The Hidden Blade

Outside the rain slammed against the earth. Drains gurgled as they filled with dead leaves and the unmistakable stench of a Midwest storm. Nothing was out of the ordinary for Henry. In his basement, an unfinished concrete masterpiece, he toiled away on his hobby. He was a model maker. Some of his work you may have seen in museums.

Tonight lay before him a nearly finished masterpiece. All 4,272 pieces were in place. All that had to be finished was the castle wall. It was a siege scene. In it, a Roman battalion lay siege to an Islamic stronghold, supposedly Constantinople. 

In the background the soundtrack to Les Miserablé attempted to drown out the crashing thunder. One extremely bright headlamp hung from the top of Henry's head to light the small corners.

For you and I it may have been an extremely odd way to spend a Friday evening. However, for Henry, nothing was odd about it. Night after night he spent time in his basement. No one seemed to bother him from his usual routine. After all Henry lived alone. No one was around. In Henry's mind, no one would care if he was dead or alive.  To be completely candid with the reader, I don't think Henry cared if he was alive or dead. He looks at death as another adventure, one that billions of people have taken before him.

Now you may be wondering why Henry's story is worth telling. He doesn't seem very special. He is a lowly artist after all. But just wait my friends and enjoy the ride because this is the night Henry's life changes forever.

A phone rang in Henry's pocket. It only could be one person. He reached over and turned off his music. Annoyed already, he reached in his pocket and answered his phone. "Hello Stewart."

"Henry how the heck are ya my friend?" The voice was happy, annoyingly so. "Never mind that how's the siege coming along?"

"About done now, yeah." Henry answered. His voice was increasingly melancholy.

"Good just what I wanted to hear! I'll be there in the morning with the crew to pick it up."  Stewart was already distracted. He only called to get what he was looking for, and nothing more.

"Yeah sounds good Stew. Say, you want to go to brunch after we deliver it off at the children's museum?" Henry asked.

"Ah tomorrow? Erm... Well Henry I wish I could but I gotta get to my son's school for a meeting with the principal. Apparently he bit some girl he likes at school. A chip off the old block ay Henry!" Stew said. He began talking to someone in the background.

"Ah sorry to hear that. Well maybe next time then aye Stew?"

"Sorry Henry I have to go. Some in-laws just came. Shoot me amiright?"

"Don't be too..."

"Bye Henry!"

The phone beeped its disregard and Henry put his phone back into his pocket.  Putting his lamp back on he began toiling away once more. Only the details were left. A trebuchet here, a splash of dirt there. The finishing touches that can turn a piece of Styrofoam into an art-form. He painted the castle with a sand colored coating and put an oak wood finish on the two inch thick gate. Three hours later the landscape was just missing the final piece: the Roman general Apollo Arrian Augustus Caesar, or Apollo for short.

He stood tall on his white stallion with his legionairres behind him. Henry polished his steel armor until it shined brightly under his lamp. His sword even glinted in the light. He was any child's dream warrior. As Henry put him down on the grassy hill, a weight lifted off his shoulders. Three long weeks of work has finally resulted in this masterpiece. A perfect historical model of a 1:34th scale of a Roman legion sacking Constantinople.

To celebrate, Henry dished himself some icecream and sat down to watch television. On TNT his favorite film Gladiator was just beginning. A perfect ending to a long night.

Half an hour later, Henry was asleep reclined in his plump red chair. His icecream leaving a single stain on his other wise prestine sweater. Dreaming peacefully, his snores softly filled the night.

"Oy pork belly! Wake up!"

"Hey who's there?" Henry shot awake with a look of shock on his face.

"What are you wearing soldier?"

"I actually don't know." Henry tugged at the heavy black cloth.

"Whatever animal it is, it's hideous." The handsome man said.

"Wait one darn minute! How did you get in my house and who are you?" Henry came to his senses.

"Your house? Henry what are you talking about? And you know exactly who I am." The man said.

"Yes my house..." Henry's voice trailed off as he looked around him. Skins and furs of animals surrounded him on an otherwise hard, stiff bed. He seemed to be in some kind of tent. "Where am I?"

"Oh you don't remember me do you?" The man stepped into the light.

"Apollo? This cannot be!" Henry was shocked.

"Ah it cannot be, it cannot be. Will you ever say anything else? This isn't the first time we've met, you and I." Apollo sat on the side of the bed. "This is actually the fourth time you've been in our world. But you would not remember this one. This one is even new to us. But it is familiar. It is a world of plastic!"

"What do you mean your world?"

"Well technically it is still your world. Actually you said it's your basement. And the sun is the lamp you used to see to make us. The first time you were here, it was World War Two. Now that piece is in the Chicago Museum of History."

"How could you possibly know that?"

"You told us, of course. I'm plastic not psychic!" Apollo said matter of factly.

"This is a dream it must be. There is no way I could ..."

"Be here?"

"Be here." Henry restated.

"How did I know you were going to say that? Because you said it the first time. And again the third when you did not remember. It must be some kind of amnesiac response. That is okay though Henry because we worship you. Literally. We pray to you in our hour of need."

"Why would you ever do that?"

"Because you told us to Henry. You said you pray to your creator, and we do likewise. The believers are the ruling body of our world. We live on the very landscapes you create! Just like you said you do of your creator. It is a magnificent chain. Of course we add to our world and develop it unseen to anyone else. We live our lives here after all." Apollo seemed overjoyed that Henry was there with him.

"How are you living and thinking and breathing? You're proper human kind." Henry was still astonished.

"We are not sure how. You said that your creator practically loved you into existance. We like to think that's what you did for us as well. We give you purpose just like you give your creator purpose. And we love you for that." Apollo still beamed excitedly.

"Well that still doesn't actually account for how I'm here..." Henry stood up and noticed he was fully dressed. He had a french cap on, a long black wool trench coat that reached to his ankles, and cowboy boots. "What the hell am I wearing?" Henry shouted.

"You look dashing Henry. Now come come. It is time to meet everyone. Again!" Apollo laughed to himself and led the way out of the tent.

In front of the gigantic tent was an army standing still in formation. As Henry came poked his head out they cheered and smacked their swords on their shields. The raucous died down as Apollo raised his arms for silence.

"Soldiers! Our creator is once more in our ranks. We will be victorious!" Apollo stepped to the side as if to say to Henry, 'your turn.'

Henry seemed bewildered. Every single piece of plastic was alive with moving eyes, thinking thoughts, heaving chests, unsettled feet, and rustling armor. There was a breeze and a sky. There were trees and grass. There were birds and deer. There was a sun and clouds. It was cold and alive. The air was sharp to his lungs and his hands were slightly numb already. This was a world that was alive. It had living breathing people. And he, Henry, was its' creator.