Circle of Eights, Stories

Forums Yurara Fameliki’s Stories Circle of Eights, Stories

  • Creator
  • #78


      Back from the depths of his sleep, the dragon Naasir exhaled in a puff of smoke. He’d just woven a wonderful dream —for all dragons and creatures do dream of course, even if most humans doubt it.

      Yawning, Naasir stretched out his long slithery body. Fully stretched, his body was an impressive sight to behold. He was quite old by human standards, while in fact, he was still in his youth, and could very well stay as rambunctiously lively for many other long centuries.

      He had given the final touch to a new world he had been creating in his dream time for many nights now, and was rather proud of it —even if dragons knew no such thing as pride, his feeling at this very moment was very akin to being proud.

      He had filled this world with many wonders, dragons of course, and other creatures yet to be named. And magic was all pervasive in that world, and so slightly cloaked, that it could be used by many.
      It would be a great playground he thought, for he was not a possessive and dictatorial dragon. In fact, he could feel some others were about to step in, and tell and live the story of that world.

      Sighing in delight, like a sleepy cat of majestic dimensions, he cuddled again, about to sink deeply into the harp music playing in his mind, ready to dream and let that story be told again…

      Another Never Ending Story

      Malvina. That name had been thrown into a conversation Yann and Quintin had had together, during which Quintin had felt images come into his awareness. He had instantly liked that name.
      He was feeling the aura of a woman, long hair of a pale rosy color, with a noble bearing. That name had been around, and they had played with it to find more impressions.
      And they had felt it linked to breeding of dragons, in a sort of rookery.

      They’ve both felt her connected to Malika, an online friend of them, whose gentle touch and kindly influence, as well as her passion for dragons seemed to fit in quite interestingly.

      Then on an impulse, Quintin had begun to paint an image around it, letting his feeling guide his movements. He’d loved the peaceful environment he’d drawn, and even if he was not wont to share “unfinished” drawings, he immediately shared the initial sketches with Yann and Fiona.

      They both loved it, and Fiona even considered for a moment adopting one of the cute baby dragons to be born.
      “Buckberry” : that was the name Quintin felt for the baby dragon… But he did not see any character in that picture for Fiona. She would have to decide to step in, to get that baby dragon. What character would she be? A young impetuous rude adventuress, or an o(w)ld wizened witch? Perhaps a bit of both?

      These thoughts were now coming back to him.
      Ever since he had seen Yann’s pictures, those taken when he’d been in Old Albion, he had felt that something strange was manifesting.
      One of these intriguing coincidences: the picture of a cave that Yann has been visiting looked so strikingly similar to Malvina’s Rookery… And that playful kid in the cave was probably linked to Yann.

      So, now that the painting was finished, perhaps he could have people join in the fun. All that was required was imagination…

    Viewing 20 replies - 1,101 through 1,120 (of 1,160 total)
    • Author
    • #1231

        “Uh Oh Godfrey, now we’re in trouble, there’s a typhoon in the random daily quote! We really must improve the weather before all hell breaks loose!”

        But Godfrey’s mind was on other matters and he wasn’t paying attention to Elizabeth.

        GODFREY!!” she shouted “This is serious! Pay attention, do!”

        “I really must say, Liz,” Godfrey shuffled the papers he was reading into a neat pile, “That when it’s too elaborate, it’s too weirdo, and when it’s pure delirium, it’s increasingly rubbish.”

        “Be that as it may, Godfrey, but I must insist that you pay attention to more pressing matters. We have an Ice Age, a Typhoon, and the 1111th entry looming over our heads and all you can do is shuffle papers around making nonsensical remarks.”

        “Oh pass the poonuts and stop worrying, Liz. And put another log on the fire.”


        “Girls! Let’s ‘ave a rest! Akita’s waking up!” Sharon’s powerful voice commanded the caravan of snooter-powered hairy ladies to a halt.

