White Rabbit Theories

Library Job says FAIL

2009-10-14T20:09:49Z

So! I had a job interview today that was, in the essence of the word, perfection. At least it was for me; a part time Library page. Shall I extol on the perfection of this job? Part time! So leaving me the other part of my time to work on getting my GED = perfect; working with books = perfect; working in a library which would be beautiful experience for when I get my Masters in Librarian Sciences = perfect; one bus ride away = perfect; wonderful little neighborhood = perfect.
See what I’m getting at here?
And the woman who called me said that I placed ‘second’ to the person that they DID end up hiring. Somehow, this just makes it worse. I’m not even sure HOW that works but I am, at the moment, wallowing in self pity. And yelling at myself for doing so.
I can’t even wallow in peace! T__T
God damnit. If they had hired me I would have been so happy! It would have been a serious ego boost and it would have been… say it with me now! Perfect.
I knew I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up. But I just couldn’t help it. This is why I HATE depending on other people to make me happy!!!
I studied the damn Dewey Decimal System, looked up what it ‘took to be a librarian’, took notes on it… I mean I went out of my way to make sure I was prepared for this job. I FELT good. I even FELT pretty! I wore my favorite shirt and everything!
But when you depend on OTHER people to make you happy, you just can’t count on it.
My other big goal for this year is to get my GED with 800s across the board. I want perfect scores. And that is on ME. I can make that happen as long as I’m dedicated to it. But when it comes to jobs… You can be as dedicated as you want and they can still say, “Yeah, sorry but you’re the silver medal!”
But HEY! If they ever have another opening I’ll make sure to apply again because I did come in second place…
Not helping my attitude.
What really irritates me is that, before the phone call, I was in a fantastic mood. I was getting ready to write a comedy story, it’s all rainy and pretty out, I’m doing good on my GED so far… and then the phone call. And now I’m left with no more inspiration than sawdust.
Stupid phone.
At least they got back to me quickly so that I didn’t have long to wait and think that they WERE hiring me.
Also not helping my attitude.
So I’m going to have a nice long wallow and think petty, hurtful thoughts for a little while.

Okay, now if anyone wants to say things like, “Oh, stop being a baby! It was just a job, it doesn’t define you!” or any other ‘pick up your chin’ peptalks…

Whatcher gonna wanna do is step away from the computer, go the privacy of your own bathroom and bash your skull into the wall.

I don’t want to hear it. I don’t need it. I know it already. Do not lecture me.

Mmkay! Write later ^-~

Meh.

2009-08-26T17:33:15Z

No, I’m not dead… I’ve just been slightly busy and fairly unmotivated to post in here. Honestly though it would have been a stream of posts that started with, “No job yet”. I would have been tired of writing it so I just didn’t bother.

Other than the ‘no job yet’ part of the post, I had a friend from Oakland visit in July. So that was fun. Better than her other visits when she spent most of her time on the phone with her boyfriend. This visit she just spent playing the sims. Which was fine; I like to watch people play videogames anyway.

We saw the abomination of the Harry Potter movie. I thought of re-reading the Half Blood Prince before going to go see it but then I thought, “Hey… if I’m not able to compare every single inconsistency from movie and book, maybe I’ll be able to enjoy the movie more.”

It was a good plan, actually. If I had reread the HBP before I saw that wretched movie I would have been hissing like an angry goose throughout the whole thing. What can I say? I’m a purist. More that anything I just don’t understand why the director had to change things so much. I understand editing things out (it’s not like each movie can be four hours long (though that would please me)) but why completely alter conversations and whole scenes? I just don’t get it. I reread the book after I saw the movie and was mildly horrified at how much stuff they missed.

Lets see… I found this really excellent book called The Book of Lost Things by John Connolly which had become my new favorite. After I finished reading it I was so satisfied. It was the same feeling as eating myself stupid on Thanksgiving. A rare find, that book. I immediately shared it with my mom and my very dear friend, Gayle. Mom loved it as much (or perhaps more) than I did though Dear Friend Gayle was a little put off by the gory bits.

Now I’m reading The Abhorsen Series by Garth Nix which is great fun.

ALSO! I just finished the most incredible anime EVAR!!! Srsly.

Revolutionary Girl Utena. It is made of awesome. The symbolism is enough to keep you hooked, plus very interesting characters and a plot that makes you step back and say, “Woah.” And the ENDING! I could gush about it but I don’t want to ruin it for anyone. Rest assured that it was awesome though.

Other than that… it’s job searching. I’ve been neglecting my writing horribly. I just haven’t been feeling it lately. This makes me very sad. I should just push through and make myself write but… I did that once and it resulted in something that I was so disgusted with/ashamed of that I printed it just to burn it. (I joke. I wouldn’t waste the paper and ink that way.)

Otherwise life has been quiet. A little disappointing, but quiet… I’ll try and write again soon-ish.

And now for something completely different! (Rant)

2009-06-15T02:21:47Z

I cannot STAND romance novels. That “and they lived happily ever after” crap does not BELONG in books that don’t have illustrations or are longer than 15 pages long. “Happily Ever After” can exist in fairy land and the Once Upon a Time world, in Disney movies and short stories and that is IT.

Honestly don’t people feel ashamed for feeding into this crap? Or, worse, writing it? It’s not even make believe in a good way where you can completely through out the rules entirely like in other fantasy and sci-fi novels. I don’t mind romance as an element in stories but when it’s ROMANCE and then a slight plot to keep things moving I feel like bashing my own skull in.

And I’m a romantic!! It just has to be believable. I hate the tripe that’s flooding the market now. It bugs me. Seriously.

I’m not even against romance, is the thing. I love the idea of people falling in love and being happy and the idea of ‘love at first sight’ isn’t that unbelievable to me. It can’t be, I saw it happen… It was crazy. But, for hell’s sake, let’s have some tragedy and violence so that we can admire the sweet fluffy-ness more! That’s one of the big things that bugs me in romance novels is that everything is beautiful, stunning, colorful and girly. I mean, okay, yeah, most romance novels are written by girls so let’s face it’s going to be… flowery but god, ENOUGH with the damn description! There is a thing as too much. Especially when you’re describing the heroines EYES!!!

GAH!!!

See, this is why I like to write about painful, angsty and angry romance. Much more interesting and you can bet your ass that my characters don’t gaze into each others eyes for hours on ends and spout syrupy, crappy romance.

AND ANOTHER THING!!! Why is it that the villains NEVER get any love!? What’s up with that!? The poor villains were probably neglected by their parents as children and suffer from inferiority complexes and, in these stupid books, what happens? THEY GET THEIR BUTTS HANDED TO THEM BY A BUNCH OF DEPENDENT GIRLY-GIRLS WITH TOO MUCH HAIR!

See, there’s another reason why I don’t like romance novels, they never appeal to my villain groupie self. The villains always lose in the end and IF they somehow bewitch the heroine to fall in love with them, what happens? The main love interest comes charging in to save the day! Or at least snap the girl out of it so SHE can save the day. Poor villains.

Okay, I feel better.

Sorry about that but it’s been stewing in my head since last night… Heheh… Off to write better stories.

Ciao

The Start of a Beatiful... something or other

2009-04-08T07:09:46Z

You know, I would dearly love to explain what the hell laid this little thought but... honestly I'm a total loss. I like it though.

