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  • #4671
    F LoveF Love
    Participant

      “For the love of Flove, will everyone put some clothes on,” muttered Finnley.

      To set a good example, she put on a her best grey overcoat—which only had a few ever-so-small moth holes—and a pair of woolly socks pulled up to her knees.

      “There are far too many naked bodies covered only in towels and togas for comfort in this thread,” she said, shaking vigorously and thinking how pretty the dust looked as it floated around her. “And I for one intend to take a stand.”

      “Indeed!” agreed Godfrey. “it’s a health and safety issue for one thing. I’m concerned Liz might have one of her turns, the amount of time she spends peeping through the curtain at Roberto. She looks quite flushed.”

      #4502
      AvatarJib
      Participant

        Shawn-Paul exited Finn’s Bakery on the crowded Cobble street with his precious cargo of granola cookies. They were wrapped in a cute purple box pommeled with pink hearts. He put on a disdainful attitude, adjusting his scarf for better effect, while already salivating in anticipation of the granola melting in his hot chocolate at home. He was sure that would revive his fleeting inspiration for his novel.
        It was hard not to swallow as saliva accumulated in his mouth, but he had had years of practices since he was eight. His aunt Begonia had just given him a snicker bar that he had swallowed in one gulp, spreading some chocolate on his face in the process. She had accused him of being a dirty little piglet and he was so upset of being compared to the animal, that he had vowed to never show his love for food again. Instead he developed a public dislike of food and a slender frame quite fitting his bohemian lifestyle, while always having some cookies in store.

        Shawn-Paul turned right on Quagmire street. It was bordered with Plane trees that kept it cool and bearable in summer. He was thinking about the suggestion of his writing coach to spend some time with his artist self, thinking that he had not done it for quite some time, but immediately felt guilty about not writing and firmed his resolution to go back home and write. He walked past a group of two elder woman and a man arguing in front of Liz’s Antique. One of the woman had a caved in mouth and used her hands profusely to make her point to the man. She was wearing pink slippers with pompon.

        Italian tourists, Shawn-Paul thought rolling his eyes.

        He swallowed and almost choked on his saliva when he glimpsed an improbable reflection on the Antique’s window. A woman, smiling and waving at him from a branch of a plane tree behind him, balancing her legs. He particularly noticed her feet and the red sandals, the rest of the body was a blur.

        As Shawn-Paul turned, the toothless Italian tourist whirled her arms about like an inflated tubewoman, frightening a nearby sparrow. The bird took off and followed a curve around Shawn-Paul. Caught together in a twirl worthy of the best dervishes, the man and the bird connected in one of those perfect moment that Shawn-Paul would long but fail to transcribe into words afterwards.

        There was no woman in the tree. A male dog stopped to mark his territory. A bit disappointed and confused, Shawn-Paul felt the need to talk.

        “Did you see her?” he asked the Italian tourists. They stopped arguing and looked at him suspiciously for a moment. “She was right there with her red sandals,” he said showing the branch where he was sure she had sat. “I saw her in the window,” he felt compelled to add, not sure if they understood him.

        The other tourist woman, who had all her teeth, rolled her eyes and pointed behind him.

        “There’s a woman in red right over there!” she said with a chanting accent.

        Shawn-Paul turned and just had the time to glimpse a woman dressed all in red, skirt, vest, hat and sandals before she disappeared at the corner of Fortune street.

        Moved by a sudden impulse and forgetting all about his writing, he thanked the tourist and ran after the red woman.

        #4498

        “Tagada” said Margoritt to Tak, after feeding him the last spoon of the red clay paste mixture he had to take daily for the past week.

        Glynnis had mixed a fine clay powder with the yellow flowers of the prikkperikum that grew in the nearby woods. It would little by little absorb the effects of the potion, and hopefully neutralise that garish greenish color off his face and fur.

        Meanwhile, Glynnis had perfected her own treatment by analysing the leftover salvaged from the lotion. Tak, with his sharp olfactory senses when he turned into a puppy, had helped her identify the plants and minerals used in the potion, as he felt bad about the whole thing. She’d liked to spend time chasing with puppy Tak after plants into the mountain woods, the nearby plains, and once even as they went as far as the heathlands where a evil wind blew… too close to the heinous machinations of Leroway to desecrate the land of old.

        Thankfully, this time, she had properly labelled the lotion, with the cute picture of a skull adorned with a flower garland, under a smiling full moon. She wasn’t sure it would be of much use to ward off gluttons, but it put a smile on her face every time she looked at it.

        With the full moon a day’s ahead, she started to grow restless. Even Eleri had noticed, and she wasn’t one to notice subtleties. While she’d encouraged Hasam’ to start to work at something outside with his hands, like building a magic rainproof dome — working with his hands was something the God would find himself endlessly bemused at — she’d started her plan to glamour-bomb the forest with placing at the most unusual places hundreds of concrete statues of little fat men wearing doilies. Something Gorrash obviously felt he was the inspiration for. In truth, it wasn’t far from it, as she’d taken the opportunity of a bright day of his stone sleep to make a plaster mold of him, and then artistically adjust postures and decorum to get her little fat men done. Gorrash had felt so appreciative of the likeness, probably encouraged in that thought by the rest of Rainbow’s babies dancing around him, that he even helped her ferry the heavy cargoes to the oddest destinations.

        #4463
        EricEric
        Keymaster

          “I have no bloody idea what just happened here” mused Godfrey to his cashew nut, mimicking Liz’ odd behaviour when she talked to the drafts of air only she could see, and stopped dead in her tracks and with wide saucer-sized eyes as if she was talking to Faes invisible to mortals such as themselves.

          “But I’ll expect Finnley would be able to ghostwrite all of it into a next bestseller. Wouldn’t be the first time, or the first Finnley to tackle the impossible.

