Walter's Story

Here's the other, much longer story that I wrote. This one definitely needs a lot more work, so any feedback is much appreciated. Oh, and I still haven't really titled it, so any suggestions are welcome as well.

Walter found himself in a bit of a pickle. Not a real pickle, mind you. That would just be ridiculous. A better analogy would be to say that he was between a rock and a hard place. Only in this instance, his back was really against a rock, and the hard place was more like hard steel. Things did not look particularly good for Walter.

His opponent was formidable. It was obvious that he was a very experienced knight. His armor wasn’t nearly as bright and shiny as Walter’s was, nor was his blade nearly as sharp. It looked plain and very simple, but, unfortunately for Walter, quite strong. There were a few old dents in the side, and one very recent one from when Walter hit the knight when he wasn’t looking. That was what got Walter into this near-death position in the first place.

It’s not that Walter had never been in a battle before. In fact, he’d won his fair share of battles, and even killed in a few of them. Walter was the first and only son of a second-rate nobleman who was conned into some third-rate land, and he still thought he got a good deal out of it. Walter was looking forward to inheriting that land, lazing away drinking wine and chasing skirts. Walter couldn’t wait to grow old and rich while everyone else did the work.

Walter didn’t grow up alone though. He did have a bunch of sisters. Older sisters. Bigger sisters. Sisters who forced Walter to play their silly games, dressing him in all sorts of outrageous outfits and making him kiss the family pig. In the stories they created, the pig always turned into a handsome prince that married one of the sisters, depending on whose turn it was. Walter never did understand why he was the one who had to kiss the pig. If he kissed the pig, it should obviously turn into a princess, one with a big castle where he could drink wine and chase skirts. He didn’t really care if the princess was beautiful or not. He just wanted a castle. Walter did enjoy the outfits though. All the bright colors and patterns that made no sense. It made Walter feel frivolous. In reality, Walter didn’t know what frivolous meant, but it was the biggest word he knew how to say, so he tried to use it as often as he could. Walter’s father thought he looked like a sissy.

Walter’s father, whose name was also Walter, tried to make a man out of Walter. Walter taught Walter to fish, hunt, ride a horse, fight, and all sort of other skills one of his blood was due. Um…Walter the father taught Walter the son all those things. Right, this could get confusing. I think we’ll just call Walter the father W1 and Walter the son W2 for this part of the story. Of all the skills that W2 learned from his father, the activity he practiced the most was sword fighting. It made W2 feel strong and powerful; his noble blood pumping through his veins. Also, it got him out of playing kiss the pig with his sisters. In W1’s eyes, W2 became quite adept at the things he had been taught. W1 had great visions of his son winning the family glory and riches, allowing them to move up a whole peg to 1st rate nobles on 2nd rate land!

Alas, W1 was not nearly as good at these noble skills as he thought he was, and he was a much worse teacher. W2 learned the skills to the best of his limited ability, and used his skills to win his fair share of battles. Granted, most of these battles were against trees that couldn’t fight back and the rest against bound pigs he had to slaughter, but in W2’s mind, they were evil wizards and dragons, so it still counted. W2’s problem wasn’t that he was bad. That can always be fixed. His problem was that he didn’t realize that he was bad. People say that ignorance is bliss. In this case, ignorance could get you killed. The only people within miles of his land were the servants, and they knew nothing about these noble skills. After all, they were not noble. They did know a fool when they saw him though and would often mock W2 behind his back.

After years of perfecting mediocrity, W2 decided it was time to go out into the world and earn riches, save princesses, and chase skirts. Not wishing to see his son go out unprotected, W1 commissioned a brand new suit of armor for his son to wear, with intricate metalwork meant to strike fear in the hearts of his enemies. His mother, always congnizant of the family’s financial situation, made sure that W1 brought the coupon she had cut out of the weekly circulator when he went to pay for it. W2’s family waved to him as he rode out to explore the world, wishing him luck, praying for riches, and hoping he remembered to come back alive.

