Flashfiction: Six January 19, 2009
Posted by Bethany Kesler in Writing, fantasy, original, suspense.Tags: fantasy, Fiction, flashfiction, original, original fiction, speculative, suspense, Writing
1 comment so far
Part of an ongoing series. Parts one two three four and five are here.
“I present myself , my Lord, for service.” he bent slightly at the waist, not bowing his head, but looking around his surroundings , cataloging them in his memory. Years of training had honed his natural observational skills to a very fine edge. He looked up to meet his new patron’s gaze straight, eye for eye.
The Duc’s finely trimmed eyebrow shot up. “Is it thus that you always greet your elders so?” Interesting choice of words for him to make, not superiors or betters, but elders, Marcellus thought. He straightened up when the Duc waved a hand at him and he saw with a small bit of internal satisfaction that he was taller than what the Duc had originally thought. He assumed the position the Brotherhood called “cat across shadows.” A seemingly relaxed pose from which he could assume any number of defensive or offensive positions. The Duc paused for a fraction of a moment and then with an angry sigh said, “You have my leave to speak.”
Marcellus tilted his head slightly at him in acknowledgement, “Thank you my lord. In response to your question, I bow to no man save my God and my King, milord.” That stopped the Duc dead in his tracks and Marcellus felt the scrutiny of the Duc’s powerful gaze as the other man turned to look at him more closely. “More than you seem,” The Duc finally remarked, “Not just a puppy despite the face, but a wolfhound in disguise. A very effective disguise.” Marcellus permitted himself a small smile at that but didn’t add anything to the Duc’s statement. He didn’t need to.
The Duc snorted. “And canny on top of that.” The twist of his lips bespoke a dry amusement. A good sign. “My Lord sees clearly.” Marcellus spoke up. That got him a snort from his new patron, “Not clearly enough apparently, I cannot seem to make heads or tails out of this latest missive.” He gestured at the desk littered with papers, letters, and maps. He eyed Marcellus for a long moment before beckoning him closer. “Come, wolfhound. What do you make of this?”
Marcellus looked over at first the map with the small markers on it where battalions and fortresses were. Then he looked at the missive the Duc had indicated. It was hastily scrawled, encoded in one of their ciphers but written in one of the Northern dialects. Interesting. His brain supplied the translation after a moment.
The Lady moved to the West -the peixe are flipping fine- to say that all is well – there are no stopgaps – she kisses the feet of blue faced boyking – Ellinore is in danger- rotten apples in the grove – walls crumble and the dice tumble -fate of all comes crashing down. The Gray is walking.
Interesting and dangerous. He looked up at the Duc. “Ellinore is where on the map?” The Duc pointed it out to him and he studied it for a moment longer. “Am I correct in assuming that the peixe are the First Southern Legion?” The Duc sat back and nodded once more. ” Marcellus continued then, speaking out loud, it helped him to piece things together. “Ellinore is in danger from traitors in their midst. High placed traitors, that is what I take the apples in the grove to mean.” He referred to the banner of the city-state which was three apple trees behind a rising sun. “The First Southern Legion are holding but could use some reinforcements. But…” the meaning of some of it hit him. “I see.”
“Do you?” the Duc asked quietly. “If the meaning that I take from that is correct, then the entire wall region in in danger and Ellinore is the breaking point, the small crack that will let them come flooding in. “
Marcellus nodded, “The blue face boyking is the..”
“Lord of the People of the Wind,” The Duc replied shortly. “and the Lady is the Dauphine.”
Marcellus’ eyes widened. “That would make things very interesting indeed.”
“Yes,” the Duc said abruptly, “You’re good, wolfhound, very good.” Marcellus’ heart leapt to hear him say that, the Duc de Lissandre did not give such compliments lightly. The Duc’s next statement floored him. “But I cannot use you here. “
“Sir?”
There was a wintry smile on the Duc’s face, “I am sending you West to the seat of House Lissandre. You shall be the secretary-tutor and spymaster for my daughter and niece. It is no small task I send you to. Those two must be protected above all.”
“I live to serve, my Lord.”
Flashfiction: Five January 18, 2009
Posted by Bethany Kesler in Writing, fantasy, original, suspense.Tags: fantasy, Fiction, flashfiction, original, original fiction, speculative, suspense, Writing
add a comment
Part of an ongoing series. Parts one two three and four are here.
In later years, people would ask him about that day. How he had known, what’d he felt as he had hurriedly fled the estate or risk being eaten. Depending on the day, he sometimes even gave them answers. The Vicomte Le’ Ange was a very distinguished person in the Royacy, half brother to the Comte De Angelline, advisor to the Royina. Some had said that the Vicomte and the Royina were childhood lovers once upon a time. Such tales were nonsense of course. The Vicomte and his lady were very happily married. She had been daughter to the Duc de Lissandre and he had won her hand though some very brave and exceedingly foolish acts. He had endeavored to pattern his behavior after that of the greatest men that he knew, so that no man could say that he was not a credit to his House, bastard born or no.
There had been an old tale his father had told him once about a Northern group of Sisters. The Sisters of the North were like their Priesthood here. They were marked by their red cloaks and the rather distinctive tattoos on their faces and hands. They were said to be even more strict in some of their ways that the Priests here in the South were. Which was quite interesting considering some of the stories he’d heard about some of the trials for priesthood.
They had taken refuge in a old castle during the High Northern War, they had turned it into a hospital for the wounded. The opposing forces had besieged them there and stayed there for five years. At the time he had been so small and his mind had wondered about the possibilities of being stuck there for so long. As he had gotten older, he had admired the canniness of the Sisters.
