Hmm…Where to go from here?

“Remember my young apprentice we strive to keep ourselves balanced. There cannot be light without darkness, life without death. Let others close their minds and align themselves towards something they do not fully understand,” closing the polished antique silver lid on the meditative brazier, before resuming “Awaken my apprentice, it is time to end your mediation.”

Watching my apprentice slowly awaken as the mind-altering smoke faded from the room. Allowing his body to begin purging the gas’ effects from his conscious. The mediation ritual was the second part of his studies that forcibly opened the mind’s true potential. Feeling the sheer power coming from my pupil at this distance even as walked across the ancient stone chamber. The strength I had felt from him when I discovered him in a partially burned down farmer’s shack had grown.

Wide hazel eyes looked up at me as I approached, the gas still having a slight effect on him. Staring at me in silence, hopefully adjusting quick enough to begin practicing some of the more straightforward lessons I have taught him. If what I noticed on my travels through the world grows, the balance will collapse. Leading to something ancient and remembered only in myths to awaken from its forced slumber.

 


I can feel there is something here, I’m just not sure what. Granted I know the whole orphan protagonist is slightly cliche, but it is an acceptable cliche for some reason.

Hmm…

With the heat bearing down on us, my father and I continued walking through the desert. Our shadows continuing to grow as sweat continued to drip down our faces. The trail of our footsteps refusing to fade in the seemingly endless dry sea of yellow sand. Not understanding why my father insisted on coming along with me on my spirit-walk. It was meant to be the rite of passage into manhood.  To commune with my ancestors before returning to the tribe.

Dusk was beginning to fall by the time we arrived at Cave of Souls. Without saying a word my father, handed me an ivory smoking pipe. Feathers of blue, crimson, and black hung loosely all around it. Knowing what that meant, I took the smoking pipe with both hands. Taking a breath before walking into the cave. Relieved by the coolness of the dark cave, I walked blindly. Letting my hands guide me in the darkness.

Stopping when I felt something other than the smoothness of weathered stone. Knowing it was buds of the plant,  Hyrbicus. Carefully plucking the bud from the cave-dwelling flower. Grinding it with my hands before putting it into the smoking pipe. Letting it rest in the pipe for a few seconds before taking a long puff into my body. The effects of the flower’s bud were immediate. Seeming to bath the cave with this light, I saw through the darkness. Seeing a narrow stone bridge that led deeper into the cave.

Walking across the stone bridge, I found a vast, smooth stone chamber. Six skeletons protected by a bright blue aura rested in the chamber.  A small raised circle of stone sat in the middle of the room. Walking into the circle, I took a seat in the middle. Taking another puff of the smoking pipe, before taking the smoke into my body. Beginning to notice that the blue aura that surrounded the skeleton had started to take a more human shape.  The one directly in front of me began to look like my grandfather. His spirit twinkling inside almost as if he had come directly from the night sky. Reaching out towards him, I felt a sudden intense burst of blinding pain.  The pain filling my mind with images of my grandfather’s life.

Suddenly the pain and images vanished from my body. While slightly grateful for that, I carefully stood up. The cave much brighter then it was before I entered.  Ready to head back to the village, knowing what my life was about to become.

 

 

Another picture is worth, almost another thousand words

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Sentinel by Edward Howard

My papa used to tell me, we live a world of leftovers. I wasn’t sure what that meant growing up, in a simple world. A world where knowledge about the past was dangerous. I was never told why by my elders. Maybe that was for the best, I told myself. That was until a few days ago when I overheard something, my parents, where discussing.  Noticing how in the past few months my mother was acting differently. My father wanted to do something to help her.  From the few things I overheard mentioned were ruined city, hospital, old-world technology, and medicine. The way they whispered about it, made me wonder if it was dangerous. I had heard about the abandoned ruins that were supposed to exist all over the world. With fear and anger running through my mind I ran. Letting the wind push back against my face with each step. Knowing where I was going to visit the strange metal statue that rested in the nearby field.

Carefully stopping before colliding with the rusting blue large chunk of metal that rested against the ground. A tree branch had fallen on it since I had last visited a couple of months ago. The lone wild white cat stood up and approached me from the top of the metal chunk.  Looking down at me with its deep blue eyes, watching me closely.  I had seen it a few times in past visits, but this was the closest I had ever been the cat. Slowly reaching out my left hand, waiting for the cat to react. Stretching out some it sniffed my hand with caution. It must have determined I meant it no harm, as it sat down on the edge of the metal.  Being careful, I climbed onto the metal chunk, Mindful of the tree branches and sticky leaves as I continued to climb. Hearing the metal creak some adjusting to my body weight. It was a noise I had gotten accustomed to, the more I came here.