The world was very different then what Walter expected. At this point we can safely assume that all references to Walter can only refer to Walter the son. The world was much bigger, things were a lot farther apart, and the woman were much uglier. But the worst part of it was that there weren’t any adventures to go on. Walter expected ample opportunities to go adventuring, and he was thouroughly disappointed. Still, he looked like a noble knight in fancy armor, so the peasants in the towns he visited showed him some matter of respect.

That is, until he ran into another knight as he was traveling; a knight with not nearly as fancy armor as his own. To Walter, a knight’s standing was evident through his appearance, not his actions. Seeing this unknown knight in dented armor, Walter fully expected the knight to show him the respect his appearance demanded. The other knight just ignored Walter, barely even seeing him in the glare off the pristine armor. Offended, Walter drew his sword, as if to show that he was a knight to be respected. Walter also prayed that the other knight would be convinced enough to not fight back. The knight knew the actions of an amateur when he saw one, and not wishing to have a laugh escape his lips, the knight merely passed Walter silently. Angered at this knights lack of respect, Walter smacked the offender with the flat of his blade hard enough to add another dent in the used armor. Did I mention that Walter wasn’t particularly bright?

Surprisingly, Walter was holding his own. Oh, he was still in a pickle, but he was alive which, for someone of his ability, was quite impressive. Walter’s main problem, outside of his inexperience, was that his arms were getting tired. They’d been fighting for quite some time, and, while it was easy for him to take a break when he was fighting a tree, I mean an evil wizard, Walter had a sneaking suspicion that his opponent would not agree to break for a cup of tea. It was at this moment, while Walter was holding off a rather violent flurry from his homicidal opponent, that Walter slipped and ended up leaning against the wall.

Walter knew this was bad. If he was standing up, Walter at least had a remote chance of running away. On the ground, he was a turtle. A very tired turtle, lying on its shell with little chance of getting up quickly. The offended knight lept at the opportunity to finish off Walter, and in his homicidal rage, jumped up to land the killing blow. Walter was definitely scared and was pretty sure that he could see death foaming at the mouth. At this moment, it occurred to Walter that perhaps the other knight had been bitten by a rabid animal which would explain his sudden mood swing from disrespectful to homicidal. No life flashing before his eyes, no prayers for salvation to God, just a mental note not to pick a fight with a person with rabies. The next thing Walter knew, the other knight was lying dead on the ground with all but the hilt and a few inches of Walter’s sword in his body.

Walter was ecstatic. He didn’t know how, but he was alive which he thought was a good thing considering that he was pretty sure that wasn’t a likely outcome of the battle. For years, Walter would tell the story of how he killed the knight. As with any good story, it would be slightly embellished with each telling until Walter would recount how he had either killed a giant or 4 heavily armed knights on horses with one arm, the other one having been chopped off by a fifth, already dead knight, depending on Walter’s mood and alcoholic intake. At this point, someone generally pointed out to Walter that he still had both arms, making it rather difficult for it to have been chopped off since it was still attached. Walter insisted indignantly that his arm had grown back. The reality was that, while Walter was pondering what sort of rabid animal had bitten his opponent, some instict had caused him to lift his sword up. The semi-victorious knight, in his rabid rage, ran right onto the sword, body first, and, shocked to find half a sword in his body, promptly fell over and died, leaving Walter to survive. It was actually quite a considerate thing to do since Walter was not looking forward to his seemingly inevitable death. Exhausted from the fight, Walter stood up, brushed himself off, removed his sword from his recently deceased opponent, and said:

“I didn’t slip. I fell on purpose.”

Walter had recently taken to talking to himself or rather, it seemed to others that he was having a conversation with someone that only he could hear. The anonymous people of the towns he rode through often wondered if the stranger in the ridiculous armor was crazy.
“I’m not talking to myself, and I can’t have a conversation with someone who never talks back to me, now can I? I can’t help it if I hear a really annoying voice that tells any number of lies about me. I’m just trying to set the facts straight. It would seem that no one else hears this voice, but I’ll be damned if that’s going to make me have to listen to lies.”

A few more religious people in these towns wondered if Walter was perhaps a prophet, talking to a diety about the fate of the town. In order to curry favor with this potential prophet, they would send him gifts of food and wine. Walter graciously accepted their offers, believing that the people were treating him the way a knight aught to be treated. Rest assured, Walter was not a prophet. He just talked to himself all the time. Most people thought he was crazy.