          “But seriously,… I feel a bit concerned,” he found talking to the renewed pile of cashews in his palm oddly soothing, as they one by one disappeared. “All this sudden concern of old age, retirement and whatnot. It’s not like Liz’. She’d better snap out of it. Her well of inspiration is getting drier every minute she spends worrying about money.”

          He was considering naming the last cashew he’s salvaged. “What do you think, Rufus?”

          #4403
          F LoveF Love
          Participant

            random plot generator

            A BOOK SHOP – IT IS THE AFTERNOON AFTER ALBIE HIT HIS MOTHER WITH A FEATHER.

            Newly unemployed ALBIE is arguing with his friend JENNY RAMSBOTTOM. ALBIE tries to hug JENNY but she shakes him off angrily.

            ALBIE
            Please Jenny, don’t leave me.

            JENNY
            I’m sorry Albie, but I’m looking for somebody a bit more brave. Somebody who faces his fears head on, instead of running away. You hit your mother with a feather! You could have just talked to her!

            ALBIE
            I am such a person!

            JENNY
            I’m sorry, Albie. I just don’t feel excited by this relationship anymore.

            JENNY leaves and ALBIE sits down, looking defeated.

            Moments later, gentle sweet shop owner MR MATT HUMBLE barges in looking flustered.

            ALBIE
            Goodness, Matt! Is everything okay?

            MATT
            I’m afraid not.

            ALBIE
            What is it? Don’t keep me in suspense…

            MATT
            It’s … a hooligan … I saw an evil hooligan frighten a bunch of elderly ladies!

            ALBIE
            Defenseless elderly ladies?

            MATT
            Yes, defenseless elderly ladies!

            ALBIE
            Bloomin’ heck, Matt! We’ve got to do something.

            MATT
            I agree, but I wouldn’t know where to start.

            ALBIE
            You can start by telling me where this happened.

            MATT
            I was…
            MATT fans himself and begins to wheeze.

            ALBIE
            Focus Matt, focus! Where did it happen?

            MATT
            The Library! That’s right – the Library!

            ALBIE springs up and begins to run.

            EXT. A ROADCONTINUOUS

            ALBIE rushes along the street, followed by MATT. They take a short cut through some back gardens, jumping fences along the way.

            INT. A LIBRARYSHORTLY AFTER

            ROGER BLUNDER a forgetful hooligan terrorises two elderly ladies.

            ALBIE, closely followed by MATT, rushes towards ROGER, but suddenly stops in his tracks.

            MATT
            What is is? What’s the matter?

            ALBIE
            That’s not just any old hooligan, that’s Roger Blunder!

            MATT
            Who’s Roger Blunder?

            ALBIE
            Who’s Roger Blunder? Who’s Roger Blunder? Only the most forgetful hooligan in the universe!

            MATT
            Blinkin’ knickers, Albie! We’re going to need some help if we’re going to stop the most forgetful hooligan in the universe!

            ALBIE
            You can say that again.

            MATT
            Blinkin’ knickers, Albie! We’re going to need some help if we’re going to stop the most forgetful hooligan in the universe!

            ALBIE
            I’m going to need candlesticks, lots of candlesticks.

            Roger turns and sees Albie and Matt. He grins an evil grin.

            ROGER
            Albie Jones, we meet again!

            MATT
            You’ve met?

            ALBIE
            Yes. It was a long, long time ago…

            EXT. A PARKBACK IN TIME

            A young ALBIE is sitting in a park listening to some trance music, when suddenly a dark shadow casts over him.

            He looks up and sees ROGER. He takes off his headphones.

            ROGER
            Would you like some wine gums?

            ALBIE’s eyes light up, but then he studies ROGER more closely, and looks uneasy.

            ALBIE
            I don’t know, you look kind of forgetful.

            ROGER
            Me? No. I’m not forgetful. I’m the least forgetful hooligan in the world.

            ALBIE
            Wait, you’re a hooligan?

            ALBIE runs away, screaming.

            INT. A LIBRARYPRESENT DAY

            ROGER
            You were a coward then, and you are a coward now.

            MATT
            (To ALBIE) You ran away?
            ALBIE
            (To MATT) I was a young child. What was I supposed to do?
            ALBIE turns to ROGER.

            ALBIE
            I may have run away from you then, but I won’t run away this time!
            ALBIE runs away.

            He turns back and shouts.

            ALBIE
            I mean, I am running away, but I’ll be back – with candlesticks.

            ROGER
            I’m not scared of you.

            ALBIE
            You should be.

            INT. A SWEET SHOPLATER THAT DAY

            ALBIE and MATT walk around searching for something.

            ALBIE
            I feel sure I left my candlesticks somewhere around here.

            MATT
            Are you sure? It does seem like an odd place to keep deadly candlesticks.

            ALBIE
            You know nothing Matt Humble.

            MATT
            We’ve been searching for ages. I really don’t think they’re here.

            Suddenly, ROGER appears, holding a pair of candlesticks.

            ROGER
            Looking for something?

            MATT
            Crikey, Albie, he’s got your candlesticks.

            ALBIE
            Tell me something I don’t already know!

            MATT
            The earth’s circumference at the equator is about 40,075 km.

            ALBIE
            I know that already!

            MATT
            I’m afraid of dust.

            ROGER
            (appalled) Dude!

            While ROGER is looking at MATT with disgust, ALBIE lunges forward and grabs his deadly candlesticks. He wields them, triumphantly.

            ALBIE
            Prepare to die, you forgetful aubergine!

            ROGER
            No please! All I did was frighten a bunch of elderly ladies!

            JENNY enters, unseen by any of the others.

            ALBIE
            I cannot tolerate that kind of behaviour! Those elderly ladies were defenceless! Well now they have a defender – and that’s me! Albie Jones defender of innocent elderly ladies.

            ROGER
            Don’t hurt me! Please!

            ALBIE
            Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t use these candlesticks on you right away!

            ROGER
            Because Albie, I am your father.

            ALBIE looks stunned for a few moments, but then collects himself.

