Hoang Tran

Work was not well in the past one hundred years. As science advanced and reason took grasp of Europe and America, the demands for Hansel and Gretel’s services decreased. They were now ridiculed and threatened with legal repercussions if they continued with the business of witch hunting. When the twentieth century started, Hansel and Gretel officially closed shop. Hansel was most disappointed. Gretel just shrugged. They were good at hunting witches and even better at executing the brides of the devils. On the occasions when Gretel allowed Hansel to drink with her, he would reminisce about their adventures during the Inquisition or laugh at the amateurs of the Salem Witch fiasco. He was embarrassed at those unproven witch hunters who killed so many innocents. They didn’t have the hundreds of years of experience like Hansel and Gretel.

“They tarnished the witch hunting profession,” Hansel would say after drinking one too many ale, “Remember how we did it, sis?”

“Yes”

“We wouldn’t use that stupid…what was that stupid method they use?”

“Weighing the witches against a feather.”

“Yes! Weighing witches. As if their powers are hidden in their weight. Rubbish! And besides, we used real angel feathers.”

After closing shop in Germany, the siblings looked for new means of employment. Hansel suggested working in South Africa, where witches were still widespread but Gretel said they were no real threat. Then he suggested working as exorcists, but Gretel said it was too messy.

“What about hunting those voodoo doctors in America? They’re still witches right?”

“Yes. But they’re still people and hunting people is against the law now.”

Gretel then suggested that they live a normal, simple life. She was tired of the mess, the blood, and the encounters with the demons.

“The stress ruins my complexion.”

At a crux in their immortal life, the siblings decided to leave Germany and headed to New York. They were rich but the money dwindled quickly as Hansel, without a purpose, took to drinking and women. Much to Gretel’s ire, they took the odd jobs to support themselves, moving from a mansion to a small house then to a large apartment, and, eventually, to a tiny two bedroom apartment atop a bowling alley in New York City.

Hansel enlisted in the army during the two World Wars, telling Gretel that he felt compelled to combat oppressors of freedom. Secretly, he hoped to find witches. He fought in Normandy, violated Germany, liberated the concentration camps, and punched a statue of Hitler in the face. But he did not find any witches.

They had to adjust to technology, civil moments, social unrest, hippies (which Hansel though were witches until Gretel slapped him), and pop music. Gretel adjusted very easily to the new life. She enjoyed the new privileges women had in the modern society. She started many relationships, but due to her lasting youth, they were never permanent.

“I hate being immortal and always young. Why can’t I grow old with my beloved?”

Hansel just shook his head and drank from his ale.

Eventually, the siblings became accustomed to their rudimentary lives. Gretel moved out with her current boyfriend, a chemist. Hansel went to college to get a degree in engineering. He dropped the major because it was too difficult and became an accountant instead.

He joined a local witch hunting club which constituted of them reminiscing about busting teenagers who got high. However, they looked to Hansel as a hero, even though none of them believed his stories of fighting Grigori Rasputin or Baba Yaga.

Hansel never told Gretel about the club, partially because he was embarrassed and partially because she would yell at him. Regardless, he continued to go out of boredom.

Gretel moved back in after she discovered that chemistry was much like alchemy, which was similar to sorcery. She set up a shop, selling witch trinkets and books on witchcraft. When Hansel asked why she opened a place endorsing witches, Gretel told him that it made her laugh. Then she told him to shut up.

As the new millennium approached, the witch-hunting club became restless. They were eager to see witches, believing that once the clock hits midnight, the gates of Hell will open. Their enthusiasm consumed everyone, including Hansel.

He decided to gather his tools in preparation.

“In order to be a proper witch hunter, we need proper supplies.”

With a few short words, Hansel convinced Rob, a very wealthy and gullible member of the club, to finance Hansel’s trips. He traveled to the lost continent of Atlantis and visited Michael, the archangel, who was now living with Eve, the first mother.

“What do you want, Hansel?” Michael asked.

“The new millennium is coming, Mike.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“You don’t care about the new millennium?”

“Should I?”

“Well, can I have some of your feathers?