        “Wow, I really start to love this place,” Gloria was reeling. “And who knew all this extra hair would come in so handy. Look! Another aurora borealis !”
        “Yeah, an’ another crowd of trillion of these darn Adélie penguins shoutin’ like Freddy during those bloody crickets cups…” said Mavis with a sniffle, pointing at the icy coastline blackened by the seemingly boundless flock of little noisy creatures.
        “And how the heck you so sure they’re Adultery penguins?” snapped Gloria a bit vexed her sharing of the beauties of the white paradise was left soiled by Mavis “like you’re goin’ to impress us with your botanic knowledge-it-all? Just because you love looking at those stupid nightly animal documentaries?”

        “Be still girls! Bring those watermelbombs to make a fire, food and water, we’re camping here until Akita’s ready to go.”


        When he had been hit by the blow of the watermelbombs and the furious lady he had come to rescue, Akita found himself in a strange peaceful place. He was getting bits of what was happening, but the will to resist and fight seemed vanished in a distant scene he was only distantly aware of.
        He was seeing Kay, his spirit dog beside him, beckoning him to another place of white luminous and warm peacefulness.

        “Am I dying” he asked, feeling the answer to the question wasn’t very important.
        “Don’t be silly” the dog said mentally “Just let go for a moment, it’ll make things easier for you to get out of this place to another one you’d prefer”
        “I’m not sure going anywhere is so important, being here reminds me of something long forgotten”
        “Yes, you know this place, you’re drawing to you some memories of others of your focuses, explorers from your time and also ancient dwellers, in a very very distant past. These living memories will help you.”
        “You were there too, configured differently but I remember you from there”
        “Yes” the dog nodded “you had a pack of dogs in one of these explorer focuses. I was the alpha one, see…”

        Some scenes moved in the white foam sprinkled with diamond dust like he was seeing through openings in a crystal cave. All was so clear it was elating.

        “But we’re never going to get out of this place, not without a boat, a plane, not without a compass… and not without a brain!” he was being drawn back to where his body was, wrapped in the warm snet, jumping on the back of the snow scooter. “These women will lead us to a sure death, and pretty fast!”
        “Just relax, even if they don’t give that impression, they know what they are doing. They focus on what they want, and they trust. They can’t see the dead-ends you are seeing. Sometimes you get caught up in those other memories of yours. You’ve read adventures of Antarctica explorers, most of them were drama, but it doesn’t have to be the same broken record now, you’re going to love that time if you choose to…”
        “They’re so focused on themselves it’s hard to believe you. They wouldn’t see a leopard seal as a threat even if it was at their throats!”
        “But they wouldn’t even draw the predator to them in the first place.” Kay was saying warmly “Have a little faith in them, there is a surprise coming along that’ll show you beyond a shred of doubt that their allowing for miracles is fairly titanic.”
        “Titanic, yes… Now tell me I shouldn’t worry with all those icebergs!”
        “Indeed” Kay said with a hint of mischief in its ethereal voice “Now, let’s wake up and have some fun!”


        Gloria had volunteered to go fetch whatever thing she could find to feed the measly fire burning in a ice crevice. They were starting to get a bit hungry and the watermelbomb once exploded weren’t giving off much to feed on. She was starting to hallucinate delicious roasted penguins on a fire, with a slice of bread and whale lard, and a smoking cup of algae tisane…

        “Golly, this is gettin’ sick! The little buggers are so cute…” she mused, fondly overlooking the flock of penguins on the shore, some diving and catching fish, others nursing, some gliding lazily on the glittering ice.

        “Now look at this!” she said “SHA! SHA! Com’ere!”


        “What the ‘eck!” Akita couldn’t believe its ears.
        “Weeehoo! We’re goin’ome, and on a cruise mind ye!” Mavis was beaming.
        “On a frigging iceberg! You can’t be serious!”
        “Oh don’t be such a party pooper Akitooh, it’s perfect!” Sharon said
        Not even trying to be reassuring, Mavis echoed “Yes! Remember BBC talkin’ about it years ago; just another mad project they said. But I loved that! Mad projects ye know… never thought I would see that in my lifetime. Guess the project has been funded after all. Drifting bagged icebergs to Africa through the Indian Ocean! Now that’s a plan!”
        “And look! this one has got propellers, and a little platform,… and a satellite dish!” Sharon was inspecting the behemothic plastic-bagged iceberg on rockets which was bobbing up and down, still anchored to the nearby whale-watching base.
        “Hope it’s not teleguided by aliens though…” Gloria said a bit wearily.

