(2 ratings) Rate this Story (5 best) 1 2 3 4 5

SUMMARY: The first chapter of my novel...

The two-headed people of Dudon had many ways of relaxing. Some enjoyed sitting on tin trays and gliding down the rolling hills of the grasslands, while others preferred the more quiet art of emptying goblet after goblet of ale and fine wines at the many inns across the land. Whatever a persons preference, you could be sure that they would find as much time to do it as possible, squeezing out every last second before returning to work. However, a person's only motivation for working was to get enough money to be able to pay for the next recreational venture.
In the village of Crumpet, a small scattering of crooked wooden houses to the east of the Ordal Woods, two main activities were best enjoyed. The lake on the outskirts was so deep, rumours started of twenty foot fish circling the bottom of the murky waters. Fishermen would sit until the early hours, even in winter when a thin layer of ice had gathered on the waters surface, just hoping to catch ‘the big one'. Stories would float around about fishermen going missing, being eaten by their star catch, only to be found sulking in their beds after wasting a bucket of bait on minnows and baby koi. Of course, once fishermen had spent their time by the lake, they would move on to the inn, the very favourite time killer in the village of Crumpet. Its barrels of ales, wines and ciders kept even the pickiest of drinkers more than satisfied. Home to a chef with two heads crammed with the culinary knowledge of every cook book ever written, it was a guarantee that whatever its hungry patrons ordered they would be rubbing their stomach with guilty satisfaction once they had emptied the plate. People would travel days just to spend time at the inn, if not for the drinks and food then for the barmaids, a pair of two-headed delights who could woo any man who cared to catch their eye; a fine way of making sure that they emptied their pockets and stayed till the very last minute before closing time.
Art, a young man with two heads of thick, blond hair, sat in the shadows of a twisted Icthia tree, its sweet fruits lying in the grass beside him. Art's right head loved to draw, he would spend hours sat beneath his favourite tree sketching whatever came to mind. However, his left head didn't care too much about sitting in the grass while his other drew, he much preferred downing goblets of ale at the village inn, often convincing the landlord to let him stay after hours for just a few extra drinks.
Art Two flicked at the end of his pencil with his muddied finger nail and licked his lips. ‘I don't know what to draw,' he thought allowed.
‘Well think of something,' said Art One, his left head. ‘I don't want to be sat here all day.'
Whenever Art wasn't working on his Father's farm, tending to the cows or seeding the fields, he would be filling his time with whatever each of his heads liked to do best. They would either be sat beneath a tree or sat at a table, each time with a pencil or goblet in hand.
‘I'm going to draw a house,' said Art's Second head.
‘A house?' said his first.