They had held out long enough to last until winter, slowly funneling their wounded out of the castle through the underground passageway, all the while defending the wall and gates with their guards. Then they had surrendered.
Inexplicably.
It had always puzzled him about that until one day when he was older he’d asked his father for the rest of the story. His father had sat back in his chair, looked him over for a long instant, and then abruptly stood up and motioned him over to the seats near the fireplace and handed him a draught of the wiskbaugh and told him the rest of the story.
The nuns had surrendered during the winter thaw right before the flush of springtime. They had sabotaged the walls so that when the winter thaws came, it flooded the castle and everyone had drowned. The Sisters and all of the opposing force.
He’d remembered that tale. That night. He’d remembered the tale of the castle and the nuns. So he had taken his brother, wrapped up in his warmest clothing. Packed them a satchel, got his arms and dressed himself. He took them down to the deepest part of the Chateau Angelline and waited for a signal. A sign from the gods to either press forward or go back.
Flashfiction: Four January 17, 2009
Posted by Bethany Kesler in Writing, fantasy, original, suspense.Tags: dark fiction, fantasy, Fiction, flashfiction, original, original fiction, speculative, Writing
add a comment
Part of an ongoing series. Part of an ongoing series. Parts one and two and three are here.
“Cas!” The shout rang out through the household. “Cas!” the irritated voice said as it came closer. The small boy giggled as he hid underneath the table that was liberally decorated with holiday garlands. He watched as his older brother looked all around for him. Hide and seek you out was one of his favorite games to play and Jasper was one of the only people who could seek him out of his hiding places. None of the servants bothered anymore. He saw Jasper’s boots stop in front of the table and his brother’s soft pleading, ” Cas, please, for Mother’s sake.” Deciding to come out, he sprung out from underneath the table tackling his brother’s legs and latching onto to them with a wide grin. “Surprise!” Jasper’s irritated look faded to a fond one as he picked up his brother. “Hiding again, short stuff? What from this time?” Cas slung his arms around Jasper’s neck and snuggled into him. “Don’t want to meet the dinner guests. They’re scary.” he said solemnly.
**
Comte Peter de Angelline was not at all pleased at this recent turn of events, it was the Yule season and it was a time for mirth, good cheer, and above all family, not this intrigue and hidden message and the like. He was sworn to the Duc de Lissandre as a titled landowner in The Western Reaches. He would do his duty, but he had just returned from a term at the border with the advance guard of the Duc’s forces. He wanted to partake of a good meal, drink some good mead, play with his boys and then sleep with his woman. It’d been a hard winter so far and the tide did not seem like it would be turning soon, he would take what comfort he could where he could. Delight in what you have been given, the priests said, for no man knows when the Long Path will reach its end. He hated the turbulent times that this civil war had created, turning once peaceful cities into hotbeds of secrets, alliances, and traitorous plots. He had no head for intrigue, his was a military. He understood garrisons and supplies and strategy, positions and men and weapons. This intrigue business as it were, hidden poisons and quiet daggers in occluded places was all too much for him.
His lord had sent orders to entertain the guests even now freshening up for dinner, to make merry with them and to ferret out what he could from them. The Duc’s own seal graced the letter and it was his handwriting. So the Comte de Angelline would bow to the Duc’s wishes and attempt to ferret out whatever he could from the odd looking visitors that were now guests in his household.
**
He smiled to himself as he prepared for the dinner that night. Looking over at his companion, he smiled at her in that small way that told her that he was relishing the preparations for tonight. She glided over to him, smoothing out the wrinkles in his tunic from behind. Leaning close, she whispered in his ear, ” You realize that they will try to get us to reveal what we know.” He chuckled, a dark seductive sound, “The man has no gift for the subtler arts which you and I employ, my dear.” He turned to caress her cheek with the back of one hand. “His wife is completely taken in by the running of the place. We’ll do what we came for and then leave this place behind us. We’ve got better prey to stalk, this is just a diversion.” She leaned into his caress and he smiled triumphantly to see it. His mate, given true life by his hand, instructed in the manners of their kind by him. She was a beauty to behold, especially in that blood red colored gown. It emphasized her He held out a hand to her.
“Shall we go down to dinner, my dear?”
**
Jasper Alcuin de Angelline knew something was not right when Cas who normally adored getting to eat at the grand table with their father and his mother refused to tonight. Though once he had seen who the guests his father was entertaining were, he had to agree with his half brother. Beautiful people, pale even in the good lighting, perfect flawless features, too perfect. He gritted his teeth and cursed the guidelines that had required him to eat at a separate table while guests were present.
He did not like the Cursed Kind here dining with his father. He did not like them anywhere close to here. They were the harbringers of death as the old tales said. Beautiful and deadly. He caught a glimpse of his father raising his goblet in a toast before the doors to the dining hall closed again.
His father had required that they not be disturbed during dinner. No distractions, he had told them. Just to be safe, he had slipped a note to one of the servers to hand to his father and he walked up to play with Cas. If any of the guards noticed that he had taken his weapons in with him, they did not remark upon it.
There was an edgy sort of tension in the air ever since the guests had arrived. He’d noticed it and he knew that the Master-of-Arms had as well. As soon as this dinner was over and the guests left, everything would be back to normal.
Flashfiction, Untitled: Three January 17, 2009
Posted by Bethany Kesler in Writing, fantasy, original, suspense.Tags: dark fiction, fantasy, Fiction, flashfiction, original, original fiction, speculative, Writing
add a comment
Part of an ongoing series. Parts one and two are here.
