(Note: I don't own Samurai Jack)
Part I
It was a beautiful day.
My travels had led me to a lovely meadow. The climate couldn't have been more perfect. After traveling for so long, I had to sit down and rest. The grass was emerald green, and there were flowers of every color all around me. Unseen birds were singing. The cloud floated by without a care in the world. A butterfly with red and vibrant orange wings lighted on my hand. I smiled as I watched it flutter its wings and fly away.
I thought about sharpening my sword, but as I drew it I forgot as I watched a new phenomenon. As the blade glittered in the sun, it made tiny rainbows appear on my gi. The light had never been right for it to do something like that before.
I was happy. I almost forgot Aku existed.
When that happened, I knew it was time to leave. My quest must continue. But before I left, I had to take something to remind me of this place. It would not dishonor the earth to take one memento. It was so hard to choose. At last, I found one flower with a large stem, almost begging for me to take it. It had five petals, creating the shape of a star. It was a very vibrant red, and its fragrance was so sweet. It reminded me of home. I plucked it, and it still looked as beautiful as ever. It made me happy. I put it next to my heart.
How ironic was it that just past this beautiful country was one of the strangest lands I had ever seen! A very distinct line divided the path I was traveling. On my side were deep green grass and the sweet smell of flowers. On the other side was gray sand that seemed to extend everywhere. Beyond this border, there were no plants, no color, no life! There was no way around it. I took one step over and looked over to the other side. It was just as dismal as the land I now stood around me. What strange magic was this?
There was no color. My skin was just as white as my gi. The sky was not blue. Everything was black, white, or gray. I could hear no sound. This was a nightmare!
Finally, I saw something that broke the scenery. It was a tremendous sign that read "Untitled." Just beyond the sign was a city.
Every house in the city looked exactly the same--one door, two windows. They were all the same size, the same shape. Nothing was out of place. Then I heard the first sound in this strange world--a bell tolling, chilling my bones. Immediately, each door opened up and children walked out. Their were one boy and one girl from each household, each wearing conservative suits and orderly hairstyles. Their faces were tired and distant. In the streets, they organized themselves according to age, the youngest first and the oldest last. Then they marched in two rows on either side of me. The youngest one recited a strange riddle in the same, monotone voice:
"Mary had a little lamb. Its fleece was white as snow. And everywhere that Mary went The lamb was sure to go.
"It followed her to school one day Which was against the rule. It made the children laugh and play To see a lamb at school.
"And so the teacher turned him out, But still--"
I couldn't hear the rest. I tried to inquire what it meant and how they could talk of laughter so completely empty of joy. They recited on without even noticing I was there. As the older children came past, I heard their march. "2 times 1 is 2. 2 times 2 is 4. 2 times 3 is 6. 2 times 4 is 8. 2 times 5 is 10." So they continued.
Every age had its own march, and it all seemed to be on the rhythm with their march. The eldest children recited:
"To be or not to be that is the question. Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune Or--"
Yet they spoke it so dully, stressing every other syllable so that the poem lost its meaning. The children continued to march and disappeared into a single building. Then the land was quiet again.
As I neared the heart of the city, I heard music. It was a man playing a strange trumpet that hung down instead of extended out. The dark-skinned musician leaned against the pole. It was a melancholy song, so neatly laid out. Even note was the same length. When he stopped, I tossed a coin into his case. "That was very good," I told him.
"Nah, it ain't," he replied.
"Yes, it was."
"It's so square."
"Could you tell me, my friend, what has happened to the color here?"
He first looked at me like I had lost my mind.
"You know, it's like light. But it's not just black and white light; it's . . . different."
"Oh yeah. That takes me back." He stood for a while, reminiscing. Then he glared at me. "Don't you go bringing up the past like that!"
"But--"
"I'm not talkin' 'bout it no more!" He put his instrument in its case and stomped off.
Then I saw a young lady painting shapes on a canvas. "That's very thought provoking," I told her.
She shot me a very offended look. "That's not what I wanted! Not at all!" She angrily through her canvas down.
"You are an artist. Can you tell me what has happened to the color?"
"Color? What's that?"
"Surely you know. Red? Blue? Green? Yellow?" She looked at me with complete confusion. I had an idea. "Gold." I pointed to the diamonds on the hilt of my sword.
