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MagentaMage

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Master Dorje Rashomon, Part 1

Dorje Rashomon was born and raised in a village in the Himalayan mountains of Tsang. While his mother was a native of Tsang, his father was a foreigner from the Nippon Empire. Many people looked down on the product of a mixed marriage, making him an outcast. His parents both died of an illness when he was quite young, and none of the orphanages would take him. The only place he could turn was the Buddhist Monastery, where he was welcomed with open arms. The one there who made him feel the most welcome was Master Kal, who became a father figure to him.

Master Kal and his student Dorje, now fourteen years old, walked a short distance away from the monastery, toward the sand garden. Master Kal liked the sand garden better than any other spot on the monastery grounds. He could usually be found sitting here, in meditation, or occasionally taking a mid-afternoon nap.

“Do you know what the physical dimensions are?” Asked the master.

“Yes,” the student answered; “Length, width, height,” the student paused, “Oh, and time.”

“And?” Asked the master.

“And? I don’t understand.” said the student.

“There are more dimensions than those four.” The master sat on a bench at the edge of the sand garden and held his staff in front of him.

The student sat beside the master on the bench and listened.

The master drew a circle, a square and a triangle in the sand with his staff. “Have you heard of flatland?” Said the master, and the student nodded. “It is a book to teach math.” Said Dorje, proud he knew the answer. The masters have told him his worst trait was the pride he takes in his own accomplishments; but that is contradicted by their constant praise of his accomplishments.

“They live in only two dimensions, length, and width, like these shapes I have drawn in the sand. Yet, when they look at each other, they see each other from edge to edge. From their perspective, they see only a line; not a shape at all. They can see that the line might go away from them, towards them, or curve at the edges, and from that, they can conceive of the full two-dimensional nature of their friends, but they can only see the one-dimensional line.”

“We live in a three-dimensional world; our eyes can only see flat images of what is in front of us. You can see me sitting here, but you cannot see my back, or my sides, or my internal organs. You cannot see all of my three dimensions, but you can conceive of them.”

The master picked up a stone, and tossed it on the sand, among the shapes he drew there. “If a three-dimensional object were to enter flatland, what would the shapes there see? What would they conceive of? If it was a sphere, they would see a small dot appear out of nowhere, seemingly grow larger, reach a maximum size, shrink back to a dot and disappear as the sphere passes through to the other side. The flatlanders have no concept of “sphere”, so to them, they saw a miraculous circle appear, grow, then shrink, and then disappear right before their eyes.

From the sphere’s perspective, no such miracle occurred; he was just passing through, and remained his same size and shape over the whole trip.”

“Now take a look at the flatlanders again; how would they know that they are flat shapes; just squares, circles, and triangles? Couldn’t they be cubes, spheres, and pyramids? Cylinders, cones, and prisms? They can only perceive what they can perceive, so they assume reality is nothing more than the limit of their perceptions.

Now to our world; we are more than what we see. We extend far beyond our length, width, and height. Every individual, every tree, every stone, all extend into higher dimensions in ways we cannot see with our eyes, but an enlightened one can conceive of.”

“Picture a hand, like this-” he took his hand, and placed the tips of his fingers in the Flatland. “They don’t see one hand. They don’t even see the fingers. They see many small curved lines, and from that can conceive of many small oval shapes. All separate things, not simply one thing. Do you understand?”

“Yes Master,” said Dorje. “They understand the group of flat ovals only, not how those ovals extend up to form fingers, those fingers join to form a hand and an arm. That arm, along with the other arm, legs, and every other part of the body join to form one complete person.”

“Yes, but not quite.” said the master. “One person, but not complete. Just as the flatlanders stop at the limits of their perception, you stopped at the limits of yours. We may perceive of ourselves as individuals, like the fingers, but we are all connected at higher planes of existence, just as the fingers connect to form a palm. We think of ourselves as separate, but we are all one being that is not aware that we are more than we can perceive.”

He picked up the rock he placed in flatland. “You and I are part of a whole. We and this rock are part of a whole. Everyone and everything are all part of one whole.”