Taking a seat on the edge of the metal chunk that faced the field, I sat. Letting my feet hang off the side slightly, I gazed out at the statue.  Enjoying the quiet, I began to think about my hidden mother’s sickness. Wondering why she hid it from papa and me? Had he known about it and hide it from me at my mother’s request? Would he go into the ruined city to help her? What could he find there that would be worth risking his life? Would he come back from the ruins at all? What would happen to me if he failed and mother died? Would the village kick me out, or would it take me in?

The wild cat headbutting my arm distracted me from my thoughts. Taking a seat beside me it watched me, continuing to randomly headbutt my arm. Wondering what it wanted, I cautiously scratched its ears. Surprised by how soft its fur felt against my fingers. I had heard it whispered by some of the older villagers, that there once was a family that lived here. Maybe this cat had been one of the family’s pets. I had to wonder why they left it here. Was it forgotten by them or was it done purposely? Would it follow me home? If it did would my mother and papa let me keep it? What would I name it, if they did?

Gently petting it, I resumed staring out at the statue. From what I was told by the village elders, the statue was left behind by the old world. Built by a man known as Army Enginer. They didn’t know why it was built or were unwilling to tell me why they thought someone build something so massive. I knew it was the largest thing I had ever seen in my life. The few traders who came into town in horse-drawn buggies commonly mentioned there were other statues like the one nearby. Even they didn’t seem to know much about the statues. Why would someone build so many statues like one near the village? What could the statues tell us the past? Did they have forgotten knowledge hidden within them? Could that knowledge have a way to help my mother get better?

That last thought stuck around in my head. On impulse, I leaped off the metal chunk. Running towards the field, and the statue. Letting the joy of freedom and hope take over. Pushing my way through the plants being careful not to break any of them. Knowing how much the village depended on the field to eat. Ignoring the hits at my back and arms as the plants snapped back to their normal positions. Pushing ahead with a glimmer of hope in my mind. Stopping a few footsteps away from the statues metal foot. Noticing the statue had hints of a dark yellow color in its metal. I wasn’t sure how that was done, and I didn’t care. All I hoped for was answers that would help my mother fight what was causing her to act differently.

 

 

Well there’s another idea……

A mighty icy wind whistled through the stone cutouts of this ancient mountain monastery. Bringing whisps of snow in its wake, trying to put out the orange flame from resin torches. Stone pews and statues were empty of any devoted visiting pilgrims.  The elders secluding themselves in the back of the temple, deciding what to do with the dangerous religious order that was sweeping over the land. Despite the monastery’s natural isolation, word reached us of the Crimson Light and what they were doing.  Using their religious beliefs and growing power base to get away with heinous crimes. Taking those whose bodies demonstrated anything that went against their religious doctrine. While my order offered sanctuary to those living close, our reach was limited. The few small villages around the mountain’s base helped when they could. Given the pressure the Crimson Light was putting on the villages, help was becoming increasingly seldom.  There was a growing sect of monks, including myself who followed the beliefs of the warrior god, Anesoni were trying to fight back. Hopefully, the elder’s would make a hasty decision about training more monks in the art of war.

Taking a slight breath, I began to notice something moving in the distance, barely visible through the small crack in the door. Casting a faint orange glow around itself without any noticeable smoke or odor. Opening the door with slight caution, trying to get a better view of what was coming. Seeing a dark shadow in the middle of the mysterious light. At a quick glance, the shadow didn’t appear large enough to belong to a full-size man. Following a growing sense that this person was similar to me, moving sideways through the door. Pulling the wool hood over my head before walking far from the dar. Letting one the organic steel chains around my waist, unfurl down my right sleeve. Noticing the flame suddenly extinguish itself, the shadows fading along with it. Sprinting forward toward where the light vanished.

Contracting the chain around my left are, feeling the blunted spear tip against my hand. Stopping to find the thin body of a young child, poorly clothed in tan rags. Someone had shaved the entire scalp of the body, making it difficult to determine if it was a boy or girl. Still healing cuts were apparent on the left and right side of the child’s face. The child had been tortured by someone who appeared to know what they were doing. Assuming it was the Crimson Light’s inquisitors well known for their skills for infliction pain. Being careful I lifted the frail child over my left shoulder. Heading back to the monastery, hoping this would alter the decision being made by the elders.

