A COTTAGE AT THE END OF TIME

Written by Edmund Yeo Illustrations by Chin Yuan-Yue

Introduction
The Blogathon 2005 is a charity event held from the 6th of August to the 7th of August, 2005. In order to raise funds for a chosen charity organization, Bloggers must post an entry every half an hour for 24 hours straight. It wasnt my original intention to get involved in this until I dragged Yuan Yue into this as my partner for my Blogathon campaign. In order to separate ourselves from the rest, what we did was to pool both of our talents (her drawing and my writing) together to create something extraordinary. We would take alternate turns where she would post an artwork of hers and then I would immediately write something based on it. So the following is the result of our efforts (with some invaluable help from Justin Isis in writing some chapters). Edmund Yeo What you are witnessing right now is a bout of spontaneity, which I never knew existed in me. In that 24 hours, despite its often ordinary themes, I was able to churn out art after art. This comes as a surprise to me, for apart from uni assignments, I had never tried producing this much independent artwork. A creative energy wielded my fineliner, pencils and brush, giving me a long awaited chance to explore an individual drawing style that i've been working on since the beginning of the year. I hope in those drawings of mine, they reflect the witty and quirky side of me, and also my love for the little details in life. However, my illustration style is still in its humble beginnings, with much room for growth and development. The feedback I've got from the Blogathon is the encouragement that I needed to pursue it further. It makes me happy to know that what I do appeal to those that came onto Edmunds blog. I hope you enjoy the illustrations and story, as much as Edmund and I enjoyed crafting them. Thank you. Chin Yuan-Yue

Chapter 1: The Cottage

Things are happening too fast now, too quickly. There is not much time left, I will tell you what is happening over here, and perhaps this might become the only written record of my adventures, if what I am going through now can be called an adventure. After all, what I have been doing during the past few days have been to huddle in an abandoned old cottage with a couple of strangers, avoiding the massive storm outside. I do not know what's actually going on. But for reasons I can not comprehend, this hiding place of mine seems sturdier than I've initially expected, considering that everything outside has been completely destroyed by the storm. It was a scary sight, the terrifying tornados, five or six of them, ripping the trees away from their roots, reducing a forest into nothing more than a barren wasteland. The sky is pulsing with colours, white, red, green, blue, purple, yellow, black, and many other colours which names I do not know, hypnotic and beautiful, but I can't see the sun at all, nor the moon, just colours. Sometimes, it rains, sometimes, it snows. Sometimes, it's a bit of both. Hours ago, black ashes fell from the sky, devouring everything with darkness. I'm sure all these will be cleanse away by the rain soon. But the cottage remains standing, I know not how. Could it be magic? I'm still very much alive, along with the other few who are hiding here with me. Although one of them was driven insane by the ceaseless sounds of the howling wind and the clashing thunder, and knew not how much longer she could stay in here with us, opening the door, she giggled hysterically to the rest of us and left the cottage. The last thing I heard from her was a painful shriek, and then silence. We didn't speak of her since then. I dreamt of you last night, it was a strange dream, you were regal and majestic as ever,

wearing the ruby amulet given to you by your grandfather. What was it called again, that amulet? I remember you telling me its history, how many nations fell and countless lives lost because of it. The tale of your grandfather avenging the death of his mother (your great grandmother) by leading a war against the bandit king after swearing an oath upon the amulet. The amulet gave him incredible strength, allowing him to behead the tyrant with one clean swing of his sword. These tales you told me remain in my mind, vivid and clear. Such a simple ruby amulet, yet responsible for so much pain. Remarkable. And I feel very cold too, my hands are trembling so greatly that I don't think I can continue writing anymore. I need to take a rest.

Chapter 2: The Gypsy Who Sees Dead People

I always felt that the colour black is associated mostly with evil and death. So drab, so depressing, so morbid. That is, until I saw you in the black gown during the Ball. Besides your black gown, there is nothing I can remember about the Ball, nor the people I met, it seems to me as if it happened in another lifetime, like a fantastic dream you had in your childhood. Memorable back then, but almost fading away from existence now. I got to know one of the strangers today, a pale woman dressed entirely in black, she reminds me of you, except more talkative, and less beautiful. We had a conversation, her name was Alasse (a weird exotic name huh?), and the woman who went mad and left the cottage days earlier was her sister. They were both travelling gypsies who can see ghosts. "Oh? You see the dead huh?" I managed a weak smirk, not entirely believing her words. "Yes. Outside the cottage, there are two armies of them battling against each other." She answered simply. "Hence the black ashes." I raised an eyebrow. "Those were the remains of the fallen." She said. "Don't worry, the battle will end soon, neither side will win. After that, they will cease to exist. And whatever remains of them will be washed away by the rain. But then, you should know by now that there are no victors in wars, just a matter of who suffered heavier losses."

"Why do they fight?" I asked. "I dont know. My sister wanted to ask them the exact thing, but I doubt she actually had the chance. But as you should know by now, most of time, humans never needed a reason for battles; this won't change even though they are already dead." To my surprise, she was smiling bemusedly when she said the last line. Then she walked away... Outside, the battle of the undead rages on the raging storm continues. And all I can do is wait. I will write some more when something interesting happens. (And interesting is such a subjective term, after all, under other circumstances, I doubt I would regard the conversation between Alasse and I just now 'interesting'..)

