January 3rd, 2022
We finally made it into the New Year! With 2022 finally here, I get to announce some really exciting news I’ve been dying to share.
As you know, it takes me forever to work on these blog posts. Every week I try so hard to keep them short, but every post just gets longer and longer. As I’ve found my voice, I realized I need more time to share our adventures in the way I want to.
I understand how frustrating that can be for you, though! Waiting a week or two is fine, but three? No, thank you. Thankfully, I’ve figured out a remedy for this.
That’s right, I finally convinced Sam to write for me! It took a lot of convincing and arm twisting, but he’s agreed to fill in some of the details of our trips that I don’t get to in my posts.
“How will that work?” you might be wondering. Well, I’m glad you asked. I’m giving him total creative freedom and will post whatever he writes between my own posts. He won’t be restricted in writing chronologically like I am, nor is he required to write every single week. I really just want to share his voice and perspective. In doing this, I can take my time to write and you can still keep up with us on the road, not to mention you get to hear from a phenomenal writer!
Talk about a win-win scenario.
The first of Sam’s writings I would like to introduce you to is Fantasma, a short story inspired by our time in Yellowstone.
As we explored the park’s geyser basin, Sam found himself fascinated with the idea of a whole planet covered in geysers. He enjoyed thinking of a pseudo-apocalyptic world populated by people who worshiped the primal power underneath their feet.
As you read this piece, I want you to keep one question in mind:
What would you do if you were a denizen of Fantasma?
Fantasma
Sam Stringfield
On the plains of Fantasma a whisper ascends. The Gods listen. Will they choose mercy or suffering?
I've been here for three months. Stuck behind these cold, sweaty walls. The sun shows itself through my window for fifteen minutes each day, just after high noon. These fifteen minutes are the only thing I have to look forward to. The rest of the day is sitting, listening, waiting.
Guards come in and pour me a scoop of filth every morning and every evening. Just enough to sustain life, I suppose. If I look anything like the guys around me, well, I think we’ve all seen better days. At least I have the sun.
Three months in to the day, two Phases passed, and the third is today. Only three more to go before I’m out. Three lifetimes to go. Sounds easy, right?
When I came in I was so spirited, so full of life. Six phases time for petty theft. Not great, but not horrible either. I’ve seen people do more time for less. Much less. And those guys made it out just fine. But these walls, they’re not easy on your soul. I thought this was a cake walk until the first phase. Oh, I was so full of life until that first phase.
Being on top, you never see all the emotions somebody goes through when they’re chosen. You just see the final emotion, and for most guys that’s acceptance. Somber, eyes locked forward, shoulders relaxed. No fighting. Heck, they even lift their arms and go through all the motions without being told to do so.
Being down here, though, forces you to see everything that leads up to that acceptance. Nobody ever thinks they’re the chosen one. No, something’s wrong, this was my last phase, I have children. It doesn’t matter your excuse, the council is always right. Then it turns into opposition. A lot of guys will try and fight. Well, fists are no match for cattle prods. Others try to hang on to something, anything to keep them from being dragged out. Turns out there’s not much to hold on to in these cells. I’ve seen guys try and run before they make it to the end of the hall and realize there’s nowhere to go. The council always wins.
Was petty theft really worth six Phases? Is one death avoided worth another in lottery? That’s not how the council sees it. For every crime there is a punishment. And in Fantasma there is only one punishment: Phases.
They tell us Phases are the only way to satisfy the Gods and assure that our society, as a whole, stays protected. Without Phases we would be helpless to the whims of this rumbling, boiling world. The council tells us that not only are the Phases necessary; they should be a source of pride for Fantasma’s people. After all, how many people, of all the countless worlds that make up our system, have such a hand in their own fate? I would argue one too many.
The time has come to make The Chosen known. The guards walk slowly past each cell, clipboard in hand, checking off names as they go. Each man holds their breath as the guards come, and lets out a sigh of relief as they pass.
The first Chosen is made known. Two guards rush into the cell, breaking off from the group and unlocking the door in one swift step. A redhead by the name of Tom. Sentenced to twelve Phases for ‘Fraud’. From what I’ve heard he fell behind on his rent and tried to cash a bad check. He turned out to be a fighter.
The guards came closer, and now it was time for me to hold my breath. So close I could smell their cologne. I almost thought I saw the checkmark beside my name, and then I heard it under the guards breath. Forest.
