HOPE
is reborn—through him…
Anthony
Griggs is a dreamer bound to discover that the world behind his eyes
is as much reality as when he is awake. Having survived an abusive
childhood, escapism is all he had until his fiancée, Audrey, became
his tether to the world. Unsure of himself he withdraws into the
realm of his imagination. That is until he saves a coma patient in
his dream. Anthony soon learns that the world isn’t as 3
dimensional as he once believed when the veil of reality is drawn
before his eyes. The coma patient is a direct link to Anthony’s
heritage and it befalls him to use his ability to protect an unborn
child as darker forces seek to prevent his birth. The child is the
new vessel for Hope and the world’s quiet salvation or its complete
undoing. Anthony delves into a world of gods and entities…demons
and Jinn learning the hidden mythologies of life. He must rediscover
who he is and learn what sacrifices he’s willing to make. Will he
choose Audrey for the life he’s dreamed of? Or will he choose the
Hope of mankind?
Drifted Plains…
There
he sat on his boat. Waves rippled beneath nudging it constantly.
His lure bobbed up and down against the glassy surface of the lake.
Fish rarely bit for Anthony on Lake Superior, or maybe they just
decided not to come out during his presence. He thought somehow the
schools banded together and held a grudge against him. A constant
joke he held with himself. It didn’t matter. The serenity he felt
when he was out on the water was all he needed. It allowed his mind
to wander. It allowed him to drift into the deepest realms of his
artistic imagination. He imagined the water as an endless canvas and
the sky as the heavens painting a portrait along its surface. His
drawing pad was never too far from him. He rested the fishing rod
along the right side of the boat. It was one of those small wooden
boats, kind of weathered, tattered from time. It had definitely seen
its best days. It often put Anthony in the mind of a Mark
Twain
novel when Tom
Sawyer and
Huck
Finn cast
off on their adventures. That’s what these moments were to him, an
endless adventure into the world he creates around him.
Anthony
reached into his leather bag and pulled out his sketch book. He
began to etch the brush on the shore onto a fresh white sheet of
paper. He grazed his pencil lightly against the paper. Each stroke
created a scene. Things he’d seen before in dreams and mixtures of
the reality around him. He bit the back of his number 2 HB pencil
and grinned to himself. It was a mixture of things really. The
recollections of dreams and the constant criticisms he’d become
accustomed to by others telling him he’s nothing but a dreamer.
Anthony daydreamed a lot. He was always lost in the fictional greats
tales of fantasy and adventure, mystery and intrigue. Greats like
C.S.
Lewis,
J.R.R.
Tolkien,
Stephen
King,
J.D.
Salinger,
and even Dean
Koontz;
Writers that drew him in and allowed him to find his inner talents.
He was also quite fond of comic books. He even sketched his own in
between portraits of vast landscapes or what he considered beautiful
people.
As
a child, Anthony always felt the need for an escape. An escape
anywhere as long as it wasn’t in the presence of his drunken mother
or abusive father. At first it was the tale of The
Catcher in the Rye
around the time he was eleven. That book gave the world levels of
depth and meaning to him. Then The
Hobbit took
him to a world that time had forgotten. The books kept him company
at night under the covers with a pocket flash light. He read them
over and over again to drown out the sounds of his parents arguing.
When they finally divorced it was right after he’d turned twelve.
He had a choice to make, a mother so lost down the bottom of a bottle
she had no concept of the life passing her by outside of it. Or a
father that was twice his size and weight that would much rather use
him as a live target rather than venting his frustrations on a
punching bag or doing bench presses. Anthony didn’t favor the
sting of closed fists sending vibrations through his frail body, so
he chose the drunkard. When he thought of it, his parents weren’t
anything to him; at least he was a dreamer. It was his imagination
that kept him sane. It was his own characters that had become his
closest friends.