Chapter 3: The Young Capitalist

"I want to be rich." Hef, a boy of thirteen or fourteen, said. He was the youngest in the cottage. "How?" I asked. "By selling this orange scarf." He produced said orange scarf from his suitcase and waved it. "It is made of the most exquisite materials from the most exotic regions in the world." It wasn't. I've seen much better orange scarves in my life, like the one you used to wear during winter, whenever we need to take a walk at the park, and watch the fairies emerging from the frozen lake, but I was too polite to dash the dreams of a child, that would be the harshest thing to do. "This is an enchanted scarf." Hef continued. "Worn by the last living elf in the world. That was, before he was brutally murdered by muggers. I was there, of course, hiding behind a cardboard box, watching the terrible scene. They stole his bow and arrow and his bag of gold coins, but not this orange scarf. They were very silly, you see, the mugger. Once I journey through these lands, I will find people desperate for such a scarf that can warm them up. And then, I will be rich." The kid's a pretty good storyteller, so I merely nodded and played along. "And what do you intend to do with the money you get?" "Hah! I will buy a house for myself, a house ten times the size of this pathetic cottage! And also, the most powerful weapons to protect myself! And some books too."

"Ah! Books! You love reading eh?" I couldn't help but smile. Hef shrugged as he kept the orange scarf into his suitcase. "Not really. Reading is boring, especially the ones where the text is really really small. All I want is to find methods to create a machine that can fly to the moon, so I can sell people these machines and become richer. Other than that, there has to be many other methods I can learn from the books that can make me rich!" "Aren't you going to fly to the moon too?" I frowned. "Not really. I'm not even sure whether anyone can stay alive after they reach the moon. I just need the money; I'm not going to care what happens after they have paid me." "That's rather, er, unethical." I commented dryly. "I want to be rich. Other than that, nothing else matters." The boy said, nodding to himself. "Don't you want to become rich as well?" It was a challenging question. So I immediately deflected that by asking him another question. "Hef, don't you like reading novels? Or storybooks?" "Novels and storybooks are useless when they can't help me make money." Hef said. "But what are you going to do after you become rich?" "I'll try to become even richer. Someone once told me that we can never be satisfied with our own achievements!" Hef grinned and scurried away with his oversized suitcase. I dare not imagine what's in there, but I can see clearly the words scrawled upon its surface (not his handwriting, I hope). Capitalism is everything. Creativity is nothing.

Chapter 4: The King Of Clowns

Do you remember the costume parties we used to attend? Where we all have to dress up in fancy costumes? I never liked them. It's too strange, seeing people you know wearing extravagant costumes, pretending to be someone they are not. Okay, maybe not that bad. But I always find it very inconvenient when I try to eat. I also find it a struggle to keep a straight face whenever I speak to someone with a ridiculouslooking costume. But that's just me. Boring old me. But look at the bright side, I usually love the costumes you wear. Anyway, I was greeted by the sight of Alasse when I woke up today. She was sitting on a chair, looking out wistfully through the windows. She turned to me and smiled warmly. "The battle is over. Look, the Snow Queen has arrived in her magnificent chariot to claim her reward, and to laugh at the fools who fought for an empty cause." I rubbed my eyes and looked outside. All I could see was snow, and more snow. It was a massive snowstorm. Once again, the fact that our cottage was still standing reinforced my belief that it was magical. Alasse gasped suddenly, and started crying. "What happened?" I stared at her in confusion. "My sister..." she mumbled between sobs. She just said goodbye to me." It was rather awkward, the silence that fell between us. I knew not how to react, I could only sit on my sofa and watch quietly... until Coen, self-proclaimed King of Clowns, burst into the living room (yes, that's the place where I sleep now) and sang some awfulsounding song. Alasse threw him a dirty look and exited the room. She doesn't like him, but then again, nobody does. I flinched uncomfortably when I realized that the clown had fixed his 8

ghastly gaze upon me. "I was once a king, you know. My kingdom was both mighty and prosperous. I had so much money in my coffers that I threw costume parties every night." Coen grunted. I sighed. "I know, I know, you have told me many times already that you are the King of Clowns." "Fool!" Coen roared. "If you've spoken to me like that back in the day, I would have had you beheaded immediately! And put your head on a pike in front of my city gates to show everyone the consequences of being RUDE to me! I was a TRUE king! I was known in history books as KING COEN the SIXTEENTH!" "And why are you here? Dressed up like this?" "My ministers and my Bitch of a wife were working behind my back, engineering the downfall of my kingdom's economy while laying every single blame upon me. They turned against me during one of my parties, each and every single one of them drew their guns and pointed at me, demanding me to abdicate my throne, allowing the Bitch to take over. Unfortunately, I was dressed up as a clown then..." he trailed off. "Why, er, why were you dressed up like a CLOWN?" Coen snorted. "I loved my subjects, and nothing satisfied me more than the sounds of their laughter. I told you, I was a good ruler. I just got betrayed by my Bitch of a wife. Anyway, once the storm has subsided, I shall gather every single clown in the world who are well-versed in the arts of assassination and infiltrate within my old kingdom again for revenge! For poetic justice, we will STRIKE during a costume party! My army of assassin clowns will reign supreme, mark my words! Coen! King of Clowns!" "I will." I deadpanned, hoping that he will disappear from my sight as soon as possible. Nodding in satisfaction, Coen resumed his loud and bawdy song and marched out of the living room, believing that he had converted another believer.