The master was interrupted by a loud noise. In the distance, coming from the monastery, they heard screaming and clashing of metal. They headed up the path towards the monastery.

There were soldiers, wielding both swords and guns, attacking the monks and masters. The Master turned to his pupil and shouted “run! hide!” but it was too late. The soldiers grabbed both of them. They took the master and pushed him down to his knees. The master looked like he was trying to remain calm and focused, but could not keep up the charade. He was crying, and screamed as the solder took the first whack at his neck with his sword. He did not sever the old man’s spine fully with one cut. The first stroke silenced his screams, but it took a second one for his head to separate from his body and fall to the ground. Dorje was forced to watch every bit of it, as another soldier held his arms behind his back with one hand, and held his eyelids open with the other.

The soldier who held Dorje whispered in his ear, “I’m going to have fun with you,” then he licked his ear. He then dragged Dorje around to the side of the monastery. The soldier ripped the boy’s robe from his trembling body, and tossed him, naked and shaking, onto the dirt.

The soldier then unbuckled and pulled down his own pants. He attempted to rape the boy, but Dorje struggled and tried to crawl away. He would squirm, and re-position himself to make rape difficult if not impossible.

“Stop that!” Said the soldier. “I can make you lie still!” While standing firmly on one of Dorje’s feet, the soldier grabbed his sword and a torch. He chopped off each of Dorje’s arms. Dorje’s thin arms were not like his master’s tough neck; it only took one clean stroke to separate each one. Dorje screamed at the top of his lungs the whole time, but the screaming from all of his brothers in other parts of the monastery drowned out his own. He then put the torch to the stumps, burning the flesh so the boy would not bleed out and die too soon. The soldier chopped off his legs and burnt their stumps as well, while being careful not to harm the genitals and anus. The pain Dorje felt was so extreme it was like lightening exploding in his head. He passed out from the pain and remained unconscious while the soldier repeatedly violated him, leaving his anus raw and bloody.

When the soldier was done using Dorje, he dragged the dismembered body and its severed limbs to the front of the monastery and hunted for more victims.

In the center of the monastery was a large, open prayer room, with a two-story tall wooden statue of the Buddha, painted in gold and saffron. It was a room meant for quiet reflection, now it is a mass grave. The soldiers piled the corpses of the monks up in the center of the room. Then they set fire to the Buddha. The soldiers tossed Dorje’s limbless form on the pile with the rest, believing him to be dead. This monastery housed ten monks and four masters; now thirteen corpses, and Dorje.

He woke up gasping over the stench of blood and fecal matter, face down in the pile of his dead brothers. They were young men he had grown up with for the past fifteen years and the wise teachers who had been like fathers to them. Now they were just piles of meat, and he woke up as a part of that pile.

“I am more than I can perceive.” Dorje concentrated, fighting against the pain. “I am more than I can perceive.” He repeated it to himself like a mantra. Even though the soldier cauterized his stumps, he was still oozing blood. He focused all of his attention on the open blood vessels, spilling out onto the pile of corpses beneath him. He used what he had learned about the power of the mind over the body to close off the blood vessels and stop the bleeding. He managed to do so, but it took some time and he exhausted his energy. He needed to sleep, but he knew he could not; without his concentration, his bleeding could resume.

Dorje arched his back and started to roll over, to face upwards. After three tries he accomplished it. There were some corpses lying on top of him, but his face was clear. He could see that the soldiers were gone, from this room at least. He tried to focus on his hearing, while not losing control of his bleeding. He could hear them still rummaging about, perhaps stealing what they could. This monastery had no gold, no jewels, no treasures beyond some ornate woodwork and some illuminated Sutra scrolls. While priceless, they are not the kind of things soldiers would care about. The only things the soldiers might have considered worth stealing was the food in the pantry.

Dorje was adept at his Chi studies. He could concentrate on a leaf falling from a tree, and direct its path. He would make a series of leaves fall into a pattern on the ground. Some other students could do that as well, and make them into a rough circle or square, but only Dorje could place them in complex shapes like spelling out his name. While this was no easy feat, he was just moving something already in motion, and going with gravity not against it. He had never truly levitated himself before, but he had lifted himself slightly, so his body was applying less pressure on the soles of his feet.