~*~

The two men stood side by side, staring at the crumpled figure of the child. Snow drifted down from the sky in chill feathers and caught in her dark hair. Around her the night was silent, the snow muffling every possible noise from the sudden, violent brawl in the bar down the street to the low, steady hum of the highway a few miles away. The girl, little more than fourteen, was locked in her own silent little prison of ice and misery.
The taller of the two men tilted his head back and exhaled a long, slow breath. It was a pleased, sated sound of a well fed monster.
The other man glanced over reproachfully and said, “You needn’t take such pleasure in her heart break.”
“Why not?” the taller men asked, raising his gloved hands and rubbing them together for as warmth as much for glee, “Do you think she would pause in her life if we were lying before her as she is before us?”
“Perhaps she would,” the shorter man said defensively, “We don’t know that she wouldn’t.”
The taller of the two men threw his head back and laughed at the dreary sky above him, “My god you cannot possibly be that much of a fool, can you?”
The laughter had roused the girl and she looked up and around, searching for the source of the sound. She spotted the two men, both dressed in nothing but black, dark lenses standing in contrast to pale faces. She surged upwards, shame and embarrassment coloring her cheeks.
“You’ve disturbed her,” the shorter man said, obviously disapproving.
“Color me surprised,” the other man returned sounding as though nothing in the world could rain on his parade. He smiled at the girl and strode forward with long confidant strides. The other man glared sternly after him and then gave in with an exasperated sigh. The two men walked to the heart broken girl, the taller had a wide, gleaming car-salesmen smile on his narrow face and the other looked cold and neutral.
“A-are you two lost?” the girl asked, her voice husky and rough.
“Not even a little bit,” the taller man said with his strange shark-like grin, “Matter of fact, we’ve never been lost, have we?”
“Shut up and get to it, you ass,” the other man said shortly.
“You really must forgive my colleague here,” the taller man said, “He’s just that kind of guy.”
“I don’t understand,” the girl said, sniffling and wiping at her eyes. Her make up (no doubt painstakingly applied that morning) was smeared and messy with her tears.
“Well I doubt that’s really anything new, is it?” the taller man asked with a light, cheerful chuckle, “Just here me out, alright, Sarah?”
Her eyes widened sharply and she took a step back, preparing to flee. Before she did, however, she asked the most cliché of all questions ever asked, “How do you know my name?”
The taller man chuckled again, casting a narrow, cunning glance at the shorter man, “I have so many answers for that… Let’s just say that you’re of great interest to our agency. We’ve been keeping an eye on you for quite some time, yadda-yadda-yadda. You know the drill, don’t you, Sarah?”
“I… I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said softly.
“Yes, shocking that,” the taller man said, rolling his eyes, “But let’s get on with business, shall we?”
“Who are you?” she demanded. The taller man sighed, another cliché question. Didn’t anyone have anything new to say these days? He thought not.
“Personally I’m not really much of anyone,” he replied, “But it is who, and what, I represent that might be of interest to you.”
“But how--” she began.
The taller man reached out and covered her mouth with his gloved hand lightly. With that same sunny, salesman smile he said, “Hush, please.”
The girl’s eyes widened and she tried to spring away. As she leapt from the two men, the shorter of the two shot forward and caught her wrist in a crushing grip. She drew her breath to shriek but expelled it in a surprised yelp when she was suddenly let go. The girl tumbled to the ground in a graceless heap.
“Why are they always so worthless?” the taller man mused. He hunkered down in front of the girl and sighed, “Alright then, we’ll do this the long and hard way. Now, I’m going to say, ‘we just want to talk you’. And you’re going to say…” he waved his hand lightly in a hurry-along gesture.
“Get away from me!” she shrieked.
“Never heard that one before,” the man said dryly. He glanced over his shoulder at the shorter man who was gazing stubbornly into the distance. With a sharp, explosive breath the taller man said, “And he’s not going to be any help, of course.”
“Look, I don’t know what you want!”
“Well, of course you don’t I haven’t told you yet, have I?” the man asked with a soft scoff, “If you will be so kind to just shut up for a few minutes I’ll tell you.”
“What do you want from me?” the girl cried. The taller man looked down at her sourly.
“Doesn’t listen, does she?” he muttered, “I’ll be quick about this so I can get out of here soonest and not cause any more pain to my own sensibilities. You, my dear stupid child, have just gained a rather unique ability because of the oh-so-horrible you’ve just suffered. You get to part of a special team that saves the world! Lucky break, huh? Anyway, good luck.”
He turned away, snow crunching beneath his feet. The shorter man caught his arm and said, “You aren’t going to explain anything?”
“Maybe if we’re lucky she’ll get herself killed.”
“You are such an ass!”
“So you tell me often and with great fervor,” the taller man said, shrugging his arm out of the other man’s grip, “Tell you what, since you two are so warm and cuddly why don’t you explain it to her?”
“But I… I mean, you…” the shorter man tried.
The taller man surveyed him through dark glasses for a moment and then barked a sharp, loud laugh, “You actually feel sorry for these little idiots, don’t you?”
The shorter man glared, “They’re people too.”
“Oh, wonders never cease,” the taller man snickered, “You feel for them. That’s a special brand of idiotic. Alright, alright.”
He hunkered down before the girl again and took off his glasses. Beneath the dark lenses his eyes were a shade of bright, impossible orange, around his pupils were small circles of black. The girl stared at him in silent, horrified shock.
“That always gets their attention,” he said with a smile and then sighed, “Alright girly, listen up. You, and a few other poor saps, get to be humanities last hope. Because you were born at a certain time and because you lost what was most important to you at a young age you’ve gained a very specific and very horrible gift. You get to be the guardians of human thought, emotions, dreams and nightmares. Lucky you.”
“I d-d-d-” she stuttered.
“Don’t understand? Go figure. Look, you get to make sure that nothing from the… ah… ‘outside’ gets in and doesn’t mess with anything related to the human consciousness,” the taller man paused and then nodded, “That’s pretty much it.”
“But… Why me?”
“I just…” the taller man stared at her and then sighed, dropping his head, “You know what, just come with us.”
“No! I’m not going any where with you! You’re a total psycho and--”
“Look, kid,” he said, slipping his glasses back on, “You can come willingly on your own two feet or I can hit you over the head and carry you over my shoulder. Your choice.”
The girl swallowed and looked around at the silent, deserted park. She looked back and said, “Alright… I’ll go with you.”
The taller man nodded and stood. The girl stood and looked around, possibly for an escape, possibly for something to look at. Either way the taller man clouted her on the back of the head. She dropped into the snow in a boneless heap.
The shorter man stared down at her for a moment in total shock and then looked back up at the taller man. After a moment of wordless gaping he shouted, “She said she’d come with us!”
“Yeah,” the taller man said, picking the girl up and tossing her nonchalantly over his shoulder, “I just wanted to hit her.”

Look! A rant.

2009-03-26T06:17:38Z

These people. I’m always left saying that: these…. people. Do they think? EVER? Don’t answer, I know they don’t. Of course not, they have the tv to think for them. Ugh.

I am in a constant state of disappointment with some of the people I know. What’s worse is that my expectations of them are so very, very, very low. Centimeter expectations, really and getting lower all the time and they somehow STILL manage to disappointment me. How screwed up is that?

Very. I know. And I’m disappointed in myself too. Why do I even put UP with these people if I know how disappointing, how draining they are? I know that, my friends know that (I tell these friends over and over about how draining and disappointing they are. I have no doubt that they’re tired of hearing it because god knows I’m tired of talking about it.) But I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place and I feel like I can’t really let loose on these disappointing people without completely up heaving everything. So I’m stuck being disappointed and irritated and drained and a WHINER. Gah.

In other news I have completely wiped my hard drive. I do not know how I did this. I can’t even be that upset with my computer problems anymore; it’s happened too much. It’s commonplace now for my computer to decide to die.

Eugh.

Birthday(s) and Unemployment

2009-02-27T11:31:10Z

I’m sorry for the really, really, really, really long absence but… see, my last entry (One of those Days) ended with the promise of a story and I just had no idea what to write. I mean, I’ve been working on a bunch of my stories but the stories I’ve been working on are my really longs ones. The ones I actually want to get published and I don’t want anyone reading THOSE ones until they’re done.

And I couldn’t just post a life entry because… I said my next pose would be a story. Yeah, that’s the last time I do that.

Anyway. Since I last wrote a bunch of things have happened.

Bad news first; I was fired. Or ‘let go’ is how my supervisor put it. I was both surprised and not really that surprised. What was kinda funny was that her reasoning seemed a little flimsy to me but I didn’t really care one way or another. I just wish she would have told me before I had sent mom off. I had to call her and ask her tom come get me.

Later I actually found out that I was a victim of office politics! Yeah, crazy, huh? See the big boss man didn’t even want to hire me in the first place because of my relation to mom who also works there. So he was just waiting for an excuse to boot me. No wonder my supervisor’s reasoning seemed flimsy!

Anyway, it doesn’t matter to me; it just means I have to get a new job. I already know what I want to do, now it’s just a matter of getting my but into gear to get hired. Optimism!!!

Now, the good news.

So this entire month has been my birthday month. The first birthday was with mom and her boyfriend. We went to Shogun where I got to see my food literally tossed around as our chef prepared it for us right there. It was so cool The food was excellent and the very best part was probably when our chef lit his hand on fire and held it out in front of mom’s boyfriend’s face. Poor mom nearly came out of her skin.

After we finished eating (the food was very good) we went to go see Underworld: Rise of the Lycans. While mom went to the bathroom her boyfriend and I went to go pick out our seats and he mentioned the poster by the theatre’s door.

“It’s pretty cool, actually,” I replied.

“Oh yeah?” said he and then promptly slipped it out from beneath it’s plastic cover and hid it in the little cubby with the garbage. I was shocked and amused and, yeah okay, just a little impressed.

The movie was pretty good; entertaining at least and hey! I got a new poster out of it. Where I’ll put that poster is a bit of a mystery but still.

That was on Sunday.

On my actual Birthday proper mom woke me up at the crack of dawn (for me anyway) and gave me one of my presents. After that I fell back asleep until she got home from school when I got dressed and my dad and brother came up!!!

Dad gave my present to me and my brother told me he would send his gift in the mail when it was finished and then we set out to go see Coraline!

Ohhhhh my god that movie was so awesome… and severely disturbing. I loved it! Everything about it was so awesome!! I wish it was out on video now so I could watch it again and again! Yeah, I’m a freak.

After the movie we went to this Moroccan restaurant that mom and I always pass, called Marrakesh.

