Final Paper

“Kubla Khan” and the Origin of Romance

            Romance is a form of literature that seeps into all other forms of literature and which simultaneously is intruded on by all other forms of literature. This idea is echoed in works of literary critic Northrop Frye who wrote: “No genre stands alone, and in dealing with romance I have to allude to every other aspect of literature as well.” (Frye 4) The interconnectedness of stories: fantasy and reality, comedy and tragedy, myth and history, is perhaps nowhere better illustrated than in the novel, Haroun and the Sea of Stories, in which the boyish hero finds himself on the ocean of the sea of stories. Each story is represented by a single colored fluid strand “And because the stories were held here in fluid form, they retained the ability to change, to become ne versions of themselves, to join up with other stories and so become yet other stories . . . . It was not dead but alive.” (Rushdie 72) Within the world of stories and within the genres of stories, there is a continual mixing and mingling of thoughts, themes, and characters. In fact, many would argue that there are no new stories, there are only old stories retold in new ways.

            With this understanding, we return to the world of romance. Romance, traditionally, has been seen in opposition to realism. “The realistic tendency [of literature] moves in the direction of the representational and the displaced, the romantic tendency in opposite direction, concentrating on the formulaic units of myth and metaphor.”  (Frye 37) Myth and metaphor are two expressions of the overarching world of literary imagination. It is perhaps here that one finds the purist form of story telling. For if our imagination at its core is fed by the world of reality, than it is in romance that we discover those stories that are the best displaced and most creative retellings of the concrete world.

            In Haroun and the Sea of Stories, there is an ultimate source to all the stories of the sea – the story from which all other stories are twisted and recreated. In the world of romance, this source is Samuel Coleridge’s poem, “Kubla Khan”:

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan

A stately pleasure-dome decree:

Where Alph, the sacred river, ran

Through caverns measureless to man

Down to a sunless sea.

So twice five miles of fertile ground

With walls and towers were girdled round:

And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,

Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;

And here were forests ancient as the hills,

Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted

Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!

A savage place! as holy and enchanted

As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted

By woman wailing for her demon-lover!

And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,

As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,

A mighty fountain momently was forced:

Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst

Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,

Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail:

And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever

It flung up momently the sacred river.

Five miles meandering with a mazy motion

Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,

Then reached the caverns measureless to man,

And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:

And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far

Ancestral voices prophesying war!

The shadow of the dome of pleasure

Floated midway on the waves;

Where was heard the mingled measure

From the fountain and the caves.

It was a miracle of rare device,

A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!

A damsel with a dulcimer

In a vision once I saw:

It was an Abyssinian maid,

And on her dulcimer she played,

Singing of Mount Abora.

Could I revive within me

Her symphony and song,

To such a deep delight 'twould win me

That with music loud and long

I would build that dome in air,

That sunny dome! those caves of ice!

And all who heard should see them there,

And all should cry, Beware! Beware!

His flashing eyes, his floating hair!

Weave a circle round him thrice,

And close your eyes with holy dread,

For he on honey-dew hath fed

And drunk the milk of Paradise.

The fact that this poem was written in 1797 betrays the reality that “Kubla Khan” is not truly the originator of all romance. If, however, there were in fact only one original story from whence all other romances were formed, “Kubla Khan” would have to be the perfect romance from which all prior romances were prematurely formed. The source nature of “Kubla Khan” is first demonstrated through rivers. Just as Rushdie represented the nature of stories through fluid streams that cumulatively form a sea of literature, so too does Coleridge use the mythology of rivers to create an underlying romance. The sacred river Alph, referred to in line three of the poem most likely alludes to the sacred river Okeanos, which in Greek myth was considered to be the originator of all rivers and clouds. It marked the boundaries of the earth, and symbolized the eternal flow of time. Beyond Okeanos, at the end of the universe, one could find where the edge of the sky-dome came down to meet the earth. This dome encompassed the cosmos, and was believed to be the home of the gods. The elite nature of Mount Olympus suggests a likely link between Colidge’s pleasure dome and the sky rising from Okeanos. This symbolism creates a link between the world of myth and the world of romance. However, the tangled sea of story threads described in Haroun and the Sea of Stories would suggest that romance must go beyond the simple act of a single metaphor – and indeed the romance of Kubla Khan continues much father.

In the writings of explorer Samuel Purchas, we find the historical account of Xanadu whose language is nearly identical that of Coleridge’s opening lines nearly two-hundred years later: "In Xandu did Cublai Can build a stately Pallace, encompassing sixteen miles of plaine ground with a wall, wherein are fertile Meddowes, pleasant Springs, delightfull streames, and all sorts of beasts of chase and game, and in the middest [sic] thereof a sumpuous house of pleasure, which may be moved from place to place [sic].” (Purchas 52) This description of Xanadu, which Coleridge claims to have read immediately prior to entering an opium-induced dream state, is nearly the exact prose image of “Kubla Khan”.

