An Ode To Dead Writers

“Words are, in my not-so-humble opinion, our most inexhaustible source of magic. Capable of both inflicting injury, and remedying it.” written by a world-builder.

The child that I was is still active and much in control over what excites me, as it did when I first read a Harry Potter book. It was not the story that I cared as much about, but the details of the most insignificant people and things along the way. The way Rowling filled the world to the smallest detail is what intrigued me. Every time I read one of her novels, or watched one of the movies, I noticed something new. At first, being a naive young boy, I believed that she was of this secret world and had decided to tell the story of the boy who lived. I began the exercise of pretending I can travel to these out-of-reach worlds just by letting the story flow through my mind.

When I dove into the world of wizarding, I did not try to relate to Harry, or try to imagine myself learning magic at Hogwarts, I wanted to build worlds of my own and fill them with my crazy ideas and my own personal philosophies. The ability to teach, amaze, and create was what began to fascinate me. Vanity made me feel like I was the God of my world, capable of anything I desired. Nothing limited my mind, as it was in school and my friendships. I began to seek out more fiction and discovered wonderful fantasies devised by Tolkien, Martin, Roddenberry, and Lucas. Every single character had depth. You could ask any of these world-builders if they could canonically detail a character's past or future and they would spit out pages as if they had known them as a mother knows their child.

The term fairy tales, to me, represented a lie. Possible worlds and alternate universes out of our reach, accessible only by the mind, was my religion. This challenge is about my childhood, but I feel that we never grow up. Society tells us there’s a divide between children, young adults, and so on, but I believe we are just humans who slowly evolve into what we were meant to be. If no one were to tell you to grow up, you would still be doing what you did as a child- what you naturally love to do. Here is a story I would tell my little sister, one that I made up during a train of thought exercise. It is unedited and unaltered because I wanted to capture that creative spark. Fiddling with it would have changed it completely. It is raw and purely from the realm where thoughts and ideas are born.

The ocean was calm, and the breeze was warm when T’Pang first laid his eyes on the island of Darmasong. He had been sailing for weeks, lost, put off course by an unanticipated storm. His skin was dark and leathery from the seemingly never-ending exposure to sunlight and his hair was stiff and disheveled, soaked in saltwater and sweat. Surprised, but excited, he aimed his boat toward the white sandy shores and bushy canopies below the intense, towering volcano that took up most of the island, hoping for some rest, water, and food.

As he sailed closer, he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. Either the trees were shorter than they appeared, or the strange-looking figures on the beach were over five meters tall. T’Pang wiped his eyes with the rest of his drinking water and grabbed his pair of binoculars to try and get a better look at what he thought he saw, but by the time he focused in on the beach nothing but the trees and shrubs were there, casting large shadows toward the water.

“I’ve been in the sun too long.” He muttered to himself, dismissing what he saw as a hallucination.

He scanned the entire length of the beach and found it rich with ripe coconut trees and berry bushes, a sure-tell sign that there was some sort of freshwater reservoir somewhere on the island. He looked back at the empty sacks labeled grain and oranges and chuckled with relief. It had been days since he had eaten and months since he had last felt the sturdiness of land. The appearance of the island could not have come at a more perfect time. Another day without food and he would not have had the energy to sail or to forage for food.

T’Pang sailed his vessel straight into the fine white sand and hopped off as soon as it made contact. He dropped down to his knees, grabbed two large fistfuls of sand, and slowly eased his grip. As the grains poured through his fingers like majestic waterfalls, he closed his eyes and gently tilted his head up toward the sky with intense gratitude.

“Thank you.” He whispered.

His precious moment was quickly interrupted by a rustling from the bushes in his peripheral. T’Pang flinched, springing to his feet as the rustling grew closer and louder. He raised his fists and shouted at the bush.

“Show yourself!”

There was a moment of silence before the rustling continued, moving into the bush nearest to T’Pang. The anticipation grew and T’Pang’s fight or flight reflex couldn’t be more confused. The bushes were large and thick, preventing T’Pang from gaining any insight on what it is that’s stalking him. He glanced at his boat, beached on the other side of the bushes. His choices were to either stand his ground to whatever was in the bushes or flee deeper into the foliage, which could be home to more of whatever was in the bushes.

