lørdag 9. juli 2016

Bottleman and the Crow

Time has passed like years of sand in an hourglass flowing without an end. It was for Ewan like any other day and he expected nothing more and nothing less.

His friendship with  Judith still lasted and they talked whenever she wanted to talk. Ewan knew that the damage had been done and that he needed to repair it from the friendship but his feelngs for her never died and he would still protect her if she needed him. He knew in his heart, the bottle was his destruction and his downfall and that in order to see and talk to Judith she needed to be ready for it.

He also knew if he was Judith he would have done the same to Ewan, since a man like that deserved the punishment even if it would last an eternity. Since it was never a good thing to shame a girl infront of people and make her fall down from her throne into an empire of ash and dirt.

When that is said Ewan liked roaming in the dirt and ashes. Whenever he saw a dumpster and smelled the fresh air of it and looked for clues and bottles he felt alive, when he knew it was like an emptyness eating everything inside until he was nothing but bone and flesh rotten away in the deep forgotten woods of the eternal damnation where people are to afriad to go and where men and woman loose their grip of reality becoming a void of their previous self, wandering in the valley of lost souls waiting to be found by themselves or a distant traveller.

He walked and saw the shadows of his town, wondering what lead him here until he saw an injured crow in the streets. The crow spoke to him and said "help me i am injured and if you help me up I will tell all my friends about you and help you in your journey" so this young man walked to him and flopped with his hands like wings on a bird flying in the sky with his black wings and all seeing eyes, like the Great architect of the Universe showing its way. By a miracle it happened and the crow flew and ever since it g\has protected him and whenever he is the crow follows him.

Written by Emil Ziaie, author of the Bottleman series

torsdag 7. juli 2016

The Misadventures of the Bottleman: The Origin story

There was once a man. He had a poor childhood and was left alone from an early age, his father was a special agent and a gambler and his mother took care of him all his life.

This man was never content in life, he was never accepted. He tried to be apart of the gangs of social structure when he was young, but ended in the wrong crowds or ending up exiled. This guy was never popular, never interested in anything.

He was smart and good grades but still struggled to get friends. So when he was older he worked out in order to fit in but never fit in at all. It was all a struggle, when this young man looked back to the days of his youth when he was collecting fossiles by the beach. Cracking stones like a boss of his own head, all alone cracking stones like the neantherthal who he knew in his head by science was cannibals but he was totally cannibilizing the stones in order to his fossiles. He collected theem in his lair, until one day they where thrown away and apart of him was gone.

Then the years pasts, he lost more and more of himself. He became a ghost of his former self. He was walking his own shadow, a hollow man until he one day found a bottle. It was like a light woke up in him and he never gave up. He searched for more and more bottles to get rid of the emptyness inside hm and to be loved by something, but you cannot be loved by a bottle it will give you one kroner and it will not last for long. You can save it and become rich, but no money in the world can buy lost love.

It can ruin chances with someone you like. The bottleman didnt know this until one day he asked a girl out, they went out and he choose the bottle and then just like before he was alone again this time filled with regret and sadness he picked the bottle instead of love and it will haunt him everyday and every night.

This man was named Ewan and the girl he was out with was called Judith. He has lost his Judith forever and now he was sorrounded by his bottles once more, not drunk, not drugged only with lots of one kroner bottles he needed to take to the store where his regret would follow him and he would cling to the lost memories of his lost youth.

Written by Emil Ziaie