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In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
— Daddy, daddy! I want to come with you!
Young Peregrine had been running after his father at the moment when he had put the letter in his pocket ready to go off the streets.
— Oh, really? Sean Doran Wrick was weighing the possibilities.
Peregrine was still in fluffy rabbit slippers and pajamas, but he had a very determined look on his young face.
— Then perhaps we should ask Guinevere to come with us too?
— OK, I go ask her!And off was Peregrine, running down the hall of the large Dublin apartment to his sister’s room.
Sean was thoughtful… Well, Edmund had said that the private jet would be ready in an hour, so that was leaving him some time to have a nice beer at the pub before departing to New York to see the Traveling Reality Amusement Park, or T.R.A.P. for short, as the imaginative publicists of his father’s company had decided to brand the new revolutionary concept.
Sean had been supervising the very first prototype before he had met Margaret, and then had got more interested in his “real” family life than in amusement travels in fairy lands… But nonetheless his father had trusted his flair, and had kept him informed of the developments of the project.
Now, for the premiere of the T.R.A.P., he’d got some VIP invitations, but grieved with Margaret’s death, he had not wanted to go there at all. That is, until Becky had spoken about it…Peregrine came back with a pout on his face.
— She’s not sure if she wants to come, he said…
— Oh well. Then, let me have my beer, and I come back in a few minutes to see if you and your sister are ready. I’ll pick up whomever is ready and packed up.
— Yipeeee! Peregrine’s eyes were gleaming with joy.In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
When Dory finally woke up from her coleslaw induced stupour, she felt quite befuddled. What a peculiar trip it had been! I’ve taken some recreational drugs in my time, Dory thought, but I’ve never had a trip quite like that one. She wondered what on earth George had drugged the coleslaw with. Dory closed her eyes again, recalling snatches of the hallucinations.
Being chased by bandits on hairpin mountain roads with a small baby girl in the car; being held at gunpoint by Idi Amin in an Afrian court; running, running, gasping with terror, chased by old fashioned Bobbies on pushbikes, and dough faced bowler hatted debt collectors…..
Dory’s heart was pounding again as she recalled the images that rolled along like a crazy movie montage, a psycho thriller, a horror movie…..
……being held down under the bathwater as a baby with a vicious scowling face looming above her; fighting with a witch in the garden shed for tense petrifying hours; monstrous demons snaking blacky out of ouija boards, and madness and asylums; a man lying in a double bed dying from self inflicted stab wounds and she was shouting and calling and nobody hearing; running, running and gasping, shouting for help and no-one was there…..
Well, Dory pulled herself together, No point in dwelling on it, it was just a freaky bad trip.
Coffee? George asked.
Dory’s head snapped round. Huh? Oh! Gosh, YES please! You’re still here are you? Dory rubbed her eyes and shook herself a bit. Just the mention of coffee had already started to snap her out of her unpleasant reverie.
Of course I’m still here, Dory, George said kindly. I am always here. I was with you during you trip, every step of the way, but you were not focused on me.
You WERE? Dory was momentarily non-plussed. And then, Well why did you let all that awful stuff happen then? Why didn’t you help me? You just stood there and watched?
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Írtak was playing with the dragon twins in the carved woodstones field. It was mostly faced shaped petrified wood that had been carved surely when it was still wood. The faces were quite hypnotic and made him feel often sleepy, but with the dragons he was feeling all his senses enhanced and sharpened.
The dragons were growing fast, hatched only a few days ago, they were already bigger than his father… He knew from Malvina that they could take whatever form they wanted, but he’d always thought that their power were developing from nothing to … something… but apparently they were already fully aware. Their leather skin was glowing emerald green, blended with some purple pink shades, or was it the contrary. It was changing so quickly. He was wondering what they were eating, because he wasn’t the one who was giving them any food. And still they were so big.
Did they have a “real” form? Whatever that meant.One of the dragon gave him a mischievous glance and before he could anticipate what would happen, he was facing a growling troll :yahoo_time_out:. The troll was running right to him, seemingly crushing with his heavy body all the fragile woodstoned faces.