            ALBIE
            No you’re not!

            ROGER
            Ah well, it had to be worth a try.

            ROGER tries to grab the candlesticks but ALBIE dodges out of the way.

            ALBIE
            Who’s the daddy now? Huh? Huh?

            Unexpectedly, ROGER slumps to the ground.

            MATT
            Did he just faint?

            ALBIE
            I think so. Well that’s disappointing. I was rather hoping for a more dramatic conclusion, involving my deadly candlesticks.

            ALBIE crouches over ROGER’s body.

            MATT
            Be careful, Albie. It could be a trick.

            ALBIE
            No, it’s not a trick. It appears that… It would seem… Roger Blunder is dead!

            ALBIE
            What?

            ALBIE
            Yes, it appears that I scared him to death.

            MATT claps his hands.

            MATT
            So your candlesticks did save the day, after all.

            JENNY steps forward.

            JENNY
            Is it true? Did you kill the forgetful hooligan?

            ALBIE
            Jenny how long have you been…?

            JENNY puts her arm around ALBIE.

            JENNY
            Long enough.

            ALBIE
            Then you saw it for yourself. I killed Roger Blunder.

            JENNY
            Then the elderly ladies are safe?

            ALBIE
            It does seem that way!

            A crowd of vulnerable elderly ladies enter, looking relived.

            JENNY
            You are their hero.

            The elderly ladies bow to ALBIE.

            ALBIE
            There is no need to bow to me. I seek no worship. The knowledge that Roger Blunder will never frighten elderly ladies ever again, is enough for me.

            JENNY
            You are humble as well as brave! And I think that makes up for hitting your mother with a feather. It does in my opinion!

            One of the elderly ladies passes ALBIE a healing ring

            JENNY
            I think they want you to have it, as a symbol of their gratitude.

            ALBIE
            I couldn’t possibly.
            Pause.

            ALBIE
            Well, if you insist. It could come in handy when I go to the Doline tomorrow. With my friend Matt. It is dangerous and only for brave people and a healing ring could come in handy.

            ALBIE takes the ring.

            ALBIE
            Thank you.
            The elderly ladies bow their heads once more, and leave.

            ALBIE turns to JENNY.

            ALBIE
            Does this mean you want me back?

            JENNY
            Oh, Albie, of course I want you back!
            ALBIE smiles for a few seconds, but then looks defiant.

            ALBIE
            Well you can’t have me.

            JENNY
            WHAT?

            ALBIE
            You had no faith in me. You had to see my scare a hooligan to death before you would believe in me. I don’t want a lover like that. And I am going to the Doline and I may not be back!

            JENNY
            But…

            ALBIE
            Please leave. I want to spend time with the one person who stayed with me through thick and thin – my best friend, Matt.

            MATT grins.

            JENNY
            But…

            MATT
            You heard the gentleman. Now be off with you. Skidaddle! Shoo!

            JENNY
            Albie?

            ALBIE
            I’m sorry Jenny, but I think you should skidaddle.
            JENNY leaves.

            MATT turns to ALBIE.

            MATT
            Did you mean that? You know … that I’m your best friend?

            ALBIE
            Of course you are!
            The two walk off arm in arm.

            Suddenly MATT stops.

            MATT
            When I said I’m afraid of dust, you know I was just trying to distract the hooligan don’t you?

            #4368

            When the rain stopped, Eleri stood motionless, suspended in between the enveloping cocophony of pattering drops. Already the saturated foliage was steaming and a dense mist arose from the sodden ground. The effects of the cake were wearing off, and the sudden change from exhuberance in the lashing rain, to the whispering silence and eerie rising fog left her speechless, and still. A moment, hanging like a swaying rope bridge between one scene and another.

            And it was at that very moment, as is so often the case, that the mysterious Mr Minn appeared, dressed, it would seem, for a formal event. Raising his tall black hat he said with a smile, “Eleri! WE meet again!”

            She swooned, and fell into his arms. Later, in retrospect, Eleri had to admit it was an extraordinarily well timed whitey, due to the after effects of the cake, but was pleased with the theatrical symbolism and timing.

            Rolling his eyes, Micawber Minn called for Festus, his young assistant. “Carry her back to the party, and tell Margoritt I’m on my way. But first,” he said, “A necessary detour…”

            #4312

            “You can go to bed,” said Gorrash. “I’ve been used to spend the whole night alone with only a couple of shrews, insects and crying bats when I lived in that garden.” He sounded more bitter than he had wanted, so he smiled. But even his smile was forced.

            “Yes, you’re right! I won’t be of such good company at that late hour,” said Margoritt. “I’m afraid your friend also need some sleep for now. He’s exhausted.” They looked at Fox who was sleeping soundly in a side bed. Tak was looking after him with curiosity in his eyes. As if he had recognised the touch of Gibbon in him. Margoritt had helped remove the blizzard curse before she let Fox entered the house. It was a mild curse which he had certainly caught as they passed the melancholic spring the day before. Gorrash wasn’t affected because he was in his stone slumber at that time.

            “I don’t know why, but lately visitors seem to always need some sleep,” added Margoritt. “Anyway, I know an owl of good company that often fly around the house at that hour. If you want to wander around, feel free to do so. I’ll let the door ajar so you can come and go as you please,” she said as she stood up. “Tak. Time to go to bed too.”

            The young boy looked at her, then at Fox.

            “He’ll be there in the morning, don’t worry.”

            That seemed to be enough for Tak who went to his own bed. Margoritt went to her bedroom and the house soon became silent. Gorrash decided to have a conversation with the owl and left the house silently.

            #4293

            The night was almost there, the dwarf would come out of his heavy daysleep any minute now. Fox had been collecting mushrooms along with twigs and branches to make some fire. He hoped the constant drizzle of these last few days had not rendered them too wet.