He
was drawn from his trance when he noticed the skies darkening above
him. The absence of rolling thunder didn’t make it seem angry, but
still, there could be some light showers. Anthony tucked his pad
into his case and pulled the line in from the water. He thought of
how he would be teased by Audrey for going out on the water and still
managing not to bring back so much as a tire or an old boot. The
lure resisted his pull and for once he thought he’d got something.
He figured it was a good batch of worms because this resistance was
strong, something large and hungry. He laughed aloud and sat back
trying to shift his leverage on the rod.
“Audrey won’t
believe this!”
he thought to himself.
It seemed for a
time, she was the only person that understood him. They met in art
school their freshman year and had an instant connection. She wasn’t
put off by his horrible childhood that eventually led to his early
escape toward “freedom”. She didn’t look at him with
judgmental eyes for his laid back demeanor. Most people just thought
of him as lazy, but for some reason Audrey got it. She knew there
was something more to him, especially his resilience to withstand his
troubles and still turn out half way decent.
Anthony
leaned toward the edge of his boat to try to get a look at what was
trying to steal his bait. He couldn’t see anything at first. Just
the ripples on the top of the water that the lure created as it
motioned up and down. He looked closer into the darkness that
encircled the boat beneath. The dark void below reminded him of a
scene right out of Moby
Dick. A
scene where the whale attacked from the bottom with its mouth wide
open, it was funny that would cross his mind. That would be
impossible here for a killer sperm whale to attack. Then a bright
light consumed it. It was pure but not blinding. It was fantastic
to him actually. He’d just drawn a scene like this days ago. The
boat rocked as if hands lifted from beneath it and began pushing from
side to side. It threw him off balance. Water splashed onto the
deck slapping the calf of his goulashes. He slipped back into his
seat banging his arm. The line to his rod flew out of the water and
swung wildly into the boat. Anthony watched it as it landed. The
bait was there still intact. Instantly he sat up and grabbed the
oars trying to row away from the current that was trying to hold him
captive. The further out he got the light had spread beneath him.
He stopped when he heard the calls. Someone was pleading for mercy
not to be drug under by the pull of the lake. He could hear water
splashing wildly. There were sounds of gurgling and then he saw it.
An elderly man in a hospital gown was drowning. It was like instinct
took over. Anthony instantly rowed out to save him. The boat
wouldn’t row against the current. It was being drawn back in the
opposite direction. Anthony never considered himself to be a hero by
a long shot. In his dreams he may become whatever warrior the
setting suggests. In his dreams he embodies his comic book
characters. He wished he had the strength to be one of them now.
But he wasn’t going to let this helpless man suffer any longer.
Anthony snatched his coat off and tossed it behind him in the boat.
His heart was racing but it didn’t stop him from spearheading into
the cold watery surface under the boat. He shivered as he sprang up
gasping for air. He checked to the left and right of him to see if
the old man was still within his reach. He put his legs together and
lifted his arms above his head to dive. As his body attempted to
pierce the surface again he found himself sliding toward the edge of
a cliff. The red dirt like clay suggested the Grand Canyon. That
wasn’t possible. He looked around. The climate had changed. The
heat was smoldering. Cactus patches trailed throughout what looked
to be the dried lands of a desert.
Anthony
was on his knees surveying himself. His hands were scuffed from the
collision with this hardened surface. Yet he still had his goulashes
on and his water pants. His thermal shirt was stained by the red
dirt. Behind him, his boat was buried nose first into the dirt. The
ores were scattered along the sides of it. His leather case was
propped up on the hill of dirt where the nose of the boat was
penetrating. Ahead of him was the edge of the cliff where he heard
screams of terror. Dust kicked up into his eyes and then he saw a
bronze toned hand clinging to the side of it gradually sliding losing
grip.
“HOLD ON!!!”
Anthony yelled out. “JUST HOLD ON!! DON’T YOU FALL!” he
gasped climbing to his feet. “I’m comin’…” he called out
reassuringly, but finding it hard to get a decent stride going whilst
wearing his heavy boots.