Whether or not Coleridge was aware at the time of composition that he was so closely mirroring the words of this historian, it is difficult to say. However, based on the discrepancy in the stated size of the pleasure dome – Purchas claiming a size of 16 miles while Coleridge chose “twice five miles” – it seems plausible that Coleridge was unaware of how strongly these words had seeped into his subconscious. This is a perfect example of what Carl Jung has labeled as the collective unconscious. Placed in Frye’s terms, the collective unconscious is the idea that “the fabulous writer may seem to be making up his stories out of his own head, but this never happens in literature, even if the illusion of this happening is a necessary illusion for some writers. His material comes from traditions behind him which may have no recognized or understood social status, and may not be consciously known to the writer or to his public.” (Frye 10) Once again, we must face the realization that there are no new stories – only new renditions of the old.

What makes “Kubla Khan” the original romance, the romance from which every other romance ought to have sprung, is the fact that the myth from which it was written, is the myth of origination. “Alph”, short for alpha – the Greek letter equivalent to the number one and to the “beginning” is simultaneously a river of origination. From the river Okeanos sprung all other rivers – rivers which continue to run forth just as the story of Kubla Khan continues to run forward. The continuation of “Kubla Khan” is seen in the works of Salmon Rushdie, who, roughly a hundred years after Coleridge, Rushdie continued the written pleasure dome: “In this Pleasure Garden were fountains and pleasure-domes and ancient spreading trees, and around it were the three most important buildings in Gup, which looked like a trio of gigantic and elaborately iced cakes.” (Rushdie 88) It is in this purposeful rebirth of Kubla Khan that we see precisely what Coleridge created. His work transformed the realistic, the finite, and the historic into the mythical, the infinite, and the romantic. Through the rivers of his story, he created a world that did not exist until he called it into being. The identity of Xanadu had no solid formation until he placed it on the pedestal of imagination and gave it the life of the story streams. This calls to mind a poem by Wallace Stevens:

She was the single artificer of the world

In which she sang. And when she sang, the sea,   

Whatever self it had, became the self

That was her song, for she was the maker. (The Idea of Order at Key West, ln 37-40)

The world of romance is the world of creation. “Kubla Khan” is the ultimate poem of origination and regeneration. It is for this reason, that I chose to believe that “Kubla Khan” was indeed the original romance from which all other romance has sprung. And according to both Frye and Wallace, the act of naming is the act of creating, and therefore it is so.

What's the Use of Stories That Aren't Even True?

"What's the use of stories that aren't even true?" This was the haunting question that Haroun asked his father after his mother abandoned them for a sensible man without stories.


The most obvious answer is found in the words of Frye:


“First, myths stick together to form a mythology, a large interconnected body of narrative that covers all the religious and historical revelation that its society is concerned with, or concerned about. Second, as part of this stick-together process, myths take root in specific culture, and it is one of their functions to tell that culture what it is and how it came to be . . . ” (Frye 9)


I have long mistakenly believed that art was an imitation of reality. But truthfully, art creates reality. It is the lens through which which we determine the facts. Without our imaginations to breath life into the hollow forms of matter that surround us, this reality would not, and could not exist. So what is the use of stories that aren't even true? I don't believe there is such a thing as a story that isn't true. All stories are true because all stories are intertwined rewritings of older stories - stories that were written to illuminate some facet of life. Stories are the only thing that are useful and that we can know for certain exist and will continue to exist "I think therefore I am." Stories are the reality. And what could possibly be of greater use to us than that one thing that creates and encompasses all other things? This is my answer.

Zembla, Zenda, Xanadu: The intermingling of dream worlds and romance

I wanted to discus the origins of the dedication of Haroun and the Sea of Stories that we discussed earlier in class. I feel as though the presence of this dedication is an open introduction into the world the reader is about to enter. All three of these worlds are mythical. All three of them stand for imagination and romance. And the blending of the three onto one page in this story is a testament to the living quality of stories.

Zembla, Zenda, Xanadu:

All our dream-worlds may come true.

Fairy lands are fearsome too.

As I wander far from view

Read, and bring me home to you

                                                      -Salmon Rushdie

As Ashley mentioned in her blog, Zenda refers to the 1894 novel by Anthony Hope Hawkins titled The Prisioner of Zenda in which the fictional king of the fictional country known as Ruritania is drugged immediately before his coronation and thus the aid of a decoy is needed in order for the situation to be salvaged.

Zembla is taken from Vladimir Nabokov's novel Pale Fire. Zembla is the former homeland of the protagonist and ex-king, Charles Kinbote. Although it is later revealed that Kinbote is a schizophrenic and that Zembla and Gradus (the man whom Kinbote believes is trying to kill him) exist only within the realm of his imagination and the text. I love Zembla because its very appearance in Rushdie's text proves one of the main points of Pale Fire, that stories never cease to live. At the end of the novel, we are told 

"whatever happens, wherever the scene is laid, somebody, somewhere, will quietly set out—somebody has already set out, somebody still rather far away is buying a ticket, is boarding a bus, a ship, a plane, has landed, is walking toward a million photographers, and presently he will ring at my door—a bigger, more respectable, more competent Gradus." . . . i.e. the story will be retold and retold within the pages and words of future stories for time immemorial. 