            The differences of his needs and cravings depending on his being a fox or a human had always amazed him. When he was a fox, he feared fire and would avoid it at all cost. When he was a human, he couldn’t spend a night out in the cold without a fire. His body was simply not good at keeping warmth inside when he had no fur. Today was no exception and Fox was certain the dwarf would also appreciate it to get rid of the cold of the stone.

            After piling up the wood for the fire, Fox smelled his harvest of fresh mushrooms. He imagined them accompanying a good rabbit stew and felt saliva water his mouth. His diet as an animal was mostly meat, whereas as a human he was oddly attracted to vegetables, and even enjoyed the taste of mushrooms. He might not enjoy them so much had he not met a girl once, so long ago when he was a still a cub learning to transform into a human. He remembered the girl had said she was called Eleri, which he had found amusing because in French “Elle rit” means “she’s laughing”.

            “How do you know French?” she had asked.
            “Oh! My master Gibbon teaches me French, he says it would give me another way of thinking the world.”
            “Your master must be fond of Romance stories,” she giggled.

            Fox didn’t really understood what she meant by that, and he thought it was not so important because what she had in her bag smelt so funny.

            “What’s that?” he asked.
            “You want some?” She handed a bunch of butterstache fungi to the handsome redhead boy. “I realise I don’t know your name.”

            “I’m Fox,” he said his eyes fixed on the strange looking things in her hands. He sniffed and wrinkled his nose. “Is it safe?”

            He remembered the look of incredulity in her eyes, her beautiful eyes. She was the first girl he had seen. He didn’t know much about humans except what Master Gibbon had told him in French, which didn’t really make sense at that time.

            “It’s totally safe, you might only have some funny experiences if you take the wrong ones in the forest,” Eleri laughed and Fox remembered the meaning of her name in French. He thought the name suited her well. He accepted her gift, for her eyes, and for her sincere laugh.

            Since that time, eating mushrooms was always coloured with joy and a sense of daring. The last rays of the Sun faded away.

            “It smells like mushrooms, and butterstache if I’m not mistaken,” said the raspy voice of the dwarf.

            #4254

            Eleri shivered. The cold had descended quickly once the rain had stopped. If only the rain had stopped a little sooner, she could have made her way back home, but as it was, Eleri had allowed Jolly to persuade her to spend the night in Trustinghampton.

            Pulling the goat wool blankets closer, Eleri gazed at the nearly full moon framed in the attic window, the crumbling castle ramparts faintly visible in the silver light. The scene reminded her of another moonlit night many years ago, not long after she had first arrived here with Alexandria and Lobbocks.

            It had been a summer night, and long before Leroway had improvised a cooling system with ventilation shafts constructed with old drainage pipes, a particularly molten sweltering night, and Eleri had risen from her crumpled sweaty bed to find a breath of cooler air. Quietly she slipped through the door willing it not to creak too much and awaken anyone. The cobblestones felt deliciously cool on her bare feet and she climbed the winding street towards the castle, her senses swathed in the scents of night flowering dama de noche. Lady of the Night, she whispered. Perhaps there would be a breeze up there.

            She paused at the castle gate archway and turned to view the sleeping village below. A light glimmered from the window of Leroway’s workshop, but otherwise the village houses were the still dark quiet of the dreaming night.

            Eleri wandered through the castle grounds, alternately focused on watching her step, and pausing for a few moments, lost in thoughts. It was good, this community, there was a promising feeling about it. It wasn’t always easy, but the hardships seemed lighter with the spirit of adventure and enthusiasm. And it was much better up here than it had been in the Lowlands, there was no doubt about that.

            Her brow furrowed when she recalled her last days down there, when leaving had become the only possible course of action. Don’t dwell on that, she admonished herself silently. She resumed her aimless strolling.

            Behind the castle, on the opposite side to the village, the ground fell away in series of small plateaus. At certain times of the years when the rains came, these plateaus were green meadows sprinkled with daisies and grazing goats, but now they were crisply browned and dry underfoot. Striking rock formations loomed in the darkness, looking like gun metal where the moonlight shone on them. One of them was shaped like a chair, a flat stone seat with an upright stone wedged behind it. Eleri sat, appreciating the feel of the cool rock through her thin dress and on her bare legs.

            It feels like a throne, she thought, just before slipping into a half sleep. The dreams came immediately, as if they had already started and she only needed to shift her attention away from the hot night in the castle to another world. Her cotton shift became a long heavy coarsely woven gown, and her head was weighed down somehow. She had to move her head very slowly and only from side to side. She knew not to look down because of the weight of the thing on her head.

            Looking to her right, she saw him. “Micawber Minn, at your service,” he said with a cheeky grin. “At last, you have returned.”

            Eleri awoke with a start. Touching her head, she realized the weighty head dress was gone, although there was a ring of indentation in her hair. Her heavy gown was gone too, although she could still feel the places where the prickly cloth had scratched her.

            Suddenly aware of the thin material of her dress, she glanced to her right. He was still there!

            Spellbound, Eleri gazed at the magnificent man beside her. Surely she was still dreaming! Such an arresting face, finely chiseled features and penetrating but amused eyes. Broad shoulders, flowing platinum locks, really there was not much to fault. What a stroke of luck to find such a man, and on such a romantic night. And what a perfect setting!

            And yet, although she knew she had never met him before, he seemed familiar. Eleri shifted her position on the stone throne and inched closer to him. He leaned towards her, opening his arms. And she fell into the rapture.

            #4219

            As the crow flies, Glenville is about 100 miles from the Forest of Enchantment.

            “What a pretty town!” tourists to the area would exclaim, delighted by the tree lined streets and quaint houses with thatched roofs and brightly painted exteriors. They didn’t see the dark underside which rippled just below the surface of this exuberant facade. If they stayed for more than a few days, sure enough, they would begin to sense it. “Time to move on, perhaps,” they would say uneasily, although unsure exactly why and often putting it down to their own restless natures.