Another picture is worth almost another thousand words

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Ancient Shrine by Macro Gorlei

 

My long pilgrimage into the Archiani dessert comes to an end as the statue of the god Suirtop appears before me. The crumbling city of Archoi resting at its feet obscured by layers of sand. Bowing down unto the hot sand, whispering a quick prayer of protection before walking forward, leaving a trail of footsteps behind. My own sense of exhaustion and thirst starting to get to me with each step. Tightening the tightly wrapped damp cloth around my head before the intense heat of the twin suns could strengthen those feelings. In awe of the skill, the ancient craftsmen of Archoi had when they made this statue. Feeling the fixed protective gaze of Suirtop look down at me as I moved forward.

Pausing at the entrance of the city to whisper a silent prayer for those lost their lives when the desert decided to reclaim it. Uncertain of where to step from where I stood. Taking a deep breath before taking tentative steps into the ruins of Archoi. Surprised and relieved by the resilient sturdiness of the stone buildings. Taking more certain steps forward until the shadow of the Suirtop statue covered the buildings below. Sensing this was the place I would receive the guidance of Suirtop. Sitting down near the center of the roof, closing my eyes.  Slowing my breathing and heart down feeling my head to begin to clear. Listening for the voice of Suirtop to appear on the wind, hoping I had the strength of body and belief to hear it.

Feeling a soft breeze as the heat from twin suns began to dissipate. Hearing a subtle whisper being carried on the wind, that I couldn’t understand. Waiting with great determination for it to return more audible. The shamanistic tattoos inked into my body beginning to tingle enough to guide me out of my state of mediation.  Opening my eyes to see the glowing bright blue ethereal spirits of my ancestors floating above the sand. Recognizing the few that were closet to me as my grandfather, and father. Thier eyes transfixed on me, staring at me in light of the twin moons. Glancing up at them to see they were mirroring each other one moon waxing and one moon waning. This was a good sign that Suirtop would have the strength to speak to the pilgrims and shamans of my tribe. Taking a deep breath, I called the spirits of my ancestors toward me. Breathing in the wisdom and knowledge, they failed to pass on to their sons. Feeling stronger and warmer as the wind returned. Carrying a single mighty hum that began to encircle me. Bolstering the tingle from the shamanistic markings on my skin. Leaning back, I let the mixed sensations envelop my body.

Moments later, I saw Suirtop had appeared before me. Dressed in unordained garments that ran down to his feet. A dark glowing halo focused itself around his head. The mighty blade Irusk hung on the right side of his hip. Without moving his lips, he asked: “You have traveled far like your ancestors, Arco. What guidance can I offer the son of Arsoilo, from the line of Arsch?”

I responded “Almighty Suirtop, I decree unto you to grant me the wisdom to help lead my tribe to avoid the conflict that is sweeping over the land. Our warriors are ailing, with something that is a mystery to my people. Without brave and skilled warriors, I fear my people will be wiped out,” pleading and praying for divine aid in helping my people.

Suirtop commented “Arco there is much I could do to aid your people. Yet, without a channel to possess, I lack a proper form to do so,” pausing for a moment. Placing his hands on my shoulders, before continuing; “There is lost knowledge your ancestors once possessed that kept your people safe. While I cannot aid, this dangerous ancient knowledge may be able to save your people,” before moving his hands to the sides of my face. Staring down at me in silence, doing something I couldn’t understand. Forcing my body to shake rapidly for several long moments. “It is done, Arco,” before vanishing in front of me.  Taking the spirits of my ancestors with him.

Looking up to see twinkling stars had filled the sky. Aiding the moons in illuminating the dark desert sky. Slowly standing up, feeling rested, almost reborn. Feeling nothing more than a slight chill on my skin as I began to walk out of the ruins. More confident of the path that lay before me. Stepping down onto the soft desert sand that surrounded the ruins. Using the night sky as a map to lead me back home. Trying to avoid getting lost in the endless hills of sand.

The suns had risen and set three times before I found myself on the outskirts of my village. Seeing the tip of the Pioli mountain where my home was. Beginning to sprint forward eager to see my family. Still at lost for what the gift was Suirtop gave me, on my pilgrimage. Only hoping it would be enough to save my village from the outside world.