"It looks like white."
The curse had touched my sword? I drew it. The blade still sparkled. "Silver."
"That looks like gray."
"So it does," I said after inspection. "Have you not been outside this place?"
"Why?" Before I could answer, she walked away.
Everywhere I looked, there were miserable people. There was a poet reading aloud a poem, but it sounded monotone and made no sense. Across the street was a storyteller, but his story sounded like various, scientific observations. No one could explain why there was no color.
"I wonder," I said to myself. I reached for the flower near my heart.
"YOU! OUTSIDER! In here!" A somewhat tall man, balding with a bit of dark hair, and considerably rotund called to me. Perhaps he could tell me what happened that this place would have no color.
I followed him into a dark house. He led me downstairs and turned on an overhead light. All I could see in the room was a wooden table. I saw this man's face clearly for the first time. He looked familiar somehow.
"Who are you?" I asked.
"What do you mean?" the man sneered.
What else could I mean? "What is your name?"
"HA! We hate names. No one here has a name, not even you."
"How can that be so? Without names, one person is the same as the next."
"Exactly."
"That's cruel!"
"That's life."
I tried to think of how to respond, but he spoke first. "Why are you here?"
"There was no other place to go."
"Don't be funny. You can't have just come here out of your own free will."
"But I did."
"Nobody comes here out of free will. They know who we are, why we're here."
"Why are you here?"
"Because of who we were." He looked away. "A long, long time ago, I can still remember how the fire used to make me smile, and I knew if I had my chance I could make those people dance and maybe they'd be happy for a while." He said it in such a way that I didn't even realize it was poetry.
"What happened?"
"When we were young, we had a gift. We knew it. We could paint pictures, make music, dance dances, and tell stories. We made people smile, laugh, cry, or think. We could make our dreams come to life. We had a fire in our souls, put there by God or Prometheus or somebody. It warmed us, and it made us happy. But it was stolen from us."
"By--" I nearly said his name, but then remembered how they despised names here.
"That despot. He wanted us to use the fire for his purposes. We refused. There was nothing in him to make him great. So he took the fire out of us and put us here. This is more than just a land with no color. It's a place where we can not find the fire. We have all our materials and the desire to use them, but we can never express what we feel. And we can't leave. We'll die if we try, but death is much better than this."
"It must be hard for you."
"HARD?!? You don't know! What can I say? You look you're a warrior. What if I took your sword?" He grabbed for it, but I held it out of his reach and glared. "OK, you keep it. What if I took from you everything you know about being a warrior? All skill, strength, agility, and control were stripped from you. How would you feel?"
I stared him down. "I would be a much happier man."
"OK." He paused for a while. "Then what if I also took from you all that makes you a warrior in the first place? Gone is your thirst for justice, your desire for righteousness, your genuine compassion for people."
"NO! You can't take away my heart! That is who I am."
"You see now? That is how it is. He has taken from us who we are. Without the fire, we are less than human. All we are is dust in the wind."
I turned from him. "No one deserves such a state," I said to myself. Then I thought about what I nearly did earlier. I pulled out the flower. To my amazement, the flower was still as beautiful and as red as it was when I first saw it! Nothing had changed. It still had a sweet fragrance, and the soft petals were not damaged. One bit of color in this dismal world was all it needed. "Look!" I said in amazement as I showed the man the flower.
The man stared at it for a minute, his jaw dropped. Then with a trembling hand, he took it. As he held it, he smiled. Then he laughed, mirthfully, then joyfully, then insanely. I thought he could not stop laughing, and it kept getting stronger. Then his laughter turned to screaming. He pounded on the table with his fists, tried to knock out the light, then finally turned over the table. Then he sat in a corner and wept loudly. After some time, he grew quieter. And with a few gasping breaths, he turned to me again.
There were no tears down his face, no indication that he ever laughed at all. There was no color in his face or anywhere. As for the flower, it was gray. He dropped it, and it crumpled like a dead leaf. "Thank you," he said, but he sounded like he didn't mean it.
I turned and left, anger and grief stinging my eyes. There was nothing I could do.
(Please tell me what you think of this part. I plan on submitting it to a creative writing journal.)
