Bergen vs. the Author

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“This is me just writing to encourage the creative juices,” Angela says. “I can’t write today.” 🙁

 

Once upon a time, there was Bergen.

“Really?” Bergen asked, looking up from the white page at the Author.

“Yes!” The Author said back. “Bergen!”

Bergen was a spoiled prince who—”

“I’m awesome!” the character reassured himself. “I am epic.”

The Author sighed and considered giving Bergen an ugly ass scar across his face to teach him a lesson.

Bergen scoffed.

The Author knew Bergen would act like an ugly scar wouldn’t bother him, but deep inside where all the soft mushy feelings live, the Author knew that the ugly ass scar would bother Bergen.

“Hold on just a minute!” Bergen bellowed from the white page. “I do not have soft mushy anything!”

But Bergen had no time to argue because the gorgeous goddess with raven black hair and a bosom that was noteworthy caught Bergen’s lustful eye.

“That’s dirty,” Bergen scowled.

“So it is,” the author said, but the goddess was closing in.

“Bergen, Bergen,” the goddess rolled Bergen’s name around on her tongue, which only gave Bergen cause to think of other things to roll on her tongue. She smiled a sweet smile that encouraged Bergen’s imagination.

She stepped closer and Bergen felt the cold wall behind him. The chains that secured him to the floor—

“What chains?” Bergen asked.

“The chains I’ve decided to put on your wrists and ankles,” the Author said.

“Och!” Bergen cursed and the goddess smiled knowing the author was on her side.

“And what floor?” Bergen asked. “You haven’t bothered to paint the scene.”

“Ugh! Fine!” the Author sighed with great exasperation that complimented Bergen’s ego well. “You’re in a dungeon with a little window where the Fae moon can barely be seen through the bars. Blue moonlight streaks the stone floor. There’s straw and dirt and you’re chained to the wall and the floor.”

“That’s it?” Bergen asked.

“I’ll add a skeleton.”

“Ooh! With a partially rotten corpse!” said Bergen.

“And zombies!” the author said excitedly.

“Zombies!” Bergen and the Author shouted together.

“Aaaaarrugh,” said the zombies who began rising out of the floor.

“No zombies,” shouted the goddess.

“Uuuuuurgh,” said the zombies with disappointment as the Author scribble out the word “zombies.”

Sadly, the zombies sank back into the floor.

“Aw,” Bergen and the author said together.

“Now,” said the goddess. She sidled up to Bergen until her lips almost brushed his.

She smelled of vanilla and lilac with a touch of heather and Bergen groaned.

“Make him naked,” ordered the goddess.

“No!” said Bergen who could sense the venom in her kiss. He knew the results of the Fae goddess kiss for he had seen the broken remains of men maddened with lust from that kiss. He knew he too had to resist.

“Naked!” said the goddess.

“No!” Said Bergen.

“Shirtless,” said the Author knowing Bergen’s extreme case of claustrophobia.

“Wait!” said Bergen. “I’m in Under Earth! I don’t have that problem yet!”

“You’re right!” said the Author.

“The shirt stays on!” Bergen smiles triumphantly.

“Damn!” said the goddess. She recovered from her disappointment and slid a hand behind Bergen’s neck who had an urge to cringe, but couldn’t as the goddess worked her Fae spell.

Grinning, she pulled at his belt. Sweat beaded on Bergen’s brow.

“Angela…” Bergen grumbled, as the goddess leaned in for her fatal kiss—

“But, too late, Bergen swiped the pen from Angela and shoved her to the floor,” Bergen said as he swiped the pen from Angela and shoved her to the floor. “Bergen’s chains, weakened by his vast, godlike will, snapped and he withdrew the goddesses’ sword—the only weapon that could kill a go—”

“What blade?” The Author screeched. “What sword?”

“This blade,” Bergen said, holding up a black blade with lines of golden Seidr beneath the black. “This blade whose very greatness was forged in the fires of the Great Gap when the beginning was formed. There were Muspellsheim meets Niflheim, the great fire giant, Surtr forged the one weapon that could destroy the gods. None could wield this sword but me…the Dark One…whose evil surpassed the evils in all of Helheim and whose prowess and legendary sex appeal won the hearts of the fairest of lasses. Only he in all his epic greatness could wield that blade. That blade now filled my hand and granted insurmountable power to me, the Dark One. Songs will be written of this day! And I’m going to write them! I who will smite thee—”

“Cutting his pompous monologue short,” Angela said. “The Author jumped in and permitted this one shining moment of glory for Bergen. He slashed and parried—”

“I do not parry,” Bergen said.

“He thrust and waved the blade around like—”

“Lunging, I, Bergen, brought the blade down on the goddess, slicing her head off at the ne—”

“But Bergen was too late,” the Author said. “The goddess had anticipated Bergen’s lack of cooperation and, as he swung the blade, his arms grew weak. The blade, too heavy to wield, fell, and Bergen dropped to his knees in weak, girly submission.”

“You bitch,” the Author permitted Bergen to say. And, with a final glowering glare at the Author, Bergen dropped his head to the stone floor in an enchanted sleep.

 

 

     

About the Author: Angela

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