# Fiction: *The Boy in the Underdark* I was standing at the back of a group of boys. They were crowding around, their hands clawing at the baker's basket of day-old bread. This was a daily ritual for the urchins of the city. They would take what they had earned that day and buy whatever scraps they could get from the city's shop owners. Most days you would get a few copper pieces, maybe a silver if you were lucky. Sometimes the taverns or inns would get one of the boys to come sing or play when they had no one better. I once knew a boy who got a gold piece while he was singing in the inn. He even got invited to sing at the mayor\'s house, but after he went there no one ever saw him again. I wasn't one of the boys who got invited to the inns. Most of the time, I could barely get a few coppers. Today I had nothing. I stood there, covered in dirt, my feet burning on the hot cobblestone. The group was thinning out, just a few boys left. They were handing over their copper and grabbing for the biggest pieces left in the basket. The last boy handed over his copper and ran off to join his friends. It was just me, the baker, and the basket of bread. My hands in my pockets and my head hung towards the ground. "You got your money, boy?" His voice was gruff, almost hostile. I looked up. His face was stern, but his eyes betrayed him. "Come inside, boy." His voice was still gruff, but it was concealing compassion. As soon as he passed the threshold, the stone-faced man that had been outside melted away. "Elsamir, sit, eat." This was not a gruff old baker; it was Matthias, the kindly, giving baker. He motioned to the chair and then continued into the building. The room was bare except for a small table, chairs, and the sacks of grain stacked against the wall. The last rays of the fading sun streamed through the glass window, catching the dust floating in the room. A wicker lamp was sitting on the table unlit. I was about to sit at the table when I saw the light glinting off of something on the floor. I padded over, trying not to make a noise. A gold piece was lying on the ground. It was caked in dirt and slightly buried underneath the straw on the floor. I grabbed the coin and slipped it into my pocket. My fingers were tingling, and my heart started to beat out of my chest. This was more money than I had held in my entire life. I quickly walked back over to the chair I had been sitting in. The silence of the room was interrupted by the banging of the wooden door as a tall young man walked in with a satchel over his shoulder. Henry, the baker's son, just returned from his apprenticeship with the local lawmaster. "Hey there, Sami!" His voice rang out, cutting through the thick, silent air. "My father is too charitable, next thing you know we'll be out of business." He was standing over me. His long brown hair fell down from his face, and I could see his bright blue sparkling eyes. I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could his hand was on my head, ruffling my hair. "Ahh, I'm just kidding with you Sami." Just as quickly as he had entered the room, he was gone. I sat down on the chair, fingering the coin in my pocket. Slowly the dirt rubbed off, and I could feel the face beneath. "Here ya are, Elsamir." Mathias walked through the door from the other room, with a tray grasped in two hands. It carried a bowl of bean soup and a piece of hard-crusted white bread. This was a meal fit for a king. As soon as the tray was on the table I was grabbing the bowl with two hands and gulped the soup down as quick as I could. Warm, wonderful broth coursed through my insides, the heat travelling to every fingertip and toe. "Slow down there, Sami. You'll hurt yourself." Henry had brought in a tray as well and quickly began to eat. Soon Matthias returned with a plate for himself and we three sat in silence other than the slurping of soup and the crackling of bread. Every once in a while I would bring my hand to my pocket and rub the coin. I wanted to make sure it was still there. I wanted to make sure it wasn't imaginary. Mathias was sitting to my right, with his dirty canvas apron was lying in a crumpled pile on the table. He was wearing an old leather tunic, worn from the years of oven heat. The tunic was tied with a strong leather belt and on the back of the belt there was a small leather pouch. I couldn't tell how it was attached, but I knew what was in it. Coins. My hand returned to the gold piece in my pocket. "Sir, I just wanted to thank you for everything you've done for me. I know I haven't been able to pay." I tried to make my voice as smooth and child-like as possible. "Oh, eh, don't worry about it\... lad," Mathias said. His voice was happy but he choked slightly on the last word. "Me and Henry. We're not to bad off. We can afford a charity case or two." He chuckled as he said this, and though there was a smile on his face, his eyes showed worry. Henry was staring intently at his soup, but his spoon wasn't moving. "Well," I said, forcing myself to sound sweet. "I got this today and I think you should have it." With every amount of willpower I possessed I pulled the coin from my pocket and, hand trembling, set it on the table. "I can't take this Elsamir," Mathias said. "Just take that and buy yourself something nice. Or trade it for that lute you been wantin'." Mathias was speaking rather loudly and clearly, but his eyes had not left the coin. "I want you to have it. You've done so much for me." I slid the coin across the table. As I did, I saw both their eyes follow the coin. Henry was now staring intently at his father. His eyes were almost pleading. "Well, thank ya son." His hand reached back to grab the leather pouch. My eyes were trained to his every movement. The leather pouch was approximately three inches long and two inches round. It was attached by a brass clasp at the opening. One of my friends on the street had told me about these. Each clasp had a special way to unlock it so that thieves wouldn't be able to snatch it off. I watched as his thumb and forefinger grabbed the brass clasp and pressed it in then turned to the left and pulled upward. In a fraction of a second the pouch was off his belt. He slipped the gold coin in and followed the same motions as he put the pouch back his belt. I sat in silence as I waited for them to finish their meal. I had to wait for the perfect moment. They talked about Henry's internship with the lawmaster, how sales were doing in the bakery. I wasn't paying attention. I was running it in my mind. Press in, rotate to the left, pull up and out. Finally, they were done eating. It was time. We went through the door into the kitchen, leaving our trays by the rest of the dishes from the day of baking. I waited for Mathias to turn his back to me, but Henry was still in the room. He would see everything. Then I had an idea. "Mathias, sir," I said. He immediately turned to