Chapter 5: The Old Man Who Went To The Moon

I was eating at the dining room with Hef and some old geezer called Cranky Armstrong. We refer the room as the dining room because, well, that's the only place with a table, so everyone ended up having their meals there. "I overheard your conversation that day, lads." Cranky Armstrong, who had finished his bowl of... something I don't know, said. "About inventing a machine that can fly to the moon." Hef grinned excitedly. "Yup! Sounds interesting, huh?" "You fool!" Cranky Armstrong snapped. "I went to the moon and was stranded there for many many years before I could find a way to return!" This time, I put down my spoon and stared at the old man in disbelief. "What? You mean you've been to the moon before?" "OF COURSE! I was the very first person to reach there!" "How come we've never heard of you before?" Hef asked in suspicious tones. "BECAUSE THEY HAVE FORGOTTEN ABOUT ME!" Cranky Armstrong roared in anger. "They flew away while I was there gathering evidence for research!" "My my, that was pretty heartless of them." I remarked in sympathy. Cranky Armstrong burst into laughter. "But while they were flying back to this planet, they hit an asteroid and KABOOM! Serves them right!" "What is the moon like?" Hef asked. 10

"There was nothing at all." Cranky Armstrong said, his wrinkled face displayed an expression of sadness, as if he was remembering something from the past, something painful, something he was desperate to purge from his mind. "A place of perpetual summer, with only beaches and women." "WHAT? BEACHES AND WOMEN?" Hef's eyes became as wide as saucers. Cranky Armstrong nodded. "Aye. Dim-witted lasses who called themselves Moon Sailors, they spend almost everyday at the beach in their skimpy outfit, sunbathing. I could only survive by hunting and cooking some of the rabbits there." "Er, at least you have the Moon Sailors as company." I said. "BAH! Company? What utter hogwash! The only thing they cared about was getting a suntan, and to keep their skin in fine condition. They never get old even though I spent 30 years there, they remained the same." Cranky Armstrong said. "In the end, with my crafty old mind, I found a way to return to this planet!" "How?" Hef looked at the old man eagerly. "I will tell you some other time." Cranky Armstrong said. "Now stop bothering me while I eat!" Hef turned to me. "How much do you think I can earn if I were to build a holiday resort on the moon?

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Chapter 6: The Floating Continents And The Weather Machines

It's starting to rain again. Remember that umbrella of yours that can illuminate everything no matter how dark it was with its blinding silvery light? Remember how an entire town was lit up when you took out your umbrella? They called that town the Town of Eternal Night, but your umbrella made it the Town of Eternal Light and they threw a festival to honour you. If only I have that umbrella with me now, I'll be able to lift the gloom in this ghastly cottage. But alas, that umbrella is now hanging high up on a tower in that Town of Eternal Light, being the sole source of light for those poor light-deprived people. Once again, I was at the living room writing this to you when Alasse walked in again with a chair and set it next to the window. Staring out the window had seemingly become her favourite pasttime.

"Do you know that there are floating continents in the sky? And besides the floating continents, there are floating cities, floating towns, floating fortresses, floating castles and all kinds of things?" Alasse said, her back to me. "That is how the weather is engineered, by the weather machines of the sky wizards. She smiled at my silence. "The wizards are long dead. The machines have malfunctioned. This is why the storm happened."

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Chapter 7: People In Bubbles

Among those who are in this cottage, the two I most rarely speak to are Adilda, a quiet yet seemingly nice girl in her mid-teens with shiny blonde hair and an angelic smile, and her sullen guardian, bodyguard (or something like that... I hope, for her sake, that he's not her boyfriend) whose name is Bob (don't laugh!). The guy's insanely muscular, and huge, an intimidating fellow who so sullen that even Coen, King of Beggars wouldn't dare go anywhere near him or Adilda. Oh, did I mention that he has two battle axes strapped on his back too? Well, now you know. Anyway, I've not said anything about Adilda in my previous entries because there's really not much to talk about her. All she ever does is stay in the kitchen and blow bubbles for countless hours while Sullen Bob threatens anyone within a ten feet radius with his battle axes. Really, really difficult people to get along with, seriously. But curiosity had always been a bane of mine, and I couldn't help but ponder why is she engaged in such a strange ritual. So, one night (okay, I still can't tell whether it's day and night, but I was feeling rather drowsy then, and was preparing to sleep, so I assume that was night), I gathered my courage and tiptoed into the kitchen, carefully keeping myself eleven feet away from Adilda, which I assumed, was a safe distance. "Heya, Bob! Do you mind if I speak to Adilda?" Bob grunted, flexing his muscles. "I take that as a yes." I deadpanned.

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Bob grunted, flexing his muscles. "Right. Hello, Adilda!" I waved at her while smiling idiotically (you know, the one I used whenever I was trying desperately to lie to you). "Do you mind if I ask you a question?" "Go ahead!" Adilda replied cheerily, her attention on the numerous bubbles floating in the air around her. "Um, er, I don't mean to be rude, but I've been rather curious. Why are you blowing bubbles all the time?" I asked. "Because the tiny people living in the bubbles are lonely, and they feel better if there are other bubbles floating around with them! They are happier this way!" Adilda said. "Eh?? There are people living in the bubbles?" After hearing that there were people living in the moon, and in invisible floating continents, I still couldn't contain my surprise at the outlandish things I hear. "But bubbles pop so soon!" "Yup." Adilda nodded. "Yup, they can only live for a few seconds, or at most, a few minutes." "That's very sad." I said. Adilda giggled and shook her head. "Don't be silly. They don't even have the time to be sad. All they know is how to be happy, even the very second when they have to disappear from this world. We have too much free time in this world, thus we are always feeling sad."