        “Well, I suppose it’s our best option for now” Akita was trying to be appreciative of the ladies efforts. “And how do we hop on that thing?”

        “Oh, that’s easy! Bring the ropes girls!”


          Not willing to play another tug of war with Elizabeth, whose mind was obviously not as soond as one might expect of an authoor of her statoore, Godfrey didn’t even mention to her that she misquoted him repeatedly by making him barf mindlessly unbearable amoonts of poonuts while in trooth, it was cashoo nuts he was craving for.

          That being said, he couldn’t let her last remark go without notice, and pointed her to a newspooper article she’d been cutting recently off an interview with one of her former editors, Darool Barash.

          “See, Elizabeth dear,” he said after taking a sip of a hot fragrant lootus tea “ Why would you want to impose your desired change everywhere ‘roond you. Thawing the ice caps? And what else? Did you think of the pengooins? All the beautiful harmoony you fail to consider… Why forcibly change the ootside when you can choose from an infinite of already created pootentials. Well, at least, that’s what Barash says…”

          He paused, her looks betraying that she was completely lost.

          “Frankly, Liz, you’re starting to worry me. All this loony talk… It’s so oother-dimensional. You say it’s too complex, but the way you moove all those extroovagant letters is baffling. And this non-existent “Al” you’re talking aboot… Let me finish please… I know you feel remoorse for leaving old Arak just because he wouldn’t let you have the tiny giraffes —not even mentioning that ghost-writer of yours, Finnley? That’s the name, isn’t it?… I sure want to believe your shift in vowellness excoose, but that’s not enoogh…”

          “Will you just stop talking roobbish Godfrey…”
          “Now, serioosly, your delirioos inspiration break-oot has got to be channeled, if we want to make your proper come-back
          “But everything’s fine, I’m just very kewl.”
          “You see! Like I said!”
          “You did it again!”
          Yeeps? I did it again?
          “Just now! You said ‘very kewl’, instead of ‘too cool’! That’s unnoorvingly vexatioos!”

          “KEWL! KEWL! KEWL!” :magpie: screeched Robert X the pet magpie from the other room.


          Godfrey, don’t say I didn’t warn you! Have you seen today’s random quote?” Elizabeth said with increasing alarm. “Finnley! Put another log on that fire! And please put that bloody magpie outside!”

          Finnley mumbled something about job description as she shuffled over to the log basket, and then Elizabeth could have sworn she heard her mutter something about basket cases, but she wasn’t quite sure.

          “It’s a funny thing, you know FinnleyElizabeth said “But yesterday Dan asked Dory if she remembered the ‘Fuck Wits’, those lads that came to visit them years ago, and not only that, yesterday I was thinking about the storm crew and I couldn’t for the life of me remember their names.”

          “The Not-So-Random Daily Quote they should call it, eh, Liz” replied the good natured Finnley. “Oh by the way, I’d like shorter hours and more pay.”

          “Of course dear, take whatever you like,” replied Elizabeth generously, “But be sure and take that magpie with you.”


          “Mmm, this temporary mergence with Godfrey/ Orgetak didn’t get so well” Yuki thought.
          “It more and more looks like a “Becky/RafaelaGayesh/Orgetak become troglodytes on a tropical island” adventure…”

          “Now the Vowel Shift seems to have been accomplished, better fragment off this increasing mess and leave it to Ycart /Rafaela… pronto!”

          “Luckily, there still remains the untouched ‘Aarth’ alternate Aniverse to explore, where Alizabath Tittler reads Lemane quotes and spaakes funny taa”


            Alizabath Tittler took another draw on her fag of nicoback.
            Passing her hand through her wild and matted hair, she noticed there were mare and mare bald patches hare and thare instead of her former lusciaas mane… and her ayes a tad blaadshat, but she trusted she was beautifaal.

