capricorn Hunter return, whenever the time came.

So I became a journalist and worked my way up to gain the opportunity to have a private conversation with the Doctor. It had been years until I had finally received the opportunity today. I had hoped Victoria, the Capricorn Hunter had remained vibrant and present when I would meet her, but I was too late. She became more of a faded memory in society, and she was cast into obscurity. Damn the media and their influence in the world! Do they not care about the Capricorn Hunter!? Do they not see the tears that descended down her gentle face and the voice that cried freedom? Who would give up on an unsung hero like the Capricorn Hunter? Who would dare condemn a woman like her into an asylum?

I sat still in my chair as I write this beside the Doctor's office at the hospital. The Doctor had received my appointment and indulged in my prior phone calls with him, so I suppose we had became friends. I heard the secretary's keyboard type as the wall clock's ticking paced my thoughts. An eccentric individual suddenly walked out from the Doctor's office as he jittered and frantically skipped toward the exit with empty milk cartons. The ink from my pen began to slowly run out, so I need to write shorter sentences in notes. Will write more as I talk with Doctor. Victoria is mine.

Doctor has nice office, bright chandelier and many books. Medical things and tools. Fireplace burning. Doctor greeted me as he sat, legs crossed with pipe in mouth. Gray hair, old. We shook hands. Sat too. I asked questions about Victoria, he respond with not much info. I pressured more, used tactics in journalism school. Doc kept being dodgy, saw sweat on his forehead. I showed him pocket photo of Victoria. Silence. Why? Why no talk? Interview going bad. Unexpected. What is Doc hiding?

Doc stood up. Pointed me toward exit, wanting alone. Opposite, I stayed. Not long though. He tried calling help. I stood and grabbed Doc. Hit Doc many times on head so he remember what to say. I kept hitting to jog memory but he only scream. Hands got sore, bloodied. Doc's blood touched note paper, now evidence. Bad. Pen runnin out. Mor bad. I aske one more time to Doc. Where Victora? Where? Asylum he say. Where in asylum? He not say, so I stab him. No longer useful, so knife.

I had found another pen in the Doctor's office after he cooperated with me during our interview. He was in a good mood, so he let me keep the pen. After some digging, I sooner or later had found the Doctor's old tapes of when he was still with Victoria. Most of them were unreadable except for three tapes, however. I will record what I find in each individual tape. Won't take long. Hopefully. Doctor's blood began to dry up, crusting the texture of the paper of my notes. Damn him.
Do you trust me?
"I don't want to be here... please let me leave to my kingdom!" Victoria cried out as she looked around in her surroundings like a frightened dog.

"Do not fear, little girl. I will find out what is wrong with you, then I will send you back to your kingdom." Doctor said with a damn smirk.

The Doctor sat in his small office chair as Victoria sat in the medical bed during her examination. Doctor checked her eyes with a direct flashlight and made her walk around like a headless chicken.

"I am Queen Victoria of Chevalier and I deserve to leave this foul place to my family!" Victoria exclaimed as she tried to leave the locked room. She viciously knocked on the metal surface while all the Doctor could do was laugh and continue the examination. The tape ended there. Good since I did not want to watch her humiliated further. I took out first tape and threw it at the Doctor's lifeless body. I slowly put in the second tape. No expectations.
Do you trust me?
"I want to dance with my shining knight, sorcerer! I can hear his mighty steed's clattering in the distance toward this establishment! He will bring you down!" Victoria was chained in some tanning bed of some sort, as I can hear her voice from it. The Doctor wasn't in the shot, but he's still around.

"Are you sure that's not just the banging of two coconuts together?" The Doctor laughed. "You'll find your knight someday, but not any day soon."

I am your knight, young queen!

"Curse you! You reek of evil and wickedness! When I break free from this contraption, you will not see the end of day!"

The Doctor said nothing for ten minutes straight. There was no noise outside from Victoria.

"Is anyone there!? Hello!? The Sun God has stricken me without end! Someone please!" Screaming and crying. Screaming and crying. The pounding of plastic gets weaker after each knock of the tanning bed. She is getting weak. I can feel her succumbing to darkness…

The tape ended there. One more to go, Capricorn Hunter. The devil is dead, but you are nowhere near. I do not yet know if you were still locked in the asylum, but perhaps the final tape may show the light to me. Shit. This pen’s dying on me now. Will not stop. Can’t stop. Sirens near. No time.
Trust! Trust me! Now
Blood all over. No angel, only darkness. Evil. Static through tape. Video blurred and shaky. No reason why. Just is. At asylum obviously, Victoria is there. Dragged. Beaten by staff. No screams, only cruelty. Video blacked after two mins. Now motionless. Dead on camera. Eyes stared at lenses. Tears dried. Lethal injection? Cyanide? Don’t know. Only know that she gone and I not there with her. I failed to save queen, failed job as knight. Failed purpose, no purpose left. Notes useless now. Thoughts are bad now. I want relief. From thoughts. Blood on hands, on pen. Not mine, but Doctor. I hear knocking. From outside. Harder and harder. I only stand. Write out suicide. Wanted Victoria free, wanted to be with her. I will be with her. Hope those who see notes can understand. Understand pain. sorrow. suffering. Victoria and mine. Knife on Doc’s head looks at me. Look back and take it. Knocking very loud. Covers thoughts.  I hope they empathize with me, maybe trust me. Time coming for me, so I say good by

January 11, 2016. It's been two days and two nights after the death of Victoria had filled my mind. A journalist wanted to talk to me after giving him my notes prior. I was running out of time, but maybe there may be something out of it. Maybe.

“Were you done reading my thoughts?” The cold shackles rested calmly between the mad man's hands as he coldly held the telephone.

“Yes, and I have nothing else to say but… Wow. You know?” I said with a fake smile, while I tried to gain his interest and pretend to be his friend.

He hesitantly nodded and put his face closer toward the glass panel, closer to me. I slightly backed away from the glass, afraid of what he might do.  “So, do you trust me? Like you had trusted me before then?” He said to me.

“Time’s up. Back to your cell.” The officer who stared at me from the distance uttered. Thank God, officer.

“I can’t say… Too much going on, you know? Tell you what, I’ll figure out if I trust you or not another time. Sorry about the execution sentence, by the way. So, I’ll try to tell you before you get the chair tomorrow. I better get going. See you.” I said to reassure the damned prisoner scum.

I'll never tell him what I think to his face before the execution. May he burn in hell.

“I will await for your response… peasant.” The last words he said to me before I walked away, disgusted.

Is this what the prisoners of today act in jail? Do they not deserve closure to their pathetic, sad lonely lives? They deserve no second thought in our modern-day society, and they should be at least put to work for us since they have no other use.

I had already figured out the headline for tomorrow's paper.


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