Nine Months
The stiff wool scratched at his skin and he fidgeted in his seat. “Marcellus! You will remain still!” The sharp command came from the father superior in charge of his lessons. It was not easy to be the second son of a wealthy lord. The first went to the wars, to learn steel and blood and the price that a man pays. All in preparation for leading his estate one day, though how teaching a boy-man to kill and do all the other things that went hand in hand with wars was beyond him. The second son to the church, dedicated to one of the various religious orders. That was why he was here, studying under the father superior as they decided where he was best suited. There were the fighting priests that ministered to the warrior princes and the other soldiers. There were the bard priests, skilled in all sorts of composition and music. The scholar priests who dwelled in libraries, kept the annals, and taught in the seminaries. The traveling priests and the missionaries, the house priests with parishes in small towns and for noble families, the list went on. Until he was confirmed and blessed, he was confined to this seminary, wearing this very uncomfortable robe. The novitiates swore up and down that the robes were so uncomfortable as to teach them a great deal about patient endurance and serenity in strife. His life was guided by the strict formalized rituals that made up the core of their belief. The prayers, the meal blessings, the strict doctrine and minutiae that they had to memorize.
He focused back in on his lessons. As soon as he finished this passage, he could be released and go to the noon service before the meal.
***
Five years
It was official, the fathers there at the seminary didn’t know what to make of him. They had taught him everything that they could teach him there. The eldest priest, the Dean of the Seminary had after observing him for a long moment decided to send him to the brethren in the capital city, feeling that along the journey, he would gain that precious spark of knowledge that would enable him to know which order he felt led to join. If he reached the capital city and still was indecisive, then it would be up to the Cardinals there to decide for him.
He hadn’t left the seminary grounds in years. He was almost looking forward to the adventure. He was outfitted with everything that a traveling brother would need. Some extra robes for travel and one set of the formal ritual ones. A serviceable horse, some small amount of money, and a small figurine of the deity they worshiped. One saddle bag with the very few personal effects he still had.
That was what he set out with, under the eyes of two of the missionary priests. They’d stop at one of the church’s waystations for food later on.
***
Seven years
His ordination would have been a glorious day had it not been marked with the sorrow of the loss of his patron. Patriarch Benedicte of the Fellowship had taken one glance at him and declared him to belong to the Fellowship and moreover had taken him on as his personal disciple. He’d owed all that he was to the Patriarch who had greatly expanded his worldviews. He repeated his vows faithfully after the Pontiff and submitted himself for examination to the Cardinals present in the capital.
He had done Benedicte proud, so they had told him later on in the confidence of closed chambers. He humbly bowed his head and accepted their praise.
It was barely three days after his ordination that he made friends with the younger lordling and his life was forever changed.
Walking after the path that Deity lays before your feet is not a trifling task. Walking it with your eyes open can drive a lesser man insane or power mad.
His first appointment came to be the priest-adjunct to the household of the daughter of the Duc de Lissandre, Lord of the Western March.
A lofty position for a newly ordained priest…who was much more than just a simple priest as his lady soon discovered.
He was Marcellus Ganelon du Morvaine, Brother of the Fellowship, priest and spy.
No Exit – A Paper About Black Holes January 15, 2009
Posted by Bethany Kesler in Writing, original.Tags: astronomy, black holes, resource, science fiction
add a comment
Black holes are one of the universe’s great mysteries. We know they’re out there, yet no astronomer has ever seen one. What are black holes? What are the common misconceptions surrounding them? What is some of the latest research on them? These are a few of the questions we will be exploring in this paper.
To begin with, what is a black hole? According to astronomers, a black hole is defined as a “region in space where the gravity is so high that the fabric of space and time has curved back in on itself, taking the exit doors with it” (Tyson, 282). Another description of them comes from the Encarta Dictionary, “areas in space with such a strong gravitational pull that no matter or energy can escape from it.”
Black holes are formed when a star dies. A star is a massive fusion reactor, its size determined by the balance between the gravitational forces and the explosive forces. When that delicate balance gets disrupted and the star starts to die, the nuclear fusion reactions stop and the gravitational forces pull material inward, which compresses the core. This causes the core to heat up, triggering a supernova explosion. The explosion propels the material and radiation far out into space. The only thing that remains is the highly compressed and massive core. The gravitational forces are so strong that not even light can escape and the black hole literally disappears from sight. The force of the gravity is also enough to cause the black hole to slip through the fabric of space-time, creating a hole in space-time. This is why they’re given the name of “Black Holes” (Freudenrich, 2).
The core becomes the central part of the black hole called the ’singularity.’ The edge of the beginning of the black hole is called the event horizon. It is the point of no return, the boundary between the isolated volumes of space-time and the rest of the universe. Once across the event horizon, there is no coming back. What happens inside of a black hole is unknown to us, because our current theories about physics don’t apply to a singularity such as the one at the core of a black hole. An accretion disk is formed from the gas and dust and other matter that is drawn towards the black hole. It lies before the event horizon; the matter making up the accretion disk heats up as it is drawn to the event horizon and will radiate x-rays which reveal to us the black hole’s location and mass (Smithsonian).
By convention, the size of the event horizon is seen as the size of the black hole. This is a clean quantity in which to calculate and measure (Tyson, 284). The radius is called the Schwarzschild radius after Karl Schwarzschild, whose work led to the initial theories about black holes.
There are two types of black holes, Schwarzschild black holes and Kerr black holes. The difference between the two of them lies in their cores. Schwarzschild black holes have cores that do not rotate and consist only of an event horizon and singularity (and sometimes an accretion disk). Kerr black holes, named for Roy P. Kerr are black holes whose cores rotate because the stars they formed from rotated and the law of conservation of angular momentum carries over the rotation from the dying star to the final stage as a black hole (Freudenrich, 3). Because of the difference in the core, a Kerr black hole has more parts to it than a Schwarzschild black hole.