It was the whole experience; mom and I sat on a low bench and dad and brother sat on little cushions, we got our hands washed with rose water and we were served hot jasmine-rose tea (which was to DIE for. I could drink that stuff and only that stuff for the rest of my life and stay happy). We ordered the royal feast and oh. My. God… the food.

The owner/chef/server promised us that each course would make us forget the last and, tell you what, it did. The soup, the salad… all of it was so damn good. And constant refills for the tea, which thrilled me! That tea was so good… *dreamy*

Anyway. I will most certainly be going back there at the next chance I got. It was so much fun!!!

The one thing that kinda sucked about it was that we were the only people in the entire place. The place has been open for 13 years so it’s not likely to close any time soon but, still! I would hate Marrakesh to close just because people up here are too idiotic to try new foods.

After that we went home and dad and brother left. Mom and I ate ice cream cake and watched some of my new movies. It was so great. By far the best birthday I’ve had in a long, long time.

A day or so later I received my box of gifts from my friend, Alushia. The gifts she got me were so awesome. She even sent me cookies! Thanks again, Alushia!!!

The rest of the week I went to work and when I came home on Thursday… Another birthday! My two younger friends had come up for the weekend and they had decorated the house with balloons, streamers, ribbons and had a cake and dinner all set up. And! They got me a beta fish! He’s so beautiful; a blue so dark it’s nearly black with really dark red fins. I’ve named him Gabriel.

And that pretty much brings you up to speed in my life.

In my literary news I just finished rereading all of the Dresden Files by Jim Butcher (absolutely awesome series, everyone should read them as soon as they can) in preparation for the 12 book which comes out April 7th. Since it’s a bit of a wait till then (*cries*) I’m ALSO rereading the Codex Alera series also by Jim Butcher. Yet another wonderful series.

Otherwise… nothing else to report. When I next write it might be a story OR a life post.

Yeah, see what I did there? Skillz.

See ya.

Spiders

2009-02-27T10:58:17Z

The room was very dark and stiflingly warm. Thick mist covered a soft, yielding ground. The walls were made of stone but thickly covered in black moss that reached up the walls like searching fingers.
In the center of the room was a black stone and sitting on top of it was a hooded and cloaked creature that was inhumanly tall. The creature’s too-long hands were pale and hard looking and each finger was tipped in a long and lethal looking claw of darkest black.
A young man stepped through the fog, shuddering as the ground gave way beneath him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the mist stir and shiver as if something hurried away beneath its cover.
The man was good looking with a tumble of golden hair spilling over his neck and forehead and clear, blue eyes that stayed locked on the hem of the creature’s robes.
“My Queen,” he whispered, kneeling. Whatever supported his weight squished softly and his knees became damp rapidly.
The creature turned its cloaked head toward him as if just now realizing he had entered. From the depths of the cloak, two dark eyes glittered like pieces of wet onyx.
“Greetings, servant…” it whispered. Its voice was soft, gentle and distinctly feminine. She paused for a moment and then whispered, “You are… alone.”
“Forgive me, My Queen… There were unforeseen problems.”
“Servant,” the feminine voice murmured, “you have failed me.”
“My lady,” the man whispered through numb lips, “there were circumstances beyond my control… The princess was not as weakened by your poison as--”
“You dare lay the blame at my feet, Servant?” she asked mildly, “You dare say that I am to blame for your failure?”
Her long, hard looking hand rippled and her claws rattled against her stone perch in a slow, impatient rhythm.
“No, your grace! I only mean that she… she is stronger than we expected and the poison did not have as much of an effect on her as I would have hoped.”
“I see,” the woman murmured, her dark eyes flashed dangerously, lit from within by some horrible, hungry light, “The princess… barely more than a child who has never faced pain or suffering or death is somehow stronger than both my poison and my most skilled servant.”
The man before her said nothing and the woman inhaled slowly though her thin nose and hissed, “You have failed me, Servant.”
“P-please your grace, I can return,” the man before her gibbered, “There was no one who saw me--”
The woman hissed softly and though the noise was barely audible, the man before her fell silent and paled sharply. The woman sitting in the black stone stared hard at the servant, her nails rattling more rapidly against the rock. Her dark eyes glittered from the depth of the hood and beneath them something else stirred slowly.
“No one who saw you, my servant?” she purred, “No one who saw you… Indeed… I imagine that the princess, the target, saw you!”
The man lowered his head further, staring with wide, terrified eyes at the hem of his lady’s skirt… to his horror, he saw the soft, black cloth ripple delicately as if something was moving beneath.
His forehead and upper lip were beaded with sweat and in the damp, warm confines of the cave-room, he could not get enough breath… and he could feel something brushing lightly against his foot.
“Fool,” the woman murmured, “I have put too much faith in you, my servant… I have deceived myself into believing that you were worthy of the mantle I bestowed upon you.”
“Your grace,” the man pleaded, “I beg you, give me another chance… I will not be seen by any in the palace… surely there is some way…”
The man was breathing quick and shallow as he tried to think of something he could do to save his skin. He suddenly said, “The Midsummer Fair, my lady! She will be without protection then, she will be out from beneath the gaze of her tutors and her mother and father. Please, I can get her then.”
The woman stared down silently at her servant, regarding him as for a moment. Her dark eyes flickered as the thoughts danced behind them... she considered, briefly, allowing her servant to carry out his plan... but only briefly.
“No, my servant,” she murmured, “I can no longer use you as you are.”
The man’s head snapped up and his blue gaze sought the woman’s dark eyes. As his gaze touched upon hers, his scream of denial died in a soft, breathless little gasp. He stared, his eyes empty and staring but he didn’t move or make a sound.
The woman’s rattling nails suddenly went still and she stood. Her robes hissed and whispered and shivered and moved as though there were more than just two legs beneath. Silently, and moving with a horrible and alien grace, the woman descended from her stone perch and crooked one finger at her servant.
The man rose stiffly.
“You have served me well… but you have failed in this task,” the woman murmured and settled her fingertips on the man’s chin. She exerted gentle pressure and her servant’s mouth gaped open. His eyes grew wide and terrified.
“I will not kill you,” she breathed, “but you won’t be alive.”
The woman lifted her hand and the skin of her wrist bulged and shuddered and then began to move. The rounded bulge moved from her wrist to the palm of her hand and the skin broke open with a soft, dry hiss.
Something long and slick and dark fell from her hand into the man’s mouth. It writhed over his tongue, and slid down his throat. The woman drew her hand back and peered into her servant’s mouth. After a moment she nodded in satisfaction.
There was a meaty sound of a long, thick needle being passed through soft tissue and then her servant’s eyes went totally blank. They changed from blue to a dirty yellow.
“There now,” the woman murmured, “no more fear or pain… go and wait with the others.”
The man bowed and moved through the mist in a reflection of the strange, alien grace that the woman had moved with before.
Slowly the hooded figure turned and looked down a long, dark tunnel that was nearly obscured by dark, hanging moss.
“Meridaen, step forward.”
A tall, elegant man emerged from behind the moss. His long, dark hair was bound into a brain that lay against his spine… half way down, however, his hair transformed into thick, writhing limbs not unlike the tentacles of a squid. They were dark grey and shone in the dim light.
“Tell me your thought, Meridaen,” the woman murmured, returning to her stone perch.
“He was a stupid boy, your grace,” Meridaen murmured, “but perhaps the princess could be retrieved during this summer festival.”
“I thought the same,” the woman breathed, “You know then, what you must do?”
“Of course, your grace.”
The woman nodded her hooded head and extended one, long hand. Within her fingers was a small vial made of black glass.
“Bring her to me alive, Meridaen, and without harm,” the woman hissed.
“As you wish, your grace,” he replied, taking the vial from the woman’s hand. As he did, he slid one finger along the length of her palm. As he withdrew the bottle, the delicate caress was repeated.
“Do not fail me, Meridaen… I am tired of waiting.”
“Yes, your grace.”
Meridaen bowed and turned away from the woman, striding through the mist silently. He exited the round, mist filled room and started traveling up a long, slanted tunnel that led to the surface.
As he walked his hand continually sought out the poison his lady had given him. The human might have failed but he certainly would not.

One of Those Days

2009-01-07T09:22:00Z

I knew it was going to be a bad day. I woke up with the inexplicable knowledge that, if I were to wake and go to work and do that entire ‘adult’ thing I would regret it with every fiber of my being. Naturally I was dead wrong.

This is the pattern of my life; if I wake up in a great mood, ready to do something productive, happy and perky invariably by the end of the day I would consider finding a very dark, very deep hole and pulling it in after me.

On the other paw, if I wake up in a doom-and-gloom mood, by the end of the day I’m full of energy, perky and grinning.

This always happens to me. And I don’t say that lightly. It started when I was about fourteen and for a while I simply dismissed it as coincidence but then it happened over and over and over: wake up happy, the day would be bad; wake up grouchy, the day would turn out alright if not out right good. I even began predicting days like that, when I’d get up on the wrong side of the bed I’d always be slightly cheered by the fact that something good would eventually happen. I also began to dread waking up happy.