All his attention was on the troll and he didn’t hear the man coming.
And now the troll was freezed running and jumping forever… Írtak’s head was like a big storm of boulders falling from the sky. Growling, drumbling apart…— You have strange games with your dragons.
— …He was gaping at the man… his skin was bluish with pink also and sometimes a bit of yellow.
— Who are you?
— Don’t you recognize me?
Írtak tried to remember something. had he ever met that man before?
— Oh right, it’s our first meeting… from your point of view. I’d forgotten that. But you see, for me our first meeting is in your future.
— …Írtak was still gaping at the man, this strange skin of him, it was so ambrulin, that color he’d already see somewhere… was it in a dream?
The man looked at him, and he felt for a moment a warm fuzzy feeling in his body… not particularly located in any part of it… and he would have… no, it was even in the woodstoned faces around him… how could he feel that?— Your dragons are wanting to take part in the fun, the man smiled. I’m going to let them go, as I’m not staying either.
— Who are you? managed Írtak.
— I’m your father…
—
— HAHAHAHAHAH! No actually that’s a private joke… I’m Andrimiñ (AndruhMiiñ?) we’ll meet again in a few years of your time. Your dragons are really interesting then, and so are you.Saying that, the time began to flow again in the right direction, the troll was still running toward him, but he suddenly slowed down and stopped, shape shifting into a bluish boy, with a face so similar to Andrimiñ.
— Where’s the funny man? he said.
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
New York, October, 4 th 2033
Albert had opened the newspaper, scanning distractedly through the various pages of text that would read aloud automatically when he was running his fingers through it. He was about to close it, when he noticed that article in the Life Focus section.
Dublin, October 5 th 2033
Sean Doran Wrick had received tons of phone calls, emails and voice mails of condolences since the past few weeks, but he had not found the strength to answer any of them. Especially those coming from his father.
That morning, he had received some letters that he would have left on top of the others, had he not recognized the round and cheerful calligraphy of Becky on one of them.
He had known Becky when they had traveled together in Syria, and had enjoyed so much the lively young woman that they had kept in touch during all those years.
He was pleased to read from her, and wanted to enjoy it fully.
So he took his time to put to bed Guinevere and Peregrine before. Guinevere was the eldest, very mature for her barely 11 year old. She took great care of her younger brother, who was more dreamy and foolish. Peregrine would turn 10 next March… but he was hardly as responsible as his sister when she was his age…
I would have liked to finally take the time to write to you in better conditions, but I could not delay any longer. I saw the obituary in the newspaper, and wanted you to know that I share your grief and loss, and extend much love and support to you and to your dear little ones.
I know you’re not the kind of person to be satisfied with banalities, so I will not dwell on this tragedy, and will remember the best moments we shared together.
I still continue my studies and practices on dramatherapy, and till now it has proved very beneficial, in many ways. I have learned so many things. It’s quite rewarding. We are a close-knit group of fools (or drôles as Al loves to say, as some of his ancestors come from the bayous!), and that is very much enjoyable when things that tragic come to one’s reality.
In case you feel like talking, don’t hesitate any moment, I’ll be here. Anytime.
Love,
Orkney Islands, October 4 th, 2057
This year again, Sean Doran had not answered his father’s calls.
This September 23 th was the twenty fourth anniversary of the disengagement of Lord Wrick’s daughter-in-law, and this was always a very somber period for the family.
Hopefully, the twins were here to enliven the old mansion, for as long as their parents, Lord Wrick’s grand-children, would be traveling. And of course, there had been the unexpected return of the books, which had been comforting too.
Nonetheless, Hilarion Wrick was sad, and Bill the painter was uneasy as to how he could not quite put right the portrait of the old dragon…
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Grandad! Grandad!, called India Louise to Lord Wrick, running in the old manor, her footstep making creaking and loud noises down the windy staircase.