In addition to the event horizon and the singularity, a Kerr black hole consists of an ergosphere and a static limit. The ergosphere is defined as “An egg-shaped region of distorted space around the event horizon” (Freudenrich, 3). The distortion is caused by the rotation. The static limit is the boundary between the ergosphere and normal space. The difference between the ergosphere and the event horizon is that something can still escape from the ergosphere, provided that it could gain enough energy from the rotation to propel itself clear.
What would happen to someone or something that wandered too close to a black hole? Say for example that you are falling feet first towards the black hole. As you get closer to it, its force of gravity grows astronomically. You would not feel this at all, because you are weightless. What you do feel is far more ominous. The black hole’s gravity force is accelerating your feet faster than your head, because your feet are closer than your head to the center of the black hole. The difference between the gravity at your feet and the gravity at your head is called the tidal force. The tidal force grows sharply as you get nearer to the center. Your body would stay whole until the moment that the tidal force grew larger than your body’s molecular bonds. Your body then breaks apart into segments that also break apart and divide until you are nothing but a stream of unrecognizable particles. But that’s not the end of it, because the tidal forces are all moving you towards the exact same spot (the black hole’s center), you are not only getting ripped apart, but you are also getting squeezed through the fabric of space-time like toothpaste from a tube (Tyson, 285).
There are several common misconceptions about black holes. To use one example, black holes are not universal vacuum cleaners that will eventually suck up the entire universe. A black hole is, put simply, a gravitational field and at a reasonable distance away, its pull is no more than a normal object of similar mass. The black hole’s gravity only gets extreme when you come close to it. Another common misconception about black holes is that black holes are not funnels. They are often graphed as curvatures on a flat sheet, giving the appearance of a funnel (this is to show the strength of the gravity surrounding it), but black holes themselves are not funnels (Horizons, 239).
It is also a misconception that since light cannot escape from a black hole, it is impossible to get any energy out of it. Matter flowing into the gravitational field accelerates inward and to help preserve angular momentum, it flows onto the accretion disk. The accretion disk is so hot that it can emit x-ray and gamma ray bursts and as it spins, it also can spit out some very powerful beams of gas and radiation from the disk’s axis of rotation (Horizons, 243).
This history of black holes began two centuries ago with an English geologist, John Mitchell. Mitchell theorized that gravity could become so strong that not even light (which travels at 299,792,458 meters per second in a vacuum) would be able to escape. He also theorized that if such a thing were possible, the object would have to be incredibly dense as well as massive. He called such objects, “dark stars.” His ideas were published briefly, but then discarded out of hand (University of Illinois). Simon Pierre LePlace predicted the existence of black holes in his work, Le Système du Monde, “… [It] is therefore possible that the largest luminous bodies in the universe may, through this cause, be invisible” (Amazing Space).
Then came Albert Einstein. In 1916, he published a mathematical theory about space and time that became known as the general theory of relativity. He treated space and time as if they were one entity. His equations showed that gravity could be described as a sort of curvature of space-time. On the heels of this groundbreaking theory comes Karl Schwarzschild, who using Einstein’s theory, almost immediately found a solution to the equations that described the gravitational field around this nonmoving, electrically neutral lump of some matter. This was the first actual scientific description of a black hole. His solution showed that if matter was packed together tightly enough, into a small enough volume, then space-time would curve back into itself. Objects could still follow various paths into the black hole but nothing could escape, not even light, thus leaving the inside of the black hole completely beyond the observation of an outside viewer (Horizons, 238).
After Schwarzschild, came Subrahmanyan Chandrasekhar, a pioneer in the study of white dwarf stars. This lead to a further understanding of the limits of mass, which would determine whether a star dies a white dwarf, a neutron star, or a black hole. Roy P. Kerr uncovered the solution to charged black holes with rotating cores in 1963. In 1964, John Wheeler coined the term, “black hole.” That same year, neutron stars were discovered by Jocelyn Bell-Burnell.
In 1970, Stephen Hawking defined the modern theory of black holes and Cygnus X-1 was found. Cygnus X-1 was the first decent black hole candidate located by astronomers. It emitted x-rays and has a companion that has a mass greater than a neutron star, but is actually smaller than Earth is (Amazing Space).
Astronomers at the Keck Observatory in Hawaii are currently studying the black hole in the center of the Milky Way; in hopes that the data they gather from their experiments will give them a greater insight into what is still one of the universe’s biggest mysteries. One of the huge Keck telescopes has been equipped with an incredible new tool that increases its power. A laser guide has been added to the telescope, making it possible for the telescope to capture pictures clear as any taken from actual satellites in space. The astronomers at the Keck Observatory have aimed the laser guide directly at the black hole located near the Sagittarius constellation at the center of the galaxy (Smithsonian).
The laser fires into what appears to be the heart of the black hole (actually ending some 55 miles above the surface of the Earth), the signal there allowing the telescope to compensate for the blur of Earth’s atmosphere. The telescope will stay locked on to the same part of the sky for a period of four hours while a camera takes one 15 minute exposure after another. The astronomers and graduate students working there are hoping that some of the new data they are collecting will put them one step closer to finding out how stars close to these black holes are born and how the black holes distort the fabric of space itself. (Smithsonian)
The team at Keck is using the laser as an artificial guide light, allowing them to explore more of the sky than they’ve previously been able to. Erasing the distortions that come with air currents and the Earth’s atmosphere is possible with technology called adaptive optics. Adaptive optics sharpens up the pictures and gets rid of the distortions, but it has one serious drawback. The technology requires a strong and clear guiding light to use as a reference point. So it would only truly work if pointed at something close to a bright star or planet, effectively limiting the scope of the astronomers’ work. That barrier has been removed thanks to the laser’s artificial guide light (Smithsonian).