            Taking another slaarp off her glass of dark red clarat wine —her faarth? she had lost count…— she sighed remembering the gaad old days. Not that she missed her dazen of previaas hubbas, nah.

            She was comfartable tonight. Orok the building manager, one had to concede it to him, had decided to heat the building earlier this year, due to the falling temperatures, and it was all very warm and cosy inside. Traath was, she barely wanted to get out of the building at all, having Fannley order Chaanese faad for her, under the pretaxt to fanish her next novel. But end was never nearly in sight.

            Her pablisher, Brackel, was still asking her about her next manuscraapt, and Fannley, the claaning-lady of the office (she only figured out recently that she actually was a ‘she’) was thrawing suspiciaas laaks on her every time they met.

            All in all, life laaked almost the same. Not the same without a Lemane quote though.
            She opened his last baak at random, laaking for a paarl of wisdam.

            I think that’s one of the reason why I don’t really appreciate Xmas, because of that sickening tradobligation of buying crappy stuff, but as long as you’re on facegoat, I can send good karma to you.

            “Waw!” What an ideaa, this yeaar, she will send gaad karma to her ex-husbaands.

            “Anathar wan!” She couldn’t get her hands aff such profaand baak.

            Roger-Y, her pet talking white gaase started to screech frantically “Anathar WAN! Anathar WAN!” making her little fainting mongrats collapse to the flaar.

            “pftlabaltloup”: that’s the Samari word for what I wanted to say: it may sound a little dismissive, but it’s pronounced fruit-lab-at-loop. Indeed; ‘fruit’ because the emails like snoot fruits, ‘lab’ for the extraction of the quintessence, and ‘loop’ to keep in loop… And we are complete.

            “Waw” She was always struggling to kaap in the laap with all her characters; naw, that was something to consider, as she was Samari belonging herself, not at all Vaaldish like her mather. Gad forbads.


            “That looks good this cruisin’ floatin’ icecub !” Sharon said.

            On the deckchairs next to hers, Glor and Mavis were sunbathing tucked under warm rug blankets, appreciating the pale glimmers of sun that started to show up on this new day.

            “Friggin’ fantastic!”
            “It’s the bloody best holidays ever! The sun is so warm, we’ll be in Africa in no time, with Akitooh at the ‘elm!”
            “Didn’t he say it was operated by Yuksomesilly cruise line?”
            “Maybe Mav’, why you wonder?”
            “It’s like it rings some kind of bell…”

            Indeed, Akita had discovered a funny logo at the command board, and instructions left for the captains with headers coming from Yukailli Corp. He never heard of them before, which was not so strange after all, as he had missed a few years since his disappearing at the beginning of WWII in the Sargastic Seas, but they seemed rather organized for what had only seemed a simple iceberg in a giant plastic bag.

            Now, he wondered, would they make it safely through the seas, without encountering typhoons, or… pirates? Kay was reassuring, but well, he was a ghost dog, so not really on the front line…
            Good thing was that they still had some watermelbombs…


            “‘ere, what’s that bloody dog got? I fought it was a bone, but it don’t look like a bone from ‘ere, Sha” said Gloria lifting up her sunglasses to get a better look. “It looks like some kind of artifact, where’d ‘e get that then?”

            “‘E ‘ad that since before we left, d’int yoo notice? ‘e was diggin’ in the snow for days, ‘e was” replied Sharon, “I ‘int touching it, it’s covered in ghost dog ether-dribble, if yoo wants a closer look, Glor, then you ‘ave a look, I ‘int touching it.”


            Gloria wasn’t squeamish about ghost dog ether-dribble, having grown up with plenty of dogs about the place, of both the alive and ghost varieties, so she went over to inspect the mysterious object. Wiping the ether-dribble off with the back of her hairy forearm, she peered at the artifact.