Before I knew it the door to my cell was unlocked and two guards were at my throat with cattle prods. I turned out to be a runner.
I saw an opening between them as they raised their arms at me, and I took it. I bolted through them, one of their arms grazing my shoulder as I narrowly slipped through. Out of the cell now and two directions to choose from. Right towards the larger group of guards, or left towards the end of the cell block. The choice was easy. I could hear the guys cheering me on as I zoomed by their cells. Quick glance behind me, guards far behind, then focus ahead. The main gate. My heart dropped. Closed.
The guards caught up to me quickly, and like so many before me, it wasn’t long before they were hauling me away.
I tried pleading with them, negotiating, asking for at least one call home. Nothing. More begging, rambling, slurring, all met with faces of stone. Sobbing now, my feet giving out, and still they dragged me along. I wasn’t going to get out of this.
The doors to the outside opened, blinding me with brown skies and a restless sun. The landscape blinked at me, looking as though the past three months had just been a bad dream. Pale white hills as lifeless as ever stretched out as far as I could see. There were a few spots of greenery, but these were mostly agricultural farms and greenhouses. Not much else can grow when the groundwater is hotter than boiling and the perpetually falling ash covers anything and everything.
What I wasn’t expecting when those doors opened was the crowds of people awaiting The Chosen. I should’ve known better; I’d been on the other side of these doors countless times. Something about knowing you’re going to die soon makes you forget the little things you do all the time, I guess.
I wasn’t thinking about the crowd of people, or the guard shoving me forward, or even the handcuffs cutting into my flesh. No, during that walk I was thinking about my life. I was thinking about my parents, about my childhood, about the one mistake that put me here. I was thinking about Mom’s home cooked meals and Dad coming back from the greenhouse smelling like ripe fertilizer. I was thinking about my first kiss and my last. Then it hit me, everybody I’d seen do this same walk weren’t accepting their fate, they were trying their hardest to remember their fate before it led them here.
Ahead was the platform. Four wooden poles rose into the air about ten or twenty feet. Each had a burlap rope that ran the length of the pole, through a pulley, and back down. At the base of the platform the four ropes converged into one and entered a large crank. There, one of the council members dressed in the usual garb of blue silk pants and a silk shirt with blue sleeves and white torso awaited my arrival. Looking around there were dozens of equally fitted platforms, all the Chosen climbing their steps just as I.
I could feel the heat from the steam of the geyser the poles were centered around. The sulfur burned my eyes and nose as the guards took off my shackles and replaced them with the burlap ropes. I was not going to spend my last moments fighting the inevitable.
“Citizens of Fantasma, we gather here today to witness the two-thousandth, six hundred and twenty-third phase. We thank the Gods for their goodwill and ask for another peaceful Phase. May Mount Massive stay dormant for many generations to come.”
As the council member finished the ritualistic prayer, he began turning the crank. One turn, the slack of the ropes was taken up. Two turns, the ropes tightened against my skin. Three turns, half of my weight was lifted from the ground and my other half tried awkwardly to keep me stable. Four turns and I was whisked off my feet and thrown directly over the mouth of the geyser.
I could see straight into the gaping mouth of this powerful thing. A black pit, occasionally spitting out small sprays of water and spurts of steam, looked back at me. Funny how scary a hole of nothingness can be - almost like staring at your own skeleton.
Looking up I could see the tip of Mount Massive showing just above the horizon. Only then did it hit me - acceptance. Maybe my sacrifice would assure at least one more successful Phase. Maybe.
“Gods, please accept our offerings for benevolence.” The council member finished the last prayer just as the ground started to shake. One tremor came, then passed. The entire crowd was silenced. The ground was not supposed to shake during sacrifices.
Looking up again I could see a cloud forming above Mount Massive. A second tremor came and this time a crack formed beside the geyser. The cloud above Massive had grown exponentially and was beginning to eclipse the sun. Then I could hear the hissing coming from the pit below me. Water began spitting out of the geyser with more and more energy, licking my skin and scalding me. I writhed in pain. More water came, then a loud pop.
The Gods had chosen suffering.
Housekeeping
Hi friend,
If you’re new to my page, welcome!
If not, then it’s really nice to see you again :)
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Thank you for reading and I hope you have a wonderful rest of your day.
Best,
Kes the Photobean
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