Hilarion Wrick was seated in his favourite armchair, dozing after the hefty meal prepared by Nanny Gibbon, the cat Manfred on his lap.
Raising an eyelid, his cheerful wrinkled face smiled at the little girl.
— And how can I be of assistance, dear little one?
— Grandad, this book is full of wonders, but at times it’s like some characters have their own life, and I don’t always understand what they do… In fact, she added thoughtfully, I don’t understand them most of the time…
— Hahaha, laughed the old Lord, but they have certainly their own lives, as they are living in your imagination. What can I explain to you?
— Well, let me think.India Louise took a moment, and asked again
— For instance, this woman who just run in the cave, she seems to meet many people here, but I am confused. Is she dreaming, or are they real?
— Well, as a matter of fact, let me express to you that they are all real, even if you think that she dreams them. However, I am understanding of what you are saying, and I shall acknowledge your perspicacity. These characters are not all from the same areas of consciousness.Here, we will explain for the reader that these books were not unknown to Lord Wrick who had spent lots of time during his youth playing with them. How they were lost and found again is the subject of another story, and we will not divert the reader’s patient attention for much longer on this issue.
— Areas of consciousness?
— Yes, you see, let me explain. That individual that you call Dory, she is in a physical world. But she is aware, to an extent, of other realities that overlap her own reality. Just as her story overlaps your own reality my dear one.
— And Illi? Who is she?
— This one is also Dory, but another personality of her, in another time. She has just passed away, quite recently. She is beginning to slowly become aware of that, and she connects with other of her personalities, and at times blends with them, like the other Illi, the cat-like creature, who is still in the physical reality of Malvina’s world.
— Mmmm, this is quite intricate…
— Hahahaha, yes, it seems so, but it will not be so puzzling when you don’t try to attach your current limited perception to this story. This story is you my dear. You are the story.
— Well, and Sanso, and Georges then, are they dead or what? How come Dory can see them?
— These ones are special, they have mastered the crossing of the Worlds, and can move through them. They move differently though. Sanso comes from a lineage of an ancient tribe of Zion, and had learn from them how to activate some portals, but only through the physical world of Dory, in their own time. He is not yet aware that he can also move through time as well, or even through other Worlds —worlds that he has no conception of yet.Georges is more consummate in that art. Their meeting is not coincidental. You will see that.
— Thank you Grandad, it’s becoming a bit less confusing.
— Just flow with the story my little one, don’t hold on too much, or you will find it too difficult, and you will stop to find fun in it.In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Everything started to happen at once. As Sanso sat up, craning his neck looking at the door in the ceiling, a terrific flapping and squalking noise approached from behind him, starting as a distant vibration and rising in an unbearable crescendo as it rounded the last bend in the tunnel. Suddenly the noise stopped as Sanso felt a weight on his shoulder, and then a thud on the sandy floor. Bugger this, the parrot screeched in his ear. Bugger this bugger this bugger bugger bugger…
Sanso was momentarily speechless, as his eye fell on the key. He picked it up and turned it over in his hand, feeling the rusty weight of it. He turned to look at the parrot on his shoulder, who thankfully had stopped his shrill squalking.
This must be the key to that door, he whispered to the parrot. Let’s try it and see.
Wait for Dory dear Wait for Dory!
Bugger this, sighed the parrot, Here I am bringing the key, remembering everything everyone else forgets, running the show here and I don’t even have a name in this silly story.
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Arona eventually woke from her sleep, still tangled in the images from her dreams. Unable to remember these images she was left feeling as though she were adrift in a boat on the ocean, not caring where the wind and waves may take her.
She had no feeling that morning. It was as though a door had closed in her mind, shutting out the part that could feel. She did not know, nor care, whether she was shutting out joy or sorrow, only that some part of her wanted to be alone.
She remembered the words of the older woman who had sat with her and soothed her to sleep. Or was she already asleep? Was the woman a dream?
Use your magic, she had said.
