I am writing little fragments for my planned book using randomly selected prompts from William Wallace Cook’s Plotto. The story takes place in a world where there are three genders, and the language has no personal pronouns. This exercise is a proof-of-concept to see whether such a novel can be written.
Plotto 212(b) A, having carried out successfully an enterprise instigated by capricious B, renounces her love.
Tshdpog wanted to ignore the urgent knocking on the door. The identity of the knocker was obvious. And the urgency meant only one thing. Mk was here, and was in danger.
The knocking became louder and more urgent.
Ignoring the knocks would be pointless. The deed was done, and Tshdpog needed to face the consequences. If the knocking became any louder, the sound will be heard by all, and there was no avoiding the questions, from people who did not understand.
With a sigh, Tshdpog went up to the door, and unlocked it. “Hush! Come in! Quickly!”
Mk’s eyes seemed to think that everything needed to be said as loudly and clearly as possible. The eyes of enthusiasm. Love. Loyalty. Eagerness of a bloodhound child.
“Is that it?”
Mk held up the package eagerly. “Yes.”
Tshdpog ordered coldly, “Mk needs to leave, now.”
“The searchers will be here. The searchers will follow Mk here.”
“The searchers do not know where Mk Is!”
“Mk’s whereabouts will be known, and Mk will be arrested. So will Tshdpog, unless…”
“If Mk loves me, Mk must leave. And go far away. Hide.”
“What? No! Mk must be with Love. Mk has brought the hand of Keetam to be with Love.”
“Impossible! If Mk is here, death will come to all here.”
Mk seemed to stop breathing for a moment. A cloud came across the face, which seemed to realize something. “Tshdpog does not love Mk…”
“That is not so. Tshdpog’s love is true, and Love is…”
“Tshdpog did not want the hand of Keetam to be with Mk, to seal our love, to…” Mk dropped the package onto the floor, and the content, a fragment from a desecrated statue, rolled out of the wrap. In the clutched hand was the Jewel of Promise, a symbol of love to the devout, a symbol of sacred heritage to the heretics. “Tshdpog has done this for the Emissary, fooled Mk into doing this for the Emissary!”
“You speak nothing true! Get a hold of Mk’s mind. Only, searchers will be here, and if…”
Mk’s eyes were burning with resentment and grief. Mk had truly believed in Tshdpog’s love. “Mk will leave, and will forever be banished.”
“No, listen to Mk. Mk will not speak of what Tshdpog has done, and what Tshdpog now has. And what Mk has now is hatred. Nothing but anger… Gods’ blessings.” Mk headed toward the door, hesitated for a moment, and left, before Tshdpog’s heretical greetings could send him off.
“May One God be with you…”
Tshdpog could not bear the guilt, for having used Mk’s love for the Belief.
Still, the jewel of sacred heritage needed to be extracted and taken to the Emissary in a hurry. Tshdpog began pounding on the hand of Keetam with a steel mallet.