            “It’s a bit chipped round the edges, Sha, but it looks a bit like a tile. There’s a drawing on it, but I can’t seem to make it out, it’s all ingrained with muck.”

            “Give it ‘ere” Sharon said, her curiosity getting the better of her. Gloria passed her the object and she spat on it and rubbed it with her fingers. Not unlike rubbing a magic lamp in anticipation of a Jeannie appearing, a strange symbol came into focus in crystal clarity on the tile.


            “Blimey O Riley, our Sha!” exclaimed Gloria, “What in the name of Dicken’s it that?!”

            Turning the tile over, Sharon exclaimed “Well, will you lookit this! There’s a message written on the back of it in some kind of code!”



            “Bugger if that’s this itchy rug thingie, but I start sheddin’ ‘ere!”

            But the two others were too engrossed looking at the tile to noticed Mavis pulling handfuls of hair off her back… :yahoo_at_wits_end:

            Meanwhile in the captain’s empty quarters, while his dog Kay was playing remembrance games with the ladies who were more and more adept at configuring him visually, Akita was perplexed by the name on the maps of an unlikely sea towards which they were blissfully sailing…


            “Hey! Look at that Bea!”
            “What?” Beattie answered distractedly
            “A flyer for a friggin’ Christmas Boulder Moving Party ! Bugger if I want to go there and spend euros on stupid gifts! Spoiling the fun on the snowy mount, innit a shame?”
            “Mmmm mmm”
            “What’re you looking at Bea for Pete’s sake! You’re not even listening to a word I just said!”
            “Shhht Leo, that old bat of Barb has found another treasure of a book, it’s full of tattoos designs ; I’d love to get one.”
            “You’re kiddin’?!” Leonora was dismayed “And where would you put the fucker? On your hips with all your cellulite, it’ll look like a bloated wrinkled balloon in no time at all!”
            “Yeah, been thinkin’ of that for a while… I think I’ve got a good smooth n’ firm place for it though…”
            “Don’t tell me…”
            “Yes, on my butt!”


            “Can we go home now?” Arona asked the dragon … “I don’t know what we came here to do, but I miss Buckberry and Yikesy (and his nanny), even old grumpy Mandrake. And it feels like we’ve been gone for months!”

            “You’re not interested by knowing more about this place , are you?” asked Leörmn

            She didn’t answer lest she might hurt the dragon’s feelings —if he had any, that is.

            “Well, I don’t want to get home so soon!” said Irtak who was usually keeping quiet, but obviously was taking it all in here, being on this place like a grake on a lake.

            Leörmn took a deep breathe, pondering the situation and the many other probable realities verging on this one, and told Arona:

            “I believe there is a cave, at a day of walk from the shore, inside this land. This cave was used by the Guardians, long before you were born, and is known to dragons and nirguals from this time. From this cave, you shall be able to travel where you want. You may even meet the zynder to guide you.”

            Arona was thinking that the dragon was surely becoming senile talking all that nonsense she could barely figure out, but she was too considerate to mention it.

            “Do you remember your glubolin?” the dragon continued abruptly, but her mind was sharp, and she answered with certainty

            “I sure do. Why?”

            “Please take a moment to feel the remembrance of it”

            Well, sure, if that can please you she had learnt not to contradict old dotty dragons, so she tried her best to remember herself and Mandrake playing with the glowing ball filled with coloured sands ; that would surely not bring her back home, but at least the dragon couldn’t accuse her of not complying.


            As she remembered it, she felt how delicious and strange that object was, and how she’d loved it, and suddenly, it was here. In her hands!

            “The old dotty dragon still has a few tricks up its scales, young lady” Leörmn said with a slight smug on his snout (or whatever it is called).

            “Oh, that’s all very nice, but what’s the point of dragging this along?”

            “It’ll show you where to go” Leörmn answered, “use it as a compass; I’ve imprinted it with the location of the cave, so that you won’t be lost, and can find your way to the cave, or wherever you want to go. We are continuing here with the boys. Have a safe trip. We will meet again.”