Anthony struggled,
wondering if he should shake those cumbersome boots from his feet,
but considering the urgency of the situation and caution prevailing,
did not commit to that notion. Reflexively, he stretched forward
sliding to the edge to grab his hand.
“Hold on, I’ve
got you.” His mind was reeling with this encounter. It was so
surreal, one minute he’s on the water of Lake Superior, the next
he’s hanging over the Grand Canyon.
He finally looked
down at the man. The man’s eyes looked very weary. His face was
weathered by the harshness of time. His skin was soft though, not
fragile, but soft. He was well groomed, well taken care of. It was
clear he was a fighter. He was not ready to give up on life just
yet.
“I hate to ask
this at such a delicate moment but, do you have any idea how we got
here?” He was grunting from exertion whilst trying to hold up the
man’s weight and keep from sliding off the cliff himself.
The old man laughed
as if he were no longer in immediate danger. He laughed as if it
were the funniest thing he’d heard in a long time. “Thank you…”
he mustered between laughs. “Thank you for breaking my fall.”
Tears filled his eyes. Anthony didn’t understand the joke nor was
he aware that he’d told one. “Now let go. I’ll be fine now.”
“No…” Anthony
resisted.
The man shook his
head, “I’ve been here for what seemed like an eternity.”
“You were just in
the water outside my boat. I don’t know how we got here! Now come
on, I can’t let you fall, I couldn’t live with myself.” Anthony
pleaded
“You have to let
go… If you fall trying to pull me up, you won’t awaken if you
hit the bottom.”
Anthony’s neck
jerked back, “What?”
The man laughed and
forced his hand free. Anthony was flung upward by his own resistance
trying to pull him to safety. He didn’t see anything. He couldn’t
hear the sounds of screams as the man fell. The atmosphere began to
spin around his head making him dizzy.
“NO!!!” He
shouted leaning forward to see if the man had fallen. He was unaware
of how much room he had between the cliff and the wide open space.
He slipped over the edge in a freefall. The wind suctioned his face
drawing his skin back in the fall. His heart fluttered in panic. As
he turned his arm swung out and connected with something. It was
something soft.
Anthony’s
fist relaxed and flattened into a palm on the surface of his
mattress, he rubbed it feeling the fabric of the fitted sheet. He
jumped when he felt Audrey’s hand touch his chest.
“You’re
soaked…” she said in a light groggy voice.
Anthony
sat forward with his tee shirt clinging to his body. He had
perspired heavily. He was still trying to convince himself he was
only dreaming. Only, it didn’t feel like any dream he’d ever
had. He was usually aware of when he was in a dreaming state. But
not this time, “Bad dream… Uh, I guess…”
“You guess?”
Audrey sat up alongside Anthony.
“It’s nothing…”
He cupped her hand between his palms. “Just go back to sleep. I’m
going to get some water.” Anthony spread the comforter back and
eased out of the bed. “I may do some edits to my comics. And
besides, I’d better go back to my designs, make sure they’re just
right. I have a lot riding on my grade in class.”
“Okay…” Audrey
laid back on her pillow. “And change that shirt, you’re
drenched.”
Anthony
waved her off and headed down to the kitchen. He was doing well with
his freelance art work outside of school. He’d gotten a couple of
businesses to buy into his work. He had a deal he was pursuing with
a rising comic book company as well. He was doing well enough to
afford a two story apartment. Not bad for a lazy dreamer. It was
just this dream that had him rattled. His thoughts were clear as if
he were actually sitting on the lake fishing. He could really feel
the weight of that old man. His hands were scratched when he looked
down at them. That was equally as strange in his mind. They
throbbed. The mind is a powerful thing as he’s often been told
throughout the years. Was the dream that intense? Anthony reached
into the cupboard to grab a glass. He turned on the faucet and let
the water run until it was cold. The remote control to the
television was on the counter. He grabbed it as his glass filled
with water.
