Well, aint that the shit? I had that idea for the great new format for writing in the Calvin and Hobbes section, and cuz I didn't write it down, I can't remember. So, working day and night, I toiled to create an even better story, but when I showed it to my friends, it scared the crap out of them, so I threw something sloppy together in the end. This is but a sample chapter, as I don't think it will spar well with others. However, if it gets good reviews, I'll introduce the rest of the story. Enjoy.
'Tis the first line a knockoff of the first line in "Gunslinger," the first chapter of the "Dark Tower" series, by the one and only Stephen King.
Disclaimer: I do not own Calvin, Hobbes, nor any other Bill Watterson characters mentioned. I do, however, own their "others."
* ** *
The Dark Man crossed the desert, and Holt followed.
A long and dark journey it had been. Holt followed the Dark Man over a span of two-thousand miles across the quickly wilting land, watching as the few still around to live die right before his eyes. Although his heart still weakened every time he saw it, he moved on. Death was nothing new to him lately.
Holt was of the Old English, the Old Tongue. The Old Tongue had become foreign to him, ancient, forgotten, as were its ways and his ways. All that remains was his name, Holt, which meant "from the forest." Of course, not much forest remained anymore.
When Holt had set out on his journey, not two years ago, his eyes had sparkled with the green of the forest he could not remember from his youth. On this day, the desert had dulled them to a blue-gray, but Holt did not care. This journey was not his own, and catching the Dark Man, catching Moss, would not finish it. Catching Moss would be a means to the end.
As Holt bounded set a mild pace for the day, following the rapidly disappearing tracks of the Dark Man, he began to wonder what Moss's Double might be doing at this moment. In his world, he was known as Moses, but (at least from what he could gather from informed sources who had been on the other side) he was too dishonorable to be called Old English tongue for "saved by the Lord," and is why Moe fits him much better. And of course, the Moe's Double, the Dark Man, is the perfect example of the Dark Doubles. Opposites of their pleasant qualities (for Moe's stupidity makes great for tricking out of his bullying ways) and only double of their worst, a Dark Double of Moe was bad, but as fate would have it, he was also second wrung on the final ladder to the top, to the end of the destruction of this world. Moss was a very important man in this world.
As Holt came to a stop and began to check for the signs of fires from the night before (Moss always left trails, almost mocking Holt,) he began to wonder what his own Double might be doing. Holt came to a crouch and began to push his paw around in the dirt. What might be his Double be doing now? Protecting the one Holt has come this way to save? Protecting the one that, in the Old Tongue, meant "conquering?" Might Holt's Double be with the savior, be with Calvin this very instant?
Holt sniffed the ground again. The Dark Man had indeed been here. He frowned and scanned the horizon. Still no silhouette, still no shape of his prey that he had been hunting. He knew he had been approaching, and every day he found himself constantly stopping and searching for the signs he needed, a new habit he had taken up.
Nothing. Holt frowned and collapsed onto all fours again. It would be another long day. Nothing new there.
Still the Dark Man crossed the desert, and still Holt followed.