Part I
It was a beautiful day.
My travels had led me to a lovely meadow. The climate couldn't have been more perfect. After traveling for so long, I had to sit down and rest. The grass was emerald green, and there were flowers of every color all around me. Unseen birds were singing. The cloud floated by without a care in the world. A butterfly with red and vibrant orange wings lighted on my hand. I smiled as I watched it flutter its wings and fly away.
I thought about sharpening my sword, but as I drew it I forgot as I watched a new phenomenon. As the blade glittered in the sun, it made tiny rainbows appear on my gi. The light had never been right for it to do something like that before.
I was happy. I almost forgot Aku existed.
When that happened, I knew it was time to leave. My quest must continue. But before I left, I had to take something to remind me of this place. It would not dishonor the earth to take one memento. It was so hard to choose. At last, I found one flower with a large stem, almost begging for me to take it. It had five petals, creating the shape of a star. It was a very vibrant red, and its fragrance was so sweet. It reminded me of home. I plucked it, and it still looked as beautiful as ever. It made me happy. I put it next to my heart.
How ironic was it that just past this beautiful country was one of the strangest lands I had ever seen! A very distinct line divided the path I was traveling. On my side were deep green grass and the sweet smell of flowers. On the other side was gray sand that seemed to extend everywhere. Beyond this border, there were no plants, no color, no life! There was no way around it. I took one step over and looked over to the other side. It was just as dismal as the land I now stood around me. What strange magic was this?
There was no color. My skin was just as white as my gi. The sky was not blue. Everything was black, white, or gray. I could hear no sound. This was a nightmare!
Finally, I saw something that broke the scenery. It was a tremendous sign that read "Untitled." Just beyond the sign was a city.
Every house in the city looked exactly the same--one door, two windows. They were all the same size, the same shape. Nothing was out of place. Then I heard the first sound in this strange world--a bell tolling, chilling my bones. Immediately, each door opened up and children walked out. Their were one boy and one girl from each household, each wearing conservative suits and orderly hairstyles. Their faces were tired and distant. In the streets, they organized themselves according to age, the youngest first and the oldest last. Then they marched in two rows on either side of me. The youngest one recited a strange riddle in the same, monotone voice:
"Mary had a little lamb. Its fleece was white as snow. And everywhere that Mary went The lamb was sure to go.
"It followed her to school one day Which was against the rule. It made the children laugh and play To see a lamb at school.
"And so the teacher turned him out, But still--"
I couldn't hear the rest. I tried to inquire what it meant and how they could talk of laughter so completely empty of joy. They recited on without even noticing I was there. As the older children came past, I heard their march. "2 times 1 is 2. 2 times 2 is 4. 2 times 3 is 6. 2 times 4 is 8. 2 times 5 is 10." So they continued.
Every age had its own march, and it all seemed to be on the rhythm with their march. The eldest children recited:
"To be or not to be that is the question. Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune Or--"
Yet they spoke it so dully, stressing every other syllable so that the poem lost its meaning. The children continued to march and disappeared into a single building. Then the land was quiet again.
As I neared the heart of the city, I heard music. It was a man playing a strange trumpet that hung down instead of extended out. The dark-skinned musician leaned against the pole. It was a melancholy song, so neatly laid out. Even note was the same length. When he stopped, I tossed a coin into his case. "That was very good," I told him.
"Nah, it ain't," he replied.
"Yes, it was."
"It's so square."
"Could you tell me, my friend, what has happened to the color here?"
He first looked at me like I had lost my mind.
"You know, it's like light. But it's not just black and white light; it's . . . different."
"Oh yeah. That takes me back." He stood for a while, reminiscing. Then he glared at me. "Don't you go bringing up the past like that!"
"But--"
"I'm not talkin' 'bout it no more!" He put his instrument in its case and stomped off.
Then I saw a young lady painting shapes on a canvas. "That's very thought provoking," I told her.
She shot me a very offended look. "That's not what I wanted! Not at all!" She angrily through her canvas down.
"You are an artist. Can you tell me what has happened to the color?"
"Color? What's that?"
"Surely you know. Red? Blue? Green? Yellow?" She looked at me with complete confusion. I had an idea. "Gold." I pointed to the diamonds on the hilt of my sword.