For the past year-and-a-half I haven’t woken up happy or grouchy. I’ve woken up neutral and my day has either become good or bad at random. Because of that I’ve kind of forgotten my little pattern.

But this morning I woke up from two different nightmares (to be written about at the bottom of this post) and then knew it was going to be a bad day.

I woke up at 11:45 and got up because I was tired of waking up with that skin-tight fear of nightmares. I puttered around the house until I was too restless to simply putter anymore and, at 1:30, I started getting ready to go to work. I meant to leave at 2 but I just couldn’t sit still and since I didn’t have anything better to do… By the way, work started at 4 today. Why did I leave so early, you ask? Was it because I’m a good little girl and like to get their very early and help my boss set up? Or perhaps walk around the work-neighborhood and help little old ladies with their trash?

Please. Don’t insult me.

No, the reason I left early was because the FOUR FRIGGIN FEET of snow we got over the past month has started to melt. Oh, yes. Sloshing around in freezing water is ever so much fun.

Anyway; I left at 1:30 and walked to the bus stop. It’s about six blocks away and has a small hill to climb. Nothing bad. It took me a half an hour to get to my bus stop and no sidewalk. On ice. The only reason I didn’t face plant my way to my bus stop is because I have the most WONDERFUL cleats on that grip the ice like claws. It’s marvelous.

So I got to the gas station a bit in front of my bus stop and I saw this puddle in the middle of the road that’s about three inches deep. I kid you not. I stepped into it and it tried to eat my foot! So I made my way to the bus stop when a cop called out to me, “Where you goin’, hun?”

I pulled my ear buds out and called back, “Bus stop.” To which this woman replied, “The bridge is closed, hun!”

Oooh… Lovely. Alright, that’s okay. I’ll just catch the bus heading in the OPPOSITE way that my bus was supposed to be heading and wait until it made its loop back to the hub. No problem.

So I struggled (read: swam) across the street and saw the bus! Ha! So I stood by the glacier sitting on the side of the road and stared at the bus driver thinking stopping thoughts at him. He stopped, I climbed on and settled down. We start climbing the hill towards the airport area.

I’m baking my patron deity cookies for making me leave the house early.

So I sat on the bus, listening to music and watching the world go by through fogged glass. I notice that we don’t make the turn to the airport, as I thought we would. Rather we take the right to airway heights. Well, no big deal, right? I left early enough for it not to be a problem.

Then we made a turn I didn’t recognize. I had a brief twinge of, “Oh, lovely. Now if we crash I’m going to have to describe where we are to the 911 operator since I have no idea where I am.”

Yes, I am a paranoid drama queen, thank you.

But we continued along and we didn’t crash… but I started wondering about that entire ‘time’ issue. Then we made a turn and went onto the air force base. YES! AHAHAHAHA! We come to this long, boxy gate with young, camouflaged people standing besides cars and checking IDs. Wooh.

The bus pulls into one of the drive through thingies and an officer gets on. The other people around me pull out IDs. My feet go very, very cold. The military man has a gun. I don’t much care for guns when I don’t know who’s holding it. He checks the first guys ID, then the girl sitting across the aisle from me. Then he turns to me with a pleasant smile.

Man I went for my wallet and ID like a cop for a doughnut. I snapped out my ID and held it in front of me like a shield, all the while thinking, “You have a gun; I have an ID. We can be friends!!”

He said, “So you’re staying on?” Still with that pleasant, nonthreatening smile. I gave mute nod and he smiled and walked off. Needless to say, my feet, wet from walking though puddles and snow, never really warmed up again.

So we drove through the air force base. ALL over it. And then left the same way we came in and then started heading back to Spokane.

“Finally,” thought I, “I can get on my transfer, get to work and just read until it’s time to sit down and start making phone calls.”

We came back down the hill and the police were still there, directing traffic away from the bridge we’re supposed to cross to get down town. The bus driver paused and then turned left, up the street I walked an hour ago to GET to the bus stop in the first place. We passed right by the street that led into my neighborhood.

We got to the right turn that would lead us down into a valley which would, in turn, get us to down town. However that right turn was awful tight. I trusted the bus driver though; far be it from me to give driving pointers to a guy who does it for a living when I’ve never even sat behind the wheel of a car. Se we turn, back up, turn some more, back up some more and start to go over when of those ice burgs that turn the streets into a slick, icy chute. And then… we get stuck. The undercarriage of the bus was basically caught on the snow. We had become a giant, metal teeter-totter.

I am not kidding. I sit there for a while and then… I called my mommy. She and I had been communicating via text and one brief phone call over the trip. I told her I was stuck. She swore creatively and then told me to get off the bus and that she was going to come get me.

I got off the bus and she came and got me. AND AFTER ALL OF THAT I STILL WENT TO WORK WITH FROZEN FEET, ON AN EMPTY STOMACH AND WITH NO COFFEE.

This is a journal; I get to whine in it. Leemee ‘lone.

I got to work, just about on time, sat down, did my tax form (hee hee, I’m such a grown up!!!) and got to work.

The first three people I called; COMPLETE ASSHOLES. I just wanted to ask them three questions. Just three. Maybe one if their first answer was “I don’t know.” But no. They had no time for me. They didn’t want to talk to me. Please don’t call them again.

Now, I know what you’re thinking: “But, Rose, you said today was a good day! This doesn’t sound good to me!”

Well, Mom fed me (because she is uber-epic-awesome) and gave me her socks for my frozen, wet feet (because she is made out of uber-epic-awesome WIN). So my ‘I-hate-everyone-o-meter’ went from a blistering 11.2 to a simmering 7.

Still, I got into one of those moods; a bunch of my censors came down and I just started saying what I was thinking. I made my coworkers laugh which made me feel a bit better. My coworkers made me laugh which made me feel a lot better.

And, by the end of the work day, I was in a fairly good mood. The best I had been in all day.

Mom came and picked me up, took me home and I settled down with my laptop and talked to one of my very best friends! We talked for four hours and by the time she had to get off, I felt perfectly contented.

What did I tell you about that pattern, eh?

Still. The day was hellacious enough that I thought a journal post was required. Besides, I enjoyed writing it.

Next post will hopefully be a story. I know a certain AUNTIE who needs to post more stories for her niece. Hint hint.

Right! The dreams:

Alright, the first one I was some bizarre protector of these three little glowing pixie girl children. One was blue, one was pink and one was yellow I think. I took them to this big manor house and there was this tall, hooded, robed figure that kept feeding off them and each time it did, their colors got dimmer. I remember feeling a distinct disdain for the little girls but also a just-as-distinct responsibly for them. In the drew I drew a circle around them as they slept (making sure it was wide enough for them to move and wiggle in their sleep) and turned it into a glowing blue-grey force field that looked a little bit like incense smoke caught in glass. I sat across the room and waited. A while later that same tall, robed figure came up and tried to feed on the three girls. Instead of sweet, young energy he got a shot of my energy. He didn’t seem to like it much and started to glide away. Well I was truly incensed since he had tried to feed off me and went after him. I grabbed one shoulder (having to reach above my head to do so) and swung him around and sucker punched him. Heh. I’m still very much in character in my dreams. You know… made a big circle to protect the girls, probably could have used some big, flashy magic to knock the hooded dude off balance… instead I punch him. Heh.

Anyway. He didn’t much like that so he wrapped long, pale, slimy fingers around my throat and hissed into my face, “You dare lay a hand on death?”

I got really, really angry when he said that because he was not death. Death might kill people without any humanly comprehendible rhyme or reason but death does not feed on the magic of innocent little pixie girls. I gargled out, “You aren’t death.”

He hissed something out into my face and I remember seeing the shadowing shape of a long, pale face, empty, glistening eyes and a wide, wide mouth filled with long, rectangular teeth.

And then I said, “Then thou art dead, Death. Get thyself gone!” And I grabbed him by the throat and forced him into the ground. We flew through layer after layer of house, dirt, stone and then into the green-flamed inferno that I guess I picture as hell. Chains sprang up around the death imposter and dragged him against the ground. After that I woke up.

The other dream started with my brother, my oldest friend and me walking through this weird gated community that had a forest. There were two other girls with us… and a friend of mine from elementary school. This friend was driving us around. I was sitting in the front seat and I looked up and saw, near the oh my god handle three wasps. I watched as the one closest to me unfurled its antennae and started flying towards me. I through myself out of the door and it just kept chasing me. And then there were hundreds of them, buzzing, stinging and chasing and more and more kept coming. My friends and my brother ran faster than me so I was the only one getting stung. Finally we got home and I lay down in the hot tub/guest bedroom and watched the stings become angry, red welts, each of them weeping yellow-clear pus. I turned my head away and watched as a wasp crawled over my upper arm and stung me. I felt a numb sort of resignation as the stinger vanished into my skin and then… Oh, my god the pain. First it was only a subtle pinch that grew into a feeling comparable to a massive needle being jammed into my arm. Then there was a wave of heat followed by a wave of cold and then I was so dizzy. The wasp vanished an I walked to the couch and settled down, staring at the stairs. Mom came down with some sort of salve and asked where I was stung. I held up my arm but she was staring at the stings on my legs. I nodded and she came over and started to put the salve on me. I felt my head loll back and looked out the window.