me. His back was to the wall and was hidden from Henry. "Thank you." As I said this I moved forward and opened my arms. I was only a little more than half his height but it didn't matter. I wrapped my arms around him and slipped my left hand underneath his belt right where his pouch was attached. I applied pressure with my left hand so that the belt was no longer drawn taunt against his skin. With my right I reached and grabbed the brass clasp. I pressed in and felt the belt push against my left hand. Rotate to the left. Lift up and out. With a small, inaudible click, the pouch was free. I gripped it tightly in my right hand so that the coins wouldn't jingle against each other. "Oh," Mathias gasped slightly as I hugged him, but after a moment he patted me on the shoulder. He didn't suspect a thing. As soon as I had detached the pouch I pressed it against my leg, trying to make it as small as possible. "Thank you," I whispered. I didn't want them to hear any break in my voice. I looked up and saw Mathias's face smiling down at me, a little red in his cheeks, and tears forming in his eye. I met his eyes for a second and then ran out of the room. I didn't stop until I was three blocks away. My initial theft may not have been noticed, but they would know before day was out. I hid in an alley and poured the bag onto the ground. Three gold, twenty silver, and five copper. More money than I had seen in my entire life a hundred times over. This is how I would start a new life. No Mathias. No Henry. No Elsamir. **Poem:** The Omnipotent Wave of Work Running Never ending, everlasting, always nipping. The waves of work Always billowing. Clouds on clouds, stampedes of horses, the ever moving wave of darkness. The working mind is invaded by the wiles of the wave of work It cogs the wheels, it bugs the system, it ruins the mind. The waves of work Always pushing, never letting up, always nipping at your heels Running You are always running Some days you get ahead, Some days you get behind, And when you stop for a rest, you see that you\'ve run out of time A racing horse, an F1 bullet, a flying eagle They escape the wave of work. Their engines never clog, their wings never break, their ankles never bend The waves of work Never ending, everlasting, always nipping Running Some people like to run They live for it, they breathe through it. The wave of work is their friend. They run together side by side, But one day the person wants to take a break They think the wave will stop with them They think they have some time, But the wave has grown too strong Much stronger than the person They can stomp their feet, try to hold their ground The wave picks them up They can either start running, Or drown. Running Crashing down, pulling under, sucking life The waves of work. **Fiction 2:** I slid silently through the crowd. My mark was less than twenty feet in front of me, but I knew he wouldn't notice I was following him. This was New York, everybody has places to be, and they didn't have any time to pay attention to the hundreds of people walking with them. Oh, New York, the sights, the sounds, the hustle and bustle. It was the perfect setting for a stalk. My mark looked no different from the rest of the crowd. He was wearing a simple black pinstripe suit. His hair was slicked back in perfect straight lines. His shoelaces were pristinely tied. Everything about him was perfect, but this wasn't what set him apart. He was nervous, you could see it in the way he walked, the way he talked, the way he glanced at the crowd around him. He didn't seem like a normal New Yorker. He didn't have the aloofness, the pridefulness. As I was deep in thought, I was jostled by a rather large fellow. Any self-respecting New Yorker would have taken the next few minutes to inform such a fellow on the state of him and his mother, but I was no normal New Yorker. I had a mark, and I had just lost it. I started weaving faster and faster, my eyes flitting back and forth, desperately trying to look through the crowd. That was when I heard the gunshot. The crowd convulsed, and the screaming started. I immediately located the source of the sound. People were backing away, pushing and shoving, trampling each other. I was barreling through. I no longer cared if I was seen. I broke the edge of the wall of people. Now I was alone, an unfamiliar feeling in the streets of New York. It was just me, an alleyway, and my mark dead on the ground. # Chapter 2 I awoke in a living darkness. My hands and feet were tied. I could've taken the blindfold off, but I was too scared. Too scared of what I would see, and of what would see me. We had been travelling for hours. Hours and hours in a bumpy wagon. My side was bruised and bleeding from that endless bumping. But I was too terrified to move. I had been taken off the street only a few hours before. I was out late, much later than I normally was. It was nearly midnight, and I had been singing for hours. Usually by that time some drunk would've given me something as he wandered home, but not that night. There were no drunks wandering that night. There wasn't a cloud for miles, but there was a storm brewing. That's when it happened. With the crack of a whip and the thunder of horse's hooves, they were here. The underlings had come to take their due. They rampaged through town. I tried to run, but they were around every corner. First came the Drow. Their long silver hair flew in the wind, and their dark deft hands picked the finest jewelry out of the broken shop windows. After them came the orcs, the goblins, and then the uglier things. The Drow had been surgical, taking what they wanted and killing whoever was in their way, but their minions only desired chaos. They destroyed for ruin, and they killed for pleasure. They dragged women and children out into the streets and did unspeakable things to them. They took fathers and brothers and crushed their heads against the ground. They poured wine into the meat cellars and burned the wheat fields. I was running. The lute in my hand and the clothes on my back were the only things I had to my name. All I had to do was get to the woods, and I would be safe. I made my way through the back streets and alleys. I knew them well. They had been my home as an urchin. I was almost there. One last street to go. As I came out of an alley a brimstone hand shot out in front of my face. I slammed into it and the next second I woke up in the darkness, the coldness, in the Underdark. It had been three weeks. Twice a day they would bring in food. Not good food but something to keep us from dying. There were about fifty of us in the camp. The fact that we were all prisoners of the Drow was the only thing we had in common. Every color of the rainbow was represented in our skin tones. Some of the creatures were natives of the Underdark. They had been captured and imprisoned for various crimes of various natures.