            Glynis Cotfield was born in one of these houses. Number 4 Leafy Lane. Number 4 had a thatched roof and was painted a vibrant shade of yellow. There were purple trims around each window and a flower box either side of the front door containing orange flowers which each spring escaped their confines to sprawl triumphantly down the side of the house.

            Her father, Kevin Cotfield, was a bespectacled clerk who worked in an office at the local council. He was responsible for building permits and making sure people adhered to very strict requirements to ‘protect the special and unique character of Glenville’.

            And her mother, Annelie … well, her mother was a witch. Annelie Cotfield came from a long line of witches and she had 3 siblings, all of whom practised the magical arts in some form or other.

            Uncle Brettwick could make fire leap from any part of his body. Once, he told Glynis she could put her hand in the fire and it wouldn’t hurt her. Tentatively she did. To her amazement the fire was cold; it felt like the air on a frosty winter’s day. She knew he could also make the fire burning hot, if he wanted. Some people were a little scared of her Uncle Brettwick and there were occasions—such as when Lucy Dickwit told everyone at school they should spit at Glynis because she came from an ‘evil witch family’—when she used this to her advantage.

            “Yes, and I will tell my Uncle to come and burn down your stinking house if you don’t shut your stinking stupid mouth!” she said menacingly, sticking her face close to Lucy’s face. “And give me your bracelet,” she added as an after thought. It had worked. She got her peace and she got the bracelet.

            Aunt Janelle could move objects with her mind. She set up a stall in the local market and visitors to the town would give her money to watch their trinkets move. “Lay it on the table”, she would command them imperiously. “See, I place my hands very far from your coin. I do not touch it. See?” Glynis would giggle because Aunt Janelle put on a funny accent and wore lots of garish makeup and would glare ferociously at the tourists.

            But Aunt Bethell was Glynis’s favourite—she made magic with stories. “I am the Mistress of Illusions,” she would tell people proudly. When Glynis was little, Aunt Bethell would create whole stories for her entertainment. When Glynis tried to touch the story characters, her hand would go right through them. And Aunt Bethell didn’t even have to be in the same room as Glynis to send her a special magical story. Glynis adored Aunt Bethell.

            Her mother, Annelie, called herself a healer but others called her a witch. She concocted powerful healing potions using recipes from her ’Big Book of Spells’, a book which had belonged to Annelie’s mother and her mother before her. On the first page of the book, in spindly gold writing it said: ‘May we never forget our LOVE of Nature and the Wisdom of Ages’. When Glynis asked what the ‘Wisdom of Ages’ meant, her mother said it was a special knowing that came from the heart and from our connection with All That Is. She said Glynis had the Wisdom of Ages too and then she would ask Glynis to gather herbs from the garden for her potions. Glynis didn’t think she had any particular wisdom and wondered if it was a ploy on her mother’s part to get free labour. She obeyed grudgingly but drew the line at learning any spells. And on this matter her father sided with her. “Don’t fill her mind with all that hocus pocus stuff,” he would say grumpily.

            Despite this, the house was never empty; people came from all over to buy her mother’s potions and often to have their fortunes told as well. Mostly while her father was at work.

            Glynis’s best friend when she was growing up was Tomas. Tomas lived at number 6 Leafy Lane. They both knew instinctively they shared a special bond because Tomas’s father also practised magic. He was a sorcerer. Glynis was a bit scared of Tomas’s Dad who had a funny crooked walk and never spoke directly to her. “Tell your friend you must come home now, Tomas,” he would call over the fence.

            Being the son of a sorcerer, Tomas would also be a sorcerer. “It is my birthright,” he told her seriously one day. Glynis was impressed and wondered if Tomas had the Wisdom of Ages but it seemed a bit rude to ask in case he didn’t.

            When Tomas was 13, his father took him away to begin his sorcery apprenticeship. Sometimes he would be gone for days at a time. Tomas never talked about where he went or what he did there. But he started to change: always a quiet boy, he became increasingly dark and brooding.

            Glynis felt uneasy around this new Tomas and his growing possessiveness towards her. When Paul Ackleworthy asked her to the School Ball, Tomas was so jealous he broke Paul’s leg. Of course, nobody other than Glynis guessed it was Tomas who caused Paul’s bike to suddenly wobble so that he fell in the way of a passing car.

            “You could have fucking killed him!” she had shouted at Tomas.

            Tomas just shrugged. This was when she started to be afraid of him.

            One day he told her he was going for his final initiation into the ‘Sorcerer Fraternity’.

            “I have to go away for quite some time; I am not sure how long, but I want you to wait for me, Glynis.”

            “Wait for you?”

            He looked at her intensely. “It is destined for us to be together and you must promise you will be here for me when I get back.”

            Glynis searched for her childhood friend in his eyes but she could no longer find him there.

            “Look, Tomas, I don’t know,” she stuttered, wary of him, unwilling to tell the truth. “Maybe we shouldn’t make any arrangements like this … after all you might be away for a long time. You might meet someone else even …. some hot Sorceress,” she added, trying not to sound hopeful.

            Suddenly, Glynis found herself flying. A gust of wind from nowhere lifted her from her feet, spun her round and then held her suspended, as though trying to decide what to do next, before letting her go. She landed heavily at Tomas’s feet.

            “Ow!” she said angrily.

            “Promise me.”

            “Okay! I promise!” she said.

            Her mother’s face went white when Glynis told her what Tomas had done.

            That evening there was a gathering of Uncle Brettwick and the Aunts. There was much heated discussion which would cease abruptly when Glynis or her father entered the room. “Alright, dearie?” one of the Aunts would say, smiling way too brightly. And over the following days and weeks there was a flurry of magical activity at 4 Leafy Lane, all accompanied by fervent and hushed whisperings.