After that it gets kind of patchy. I think I was planning a surprise birthday party but we couldn’t get the food we needed because there was a supply shortage. We kept trying to change the weather with this big, iron hose… I don’t know.

But, so, yeah! Dreams! Have fun.

Write again soonish.

Weaving

2009-01-04T06:43:28Z

Amalthea sat before her loom and wove silently. The shuttle was smooth and cool beneath her fingers and the threads that would make her tapestry were soft. The room in which she sat was warm and there was only the noise of the loom to fill the silence. That was fine; Amalthea worked better when there was nothing distracting her.
She suddenly stopped and turned her head to the right. Outside, coming up her path was a stranger. She could hear soft footfalls on the packed-dirt road. Amalthea sighed deeply at the coming distraction and turned back to weave a little more.
Her little cottage door stood open so she could hear the interrupters that were sure to come calling. When she heard booted feet pause outside her non-door she smiled a little to herself; many people were caught by surprise when they saw nothing to knock on.
The stranger knocked softly on the wooden frame and cleared their throat.
“Come in, then,” Amalthea said without turning, “Sit at the table; I’ll be with you in just a moment.”
There was slight pause before the soft footfalls resumed; the scrape as the chair was pulled out from the table and then the slightest sound of rustling cloth as the stranger sat.
Amalthea continued to weave and waited silently; it disturbed her guests when she didn’t speak, they often chattered about useless things to fill the silence, to make themselves more comfortable. This person did not.
Slightly surprised and more-than-slightly-pleased, Amalthea wove for her the client who had come to her a few days ago. Such a silly request, if the lord had considered it. But he had paid and so she wove.
She wove with light and shadow, she wove in the touch of a silky river and satin rose petals, she wove in the colors of the aged ivory and autumn sunlight. The result was cloth that glittered and shone, one that felt softer than the finest silk and warmed cold skin or cooled fevered brows. Amalthea wove with magic in her shuttle and so her cloth was the most sought after in the country. Perhaps the world.
Finally, Amalthea finished the cloth for the lord. The gleaming white and gold fabric fell over her lap and onto the floor in folds of pure light. She ran her fingers over it to see if there were any threads out of place and found none. With a soft, private smile, Amalthea folded up the fabric and settled it into the carved wooden box that sat to her left.
“Now,” she said, turning to her silent visitor, “What can I make for you?”
“You’re very young,” a quiet voice said from across the room, “I expected you to be older.”
“I look young,” Amalthea said with a smile, “But that doesn’t really mean anything.”
“And you’re blind… I had not expected that either.”
“Blindness is a slight inconvenience sometimes,” the weaver replied easily, “But I traded my sight for my skill and I haven’t ever regretted it.”
“I see…” the speaker was speaking in a soft, mellow voice and Amalthea couldn’t tell if the stranger was a woman or a man.
She waited patiently but the stranger did not speak again. After a few minutes of silence Amalthea asked, “What can I make for you?”
She heard the stranger rise from the chair. A moment later she felt the slight heat and pressure of another person before her and could smell a simple, subtle perfume or cologne.
“I want you to weave me a cloth made out of this,” the stranger said and Amalthea heard the soft creak of hinges as a box opened. She reached in; feeling around the edge to know where the box started and the item began. After she found the borders of the chest, Amalthea reached into the belly of the chest and felt around.
“Oh, my,” she breathed as shivers of power ran up her arm and slipped down her spine. Fear settled heavy and cold in her belly. It made her throat taste like copper.
“Can you do it?” the stranger asked.
“Of course,” Amalthea whispered.
“How much will it cost?”
Amalthea paused, running her fingers through the threads in the chest. Each one thrummed against her fingers, setting her teeth on edge and making her shiver. Even one of those strands would have been impressive… but enough strands to make a cloth… Amalthea’s skin grew cool with nerves.
“It will cost two things,” she said finally. She felt the stranger stiffen in front of her.
“Pray tell.”
“First, I do not want to finish this weaving simply for you to kill me. If I do this, I want collateral. A bit of your blood should suffice.”
The stranger paused and then said, “Agreed.”
“Otherwise it will cost you nothing but time,” Amalthea said and retracted her hands from the chest. She reached up and felt the lid. Slowly she closed the chest. She turned her face up towards the stranger, “The material within the chest is sometimes difficult to weave… Sometimes it tries to flee back from whence it came. It will take longer than my other weavings.”
“I have time,” the stranger, Amalthea heard the laughter in that soft, androgynous voice, “I have all the time in the world.”
“I thought you might,” the weaver said dryly. She reached into a basket of thread that she kept next to her loom and came back with a pair of golden scissors, “May I have your hand, please?”
She heard the stranger shift, the soft thump of the box against the ground and then the soft warmth and pressure of a wrist settling into her hand. Amalthea found the strangers palm and sliced the skin open with a swift motion of her scissors. The stranger hissed in surprise and pain. Amalthea waited until she felt the liquid heat of blood against her fingers, then she exhaled deeply and plucked a thread of blood from the strangers hand.
It was hot and slippery in her grasp and kept trying to squirm away but Amalthea held on and coiled a length of blood thread around her fingers.
“There,” she said lightly, “There is a handkerchief you can use to bandage the wound.”
“Much obliged,” the stranger said and moved away.
Amalthea pulled out a tiny wooden box and settled the coiled thread of blood into it, snapping the lid shut quickly. She kept her hand on the box as she turned and followed the stranger’s progress through her little apartment.
“When shall I return for the cloth?” the stranger asked.
Amalthea considered for a moment and then said, “Return in six days. It should be nearly complete by then.”
“I can find something to do until then I’m sure,” the stranger said, sounding thoughtful.
“Please put the box of raw material on this table,” Amalthea said, settling her hand on a shelf that stood beside her loom.
The stranger came over to her and lifted the box from the floor and placing it on the shelf beside her.
“What will you do with my blood?” the stranger asked.
“I will make sure you don’t murder me once your cloth is done,” Amalthea responded and turned back to the loom, “I won’t tell you anymore than that.”
She still had her hand settled over the box containing the thread of blood.
“Ah,” the stranger breathed, “You are very wise then.”
Amalthea felt the fear in her stomach slip away and she smiled brightly, “Thank you. I would ask you how you got those threads if I thought I would get an answer.”
The stranger laughed, delighted and then said, “If I am pleased with your work, maybe I’ll tell you.”
“Then I will make your cloth my best work.”
“I look forward to seeing it,” the stranger said in way of salutation. Amalthea heard the soft foot falls fade away and then turned to the box. With swift, precise hands she gathered the threads onto her cool, smooth shuttle and began to weave.
“It’s such a pity,” she murmured to her loom, “that I lost my sight. I would rather like to see what a cloth of souls looked like.”

An Actual Journal Post...

2008-12-04T10:05:37Z

... Because my mind demands it when I’m confused about something.

SO! I saw this very interesting drawing on deviantart by the artist AyameFataru here’s the ling for everyone who’s curious: http://ayamefataru.deviantart.com/art/Words-105367605

Just so we’re perfectly clear I had nothing to do with the above work of art. It should be obvious, but lets just cover all our bases, just in case.

Anyway. When looking at this drawing it was like looking into someone else’s mind because I don’t remember ever struggling with words, with articulating my thoughts (whether verbally or on paper). So it was kind of odd that there are other people in the world who struggle with words. With articulation and writing. It boggles my mind.

And of course, the longer I thought about it the more it was a, “Well, duh!” moment. No one is the same, right? So how dare I assume that everyone thinks like I do; communicates like I do. Still, it was very strange. Like being the told the world really is flat.

So… Looking at this drawing, are there people who see this and just think, “God, yes, exactly! That’s how I feel so much!” There are (there are a bunch of comments on this drawing that proves exactly that). But, at the same time are there people out there like me that are going, “… Really? You feel like that? For real?”

I wonder though, would the artist trade the ability to draw for the ability to write?

Personally I don’t think I would; the ability to write brings me such joy, such accomplishment and such a sense of self worth. I can’t imagine not being able to write, it horrifies me just to think about it.

On the other paw, I would love to be able to draw the things I see in my head AS I SEE THEM. Not these pale, sordid doodles I manage to get out. Imitations, pantomimes and reflections. I hold my art in such disdain.

Otherwise, life goes on. Work is fine, family is fine, friends are fine… all is well and boring.

Next post will probably be a story.

The Edge

2008-11-18T06:20:41Z

A small blue world traveled around a great burning sun.

This planet was not perfect; it had many problems and all of them stemmed from the fact that people, despite their similarities, could not get along.

But just because a place isn’t perfect doesn’t mean it’s a bad place to live.

This planet had moments of great flaring light, when people went out of their way to help each other. They were simple, random acts of kindness that rippled and reverberated throughout the centuries.

But these random acts did not mean there weren’t acts of fear, hatred and violence. There were moments of such utter vileness that the people of this world flinched away from their fellows.

