Story Building “Level 3”

Or, al least I know where this idea came from

I wish I knew where ideas come from. One of my friends have told me they would love a front seat “to see what’s going on in there”. For the most part, I can never quite place my finger on what exactly spurred a certain story. One flash piece, “Level 3”, came about after a family gathering – but probably not in the way you think it would. It all started when I referred to a “Chicken Licken”[1] advert (Madam & Eve had especially good cartoons on this theme, but I digress). 

What were we talking about before that? I have no idea. But this advert led to a discussion about people building into the ground instead of building above ground. That way, you could have streets, but no buildings, just trees and gardens.

Skip to a few hours, lunch and a bunch of other conversations later.

Suddenly, I feel a story building. What if people got scared and moved underground, basically forming new communities? What if their only contact with the outside world was the traders – who gave them untrue information? What if it played out in a fantasy world and not on earth? I sat down and wrote “Level 3” in one go, seat-of-pants style. After a bit of editing (yes, I actually want to rewrite the whole thing now that I’ve read it again), this is what came of the idea:

Level 3

The rumors had started a week before the king died. “Well, you know what they say about that nephew of his,” followed by a knowing nod or wink left many to speculate about just what They did say. Most came to the conclusion that what they did say was negative. The kingdom had been at war for nearly two centuries and the future looked bleak.

 Like most other Blank Street families, Johan’s family started giving in to the pressures of those around them, buying enough food to last for months and struggling into the Echoing Caves on the day the king breathed his last, even though most believed were inhabited by ghosts and evil spirits . They were of the first to go below and received rooms on the third level of the underground building, above the level given to the upper-classes. Closer to the water than most and with some ventilation they lived almost as comfortably as those below them.  On the second level living was cheaper, but also closer to danger. The first level was a cramped, dirty space where entrances were blocked as well as they could be. Most here made their living by trading with those on the surface. And with the traders came the frightening news from the outside world.  Days turned into weeks, weeks into months and soon they had too little food for all the mouths to feed below ground and fairy tales about ghosts were soon forgotten.

“The last of the grain this year, master,” one trader told Johan’s father. “I can’t get it any cheaper than this.  And can’t go outside yourself – them brigands have taken to robbing and murdering in the light of day! Why, it’s a miracle I got this bag without being run through.” He held out a cupped hand and Johan watched from the shadows how his father paid thrice as much for grain as he would have before. If it kept on like this they would not be able to buy food much longer.  Johan took out his own coins and sighed. He decided not to eat that night, claiming a headache and retiring early.

When he woke the lanterns were nearly empty. He sat up, looking around him for signs of breakfast. But the rest of the family was still abed. “Sleepy heads! Time to – “He walked closer to the sleeping forms of his family. They were in a fitful state of sleep. Sweat beaded on their contorted faces. Yet not one made a sound. He ran to the fourth level to fetch a doctor with his father’s last money.

The doctor came soon and looked them over. “It’s blackroot poison, all right; don’t know how they got it down here.” He gazed steadily at Johan. “Yet you do not look ill?” He let the question hang in the air.

“The… the only thing we did differently is that I didn’t eat supper.” He looked towards the sack of grain. The doctor opened it and smelled a few kernels and turned to Johan “Where did you get this grain?”

“One of the traders –"

“Then you must go yourself.” His eyes were dark.

“Where? Outside?”

The doctor nodded. “You can’t trust the traders anymore, son. Go yourself and bring medicine and news of the outside world.”

Johan looked from the doctor to his family and back.

“They will last a day at the most. I can give them something to slow the poison…”

Johan thought about the few coins he had left. They would never be enough to pay anyone to go outside to get the antidote. But he also didn’t want to leave his family.  “What must I bring?”

The doctor scribbled on a slip of paper. “You need to find an apothecary that can mix that for you… if there is any left…”

Johan packed a few things and took a filled lantern to light his way. “I will return with it before nightfall,” he said as much to give himself strength than to the doctor. Then he started climbing to the first level. He made his way between the rabble of people. With his lantern extinguished it was easy enough to slip out of the trader’s door. He guarded his aching eyes with one hand and stumbled into shadows away from the entrance.  He crouched against a wall until his eyes finally adjusted. He looked around him. The city looked just as it always had. There were no broken windows, no burned buildings, no gangs roaming the streets. He walked to where the apothecary was, seeing no change whatsoever. He entered and bells rung above the door as they always had. Mr. Potterglass stepped out from behind the partitioning at the back of the shop. His broad smile faded and his brown face became as white as a sheet.

“Johan?”

“Yes, Mr Potterglass, I’ve come to beg medicines for my family.” He held out the measly coins on his palm.

Potterglass enveloped the boy in a crushing hug. “Bless me, son, we thought you were all dead and gone! Stolen from us by the spirits in the night! Where are your family?”

“In hiding.”

“Hiding? From what?”

“From the new king.”

“Why?” His hands worked deftly to ready the prescription. “I mean… things have never been so good. We have peace with our neighbors for the first time in generations.” He looked the emaciated boy up and down. “And we have more food than we know what to do with.”

Johan’s blood ran cold. Not waiting to eat or rest, he grabbed the medicine and rushed back to the entrance of the chambers. He searched and searched, knowing that he was only gone a few hours. But there were no signs of an entrance or of the traders. He was still searching when night fell. But there was nothing. He sank to his knees and started to cry.

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[1] And now I want hot wings. Well that’s just perfect.