Xanadu was historically the location of the summer capitol of Kublai Khan's Yuan Dynasty. However, it has now become more famous as a representation of a dreamland thanks to "Kubla Khan". It is in this world that we see a true marriage of reality and fantasy. History becomes legend, and the dream consumes the remnants of its origin.  

Kubla Khan

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan

A stately pleasure-dome decree:

Where Alph, the sacred river, ran

Through caverns measureless to man

Down to a sunless sea.


Xanadu has become a metaphor for mysticism. It appears in works by Nabokov and Rushdie as an allusion to "Kubla Khan". "Kubla Khan" took it from the historical writings of Samuel Purchas who described the literal location of Xanadu. "In Xandu did Cublai Can build a stately Pallace, encompassing sixteen miles of plaine ground with a wall, wherein are fertile Meddowes, pleasant Springs, delightfull streames, and all sorts of beasts of chase and game, and in the middest thereof a sumpuous house of pleasure, which may be moved from place to place [sic].” It was this sentence that Coleridge claims to have last read before falling into an opium-induced comma. 


Alph can easily be read as the Greek letter alpha, which has been used to symbolized the beginning, and the first item in a series. Additionally, in Norse mythology we find King Alf. Alf was the suitor of Alfhild who was guarded by two dragons that decapitated unwary suitors and impaled their heads on poles. Alf defeated the dragons, but Alfhild, advised by her mother, fled from Alf dressed as a man, and became a warrior. Alf and his servant, Borgar, searched for and eventually found her in the company of a troop of female warriors. Alf defeated her in combat, knocking off her helmet, after which she became his wife. Elements of romance within this story include: women dressed as males, narrow escapes from death, the quest, the guarding of virginity, and a happy ending among other things.


The "sacred river" is most likely the river Okeanos, which in Greek myth was seen as the originator of all rivers and clouds. It was also considered to symbolize eternity because the celestial bodies rose and fell from its depths. There are nine rivers believed to have been born from Okeanos. One of them, the river Styx, was the boundary between the known world and Hades. The majority of the other rivers birthed by Okeanos were believed to bubble up from caverns within the depths of the sea. 


An alternative interpretation of the sacred river is the river Ganges, the holiest of India's rivers. Hindu tradition states that the 

Ganges, personified as mother and goddess, purified all she touched. The path of the Ganges is therefore a pilgrimage for the faithful. All along the way are the tirthas, the "fords" or "crossings," where Hindus come to bathe, symbolically renewing themselves in her saving waters; some spending their last days on her banks, there to die and "cross over" the river of birth and death to the ocean of life immortal. The m

other Ganges is the source of life-giving waters and wife and consort to the god Siva, destroyer of form and regenerator of life. In the myth of the Ganges, one finds a medium ground between the myth of the rivers Okeanos and Styx. The Ganges, for me, personifies the union of these two rivers whom I believe to be the two protagonists of this tale.

So twice five miles of fertile ground

With walls and towers were girdled round:

And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,

Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;

And here were forests ancient as the hills,

Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted

Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!

A savage place! as holy and enchanted

As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted

By woman wailing for her demon-lover!


Although it is difficult to pin this line on any one allusion, it is somewhat reminiscent of the story of Tobit taken from the Catholic Apocrypha. In this tale (another wonderful romance by the way and highly recommended) the hero, Tobit, hears of a woman who is haunted by a demon who keeps killing her husbands in the wedding chamber. He goes on a quest to find the girl, is given advice by an angel on how to kill the demon, succeeds, and beds the girl. 

And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,

As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,

A mighty fountain momently was forced:

Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst

Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,

Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail:

And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever

It flung up momently the sacred river.

Five miles meandering with a mazy motion

Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,

Then reached the caverns measureless to man,

And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:

And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far

Ancestral voices prophesying war!

The war referred to here is likely the war between Ethiopia (once Abyssinia) and Adal described further down.

The shadow of the dome of pleasure

Floated midway on the waves;

Where was heard the mingled measure

From the fountain and the caves.

It was a miracle of rare device,

A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!

A damsel with a dulcimer

The Graeco-Roman dulcimer (sweet song) derives from the Latin dulcis (sweet) and the Greek melos (song)

In a vision once I saw:

It was an Abyssinian maid,


History of Abyssinia (Ethiopia):

About 960 BCE princess Yodit ("Gudit", a play on Yodit meaning evil), conspired to murder all the members of the royal family and establish herself as monarch. During the execution of the royals, an infant heir of the Axumite monarch was carted off by some faithful adherents, and conveyed to Shewa where his authority was acknowledged, while Yodit reigned for forty years over the rest of the kingdom, and transmitted the crown to her descendants. 