There was wonderful beauty living hand-in-hand with abject monstrosity and the people of this world lived with both.

This world that spin through the space around the great, burning giant was home to poets, scientists, mothers, brothers, cooks, children, murderers, teachers, warriors and priests… just to name a few. This world was said to be the only world with intelligence by many people.

This world was also flat.

Oh, there were those who said otherwise; those who swore that the world was round or at least foot-ball shaped but they were wrong.

There was one side of the world that always had its face turned towards the sun and that side of the world was always hot, bright and filled with laughter. The rains were warm and there was no winter.

The opposite side always looked up at the cold pitiless stars that were like chips of diamonds in an expanse of eternal nothing. The world was frozen here. And the world was dark. There was no laughter and there were no wars because the people of the winter side had no need for wars… and they certainly didn’t have the time.

There were people on both sides of the world that insisted their world was flat. These people were scoffed at and shown pictures of a round planet suspended in an endless and eternal blue-black. These people looked at those pictures and said that they weren’t real.

Scientists ignored these people; they were obviously insane.

They weren’t of course. But the scientists weren’t either.

If those same scientists walked the entire planets, up and down, back and forth, over and under, left and right, they would never find the edge of the world.

Those people who insisted that the world was flat would.

However even if these people sought the edge of the world from the moment they learned to walk then they would be old, blind and dying by the time they reached they edge… and the Edge is not just a simple cliff falling into space.

The Edge is a mountain that soars as if it means to catch the stars on its craggy peaks.

Surely any who sought the edge would die of frustration at the root of those towering mountains.

With some instinct these people, these Believers, knew that the edge would be found… but at a great cost. None ever sought the Edge.

Besides there were monsters beyond the Edge.

Most people were happy to think the world was round and most people would not seek the Edge if they knew that the world was flat.

There were, however, those who knew the world was flat and did seek the Edge.

There was a family of wizards, mystics, witches and magic users that had sought the Edge since the first bud of their family tree.

Cornelius and his niece, Lisa, were the last of their family and Cornelius was the last scholar of the Edge.

“Cornelius!” a deep, booming voice rattled the dishes in the cupboards. Up in her room Liza glanced away from the sheet of math problems that was spread out in front of her and glared at the door. She waited.

“Hey!” the voice bellowed, “Cornelius!”

“What is wrong with that man?” Lisa hissed from behind locked teeth. She shoved away from her small, roll-top desk and stood and stretched out a back that was cramped from slaving over numbers.

“CORNY!!” the entire house seemed to shake with the force and volume with which the voice employed.

Lisa jerked her door open and shouted back, “Will you just shut up? I’ll get him, keep your shirt on… Please.”

“Ah!” the voice was no longer at its ear-shattering volume but it was still booming, “Lisa! Finally! Where’s your uncle?’

“Busy,” Lisa replied shortly, still standing in her bedroom doorway.

“When isn’t he?”

She stifled a smile and walked into the second story hall that was suspended over a store filled with the most amazing junk.

There was a giant of a man standing at the long wooden counter that ran the length of one wall. One massive hand was settled lightly on the edge of the counter.

He was barrel chested and had shoulders that looked like they could support the world. His arms were corded in thick slabs of muscle and wiry auburn hair.

The eyes that peered up at Lisa through thick, bushy brows were a cheerful, good natured gray and the line of his heavy jaw was in coarse, red fur.

His head, in contrast, was completely bald. The bushy sideburns and beard appeared to grow out of nowhere. The crown of his head, just above his ears, was haloed with twenty-four strange markings. The man had always insisted to Lisa that they were ancient runes and would keep him safe from anything that walked on this planet.

“My God, Lisa, you look just like your mother!”

“Despite the fact you never met her?” Lisa asked, one brow rising in skepticism.

“Well, I knew your father, didn’t I? And you look nothing like him so you must look like your mother.”

Lisa smiled in spite of her self and asked, “Alright, alright. What do you want, Michael?”

“I found something that might interest your Uncle,” the big man replied proudly, “Where is he?”

“Where he always is,” Lisa said, wrinkling her nose delicately, “Hold on and I’ll go get him. He should come up for fresh air anyway.”

Lisa hurried down the narrow, rickety steps to the store-level. Instead of turning right and into the warm, bright clutter of the shop Lisa walked forward and into a dark, narrow hallway and through the door at the end.

She stood at the top of a spindly metal staircase that twisted slowly around itself as it descended in to the cool darkness below the house.

“Uncle Cornelius?” she called softly and waited for his response. She tried again and received silence as a response. With an impatient sigh, Lisa clattered down the thin, metal steps and descended into what she and her uncle referred to as ‘The Cellar’.

It was less a cellar than an underground house. The floor was hardwood and was constantly cold to the point of discomfort, the walls were made of stone, and pillars of strong, dark wood supported the rest of the house. The columns created the illusion of walking into a dark forest that grew within a cave.

When Lisa was little, she had pretended that she was a princess in a strange and magical wood and was look for dragons.

A nostalgic smile touched the corner of her mouth before Lisa shook it away. She cleared her throat and tried to convince herself that she was an adult but the next time she spoke her voice was the soft, church-awed voice of a little girl, “Cornelius?”

She stepped deeper into the Cellar, careful to sidestep the long, low tables burdened with papers, books, maps, drawings and globes.

In the center of the chaos was a magnificent sculpture of a flat world, all of the countries meticulously drawn, shaped, carved and painted on its face. On the other side of the sculpture was a face of expectant darkness; as if it waited to be filled.

The world was delicately balanced on one corner and if nudged one way or the other it would revolve slowly.

As always, Lisa was completely captivated by this miraculous and impossible creation.

“Lisa,” a pleasant, cultured and slightly accented voice spoke from her left.

Inspiration

2008-10-09T06:35:36Z

Inspiration is just about the weirdest creature running through the savannahs of my mind.

The other creatures travel in herds or packs; some even take to the sky in great, sun-blotting flocks. But Inspiration? Inspiration walks all by itself and is afraid of nothing! Frustration, anger, depression, threats? Exhaustion… None of this means anything to Inspiration. If it wants to be written it will be; to hell with the fact that you only got two hours of sleep and are in the middle of studying for an exam.

If Inspiration is feeling coy it’ll dance right in front of you, taunting you with little snippets that tantalize and tease and drive you nuts.

When you have the time and the energy it seems as though Inspiration migrates, waiting for a time when you’re busy, or tired. The it sidles up next to you and smiles a little and passes you an idea.

And if you ignore Inspiration? Well, you’re punished of course! No writing or drawing for you until you’ve been properly taught what it means to NOT have Inspiration passing you notes.

It’s like dating a really emotional, high strung person… who’s bipolar. It’s an evil thing but when you do find yourself finishing up a story and blinking dazedly and there’s inspiration standing right next to you… isn’t it worth it?

Monsters

2008-10-09T06:19:22Z

Stanley woke abruptly, his eyes wide and shiny in the darkness of his own bedroom. He went very still, his breath soft and shallow and quick. He had heard the door slam. Outside his room he saw the hall light flip on.

“Frank!” his mother’s voice was sharp, needling.

“Oh, here it comes,” his father slurred back at her. Stanley could almost feel the heavy footsteps on the floor as his father approached his mother.

Frank was a hulking man; wide of shoulder, thick of wrist and with a heavy, beetling brow over small, dark eyes that were ever watchful and shrewd. His mother was a tall, pinched, dangerous woman with sharp features that had once been beautiful.

“Where have you been?” his mother demanded, her voice the low hiss of an angry goose. Stanley snuggled lower under his blankets and pressed his pillow around his ears.

“My own business!” his farther roared back.

“Keep your voice down!” his mother hissed, “Stanley’s sleeping!”

“Not anymore he’s not,” Frank growled, “Leave me alone, Carol, I just want to go to bed.”

“I will not leave you alone until you tell me where you were!” she shrieked.

“Where do you think I was?” his father bellowed.

Stanley whimpered softly and pressed his face hard into his mattress and sang a lullaby under his breath. It did no good; the roars of anger reached him through the pillow, through the whispered song.

“Make them stop,” Stanley breathed, “Please, please, make them stop.”

“Get your hands off me!” his mother screamed.

“You’ll shut your mouth if you know what’s good for you!” his father snarled.

Back and forth, round and round, day in and day out, every night… the same threats, the same angry retorts, the same rage, the same fears.

Stanley hated it.

With tears sliding hot and acid down his cheeks, he slid from his bed silently and crawled beneath it, dragging a small blue blanket along with him.

Stanley snuffled in the dust and wiggled around ancient, forgotten toys and then settled down, crying softly to himself.

His parents continued to shout outside his room. Their footfalls were loud as they stomped back and forth through the hall. Stanley tightened himself into a small, miserable little ball and sobbed quietly into his knees.

Shh, shh…

Stanley gasped, inhaling a mouthful of dust, his head jerking up and cracking against the bottom of the bed. Stars danced in front of his eyes and he coughed out a small, pained moan. His hands found their way to the tender spot and rubbed softly.

