Short Story: The Emerald City

The Wandering Poet took the little black girl into the emerald city, which was made up of parks, city buildings and neighborhoods. A microcosm of the place she’d been banished from. As they passed through the city the poet pointed out places of interest. To the east, far off in the distance there was what looked like a castle perched on top of a mountain. Was that castle made of ice? She wondered aloud. The poet told her that yes the castle was made of ice; it was the home of one of the oracles, The Ice Queen. The Ice Queen and The Alliterator were the founders of the Emerald City. They too were banished from there and set upon establishing a place where they could be themselves without scrutiny or persecution. They had the forethought to plan for others just like them, and here you have The Emerald City. The poet pointed to the west to where there was a crowd gathered around a podium. At the podium was a woman, fantastically dressed, giving a speech to the crowd. The little black girl strained to hear what she was saying, but all she could hear was the ooohs and aaahs from the crowd. The poet told her that the woman was the other oracle, The Alliterator. Just ahead of them was a man approaching them quickly. The poet called the man the Albino General. The man was clearly an albino, skin pale with curly blond hair, and eyes covered with a pair of stylish shades.

The poet introduced the little black girl to the albino and disappeared into the crowd. He had just passed her off. The albino general picked up where the poet left off. He took her to his condo, a courtesy he extends to all new arrivals. She found that hard to believe, but accepted his invitation nonetheless. He let her stay there for a few days, then told her that she was to meet the oracles.

The city, so far, had been a wonderful place. People were free to speak their minds and express themselves as they wished. They showed her around the city, took her out to eat, and exposed her to all kinds of events she had only dreamed of attending, back in the other place. So when the general told her she was to meet the oracles, she knew she had nothing to fear, but fear was exactly what she felt. The woman at the podium seemed nice enough, although she could never get close enough to the podium to clearly see the woman. The Ice Queen, however, made her shiver with just the mere thought of it. She had not seen the woman, nor had she been to the castle, and the people around the city would only say a few words about her, most were good things, but it was almost as if they were afraid to say anything else. She would find out soon enough about both the oracles.

To be continued in: The Oracles

Short Story: The Wandering Poet

The little black girl wandered slowly on the outskirts of the city. She hadn’t seen a person since the driver had dropped her off 45 minutes ago. She was just about to give up when she heard the faint sound of someone strumming a guitar. She picked up her pace and followed the sounds until she came upon a man sitting on a bench near what looked like an abandoned park. She didn’t want to sneak up on him, so she moved into his line of sight, walking right in front of him, slowly until she was in speaking distance.

He looked up at her blankly, hand in mid strum.
“I’m, I’m looking for someone called The Truth?” she muttered, looking intimidated. The man began to sit up straight as she started to talk, then he smiled and stood up. At his full height he looked like he belonged on someone’s football field, protecting the qb. But football was part of a life she no longer belonged to, another place, another time. The little black girl took a few steps back to make room for his presence.

“So it’s the truth you seek, that’s why you are here?
Well then it’s the truth you meet, have no fear.
I am who you want, you have caught me, my dear
your search you can stop, the answers are near.
But before you mention my name again,
over there they know me as another man
I have to keep my cover, let me tell you before I forget,
I’m known around these parts as The Wandering Poet.”

The man lifted his arm and gave a great bow. Seeing a man of his size bow so gracefully was funny to the little black girl, and for the first time in awhile she smiled. The gentle giant, she thought to herself, and allowed herself to relax a little. The Wandering Poet told her about how he was initially banished from the world they knew, just as she had been. Then he found a way to sneak back in and pass messages from the world they knew to the city they had been banished to. He disguised himself as a crazy artist, a babbling poet that wandered from city to city. No one ever bothered him, because they thought he was crazy. He would take the secrets he found in the world from the past and tell them to the people in the new city in the form of poetry. The others never gave the arts the importance that they deserved, so they didn’t take the time to decode The Wandering Poet’s words. The perfect disguise. However, this meant that The Wandering Poet ALWAYS spoke in prose….

“Freedom you will find
and a sense of self
a lot of people, if you don’t mind
but they will give you help
you are ready to join your people
you are ready to be among the free
so follow me up this path
to The Emerald City…”

The Wandering Poet picked up his guitar and all of his notebooks. A few pens spilled out of his pockets. She quickly bent over to pick them up, and as she stood back up she saw The Emerald City. She hadn’t seen it when she first walked up on him, but it had been there the whole time. Lined with evergreens, bushes, and vines, the gates began to open and the city unfolded right in front of her.

To be continued in: The Emerald City