Andrea Ghez of UCLA, one of the astronomers at the Keck Observatory and leader of this particular team, describes the black hole and the area around it as “the thriving city center of the galaxy, compared to the suburbs where we are. Stars are moving at tremendous speeds. You’d see things change on a time scale of tens of minutes” (Smithsonian). She and another UCLA astronomer, Mark Morris, hope to gather the first evidence that the stars do indeed travel along the weird orbital paths predicted by Einstein’s theory of relativity. If this is so, then the stars would trace out something like a Spirograph pattern over time, gradually altering the points of their closest approaches to the black hole. Andrea Ghez and her colleagues are about eight years away from spotting that shift, according to an article about black holes in the Smithsonian magazine.
As the research progresses, some of the newest findings are quite startling to the teams of astronomers observing them. One of them is the discovery of scores of massive young stars in the same neighborhood as the black hole. Only five to ten million years old and roughly ten times more massive than our sun, no one can quite explain what they are doing there. Normally, new stars are birthed in clouds of gas and dust, in a calm environment. This place, the black hole’s neighborhood is anything but. There’s no real reason to explain why these stars are there. The astronomers are baffled by this finding (Smithsonian).
It is theorized that these young stars will self-destruct in a few million years, leaving behind small black holes of their own. These small black holes (only about 20 miles wide) would then swarm around the central super massive black hole. Mark Morris stipulates that “You’ll have black holes swing past each other in the night, and stars moving through this demolition derby. A near miss between one of these black holes and a star could scatter the star into the supermassive black hole or out of the galactic center entirely” (Smithsonian).
The new findings about black holes are helping astrophysicists and theorists to develop new models for how the universe was created and how it has evolved since then. Avi Loeb, director of the Institute for Theory and Computation at the Harvard-Smithsonian Center for Astrophysics in Cambridge, Massachusetts, believes that all galaxies started with “seed” black holes (as of yet unexplained) and that these black holes were tens to thousands of times more massive than our sun. These seed black holes collided more often and grew exponentially. As they grew, they formed raging quasars which blasted gas out of the galaxy entirely. After the gas was depleted, the supermassive black holes sat “dormant and starved,” says Loeb (Smithsonian).
Our Milky Way galaxy has never fueled a quasar and only absorbed some few, small galaxies. But on the horizon, there lies a terrifying collision. The Andromeda galaxy is squarely set on a collision path with the Milky Way. Loeb and a colleague, T.J. Cox, believe the two will start to merge in about two billion years from now, forming what they call, “Milkomeda.” The two galaxies’ supermassive black hole will collide and ignite a new quasar (Smithsonian).
Andrea Ghez says that “it’s hard to believe that black holes really exist, because it’s such an exotic state of the universe.” She’s content with the data pulled from the three days of her planned observations. They’ve got more than enough to keep busy and they’ve identified a few more big young stars to add to their analysis (Smithsonian).
Black holes are as deadly as they are fascinating and there is still much that we don’t know about them. Recent research, as evidenced by the efforts of Ghez and Loeb, have shown us that black holes can be used to explain parts of how the universe works, but largely they remain a mystery.
Bibliography:
Freudenrich, Ph.D., Craig. “How Black Holes Work.” 26 November 2006. HowStuffWorks.com. <http://science.howstuffworks.com/black-hole.htm> 04 April 2008.
Board of Trustees. “A Brief History of Black Holes”. University of Illinois. 04/04/2008 <http://archive.ncsa.uiuc.edu/Cyberia/NumRel/BlackHoleHistory.html>.
Amazing Space. “Pathway to Discovery”. Space Telescope Science Institute. 04/04/2008 <http://archive.ncsa.uiuc.edu/Cyberia/NumRel/BlackHoleHistory.html>.
Irion, Robert. “Homing In On Black Holes”. Smithsonian April 2008: 45-53.
Seeds, Michael A. Horizons: Exploring the Universe. Belmont, CA: Thomson-Brooks/Cole, 2008.
Tyson, Neil DeGrasse. Death by Black Hole. New York: W.W. Norton & Company Inc., 2007.
FlashFiction, Untitled January 14, 2009
Posted by Bethany Kesler in Writing.Tags: fantasy, Fiction, flashfiction, original, original fiction, speculative, suspense, Writing
1 comment so far
Part of a new ongoing series of flash fiction. Follows this and is set in the same universe. I have no title for this ‘verse yet.
It was very chilly outside when she had gone to go and get some more wood from the woodbox. The snow was just starting to accumulate in piles outside. She shivered slightly as she walked to where the wood was. She reached to retrieve some of it and was stopped by a hand on her wrist. Turning abruptly she gasped, startled. “I’m so-so-sorry,” the tall man standing there stuttered, “C-ca-can I help you with that?” She stared openmouthed at him, it was his softly whispered, “Please” that jolted her back into the present. “Yes, thank you.” She walked in front of him, half apprehensive half curious. Strange men appearing out of the night to help her was definitely not usual.