It’s alright…

He looked around, terrified. The voice was kind, sweet, gentle and though it was soft it somehow managed to drown out the screaming volume of his mother and father.

“Who… who are you?” he asked in small, cracked voice.

You poor little thing, the voice replied, All alone… with those wretched parents fighting all the time… Poor little thing.

He felt a gentle caress on the back of his hand. He snapped his head around and caught a fleeting glimpse of something long and pale sliding back into the shadows.

You don’t have to be afraid, the voice whispered into his ear. He looked around and saw the glint of moonlight on eyes.

“What are you?”

I’m your friend, Stanley, the voice cooed, I’m here to make you all better.

A cool, soothing hand ran along the back of his neck. Stanley did not flinch away but looked around again for the speaker.

You don’t have to be afraid, the voice whispered and cold, moist air slid across Stanley’s cheeks and over his brow. It smelled of long rotted things, of fetid meat, of dust and mildew. It smelled of death.

Stanley watched as a pale, gaunt face began to materialize in front of him. The mouth was too wide for the thin face and stretched the cheeks grotesquely. The eyes were round, black holes with crimson hell-sparks gleaming out from their depths. Long, narrow teeth filled its mouth, strips of pink flesh dangling between the cracks. Its neck was long and the bones of its spine protruded like spikes. Its chest was so thin that the ribs stood out like wings. Long, skeletal arms reached out to Stanley with knobby fingers each as long as a ruler. The creature’s legs were coiled and bunched so it fit beneath the bed but was still balanced on long, thin feet, tipped in horribly long toes.

But the worst part of this beast that slowly pulled Stanley into that cold, fetid breath, was the thick coating of dust that covered ever inch of it. Beneath the monster there was a spot on the floor where no dust had settled.

Stanley tried to scream but his chest was so tight that he couldn’t manage a breath.

Shh, shh, the monster whispered, You’re safe here. I’ll take care of you now… Don’t be afraid.

And this'll be the story post

2008-09-26T09:18:05Z

He waited.

Between the old, musty pages of his prison he waited in deafening silence… in maddening stillness. It had been ten thousand years since he had been captured and locked in the book. It had been two human generations since he had seen the light of day. So he had waited.

At least he had been captured in a book; he had been able to freely wander the worlds bound between covers but no where else. In a book, it seemed, there was little more to do than read.

Crow, he had been called when he had not been chained to a mass of pages. He had been Crow to the person that had captured him and so, Crow he remained until he was free of his bindings all together.

The book that he was locked in was hidden away in an old, dusty trunk. His prison was pushed into one corner, covered by old papers, yellowed with age and so delicate a breath would turn them into dust. Here he waited, long since forgotten by the waking world.

Crow stirred restlessly and the pages of his book fluttered like nervous birds. It was better not to move; it reminded of him what it was like to be free… and freedom was one thing he no longer believed in anymore.

Suddenly, from outside the trunk that contained his paged prison, there came heavy steps. Crow listened, not daring to hope.

The step was slow and languid; rolling like the gait of the long dead cowboy. But Crow, who had danced over the pages of history books, knew that there were no cowboys left. They were as dead as the mages and witches that had burned at the stake, as dead as the crusaders who had truly believed in what they were killing for… As dead as the world Crow had known.

No one had entered this room since the chest had been hidden there… Crow reached out his tendrils of magic and was surprised at how weak he was; once he had destroyed whole civilizations without breaking a sweat, and now even the simplest magic exhausted him.

The man who walked the room was a child to Crow, but by human standards he was old; nearly 60 with leathery skin and tough, work-hardened hands. Crow brushed through the man’s being, sensed the disease that was eating lungs and liver and withdrew with a small sneer.

“I know you’re in here,” the man mumbled to himself. Crow wondered who the man was talking to… surely he couldn’t be Crow’s newest master.

The man stood still for a moment, framed by the door and then he walked forward with that slow, cowboy gait of his and knelt in front of the chest where Crow’s book was contained.

The old, dying man unlocked the chest and flipped the top open. Fresh, cold air blasted in, ruffling the decades old papers into a whirl. Crow breathed deep through the pages in his book; it was a taste of freedom that was torturous because it never lasted.

Papers were pushed carelessly aside by the man’s calloused hands.

“I knew you were here,” he growled to himself and reached down and wrapped his fingers around Crow’s book.

Shock and elated, Crow had to force himself to not move and dance; he would have another chance at freedom! But, with the old man holding him, Crow didn’t dare to so much as breathe. He didn’t want to scare the old man away before he had even had a chance to lift the cover.

“Natasha’ll love you,” the cowboy said.

Natasha? Crow whispered.

In the Public Library, about 15 miles where Crow was questioning the cowboy that held him, Natasha browsed through towers of fantasy and science fiction.

Behind the delicate glasses, her hazel eyes sparkled; with a book was the one time when she was truly happy. She didn’t have many friends so the characters she read about became her friends, the dinky little town that she lived in wasn’t really home so the worlds that were contained between pages became her home.

Why deal with reality when fantasy was just a page away?

The wintery light that flooded in through the enormous windows illuminated the entire library. Outside children the same age as Natasha ran back and forth, engaged in a furious snow ball fight that sent innocent passerby’s scurrying for the safety of the indoors.

Natasha paid the children no mind. They were, after all, just children and she felt mild disdain for them.

Those children outside, children she knew by name and face since they went to the same middle school that she did, would spend the entire holiday break playing games, visiting friends and eagerly awaiting Christmas morning when they would rip open new toys and video games.

Natasha sniffed delicately; she would do nothing of that sort. She was far to refined to play stupid little kid games. That was why she was at the Library; she needed a nice, long book to keep her occupied over the holiday break.

A pretty, blue and gold book on one of the higher shelves looked interesting to Natasha. She was very small, even for her age, and even with the stool that the Library provided to its small patrons, Natasha had to stand on her tiptoes and stretch her arms to its fullest extent to brush her fingers across the spine of her chosen book.

While perched on the stool, Natasha could see between the shelves and she watched, in growing horror as three, pretty girls walked into the library. The leader of the pack was the tallest, prettiest and slenderest of the three.

“Amber Wilkes,” Natasha breathed.

As if Amber had heard her, she looked over to where Natasha was stretched out, trying to reach a now forgotten book. Amber’s pretty face split into a malicious smile and she, trailed by the two other girls, walked over.

“Well, hello, Natasha!” Amber said cheerfully. She looked up at the book at Natasha was reaching towards and smiled sweetly. She lifted up onto her toes and plucked the book from the shelf.

“H-hi, Amber,” Natasha said warily, stepping down from the stool.

Sometimes Amber would be nice to Natasha, giving her a soda or helping her with her homework, but then other times she would spread rumors about Natasha and push her down in puddles.

“This looks interesting,” Amber said, and smiled down at Natasha like they were best friends.

“Y-yeah,” the smaller girl said, not wanting to give Amber a reason to start being cruel.

“You remember last week when I gave you that note?” Amber asked, her pretty green eyes still on the book in her hand.

Natasha stared blankly, trying to remember what Amber was talking about.

“I tucked it into your book,” Amber said kindly.

“Oh!” Natasha exclaimed and then glanced around for the Librarian. When all of the girls saw that Mr. Graham was sitting at the front desk stamping books, they all relaxed.

“I’m glad you remember,” Amber giggled, “Did you give it to your brother?”

“C-Calvin?” Natasha asked uncertainly.

“That is your brother’s name,” Amber said, dropping her kind manner and rolling her eyes. “Did you give him the note?”

“Um,” Natasha said.

The book that Amber had tucked her note into had been bland. The plot had been slow ands the characters two dimensional. After getting to the middle of the book and finding it unsatisfactory, Natasha had returned it.

With the note still tucked inside.

“Well… I… meant to…” Natasha said haltingly. Amber’s pretty eyes became sharp and cold.

“Don’t lie to me, Natasha,” she said softly, stepping forward. The two other girls who followed amber around like dogs, closed in behind Natasha, blocking off her escape.

“The b-book,” Natasha stuttered, “W-wasn’t that g-g-good so I r-r-r--”

“You returned it?” Amber hissed furiously. Natasha shrank back. “Was my note…?”

Natasha nodded miserably.

A muscle in Amber’s jaw jumped and her eyes were wide and shiny. Natasha’s eyes were darting around for someone to help but they were in an isolated corner of the Library and there was no one around.

“Well,” Amber said softly, “I told you to do a very simple thing and you couldn’t even do that.”

She slid the book that Natasha had wanted back into its spot and dusted her hands together as if she had touched something gross.

“You lost something very important to me,” Amber whispered, “So I’m going to lose something very important of yours.”

The two girls wrapped long, manicured fingers around Natasha’s arms. She looked up at Amber through watering eyes, terrified of the older, taller girl.

Amber reached out and pulled Natasha’s glasses off her face. Natasha blinked as the entire world lost focus and everything became vague and fuzzy. She squinted, recognizing Amber only through the mass of dark hair around her heart-shaped face.