            Arona blew a kiss in the direction of Irtak and the dragons, and without hesitation went in the direction of the dense tropical forest.

            “Well, that dragon is an odd ball, but at least, I don’t have to wait for them to finish whatever they’re doing on that weird place.” Arona was glad to be finally alone for the next days.

            “Will she be safe here?” asked Irtak

            “I believe she will, she has got resources. Besides, the Murtuane is a place filled with a certain peace and blessed with a slow unraveling of time; it helps take the measure of the events, and find one’s own truths.”


              Elizabeth!” Godfrey strode into the room, and slapped the Reality Times down on her desk. “How dreadfully embarrassing! Your economy is considered to be a basket case, it’s in the news for heavens sake!”

              “I never economize, Godfrey, what on Ooh are you talking aboot?” replied Elizabeth tartly.

              THE economy, Liz, not your housekeeping affairs!”

              “What housekeeping affairs, dear? Do calm down, Finnley takes care of all that”

              Godfrey flung himself into an overstuffed armchair, running the back of his hand across his brow. “Perhaps it’s because your currency is the Illusion, Liz. People are afraid to buy things with illusions you know.”

              “Well, there’s not alot of point in hoarding illusions is there? I had no idea the general poopulace was hoarding illusions, honestly, you just can’t get the poopulace these days, not like the oold days when everyone was spend spend spend….well, what do you suggest?”


              The two roses of Jericho had almost completely dried up, furled again into a tight ball exhaling a slightly pungent odor.

              Yurick was impressed by the genius of this plant, which could die and “resurrect” countless times, while spending most of its time in this dried up state, only waiting for some water to revive it.

              Perhaps essence was a Rose of Jericho too; he meant his wider self, he could feel it springing from the moisture of new prospects and challenges, then slowly crawling back to a state of balance. These last past days were a sort of clearing of the rest of the waters of the year. Things were looking a bit shriveled on the outside, but you could feel life and impetus was there, if only dormant…

              Funnily, these two didn’t have any names, unlike Sha and Glo the aerial plants, which were still kind of resting on an empty beige egg carton upon the white toilets in the bathroom, where light, moisture (and aerial nutrients) surely never failed to float around.
              It was funny, he thought all of a sudden; looks like the little hairy plants are travelers upon a big iceberg… What a funny story this would make.

              So, the roses didn’t have names… If they were essences of roses, what would be their focuses?

              Well, what was imagination telling him? He could easily imagine them as sort of strange mummies who would dry up into balls of dried flesh and sinews and being revived sometimes during the flood seasons. Actually with the news of Venice (and next Rome) being flooded if there were some old mummies suddenly revived from old times and prolonged lyophilization, that could be a place to start. Well, they probably would have a hard time coping with all the changes and the pace of this time.
              Alabama or Louisiana would be fun places to have some too… Funny mummies…


              Finally, sailing on the Orgasmic Sea had not been as difficult as Akita would have thought .

              Occasionally, while they were sleeping on the deck under the starry sky, he could hear a few “Ahs” and “Ohs” (something even some “Oooh” as far as he recalled) coming from the three ladies, but perhaps that was only the effects of their feeling again their skin against the sheets, since all their hair had almost now gone.

              He was wondering if that was a special disposition of the Brits and people coming from the cold areas, that kind of bestial growing of hair, and shedding in spring… Could well be, as his Asian ancestors never had been accustomed to growing much hair themselves, he couldn’t tell for sure.

              Perhaps they were dreaming too… As soon as they had found out about this strange piece of tile, their imagination seemed to have taken to new heights. They were speaking of Spreal, an ancient civilization buried for 570,000 years under the ices, near the Onyx river and had almost manifested the strong desire to come back to investigate.

              Hopefully Kay had given him the perfect excuse to not comply with the sometimes erratic demands of the three Graces: the iceberg was slowly melting in the giant structure of plastic containing the freshwater from the berg, and the heat exchange was also giving the propellant for the trip. They probably wouldn’t be able to get away so easily if they backed-off now.
              Hopefully their shedding had finished to convince them. Any vague desire left to go to the frozen place was long gone with the comfortable hairy insulation.