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Chapter 8: The Weakness Of A Mighty Warrior

I overheard this conversation between Sullen Bob and Hef. "Hiya, Bob! Do you want to buy an orange scarf from me? It was the orange scarf worn by the last living dwarf before he was murdered by elven ninjas." The boy said in his usual excited tone. Sullen Bob grunted. "No? All right, very well. How about, let me see what I have here, yes, a sock puppet! I've heard that this sock puppet, whose name is Alberto von Shm- something something the Third, is possessed by a mighty demon lord powerful enough to dry oceans and level mountains. Imagine the immense power you will get when you are wearing this sock puppet! The demon may be sleeping now, but once it wakes up from its slumber, you will be INVINCIBLE!" Sullen Bob grunted. "No? Okay, I have something even more interesting! This is the map to the Lost Continent, where immeasurable riches can be found! Imagine those ancient artifacts, those relics of a lost civilization, being in YOUR possession! How wonderful can that be?" Sullen Bob grunted. "No? Um, er, ah, here's a packet of EXOTIC milk candies. Very yummy and delicious! Once you eat it, your muscles will become even larger than it is now, and you'll be wielding even larger battle axes than you have now." There was a long awkward silence. For a while, I was worried that the mighty warrior, with his mighty skills and strength, has separated the boy's head from his body with a mighty swing of his mighty battle axe. "How much is it?" Sullen Bob asked, breaking the silence.

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Chapter 9: Hefs Nightmare

I was dreaming of you before I was roused awake by Hef, whose face was streaked with tears. "What is it?" I asked groggily, struggling to keep the annoyance out of my voice. "I had a nightmare!" Hef said. "I dreamt that I was a fictional character in a story written by some guy! Not just me, you and everyone else as well! And everything I do, everything I say, they are all WRITTEN by someone out there for the ENTERTAINMENT of others! Can you imagine if all our memories do not exist? And they are all given to us by this Writer? We are nothing but TEXT!" "Argh, go back to sleep." I grumbled, turning away from him. The boy was relentless. "I CAN'T stand being FICTIONAL! Imagine what will happen if this story ends BEFORE I become rich! Life will have no meaning for me anymore! I MUST become rich! And am I even the main character here?" "Hef. Please. Go. Back. To. Sleep." I said through gritted teeth, my head was pounding. "I need reassurance, reassurance that I am REAL! That I really DO exist!" Hef wailed desperately. "You are real. Now, go away." I muttered. "... okay." He whimpered and ran off. I went back to sleep. Unfortunately, I couldn't dream of you again.

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Chapter 10: The Cricket Hunter (Guest-Written By Justin Isis)

Prompted to curiosity by the passage of time, I decided to explore my surroundings. In the hall closet I found a pile of cricket bats, some wire, maps of countries whose names I'd never heard - and a small door of carven oak. It looked only large enough to permit a child's entrance, but my curiosity outweighed the discomfort I felt as I pushed myself through its oak frame, finely carved with faery pictures. I don't know how long I remained in the darkness. I pushed myself through the tunnel as if exploring some long forgotten cave, expecting to find myself confronted with the cries of a spectre in a vast hall of ringing rock. But when I emerged into the light, I found...sand. My sandal-clad feet felt the familiar roughness penetrating them. The days we spent in the wastes of Elereus? We held hands and traipsed over the dunes. I could see, behind your protective veil, drops of sweat running down your cheeks; they bloomed like a desert rose... No reason to think of that now. Ahead of me stretched a bone-white waste, with not even the howling of a djinn to pierce the silence of the dunes. Silence, and then...the sound of a cricket bat? A white shape separated itself from the sand. In one hand, a bat, in the other, a red rubber ball. The shape waved the bat; motioned me over. "Who are you?" I asked. "Only a traveller." said he. Without warning, he tossed the ball aloft and swatted it with the bat. The incredible force sent it over the horizon in moments. "Where are we?" I asked. "A Cupboard of Emethis." said the traveller. "Long ago, cupboards such as these were made by the forest spirits when men moved into their lands. They realized before long the trees would be cut down, the groves plowed and farmed...their lands would be taken from them. So their artisans designed these cupboards and hid their lands inside. This desert was once their property." "I see..." I said. "And what is it you're doing here?" "Wait!" the traveller shouted. "You can hear it...now!" I listened intently, but heard nothing. Not even the sound of stirring sand. "You could hear it - there!" he pointed into the distance. "The sound of their creaking 17

joints - the terrible crickets!" I looked at him in disbelief. "The crickets, you see." he said. "I hunt them." "Now, hold on -" I said. "You mean to say you play cricket?" I gestured to the bat and ball. "No, you fool." He held up the equipment. "This is forest spirit weaponry, this the Maul of Dangthis," he indicated the bat, "-and these the Holy Missiles of Omthangorax!" He tossed the rubber ball into the air, and with a hard thwack! sent it sailing into the emptiness. We watched it soar into the horizon, then vanish into the haze that prevailed at the edges of the desert. I heard a faint pop, or was it a chirp, a sound like a distant chime struck by a blinded bird? I looked out at the vast wasteland stretched before us. "So, these crickets..." I said. "They're the reason the forest spirits vanished from this world. They ate them, you see!! What was once Eden upon the face of the Earth, all the world a forest...then their awful chirps!! I alone was left with the sacred weapons, my task to hunt them to the end of time. To avenge the forest spirits!" I listened to his ranting with some amusement. My stomach rumbled. Had it been so long since I'd eaten? I'd better be heading back to the cottage, I supposed. "Where are they, then? The crickets, I mean." The traveller's face, already long-stung by the sand, reddened further with incredulity. "Don't you see! There...!" he pointed at nothing. "They're all around us!" "I can't see anything..." He sent off another ball. "The crickets are hopping so fast they're invisible to all but a trained eye such as mine." he explained. "I can see you haven't spent any time improving the subtlety of your sight. It will be a sad day when you do. I don't know your home country, sir, but if you should return there and see - nothing but crickets, crickets, everywhere! Chirping day and night, consuming all in sight...and no one any the wiser!" I decided it was time for me to leave. The traveller barely noticed me. As I walked away, 18