When she was young, in the Village, magic had come easily to Arona. When did it end?. She screwed up her eyes trying to concentrate. It hadn’t ended all at once. Did it start to end with the cloak her parents had given her?
Arona shook her head briskly and thoughts, like leaves in the wind, lifted and fell back to earth again in new formations.
The candle still burned brightly and her attention was drawn to the heavy wooden door, knowing she could not put it off any longer. In her bag of treasures was a key. It had been given to her at the beginning of her 21 st year, as was custom in the Village. It was no surprise to her that it fitted the lock perfectly.
Thank you for having me room, she said as she left.
No, thank YOU, replied the sleepy glukenitch.
The door led directly into another space, larger, brighter. She could sense someone there, but not in solid form. It was a beautiful woman who Arona felt an immediate affinity with, and then a strange sadness came unbidden.
Why sad?
I have no clue answered Arona briskly, quickly shutting the door back on these pesky emotions.
You always know, just feel it
So Arona closed her eyes tightly and allowed herself to feel the answer.
Because you know who you are, and it made me realise I have no idea who I am.
Mmmmmmm, said the woman, maybe you would care to look at my new paintings. Actually they are some of yours.
Intrigued, Arona felt this would be a suitable distraction and she looked with much interest.
The first painting was of a child, in a beautiful meadow of flowers. The child appeared to be completely absorbed, concentrating on a small blue butterfly which had lighted on her finger.
The picture itself moved and changed shape as though it were a portal to another living, breathing world. In the corner of the picture were some other children who seemed to be playing happily together.Arona, who had felt immediately connected with the young child frowned.
Doesn’t the little girl feel left out?
Go in, said the woman, Go inside the picture and feel the answer.
Oh, and you might want to leave your cloak behind.
So Arona did, and she became the child, but also stayed herself, observing the scene. She felt the child’s happy fascination in her connection with the butterfly. Not just the butterfly. She could feel her connected with the earth, and the gentle breezes and the beautiful flowers … The child was deeply contented, absorbed in the moment, moving happily with the flow of her interest.
I remember feeling like that, thought Arona, before the magic went.
She gently drew the child’s attention to the other children and felt the flow of energy between them. The child was so sure of who she was and where she wanted to be, and Arona could feel the loving acceptance of her playmates.
As the child’s attention went to the others, one of the children looked up and came running over. They sat together and laughed at some funny rabbits which had appeared in the meadow. Arona returned to the cave.
You look troubled
Well, Arona felt a little perplexed. It’s all very well playing with butterflies and rabbits in a meadow, but it is not terribly practical.
On the contrary, perhaps it is very practical. Would you like to see another of your paintings?
Suspended gracefully between two posts was a beautiful, glistening spider web. Little drops of rain hung like jewels on a chain. An enormous spider waited patiently in the shadows. As Arona watched a small insect happened at that moment to be caught, and the spider began to creep along the delicate lines.
Arona shuddered a little. I might not jump into that one .
The woman laughed, Use your magic Arona. Weave your magic web and let it all come to you.
Oh you are the second person to tell me to use my magic. An old lady came to me in my dreams, I think.
Well I gave her the same advice, years ago.
More damn riddles, Arona thought to herself, and the woman laughed.
One final painting of yours I would like to show you. It is beautiful is it not?
Arona stared mesmerised for a moment, and then leapt right in.
She sat among an audience, captivated by the dancers on the stage ahead. Beautiful music played and it reminded Arona of the music she had heard earlier. The dancers leapt and twirled and Arona was enraptured.
Dance Arona, she heard the woman’s voice
I can’t dance like that, I’m not good enough.
It doesn’t matter
And Arona could not hold back any longer and entered the body of one of the dancers. She did not know the dance so she made up her own steps, and strangely this seemed to fit perfectly with the other dancers.
Back in the cave the woman seemed to be listening to something Arona did not think she could hear.
Things are shifting she said
Oh lordy, are they said Arona, What should I do now?
Feel the answer
Arona felt. I am very hungry, eggceptionally so.