She showed him where to place the wood inside and was about to thank him again and perhaps offer him something to eat or drink when she saw him crumple by the hearth and heedless of anything else, she rushed to his side. She quickly brushed the fold of his damp cloak aside and pushed back his hood, gasping at the sight of so many angry bruise. Someone had given him a very bad drubbing. She quickly divested him of the tabard and tunic. Good materials and fine stitching, she couldn’t help but notice, obviously this man was or had been important. Why’d he’d been out in the snow all alone, she couldn’t fathom. She winced when she saw some of the scars crisscrossing over his chest and torso. Tracing the angriest looking ones lightly with a finger, she went to get some of the liniment that her grandmother had made a time and half ago. Strong smelling stuff with an undercurrent of sweetness to it. She started to apply it to some of his scars, stopping only when they had all been coated. She covered him with one of the blankets from her hope chest, a thick blanket that had been woven especially for her. A blessed blanket her aunt had called it. She retrieved a small bowl with water and a clean cloth to wipe away the dirt on his face before attending to the injuries there. He was quite handsome she reflected, even with the dirt and grime on him. She started to dab the liniment on his bruises there as her mind whirled with questions. Who was he? Why had he been all alone in these woods at night? Who had beaten him so badly? His left eyes was almost completely swollen shut so bad was the bruising. She brushed some hair out of his face lightly as she continued her ministrations.
**
He woke up, wondering at the warmth and safety he was feeling. The last thing he remembered was escaping through the woods and then stopping at the small cottage because…well he’d forgotten why he had stopped there. He cautiously opened his good eye, looking straight into warm brown ones. He couldn’t help but smile. His mother had had eyes like those. Warm and kind, and expressive. He with her help slowly sat up, wincing as he did so. He’d been hit harder than he had initially thought. “I apologize for the inconvenience, my lady.” He said softly, “I did not mean to cause you alarm before.” Her voice was quite pleasant as she assured him that he wasn’t an inconvenience to her. Her accent was familiar, a sweet spot of home in this barren cursed land. It was a refreshing balm upon his spirit. She had gone to get them some food and drink and as she handed his bowl of stew, he grabbed her wrist lightly. “What business does a daughter of Skye have here in this land?” He asked, his blue staring into her brown. He watched as a myriad of expressions flittered over her face before she regained the serene look he’d seen when he’d woken up. He shifted once as he ate the stew, pushing his hair back behind his delicately pointed ear. It was a long moment before she had answered.
But it had not been the answer he had been expected.
She had lifted her hair to one side and tilted her neck so that he could get a good look at the dragon stenciled there in black ink and crimson red. “I belong to the Dragon’s line. Chosen as he chooses his faithful.” He sucked in a breath, remembering the Seer’s words. Blood is and blood was and blood shall ever be; it runs true in you, little phoenix. The Blood of the Dragon runs swift and hot through your veins, child of fortune. He fumbled with his belt pouch, looking for the thing that had been given him, that was worth escaping through the wood on his own. He finally grasped it and pulled it out. An cunning little thing. A small ornament crafted from gems said to have been once dragon scales. An emblem for a King or his Lady…he held it out to her.
“Lady, wilt thou?” he asked formally, eyes searching her face. The look of startled recognition on her face was all he needed to see. She was the one. The Blood shall call to the Blood. By that token wilt thou find what you seek.
Captain America’s “Death” – Sign of the times? January 13, 2009
Posted by Bethany Kesler in English Papers, Writing, original.Tags: 9/11, Avengers, Captain America, Civil War, Comic books, Marvel, Patriot Act, S.H.I.E.L.D, Steve Rogers, symbolism, Tony Stark
add a comment
Death in comic books is not generally a big thing. With all of the resurrections and the alternate timelines and the amount of retconning[1] that goes on in the comic book sphere, fans of a particular superhero generally don’t worry about the hero dying. At best, it will be just a temporary plot device, serving some greater purpose. Superman has died before and come back to tell the tale, so have several other major superheroes in the Marvel and DC universes. The death of Captain America has caused quite a stir both in and out of the comic books world. The timing of Captain America #25 (March 2007) will forever be remembered as a lasting social commentary on post 9/11 events such as the war in Iraq and the Patriot Act (Robinson).
Captain America has long been held as a national icon, a symbol of national pride. His whole creation has been one long patriotic run. His first appearance in 1941 was as a super soldier fighting Nazis, a superhero embodying American patriotism. His red, white, and blue costume was a representation of the ideals America was fighting for in World War II; freedom, justice, democracy, and the American way. He faded out in the 1960’s when patriotism and the simple truths that Captain America stood for were put on the shelf as Americans started to reevaluate their politics, country, and lifestyles. The civil rights movement and the Vietnam War caused heroes, as well as the rest of the nation to lose the innocence they’d had before (Robinson).
Heroes could no longer afford to be squeaky clean good, models of good manners and pure to a certain extent. They all had flaws, in some cases very serious ones (like Tony Stark’s alcoholism) or minor ones (Hank Pym’s (Ant-man) scatterbrained tendencies). The X-Men were foils for the civil rights movement, Spider-Man worries about finding his own identity, balancing both a normal life and his superhero life.
Captain America was brought back forty years later for the controversial multi-series story arch, Civil War. He was essentially a man out of time and place. Many regarded him to be the “perfect superhero.” This has been seen as his fatal flaw by some. Marvel Editor-in-Chief Joe Quesada has been quoted as saying that “He [Captain America] hasn’t been living in the modern world and the world does move” (Holmes, O’Beirne and Perreira). This could partially explain why Captain America was chosen to die at the climax of the Civil War arch.
The Civil War story arch parallels 9/11 and the subsequent events happening afterwards. Set after the events of House of M[2] and Avengers Disassembled[3], it begins with an accidental explosion in Stamford, Connecticut, an explosion that was caused by superheroes. Thousands of innocent people were killed, which prompted the government to enact the Superhuman Registration Act. This act called for the registration of all the superheroes with the government, giving up their anonymity and revealing their secret identities. The punishment for not registering was imprisonment in the Negative Zone (an alternative dimension where all matter is negatively charged).