I saw him fire off another ball. He glanced around frantically. The trip through the cupboard didn't seem as arduous this time. Before long, I felt the familiar enclosure of the cottage around me. I walked to the dining room and saw Hef trying to sell Adilda a spotted dishrag as an article of fashion. The air of the cottage, which before had seemed stifling, now seemed pleasantly warm compared to the parching heat of the desert. Even the sight of my companions - or should I say fellow prisoners - reassured me. I took a seat and looked around, thinking of you once more... Something flickered out of the corner of my eye. I dismissed it as a mote of dust and went to pour myself a bowl of beef stew. Having sated myself, I returned to the window, sat by Alasse, and watched the snows whirl through the world. But there - what was it? Something appeared between the drifts, didn't it? "I couldn't see anything." Alasse said. "Just snow." I got up and paced the cottage. I took out my etching of you and stared down at your lovely face. Again, a twitch at the corner of my eye. I sighed. Putting your image away, I returned to the others. It didn't look like the storm would be stopping any time soon. Best for me to get some rest. That's what I thought, anyway, as I took my place beside Cranky Armstrong. For some reason I was here with these people, locked in a cabin at the edge of the world... Haunted by invisible crickets.

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Chapter 11: The Secret Of Flowers.

I was bored. So I headed into the kitchen, and attempted to strike another conversation with Adilda, to my consternation, she wasn't blowing bubbles anymore; instead, she was watering a pot of flowers which I've never seen before. "Why aren't you blowing bubbles anymore?" Adilda smiled benignly. "I have another urgent issue to settle with." "Ah. Yes, watering the flowers." I stated the obvious. "Do you know that when nobody's watching, flowers come to life? They sing songs, they dance, they speak, they do many things that we don't know? But immediately, when they detect the presence of another living being, they hide their true form. So the truth is, none of us can actually view the true form of a flower, because they distrust us verily." Adilda said. "But I can actually hear them speak, and they weep most when they are removed from their roots, and have to serve as gifts from one human to another. That is the time when they start to wither and die." "Oh my." I commented. "But at least they are dying for a good cause." Adilda said. "Have you ever given flowers to the one you loved?" I shook my head no, it was one of the things I regretted most. But not so much now. After all, flowers have never been my kind of thing. "If you do so, remember the sacrifices they are making for you so that you and your loved one can be happy. Perhaps if they trust us enough, they will one day reveal to us their true forms. But I doubt that will truly happen. You see, the flowers feel nothing but contempt for us." She smiled sadly.

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Chapter 12: The Pendant Of Imprisoned Souls

You once wore a pendant. You said hundreds of souls are imprisoned within it, the souls of the vilest criminals in your country, and that sometimes, during your most private nights, you hear the sounds of their weeping, their pleas for you to release them from this painful prison. I didn't believe you after the whole rubbish you led me into believing about your ruby amulet. You were very unhappy then, and didn't speak to me for weeks. I thought you were just acting, so I never bothered. I'm sorry, I guess I should have believed you, Hef had just shown me a pendant he intends to sell that is entirely similar to yours. He told me that these remarkable artifacts were created during the Age of Creation by mighty dwarven blacksmiths and that they were indeed used to imprison souls of the vilest criminals in the country. This is so utterly powerful! You can see how much I miss you now, I want to believe Hef and his crazy tales when he was selling something that reminded me of you. I wanted to purchase that from him so that I can wear it too, and share the pain you had back then. Enough with my ramblings. Sometimes, I wish you were here with me.

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Chapter 13: Dealing With The Devil

Coen, King of Clowns, sat in a dimly lit room, holding a golden mirror. I had the misfortune of being spotted by him while I was walking by, and ended up being dragged into the room as well. He was in the midst of a DARK ritual. A DARK ritual to summon the Devil and make a pact with him so that he would have what it takes to continue his bloody quest for revenge. Words of dark magic were uttered, and immediately, our reflections in the mirror disappeared, and we saw the DEVIL looking at us!!!! Oh, and the Devil's a woman, who would have guessed? "Yes, hon?" The Devil smiled seductively. "What do you want? I was just taking my beauty nap." "VENGEANCE!" The clown roared with his deep voice. The Devil grimaced. "You don't have to shout. I can hear you perfectly well from here." Coen grinned sheepishly. "Oh, er, sorry. Yes, m'lady, I'm er, seeking revenge against my wife, who betrayed me and stole my kingdom away from me." "Ooooooh, I see. So, you want me to strike her dead immediately?" The Devil giggled. "I can appear in her bedroom right now and stab her to death with my trident! Just tell me how many times do you want me to stab her, and where!" "Noooo! I prefer inflicting punishment upon her with my own hands." The clown said in alarm. "She must not die... yet! I just need assistance in finding other assassin or ninja clowns. I wouldn't mind having some powerful wizards dress up as clowns as well!" The Devil frowned in confusion. "What's with the whole clown thing?" "It is a DISGUISE!" Coen said dramatically. "And a symbol of my SHAME! I will NOT purge myself of this clown outfit until I've had my REVENGE with my own hands!" "Ah! Fascinating, a clown who is obsessed with revenge! I always thought that clowns 22