Between 1528 and 1540 armies of Muslims, entered Ethiopia from the low country to the south-east, and overran the kingdom, obliging the emperor to take refuge in the mountain fastnesses. In this extremity recourse was again had to the Portuguese. A force of 400 musketeers marched into the interior, and being joined by native troops were at first successful against the enemy; but they were subsequently defeated (1542)

And on her dulcimer she played,

Singing of Mount Abora.

Could I revive within me

Her symphony and song,

To such a deep delight 'twould win me

That with music loud and long

I would build that dome in air,


This reflects the idea of a poem by Wallace Stevens, The Idea of Order at Key West which says:

She was the single artificer of the world

In which she sang. And when she sang, the sea,   

Whatever self it had, became the self

That was her song, for she was the maker. (lns 37-40)

In these lines we see the idea that myth is higher and more real than reality itself. It is the world of romance that gives form to that which was already in existence but not yet living. I am also reminded of the opening lines of Genesis in which God spoke the world into being. Yet the world had already been - it was void and formless yes, but it existed. However, it was not until the spoken word, the story, entered the picture that the world had any form or purpose. It is story that creates reality. 

That sunny dome! those caves of ice!

And all who heard should see them there,

And all should cry, Beware! Beware!

His flashing eyes, his floating hair!

Weave a circle round him thrice,

"Cast the circle thrice about, to keep the evil spirits out." –Wiccan Rede, part of how to caste a circle and begin your magik work

And close your eyes with holy dread,

For he on honey-dew hath fed

Greek myth: honey drips from the Manna–ash, with which the ash tree nymphs, nursed the infant god Zeus on the island of Crete. 

The branches of the original Ash tree are believed to extend into the heavens.  Likewise, its three roots extend into Urðarbrunnr in the heavens, the spring Hvergelmir, and the well Mímisbrunnr.

And drunk the milk of Paradise.

                                                                        

The Perfect Romance: Group Presentation

A few things to point out about our romance: The names of the central characters were chosen to reflect key characteristics we deemed necessary for a perfect romance. The name Lorelei was chosen for its mythological roots as a enchantress and for her connection to rivers. This name seemed to pair perfectly with the name of our earlier chosen hero: Alf. Alf was taken from Kubla Khan "where Alf the sacred river ran . . ." When you look up the mythology behind "sacred river" you discover Okeanos - the masculine origin of all nine rivers. One of the rivers that proceeds from Okeanos is the feminine river Styx- the river that crosses between the world of death and life- reality and mysticism. The two seemed well paired for each other romantically. And as a bit of a side note, I think it is worth mentioning that "Lorelei" is a song written by a band called "STYX".

Beyond this, I think you will see that we attempted to work in every aspect of romance that was key, as well as several peripheral aspects of romance such as pirates and the like.

In class, Professor Sexson was surprised to discover that we had not modeled our romance after Shakespeare's Pericles. In fact, not one of us had ever read Pericles. However, after reading Pericles, I was struck by the extreme truth of the following quote taken from page 10 of Frye: “the fabulous writer may seem to be making up his stories out of his own head, but this never happens in literature, even if the illusion of this happening is a necessary illusion for some writers. His material comes from traditions behind him which may have no recognized or understood social status, and may not be consciously known to the writer or to his public.” 

I have chosen to include a brief summary of the Pericles plot. Compare it against our romance as your are reading, and I think you will realize just how correct Frye was.

Act I

John Gower introduces each act with a prologue. The play opens in the court of Antiochus, king of Antioch, who has offered the hand of his beautiful daughter to any man who answers his riddle; but those who fail shall die.

I am no viper, yet I feed

On mother's flesh which did me breed.

I sought a husband, in which labour

I found that kindness in a father:

He's father, son, and husband mild;

I mother, wife, and yet his child.

How they may be, and yet in two,

As you will live, resolve it you.

Pericles, the young Prince (ruler) of Tyre in Phoenicia (Lebanon), hears the riddle, and instantly understands its meaning: Antiochus is engaged in an incestuous relationship with his daughter. If he reveals this truth, he will be killed, but if he answers incorrectly, he will also be killed. Pericles hints that he knows the answer, and asks for more time to think. Antiochus grants him forty days, and then sends an assassin after him. However, Pericles has fled the city in disgust.

Pericles returns to Tyre, where his trusted friend and counsellor Helicanus advises him to leave the city, for Antiochus surely will hunt him down. Pericles leaves Helicanus as regent and sails to Tarsus, a city beset by famine. The generous Pericles gives the governor of the city, Cleon, and his wife Dionyza, grain from his ship to save their people. The famine ends, and after being thanked profusely by Cleon and Dionyza, Pericles continues on.

Summary of Pericles:


Act II

A storm wrecks Pericles' ship and washes him up on the shores of Pentapolis. He is rescued by a group of poor fishermen who inform him that Simonedes, King of Pentapolis, is holding a tournament the next day and that the winner will receive the hand of his daughter Thaisa in marriage. Fortunately, one of the fishermen drags Pericles' suit of armour on shore that very moment, and the prince decides to enter the tournament. Although his equipment is rusty, Pericles wins the tournament and the hand of Thaisa (who is deeply attracted to him) in marriage. Simonedes initially expresses doubt about the union, but soon comes to like Pericles and allows them to wed.