It caused a great divide between the superheroes. The pro-registration side was headed up by Tony Stark (Iron Man), one of Captain America’s best friends. Their position was that registration was best for everyone’s safety and that the government was correct in their insistence for all superheroes to be registered. He also quietly orchestrated a campaign that created conditions to scare and mislead the public and government officials into supporting the act and all the programs that it entailed. The anti-registration side, headed up by Captain America, claimed that the Act violated their civil liberties. He became the leader of a group of now-rogue superheroes after refusing to help Tony Stark and the S.H.I.E.L.D. agency in enforcing the new Patriot Act parallel. This led to the two sides fighting bitterly against each other.
Captain America ended up surrendering, giving himself up once he realized what it would truly cost to “win” this war. He was assassinated on the steps of a courthouse on the day of his arraignment. This highly symbolic move was no accident. Captain America’s alter ego, Steve Rogers was a super serum enhanced soldier fighting right alongside the common soldiers in World War II. Even after he’d left the army and joined the Avengers working with S.H.I.E.L.D, he was still identified as a soldier, a hero who’d fought Nazis while protecting the American ideals. Killing Steve Rogers in the manner that they did (two shots from a sniper rifle), the writers of the comic were making a strong statement.
His death came as something of a shock to one of his co-creators, Joe Simon. “”We really need him now,” the 93 year old told the Associated Press (Holmes, O’Beirne and Perreira). Comic books have long been held as a type of social commentary, but the Civil War story arch took it farther than other comic books have gone before (with the notable exception of Alan Moore’s Watchmen).
Post 9/11 Americans have been faced with the decision whether they value their personal freedoms or their own security more. Just like the superheroes in the Civil War story arch must choose between keeping their secret identities and heroic intrigue and joining in with the safer, larger, and nameless forces of the government. Everyday Americans are still weighing the pros and cons of freedom versus security. Marvel declared a loser with the highly symbolic death of Captain America who embodied the ideals of freedom and civil rights. His costume and shield have been taken up by another. So in a sense, Captain America isn’t dead, but what he stood for and the ideals he fought for are.
Bibliography
Holmes, Larry, Jonathan O’Beirne and Glenn Perreira. “Shocking event for Captain America – CNN.com.” 07 March 2007. CNN.com. 28 September 2008 <http://www.cnn.com/2007/SHOWBIZ/books/03/07/captain.america/index.html>.
Robinson, Bryan. “ABC News: What the Death of Captain America Really Means.” 8 March 2007. ABC News. 28 September 2008 <http://abcnews.go.com/US/Story?id=2934283&page=1>.
[1] To retroactively change the continuity of a character or title, often used in comic books.
[2] A follow-up to the events of the Avengers Disassembled storyline, in which the mutant superhero Scarlet Witch suffered a mental breakdown and tried to alter the fabric of reality to recreate her lost children. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/House_of_M
[3] Avengers Disassembled, referred to in some participating series as Disassembled, is a crossover event between several Marvel Comics series. The general idea is that the major heroes (the Avengers, Spider-Man, and the Fantastic Four) are assaulted, not just physically, but emotionally. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Avengers_Disassembled
“For Brutus is an Honourable Man” – Language and Rhetoric in Julius Caesar January 12, 2009
Posted by Bethany Kesler in English Papers, Writing, original.Tags: "Brutus is an honorable man", Julius Caesar, language, Mark Antony, oratory, rhetoric, Shakespeare, writing conventions
1 comment so far
“Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears!” This famous line from Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar is one that is widely known. It comes from Mark Antony’s funeral speech and is only one of the several memorable phrases that are still with us today. Antony’s speech is a very powerful piece of oratory. It skillfully used both rhetorical patterns and emotive imagery to persuade the crowd to rise up and go after Caesar’s killers. There is more than one funeral speech in Julius Caesar; but Brutus’ speech is neither as readily remembered as Antony’s nor quoted as often. This can be easily seen merely by examining the first lines of both funeral speeches.
Antony’s first line is highly memorable because it follows the rhetorical convention of the one- two- three syllable progression. It flows off the tongue in a pleasing rhythm as a one syllable word is followed by a two syllable word and then a three syllable word. It also follows the rhetorical device of asyndeton (Lanham), where commas separate the items in a list without the use of conjunctives. It shows that each term in the list is equal to the others and it speeds up the flow of the sentence. Combined with the one- two- three syllable progression and you have a very memorable first line.
Brutus’ first line on the other hand, “Romans, countrymen, and lovers, (3.2.13)” falls flat when spoke aloud because Brutus violated the rhetorical convention that made Antony’s first statement so powerful. He placed a two syllable word after a three syllable word, making the rhythm of the sentence fall flat. There are other examples in the two speeches that show the differences and ultimately add to how Antony was able to so easily sway the people from loving the conspirators to hating them. First examine the two men who gave the speeches.
Marcus Junius Brutus (Wikipedia) was a skilled orator from an old Roman family; his speech is no more reasonable and no less rhetorical than Antony’s is. Brutus is defending himself and the other conspirators as he explains to the people why they took the action that they did. “… As he was valiant, I honour him: but as he was ambitious, I slew him… (3.2.24-25)” is part of his justification why the conspirators raised their hands against Caesar. Brutus stakes the belief in his words on the plebeians’ belief in his honor. “Hear me for my cause…believe me for mine honour, and have respect to mine honour, that you may believe…(3.2.13-15)” He is casting himself and the other conspirators as true Romans dedicated to Rome above all, “Not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved Rome more. (3.2.20-21)”
Marc Antony was the grandson of a famed rhetorician (Marcus Antonius Orator) and while he had proven himself greatly in battle and out, he had not the instruction that Brutus had had. He was in fact a far greater general than he was a statesman or an administrator. He did in his youth, for a short time, study rhetoric under the philosophers in Greece but his studies were interrupted by the proconsul of Syria who sent him to take part in military campaigns in Judea (Wikipedia). He even states in his speech that he is “…no orator, as Brutus is; But, as you know me all, a plain blunt man…(3.2.208-209)” Yet his keen mind and his brief study in his youth have enabled him to craft a speech that is personal and emotional and uses rhetorical devices among other things to appeal more to the people.