After several hours of cajoling Michael and bribing Eve with chocolate, Hansel was finally given four feathers from the angel’s wings. He then went to Jerusalem and traded a lock of hair from an elf maiden for a vial of tears shed by Gabriel. Afterwards, he took a trip to Rome and borrowed Raguel’s spear. And finally, he went to Iceland and battled a dragon, killing it for its fire glands.

He returned on the morning of New Years’ Eve, excited for the first time in a century. He told Gretel of his plans.

“You watch. We’ll be needed when Lucifer and his whores open the gates and rape and pillage. We’ll be heroes again.”

“We?”

“You’re not going to join me?”

“I can’t. I have to go to a party.”

They exchanged words and Hansel was kicked out of his apartment. He decided to stay with Rob until after New Years, when Gretel would be calm and reasonable. Women.

Rob was bewildered and amazed by all the things he brought back, touching it, scrutinizing it.

“Be careful with the spear. It can cut through atoms! And don’t touch the fire glands. They may be dry, but if you press hard on them, they’ll burn the place down.”

Hours before midnight, they gathered on the roof. It was a calm night, full of the friction of a year ending. Hansel polished his shoes, his silver spikes, his cross, his bible in preparation.

“Anybody else coming?”

“There should be a large group.”

Two members of the club showed up and then promptly left. No one else came. Hansel didn’t mind. He was not used to large crowds when doing business.

An hour before midnight. He opened his duffel bag, and pulled out the four feathers.

“What are they for?”

“You’ll see.”

Hansel set them on the ground, blessed them, and then lined them according to the cardinal directions. Then he waited.

Forty minutes. Thirty minutes. Twenty. Ten. Five. Midnight.  Happy New Years. Nothing. Five minutes passed. Then ten. Then twenty. Thirty. Rob looked at his watch.

“Maybe they have trouble opening the gates?”

An hour passed. Then two. Rob fell asleep. Hansel grumbled. Then the feather facing west twitched. It trembled. Then it floated, dancing in the air. Rob stared.

“Come along, it’ll lead us.”

Hansel grabbed the feather as it guided them out the apartment and westward to an apartment in Brooklyn. They entered the lobby but Rob was too afraid to go further. Hansel smirked. Amateurs.

He climbed the stairs until he reached the door to the roof. The feather dissolved in his hands. Clenching the spear, he opened the door as quietly as possible. It creaked loudly. He grimaced and, with a shrug, lunged through to door, spear thrusting in the air.

“Vile witch! Have at thee!”

Nobody. Hansel looked around furiously, suspicious. Nobody. He screamed, throwing the spear down. What a fool he was. In a black depression and too embarrassed to return to Rob, he took out his cell phone to call his sister. As he does, he noticed a bundled wrapped in a blanket on a corner. Hansel inspected it. Then he vomited.

A laugh teased him as he purged his stomach. Hansel looked up to the laughter. His heart broke.

Gretel stood before him, her hands covered in blood. She held the spear.

“I never thought you’ll actually go witch hunting like an idiot on New Years.”

“Gretel? What are you doing?”

“How did you think we’ve lasted so long, dummy?”

“I thought it was the food the witch forced us to eat…”

“Idiot.”

“But why?”

“To keep us alive.”

She pointed the spear at him.

“But you had to screw it all up.”

She stabbed him, piercing his lung. He threw the vial of tears on her, scolding her face. The he rubbed the fire glands, causing a stream of fire to engulf Gretel. She shrugged it off.

“Bastard! Why did you have to do this? Life was getting simple now!”

Hansel coughed blood as Gretel’s face melted. She pulled the spear from his chest and raised it, aiming for his heart. He closed his eyes as a bullet ripped through the air. Hansel saw Gretel’s head explode from one side. Then her lifeless body fell beside him. Rob stood before him, holding a gun. He dropped the gun, trembling.

“You brought a gun?” Hansel asked.

“It worked, didn’t it?”

The last thing Hansel remembered, before passing out, was Rob calling the paramedics.

He woke up with a portion of his lung missing. Hansel was exonerated from any crimes because the blood from the bundle matched the blood on Gretel. After recovery, Rob visited Hansel. He had a gift for Hansel: the spear, empty vial, and withered dragon glands. The witch hunter examined it and handed them back to Rob.

“No more hunting. I just want a simple life now.”

