Tom's Writings

See? I can write a nice story where no one dies.

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The young man stepped out of his car and into the slanting afternoon sunshine. His feet hardly seemed to touch ground as he crossed the small parking lot and bounded up the three flights of stairs.

Apartment 3-G. He rang the bell and poked his head through the unlocked door. Blouseless, she ran to greet him with hairbrush in hand. “Anyone home?” he smiled as she stretched to kiss him.

They parted, breathless. “Oh, this is for you.” He held out a slightly-crushed white corsage. “Now hurry up or we’ll be late.” He slapped her buttock through her black skirt as she turned to go. She giggled as she scurried back to the bathroom.

Ten minutes later. “How do I look?” He put down his magazine and looked at her framed in the the light from the hall. She had put on a blue silk blouse and had pinned back her long, dark hair. “Beautiful,” he said as he arose to kiss her.

“We’d better be going,” she said at last. He held the door for her as the stepped out into the warm summer air. Arms around each other, they walked to the car.

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He slowed the car into his parents driveway. “We’re here.” She drew away and he hurried around the car to open the door for her.

As they neared the house, they could hear the sound of a woman’s raised voice through the storm door.

“…and those Rosalettis.” the voice was saying, “if only they had let things be. We could be rich, I tell you, rich…”

He whispered in her ear, “The Rozalettis are sone relatives out East that stole an inheritance, some ‘treasure’, intended for us, or so I’m told. Ma’s pretty big on the subject.” She returned his smile as they entered the house.

“…robbers! Theives!, I…” the voice belonged to a short, stout woman in her early forties who turned a surprised face toward them. “Mimmo! Antonio, my baby!” She threw herself about his waist nearly toppling him.

“Mamma, I’d like you to meet…”

“And you must be Clara. Antonio has told us so much about you.”

“Glad to meed you, Mrs. Marioni,” the girl responded.

“You’re early, Tony,” Mr. Marioni said from the doorway. The two men embraced. “Hello, Pappa.

“Pappa, this is Clara.” Mr. Mariani took the girl’s hand. He looked into her eyes. “Don’t let this one go, Antonio. They don’t come any prettier.”

Clara blushed. “Now I know where Tony gets his charm, Mr. Marioni.”

“Tony? Charm?” He slapped his son on the back and laughing, steered them both toward the living room.

They had only been talking a few minutes when Mrs. Marioni arose, “I had better see about dinner.”

“I’ll help.” The two women disappeared into the kitchen, their voices audible through the doorway.

Mr. Marioni turned to his son. “A very nice girl, Tony.”

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“Eat, Tony, or it will get cold.” But Tony and Clara had eyes for little else than each other. Mr. and Mrs. Marioni exchanged a smile, remembering the days of their youth.

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“Is it that late already?” Tony stood up. “We had better be going.” They had been talking in the living room for nearly an hour after Clara had helped Mrs. Marioni clear the table.

Mr. and Mrs. Marioni saw the younger couple to the door. With an abundance of hugs, they said goodnight. Tony put his arm around Clara to protect her from the chill of the evening as they walked to the car.

Mrs. Marioni watched them go and saw how her baby’s heart had been stolen.

“Such a nice girl,” Mr. Marioni was saying, “She must be some relation.”

“Probably a Rozaletti,” Mrs. Marioni said as she burst into tears.

I submitted this as a mythology assignment in high school. The core story was too short to meet the required word count, so I padded it at each end by adding a narrator.

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It had been a long day and now the five of us were sitting around a too-small fire finally getting something to eat. Out of the ten who had been assigned with us yesterday, two had been killed and the other three were already asleep, here and there, in their cloaks. It was pretty poor accommodations for an army if you ask me.

I was the only foreigner here because it was a local war, but I had been in the area and decided to act as a kind of mercenary and join the fun. I have certainly seen my share of fighting and it follows that I must be a pretty good swordsman or I wouldn’t be here today.

The language I picked up easily enough, and on this, my fifteenth day, we finally saw some real action.

Earlier today, I had saved the lives of two brothers whose names I won’t mention here mainly because I can’t remember them. Their chariot had overturned and I was in the area so I went over and held off a few of the enemy while the brothers collected their wits and drew back toward camp. I quickly forgot about it and went on bravely to get my shield run through and my right shoulder cut pretty badly.

Later, they reminded me of the incident, seemed very grateful, and kept me the center of attention at our so-called meal. That is if you can call some kind of dried meat that tasted like leather and a hunk of bread soaked in spoiled milk a meal.

Annacles, the fourth in the group, looked too young to be in this business but seemed very interested in the story they were telling. He was even younger than the twins.

Did I mention there were twins? That’s probably why I can’t remember the names — because I couldn’t tell them apart.

A fellow called Calmendes, the fifth in our group and a bear of a man, was reputed to be a very good warrior. He seemed jealous of the attention I was getting and he just stared into the fire doing his best to ignore us.