Act III

A letter sent by the noblemen reaches Pericles in Pentapolis, who decides to return to Tyre with the pregnant Thaisa. Again, a storm arises while at sea, and Thaisa appears to die giving birth to her child, Marina. The sailors insist that Thaisa's body be set overboard in order to calm the storm. Pericles grudgingly agrees, and decides to stop at Tarsus because he fears that Marina may not survive the storm.

Luckily, Thaisa's casket washes ashore at Ephesus near the residence of Lord Cerimon, a physician who revives her. Thinking that Pericles died in the storm, Thaisa becomes a priestess in the temple of Diana.

Pericles departs to rule Tyre, leaving Marina in the care of Cleon and Dionyza.


Act IV

Marina grows up more beautiful than Philoten the daughter of Cleon and Dionyza, so Dionyza plans Marina's murder. The plan is thwarted when pirates kidnap Marina and then sell her to a brothel in Mytelin. There, Marina manages to keep her virginity by convincing the men that they should seek virtue. Worried that she is ruining their market, the brothel rents her out as a tutor to respectable young ladies. She becomes famous for music and other decorous entertainments.

Meanwhile, Pericles returns to Tarsus for his daughter. The governor and his wife claim she has died; in grief, he takes to the sea.


Act V

Pericles' wanderings bring him to Mytilene where the governor Lysimachus, seeking to cheer him up, brings in Marina. They compare their sad stories and joyfully realise they are father and daughter. Next, the goddess Diana appears in a dream to Pericles, and tells him to come to the temple where he finds Thaisa. The wicked Cleon and Dionyza are killed when their people revolt against their crime. Lysimachus will marry Marina.

The King and the Enchantress

Not to far from now in the future lived a young man by the name of Alf. He lived in the town of Fluffton where the west wind would bring in moisture from the sea, making it good for growing grapes before the world had collapsed. Alf lived a life in solitude, the world had become a violent and desolate place not suited for someone as handsome as he. He spent his days and nights inside, out of fear for protecting himself from all the greedy people the world had bred. His handsome looks put him at danger from being captured by the conniving citizens in the purtrid city he lived. Spending his time on the internet he began to develop a relationship with a young woman, Lorelei, who lived in the south in a town called Ruffton. She too, had to spend long days and nights inside, protecting her good looks and fortune from the greedy hands of the world. As their relationship progressed, they got to know each other better and they would stay up day and night instant messaging each other on the computer.
In the year 2020 the world had become a wasteland bounded by government regulations, poisoned by genetically modified foods and McDonald’s. Citizens lived mundane lives under the rule of Barack Obama who had been re-electing himself since 2012. Rebellion had begun to break out in certain cities and spread from one to the another.  In an a desperate act to keep the world from breaking out into war, Obama, shut down the internet. Cutting communications between citizens, Obama was able to counteract the war threat.
With no internet Alf couldn’t communicate with his future wife and his life spiraled into a pathetic existence. Two days had gone by before Alf was visited by Lorelei in a dream.  She cried out for help in a weak voice of despair. Rising in a panic, Alf packed his bags and made plans to go find this girl, who ever she was, and rescue her.
Meanwhile his lover Lorelei lived her life under the submission of her abusive father.  Fulfilling his sexual needs at his request, her life had revolved around pleasing the needs of someone else, not her own. Lorelei stared up dreamily at the ceiling of her single-wide trailer. “If I could only leave this horrible place and abandon this life to be with my lover.” thought Lorelei as she scrubbed her father’s kitchen floor with a toothbrush while he cracked open another beer. “I want to go on adventures, see the world and make something of my life. But all I do every day is cook, and clean, and pander to my father’s every urge and desire. If I don’t get out soon, today, and all the days before it, might as well be considered my last.”
“Why don’t you take a break from all that floor scrubbin’ and give yer daddy a little kiss?” yelled her father from across the trailer, “You know I ain’t had much lovin’ since yer momma passed, and I don’t see no other woman in this house that’s gettin’ the job done for me.” Lorelei sobbed a little into the dirty water of her scrub bucket. She had enough of her father’s sick demands on his only daughter. As she dragged her feet over to him, she realized the grave situation that stood before her. Either she could devise her plan of escape and risk death by her father’s hands, or spend the rest of her life as his slave. And if she were to fail, both of these outcomes were just as bad as the other. Whether death of the body, or death of the self, she knew she must risk it if she were to save whatever bit of humanity and freedom she had left.
Her dragging feet gained a confident step in them as she worked out the details and drew ever closer to her father. Lorelei wiped the tears from her eyes, sat down on her father’s lap with a smile, + and gave him a kiss knowing that whether successful or not, tonight would be the last night of ever having to put up with his abuse. “Anything you need, daddy,” she said to him with a dark smirk on her face. Lorelei somehow knew that her dreams of meeting Alf were soon to become a reality.
Back in Fluffton Alf was preparing for his quest to go find Lorelei. Alf had Geo with a tantalizing color scheme. Packing the car with his few belongings, he headed south through the dangerous and reckless world he had avoided for so long. His trusty Geo broke down before he got out of town, fortunately the train station was across the street.
He purchased a ticket to Roughton at the station, where he would finally reunite with his online enchantress. , he made his way to the snack shop and his gaze came across the most sensational set of eyes through the blinds of the minimart. Restocking on slim jims and chocolate milk, he made his way to the checkout only to be greeted by that same pair of eyes. When she gave him his change back, slipped in the stack of bills was a ribbed banana flavored condom and “OUT BACK” written in permanent marker on each side of the foil package. She ran her tongue across hot pink lip gloss slathered on her lips and winked when he looked back at her. the thought of Lorelei and the trust they had gained between each other on the the Internet ran through his mind, yet the temptation to spread the shop attendants legs on the cashier counter and satisfy the sexual feelings that had been building up since his encounter with Lorelei did not subside. He resisted the temptation, gathering his gas station snacks he quicly left the mini mart with his gaze towards the ground. His car
Alf pulled his hat over his eyes as the train whistled and began to leave the station. Sleep over came him and dreams unfolded in his consciousness. In this dream he saw those same pair of eyes from the gas station, she was straddling a horse with a golden man that blinded him when he looked directly at it.He awoke from this dream, looking out the window the landscape look all too familiar. “This looks like home. That shouldn’t be,” he said out loud. Panic overwhelmed Alf, he had slept through his stop and now he was right back to where he began. “Why the long face sonny boy?” said the old man sitting across from him. He spoke slowly with space between his words.
“Where am I sir?”
“Out that windown is Fluffton, aint nuttin therer of use, robbers and bandits all the same.
“Where are you headed,” asked alf?
“The question is not where it’s when” the old man whispered.
“Um, yeah sure,” replied Alf
“Sleep will betray you, but fear not, look up,” the man advised.
As Alf drove rode the train he converesed with the old man. The man spoke with a glazed look over his eyes and a concerned look on his face, as if he was giving Alf advice that would come in handy later in life. Much time has passed and the old man grew wearly and leaned his head against the train window and began to mumble nonsense in his sleep, or was it?
Back Ruffton in the single wide trailer, Lorelei was busy cooking dinner when her father came home.. He was in a particularly foul mood, so he immediately called his daughter over to help relieve some of the day’s tension. She sat on her father’s lap as she had always done. “Give me a little kiss sweetie” he said as he drew closer to her face. Just as he was about to plant a big one on her lips, Lorelei grabbed her dishrag that she soaked in chloroform and forced it to her father’s mouth and he immediately passed out. She wasn’t sure how much time she had, so she quickly grabbed her things and stole the keys to her father’s pickup, and set out on the road. She had never felt so free in her life, and she beamed with joy knowing that soon her true love would be in her arms.
The next morning her father woke up in a chemical haze, with the a pounding headache and no recollection of what happened. He called for his daughter, but heard no reply. He searched everywhere, but found no sign. When he saw the pickup gone from the driveway, he became furiously enraged and called the government to issue a missing person’s report and a stolen vehicle. “Tell every damn newspaper and television station in the nation to send out an amber alert. She ain’t gonna get away that easy.” He slammed the phone and headed out the door to find a rental car, and look for his daughter himself. “When I get my hands on her, she ain’t never gonna see the light of day again.”
1000 miles down the road, Lorelei was tired and droopy-eyed from driving her father’s pickup all night. She was about to pull over and sleep a while when she came upon a heavily fortified roadblock in her way. The pickup came to halt, and a few men approached the vehicle. “I’ve heard about these kinds of places” she thought nervously to herself. “The government rebellion groups take over entire towns along major highways to stop pedestrians and check for high-profile targets.” Two men with assault rifles approached her driver door and motioned for her to roll the window down. One of the men in dark sunglasses blew a puff of cigarette smoke in her face.
“You’re not getting through here if you don’t pay. Overthrowing the government isn’t cheap you know” said the man as he took another puff on his cigarette, “you can come work for us until you do have enough money.” Lorelei was frorced serve as a mistress in their prostitution ring, reliving the life she tried to escape. The first night at the rebellion camp the only thing she could do was cry and look up at the stars in the night sky, wishing that Alf would come rescue her.   
Meanwhile at the train station, Alf did the only thing he could do, and walked the most lonely and sad walk that anyone’s ever walked, to his favorite childhood spot near the ocean. Alf sat on the shore of that beach and cried. “What did I ever do to deserve this? I’m even worse off than when I first started, and no nearer to Lorelei than I was when I first began. I don’t know why I even thought I could pull anything like that off.” There was a long silence as Alf wiped the tears off his face, and he sat like a lump in the wet sand. He stared blankly out at the ocean and remembered it had been a while since he had been here, or even taken the time out of his life to come down to the ocean and just sit, and enjoy it. He dug his toes into the sand and let the waves wash over them, and slowly waded out deeper and deeper into the waves. It felt good to swim after such a long time away. He forgot about his failed plans, all of his lost belongings, he even forgot about Lorelei. All he did was sit and listen to the waves as they washed over him. It reminded him of something the crazy old hitchhiker had said during one of his sleep-induced yammerings in the old car. “Believe me...Mark my words....Just look at the tides, boy. If it weren’t for all the ups, the downs, the curves along the way, + we’d sure be on a fast track to our end destination now, wouldn’t we? Waves are only waves because they rise and crash and rise and crash, repeat. All else is just water in the bathtub, you know.” “Maybe that old hitchhiker wasn’t so crazy after all,” said Alf with a sudden boost of confidence. “I have to find Lorelei, there’s nothing else here for me. I will find her. Even if it kills me. I can’t just sit in the bathtub for the rest of my life.” And with that he ran out of the water as quick as his feet would carry him, only stopping to put his shoes back on, and ran immediately to catch the next ride out of town. Then he remembered the words that the hitchhiker had spoken to him. All his previous confusion inevitably lead him to the only spot one could ever hope to be at a given moment. That spot was here, right where he was, and that moment would prove to be one of the most important in his entire life.

Near the interstate, Alf was soon spotted by a sketchy looking guy in an old beat up ride. He noticed Alf’s thumb pointing out and pulled over to the side of the road. “Get in if yer goin’ my way” said the man with a scowl. Alf hadn’t had someone stop in hours so he hopped in right away. “Where ya headed?” the man said after getting quite a ways down the road. “As far south as possible until I reach the love of my life. Her name is Lorelei and I would give up anything to see her face just once.” said Alf. “Hmm” the man replied, “I’m headed that way myself. Tryin’ to find my daughter. Her name was Lorelei, too. She ran away a while ago and I been runnin’ crazy all around the country tryin’ to find her. Just took my pickup with her one morning and skipped town.” “Well, I hope you find her. I know all too well what it’s like to lose someone you love,” said Alf “Sounds like we’re both searching for the same thing, in a way.”  
“Yeah, I hope so, too. Lord help me once I get my hands on that girl, I don’t know what I’ll do. Let’s stop here for the night,” said the man. They pulled into a rest stop to get some shut eye before hitting the road again. Alf had already stuffed himself on a gas station burrito and fallen into quite a heavy food coma, but what he didn’t realize was that his pilot wasn’t getting to sleep so easily. He hadn’t taken care of his sexual urges in a while, and Alf was so incredibly gorgeous that he just couldn’t quit thinking about him. Being the lecherous man that he was, at last he gave in and locked the car doors and began to move towards Alf. When Alf awoke and realized what was going on, he grabbed the last half of his burrito and shoved it straight into the man’s mouth. In fact, it was so large, and the force so strong, that he choked on it. Alf realized what he had done and quickly moved the body to the trunk and stole away in his new found vehicle, hoping that he wouldn’t be pulled over.
After driving some time he heard over the radio that there was a missing girl had been found dead, the descrption matched Lorelei. Alf automatically assumed the worst - that his beloved Lorelei was dead and gone for good. He immediately brook out in hysterical sobs. Alf couldn’t be positive that it was his lover, and feelings of hope gilmmered. Distarcted by these feelings of hope,he lost control of the vehicle on a desolated highway and totaled it. Even worse, a nasty storm was rolling in, and he had no shelter.
Meanwhile, Lorelei had been working as a prostitute at the rebellion’s camp for quite some time. As long as she kept catering to the travellers that came in, and kept getting money from her clients, the armed militants would at least keep her alive until her debts paid off. Fortunately enough, in all her dull life spent at her father’s house, she had developed a very vivid imagination, and could tell stories to people for hours. Word eventually got out around on camp that there was a woman who could tell stories so well that you would forget you were even sitting in the room with her. Staying true to her vow of chastity, Lorelei devised a plan so that she began telling her story right when foreplay started, and by the time that was over, they were already so enraptured with it that they forget all about sex, and their time eventually ran out as they left and paid her money. One day, the leader of the rebellion heard of her and he just had to see what she was all about. She did her regular routine, and he became so immersed in her story that she was able to convince him to let her tie him to the bed  for more foreplay. “Just as long as you don’t stop again in the middle of the good part!” he cried. After she tied him up, she easily took his clothes and his money, and locked the bed in the closet. When she returned, the men, believing her to be the rebellion leader, treated her with great privilege and showered her in riches and luxuries and power. Revelling in her lofty position, she decided the wisest course of action would be to remain in disguise and order an all-out search for Alf.
Meanwhile, Alf had wandered away from the wreck and was completely lost and disoriented. The storm had been raging for several days, and he was cold and hungry and didn’t know where to go. He had been surviving on roots and plants and was quickly growing weaker. “I don’t know if I can walk another step until this storm clears up. I’m just so lost and hungry. I would give anything for another meal to keep me going.” He got on his knees and cried up at the sky at his misfortune, mourning heavily because he was so hungry and full of despair about what to do.

His hope renewed, Alf began to search his surroundings for any hint of a food or water source. Finding a few scraggly plants whose roots he knew to be editable, Alf began to till the earth. Suddenly, the sharp rock he had been using as a shovel struck against something with a hollow thud. Curious, Alf brushed away the remaining dirt to reveal a rusted tin lock box. Finding that the lock had been destroyed long ago by rust, Alf lifted the lid to reveal over ten million dollars worth of well-preserved cash.
Excited by his amazing stroke of luck and revitalized by the nourishing roots, Alf carefully stowed the cashed inside the double lining of his flannel shirt, and continued walking along the highway with a renewed sense of vigor and purpose. Only a short hour after he had renewed his journey to find his beautiful enchantress, Alf heard the cheerful babbling of the river X. Overcome with joy, he immediately set to work crafting a make-shift raft out of pieces of driftwood lashed together with strips of green bark.
Merrily trecking down the river, Alf soon found himself floating alongside a small crudely built shack with a friendly tale of smoke wisping forth from its chimney. Having no way of knowing that he was currently only a few short miles up stream from the lover he so desperately sought, Alf thought it best to stop at this shack and inquire after any news of his lovely Lorelei. After diving from his raft, a wet and sputtering Alf found himself on the front steps of the mysterious shack. Rapid footsteps answered his inquiring knock. As the screen door opened, Alf choked back a cry of shock as he found himself staring into his own image.
Alf’s image, it seemed, was equally surprised to see him and fell into a swoon at Alf’s feet. When the unlikely twin finally came to and regained his composer, he introduced himself as Art, which he said was short for Narkissos. Reflecting on the extreme similarity between their appearances, Art and Alf began to question each other on their family histories. They soon discovered that each of them had been sired by the mayor of a small town in the Dakotas who had been killed during a riot while they were each yet unborn. Realizing they were long lost brothers, the two embraced and exchanged life stories until dawn the next day. Once he knew of Alf’s plight, Art eagerly agreed to assist his new brother by any means possible. The two determined to begin the journey south the next day, taking the unsuspecting Alf in the opposite direction of his lover who was only a few short miles to the north.
Three days into their journey, Art and Alf are overcome by the band of rebels + who had been ordered by Lorelei to search for Alf. Ignorant of the rebels’ purpose and fearing the worst, Art chose to sacrifice himself for the sake of his brother’s fragile hope for true love. When the rebels demanded to know which of the two of them was known as Alf, Art turned himself in before Aft had a chance to protest. “Go find Lorelei” Art desperately whispered to Alf before he was roughly thrown into the back of a security van that sped off, leaving Alf in the dust.
Once again left to himself, Alf walked along the side of the road until he came to a small town that bordered the Atlantic coast. Exhausted and hungry, Alf stopped in at the first local diner he saw. Here he was served coffee and unlimited flapjacks by a kindly old widow. “What’s your story stranger?” she asked in a kind voice. And the hopeless Alf found solice in sharing with this kind woman the entire chronicle of his sad journey thus far.
His story done, Alf listlessly pushed the remaining piece of pancake around his plate. The kindly proprietress, Angela was her name, placed a reassuring hand on Alf’s shoulder. “Why don’t you settle down in my guest house for a short while honey. Just until you figure out what to do with yourself.” Well that short while soon turned into a year with Alf employed under Angela who died a month after his arrival and left him her entire estate. Alf, believing his one true love was dead, allowed himself to live out the simple life of a small town dinner-owner and bachelor until one day, he came across an old newspaper article detailing the imprisonment of a criminal who had lied to the authorities by claiming to be the desperately sought “Alf” of Fluffton. The impersonator was scheduled for execution in four days. Realizing that his only living relation was about to die on his behalf, Alf closed the diner and set off in his pick-up truck on the three day journey to the rebellion camp in a desperate attempt to save Art’s life.
When he finally arrives, Alf demands a meeting with the rebel leader, unaware that it is none other than his lovely Lorelei in disguise. Throwing himself at her feet, Alf begs for the life of his only brother - detailing his sorrows and the reason for his brother’s deception. Lorelei, who had recognized the charming Alf from the moment he walked in the door thought to test Alf’s loyalty to his brother as a means to determine whether or not he was truly worthy of her love. “I will allow your brother to live.” She said. “But first, I must know that you are indeed in earnest. There can be no selfishness in your heart if you wish to save the one you love.” “I will do anything you ask of me” cried the desperate Alf. Lorelei smiled and ordered the guards to leave. “I find you very attractive.” She said. “Allow me to use you for my own pleasure - just once - and I will let your brother
leave this place a free man.” Alf recalled the dept he owed to his brother and braced himself for the worst. “Alright” he said, gritting his teeth. “For the sake of my brother, I will do what you ask.” Lorelei let loose a small laugh and removed her disguise. Alf stared at her in stunned silence for several moments before he realized that his one true love was at long last standing before him. The couple joyfully embraced and refused to be separated from each other for the rest of their days.