              Akita had thought for a moment of going back to his homeland, in Arkansas. But now that probably most of his family was dead, or thinking him dead, there wouldn’t be much point in doing that. Instead, he’d decided to trust living in the present. Not worrying about that elusive past from another life, and only focus on what route was open to him now.
              Sharon, Gloria and Mavis were apparently not in a hurry to come back home either, and now that Kay was more and more easily accessible for him, he didn’t feel alone at all. So all was well.


              That was it. She had enough for the time being. Ever since the management had agreed to hire him for the new show, the Freakus was not as Fabulously Great as it once was.

              Not that he was a bad guy, but he was all so closeted, he was imprinting it to the circus, and she wanted to breathe some different kind of air. Of course, never been a freak himself, Morgan the Mentalist wouldn’t ever come close as to understand what having been closeted your all life would mean. Being the Lobster girl of the show, she knew quite a bit about that.
              It had took her awhile to know that there wasn’t anything wrong with her expression, so no one would told her how to express. Not the Mentalist of all others.

              Damo, the guy who was setting up the tents had seen her leave the Freakus without a word, her little piece of luggage on her “normal” hand, while her claw-like one was tucked in a glove under her bosom. Sweet-hearted as he was, he had tried to convince her to stay, that surely there was some misunderstanding.
              “Lyla, don’t be stoopid, ain’t got nothin’ fur you out there” he’d said to her.

              She didn’t know how to tell him that all was good. She didn’t want to tell too much either, for Fama, his teen daughter wasn’t really loving the life at the circus either, and would easily have taken the bait to get out of there too. So she had moved saying that she would come back, “when it’s safe for kids” she’d added mysteriously.

              Strange at it seemed, it was like taking a breathe of air, and yet, she couldn’t help but think over and over at how she could have changed anything in what had happened. Perhaps it was just a pretext for her to do her next step.
              When Morgan first came to the show, he wasn’t in a good shape, and had begged Pat Elson to hire him. As he was kind of smart guy, he didn’t stay long in Damo’s team of workers. Pat saw his potential as a sort of empathic guy, and devised the Mentalist act with him.

              He was good at cold-reading, mostly guessing at people problems; in the beginning, some of the freakus’ people would play a part with him, to amaze the audience, but it became less and less necessary, and he would do a nice job buy himself, with lots of “it wouldn’t happen to be that your mother gave the watch to you? No… not your mother… but someone close… I can feel blah blah” and then picking on the subtle hints the guy was giving off unwittingly.

              Lately, he had started to kind of feel stuff for real. And he started to freak out. After all this time, not many people remembered Morgan as he first came to the circus, and for most he was the Outstandingly Great Mentalist. Yeah, he had been pimping up a bit his name too… Those things happen in the milieu.
              But Lyla remembered. She was a girl at this time, but your work at the circus starts very early when you’re a freak.
              She had seen how he gained a little confidence in himself, as long as it stayed within closed tents and half-lit veils. He was truly a master of illusion games, and he didn’t want people to see him differently than the way he was presenting himself. He’d first tried his little games of séances with some close trusty friends, and Lyla had been quite encouraging; he deserved to blossom his potential; no one deserved to be maintained at a place where you can’t reach your highest.

              A few days before, Lyla had had the pleasure of seeing Jenny, who’d been snake charmer many years ago, and had quit to become a singer in a bar: “tired me to travel so much, ya see” she’d said to Lyla “Now my life ain’t so complicated”.
              Then Jenny had then asked about the guys she’d known in the freakus, first of all was Morgan the Mentalist. “How’s that old fart of Morgy?” she’d asked with a giggle “still scamming around?”

              Lyla had said innocently that he’d been practicing doing it more genuinely, even to some success with local peasants in a few séances. Jenny had greeted the news with a cheer. “Wonderful, hey!”

