Pippin Periwinkle Plethora Eidolon Kurtpatrick Johannes Evangelista Francisco, Fortunately the First, Hopefully the last

Pippin Periwinkle Plethora Eidolon Kurtpatrick Johannes Evangelista Francisco, Fortunately the First, Hopefully the last.

Chapter 1 - Words *sigh*

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This was a world where people barely spoke, a silent place save for the noises that arose from the surroundings. There were times when people spoke, but it was once in a blue moon, literally. Even so, people guarded their tongues as though it was the last thing they'd do. Everything was like this ever since a time we called "The Wording" which happened five years ago. It was an event that gave words power beyond reckoning. The long and short of it was that I lived in a world where names were powerful and the wrong word uttered could kill.

The written word, due to one of the strange rules of “The Wording” had no power if put down in ink. If carved or even put down with something as bizarre as urine, the words jumped right out at you, if of course, you wrote down something with life. Books written and printed were quite common in this world of ours where speaking is the exception rather than the norm.

I failed to mention, names held sway of destinies in this oh-so-wonderful world. A nasty side-effect of having words bear great power; it sounded good until I was born. Because of this great power that names had over our lives, precautions were taken. An artifact called the “Naming Stone” was rooted from some deep basement somewhere in the world, and in all actuality, it was more a piece of unknown material with a glass screen on it. There was only one thing there if a naming ceremony wasn’t in progress “Lahveetyouranus’s Senseless Name Random Generator.”

Village elders claimed that it was an artifact from a long-lost time where people laughed and talked and had not a care in the world. They didn’t know what a “Generator” was and neither did we, so we just dismissed that for random text. They also said that they were the ones that built the towering stones with glass and metal in the distance, but those things have been abandoned for as long as anyone can remember. The Mayor’s great, great, great, great, great grandfather’s great, great grandmother’s sister’s aunt’s second cousin’s lover’s sister in-law’s mother’s ex-husband didn’t even see anyone living in those streets, nor did his ancestors before him.

One shouldn’t underestimate the power of the name. My mother’s name was Taylor Clowth Bolt. Her line of work was tailoring, everything from rugs, carpets, wall hangings to gowns and the like! She’s the best in twenty leagues.

If that wasn’t enough, my father’s name was Wyatt von Lumin Essens. He served the town by pioneering in anything to do with lights and making them. Should events call for it, he would even work with fireworks to light up the night sky. He came up with something that revolutionized our small town and put it on the map. He called it:

Bulbous
Uncluttered
Luminescent
Ball

Our family, like many others at the time didn’t have a defining family name. We were just distinguished by a wristband with a number of symbols that applied to our family and ours alone.

My name? My moniker was Pip, having been one of those endowed with a strange name, it was difficult fitting in. The story went that the naming stone supposedly flunked out on the day of my birth. Frankly, no one had a logical explanation of how things turned out as they did. The Naming Stone was known those days for having lots of problems, but my case was unique in its strangeness. My full name, according to the Naming Stone was Pippin Periwinkle Plethora Eidolon Kurtpatrick Johannes Evangelista Francisco. People were doubtful about the Naming Stone going awry, but the sound of my full name made them think otherwise.

I wasn’t without friends though, strange as my name was, and apparently, my destiny unless things changed. Some of them had strange names too, but none as strange as mine. One was named Mat Tepaneos Hehded, that wasn’t the strange part. What was strange was the way his initials were laid out “M.T. Hehded.” Point is, I was not alone.

I wanted to fit in and just chill, but in a world where your name meant everything, mine made life a cesspool. Oh sure, I lead an okay life for some time, normal and happy, but then reality sank in and I was left with a wanting for normality.

Being such a strange person actually had its perks, one was that you got away from a lot of things, school included. “School” was more of a practical demonstration of how to do this job and that based on your name since speaking or writing was potentially deadly. Secondly, people stopped paying attention sometime or another to what you did and when you do something wrong, you took the blunt edge of the axe called blame. Sneaking out was another of the perks; you were, after all, barely noticed except by family.

Lastly, you got more free time on your hands than you would know what to do with. It was a good thing, trust me. Because of that, I found the big tree with the world concrete etched into it in the “Concrete Jungle”.

The Concrete Jungle was a massive forest made of nothing but living stone. Only trees flourished though, and the forest floor was flat as a plank’s face. The trees bloomed and set seed, the flowers were made of brilliantly colored stone; the trees though, were stark gray. The tale behind the Concrete Jungle was that a deranged man etched the word ‘Concrete’ onto the trunk of the biggest, healthiest tree in the forest and then, everything turned to stone, simple as that.

Finding the tree was one of my small adventures in the Concrete Jungle; I had bigger adventures, though those could be called misadventures. As if having a weird name back then wasn’t trouble enough, I was like a magnet for the unfortunate. My twisted strokes of luck quickly turned my happiest moments into swear-drenched and agonizing flights for my life. That was in the best of situations, but even then, things had the knack for turning worse.

Well, here’s how it went. My friends and I once found a book in the forest. It couldn’t have been there more than five years since that was when The Wording occurred, and it described that, but it had a look of more years on it. It illustrated how to dispel the effects of The Wording and allow freedom of speech. Even though my friends and I had no need of this freedom, since we had a way of talking through sign language, we tried it out. Mark my words, it was a bizarre ritual.

It had us holding as stance for as long as we wanted to render The Wording’s power over words ineffective. Our left knees were raised from the ground and we bent over so that our chests touched our knees and our left hands were upon the smalls of our backs and our right hands were pinching the bridge of our noses all while squinting like madmen.

It truly was a bizarre ritual, though it was effective against the power of words. We managed to converse softly, while holding that position but we still guarded our words. Just as my luck would have it, disaster wasn’t far from our midst.

Faust Eryor, one of my more dimwitted friends, broke the stance mid-sentence. Worse yet, he did it in the middle of one of his random and oddly myth-related rants. He said “Imagine facing the--” and put down his foot before continuing.

“No!” I managed to shout but I was too late.

He continued his sentence “—the Minotaur like this” before he shot me a puzzled glance. When nothing happened, I almost let go a relieved sigh. I grimaced when I suddenly heard a crash somewhere nearby.