This was different since now it was life or death. That is an extremely effective motivator to achieve previously unobtainable goals. Without arms and legs, levitation was the only way he will be able to get out of the monastery before it burns down. He concentrated and concentrated. He fought through the physical pain, he fought through the sadness, he fought through the anger. He imagined arms and legs where none are now, just as they were before. “Phantom Limbs” he remembered that they were called. He forced himself to believe those limbs were real, and he could use them to stand up, and walk out of the monastery. Believing is everything, because one’s beliefs shape reality. The light was starting to dim, and the sun was beginning to set. The main source of light in the room was the fire coming from the statue of the great teacher. He spent so many years gazing on that magnificent form as if simply looking at the carved wood would give him enlightenment. Yet now, the paint was curling up and flaking off in cinders, exposing it as an illusion. It was nothing more than some dead trees bound together, carved and painted.

Dorje realized from where he was lying in the pile, he should not be able to see the statue the way he was seeing it now. He was standing up, to one side of the pile of bodies, facing the flaming idol.

With that realization, he fell to the ground. He fell on his side, looking at the pile of corpses and severed limbs. There was a severed arm on the pile, hanging down, its hand right near his face. He recognized it as his own arm, his own hand. He was horrified, but he knew to stifle his screams, just in case any soldiers still lingered.

The fire had reached the ceiling beams, and one of them crashed down, exposing the room to the sky. Luckily, it had started to rain, and the rain slowed the progress of the fire.

Dorje’s motivation intensified, now that levitation was not just faith; he knew he could do it because he just did it. He focused, and he lifted himself from the ground. He headed towards the side gate, the opposite side of the building from the road where the soldiers would have entered and exited. He passed a wardrobe closet, and with his phantom arms he opened the closet, grabbed a long saffron robe and sash, and put them on. It was a master’s robe. The student’s robes were shorter, with shorter sleeves. He needed the robe to cover where his arms and legs would have been. He headed to the southwest. He knew that if this was not an isolated incident, then the Dali Lama would have fled to Hindustan.

He reached a small isolated mountain village. The village had a noodle house. The sign above the door said, “Rainbow Noodles”. It had lights on inside, and he could hear talking, so he entered. He made his robe undulate as if knees were moving it as he “walked”. The sleeves of his robe hung long, beyond where his hands would have been visible.

He sat at the counter. An old woman approached him and looked at him with compassion as if she knew what he had just gone through.

“Monks need not pay. Monks eat free.” She said and brought him a cup of tea, and two bowls; one of plain rice, and one of a vegetable and noodle soup. Dorje was very hungry so he ate ravenously.

They had a radio. It was playing music, which was interrupted for a news announcement. “The Zhonghua Government is pleased to announce that the former nation of Tsang was ‘peacefully liberated’ and was now part of the People’s Republic of Zhonghua. They ask all the people of Zhonghua to welcome their new fellow citizens by helping them report to government offices for documentation.”

The old woman refilled his cup of tea and ladled more soup into his bowl. “I am just a Gui-Po. You have nothing to fear from me.” She gave him a smile and a slight bow of her head. Then he noticed that the old woman did not appear completely solid; she was slightly translucent. He could see objects behind her.

Dorje ate his soup and drank his tea. He felt someone was looking at him. He looked up and turned; sitting at the counter a few meters away was a woman also dressed in an orange robe; but she was not a Buddhist monk, she was a Hindu guru. She looked out of place in this Tsangan mountain village for even more than that. While head shaving was commonplace, she also had no eyebrows or eyelashes. And her skin was completely blue. Bright blue skin and intense purple eyes, as bright as her orange robes. Her elbows were resting on the counter, and her chin resting in her hands. Then two more hands came from the folds of her robe. One stirred her tea, and the other brought a spoonful of soup up to her lips.

She smiled and bowed her head slightly.

The guru said, “You are more than you can perceive”, and she did so without moving her lips. “We are fingers of the same hand. Would you like to join the palm?”

Dorje smiled and nodded.

