Elsewhere: Heorot

A Story by Abishai100

A hockey coach and creative writer is transported to an 'elsewhere-realm' of pirates of unknown depths and seeks to adapt the 'revelation' into intelligence words.

A pirates/haunting vignette. Thanks for reading,

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"I was considering writing a special story about modern Earth fascination with pirates, despite the evolution of storytelling geared more towards Realism and inner-city 'troubles' like colors of gangs and urbanization capitalism complexity theories and even spy-games of new age relevance becoming more 'sanity-hype' language for the modern storyteller/writer. I found this interest in 'classic' sea-matrix eccentricity imagery maybe because I'd become a Boston-town junior-hockey league coach for special teamwork-spirits 'electricity' for the Ego. I set-about to derive a tale of incomplete-arts of time-traveling pirates of old-Earth's sea venturing into our post-9/11 era American Homeland shores with special messages of haunting and treasure-insurance smiles and sneers for things of social-media keratin (Facebook-like!)."

"After I started composing this 'dashing' modernized 'consciousness-spin' on the (timeless?) appeal of the Earth's sea-pirate, for haunting and linguistics, I found myself plunged into a dark-dream vision during sleep, after some nice Friday's Eve wine (too much perhaps). I was hauled-away in a tornado and into a darker dimension in which very sinister/mischievous pirates, with a rather bloody-murder qualia-like speediness in sword-use and decapitation intuition and wondered if the tornado that swept me there was some omen-physics of what made my pirates-lore write a thing of unanticipated/unanalyzed/undetected knucklebones (of Hell!)."

SCAR: Welcome to a dominion of depth, fool (har-har-har).

ME: I guess I'd be writing about a bad-fellow as you are, pirate!

SCAR: They calls me Scar, for I detest your modern sanity of cars (har-har-har).

ME: You make sarcasm of my words of pirate-campfire sense, for story-tell.

SCAR: The pirate is an adventure-spirit, sure...but with bloody-murder for war.

ME: War?

SCAR: Fool-writer, you know not of the reach of arm of a pirate's identity.

ME: Identity?
SCAR: The pirate is a fallen-angel, you see...and the only known art is of funnies.

ME: Funny?
SCAR: Yes, fool-writer; I am Scar, your tour-guide, in a world of pirates (fallen-angels).

ME: This is religion.

SCAR: It be not...it be knucklebones (for your Facebook-like).

ME: Wow (Selfie-like).

"When I woke from the dark-dream vision post-sleep and wine, I was in cold-sweat and decided each and every omen absorbed was somehow some proximity to some real/undeniable/undoubted truth, even if half-unknown to the writer, dreamer, or psychic! I decided to pen a very-special adaptation-tale, in which I'd disclose a (deep) revelation of my own. You see, a while ago, while traveling in Brussels for Xmas for a children's toy-drive/distribution activity for my hockey-group in Boston-town, I was told by my fortune-teller and palm-reader that I'd always had this 'nag' suspicion that I was somehow a real telepath, a deep-psychic, but had decided to keep this weird-secret to myself. Now, I realized this fortune was true, and I decided to harness all its features of Selfie-IQ in my brain to weave into my pirate-adaptation story, wrought from that tornado-dream, to include a very-special toy-rifle my uncle (Buck) gave me when I was young (ha)."

STORY_EXCERPT: The normal affable prince of hockey in New England knew only of what was told/relayed in text and literature/campfire format(s) for the arena of human-universe know...that the pirate was an eccentric adventurer and looter was known, but that the pirate was (also/equally!) a psychic and blood-hunter and murder-messenger was lesser-known for words of fiction or fantasy or fact...and the prince, himself a psychic/telepath, somehow felt closer to the seas of old/new, thinking the pirates of the sea, and their ghosts-of-hell or abominations, had somehow tracked him to his own realm of Earth, in a modern 'environment' for a Selfie-kitchen (har-har-har).

WAITRESS: Here's your chicken-pie, sir.

ME: Thanx (a lot).

WAITRESS: You got some pirate-books from the BPL, sir?
ME: Boston Public Library...so great (no?).

WAITRESS: What's this napkin scribble of blood-drippings, sir?
ME: I'm working on my adaptation-write of a dream-vision (Heorot).

WAITRESS: Heorot, sir?
ME: The name of a pirate-ship come into our-time from the past-sea.

WAITRESS: Heorot, sir?
ME: A word...a term...signifying language-distance to know.

WAITRESS: That's Boston-town, then (ha)...good lemon.

ME: Thanx (a lot).

"So, I set-about to adapt my dream-vision into a modernized and classic language hybridized tale of pirates of a deeper-Hell than the one known, and in this dominion of time-travel and psychic-powers of great eccentricity, or even deformity, I 'crowned' a marshal-monarch of these darker and more bizarre pirates of the universe and named him Dartmouth, leader of Heorot, and likened to our modern-world comic art design of things...onside."