Another day, another excerpt. This is from a short I’m writing but blanking out on. It’s getting fun to write, when I have the time. The above picture is illustrated by Adam Hughes. He’s a talented artist. The story is heavily influenced by Neil Gaiman’s anthropomorphization of Death. Anyways, here’s the short excerpt from What Happened After:

“At seven years old, I already knew she was aching beautiful. She was also older than I. Much older. We met at a family reunion, but she wasn’t related to me. I don’t think she has any relations. The reunion was very large, so much so that we had to rent out an entire park for the day. We had name tags. Mine was “Hello, my name is Arthur.”

She came slowly amidst the commotion of my gorged extended family. Nobody noticed her. No one noticed that extreme beauty walking casually among the four generations that compromised my generational tree. No one except me. It was when I saw her that my uncle, “Hello, my name is Neil”, started coughing up blood. His large boat like body couldn’t take the strain of being overtly bovine and his heart exploded. She came to greet him. She looked at me, surprised that I saw her. Smiled. Then she left. My own heart exploded. That moment, at seven years old, watching her take away my uncle, I knew I was hers. We were always hers….

After the family reunion, I met her again when I was a soldier. Like every war, it did not go well. Even when my side was winning. I was shot. The doctor told me I was dead for three minutes. I lost more blood than a living person should. He laughed, claiming that it was a miracle, as doctors are wont to do when they fail at explaining their failures. It was her fragrance that signaled her arrival. She didn’t smell like acetone, embalmment fluid, or gangrene flesh. Her fragrance was like snow upon a clear winter evening of brilliant stars. Fresh. Cold. Clean.”

A family who discovers a chest full of ______.

Two people meeting at a trainstation.

A story told from the perspective of a snow flake falling.

Tales from last hours of earth.

Death falls asleep while driving.

The first days of the sun.

A candle’s life.

Conversation between wind and mountain.

A fall.

“This story is partially true. The only false part of this tale is the story itself. The emotions are real. The events are real. The people are real. But the story is not. It began, like all tumultuous stories, with B meeting Beauty.

B is an average man with the standard hopes and dreams of a person who, upon looking at the brilliance of stars, sees only bright gaseous disconnect of light. He lives an ordinary life which leads him, inevitably, to fall in love with an extraordinary woman. That woman is Beauty.

Now, her name is not actually Beauty. But she does personify this adjective. She is the perfect woman for any man. In fact, she is also perfect for any woman. She is both the dreams and lust of Aphrodite and Cupid. But she is not the most beautiful woman. There is nothing physically striking about her. There are women more attractive; more alluring. She has neither supple breasts nor ample buttocks. Her eyes are not striking. Her smile is not a kiss of sunshine falling through leaves. But what Beauty possesses is radiance. When she walks in a room, men tend to forget there are other women around. The reason is because Beauty represents the perfect woman for any man. Or any woman. It is that representation with which people fall in love. And she is the woman with whom B falls in love.

B works at a photography shop. He makes and preserves digital copies of photos delivered to him by customers or, on rare and nervous occasions, he would take photos of the customers. They usually encompass family photos, school photos, head shots, etc. B is new at this so he only prefers to do head shots. Then he would process the film into photos. But because everyone now has a camera and a computer, B does not make much money. In fact, he is quite poor. And he is also a full time student. B is twenty five years old. He has three more years left before he finishes his degree.

It is in this situation in life that B meets Beauty.

Beauty came into the shop at a prominently beautiful day. This would be symbolic to B if it wasn’t for the fact the he was working. If he was outside, he would notice the dazzling sun, the cool weather, and the soft breeze…..”

Copyrighted by Hoang Tran.

Been sidetracked with clutter. Life takes a leap and you have to fall with it or else watch it leave you behind. Experimented with lots of writing styles and such. Trying to get things of the ground both expected and unexpected.

But now, a poem about Memories We’ll Never Know:

Quiet summers stain like rain in the evening breeze.

She said to me that it will work out

And I told her I can’t remember anymore.

There were the moments

When we promised, violently, to each other

The dreams of distant stars.

I held her breathe,

And she sang her song

Like shards of melodies.

And we got lost

In our memories.

Quiet solemn spring like snow in a December day

She said to me that she can’t try anymore

And I told her that it will work out.