“So that’s why they gave me all that food and wine! I have to admit that most of it wasn’t of particularly good quality, but it was better than the dried meats I had in my pack. If they had really wanted to curry favor with an alleged prophet, they should have sent me their daughters. Not that it really would have mattered, I’m not a prophet. I’m just a guy who hears an annoying voice in his head narrating every thing I do. On top of that, he doesn’t even tell it right. I was winning the fight the whole time. I was just letting the other guy think he had a chance. I fell on purpose to bring him closer to me so I could kill him. I do agree that it certainly looked like he had rabies though. I don’t know why else he wouldn’t properly show me respect.”

It was generally thought that talking to oneself was not in fact a sign of insanity. Many people talked to themselves while doing some activity, usually as a way to pass the time and stay entertained. However, people did think that conversing with oneself was a sign insanity, and Walter definitely seemed to be having a conversation with someone. It was beginning to get quite worrisome.

“…Walter definitely seemed to be having a conversation with someone. It was beginning to get quite worrisome. Oh, shut up already! It’s getting hard to hear myself think.”

No one could discern who Walter was talking to.

“I’m talking to you, you dolt, whomever you are! Ever since I left my house, you’ve been following me around, narrating everything I do. I know what just happened. I was the one doing it. Not to mention all the horrible lies you’ve been telling about me. I did not like dressing up! It’s not very knightly. Just shut up already!”

This was beginning to get disturbing.

“I should say so. You try having a voice follow you every where you go.”

Who are you talking to?

“Are you not paying attention? I’m talking to you, you stupid voice.”

You can hear me?

“What? Did you honestly think I was hearing voices? I heard one voice, yours. Only time I ever got a break from you was when I was sleeping. Narrating sleep isn’t very interesting, is it?”

You’re not supposed to hear me. No one’s ever heard me before.

“There are others?! Damn, I was at least hoping that I was the only one to have a voice follow them. Now, I’m not even special. And how can they not hear you? I would think that they couldn’t help but hear an annoying, voice that talks funny repeating everything they’ve just done.”

I don’t talk funny.

“Have you ever heard yourself speak?”

Of course.

“Well, then you know what I’m talking about.”

My voice is perfectly normal.

“Whatever. Don’t believe me. I’m just the one who hears you speak all the time. Look, can you just leave me alone?”

Sorry. I’m just doing what I’m told. I don’t really have a choice. It’s my job to tell the story.

“What do you mean, it’s your job to tell the story? It’s my life! You just tell what I’m doing anyway. All you have to do is stop speaking.”

It doesn’t work that way.

“Fine, then I’m just going to stand here and do nothing. If I don’t do anything, then you don’t have anything to tell.”

Walter stuck his tongue out at nobody in particular. He didn’t exactly know where the voice was coming from, so he just picked a direction and hoped the voice could see it. Walter wondered if voices had eyes. Deciding that it didn’t really matter, Walter leaned up against a tree and did nothing.

“STOP THAT! I’m not doing anything. You can’t narrate nothing! Who has ever heard a story where the guy does nothing? Not me, that’s for sure.”

Walter continued to do nothing. Occasionally this nothing was broken by yelling into the air at nothing in particular.

“I’m not yelling at nothing. I’m yelling at you. You really are an idiot.”

Look, I don’t really have a say in this. I speak and you do something. That’s how it works.

“What do you mean, you do what you’re told? Is there someone else there? Hey! Other person!

Will you tell him to shut up already? Besides, you always talk after I’ve done something, never before. Maybe you’re the crazy one, following respectable knights around and repeating everything they just did, as if they didn’t know?”

No…it just seems to you that I’m talking after you’ve done something. You’re so busy doing whatever it is that you’re doing that you don’t actually hear me until after the fact. At least, I think that’s how it works. Normally I don’t get into a conversation with the character I’m talking about.

“Okay…this is just getting weird. Obviously, I’m the one doing things, so you respond to me.”