            Glynis knew they were trying to help her, and was grateful, but after the initial fear, she became defiant. “Who the hell did he think he was, anyway?” She left Glenville to study architecture at the prestigious College of Mugglebury. It was there she met Conway, who worked in the cafe where she stopped for coffee each morning on her way to class. They fell in love and moved in together, deciding that as soon as Glynis had graduated they would marry. It had been 4 years since she had last seen Tomas and he was now no more than a faint anxious fluttering in her chest.

            It was a Friday when she got the news that Conway had driven in the path of an oncoming truck and was killed instantly. She knew it was Friday because she was in the supermarket buying supplies for a party that weekend to celebrate her exams being over when she got the call. And it was the same day Tomas turned up at her house.

            And it was then she knew.

            “You murderer!” she had screamed through her tears. “Kill me too, if you want to. I will never love you.”

            “You’ve broken my heart,” he said. “And for that you must pay the price. If I can’t have you then I will make sure no-one else wants you either.”

            “You don’t have a heart to break,” she whispered.

            Dragon face,” Tomas hissed as he left.

            Glynis returned to Glenville just long enough to tell her family she was leaving again. “No, she didn’t know where,” she said, her heart feeling like stone. Her mother and her Aunts cried and begged her to reconsider. Her Uncle smouldered in silent fury and let off little puffs of smoke from his ears which he could not contain. Her father was simply bewildered and wanted to know what was all the fuss about and for crying out loud why was she wearing a burka?

            The day she left her mother gave her the ‘Book of Spells”. Glynis knew how precious this book was to her mother but could only think how heavy it would be to lug around with her on her journey.

            “Remember, Glynis,” her mother said as she hugged Glynis tightly to her, “the sorcerers have powerful magic but it is a mere drop in the ocean in comparison to the magic of All That Is. You have that great power within you and no sorcerer can take take that from you. You have the power to transform this into something beautiful.”

            #4192
            TracyTracy
            Participant

              Bert:

              I just shook my head and carried on digging the new bed for the broad beans. Wasn’t no point in trying to tell her, just let her grumble on. Never bloody satisfied unless they’ve got something to moan about. Women! And granny’s in particular, never satisfied. She wanted the place to herself, that’s what she always said, wanted a rest from all the commotion and noise. So what does she do when she has a nice bit of peace and quiet? Spends the whole bloody time wittering on about how quiet it is.

              I’d have enjoyed the chance to get on with me gardening if I didn’t have to listen to Mater going on and on about how quiet it was. I said to her yesterday, “Aint so quiet ‘round here from my perspective, with you going on and on about how blasted quiet it is,” but she just snorted at me and carried on grumbling.

              I haven’t told her Idle called to say she was on her way back home. Let her enjoy the sound of her own chuntering a bit longer.

              Suddenly Bert saw the funny side. Perhaps it was the early morning sun turning the whitewashed walls gold that lightened his mood. Perhaps it was the birds twittering and fluttering from tree to tree. Perhaps it was the feeling of warmth as the slanting sun bathed his wrinkled brow. But he laughed out loud, for the sheer joy of it all.

              “Daft old coot,” muttered Mater, who was watching him from the kitchen window. “What is there to laugh about? Silly old sod.” She turned away from the window with a derisory little sound, but a smile was hovering about her shriveled lips.

              #4186
              F LoveF Love
              Participant

                The house is empty. Perhaps it is more correct to say I, Mater, am the only one home, for the emptiness which envelops the house so strongly has its own presence.

                The family have all left on their respective pursuits.

                Dido is off following another guru. I forget who it is …someone she had read about on the damned internet thing they all spend so much time on — I’ve still not come to grips with it but suspect it is time I did. I had hoped Dido would stay home longer this time — there is so much work to be done around the place and I am not feeling any younger. “Just for a week!” she told me excitedly as she left but it has already been nearly two.

                Prune, unique child that she is, always had such trouble making friends with others of her age however recently she made the acquaintance of a new girl at school who shares her predilection for unusual interests. Prune is staying at her new friend’s house for the weekend. I smile, feeling more than a little sympathy for the parents.

                I have not seen or heard much from Devan for a long time. He is in Brisbane, last I heard anyway.

                The twins, not my twins but the other twins; Sara and Stevie, decided they could not leave their mother. Not now. Not while she is in hospital and so poorly. The right decision I feel though I am also disappointed. At Clove’s insistence, Corrie has gone to visit with them. Clove and Corrie don’t know yet … Dodo and I talked about it and decided Fred should be the one to tell them.

                Goodness only knows where Fred is now.

                I decide I will try and get acquainted with the emptiness. Maybe even make friends. Thought this doesn’t feel likely at the moment.

                “Hello,” I say quietly. I can hear the question in my voice. The doubt. Clearly this won’t do. “One has to believe,” I admonish myself sternly. I try again:

                “Hello Emptiness. What is your name? I can’t call you Emptiness all the time. My name is Mater and this is my house”.

                I say this firmly. Much better.

                I notice that sunlight is attempting to enter through the kitchen blinds and I throw them open. It is a beautiful day. I see that Bert is already up and working in the garden. Planting something. I remember now, he told me he was going to start another vege garden, nearer the house than the other one.

                #3886

                In reply to: Mandala of Ascensions

                “…..salt free inquisition born of effete privilege…”

                Dispersee shook her head and cackled to herself while reading Stinks Mc Fruckler’s (a double agent posing as a descended trickster) report.

                “These dupes, so arrogant in their idiocy have become an incredibly powerful voice which effects us all, this being why I rail against them, they are the new repulsive face of self righteous sanctimonious evangelism, a salt free inquisition born of effete privilege, modern day ill informed witch-burners intent on removing choice, blocking scientific advances….”

                Stinks may well get lynched for that one, she thought with a fond smile. Nobody expects to get away with criticizing the salt free inquisition. It was a position only a former salt smuggler would understand, as Dispersee well knew. “Salt of the Earth” was a well known turn of phrase (though not nearly as amusing as “salt free inquisition born of effete privilege” as turns of phrase go), but few took to heart the actual meaning. It was to be a good few years yet before the Return of the Salt to the turbulent planet, and salt, for the meantime, was still public enemy number one in the collective mind.