Antony also has the advantage of speaking after Brutus and therefore from a “deconstructive” point of view. Even with the specific conditions that Brutus laid upon him in order to allow him the freedom to speak (that he may praise Caesar but not blame the conspirators, that he must tell the crowd that he is speaking with their permission, and that he speaks from the same public pulpit that Brutus did) (Shakespeare), Antony manages to shift the mob’s opinion from hating Caesar to going after Brutus and the other conspirators.
Brutus’ speech, while it is a good example of his oratorical skill, comes off as very cold, rational, and aloof speech. It does not inspire the same sort of passion that Antony’s did. Moreover, Brutus’ trust that the plebeians will believe his speech because they know him to be an honorable man and without giving them any real sort of proof other than his word is a fatal flaw for him. By doing this he has given Antony the room to sway the mob’s opinion by calling his [Brutus'] honor into question (Baines). Antony accomplishes this by skillfully refuting Brutus’ unsubstantiated claim that Caesar was ambitious. Through repetition and recontextualizing the words, “ambitious,” “honor,” and “honorable,” Antony is able to strip them of their meaning in Brutus’ oration. He does not denounce Brutus; in fact at no point in his oration does Antony come straight out and say that Brutus and the other conspirators were wrong. He does the opposite, continually claiming that “…Brutus is an honourable man; so are they all, all honourable men (3.2.79-80).”
Antony cites three specific examples as part of his refutation of Caesar being ambitious, only one of which is truly relevant. First that “he hath brought many captives home to Rome whose ransoms did the general coffers fill. (3.2.85-86)” Caesar conquered many peoples for Rome, bringing back captives and slaves that were sold or ransomed at great cost; all of that profit was added to Rome’s treasury coffers instead of Caesar’s own pocket. Antony asks the mob, “Did this in Caesar seem ambitious? (3.2.87)” In fact, this would almost suggest that Caesar deserved a crown, having brought so much wealth to the republic.
Antony’s second example, that Caesar cried with the poor in their misfortune, and that in his will, left them all his private parks and gardens as well as seventy-five drachmas for every man (Shakespeare). This shows great compassion and generosity in Caesar, but does not refute Brutus’ charge that Caesar was ambitious. Still Antony states that, “Ambition should be made of sterner stuff. (3.2.89)”
Finally, that “…on the Lupercal, I thrice presented him with a kingly crown, (3.2.92-93)” Antony reminds the mob that they all saw him offer such a thing to Caesar and that “…which thrice he did refuse. (3.2.94)” This is the only truly relevant piece of information and still it is a bit suspect, if you take into account Casca’s report of the offer and refusal, as though it was a theatrical performance staged to delight and win over the plebeian audience (Shakespeare). It serves Antony’s purpose well; the mob is starting to shift its opinions. “Methinks there is much reason in his sayings,(3.2.105)” One citizen states. “…Caesar has had great wrong, (3.2.107)” Another is heard to say.
Antony is fashioning his own words as truth just as he is denying his intention (and ability) to strip Brutus’ words from their meaning. “I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke, but here I am to speak what I do know. (3.2.97-98)” He implies that Brutus only spoke “words” and that they had no real meaning behind them. He also makes it so that his words, his “truth” seem to echo what the plebeians themselves already know. “I tell you that which you yourselves already know. Show you sweet Caesar’s wounds, poor dumb mouths, and bid them speak for me. (3.2.215-217)” The “truth” is not merely in what he is telling them, but in what he is also about to show them. A visual sort of proof that will fire up the imaginations and stir up the emotions even more than they have already been stirred up (Baines).
Antony’s greatest strength, his most effective strategy is his sense of theatricality. His ability to stir up the hearts and minds and emotions of the mob, replaying the assassination in the way that he would want his audience to interpret it. The ultimate irony and triumph of Antony’s accomplishment is when he deconstructs the vision that Brutus and Cassius had created of Caesar’s death, turning their metaphorical vision of Caesar’s death from a ritual sacrifice that had liberated the people to a savage spectacle, killing a benevolent leader. He then adds to the emotional swell when he breaks off his oration in order to weep for Caesar (Baines).
The combination of the rhetorical devices and Antony’s own charismatic sense of the dramatic all contributed to his being able to sway the mob’s opinion. Manipulating them, and their emotions, so provoking their rage against the assassins and their grief for the lost Caesar, in doing this, he turns the tide of public opinion against Brutus, Cassius, and the other conspirators, and thereby paves the way for the conspirators’ defeat at the close of the play.
Bibliography
Baines, Barbara J. “That every like is not the same, The Vissictudes of Language in Julius Caesar.” Zander, Horst. Julius Caesar: New Critical Essays. New York: Routledge, 2004. 139-155.
Lanham, Richard A. A Handlist of Rhetorical Terms . Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1969.
Shakespeare, William. “The Tragedy of Julius Caesar.” Greenblatt, Stephen. The Norton Shakespeare. London : W.M. Norton & Company Ltd. , 1997. 1525-1589.
Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia. Marcus Junius Brutus. 28 Nov 2008. 2 Dec 2008 <http://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Marcus_Junius_Brutus&oldid=253343629>.
-. Mark Antony. 2 Dec 2008. 3 Dec 2008 <http://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Mark_Antony&oldid=255341838>.
