The Work of Jordan C. Tomo

"When the flow of creativity cometh, do not fear it. Embrace it, refine it, for one can never know the future they hold." - Jordan C. Tomo

ORABYSS
Second Edition

Coming Soon

Works

Short Stories

The Wanderer & The Fruit Merchant

Once, there was a purple hooded wanderer walking through the streets of Hungkrea. There, he stopped in front of a fruit market.

‘I'd like to buy this apple,’ said the wanderer, and the fruit merchant would answer, ‘Ten div for one or you could have a pack of three for twenty-four coins.’

‘Ten div for a single apple?’ said the wanderer, and the fruit merchant would reply, ‘Special offer today,’ while getting closer to the wanderer.

‘If such is your price,’ said the wanderer, taking out his money pouch to pay the fruit merchant.

The fruit merchant was pleased with himself but could not help examining the wanderer more closely.

‘What wonderful gems you have there,’ said the fruit merchant, looking at a necklace filled with precious stones underneath the wanderer’s cloak. ‘You’re clearly not from around here. I would be careful if I were you. A lot of bad ones prowling around these parts.'

‘Is that so?’ said the wanderer as a few shoppers listened in.

‘Indeed. A single piece of those gems on your necklace I'm sure could easily change a man's entire life. It would be a shame to lose them.’ The fruit merchant deliberately raised his voice, and soon a small crowd gathered around him and the wanderer.

Seeing as how he was surrounded, the wanderer said, ‘How about a challenge?’ He said if the fruit merchant would correctly guess the number he thought of between 1 and 3, anything he wore could be taken. However, if the fruit merchant were to guess wrong, anything he had on him could also be claimed.

Discreetly, the fruit merchant placed his day’s earnings on a hidden stool, and with a big smile and no hesitation, he agreed.

The wanderer wrote down his number and passed it to one of the men in the crowd.

‘Two!’ eagerly said the fruit merchant, and the wanderer would turn to the man to whom he had given the piece of paper. With disappointment, the fruit merchant grimaced when he saw he was wrong. But soon he smiled upon realizing he had nothing of value. Nothing worth taking.

'Fool! I have nothing of value. Nothing worth taking. I lose nothing!’ he said, laughing at the wanderer. ‘You said to claim whatever it is I have on me? Well, have at it!’ he added. It was then his face would shift to horror as the wanderer removed his purple hood revealing a crown on his head. The crown of the king.

As all present bowed in fear before the king, stone-faced and with his eyes cold the king said, ‘Your skin. That is what I shall claim.’

La Porte Noire

The man opened his eyes from what seemed to have been an infinite nightmare, or a dream. The air around him was thick and made it hard for him to breathe, each breath taken with utmost strain. Slowly extending his arms up as if for the very first time, the man looked to his hands and analysed each part before shifting his gaze to his surroundings. The room was small and similar to that of a hospital room, though darkened by thick smoke that pervaded the air, the loud, repetitive sound of the alarm only adding to the already gloomy atmosphere. Firmly, the man held to the metal rails on each side of the bed, then struggled to his feet. The muscles in his naked legs burned, but the man showed little care for it. His instinct told him this pain would come to pass. Promptly, the man covered his mouth with his forearm and limped across the room searching for any piece of clothing he could wear. This blanket will have to do for now… he thought to himself, seeing as it was the only thing he could find.

Now the man was standing within a corridor. The corridor was long, narrow, and poorly lit. Too dark to see through to the end, and too narrow to turn back. How or why the man had gotten into this unfamiliar space, he did not know, yet ever so the man pushed on like a moth drawn to the light. Ever so the man pushed forward. The further he went, the louder the alarm rang, intensifying with each step. When he finally reached the end of the corridor, the man saw a black door. An overwhelming sense of dread coursed through the man's body, sending shivers down his spine. What was this terrible feeling warning the man to revoke his pursuit? Reminding the man, he was not welcome here? And though he was afraid, without a thought the man reached for the doorknob and opened the black door.

‘What was inside?’ eagerly asked Emma with gaping eyes.

Pausing, Gilbert responded, ‘No one knows.’

‘No one knows?’ sarcastically repeated Benji with a frown, followed by a condescending smirk. ‘Surely the story doesn’t just end there? What? Not even some crappy philosophical answer like purpose, or his soul?’

Gently shaking his head, Gilbert said, ‘It’s just a story.’

Bio

Jordan C. Tomo was born in France on the 29th of May. He began taking interest in the art of storytelling in 5th form when his English teacher gave him an assignment to write a short story. This would spark a loving for history and the fantasy and sci-fi genre alike. Since then he has written lyrics to dozens of songs and has taken a strong liking in art. He currently resides in Scotland.