I can’t even see you. I responded to an ad in the paper for a person who could tell stories well. I’ve always felt comfortable talking to people, have really good diction, and can do voices, so I got the job. The only reason you can’t hear me when you go to sleep is because you going to sleep magically happens to coincide with the end of my shift. You can’t have a story without someone telling it, so you just conveniently go to sleep.

“So, you’re telling a story about me?”

Not exactly. I was told to just sit here in my cubicle and speak. I’m not really making up the story though. The words just come out of my mouth on their own. I don’t know what frivolous means either. I’ll admit it’s a little weird, but the pay is good.

“So someone else wrote the story, and you read it?”

Were you not listening? I’m not reading anything. The words just come out of my mouth. The sign in the lobby says something about the voice being a vehicle.

“Who are you telling the story to anyway? Is anyone really that interested in what I’m doing?”

No idea. I clock in, sit down, and when the green light comes on, the words just start coming out of my mouth.

“That’s weird.”

You’re telling me. Try speaking without thinking. Wait…I’ve told enough of your story to know better than to say that.

“Very funny. Well, can’t you just not talk when the green light comes on. I mean, there’s no one making you talk.”

Technically not, but my paycheck gives me some pretty good incentive to do my job. Also, if I don’t narrate, I don’t think you can actually do anything.

“How do you know that? I don’t act just because you say so. You’re not all powerful. You don’t even know what frivolous means. You’re just a –what did you call it again?– a vehicle. What’s a vehicle?”

It’s sort of like a horse-drawn cart without the horse that still moves. I’m not exactly sure how that applies to story-telling, but I’m not paid to think. You’ve distracted me long enough. I need to get back to telling the story.

Walter crossed his arms and looked indignantly at no one in particular.

“Oh, that reminds me. Why is my name Walter? That’s not a very noble sounding name. Why can’t it be something memorable like… Aleren. Sir Aleren. That sounds much better. You don’t even call me Sir Walter. Just Walter and that whole W1, W2 thing. I thought that was really disrespectful. Do you want to end up like that knight?”

You really are quite thick, you realize that? I didn’t name you. You were named, and I spoke that name. That’s how it works. Enough with this foolishness.

“No.”

You tried this already. It didn’t work last time and it’s not going to work this time either.

“It’ll work if you do your part. Just get up and leave. I don’t know. Take a break. Go have a beer. You do have beer wherever you’re from, right?”

It’s 10 in the morning here.

“You’re point being?”

It’s too early to have a drink.

“Is the closest bar open?”

Um…yes. I get breakfast there sometimes.

“Then it’s not too early to have a drink.”

You’re really quite persistent, aren’t you?

“I just want to stop hearing voices.”

You have quite a way with words, do you realize that?

“What? Whatever. Just leave me alone. If you’re gone for 5 minutes, what’s the worst that could happen? He’s still dead and there’s no one around for miles.”

Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. I’ll be back.

“Finally, some peace of mind. Wait…let me test this out. You’re not still there, are you?”

…

“He really left. And I can still do stuff. Sweet. See…I didn’t need him. So why am I still talking to myself? Let me get out of here, things will be easier once I’m moving. Plus, I don’t really want to explain why there’s a dead body over there.”



“Um…where am I going? Usually I just start riding and the voice sort of clues me in on where I’m going. Why couldn’t someone have put a sign on this damn road. I think I’ll go that way.”


“This usually goes a lot faster. One minute I’m riding through a mountain pass, the next, I’m at some town. Actually doing the riding is pretty boring and long.”


“I think I’m starting to get some chafing.”


“Okay…this just sucks. Hey. Hey! Are you there? Can you help me out? Speed this up a bit or at least tell me where I’m going.”
…
“What are you? Some kind of alcholic? How many drinks do you need? Get back here and do your job. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Um…Off in the distance, Sir Aleren sees a beautiful princess on horseback being chased by 3 evil bandits. Sir Aleren rushes to save her, knowing it is his duty as a noble knight to defeat those terrible bandits.”


“Damnit. No bandits and no princess. That didn’t work.”

“Okay, let’s try this again. Off in the distance, Walter sees a beautiful princess on horseback being chased by 3 evil bandits. Walter rushes to save her, knowing it is his duty as a noble knight to defeat those terrible bandits.”


“Crap.”