"It looks like white."
The curse had touched my sword? I drew it. The blade still sparkled. "Silver."
"That looks like gray."
"So it does," I said after inspection. "Have you not been outside this place?"
"Why?" Before I could answer, she walked away.
Everywhere I looked, there were miserable people. There was a poet reading aloud a poem, but it sounded monotone and made no sense. Across the street was a storyteller, but his story sounded like various, scientific observations. No one could explain why there was no color.
"I wonder," I said to myself. I reached for the flower near my heart.
"YOU! OUTSIDER! In here!" A somewhat tall man, balding with a bit of dark hair, and considerably rotund called to me. Perhaps he could tell me what happened that this place would have no color.
I followed him into a dark house. He led me downstairs and turned on an overhead light. All I could see in the room was a wooden table. I saw this man's face clearly for the first time. He looked familiar somehow.
"Who are you?" I asked.
"What do you mean?" the man sneered.
What else could I mean? "What is your name?"
"HA! We hate names. No one here has a name, not even you."
"How can that be so? Without names, one person is the same as the next."
"Exactly."
"That's cruel!"
"That's life."
I tried to think of how to respond, but he spoke first. "Why are you here?"
"There was no other place to go."
"Don't be funny. You can't have just come here out of your own free will."
"But I did."
"Nobody comes here out of free will. They know who we are, why we're here."
"Why are you here?"
"Because of who we were." He looked away. "A long, long time ago, I can still remember how the fire used to make me smile, and I knew if I had my chance I could make those people dance and maybe they'd be happy for a while." He said it in such a way that I didn't even realize it was poetry.
"What happened?"
"When we were young, we had a gift. We knew it. We could paint pictures, make music, dance dances, and tell stories. We made people smile, laugh, cry, or think. We could make our dreams come to life. We had a fire in our souls, put there by God or Prometheus or somebody. It warmed us, and it made us happy. But it was stolen from us."
"By--" I nearly said his name, but then remembered how they despised names here.
"That despot. He wanted us to use the fire for his purposes. We refused. There was nothing in him to make him great. So he took the fire out of us and put us here. This is more than just a land with no color. It's a place where we can not find the fire. We have all our materials and the desire to use them, but we can never express what we feel. And we can't leave. We'll die if we try, but death is much better than this."
"It must be hard for you."
"HARD?!? You don't know! What can I say? You look you're a warrior. What if I took your sword?" He grabbed for it, but I held it out of his reach and glared. "OK, you keep it. What if I took from you everything you know about being a warrior? All skill, strength, agility, and control were stripped from you. How would you feel?"
I stared him down. "I would be a much happier man."
"OK." He paused for a while. "Then what if I also took from you all that makes you a warrior in the first place? Gone is your thirst for justice, your desire for righteousness, your genuine compassion for people."
"NO! You can't take away my heart! That is who I am."
"You see now? That is how it is. He has taken from us who we are. Without the fire, we are less than human. All we are is dust in the wind."
I turned from him. "No one deserves such a state," I said to myself. Then I thought about what I nearly did earlier. I pulled out the flower. To my amazement, the flower was still as beautiful and as red as it was when I first saw it! Nothing had changed. It still had a sweet fragrance, and the soft petals were not damaged. One bit of color in this dismal world was all it needed. "Look!" I said in amazement as I showed the man the flower.
The man stared at it for a minute, his jaw dropped. Then with a trembling hand, he took it. As he held it, he smiled. Then he laughed, mirthfully, then joyfully, then insanely. I thought he could not stop laughing, and it kept getting stronger. Then his laughter turned to screaming. He pounded on the table with his fists, tried to knock out the light, then finally turned over the table. Then he sat in a corner and wept loudly. After some time, he grew quieter. And with a few gasping breaths, he turned to me again.
There were no tears down his face, no indication that he ever laughed at all. There was no color in his face or anywhere. As for the flower, it was gray. He dropped it, and it crumpled like a dead leaf. "Thank you," he said, but he sounded like he didn't mean it.
I turned and left, anger and grief stinging my eyes. There was nothing I could do.
(Please tell me what you think of this part. I plan on submitting it to a creative writing journal.)