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In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Dory slept all the way to the cave, dreaming about being a traffic policeman. It was one of those never ending hopelessly chaotic dreams, in which small bits of progress were immediately cancelled out by an influx of more of whatever the problem was. The more she blew her whistle and ranted at the cars, the worse the cars became entangled.
You! You there, go THAT way! NO not that way…OY YOU! keep to the left…keep in line there keep in line…OY NOT THAT WAY!
Ususally in dreams like this Dory woke up in the middle of the frustration and chaos, but this time the dream changed course abruptly. Dory simply walked away from her podium in the middle of the busy Italian intersection.
Let them all go wherever they bloody well like, she said. Not my responsibility.
When Dory woke up, the van had arrived at the cave, she was feeling refreshed and cheerful, and was looking forward to her excursion inside the cave.
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Dory suddenly saw the funny side, and started to laugh. She sank down onto the curb and laughed until tears rolled down her cheeks. As she fished in her tool kit for a tissue, she noticed her flying sandals and collapsed into another fit of laughter.
Lalalalalala she said and hooted again.
Blowing her nose and still chuckling, Dory stood up and got into the van. Hehehehehehe she sputtered, how easy was that, ahahahaha….
She sank back into the long comfortably cushioned seat, and relaxed.
She closed her eyes and the van set off, the rolling and rocking over the bumpy roads soothing her and sending her into a deep and restful sleep.
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Dory’s guide was trying not to lose her again in the densely crowded streets, and had to honk in his mini-van furiously to keep the pace…
What a mad woman! he thought, But I must admit she knows her stuff, she heading right to the cave, even though she’s not from here!
A parrot zoomed past her singing Goooooot the keeeey! in the middle of the unperturbed crowd.
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
When Dorothy Mc Leane, the imperviously impetuous and buoyant archaeologist, temporarily reduced to dust shawls in a small antique boutique of the coast of Madagascar, had been finally coming to her mind, she had felt so out of place.
She had been in many places at once, and these have hardly been vacations at all. Well, all she had wanted at first was to follow that funny lemur winking on a placard, which was hinting at a funny expedition in a cave.
But that may just have been phoney gooey advertisement, as she was now stranded in that shoppe with a stupid parrot. No-name parrot…
That’d make Fiona laugh for sure… she thought; she would say that she wasn’t doing things in halves. Can’t even think if I can find a postcard big enough to tell her everything, she had laughed.
— Well, you don’t have a name by chance? she suddenly asked the bright bird.
— Archibaaaaald howled the parrot joyfully.
Bugger this, I knew that… Dory couldn’t help but thinking.
— Aaaaaarchibaaaaald
Oh!, she had started to feel exasperated. Archibald would take care of the key anyway, no need to stay here any much longer.
And right after the parrot had flown through the window, as she was leaving the shoppe and heading to the mini-van where the distraught guide had been obviously looking for her since hours, she couldn’t help but wonder at the number of noisy Italian tourists who had just seemed to pop in, crowding the tiny shawl shoppe…
Wow… She could have bet they could have been as many as fifty seven…
In reply to: Circle of Eights, Stories
Yann found that strange article while surfing the internet. It was about a whole bunch of Italian tourists that had disappeared around the Smoo Cave in Scotland… wasn’t that the cave he visited when he was in Scotland?
The article was continuing with the number of tourists : 57!!!! all they had found until now were their 16 vans. Apparently some people said the cave was haunted and that at times they see the bushes around move in weird ways or some green glowing energy during storms.
Yann wondered about the tourists… where could they have possibly gone?