                Dispersee closed the report and turned her attention to her own.

                Despite her demonstration with the pool (complete with illustrations), throwing spoons haphazardly into the murky pool with no regard for the hidden fishes and broken chairs in the depths of the dirty water, despite the resulting swarm of earthquakes, only a handful of individuals understood the point she had been trying to demonstrate with regard to what was known in new age circles as “pooling” ~ not to be confused with team flow, which was something else entirely. (The fact that she had not understood what she was illustrating at the time, merely following a strange impulse, was neither here nor there ~ the point was quite obvious in retrospect, which was all that mattered).

                Pooling had become almost as popular as the Salter lynchings, and the unfortunate common denominator was “best intentions” ~ best intentions, vaguely pasted hearts, and no real understanding or questioning of the contents of the pool they were all diving into. The Pool Lemmings dived in one after another without washing off their associations, weighed down with their constructs and baggage, splashing the foul slime outside the pool where it seeped into the common water table, tainting the entire neighbourhood. The best intentions sank to the depths, perhaps to be fished out by an especially skilled fisherman of best intentions, but likely not. It was the clingy slippery algae of the associations that really thrived, and they attached themselves and flowed back out of the pool. Really it was a mess. Even her practical demonstrations of non return valves and two way valves had gone over their heads (as had the contaminated water).

                The second part of her demonstrations had been to illustrate the importance, and indeed the beauty, of bubbles ~ dewdrops suspended along webs ~ connected via gossamer thin but extremely strong networks, perfect reflective bubbles that kept their shape and individual purpose, rather than forming a dank puddle of slime in the overflowing muddy ditch. Admittedly Dispersee has not been aware of what she was demonstrating at the time, she was just following another strange impulse.

                She decided to finish her report tomorrow, and await todays strange impulse for further information.

                #3827

                In reply to: The Hosts of Mars

                EricEric
                Keymaster

                  The tunnels went dark and deep into the crust. Water was seeping through the cracks and made the progression difficult at times. But she had found her way out.
                  She could have died in the tunnels, unable to find her way to the surface, but for some reason, Maia trusted her instincts and her senses to guide her through them. Like the water, flowing through.

                  She didn’t know for sure how far she was from the MARS base when she emerged out, it was hard to tell the distances underground, sometimes you would go down for hundreds of meters, and when you’d look up, the stone ceiling would seem just a few meters overhead.

                  She wasn’t too sure why she had escaped like this and made herself a target. A sudden instinct, something that told her the others couldn’t be trusted, and that they wanted to clean them up.
                  Anyway, it was too late for regrets.

                  The desert wasn’t too bad at twilight, not too hot and better for her to travel unnoticed.
                  A few more days of walk in the desert, and she could find a road, maybe some motel where to spend the night. She still had a few bucks in her purse to see her through.
                  All she wanted now was to make sure her son was alright.
                  Her being alive and out was a threat to their program, and she intended to make the best of a bad situation.

                  Then she realized the humming sound in the back of her thoughts wasn’t random noise. There was a drone hovering, getting back apparently from some scouting. It wasn’t a military drone by the sound of it, more like a hobbyist’s toy. That meant there was someone out there, not far. Someone curious and potentially useful…

                  #3789

                  In reply to: The Hosts of Mars

                  EricEric
                  Keymaster

                    When Eb woke up, there was a dozen messages left on his phone.
                    He didn’t have to check to know.
                    His mother wasn’t too subtle when he missed their weekly call.

                    She now lived in a modest retiring home in Mississippi, spending most of her time on social networks exchanging links about anything from politics and revolution and anarchy, kittens and drugs. Oh, that, and politics too. And revolution.
                    She was suffering from early stages of Alzheimer, but called it “transition” as the old-age hype advertised some decades earlier, and due to her refusal to take her prescriptions, it wasn’t improving much as time went by. But Eb’s prognosis was more like “selective Alzheimer”, as she would perfectly recall when (and how many times) he had missed their weekly calls.

                    He could already hear her complain about how she was left out of the loop, that the world story would be over by the time she catches up with all the gossips they’d hidden from her. Often, she would become so agitated that Fancy, her nurse would come help her relax and stop waking up the others. Everything was much less confusing thanks to Fancy.

                    After all that is said, he loved his mother deeply. She was always full of extravagant ideas and when she stopped doubting herself, she had her moments of sheer brilliance.

                    Being his only son, that she’d taken care of as a single mother most of her life, he felt tremendous pressure to be worthy of her sacrifices. So talking about his job wasn’t really something he liked to explore with her. If she’d known what he did for a living,… he couldn’t bear to imagine the look of crushed hopes and expectations on her devastated face. Well, suffice to say her face needn’t any of it.
                    Instead, he’d told her he was working in a tree nursery, working on pest control, with humane and eco-conscious methods. Which actually wasn’t too far off the truth. The pests were the glitches of the program, and the vegetables… well, that didn’t need much explaining.

                    “Tricia speaking, who’s this?” Eb knew she knew perfectly well it was him, but the game was ever the same
                    “Mother, it’s Eb”
                    “Ebenezer, my dear boy, how kind of you to remember your old mother. What have you been up to? So many things happened here, with that new batch of decrepit old farts who arrived last month, so much drama. But you should tell me about you. Oh, makes me recall that stupid incident, a synch! I should tell Fancy about it! Fancy, Fancy!
                    Oh dear… She’s gone cleaning up again. The last one who came in is a Chinese, and all his family is there, I bet she’s cooking some rice now, it smells funny. Fancy! Mind the rice! So well, it’s like the twins I talk with on the Internet, with funny names, Cilantro and Nutmeg, something like that, well, they have so many funny stories, like that meteor that dropped on Mars and blacked-out the TV show, they think it’s all bollocks. I told them I’d ask you about this, after all you did some studies in physics before becoming a gardener, you’ve always been the clever one in the lot, always helping with the dust stuck in my keyboard, and other IT problems. Oh dear… that was fun, but I think I must go, Fancy is waving at me, she says hello by the way! Oh, she rolls your eyes at you, how cute! Time for my siesta, … what? Oh, and change my nappies too, thanks Fancy, you’re precious, I keep forgetting everything. Talk to you soon my boy!”