exist merely to spread laughter and joy. Guess I was wrong!" The Devil said cheerfully. "But I'm not a true clown!" Coen argued. "I am an actual king!" "Then why do you call yourself the King of Clowns then?" The Devil raised an eyebrow. "Because I am a king who happens to dress up like a clown?" Coen replied. The Devil looked unimpressed. "Face it, you are merely craving for a title like most people in the world do. So, King of Clowns, do all other clowns in the world regard you as their king?" "That's not the whole meaning of 'The King of Clowns'! I'm just saying that I'm grander and better than the other normal clowns!" Coen said indignantly. "But you're not even a true clown. That's what you told me." The Devil said. "Er, urrrrrgh!" Coen clutched his own head in despair. "Well, guess I'll leave you alone while you're suffering from identity crisis." After that, she turned her attention to me and winked. "Remember, hon, making a pact with the Devil is not an easy thing." And then, blowing me a kiss, she was gone.

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Chapter 14: The Teacup Of Painful Death

"BEHOLD! The Teacup of Painful Death!" Hef produced a cute-looking teacup before Cranky Armstrong, Alasse and I when we were all gathered at the living room. "One of the deadliest weapons known to mankind!" "Right. And what does it do?" Alasse asked, taking the teacup and eyeing it carefully. "Why, I have heard that when you pour some tea into this Teacup of Painful Death, it will magically transform into a venomous liquid that STILL looks like tea, but when you have drank it, it will melt your insides, and then your bones, and after that, your skin. Until NOTHING remains!" Hef said.

Cranky Armstrong snorted. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard, lad." "Don't believe me? Let's make some tea now, and then I will let YOU test it." Hef said. "Absolutely NOT!" The old man spluttered. "I will not demean myself like that by taking part in your harebrained schemes!" "Hah! You're afraid." Hef smirked. "You DO believe me!" "No, I don't!" "Then let me pour some tea into it and let you drink it." 24

"No, I won't!" "You're afraid." "I'm NOT. Ignorant whelp! Have you forgotten that I am the only person in the world who have BRAVED the dangers in the moon for FORTY years?" Cranky Armstong growled. "What dangers? There were only beaches and those so-called moon sailors." "I was their lifeguard!" "You were?" This time, I couldn't help but speak out. "Shuddap!" Cranky Armstrong snapped in embarrassment. "Shush, all of you!" Alasse's stern voice cut through the argument like a knife, she was holding the teacup next to her ear... listening intently. We made no sound as we stared at Alasse, waiting. Then, the gypsy's eyes widened in surprise. "Oh my, it has indeed taken the souls of many! In fact, this was the very instrument used to assassinate the infamous Flaming Robber, the legendary robber who loved to scare his victims to death by setting himself on fire, and then forcing them to pay him unless they want to watch him burnt to death before their eyes. I can hear him now, howling endlessly in agony."

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Chapter 15: The Hat Of Memories

I found a beautiful-looking hat in a closet that reminds me of you. It looked really similar to the one you wore when we took the ride on the blimp. Remember that? It was an uneventful ride at first until the horde of dragons emerged beside us, following us throughout the flight. I was so afraid that they were going to eat us, and you were there laughing at my cowardice! How would I know that dragons are supposed to be harmless when they sound so horrifying in stories? I put on the hat, wondering how I would look, but immediately, I was assaulted by flashes of images. Flash. Emerging from a mother's womb Flash. The warm embrace of loving parents. Flash. Laughing happily when playing with a group of children. Flash. My first kiss. Flash. Marrying the man I love. Flash. Dancing with him under the starry night. Flash. Becoming a mother. Flash. Pain. Indescribable pain. I lose my husband and my child to a plague that swept through the town. A part of me dies as well.

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Flash. A long journey undertaken alone to forgo the past. Flash. Hit by a massive storm, I take shelter in an abandoned cottage. Flash. The cold grip of fear and starvation. Desperation creeping upon my mind. Flash. I hear the voices of my husband and child. I open the door and leave the cottage. Flash. "What is this? What happened to me?" I gasped, removing the hat immediately. To my surprise, Adilda and Sullen Bob were in the room with me. "Those weren't your memories." Adilda said gently. I nodded. "I know, it was a woman's. Who was she?" "The last person who wore this hat." I started wondering whether my memories were stored into the hat as well. Would the next person who puts on this hat see what I remember of you?

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Chapter 16: The Scissor Fairies

I was walking into the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water when I saw Adilda and Alasse seated on chairs, getting a haircut from... flying scissors. Yes, you read this correctly, flying scissors flying around the heads of the two ladies. And the craziest thing was, they (the scissors, not Adilda and Alasse) were singing in high-pitched voices. I think the lyrics was something like this: "We are the scissor fairies, We all have great destinies, To keep you clean and tidy it makes us truly happy. Don't wear your hair too long, the stench is much too strong, we'll love to cut your hair because we do really care. We exist aeons ago, to keep things under control. champions of tidiness, caretakers of cleanliness. Please sit still and behave, Please do not rant and rave, Just let us finish our mission, without any interruption." "Fascinating." Hef came up beside me and surveyed the scene before him in fascination. "I wonder how much am I going to get if I can capture one of them and sell it?" "Good luck." I rolled my eyes and exited the room. The next day I saw the boy, he was completely bald.