“Okay, what’s on
television at 1:30 in the morning?” He often spoke to himself. He
figured as long as he didn’t answer his own questions he wasn’t
crazy. To answer would entail a conversation.
He turned the
monitor on and let the water flow down his throat. He could feel it
course through his body replenishing him. There was breaking news of
a miracle, an awakening of sorts. A man that had been hospitalized
for several years in a comma thought not to ever wake up had done
just that. Anthony looked closer and dropped his glass. His mouth
hung agape. It was the man in his dream. It was reported that his
vitals were stable and he was well enough to speak. He was fully
aware of his surroundings and becoming reacquainted with his family.
When asked how it felt to recover his response was,
“The… There
are re… Real angels out there…”
A tear rolled down his cheek. “I
was in darkness for a long time. I was barely hanging on, I felt
myself slipping. And my angel reached out and pulled me in.”
Who looked to be his wife wiped the tear from his eye and kissed
him. He inched his head around and Anthony could almost feel they
were making direct eye contact. “I
want to thank you… Thank you for allowing me to see my
grandchildren. They’ve grown so much and I can’t recognize them.
But at least I will have a few more years.”
Then he lipped
something into the camera, it looked like he was saying Anthony’s
name. Anthony’s knees were weak. He backed up and leaned against
the counter top. He’d just seen this man in his dream. Was he
really an angel in someone’s dream? This was too much, quite
possibly a coincidence but there was no way he could convince himself
of that. Besides, Anthony didn’t believe in coincidence.
Anthony
regained his balance and stepped forward right down into a shard of
glass where his cup had shattered on the floor. He yelped in pain at
the sensation of the sharp glass piercing the bottom of his foot. He
lifted his leg and slipped back on the river like puddle of water now
beneath his feet. Anthony could have blamed it on the water but he
never was much for balance, not physically anyway. There was a time
he’d tried martial arts classes, but the movements in the system
were too technical for him. He was more of an observer. Anthony
liked to watch physical sports but that was the extent of it, he
never wanted to participate. Usually when a person suffers abuse at
a young age they grow violent, they become attracted to danger and
physical activity, not Anthony he was the opposite. His comic books
were fantasies tied heavily into mythology. They were full of the
great warriors and heroes he wished to be. But his nature wouldn’t
allow it. His only sense of adventure is taking long drives and
camping in the wilderness to observe nature. That’s what inspired
him aside from his library of fiction novels. He especially liked
his long trips to Lake Superior to fish. There, in his mind,
anything could happen as far as imagination could carry on. Would he
actually let an innocent person drown? Most likely he wouldn’t.
But it sure as hell wouldn’t have been as extravagant as his dream
made it seem. He probably would have panicked when he first hit the
water. His mind was in a zone as he tried to pull that glass from
his foot. It was the idea of pain that was worse than the actual
feeling itself. He imagined blood squirting everywhere once he’d
have gotten it out like a gory horror movie; especially given the
fact that the glass was deeply embedded in the sole of his foot.
He
finally gathered the courage to pull it out and hobbled to the
bathroom to clean up the wound. He chuckled to himself. There was
no blood spray. It only hurt after he’d taken it out anyway. The
pain was sharp, but it didn’t feel like death. Now imagine if he
was stabbed or even nicked in a mugging, his reaction would be the
real scene. Every time his father would hit him and his little body
would stumble all over the place his father would tell him,
“Stop acting you
little faggot! I hardly even hit you… Always the actor…” he’d
laugh contemplating on whether or not he was going to strike again.
He usually didn’t if Anthony put on a good enough show for him.
“The way you drain our pockets, we should make money off you!”
that was usually said followed by a very loud thud after he slammed
the door.