                    Well… If he hadn’t been so hungover, he probably would have tried to place some funny comments, or at least a well-meaning “hmmm hmmm”, to let her know he wasn’t just letting her monologue. Today was a good day notwithstanding, she hardly had a complaint. He should remember to send Fancy a card and a nice honey pot like he did every year, she was doing wonders at pacifying his mother.

                    #3751

                    In reply to: The Hosts of Mars

                    EricEric
                    Keymaster

                      Mother Shirley was lost in a trance again, seated in her suspended egg chair in front of the placid Finnley, and monologuing while absorbed in the analysis of the minute movements on the surface of the android’s face.

                      “Tell me, how do we learn things? How do you learn things? — It’s a rhetorical question, keep still, like I told you.
                      “It seems we speak too much about learning, and the learning process, and all that jazz, but… what if there are only states of knowing. We know, and * poof *, that’s it. I can’t for the dickens of me, figure out when I started to learn the things that led me to this current state of knowingness.”

                      She noticed, or thought she noticed a brief and slow ripple on the synthetic skin.

                      “Maybe like that, a ripple of relaxation… Maybe we look at it the wrong way, because we’re taught regular steps will lead to a result, so that in the end, you’ll know something… I call horseshit! How many lessons of space mandolin have I had, thanks to dear Mother, bless her devilish soul, and I’m still such a pathetic player! It can’t just be this, or it’d be like playing the roulette over and over, until… what? Don’t start with your tree, Mother, a damn acorn doesn’t get taught how to become more of itself. And when does it start to become a tree? At the first leaf? The first bark?

                      Waving her hand at the ghost idea of her Mother, she scrutinised Finnley more intently

                      “No you give me ideas, you little monster, you know that, with your peach face and smooth skin to die for. Never ever a sneeze… If I wanted to teach you how to sneeze, how to contract your body in an instant, and expel the devil or the aliens, whatever you’d like,… could I? Could you?

                      She pushed back the egg chair to restart the pendulum motion, and leaned backward with a contented look.

                      “I think that’s good enough for this session tonight, dearie. Bring me my cognac, remove my headpiece, and make my bed ready.”

                      #3738
                      TracyTracy
                      Participant

                        “Well, here we all are again!” Liz beamed, after a momentary pause in which she considered snorting. Not finding that snorting was consistent with her mood, notwithstanding the sparkle in the air of anticipated unexpected impishness, she beamed, and beamed again as she looked around the room.

                        No one spoke. There was a sense of suspended animation for a few moments, or was it longer? A bit like holding ones breath while easing into a hot bath. Or perhaps not a hot bath, thought Liz, delicately mopping the sweat dripping down her cleavage with a paper towel.

                        Finnley, have you seen my reading glasses anywhere?” Liz asked on impulse.

                        Finnley’s sunny beam shifted as she rolled her eyes and replied, “I saw them in a dustbin on Brighton Pier.”

                        “My god, it’s started already!” Godfrey exclaimed, although he wasn’t at all surpised. “ Have you seen the new dragon tree in the park?”

                        #3716
                        TracyTracy
                        Participant

                          “Do you ever wonder what happens to your people when you’re not there, Dan?” Elizabeth asked, still drowsy from spending the morning lolling around on the bed, reading and napping.
                          “Why, yes, I do” he replied, which surprised Elizabeth somewhat.
                          “Do you make them do things, and then wonder if they really wanted to do that? Like when you send a blacksmith out to the forest because you need more firewood, do you wonder if he resents that?”
                          Dan sighed. “I know what you mean.”
                          Elizabeth had started patting his shoulder kindly when she asked about his people, when he said a few had starved to death because he didn’t provide enough food, or when a tornado flattened his people’s houses.

                          #3582
                          TracyTracy
                          Participant

                            “Oh there you are Bert!” Mater said, trying to push aside the odd feeling that Bert had materialized in front of her, rather than walking into the room in the usual way. “Flora wants to spend a penny.”

                            #3574

                            In reply to: The Hosts of Mars

                            EricEric
                            Keymaster

                              Mother Shirley, the head of the Covenant, was smoking in her private capsule despite the strict restrictions and despite the health risks, at her ripe age of 99.

                              She liked to quip that nobody had ever told her what to not do and lived to say the tale. She had smoked since age 45, after the death of her third husband, the only one she had shed a tear for. Never turned back since, and maybe it was the reason she was still alive after all. Smoked like a mighty salmon.

                              She grinned painfully at her reflection. Ugh. Despite all the beauty treatments, she was starting to look like a decrepit mummy. No amount of wariki body butter and ant royal geel would do the trick now. She had to resort to more extreme measures after no doctor would dare to try a peeling on what skin was left on her face.

                              The acrylic mask was always prickly at first, and took a few uncomfortable seconds to adjust. It was now firmly set, and sure, it restrained a bit the movements on her face,… well, she was never one for laughs out loud anyway.

                              With her shaking scrawny arms, but her grip strong as ever, she attached the limbs of her exoskeleton, and with now more assurance, finished to dress in proper garments on top of her fishnet corset.

                              She was all set for the morning sermon. She would have to strain her voice a bit, and for that the smoke had helped too. She had a lovely raucousness in her vocal chords that made all the old farts of the Covenant thrilled by what she said in hypnotic stances.

                              After that would be done, most importantly, they would go forth to the promised land, and she was to spend her glorious next century on a new empty planet she could mould to her vision.

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