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Chapter 17: Hefs Brother (Guest-Written by Justin Isis)

"Hey Cranky, did I ever tell you about my brother Max?" Hef said. We'd just opened the blinds to find a single ray of sunlight piercing the snow. It stood out in the whiteness like a column of gold. "Urm, what's that?" Cranky muttered, and sipped from his mug of tea. "My brother Max," Hef went on. "I must say that I was the one who got the brains in the family. Max...completely unrealistic." "Why's that?" "He went on vacation one day, and when he came back, he told me this crazy story about having visited a kingdom of mermaids where there was no money. He said he'd learned so much from the experience that he didn't believe in money anymore." Cranky looked up in interest. "What do you mean, didn't believe in money?" "He said he thought money was a waste of time. Not only that," Hef said, becoming excited by the sheer absurdity of the prospect, "he didn't believe in owning anything! He said that in the kingdom of mermaids, no one owned anything. If someone wanted to use something, they just took it." Cranky laughed. "Can't see that one going over well. Hey, Bob!" Cranky gestured Sullen Bob over. "Give me one of your milk candies!"

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"What for?" "I'm hungry!" Sullen Bob sighed in contempt and tossed one to Cranky. "Anyway," Hef continued, irritated that attention had been drawn from him, "Max just got crazier and crazier - he said that everyone should live together with each other in big houses where everyone owned everything together." "Well...I suppose we are all living together at the moment." I said. "Total insanity," said Cranky. "All this business with sharing! Everyone would kill each other!" "Of course they would." said Hef. "Pass me the tea, would you?" "Get your own tea!" said Cranky. "I just made this. Honey and lemon, my favorite." "I just want a little bit." said Hef. Cranky sighed. "All right..." he said. And handed over the mug.

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Chapter 18: Message In A Bottle Flowing Into The River Of Time

Can you believe this? The storm actually stopped. Really, I have no idea how, but it just did. Stopping as abruptly as it came. Shafts of golden sunlight pierced through the white clouds, yes, WHITE clouds, no more pulsating colours, no more weird stuff like that, just a clear blue sky, and the warm touch of sunlight, and the gentle caress of the breeze. Every one of us stood outside the cottage, staring in awe at the remarkable change of weather. "Ah. I guess they've finally fixed the weather machines." Alasse said, laughing. "It's about time." Hef collapsed into knees, weeping tears of joyous joy. "I didn't know this would actually happen! I thought I was going to be stranded in the cottage forever! And die a lonely death!" "Lonely? What about us?" I asked. "I'm the youngest here, so I'll probably outlive all of you... OW!" He wailed when Cranky hit him with his walking stick. Sullen Bob grunted, unenthusiastic as always. Adilda, ever mysterious, merely smiled angelically. "I guess it's time to start packing!" Hef said. "I'm going to get out of here as soon as possible!" At that time, I realized that someone was missing. Coen. In fact, we haven't seen the self-proclaimed 'King of Clowns' for quite some time since his botched attempt to make a deal with the Devil. Perhaps he has left the cottage by himself when everyone was asleep. I felt sorry for the guy, even though he had annoyed me greatly. As everyone returned to the cottage to pack their belongings in preparation for their departure, I realized that there was something I had to do.

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I entered and headed straight into the kitchen to get an empty bottle. Then, I headed into the bathroom to write you a letter. Every single thing I've wanted to tell you, every single thing I never really had the chance, or the courage, to say when we were together. Once I've finished writing, I put the message in the bottle. Adilda told me that the creek behind the cottage flows into the River of Time, and that was where I placed the bottle. If Fate is kind, the bottle will reach you, and you'll forgive me for never ever finding the courage to say the things you wanted me to say to you. If not, then let my love for you flow in the River of Time for eternity.

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Chapter 19: Return Of The King

His identity in doubt, Coen, the King of Clowns, was turning cartwheels one moment and the next holding forth on the duties of a king. But something was missing. He needed a drink.

The milkman, it seemed, had had better knowledge of the workings of the weathermachines than any of those stranded in the cottage. For some time the milk cartons had been sitting on the doorstep. Coen picked one up and inspected it. The face on the back... The face on the back. Why did it seem to him that rather than staring at a lost face on a milk carton, he was instead looking into a mirror? That profile...so sharply etched, so defined; the roguish salt-and-pepper beard, the pitiless avian eyes... Was this the face of a clown? No. Coen tore off his clown-clothes, washed his face with the milk, and stepped into the sunlight. He remembered a lost kingdom, somewhere over the sea... *** I saw a stranger stepping into the sunlight and frowned. I thought I've already known everyone in the cottage, how come I can't recognize this man at all? The others obviously did not recognize him either, so all we could do was stare at him in confusion. "It is I! King Coen the Sixteenth!" He shouted, walking towards us. "And I am a clown no 33

more! Do you hear me?" "Oh my, he is a rather good-looking man when he's not in the clown outfit." Alasse mumbled to me. "I have a favour to ask of you, noble sirs and ladies." King Coen eyed each and every one of us. "Will you aid me in my quest to reclaim my kingdom? To reclaim my rightful place as king?" "Er. No." Hef said. "Not interested." Alasse said, although she was trying hard to tear her gaze away from the king. "Me neither." Cranky Armstrong agreed. Sullen Bob grunted. Adilda smiled, but then, she was always smiling even though she meant to say no. "TITLES FOR ALL! And major violence involved! There will be lots of asses to kick, I guarantee!" King Coen said. "Really?" Sullen Bob's usually sullen demeanour dissipated into an eager look. "Do I get to use my battle axes?" "Aye." The king said. "And will I gain much from this? Are you going to pay me lots? Make me head of the Merchant's Guild?" Hef stared. "Aye." The king said. "Will my efforts as the first man ever to walk on the moon be recognized, and that a statue will be erected in my honour?" Cranky Armstrong asked. "Aye." The king said. "Will you give me a shop where I can help the people contact the dead? And do some tarot readings? Oh, and that I don't have to pay taxes at all?" Alasse asked. "Aye." The king said. "It sounds fun!" Adilda, the usually agreeable one, said. "Aye." The king said. "So, are you with me? Are you all with me?" 34

