Old Scratch

Old Scratch
　
A long time ago, In the kingdom of Scratch, There existed a realm of ancient ones. They were jealous creatures as they were not allowed a hand in the new creation. So as revenge, the leader, Zepar, unleashed a powerful plague called he jokingly called “Love” unto the people of the new creation. The word “Love” in the land of Scratch meant “A destroying agency; a cause of ruin or of devastation; a destroyer”
Love poisoned the land. The beauty of its infection lay within the speed in which it spread, unnoticed by the lords for thousands of years! In that time it was the cause of wars, bloodshed, unspeakable pain and betrayal, murder, vanity, jealousy, and suffering. Above all else love brought with it a million fold of tears. Love broke spirits, and imprisoned souls. It lured its victims in with the initial sense and feeling of euphoria and peace. Then in time the disease worked its way into the brains of its victims, eating away at their senses until the infected lay a blubbering, sobbing mess on the kitchen floor.
When the higher lords noticed there was a taint in the new creation, they sent after the inhabitants of Old Scratch. But they were given warning, and by then had fled into the world. They hid as nomadic creatures crossing the globe, so as always to keep one step ahead of their pursuers. They lived in bandwagons covering their faces with shiny clothes and glistening beads.
And so it went. The bands dispersed over the course of time, landing first in India then onwards towards Europe. They found their lives to be the most rewarding there. Be it summer or winter, the people now known as “Gypsies” lived beneath the moon and stars. This, was all they needed. Far better then the fear and oppression they experienced in Scratch. Zepar had done them a great good in his mischief, where once he was an outcast among outcasts. Now, they were free and lived off the rich and beautiful earth. They savored the smell of rain, and dirt. They danced naked in open fields and found pleasures in the hunt and even more so in a lustrous kind of dance which they called “The Human Experience”. Fire held the greatest beauty of all, and they would sit close to it and sing, staring into its light. Night after night they would gather and speak of the true magic they held. The gypsies learned to contain this magic so they may show it to the inhabitants without frightening them. As the older ones died out, a new generation was born, and on it went this way for some time. War, poverty and pain served the best tools to reap what the creatures of Scratch had long before sowed. It was in these times of great sorrow the humans came to the gypsies, wringing their hands and begging to be told “Love Exists”. Some played on this fear and benefited from it, taking more and more of the strange coins they never needed in the first place. The ones the humans would desperately throw at them. If only, they could promise something greater then the life in which they were now cursed.
Love was bottled, manufactured and sold, as carelessly as it was unleashed. Its murky dank appearance let on nothing of the deadly power it harnessed. One day, Stiggur and Theron, sons of Zepar sat talking by the river bank that washed through their camp. A third, Zindelo, bathed naked with the other gypsy women as he often did, and took no notice of them as he threw himself again and again into “The Human Experience” with one woman in particular. Theron debated with his brother that it just so might happen, one of their own, could be infected with love, if one were ever to drink the potion that is. Stiggur vehemently denied this was a possibility and on they went until the debate became heated. But they so loved these human moments and fed on the passion, building it higher and higher. It were times such as this, when they argued, cried, and laughed, life on earth was really worth living. But none the less, to prove his point, Theron took from his pocket “love” in a little brown bottle. He got up and begin searching for something in the grass. Once he found was he was looking for he called Stiggur over and motioned for him to be silent. Theron poured the rest of love out into the grass, beside a beautiful fairy, who slept peacefully in the summer winds. In one thrust Theron pushed the fairy into a puddle of love! She awoke, full of rage and confusion and demanded who pushed her in all this muck! What fairies lack in intelligence they most certainly make up for in great passion, mischief, and beauty. Knowing this well, Theron pointed to Zindelo, bathing in the river and said “Why! He did it! Surely he must be punished!”
The fairy flew and in an instant was upon Zindelo. The moment he came up for air she bite him hard with “love” all over her teeth, and drew blood upon the neck. Zindelo screamed and cast the little bug away in an instant, but it was too late. Zindelo looked down upon the woman in which he was gathered in, and felt. Warmth rushed down his arms and chest, and his stomach turned and his heart beat faster. He looked away from her, and then back again in confusion, and fear. Her breath seemed more beautiful. Her lips unfolded like the dying sun upon the green horizon. Her eyes told the story of the first time he ever saw the stars in a deep, blue empty sky. Her skin drew him in and moving closer to her, he breathed in her scent, more intoxicating then wine made from the most sacred of vines. The total loss of self washed over him as easily as the water. Zindelo pulled away, and rushed then from the water, screaming into the woods.
　
Theron then looked to his brother, smiling and said
"See?"