There were the times

We spent in the restless rising sun

The sand underneath out feet

Covering our cold

The water wavered and she cried

Like echoes of melodies

And we got lost

In our memories.

Loud winters wrestling wildly with night

We said to each other that we can’t try anymore

Knowing that it won’t work out.

There were the promises

Of spending forever

Alongside things we don’t remember

I held her hands

As we let go, daring to jump

Singing our melodies

And lost

In our memories.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4XZkLmomNgA

From Moon, Clint Mansell’s “Memories”:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EmhVRQuEoPg&feature=related

From Gladiator, Hans Zimmer’s “Earth”:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6AMnOFmwMSs

From Sunshine, John Murphy’s “Sun Still Shine”:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RUemXXMar94

From the Los Angles Times Blog, Christopher Nolan updates us on DC comics two flagship titles: Superman and Batman. As previously rumoured, Nolan now confirms his involvement with the Man of Steel. Some highlights from the article includes:

• Nolan has a “fantastic story” and they feel that they can do it right.
• Batman and Superman will exists in their own separate world. From the article:  “A lot of people have approached Superman in a lot of different ways. I only know the way that has worked for us that’s what I know how to do,” Nolan said, emphasizing the idea that Batman exists in a world where he is the only superhero and a similar approach to the Man of Steel would assure the integrity needed for the film. “Each serves to the internal logic of the story. They have nothing to do with each other.””
• David Goyer, previous collaborator of the Batman films with Nolan, is writing the Superman movie.
• No director as of yet. Nolan will serve as a mentor to the Superman film
• Regarding Batman. From the article: “And that third Batman film? Jonathan Nolan is “now doing the hard work” of writing the script based on the story by his sibling and Goyer. “My brother is writing a script for me and we’ll wait to see how it turns out…. He’s struggling to put it together into the epic story that you want it to be.”’

• He won’t have Mr. Freeze as a villain. Sorry Arnold. You’re out.

There’s more tidbits from the article including info on Inception. Check it out:

http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/herocomplex/2010/03/christopher-nolan-takes-flight-with-superman-we-have-a-fantastic-story-1.html

New Iron Man 2 trailer up. Looks fantastic: http://www.latinoreview.com/news/new-iron-man-2-trailer-9395

Here’s another poem I wrote long ago:

“Teacup”

A teacup lies upon the coffee table,
Blooming with steam, fragrant with leaves
A round cup, like the stomach of my wife.
She smiles at me, tracing the life inside her
I trace the circular golden rim
I take sip, she takes a gasp.
Her water broke, the tea spilled.

A teacup lies upon the coffee table,
A baby born, a crying child
Her eyes are green, like leaves of Longjing
She smiles at me, trailing my eyes
I keep her warm.
Tears drips steadily, she lets a yawn
My wife laughs, the baby sleeps.

A tea cup lies upon the coffee table,
A chipped cup, a lost wife
She is motherless now, at five of age
Sitting by me, she drinks her own cup
I trace the circular golden rim.
I take a sip, she sweetens the drink
A beautiful child, a drained father.

A teacup lies upon the coffee table,

Half full, or half empty

Dependent child, independent life

She lives a life in universities,

Enjoying the thralls of frenzy

Forgetting her porcelain teacup

That lies waiting, upon the table.
A teacup lies upon the coffee table,
Empty of steam, cold with winter
A fragmented cup, she’s no longer young
Married away, she is with child

I trace the circular golden rim.
I take a sip, she writes frequently
So far away, I set it down.
That teacup lying upon the coffee table.

- © by Hoang Tran 

“Taking Care”

You smiled at me, wishing for me to smile back but I told you I lost my right to smile, so you frowned and then I smiled. Sometimes, when the drink is heavy, I wake up to the smell of winter stars and spring music and realize it was just the dreams that you dreamed. But you’re not there. I remembered the time before everything went wrong and we walked during the end of the world and the comets falling like cherry blossoms, and you forgot your lipstick, and I asked why it mattered and you said because your mother always forgot her lipstick. You then said I’ll make a great husband, and maybe a great father but I told you that being a husband is too much like being a father because I have to care, and I just don’t know how to care. Then you left, and I’m here wondering why I cared in the first place.

-Hoang Tran © 2008.