 

 

Another picture is worth another thousand words

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Sanctuary by Rashomike

Vines crept in through the broken window, dropping down like an organic rope.  The light from the sun revealing the broken floor and rotten crumbling. Nature had taken parts of this church back following the Gaea event. Yet there was an odd silence that hung in the air. Following the careful steps of my companion Milton down the rotten looking wooden stairs. Hearing the occasional creak as the three of us descended the staircase. Pausing as something rustled in the dark green brush near us. With quick glances at each other, we ran taking tactual positions in the area. Aiming our rifles at the bush, our hands shaking with a mixture of anticipation and fear. Watching the bush through the sight of our guns. Listening to something growl from the bush. Setting the barrel of my rifle on the banister staircase, before feeling around for something to toss at the bush. Managing to grab on to something that had a rough texture. Hurling the item at the bush, attempting to draw out what was hiding in the bush. Quickly putting my hand back on my rifle as the object flew through the air.  Watching a blur of movement as something caught the brick in mid-air.  Slowly the beast crawled forward, revealing long skinny dark green legs that pierced the floor. Milton glancing at Alex and myself before giving us a slight nod, the three of us know the danger of an Archanis. Within seconds all of three of us opened fire, breaking the sacred silence of the old church. Watching in horror as the Archanis continued to crawl forward, emitting a deep growl in the process.  Revealing the organic layer armor, the covered its body. The twisted face of both the human and the spider staring out at us layers of white eyes. A small gold chain with a small cross still hanging around its bent neck. Holding onto a remanent of its former life like it was still human. Launching its entire body forward into the rain of bullets, almost like it wanted to die. Continuing to fire my rifle until I saw the thing had stopped moving forward. Its body twitching and spurting out a thick dark fluid that could have been the thing’s blood. Staining the area around for a few seconds before turning the ground a soft green color.

Alex shouted “Masks now,” sliding the filtered gas mask around his mouth.

Quickly doing the same before the body could begin emitting lethal spores. Noticing Milton do the same seconds prior to the body releasing small lethal white spores into the air. Being careful moving around the corpse, we walked down the stairs. Pressing down on the plastic clip on flashlights, letting the light cast itself in front of us. Glancing around for anything else was hiding in the nearby foliage.

I shouted through the mask “Finding anything else that can kill us, or should we begin looking for supplies?”

Milton yelled back “Not yet, Jess. The supply cache I heard about is supposed to be in the far back of the church,” turning towards us. “I think the door should be around here somewhere, keep an eye out for it,” pivoting on his feet before resuming his walk.

Alex fell in behind him, leaving me to take up the rear. Walking backward slowly, scanning the plant life with the sights of my rifle.  The wind begins to pass through and down the open window some in the process.  Almost making me fire my weapon as the plants moved.

Milton shouted “Damn it the door is jammed. Alex help me try to force the door open, Jess watch our backs.”

Nodding I stopped walking, observing the plants.  Hearing Alex and Milton slamming themselves into the door. Listening attentively to something moving, trying my best to ignore the creak of the something being pushed back from behind me.  Continuing my watch for several minutes before I heard a series of loud bangs behind me. Pivoting quickly on my heels I saw they had opened the door. Forcing several boxes to collide with the ground in the process.  Pausing midstep once I heard a large monstrous growl, that sounded terrifyingly familiar.

I shouted “We should get moving if my gut feeling about what heard is correct,” reaching for something a little more explosive I packed for this trip into the ruins.  Feeling around before pulling out an old wine bottle filled with a mixture of alcohol and gasoline. “Grab anything light and salvageable you two,” peering around the room quickly for signs of movement.

The ground beginning to shake under my feet a few minutes later. Hearing Milton curse under his breath, as him and Alex shoved stuff into their backpacks. Sprinting to the staircase with all the energy I could muster, trying to find higher ground. Seeing out of my peripheral vision Alex and Milton quickly following my lead. The frequency and ferocity of the ground shaking rapidly increasing. Managing to drop large pockets of dust down from the ceiling that sparkled in the sunlight.

