The creature his attention was fixed on was rather hard to describe. So hard, in fact, that I'll not bother trying to describe it. I understand this may prove frustrating for many readers, but such frustrations are ill-founded. In fact, when an author declines to fully describe something it is a bit of a bonus for a reader because he (or she) is given the opportunity to come up with a mental picture of this creature without being hampered by any pre-described notions about it. So please, dear reader, do your best to picture a creature that cannot be accurately described. Picture it, but do not devote too much time to it, because it actually has little to do with this story.

Shan's attention was completely fixed on this strange, linguistically elusive critter. For a moment everything else he had ever considered in his life ceased to be important. Only this funny little thingy of an animal mattered. It was unfortunate that he placed so much attention on the creature, he soon found out. For the blue rock that he chose to sat near eventually turned out to be no rock at all, but a giant eyelid (scary, eh?)!

The eye opened and looked at Shan. Shan didn't really notice, busy as he was trying to describe the indescribable critter (silly boy). For a while the eye just looked. It had malice in its eye, but it lacked the power to do anything about that malice, being only an eye after all. It tried winking angrily at Shan, but it had no affect. It tried throwing rocks at Shan, but gave up as soon as it realized it had no arms. It almost tried to come up with an elaborate plan to capture and eat Shan, but gave up after decided it possessed neither the brain with which to plan nor the mouth with which to eat. So it mostly just sat there, winking in utter anger and frustration.

When Shan scoured the island in search of materials for an ultimate weapon, he didn't pay very much attention to the fact that other sentient beings could be on the island too. In the shallow recesses of his mind, right below the general concept thinking, but on the other side of the fiery concept called analyzing, rested the dull, much-abused concept of memory. For you see, Shan's memory had had a rough little existence. It was born in a weak sort of way, which is to say that its conception is rooted in fairly painful and bizzare circumstances. Literally. His first memory was of his entire body being covered in gooey Hythranian boogers after he and a few of his friends had upset a Hythran nest. The strange thing about Hythranian boogers are that they sting like hot chili's and immediately erase any and all previous memories from one's brain.

(In recent years scientists studying the Hythranian biomolecular structure developed a way to reverse engineer the function of the organ responsible for producing the gooey boogers, effectively restoring lost memory. This was eagerly marketed to the elderly and with great effect. However, there has been an astonishing number of complaints and lawsuits against pharmeceutical companies who manufacture Mem-X who demand a refund or a drug which reverses Mem-X's effects. The basic nature of the complaint is that they really didn't want to remember as many things as the drug allowed them to. [In some rare instances Mem-X has been known to draw from the brain memories at pre-conscious periods, such as circumcision])

Needless to say the painful re-beginning of Shan's memory was a significant factor in its currently sub-par performance. The other significant factor is the regular abuse his memory receives from the concepts Perception and Will; mostly it is just Will. These two things, coupled with frequent visits from Mr. Forgetful of Doubting Lane, are the main contributions to the current state of Shan's memory. So it is not suprising when, having called to memory for aid to determine whether there were any significant life forms on the island, Shan was given a blank stare followed by a brief eye-brow raised about a quarter-of-an-inch above the eye.

So he treked off across the island once more, having decided (quite shrewdly I think) to leave the sand where it lay, apply the itching powder to his ailing scalp, and call out in general statements of "Hello there!" by means of the rubber plunger head. After several hours, Shan sat down by a blue rock in the middle of the deepest part of the forest. His eye was drawn to a tiny creature climbing a tree two yards away.

Marvelling at this newfound life, the first thing Shan did was to reach in his green pants and pull out his blackberry which, miraculously, had survived the incineration. There was only one thing on this crazy island that was for sure. . .he needed to check his schhhedule (with the sch pronouced shh, as in shhheep.)

"Hmm," he said aloud to himself. "According to this electronical planning device(or EPD), the first thing I have to do is fashion a rather large weapon with which I can unleash particularly devasting critical attacks against my foes," Shan said the words slowly to himself, making sure to enunciate. "Perhaps if I scrounge around long enough I can come up with the materials needed to make one, with which I could quite possibly become the deadliest person on this island."

Shan spent the next few days looking everywhere for the perfect ingredients. However, at the end of it, all he had managed to come up with was the following items: Lots of Sand, Gold-bond medicated itching powder, and the rubber part of an old toilet plunger. He also found some twigs. . .but they weren't dry enough to be fatal.

At that moment, Shan came to the painstaking realization that the only thing he could make with these ingredients was a weapon of minor annoyance. .capable of unleashing only very unworthy attacks.

He needed to find a friend. .fast.

From the ashes

In a forest island surrounded by a deep river was a massive pile of ashes. There was nothing very special about the ashes. You couldn't tell by looking what the ashes had been back when it had been anything at all. You would not have been able to tell there was a Jedi named Shan (pronounced Shane) who wielded a light-katana and had crazy adventures. You would not have been able to see any of his adventures because his makers had decided to burn him and his friends away, never to be seen again.

But years went by and the authors stopped checking the pile of ash. They stopped wondering if it would ever be rebuilt. Of course nothing could come from the ashes, the reasoned. But they were, all of them, deceived.

The pile heaved and shook. Groans deeper than the earth whispered from the pile. Slowly it took shape. The tiny pieces of ash joined together and were changed at the sub-atomic level. Burnt leather became skin tissue. Charred cloth morphed into hair follicles. Dead batteries changed into eyes - deep green eyes like the wood after a rain. A form stood, clothed in a simple vest and green trousers. He stretched like a man awaking from a long sleep. He looked around at his surroundings, satisfied and pleased to be alive and no longer an inanimate pile of ash. Life was just about to begin.