Immediately, everyone agreed in unison and pledged their allegiance to the king, eager for profit and to wreak some violence. Everyone except for me. I stood aside, looking at the scene, of these strangers whom I've grown to regard as... well, I don't know, perhaps friends, or maybe even as family, despite their personal quirks and eccentricities. They noticed me finally, that I had remained silent throughout the entire time. They stared at me, expecting me to join in as well, but I shook my head with a sad smile. "I would've loved to join you guys." I said. "But there is someone waiting for me, and I can't delay my return anymore. But I'll definitely visit you all when Coen has reclaimed his throne, I promise." There was sadness when I embraced each and every one of them: Hef, the young capitalist who is more ambitious than anyone I've ever met. Cranky Armstrong, the first person to ever walk on the moon, and was unjustly forgotten by everyone else. Alasse, whose tales of wonders and knowledge about the world never cease to amaze me. Adilda, perpetually cheerful and angelic, whose words of wisdom belie her very young appearance. Sullen Bob, who allowed me to embrace him despite the dour expression on his weathered face and offered me his milk candy. And King Coen, who had finally stopped being such an annoying pain the ass. When they were leaving one by one, I didn't dare tell them that they'll probably never ever see me in their lives again.

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Epilogue
When you died, I fell apart. I can still remember how helpless I was when you died in my arms, how furious I was with myself. I held you tight even though your body has already turned cold, weeping so much that I almost couldn't see anything anymore. Many times I tried to wash my hands, yet I still couldn't wash away the smell off your blood. I swore I would do whatever it takes to undo your death, to prevent that horrible accident from happening during that terrible night. I journeyed to the fortress of the Time Witch at the icy wastelands of Ashdraden, making a deal with her. I offered her all my material possessions and belongings so that she would provide me the means to travel back in time. The hag was rather easy to convince with the numerous bags of gold coins I offered her, I believe she wanted to renovate her fortress or something. The Time Machine she gave me remained in its hiding place, a massive cave (thankfully) forgotten or undiscovered by civilization, unscathed by the raging storm throughout the past few months. This time, my love, I will make sure that I won't repeat the mistake of pressing the wrong button that will propel me to a few thousand years into the future, and get stranded in a storm that rages for almost an eternity. I have to be cautious!

Green button is the future. Blue button is the past. I have to remember that.

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Once we meet again, I will show you the written account of everything that happened to me during this improbable quest of mine, these mundane records of a long stay In a cottage at the end of time. I'm sure you'll laugh at me because you find everything too hard to believe. And I will perfectly happy as long as I can hear that laughter again. I pulled the lever. The Time Machine roared into life.

THE END

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Authors End Notes

I seriously did NOT believe that I could actually write one entire story based on the drawings of Lune. In truth, I thought all I would do would be to come up with some simple poems and haiku to accompany her illustrations. But I got ambitious after looking at her first picture, and went to craft something more different than I've originally expected. I am pretty proud with the result of this, I think it's one of the finest writings I've ever done. Fanfiction has too much limitations, making it almost impossible for my creativity to flow as freely as I've hoped. I was very, very comfortable when I was writing this, and I still can't believe that a story of such scope would be something written in a mere 24-hour span! It is definitely more ambitious than anything else, and I feel that it might surpass the rough draft of the novel I did few years ago.

I am glad that I've taken the route to write a story for Blogathon, instead of writing random articles and entries, which will be much less challenging for me, and Lune. (our original plans were merely to make random comments about a selected topic, not something as insane as this) It's also rather amazing that I would feel so much for the cast of characters when I've only been with them for around 24 hours. I guess, to me, they can be considered as pretty successful inventions of mine. There are some characters where I spend a much longer time with, but I don't really feel that strongly for them at all compared to the cast of characters here.

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Acknowledgements
I would like to take this opportunity to thank Lune, for her wondrous illustrations, without them, I doubt my creative juices would work that well. And then, I would also like to thank Justin for guest-writing some of the parts, if it weren't for him, I would have passed out already, and leave the story unfinished. My dear sponsors, words can't describe the gratitude I felt for you all. When I registered for Blogathon with Lune, we had thought that this would be a lost cause, and we'll probably end up not being to participate due to lack of sponsors, but I couldn't be more wrong. Without you guys, this campaign wouldn't be successful, and I wouldn't be able to write such a tale that I'm so satisfied with, nor I get the chance to see Lune come up with her wonderful illustrations, so a thousand thanks to you all. I would like to thank Book Aid (http://www.bookaid.org/) for their kind words of encouragement they gave me when I told them about their campaign. I wish you all the best in your attempts to spread the enjoyment of reading and the value of education to the world. My dear readers, thank you for staying with me while I'm writing this. For weeks I have questioned myself whether I'm still going to have a life in writing after retiring from fanfiction. I think I have the answer now. Your wonderful support and comments are my answer. Perhaps I'm going to juggle between filmmaking and writing after all. There are a couple of blogs who actually helped plugged this campaign of mine. I am very flattered and I'm sorry I couldn't return the favour. I was so busy writing the story and trying to make sure that I would finish in time that I couldn't really do anything else. All of you have my deepest gratitude as well. And that is all I have to say for this very last entry of Blogathon. Thank you very much. Edmund Yeo 7th of August, 2005

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