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title: It was “Abomination”, then “Strange Flesh”, now I’m not sure. This excerpt is the backstory of one character.

genre: Supernatural/Fantasy/Conspiracy with diverse and LGBT characters.

age range: Teen and Young Adult to Adult. Has sex scenes.

word count: this excerpt is 2,764 words. The whole book is 90,700 words, but I could break it into a trilogy.

author name: My real name is Nick Lilavois, but I think I will use the pseudonym Kaivi Collins.

I think I want to provide the other info if you pick me, since I am not sure of some of some of the answers.

hometown: The lesser part of the Greater Orlando area.

age (optional): If only aging was optional. It’s not, so I am 53.

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Ernesto, the Truthmaker.

Ernesto turned seven years old Thursday. They had a party two days later, on Saturday, but it was small; just his family, and his three friends. His mother said she didn't want to clean up after a whole house full of children. She did make him a cake though, from scratch.

The reason why his mother decided to have the party on Saturday was so his father could be there. Ernesto's father was very tall. Ernesto didn't really know much about his father. He worked long hours and usually came home from work after Ernesto had to go to bed. He only saw his father on the weekends, and they didn't really talk much, except over the dinner table. His father worked at the hospital. Ernesto didn't know exactly what his father did, except that he wore a long white coat, but he was not a doctor. He didn't wear scrubs under the coat like doctors do, he wore a business suit, complete with a tie. Usually red ties, but sometimes blue. That was pretty much all he knew about his father.

His brother is 19, his sister is 16. There is a large age gap between them and Ernesto. His brother attended college and lived in the dorms, but he came home every weekend. The basement was his bedroom and he retained ownership of it after he moved out, despite his sister's desire to take residence there. He and his sister had the two bedrooms on the second floor, and the entire third floor was his parent's room.

Today was Sunday, and first thing in the morning his family gets dressed up to go to the church. Ernesto liked to get dressed up in a suit and tie. It made him feel like his father. He didn't like church much, though. It was just a lady standing there, talking. Like school, but even more boring. He often fell asleep, but that was OK. Usually, his mom didn't wake him up till it was time to go.

After church, they would have breakfast together. Then his older brother and sister would have their own things to do on a Sunday, while Ernesto played alone in his room. In the evening they would all have dinner together. Sunday dinner was special in Ernesto's house because the whole family was together.

Ernesto came down the stairs when he heard his brother and sister come in the front door. They all sat down at the dining room table. His father led them all in prayer, and then his mother began to serve everyone. It was meatloaf, macaroni and cheese, and three bean salad.

His father turned to his sister and asked, "so, how was school this week?" That was his main duty as a father, to ask each of us how our week was going.

His sister said, "Fine. Nothing special, nothing good, nothing bad, just the same thing, different day."

His father must have considered that answer sufficient, or didn't really care since he turned to his eldest and asked, "How about you, how is my big college man doing?"

Ernesto's brother was already eating, so he swallowed, and said, "OK, I guess."

He then turned his attention to Ernesto. "And how has my little man been?"

Ernesto sat quietly, looking down. His mother reached over, held his chin, and tilted his head up. He looked him in the eyes and said, "Your father is talking to you. You must always answer your father when he asks you a question, even though he is not your real father."

Everyone at the table sat quiet and looked at Ernesto's mother. Ernesto's mother remained looking intently at Ernesto.

"Before you were conceived, your father and I had a big fight. I stormed out of the house, upset, ran to my car, and drove into town."

"I remember that night." Ernesto's father said, with a quiver in his voice. "You stayed at your sister Amanda's house that night."

"I visited a bar." His mother continued, with a blank expression on her face. "I had never been in a bar before. I had never drunk anything stronger than wine. I walked in, and ordered a Cosmopolitan, because that was what sophisticated ladies drink on shows, and right then I didn't want to be me. I didn't want my life. I wanted to be her. I wanted to be a classy, independent woman. As I drank the Cosmo, my goal for the night lowered, from sophisticated to horny."

