This was one of the first stories I had to read out loud during High School, many, many moon ago. I thought it was dumb, but everyone was laughing at either it, me, or a combination of both. Either way, I enjoyed the reaction and the attention. I wrote this after reading many Terry Pratchett novels while Akira played over and over, the VHS becoming more worn with each run. I just rediscovered this story recently, so I figured why the hell not. It's old, it feels old, but this tale is one of the reasons I do what I do, like it or not.
The Gods of Japan really disliked the Gods of Norway for no particular reason other than they could and that they did. The Norwegian Gods returned the favor in full. The only problem with Gods fighting is that they make men do all of it.
Because the Japanese Gods’ forehand knowledge of the whole mess they were starting, they began to train a pure, unbridled, uncontrollable, lean, mean, green killing machine, minus the green part.
Akira was his name, and doing bad stuff for the Japanese Gods was his game.
The Norwegian Gods heard about this little project called Akira, and immediately sent in their order for a trainable servant of the Gods (batteries not included). But, due to a mix-up at the Norway Postal Service, their order was never properly received.
Anywho, the samurai Akira was very well at what he did. Killing people. At times Akira wished that his job wasn’t so sadistic, but then he realized that it wouldn’t be a job if he didn’t like it.
That in mind, the Japanese Gods came to Akira one night and told him to make a journey across the world into a land of ice and nutty people. The land of Norway.
While people of Norway weren’t as dumb as the Swedes, or even the Poles, they still weren’t the brightest strobe in the dance hall. But their fighting skills were unsurpassed.
Unless you somehow made ants bigger, then ants would rule the world in a communist fashion. We’d be forced to dig holes in the ground, with little ant kids frying holes in your forehead with magnifying glasses. Laughing at us, because why? Because you’re nothing but a puny human that no one would ever miss! Would you like that?! Would you?!?! Morality doesn’t even…
We interrupt this far-out sidetrack from our original action-packed myth to bring it back to you. We apologize for the inconvenience.
Akira went on his mystic journey across mountain, deserts, and killing the local life living in these places. It was like that movie Deliverance with Akira playing Burt Reynolds, and the locals playing the kid with a banjo, except for the part where Akira stabs the kid in the head. Burt Reynolds wouldn’t do that. On film.
Another part that Akira didn’t like was how ugly, snuff-dipping men would stare at him and comment on his “purdy” mouth. By the time he reached the Norwegian County line, he was already homesick.
When he got there, he looked at the country of Norway and thought that it looked pretty nice. To celebrate his journey’s completion, he went to the nearest bar to order some rice ale. Which bar? The closest one.
When he stepped inside, a mood of happiness and joy was about as far opposite from the real feelings, here in this place of great drinking and really ugly women.
Akira calmly sat down. “Bartender!” He shouted.
A big, older man came up to Akira.
“What do you want?” He asked.
“I’ll have a bottle of your finest, most cheapest rice ale.”
The bartender looked at him funny. Not like he was a clown, but more like he was strange. He grabbed a tankard of brown sludge and slid it down to Akira.
Akira lifted the tankard, glugged down about half of it, then proceeded to vomit all over the bar.
“What kind of crap are you trying to serve me, barkeep?!” Akira shouted as large Norwegian men began to stand up.
“No one talks to our bartender like that”, another large, this time bearded, man said as he walked up to Akira.
Akira busted out his sword and begin to do what he did best.
Blood, guts, arms, legs, puppies and kittens flung all over the bar. In a matter of seconds, the entire place was devoid of life.
Akira reached into his pocket and pulled out a single gold coin and tossed it on the body of the dead bartender.
“Keep the change, you filthy animal.”
Akira started to do bad things on entire towns for a couple months and it wasn’t long before Norway’s greatest warriors decided that maybe they should do something about this Akira fellow. They decided that a fight to the death was needed.
They got a messenger seagull (due to the incompetence of the Norway Postal Service) and wrote to Akira, telling him to meet them all at Mount Mountain.
Akira did and won. This was bad news for Norway considering that all their greatest warriors were dead.
Akira died two years later due to old age.
Or, he retired two years later from stress-related illness and opened up a “free store” full of crap that no one wanted.
But really, he died two years later with a gallon of whiskey and his wife, a goat named Betsy, beside him in a gutter.