Milton taking control back by testing the strength of the knot and rope we used to get in here. Alex and I kept a tight watch on everything as the ground continued to shake. Noticing something was pounding hard on the large arched barricaded door at the back of the church, trying to force its way in. Lighting the Molotov cocktail with a matchbook, before tossing it hard at the door. Watching the door begin to burn as Alex climbed down the rope first. Milton followed behind him a few seconds later. The door being broken forcing large shards to fly through the air, as the monstrous Behomethes entered the room. Knowing I wouldn’t survive long even with the flames delaying that abomination, I reached for the rope. Tightening my grip before starting to descend down. Keeping my gaze straight ahead as a precaution incase the Behomethes tried to follow.

 

Well…..there is another idea

Do you ever write something, and think to yourself, where on Earth did this idea come from? It seems to be happening frequently to me, as I try to keep my creative juices flowing. Either that or I’m in a state of creative overflow. I guess it could always be worse.


In silence moved to the back of Restir, taking a seat at a small round table. Ignoring the disgusting smell of cigarette smoke, and piss that lingered in the air, as I observed. Enjoying the experimental jazz music that was playing through carefully hidden ceiling speakers. Disregarding the bar’s other customers, focusing my gaze on my target. Watching the strange man sip a black bubbling drink in a short clear glass, at the bar. Two other clear glasses rested upside down on his left side, the black drink still sticking on the sides in small spots. Hiding parts of his face under a wide-brimmed black cowboy hat. The raised red collar of a long black trench coat hid what remained. Knowing with certainty that he was armed with at least two handguns, several short knifes, and the Marsekoh blade I was after. I didn’t know why my client wanted it, but, considering how much he was paying me I didn’t care.

A short, narrow-waisted waitress approached me. Dressed in short eggshell white button-up dress, with a black and red belt around the waist. The dress fell from her shoulders enough to reveal the tufts of her breasts. Narrow blue eyes peered down at me through rose red glasses. With a flirtatious smile, she handed me a menu, before running her hand through her short dyed blue pixie haircut. She smiled before another customer called out for her, forcing her to walk away. If I wasn’t on the job, I would have considered flirting with her. Setting the menu aside, I resumed my observation.

After I saw him down his fourth drink, I got up. Lightly pushing people aside, as I approached the bar. Taking a seat next to my target, lifting my phaser without revealing it. As he watched the bar-bot make his fifth drink I made my escape plan. With a slight turn, I pushed down on the trigger. Releasing three short burst low energy plasma, intending to stun him. His body began to unsteadily shake as he fell to the ground. A surprised look on his face. Reaching down I quickly grabbed the Marseketi blade from the right side of his waist. Sprinting into the kitchen, almost colliding with one of the cooks. Pushing him aside, racing towards the back door. Running through the door, before jumping off the edge of the delivery dock. Feeling the exhilarating rush as the air pushed around my face. Letting the air expand the gliding flaps that were custom sewn into my coat. Slowing my fall some, allowing me to navigate through the resting traffic of flying cars. Being careful to avoid a collision and the seemingly endless array of surveillance cameras that littered the city. Hoping the Obscura tech was working, as I made my way to the bottom of this colossal metropolis.


As always comments, are welcome. Thanks for reading.

Preview of Death’s legion (title pending)

I’m not really sure where this idea came from. Yet, given how death exists (in some way) in every genre of fiction it was something I can build on.  Twisting and shaping it to something both strange and plot building. Without diminishing the power that death could wield in a fantasy environment.



Raising the visor of my battle damaged helmet, I attempted to wipe the blood away from on a battlefield that had fallen mostly silent. Only the caw of crows and the ramblings and moans of those who death has yet to take were the only thing heard. Keeping a tight grip on my sword I began to step away. Prepared to be merciful to the fallen, ally and enemy alike.

Stopping completely when I heard a strange almost inhuman groan from behind me. Turning around I raised my sword. Only to see the fallen general of the Tisthan forces, had begun to raise. Bloodied arrows still through what remained of his eyes.

Trying to hide my fear, I asked “You are dead, I watched you fall. What in god’s name are you,” raising my sword to defend myself if needed. Still struggling to understand what I was seeing.

The general’s corpse chuckled before responding “What or who I am is not your concern mortal,” as his flesh began to change. Becoming rapidly darker as it tightened around his bones. “All you truly need to know,” being cut off as a sword with a body of fire decapitated him.