The rest of the family was visibly uncomfortable. Everyone stopped eating. Ernesto's mother continued, almost in a trance. "A young man approached me. He was tall, handsome, and strong. He had lush golden blond hair in long curly ringlets that reached his shoulders. His lavender eyes were hypnotic. He had an unusual blended European accent and looked like he could have burst right from the cover of a romance novel. I was positive a man like that didn't spend much time in church. That was the kind of man I wanted that night."

"The bar was attached to a hotel. I didn't realize that when I first pulled up to the place, I just saw the neon sign that said 'bar'. He led me up to a room. I followed him. While I walked up those stairs and down the hall, I thought about my life, my husband, my two children, and my commitment to my marriage and family before the gods."

"He opened the door to the room. I looked inside, it was small. there was nothing but a bed, and a bathroom. I froze in the hallway. I told him I changed my mind. I could not go through with this and told him I was sorry. As I tried to leave he grabbed my arm and kissed me. I had never felt anything like that kiss before or since. He tossed me on the bed, held me down, ripped off my clothes, and ravished me. His touch was electric. It was the most incredible sexual experience I had ever had even though it was against my will. When he was done, he walked out of the room. I have never felt so conflicted in my life. I wanted this to happen, and then I did not, he proceeded anyway, and it was fantastic."

"I felt I betrayed all of you, but it was the first time I ever felt truly alive. I cried over what he had done, and over what I had done, then I put my clothes back on and drove to your aunt Amanda's. I came back home in the morning."

"After a month had gone by, I realized I missed my period. I took a pregnancy test, and it read positive. I already had sex with your father a number of times that month, so I hoped, and prayed, that the child would be his. Then you were born. As soon as I saw you, with a head of golden blond hair and striking lavender eyes, I knew who your father was."

Everyone was silent for an indeterminate amount of time.

Ernesto's father spoke. "Why didn't you tell me? Its been seven years, why not tell me?"

Ernesto's sister interrupted. "Did you report it to the police?"

"No." His mother said, turning slightly towards his sister. "I thought that since I did go to the bar, and I did follow him to the room, and I didn't fight back, that they would not call it rape. I'm not so sure it was rape. And I didn't want everyone to know what happened, or my role in it. I just wanted it to go away." She tilted her head downwards. "But of course it didn't go away."

Ernesto's lip was quivering. He was too young to understand most of what his mother was saying, but he understood that he was a mistake and that she didn't want him to be born.

Ernesto's father's voice was now raised. "Why the hell weren't you honest with me?"

His mother's voice trembled as she now looked at her husband. "On some level I thought you knew. He is blond after all, so how did you think that happened? Also, I just did not want to deal with it. I wanted to pretend it never happened. I wanted to..."

Ernesto said, in a quiet voice "you wanted me to go away."

His mother cried. She leaped up from the table and ran upstairs. Ernesto's father stood up and stomped up the stairs after her.

"So, no desert then?" His brother said. His sister slapped him, and then began clearing the table. "Its not my fault all this shit happened," he said. Ernesto's sister took the dirty plates to the kitchen, came back with a roll of plastic wrap, and covered the food in the serving dishes. As his sister grabbed the bowl of macaroni, his brother grabbed it back and said, "Don't take that, I'm not done eating."

Ernesto just sat there. Looking down.

Ernesto's brother attempted to be consoling. "Hey, little guy. Its OK. You know mom and dad love you, right? This doesn't change that."

Ernesto tilted his head up and looked at his brother.

"It is usually for the best that these things come out. The truth can hurt, but its important. It is good to know this stuff." He said. "Like my roommate at college; last week while I was asleep, he pulled down my sheets and started sucking my dick. Except, I was not really asleep. I didn't stop him because I liked it. I mean I really liked it. He was a hell of a lot better than any girl I've been with. He didn't finish me off, though, because, you know, he thought I was asleep and didn't want to wake me up."

Ernesto just stared at him blankly.

"I'm gonna call him right now. I'm going to tell him he can suck me off whenever he wants. If that makes me gay, then fuck it, I'm gay." Ernesto's brother took out his phone, and looked at it, and paused. He no longer maintained eye contact with his brother. He didn't call anyone. He just stared blankly at the black screen.

"Um, I'm going to my room." He said, and left the table, and headed to the basement.