Anyway, we got to talking about my homeland and I found myself telling them about the Smithean War.

“A long time ago, there was a beautiful group of islands call Smithos. The water around the islands was a beautiful deep blue and it was said that, with all the wild animals and fruits on the islands, a man could spend all of his life there and never eat the same thing twice. Every nation wanted possession of Smithos but there were two who were closest and had the best claim on the islands and they were Darma and Horbos.

“Now Darma was part of the mainland, and the warm climate and tropical sun bred tall, copper-skinned warriors who had long, tall shields and were all versed in the use of the spear. Horbos was a fair-sized island that took two days to be crossed on foot but it was still smaller than Darma. The men of Horbos were stouter and fairer than those of Darma. Horbos had a fine navy but, because of its size, it had fewer men than Darma and this disadvantage is what finally turned the tide in the war.

“The war went on for about eight years with losses nearly equal on both sides. The Horbeans were becoming desperate because they were running out of soldiers so they planned to use the remaining army for one last thrust to end the war once and for all.

“It was clever scheming by the Horbean navy to feint a retreat through a narrow pass in the islands and then ambush from above and behind. It did end the war, but not the way the Horbeans preferred.

“The Darmides managed to escape and quickly destroyed what was left of the Horbean fleet. While the Horbean ships were being hunted down, they had no opportunity to warn Horbos of the inevitable raid — though Horbos did guess that the Darmides would come once the Horbean ships that came regularly to bring news and take supplies stopped coming.

“They prepared well for the siege and took all the islanders into the ruling city of Horbaetus and stocked the city well with food and water.

“The Darmide fleet collected the injured, divided their spoils, and prepared to set sail directly for Horbos. They were so confident of an easy victory that they did not stop at Darma first for supplies.

“The Darmides started the voyage with light hearts, but the voyage which should have taken twelve days took twenty. Wild storms battered them and filled the Darmides hearts with dread. Several times, they nearly turned back but decided instead to press on. On the morning of the twentieth day, they found themselves upon Horbos.

“The Darmide fleet anchored in the Harbor of Treve which was across the island from Horbaetus. Horbos had lost most of its navy at Smithos and they chose to conserve what little was left in case they had to leave quickly. The Darmides had decided to take the city by surprise from the inland and the army started on their trek across the island.

“When word finally came that the Darmide fleet had landed, the Horbeans were almost relieved that the long wait had finally ended until rumor spread that the Darmide army was five times as large as the remaining Horbean troops.

“With those left to protect the city, there were some old men who were once good warriors and were still able to take up a sword. Also, there were some youths who had just achieved manhood but had not yet gone to war. Together with the old warriors and youths, the Horbean force was doubled and they had two men for every five Darmides.

“They remembered back to the magnificent Spateus — the greatest fighter in the history of Horbos. In his day, the fame of Spateus had spread throughout the known world and he was hailed as the greatest warrior of his time.

“Spateus was reputed to have single-handedly defeated the savage Trespites from the South and stopped their invasion of Horbos. He disappeared years ago during his battle with the sea beast Clormeus who was terrorizing the island’s eastern shore. Clormeus was believed immortal and Spateus sought only to drive him off, but the beast’s carcass was said to have washed up on the beach at Clydes, a land many miles north, a few weeks later.

“His son Androus was also a great warrior but, when he was young, he had set off in search of his father whom he believed was not dead, and Androus had not been seen since.

“Even though the Horbeans were far outnumbered by the Darmides, they knew that with just one such man as these, they might stand a chance to defeat these raiders.

“The Darmides made the journey across the island and came without hardship to within sight of the walls of Horbaetus where they set up camp. They knew that with the great warriors Spateus and Androus gone, they should have no trouble defeating the Horbaetus so they expected the siege to be over very quickly, and —” I stopped. I must have gotten carried away with my story because I didn’t notice that I had put everyone to sleep.

The fire was nearly out and my fellow soldiers had all curled up in their cloaks leaving only big Colmendes awake and still staring into the fire. I rolled up into my own cloak and closed my eyes.

“…and —?”

I opened my eyes and found myself looking into the big face of Colmendes. He said again:

“…they expected the siege to be over very quickly and —?”

I was too tired to risk angering him by mentioning his previous lack of interest but I smiled in the near darkness and continued.

“…and it was over very quickly.”

He was clearly disappointed by this ending as any man would be. Listening to a long tale late at night and then having it end poorly is not my personal favorite pastime. The fire had gone out.

I closed my eyes again and paused for a time to allow him to think the story over. Then I said:

“Yep. The siege was over quickly because two unexpected arrivals came to the rescue of Horbaetus. It was said that the Horbean cheering nearly drowned out the sound of men being cut down as father and son waded through the sea of Darmides and, with the aid of those remaining Horbean warriors, cut down the Darmides in a day and a night.”

I waited for comprehension to dawn upon the giant and, if it is possible to hear someone smile, then I did that night.