Anthony reached into
the cabinet for the ointment and band aids. He thought of his father
just then. He’d picked up a habit or two since his divorce from
his mother. It was the combination of heavier smoking with some
drinking. Now he’s got cancer. Anthony M. Griggs Sr. He hated
being a junior. Especially with the idea of who his father is. He
thought it was rather ironic that his father couldn’t handle his
mothers’ drinking, but turned into an alcoholic himself. Maybe it
was karma. Now when he senses the end is near, he wants to have a
relationship with Anthony. He’s known to have a big heart, a
forgiving heart, but not toward his father. But that’s common tale
amongst men. He wondered as he applied the ointment if he’d even
miss his father once he passed. Or would he go to the hospital as he
reached the final stages of his transition and ask him,
“Who’s the
faggot now?”
He
had a lot of gripes against the man. But he’s been doing well
enough not to let it rule his life.
Anthony
stood from the edge of the tub and began to place everything back
into the cabinet. He turned the sink on to wash his hands but found
himself staring at the parts he hated most about himself. He looked
into his deep brown eyes. How they were just like his fathers. His
eyes always spoke out to him as if they were searching for a purpose
in his life. He looked at the coarse wooly hair atop his head and
mildly thick eyebrows just below the scar over his left eye. That
was one of the last wounds he got from his father. A vicious right
hand sent him head first into the frame of the bedroom door. His
lips were evenly thick. He rubbed the stubble of his forever five o’
clock shadow. It was like looking at his face to tell time, no
matter how he shaved it was always five o’ clock. His ears even
had a slight point to them like his father. He was a spitting image
except for the weight difference. But there was a time his father
had a nice build. Anthony not being athletic or into fitness at all
just had a natural physique. He did a push up or two just to get his
mind to jog looking for the next idea. He thought to himself, even
if his father passed in his sleep tonight, he’d never be rid of
him. His father’s face always reminded him of his nothingness. He
also thought that maybe if his father died, his face would take on an
identity of its own. He ran his hands under the water simultaneously
lathering them with soap. He bent down and splashed water into his
face and rose up to look at himself. In the mirror Anthony saw the
old man in his dream. Or was it his dream? The man said he was in
darkness for a long time until his angel reached down to pull him up.
“So that means I
was in there, in his mind.” Anthony said to himself. “It was
real.”
He hobbled out of
the bathroom in a rush to get back to the television but a late night
dating game was on. He’d missed the old man. He flipped through
stations trying to find anyone else covering the breaking news but
the fascination was over for now.
“I have to wait
until the afternoon sometime after class to try to catch the news.
Damn it!” he thought out loud.
-Just who are you
old man?
Inception
(Neuralian Chronicles: The Siede) is now available on amazon.com in
Kindle Edition and Paperback.
Brandon
J. Hall currently lives in Detroit, MI. With his first novel,
Reflections—The Chronicles of a Man Scorned, behind him he is set
to move forward in a new genre. This will mark his first outing in
the realm of fantasy with Neuralian Chronicles—The Siede. His
passion has always been for the genre from his early childhood when
he was given a copy of Homer’s The
Iliad from his sister. From
then he’d always looked ahead to creating his own mythology that
stood as unique as the likes of Tolkien, George R. R. Martin, Neil
Gaiman and Stephen King.
Neuralian
Chronicles—The Siede is a bold and imaginative work that dares to
create a mythology all its own. It does what so many others of the
genre have attempted with abandon when speaking to the relation of
spirituality and the inner workings of mankind. It speaks to the
mysteries of mankind and what makes us unique to the species. It
peels back the layers of the world taking time, space, and the
quantum mechanics of it and seemingly bridges it all together while
telling a gripping story blending themes of a modern setting with the
archaic.
The
Siede will give you adventure, mythology/religion, fantasy, drama,
love and the supernatural unlike any tale spun before it. It’s a
story of heart, sacrifice, and the inner workings of the human
essence. It draws back the curtain to reveal the network of greater
elements at play that manipulate the flow of the world we’re
unaware of that drive us to different paths. Volume I of The Siede,
the introduction to the Neuralian Chronicles, is designed to spin a
genre so highly coveted in a new direction.
For
more information about the author and his works, visit: