"The Documentary" - an Epic

[Destroyer Behemoth]

Diskeh writes epics! I'm hoping to get this edited well enough and eventually published into a book... Lets just hope I can at least keep up with updating this. >__> This story is a series of journal entries being read by a man in the future, so it'll be switching from the man (italics) to the journal entries (regular font). We begin with the man...

The Documentary

The primitive sailboat slowly crept through the murky waters. Today was not a nice day to sail – dormant storm clouds filled the sky. The dirty and torn white sail of the boat remained still, yet a gust of ferocious wind could come any second and destroy it and the ship. The man on the boat leaned down over the edge and let his hand glide through the water. It was colder than ice, colder than death. But this was the only feeling left in this world: cold. A shiver slithered up his arm and all over his poorly clothed body, making his wounds and scars sting.

His hand touched a scrap of metal, creating a cut. “Curses…” he mumbled. The entire sea here was littered with metal scraps, gears, bricks, and more trash from five years ago. Now, there was a tight clan of human survivors left, and the struggle for survival was more than just a struggle. Even with no natural competition, they were failing. They were slowly sinking into the ground, and would eventually fall into the heck that every other being on the forsaken planet had went to.

The man waited for a good amount of blood to sprout on the cut, then he started to suck on it. The blood tasted sweet… And sweet wasn’t a thing he had felt for so long. He savored the feeling, breathing slowly to try and make the moment last. But just as quickly as it began, it was over.

Disappointed, he grabbed his metal oar and continued to sail through the waters in hopes of finding something.

This was Earth now: A post-apocalyptic piece of trash. Masses of technology, now rendered useless, scattered the lands and spoiled the oceans. Everything once on it was gone, and everything had to start over. Except in this struggle, no one was here to help you. It was just you.

No one knew how it happened. Five years ago, all the buildings just collapsed. Every single one on the face of Earth crumpled to pieces and fell to the ground. It all rotted away within seconds, and poisoned the entire planet. The survivors claimed that that was the day the underworld opened up its doors for us all. Our beasts, our relatives, our plants, our roots, everything disappeared. One swoosh of Death’s scythe, and nothing was left.

Deep within everyone’s mind was a wonder: What sparked the event? Why? How? And yet, nobody would answer these questions. No one knew. Lack of knowledge was what the man hated nowadays. Before the event, knowledge was the essence of life; everything was built upon it. Maybe that’s why the group of survivors was failing. Knowledge was their basic skeleton, and without one little bone the entire structure failed to hold up the subject.

The man mentally shoved the thoughts to the back of his head. “Admit it,” he said to himself. “You’ll never know… Ever!” A tear trickled down his face. And then more came. They almost froze against his skin in the cold air. With a dirty cloth, the man roughly wiped the salty substance off his face, and lightly dabbed his eyes.

That was when he spotted the pipe.

There it was, floating in the water so peacefully: a perfect metal pipe, its ends sealed with corks. Curious, the man reached into the water and picked up the pipe. He brushed the dead, brown seaweed off the pipe, and examined it.

It was a perfect model. Although it was dirty, the pipe had a perfect build and structure. After the incident, nothing like this pipe remained. Every scrap of material found was dented, fractured, punctured, or rusted beyond use. And this primitive little pipe was a clue and a mystery.

Carefully, the man pulled off a cork from one end. Inside, perfectly rolled up and preserved, was a large bundle of papers. The water hadn’t reached them at all. It was like a message in a bottle.

The man wiped his hands on his pants. He cautiously pulled the papers out of the pipe, and tossed the pipe and cork into his little sack. Next, he unrolled the papers. They looked as if they were torn out of a book. Each page was filled with inked text. It was a journal, entirely written in legible script. Looking at the first page, the man read the header, which was also the title:

“The Documentary”

A simple clip made out of metal scraps neatly bound the pages of the journal. At first, the man quickly scanned the hundreds of thin pages, skipping by words that meant nothing to him at first. Halfway through, he stopped. The man slowly flipped back to the first page. He sighed.

And he began the reading.

Link to review topic.

[Destroyer Behemoth]

Day One, August Seventh, Noon

This morning, as I pack, I noticed the empty journal on my desk. I write this on my last noon at home, as I will be leaving. I don’t know what the outcome of this journey will be, but one thing is for sure – it must all be documented. And I have chosen this journal to write down everything. Everything. If ever some fool fired an EMP that affected the whole planet, this journal’s words would remain, unlike the vocals of recordings or videos or captain’s logs.

I had this dream several nights ago, I don’t know why I want to log it, but I believe it has had some influence on what has been decided…

“I’m in a tunnel, surrounded by the stone walls. They trap me in a system of rock that only goes two ways. Left or right? That’s the human conflict. Do you choose the left path, or will you walk right? My hand touches the cold rock. Strangely, it’s soft, like tissue. My hand forms a tight fist, and I launch it at the barrier directly in front of me.

“I’ve done it. I’ve forgotten the left and the right, and dive forward, where all our lives go. My fist breaks through the rock as if it were air. It nearly passes right through it, but the hole has been made. Now, in front of me, is darkness. I don’t know what lies behind its curtain, but it’s the only real path I can find. I’m headed forward, whether I die or not.�

So, can I go forward with this upcoming journey? I want to defy the traditions and standards set by humanity, and create something… amazing. That’s why I’m locking up the truth from you, whoever you are, reading this. I won’t tell you where I’m going, directly what I am planning, and all such things. At the end you’ll figure it all out. They say a good author hooks their readers, leaves them with questions, sets them up for something – and that’s exactly what I’m doing. You figure it out, and if the end to this gets lost or never comes… Your loss, I suppose.

Now I’m going out to the train, I just need to pack one more thing…



Day One, August Seventh, 3:34 PM

I’m on a train that is crossing one of the many trans-Atlantic bridges, specifically to France. I like trains – they ride at a nice pace over a large distance, and let you relax. Planes these days are so fast that you’re pretty much barfing the entire way. And they smell horrible too, even without the vomit.

A man – Flerion Jaint was the name he claimed to have – is whom I’m off to meet. It was really a factor of the classic ‘wrong number’ situation. I put in the incorrect area code for a call I wished to make, and ended up getting this French man instead of the co-worker I was actually trying to call. This all happened yesterday, I believe, just after I bought my train ticket. I had tried to hang up, but Jaint wouldn’t let me. He was smarter than that.

I eventually spilled out my story to him, and what I planned to do, after he described to me who he was. I actually believed he might be able to assist me, and would make a valuable companion. He said he was an expert engineer, as well as a ‘thaumaturge’. Haha, I had laughed when he said the latter! But I liked the engineer part; I’ll just need proof that he’s the mighty sorcerer he says he is.

My research on the undergrounds of Europe and Asia has utterly failed me. The information is apparently private, and I had tried everything I could for days. I’ve been mapping out how I want the next few days to go, and I’ll have to head underground to get it started. If I have no information, I’ll have to break in.

While, yes, I do have Jaint to accompany me, he advised me that I find another companion. And so far, this mini-quest of mine was failing. I’m rejected before any information is even given to the person I decide to inquire about this to. What kinds of people use that logic?

Ah, but as I thought the above thought I felt that I had found my person. Her usual seat was opposite me, but she chose to hang out with her friends a few cars away. Today, she came by after being chastised by the conductor. She was beautiful: Full-length, wavy, light brown hair, dark eyes, a wonderfully shaped face, and a good physique.

I look up from my laptop, where I was doing some extra research. She was looking directly at me, her dark eyes wide with curiosity. Her arms were folded on the metal table that divides us. “Can I… help you?� I asked her.

“Oh, no,� she answered with a chuckle. “I was just wondering what you were doing.�

“Research,� I responded bluntly.

“Then I guess it wouldn’t hurt me to ask what you’re doing research on,� she said, leaning forward slightly.

“It’s rather to-� I had started to say something, but then rethought my words. I looked her over, and noticed something that could prove useful to me. And no, it wasn’t just because I liked her. “I mean, I’ll let you know – but I have a proposal for you first.�

“Name it.�

And so I offered her the position, giving her the information. And she was actually interesting. She listened to me, and asked good questions. She was… perfect.

The last thing she said before she left for a quick restroom break was her name – Less Hort.