Journal of a Mad Yak Slayer Part 1

I can kill a yak at a thousand paces with my psychic mind bullets.

Impressive you say? Well I bet you won’t think it’s so impressive when I tell you that yaks are the only things I can kill with my mind bullets.

How does that work you say? How am I to know? Do I look like a scientist who plumbs the mysteries of the human brain to you? No? Alright. Shut up and let me finish.

It all began about five years ago. I was driving down a small road by the Calcutta Yak Dairy when I noticed a man standing in the ditch, staring intently out into the field at a herd of yaks peacefully grazing. For some reason I cannot explain, I was compelled to stop. I exited my vehicle and hailed the fellow. He looked at me, waved, and resumed his staring.

My curiosity aroused, I asked him what his business was.

“I’m killing yaks,” he replied cheerfully.

Sure that I had heard him wrong, I reiterated my question. He just chuckled and told me to watch the nearest yak. Unsure of what to do, I did as he asked. The yak was quite unremarkable, aside from being a yak. You don’t see many yaks around these days.

The man closed his eyes, muttered, and the yak fell to the ground like a stone. I gaped.

“How…?” I said, half to the man, half to myself, still staring at the dead yak. He laughed again and told me that we could discuss it over coffee. Fifteen minutes later we sat in Julie’s Diner, eating donuts and drinking hot coffee. He explained to me that he had trained in the Nameless Temple high in the mountains of Nepal under Master Ping, learning the hidden powers of the mind.

My mind turned back, recalling the death of the hapless yak only half an hour before. Eagerly I asked the man if he could teach me. Sadly he shook his head. No was his answer. Only Master Ping could impart that knowledge. He would say no more.

Thus began the longest journey of my life. Suffice to say, I arrived at the Nameless Temple three years later, a beaten man, a tired man, and above all else a man who thirsted for the blood of yaks. The monk who guarded the gates, a mountain of a man, took one look at my fevered eyes and let me in.

The training was difficult. I meditated for hours and climbed snowy mountains. I learned how to cross the surface of a pond in three steps without a single ripple and how to fight barehanded against ten men and win. But Master Ping never taught me the art of slaying yaks.

In time I grew impatient. This was my great folly. In my arrogance I chose to take the knowledge through force, storming the temple in the dead of night while the yeti howled their mournful cries and the cold winds blew. I fought a thousand men that night, warriors all, but they had trained me well and my desire was great. That night a thousand men died.

At last only Master Ping stood against me. I went to strike him down and he merely looked at me. I froze in my footsteps unable to blink or even breathe. He studied me for a moment before seizing the scroll I desired and placing it in my hands. He then turned and walked away, disappearing into the shadows.

Not until his footsteps faded away could I move again. I stared at the scroll in my hands, unable to believe that it was finally mine. The power to kill yaks was finally mine! Joyfully I opened the scroll and gazed at the ancient words of power and suddenly understood. I screamed, unable to accept what I saw.

I fell to the ground in a catatonic state, my mind filled with visions of a dark future.

In the distance a yeti howled at the moon.

To be Continued...

So yeah, I was bored and this is the direct result of that boredom. There's not much more to say.