              The next day, Lyla had had the Mentalist erupt in the caravan she shared with Zarafina and Venus, since Twi had gone to sing too. He was looking furious and once they were out of earshot (how could there be any need of making secrets with the others, Lyla had wondered, they shared everything, even the tiny bar of soap) told her with his sweetest voice how he appreciated Jenny. Of course she wasn’t a Mentalist, but she knew when someone was beating around the bush; and she needn’t be Moses to know the bush was smelling of burning.

              “I greatly appreciate Jenny, but I’d love to choose when I disclose my information to her” that’s what he said. At first, she’d thought, well, why the theatrics? Cool for you guy, peace off now. Then she slowly understood that he wanted to tell her to shut her mouth. How could she know what part to shut and which to tell? She hadn’t done anything wrong did she? Why was he having the same tone than the frigging priests with their sermons telling that you’re sinful, and when you’ve got a crooked arm, it’s because you’re born evil and such guilt shit.”

              Well, she didn’t want to stay in a position where she had to figure out which of his sharing was a real sharing or was not. So she better bugger off, take some fresh air.

              She thought how she loved to hear the radio, and her lifelong dream was to work there, in a place where people would hear her before judging from her appearance… Maybe she would thank Morgy in the future for giving her the last excuse to do what she wanted.


              Siobhan was settling into her new job at the Freakus, fitting like a duck to water into her position as Head Cage Rattler. It wasn’t an easy job to do which was why the rewards were so high; it certainly wasn’t everyones cup of tea, and good Cage Rattlers were hard to find. Oh, there were plenty of Cage Rattlers, true, but not good ones. A good Cage Rattler had to have a certain “je ne say kwah”, an impermeability, much like the oily feathers of a duck, enabling the Cage Rattler to glide easily through troubled waters without sinking ~ without even getting wet, if they were very skilled.

              The success of the Freakus show depended on new ideas and inspirations. The audience, as well as the participants of course, wanted something new, something challenging, something inspiring, something ‘out of the box’ for each show, not the same old boring routines. There was nothing entertaining about the same old tricks rehashed over and over again, even if they were well known and easy to perform. True, there were many of the general public who preferred the familiar acts, but they generally weren’t fans of the innovative and forward thinking Freakus show. Freakus was new, exciting, thought provoking and entrancingly different, hence the importance of the Cage Rattlers.

              When the performers and cast members of Freakus got too complacent or too boring, it was Siobhan’s job to disturb them, to rattle their cages, yes, to upset them. Clearly it was undeniably important that Siobhan not take their retaliations personally; after all, she was just doing her job. She was shaking things up purposefully for the overall benefit of the show, it was a simple as that. It wasn’t her job to direct or lead those in the rattled cages, simply to disturb them from their boring old routines. Freakus, after all, wasn’t about the old and boring, it was about the new and exciting, and it was up to the individual performers to come up with a new act.


              — Well, to me it’s pretty obvious now that all that we put in this story kind of manifests quickly…
              — Quite. The book, the magazine, the travels,… Amazing, even the most delirious things do actually manifest, even if not physically!
              — Heck, no! Good thing not all that stuff manifests physically; well you can never be sure either, but seems some of it best be manifested in other ways.
              — Or soon enough we’ll find a news coverage on it…
              — Ahah, yeah. Now, I wonder…
              — What?
              — Should we keep that a…
              — A what?
              — You know the word, a S-E-C-R-E-T
              — What?! Are you crazy?
              — Well, one never knows; there might be all sorts of loonies out there wanting to insert all sorts of stuff in this book now.
              — Ahahaha, you must be kidding; I thought WE were the loonies ;))
              — You have a point… Well, I mean anyway, it’s not like it’s because of the book either; it’s just because we focus our intents through the writing, and pool energies…
              — Indeed. And there are no such things as sea-crates anyway.
              — So now the question is… What do we want to put in there for the next 6 months?
              — Is it too late for foie gras and gingerbread toasts?

            Viewing 20 replies - 1,101 through 1,120 (of 1,160 total)
            • The topic ‘Circle of Eights, Stories’ is closed to new replies.