Travelers: An Ongoing Epic Poem

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Today's a good day for me, so I decided to put some of my writing online for the first time in a while.

This is something I've been and still am working on called "Travelers." I don't need to tell you what it's about, it does that for you. It's an epic poem, so it has a different style of writing then normal works.

"This Work is Protected Under Creative Commons Lisence 2.5" (it is, though)

Travelers
Book 1

Brandon <--------->

There is where the blue house once stood
Where the distraught and destruction now stands,
On the corner of the street,
This is where our story begins,
And eventually where our story ends

Our story describes a prophecy,
Writing on the wall,
This prophecy would guide the destiny
Of several young men and one woman

This story naught describe the future,
Nor fantasy
Nor folklore
It describes the simple foray into mystery, into adventure, into prophecy,
Into destiny, into confusion, into destruction,
It describes the travels of 22 year old Scott Journey,
And his band of 30 men

I’m sorry,
28 men, one woman, and one person in the back recording everything in a log,
A log which would eventually be turned into legend,
A legend which was only passed through few people,
A legend which is this story,
The legend of the relic and the trip ‘round the world
Lest we forget all of this, they are important details

Our story begins when this pale blue house still stood
This cold, dark house
This ancient, dirty house
This stony, brickwalled house
This foreboding, abusive house
This offensive, mysterious house
On the corner of Leap and Finch,
In the lush Central Valley of California,
On the wide western coast of North America

The legend starts inside this house,
The house of the Journey family,
Consisting of the hero, Scott Journey, a young fresh out of college man and his family:
Doug Journey, the incompetent, drunken father long past his prime, whom Scott despised;
Marsha Journey, the equally incompetent yet sober mother, whom Scott shared indifference;
Tina Journey, 17 year old sister whom watched over the sanity of her and Scott’s parents;
And the 6 year old tabby Sandwich Macaroni Junior Senior the 2nd, son of Sandwich Macaroni Junior, and grandson of Sandwich Macaroni Junior Senior the 1st
More important details that reek of being trivial knowledge, just more waste of the trillion slots of memory the average human brain can hold

The family was sitting at the dinner table, Scott just visiting
He really despised being at this house, except when his grandfather was over, then he rather enjoyed the lengthy conversations they tended to delve into.
He began to look around;
He had long since finished his “plentiful banquet” of Chinese take-out, more specifically two soggy, disgusting, brown cream cheese wontons and a stale fortune cookie
The dinner table reeked of rotted cheese and dog food,
Scott could no longer take the offensive smells

However, Scott not dare leave the dinner table, he was a respectful young man;
His golden blond hair was at medium length, always kept tidy, however not unusually covered by a hat of some kind;
He had not shaven recently, so some blond stubble lay on his face, he found it annoyingly itchy;
He was average sized for a 22 year old, about six foot, two inches tall and about 167 pounds or so;
And his clothes were almost indefinitely a blank colored t-shirt, usually white, with a jacket, vest, or button-up of some kind, with casual slacks or, rarely, faded denim
He was moderately desirable, yet not too extraordinary

Scott continued to wait for his chance to ask if he could be excused,
This was a mundane task, really, he was 22 years old now and he deserved the right to leave if he wanted, however his respect got the best of him;
He continued to wait, and eventually, his mother spoke up

“Scott,” she murmured politely, “would yeh liked te’ be excused?”
This was a dumb question, thus Scott answered,
“Obviously, Mother, been done for 20 some-odd minutes now.”
“Well then,” Marsha began, “yeh can leave, but Scott, yer respect for us hes te’ stop. Yer such a goody two-shoes, so obedient, Scott, yer 22 years old, this house is done wit’ yeh. Why do yeh respect us so much anyway, Scott?”

“Because I raised myself better than that, mom.” And with that, a smug-faced Scott left the table
He walked down the hallway; it was a very dark and narrow hallway,
Filled with pictures of family, unhappy pictures;
As he walked down this hall, he looked to his right to see a bathroom not been cleaned in months;
He looked to his left to see the black door, the door that he had often seen his grandfather go into as a child;
The door was open

“Why in the world is the door open,” Scott asked himself, “never has been before…”
He walked inside this door that he never had before,
The door no one seemed to know what lay inside,
The door leading to mystery,
The black door in the hallway,
Oh yes, Scott often wondered what lay behind

He walked inside without knocking;
He figured it was his right at this point, he was tired of being so respectful;
His mom was actually quite right in saying he needed to stop brown-nosing his parents,
The mutual hate that had grown between them and Scott couldn’t be fixed

As he walked inside, a rumbling began in his stomach;
What lay in here?

I've got more written, and if you demand it, more coming! Don't ask me how long it is, it's not finished yet! w00t!

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