Sensing I was going to be killed by the blade’s unknown wielder, I struggled to pull a dented, muddied shield from the ground below me. Hoping I would manage to die with honor, as my ancestors have. Raising the shield I readied myself to die. Glancing over my shield I saw the wielder of the strange flaming sword. A tall warrior clad in ebony plate armor. Yet somehow the flame the sword possessed was within its body. The strange blade sheathed at the left side of his waist. Cautiously lowering my shield, I watched this strange warrior. Trying to understand any of what was happening. This shouldn’t be happening, it went against everything the Kuorkizin.

Rapidly reciting a quick prayer softly, I began to step backward. Keeping my gaze focused on the strange warrior, as I attempted to flee. Ignoring the screams of the wounded as I passed over them. This place was no longer a battlefield but, a place of damnation. I may have killed today in defense of my homeland, but I felt no desire to be damned.

Managing to reach the outskirts of this unholy battlefield, I turned myself. Breaking into a run, trying to escape all of this like a coward. Believing it was better to be branded a coward, then to die in a fight against a warrior of unholy origin. There was no honor in that.

Being stopped by a forceful tap of something hard, as I ran around a tree. Grunting, I looked up to see what had hit me. Only to see the same strange warrior from the battle-field. Holding a bloodied iron halberd where my chest would have been if I hadn’t stopped. How he managed to get ahead of me was beyond me.

I shouted “I don’t know what you are, but I beg you to leave me alone. Please,” trying to get up. “My family will not ransom me, there is no reason to follow me,” managing to get to my feet. Looking past this strange warrior, at the area behind him. Remembering an old monastery of the Iquarthi monks was nearby. Hoping they knew a way to stop this thing from following me.

This strange knight barely reacted to me getting on my feet. Moving the halberd out of my way, keeping its gaze on me. Without hesitation, I broke into a run. Ignoring the pain in my chest, and legs. Keeping a slight gaze over my shoulder as I ran. Only to see him standing there still, watching me.

Following the dirt road, I attempted to flee once more. Keeping a close eye on the nearby forest in the process. The monastery was protected by the forest that surrounded it, according to my mother. I never knew what she meant by that.

Starting to alter my direction some, I ran towards the forest. Feeling the dirt give way to stone, before quickly being replaced by dirt once more. Continuing to push my body, as I saw the twisting spires on the horizon. The setting sun casting its light on it from behind.

With relief, I slowed down. Noticing the monks inside had begun placing candles in the spires’ peaks. Creating the illusion of a circular ring around the sun. The monastery appeared to change much since my childhood visit. A wall of trees of various shapes, sizes and types formed a defensive wall around the structure. Two watchtowers rested above the treeline. Watching for pilgrims try to get through the only iron gate into the monastery. A lone torch rested in the middle of the gate. Watching silently for pilgrims arriving at this late hour.

As the sun fell away, I reached the gate. Finding it locked, as I attempted to pull it open. In frustration I pounded on the gate, considering trying to force my way in. Yet, that would only add more blasphemy to my arrival. Assuming they would listen to the strange tale I would tell them, at this late hour.

A monk shouted from somewhere nearby, “Stop that infernal pounding soldier it’s late,” as t torch began to make its way into view from the left side of the door. Revealing a hooded monk in brown robes. Keeping their face hidden, the monk asked “The time of darkness begins, and a weary soldier pounds on the door. What blasphemous actions could you have done that couldn’t have waited until morning?”

Continue reading

Hmm… that is interesting.

The idea for writing about this came from reading an article written by Neil Gaiman. You can read the article here.

While I may not have read much of Neil Gaiman’s novels, or graphic novels yet. However, I do have tremendous respect for him. He makes several points in his article, including one about having no limits on what he read as a child. Some of the other things he discusses in his article, on banned books, the importance of the libraries, the concept of classifying books, and freedom of speech.

Honestly, I agree with most of his statements. While books may be the subject of controversy, and banning. Even the concept of medium could be argued to some extent.

Personally I think books, are small, portable gateways to other worlds no matter the medium. No group, or person should have control on what is read excluding the creators (artists and writers). I exclude them since everything they make is meant to be imaginative, for the most part.

People young, and old should read what they like. Young adult literature is a great example of something that has a questionable age range. Honestly I have seen people who have past what would be thought to be the target market for young adult literature, reading things that fit that genre. Of course that includes myself. Restricting what a child can read, because it you don’t agree with it, or it depicts something you see as offensive is almost redundant. Especially in a world where you can search for anything online.

I’m curious to see what are your thoughts on the article. Do you agree? Disagree?