Before T’Pang could decide, the rustling continued, slowly making its way toward him. Suddenly, the bottom of the bush parted and T’Pang’s stalker showed itself. There stood the beast, the first living thing T’Pang encountered on the island, a small common brown squirrel with a berry in its mouth. T’Pang chuckled with relief. His chuckling grew into a loud belly laugh. He dropped his hands and crouched down toward the squirrel, half expecting it to run away, but the little critter was more curious than afraid of T’Pang. It slowly made its way over to him, berry in mouth, one careful hop at a time.

“No predators on this island, huh?” T’Pang asked the squirrel, smiling ear-to-ear as it smelled his knee.

Then, the squirrel did something unexpected, but not entirely surprising to T’Pang. It climbed up his shorts and shirt, rested on his shoulder, and began to eat its berry. T’Pang stayed crouched for a couple of minutes, struck and enjoying the experience, but began to feel the pressure on his knees and decided to stand up. To his further amazement, the squirrel stayed on his shoulder, holding on to T’Pang’s shirt the whole way up as if it was used to being around people.

T’Pang gathered a handful of berries into a large fallen leaf and strolled along the shore, eating them like popcorn. Every now and then, he handed his new friend a berry as he mapped the perimeter of the island. There was a peculiar smell in the air, a familiar taste on the wind. T’Pang noticed a small plume of smoke rising from the volcano in the center of the island, sending a short chill down his spine.

“I hope that volcano isn’t active. Otherwise, we’ll both have to get out of here quickly.” He joked to the squirrel. “I imagine you pack light.” He chuckled, handing his buddy another berry.

Suddenly, the smoke cleared, and a deep moan emanated from the volcano, shaking the trees like wind blowing on hair. It was more than enough to concern T’Pang and force him back into his boat. Unfortunately for him, the tide had receded just enough to strand him and his boat until the next high tide. Things were not looking good for T’Pang. Even his new buddy, the squirrel, was squeaking nervously.

Flustered, but still ahold of his wits, T’Pang reached into his boat and grabbed the empty sacks and canteens and hurried inland. He estimated that by the time any lava makes its way to the shoreline, he could fill his boat with enough food and water to make it back home. Hopefully, the tide would roll in by then as well, otherwise, he and his buddy would be directly in the path of a river of molten hot lava. T’Pang pulled out a small rock of salt, that he kept as a memento of his homeland, and handed it to the squirrel. After a few sniffs and curious licks, it threw the rock onto the ground and jumped off of T’Pang’s shoulder, running inland toward the volcano. As the squirrel scurried through the bushes and around the thick brown tree trunks, T’Pang was right behind him.

He followed the squirrel with haste, carefully keeping both eyes on him, trying not to lose track of the direction it was headed. After several minutes, he stopped and let the squirrel go on, carefully kneeling by the edge of a large ditch filled with jagged rocks and crystal-clear water. They both climbed down toward the still pool at the bottom of the pit and drank until they could not drink anymore. The squirrel made its way up the dirt and rocks and climbed back onto T’Pang’s shoulder, cleaning its whiskers and head with the water still dripping from its nose. T’Pang filled his canteens and secured them onto his belt. He began to climb back out of the pit, struggling with his footing the whole way up, looking down at his feet to make sure the rocks he chose to rest his weight on weren’t loose.

As he reached the top of the pit and placed his hands around the edge of the crevice, he noticed a pair of large, blue feet standing inches from his fingers. Almost completely frozen with fear, T’Pang slowly tilted his head up until he could not tilt it any further. Standing there, towering over him, was a man in a green robe. His skin was a shade of light blue, covered in strange black symbols, and his beard was long and white, woven into braids with little golden figurines littered throughout it like a decorated Christmas tree. The man knelt down toward T’Pang and extended his hand, which seemed like an offer to help him up, but T’Pang was frozen solid.

His buddy, the squirrel, squeaked in his ear, trying to wake him from the trance he was in, then jumped onto the man’s hand and ran up his arm to his shoulder. The man’s patience grew thin and he grabbed T’Pang by his elbows and pulled him out of the ditch with little effort, placing him on the ground nearby.

“Hello, T’Pang.” Said the man, smiling down on him benevolently.

“W-w-what…a-are…” T’Pang stuttered as if he was shivering.

The man turned and walked into the forest, in the direction of the volcano. He stopped, just before disappearing out of sight, and waved T’Pang over. T’Pang hesitated for a moment, but ultimately followed, feeling an overwhelming sense of calm penetrating his skin and mind.

The man led T’Pang deeper into the forest. The longer they walked, the more confused T’Pang became. From the beach, the volcano seemed to be only several hundred meters inland, but they had been walking for more than a mile now and had yet to reach the base of the volcano. Every time T’Pang had a thought, the man chuckled in a low, monotonous tone. It came to a point where T’Pang was sure that the man could hear his thoughts.

Thirty minutes and another mile later, the man stopped and let T’Pang catch up to him. T’Pang walked up beside the man, parallel to his knee, and looked up at the giant. The man was still, staring up at the volcano, which still seemed to be as far away as it was from the beach. Suddenly, the same loud, deep moan emanated from the volcano and the plume of smoke reappeared. The man extended his arm forward and placed his hand on a tree directly in front of them.

Then, out of thin air, a portal the size of an acorn opened in the fabric of reality and stretched into a gateway the same size as the man. It was a door. The man gently pushed T’Pang through the threshold and into a place T’Pang could not imagine or dream of. Behind what seemed to be some sort of technological or magical curtain, was a marvelous city of gold and crystal. Floating structures and moving crafts mesmerized T’Pang, momentarily distracting him from the crowd of blue giants gathering between him and a beautiful gem-studded bridge leading into the heart of the city.

T’Pang was starting to think to himself that nothing he would ever see would be more impressive than the images his eyes were recording. Before he could finish the thought, T’Pang’s little buddy, the squirrel, hopped down from the man’s shoulder and scurried over to the crowd, squeaking the whole way. The crowd dispersed, before the squirrel reached them, looking back at T’Pang with intense curiosity.

T’Pang watched as the squirrel chased off the crowd, confused and amused. The squirrel turned back toward him and sat back on its hind legs. Suddenly, to T’Pang’s amazement, the little critter’s body stretched, contorted, and morphed into a blue giant identical to the others. T’Pang couldn’t control the chaotic stream of questions popping into his head, but the most prevalent was how a creature so small could turn into something so large. It defied almost everything he knew about squirrels.

T’Pang turned his head slowly toward the man who brought him here.

“Are you all squirrels?!” he asked, cautiously.

“HA! HA!” Roared the giant who was the squirrel.

Another blue giant came up from behind him, handed him an emerald robe and a handful of golden figurines, and hurried away, morphed into a large bird, and flew away up toward one of the floating crystal structures in the sky.

“Welcome to Darmasong,” said the man, fitting the golden figurines into his beard. “the first and last of the green cloak colonies.”

The other giant chimed in.

“We know this is all very sudden, but please try and stay calm. We know you have many questions, and there will be enough time for answers, but before we get to that there is much we have to do.” He explained as they both guided T’Pang across the long bridge toward the enormous golden palace in the center of the city.

“You see,” began the second man. “every one-hundred or so years, we collect a doomed human, save it from its fate, and assess the evolutionary, technological, and intellectual progress of the species both as a whole and individually.”

The man who brought T’Pang here continued, “we saved you from your fate and guided you here for that exact purpose. We gave you your life, so we expect you’ll cooperate with us. We promise there will be no pain involved.”

The second man finished with, “The only thing that we seek is information.”

“Information?” T’Pang blurted out, seeming overwhelmed but coming back to his senses, “What kind of information?”

The giants looked at each other, then back at T’Pang.

“Come with us, T’Pang.” Said one of the giants as the other turned into a large bird, shedding its cloak and accessories, and flew away in the direction they were heading.

As they approached the palace, its beauty and immaculate condition momentarily distracted T’Pang from his worries. On top of the smooth golden dome proudly stood an emerald statue, freshly painted and polished, which indicated constant care and attention. The base of the palace was adorned with strange markings and narrow ledges supporting golden figurines and carved gems similar to what the giants wear on their beards.

The doors to the palace swung open and an entourage of green-cloaked giants gracefully emerged from inside, holding trays of food and drink, along with fresh white linens for T’Pang to wear. They led T’Pang over to a small gazebo-like structure sitting in the shadow of the palace walls and waited on him as he filled his stomach and shed the weathered rags that he called his clothes. Once he was fed, rested, and clothed, the group of giants silently guided T’Pang through the large gates of the palace, ignoring every question he threw at them.

“They can’t answer you.” Said a deep voice from the far end of the Palace lobby. “They’ve taken a vow of silence. They refuse to communicate until all violence is vanquished.”

“Wow,” T’Pang responded, looking around at the beautiful architecture, carvings, and artwork decorating the walls. “Until all the violence is vanquished, huh? Good thing they didn’t vow to hold their breath.” He chuckled. “I don’t see that happening anytime soon, humans are genetically coded with inherently violent tendencies.”

“Yes,” began the man. “that seems likely, but we are patient.”

T’Pang curiously raised his eyebrow

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but you haven’t told me your name. None of you have.”

“My name?” asked the man as he sat in one of the two chairs centered in the large lobby.

“Yes, your name. As I understand it, you call yourselves the green-cloaks, but how do you identify yourselves individually?”

“We don’t.” said the man

“I don’t understand.” T’Pang said.

The man took a deep, benevolent breath and exhaled slowly.

“When the drop enters the ocean, it becomes the ocean. We have no need for something as crude as names, we have no need to separate ourselves from the whole, to individualize ourselves. We don’t name each drop.

“Hmm… I think I’m beginning to understand.” Said T’Pang as he sat in the much smaller, granite chair in front of the giant’s solid-gold throne-like seat.

The giant gently recoiled with a puzzled expression on its face as he heard T’Pang’s answer and thoughts. T’Pang’s calm demeanor wasn’t something he expected.

“Shall we begin?” asked T’Pang.

The giant smiled.

“We shall.” He said, delighted.

He questioned T’Pang for hours, gauging both his verbal and physical responses, as well as his thoughts and emotions. He asked T’Pang about government, culture, medicine, and technology. He was very curious about schooling, focusing on mathematics, physical sciences, and philosophy. Toward the end of the session, T’Pang began to put together the pieces. He understood why they brought him here, why they have been bringing people to the island every one-hundred years, and what their fears seem to be.

It was clear to T’Pang that the green-cloaks have been around since the beginning of the human’s reign before the species distinguished itself from animals and showed its first signs of advanced intelligence. They have been diligently observing the evolution and spread of the species, careful to prevent any interference or influence. One thing that T’Pang noticed and could not understand was the man’s peculiar interest in what the humans referred to as God. Most of the man’s questions eventually circled back to legends and myths of beings that humans worshiped as Gods. He seemed to be curious about T’Pang opinions on such matters, including religion and the possibility of otherworldly visitors.

They were making real headway, digging deep into the subject, when the session came to an abrupt ending. As soon as T’Pang had the curious thought, “Are the green-cloaks these otherworldly visitors, or are they hiding from them?” the man stood up from his chair and said, “Well, that’s about it for today.”

He walked out of the room and closed the doors behind him, leaving T’Pang all alone. It was all too strange. T’Pang twisted around in his seat, looking around at the mystic woven tapestries and strange carvings in the golden walls, then became impatient and decided to stand up and walk. He made it halfway to one of the windows in the back of the room before the walls began to vibrate. Other than the intense vibrations that made the hairs on his arms stand, he could hear no noise, and slowly his vision began to fade. The last thing he saw was the face of the man, staring at him through the window he was walking towards. Suddenly, T’Pang’s limbs went limp and he fell to the ground, feeling scared and confused until he lost consciousness.

What happened next is a mystery to T’Pang, but when he woke up, within eyeshot of the landmass he called home, it was no mystery who put him there. T’Pang rummaged around and noticed that everything on his boat was exactly as it was before he found the island. The empty sacks, his raggedy clothing, everything was the same. Even the small rock of salt he gave to the squirrel was back in his pocket. He was still starving and dehydrated, the same as he was when his feet first touched the fine, white sands of Darmasong. T’Pang used his remaining energy to hoist a flag of help, aimed his boat toward the port, and collapsed on his deck, staring up at the sun until he faded out of consciousness again.

He woke in a hospital bed, surrounded by his friends and family.

“He’s awake!” cheered a young voice.

T’Pang slowly turned his head to find his wife and daughter at his bedside, eyes wet, with smiles on their faces.

“Oh, T’Pang! I knew you were alive! We all did! We knew you would find your way home to us, we never lost hope!” His wife cried out, as she and his daughter swarmed him with hugs and kisses.

“Now, now, we don’t want to tire him out. He’s been severely dehydrated. He needs time to rest.” Said a man in a white lab coat.

“Of course, doctor.” His wife said, signaling everyone out.

The room cleared. The doctor remained, checking a clipboard as he strolled in towards T’Pang’s bedside. T’Pang eyed the man, feeling a bit familiar with his presence.

“It says here that when you were rescued, the sailors heard you muttering some words. Something about an island of Darmasong. Can you tell me what that was?” the doctor asked, checking boxes on the clipboard.

“Well—yeah. I mean—yeah, that’s where I was.” T’Pang began, unsure if he should tell the doctor everything. “There were people living there—magical people. They could do all sorts of incredible things—had all sorts of incredible tools, tools we haven’t seen or imagined. It was amazing. They called the island Dar—”

The doctor interrupted him, looking up from his clipboard with a condescending smile.

“Darmasong. Yes, that’s interesting. Well, from looking at your bloodwork here, I can see that you were severely dehydrated and starved, which would make you prone to extreme hallucinations. Don’t you think that it is entirely possible that everything you saw was just a dream?”

No, it was real! I was there!” T’Pang screamed out, angered, leaning up in his bed.

The doctor shushed him and gently helped him lie back in his bed.

“Take it easy!” The doctor said. “T’Pang, personally, I don’t care what you tell people. Tell them you were abducted by telepathic aliens, for all I care. But the more you stick to this story, the more people will begin to think you’re crazy. It isn’t uncommon for a sailor to lose their minds at sea, and you were gone for a long time.

“Take my advice, don’t tell anyone. You can’t rule out the possibility that it was all a dream. You were unconscious for several days.”

The doctor gave a silent and contemplative T’Pang another warm smile, then racked his clipboard by the door and left.

T’Pang laid there for several minutes, then muttered something under his breath.

“I never said they were telepathic.”

T’Pang spent the next three decades trying to account for what he remembered. It wasn’t a dream. The memories he had were detailed, vivid, and fresh; unlike any dream, he had ever had. He remembered everything about his experiences—the tastes, the smells, and the warm feeling he had when he was around the green-cloaks.

T’Pang drew charts, possible, courses to and from the island, pictures of the island and what he saw there, a detailed account of everything that happened from the moment he left the port to the moment he woke up on his way back, and his calculations for how old he would be the next time the green-cloaks would be accepting more visitors. He was obsessed. Surprisingly, no one knew. He would tell his family he goes to the local cigar club, knowing they despised the smell, and he would tell his friends he was spending the time with his family. No matter what was going on, or how he was feeling, he would find several hours each week to sit in his boat and obsess over Darmasong.

He knew that sailing out to where he was swallowed by the storm would prove both pointless and fatal since the green-cloaks would only accept a visitor once every one-hundred years. So, he sat down and calculated. He concluded that If he were to sire a child at sixty, which would, in turn, have a child at thirty, his grandchild would be able to go to Darmasong at fifty. So, he did just that.

His son was born a year later, raised with love and extreme care. He married at twenty-eight and at thirty he fathered a beautiful and intelligent little girl. They named her Karma.

By the time Karma was ten, T’Pang was an old bag of skin, bones, and water, but still as sharp as a samurai blade. He never expected to live to the ripe old age of one hundred, laughing at the gold medal his government sent him on his birthday as a token of his accomplishment. He had prepared for his death long ago by making a pact with his most trusted friend. Upon his granddaughter’s sixteenth birthday, he was to deliver her a tome that included everything he had drawn and written down about Darmasong and his travels there. He hoped that she would become as obsessed as he was and one day find the courage to sail out there to find the answers that have plagued him since the moment he woke on his boat.

He knew he would never know the answers himself and was content knowing that at least someone else would. So, when his health deteriorated rapidly and was brought to the hospital to die, he called for his granddaughter and asked everyone else to leave the room.

He told her a story about a magical island, filled with magical people and things. He told her how only the best and purest people were admitted to this island and given a chance to spend time among its secrets. Then, just as he was finishing his story, his words became more strained. It became much more difficult to speak and breathe, but the smile and glow in his eyes never left his face. Just before he took his final breath, he asked her to come closer.

He leaned into her ear and whispered his last words,

“Now you must go!”

and collapsed back into his bed, smiling with satisfaction as his soul traveled on.

For years, Karma discounted the story as just a story. I mean, who would believe something like that at such a young age? Her parents read stories to her all the time and she knew that was all they were—stories.

However, everything changed on her sixteenth birthday. She had a huge party, received visitors from all over town—all bearing gifts, and had a nice dinner with her family. At the end of the night, once all the guests had left, it was time to open her presents. She opened the largest ones first, making her way to the smaller ones, until she got to the final present, an unwrapped old book with a card. She remembered who gave it to her—the old man in the wheelchair that was good friends with her grandfather. The card, however, told a different story.

“Karma,

On the day you were born, I gave this tome to Tzu’Tsang. He swore to me that he would give it to you on your sixteenth birthday, the day you become a woman, so I hope he lived long enough to do so. Now, it is yours to do with as you please, however, I hope you inherited my curiosity. Treat it well.

Happy Birthday.

I love you very much,

Your Pop-Pop”