“Amber,” Natasha murmured, “can’t you just write another note? I’ll give it right to Calvin this time, I promise!”

Amber hesitated for a moment, twirling Natasha’s glasses around her fingers.

“It’s the principle of the matter, Natasha,” Amber said. “I can’t trust you to give Calvin a note.”

The taller girl dropped Natasha’s glasses on the floor and, with a quiet, meek crunching, ground her heel into the glass.

The two other girls let go of Natasha. She immediately went down on her knees, feeling for whatever was left of her glasses blindly.

“You think your life is bad now?” Amber whispered from somewhere above Natasha’s head. “Just wait until after break.”

Then, giggling and gossiping, the three girls left the Library.

Hot, angry tears were sliding silently down Natasha’s face as she felt for her glasses. She yelped when a piece of glass sliced open her finger but at least she had found her glasses.

One of the lenses had shattered completely; an edge of the broken glass had been the thing that had cut her finger. The other lens was simply badly cracked. But, when walking home in the snow, a cracked lens was better than nothing.

Natasha slipped the glasses back onto her face and walked out of the Library without a book.

The trip home was a miserable one; it was getting darker by the minute and the tears on Natasha’s face just made her colder.

She lived with her brother and Uncle Eddie at the edge of town, so it was a long, cold, wretched walk and she was still crying quietly to herself when she walked through the door.

“There she is!” her uncle called from the kitchen. He came stomping up to her and stopped. Natasha looked up at him. Having only one eye working properly was a little dizzying, so she pulled the remnants of the glasses off.

“Was it Amber again?” her uncle growled. Natasha sniffled and nodded, wiping her tears away on the arms of her sweater.

Her uncle sighed deeply, “Go sit in the kitchen, hon. I’ll go get extra pair.”

Natasha did as she was told, sitting at the scrubbed wooden table that, according to Uncle Eddie, had been in the family since they had come over as colonists. There was cup of hot cocoa sitting on the table.

She smiled a watery little smile and took a sip.

When Eddie came back, he had Natasha’s spare glasses held delicately in his paw-like hands. He handed them to his niece and sat down across from her as she fitted them on her nose.

He came into view, a great, grey handle-bar mustache above a smiling mouth. Startlingly pale blue eyes peered at her from their nest of crow’s feet.

“There’s my girl,” he said with gruff affection. Amber smiled at him, reaching under her new glasses to wipe away the remnant of tears.

“No use crying over it, right?” she asked. Uncle Eddie sighed, ruffling his mustache.

“S’pose not, hon. But I got something for you that might make you feel a bit better,” her uncle said, reaching into the big, leather bag that carried all of his horse-shoeing equipment.

Natasha leaned forward and a bright grin lit up her face when she saw a book in his hand. Uncle Eddie set on the table and pushed it forward.

“My grandfather read it to me whenever I’d go over,” Eddie said, “But my pa never really approved of reading when there was work to be done, and back then there was always work to be done. So I thought I’d give it to the only book worm we have in the family.”

“Thank you, Papa!” Natasha said, gathering the book to her and throwing her arms around her Uncle. Eddie chuckled and squeezed back.

Natasha was already running her fingers along the spine of the book eagerly and looked up at her uncle hopefully. The big man laughed, his mustache ruffling.

“No chores for you today,” he said, “Go have fun.”

“Thanks!” Natasha said. She took the last, burning gulp of hot cocoa and ran up to her room to get started on the book.

It was perfect timing that Uncle Eddie had decided to give her the book today, Natasha thought; after all, she hadn’t had a chance to pick out a holiday book from the library.

Once in her room, Natasha shrugged out of her backpack, coat and sweater before she kicked her door shut and settled on her bed to crack her newest book.

Ever inch of wall space in Natasha’s room was covered in mismatched book shelves and all of the bookshelves were crammed with books, all organized alphabetically and by date of acquisition.

Natasha took a moment to look at her collection with a prideful eye before opening the newest member.

As she opened the book her cut finger, covered in crusted blood, pressed against the pages and left a dark red-brown, spiraling fingerprint. Natasha sighed in dismay; she hated stained books.

The sigh turned into a yelp as the book began to shudder and shake in her hand and the fingerprint started glowing bright, bloody crimson. The pages flipped back and forth in a panicked frenzy and the cover began to heat until Natasha could no longer hold onto it.

She tossed it away from her and pressed herself into the corner of her room, her knees drawn up to her chest and her eyes huge behind her glasses.

A great, shrieking wind spiraled out from the book, ripping books from the shelves, tugging the curtains into a tornado of cloth and violence. Natasha couldn’t draw a proper breath to scream for help, all she could do was watch in horror as more and more of her books were drawn into the whirlwind that came from the book.

The room was filled with light and sound; flashes of bright, impossible colors were accompanied by bell-like thunder that rattled the door in its frame. Natasha, buried her face in her arms and covered her ears, willing the violence to be over.

And suddenly it was.

Cautiously, Natasha peeked over her arm to see what had happened.

Her room was a mess; books, blankets and school supplies were scattered all over the floor. The curtains were hanging off the window lopsidedly and streaks of black covered the walls, as if they had been singed by lightning.

In the center of the room, standing over the book that had been the cause of the chaos, stood a tall, graceful man.

Natasha gaped at him in open wonder.

At first, she thought his skin was black. Not dark brown, but true black, like coal and obsidian… But then, as he turned to look around the room, she saw a play of colors, like he had the northern lights hidden just beneath his so-dark skin.

He had long, ragged hair the color of oil that fell in a tangled tumble down his back to his hips.

Natasha flushed bright red when she realized that the stranger was completely naked.

The man… though Natasha was no longer sure if he was human, had the palest eyes she had ever seen. They glinted like jade stones one minute and then rose quartz the next, as if they were made of the inside of an abalone shell. He lifted one long-fingered hand and gazed at the long, deadly talons. Each point looked sharp enough to rend skin from bone without any effort.

From the man’s chin a ragged swatch of dark hair grew, but no other facial hair hid his handsome features.

He looked down at his long, spindly hands with narrow, tip-tilted eyes and a blaze of fire suddenly erupted in the palm of his hand. Most of the flame was black, but contained within were flickers of the bright, impossible colors that had come from the book a few seconds ago.

The man held the flames up to his face so that its bright glow bathed his features.

Without turning his head, the creature looked over at Natasha and a slow smile curled his lips up.

“Hello, Natasha,” he said. His voice was deep, musical and accented, though Natasha didn’t know from where, “I am here to answer your every prayer.” Natasha drew a breath to scream. Uncle Eddie would come and kill this strange, fire-starting man that had come out of book and then they would burn the book and forget any of it had ever happened.

“If you scream I shall go back into the book and then you shall seem crazy,” the man said calmly. Natasha expelled her scream-breath in a soft squeak.

The stranger nodded a little and then closed his fingers around the fire. The glow came through in bright shots of light through the cracks of his fingers and danced over his naked body. Natasha blushed again and squeezed her eyes shut.

“You may look now, child,” the man said, sounding amused. Natasha opened one eye a little bit and saw that he was dressed as a priest might be dressed. His long, dark hair was tamed and pulled into an austere braid down his back and even his beard had been smoothed down so that it didn’t look so ragged.

“That is better,” he said softly, brushing non-existent dust off his sleeves.

“What are you?” Natasha whispered.

The man looked over at her with pale, pale eyes and smirked a little.

“I am a spirit,” he said, “Once I was worshiped as the god of magic… but those days have long since been over. Now I am a captive and you, my dear child, are my master.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Which part?”

“The being a spirit part,” Natasha murmured, “Are you a… ghost?”

“Not quite that powerless,” the man said with a sneer, “A spirit is the energy of something. A spirit of a human is a small, weak, pathetic thing because that is all a human is. I am the spirit of magic so I was once very powerful.”

“Once?” Natasha echoed. The man looked at her with mounting dislike. Natasha shrank back against the wall.

“Yes,” he said bitterly, “Once I was feared. Once I had temples in my honor where the brave asked for my blessing and brought sacrifices for me… once I was a god, terrible and awful… but then I was captured by the Archangel Michael and here I stand; your slave until you die.”

Natasha stared at the man, the spirit, with her mouth hanging open. Dreamily she pinched herself hard enough to bruise. It hurt… a lot.

“Not a dream,” she said weakly.

“That is one of the most common responses to my kind,” the spirit said as he perched on nothing in the middle of the room, his feet three feet above the ground. “Humans desire magic with every fiber of their beings; they pray for it, for adventure and magic… and yet the moment magic presents itself, you all run away screaming or deny it exists. No wonder your world has been forsaken by the Powers.”

“My world?” Natasha asked, “There are others?”

“Countless worlds are beyond this one,” the spirit said dryly, “It is only human arrogance that says this is the one and only world.”

“And… what are the Powers?”

The spirit grimaced a little, “The Divine.”

“You mean… God?” Natasha whispered. The spirit rolled his pale eyes and Natasha got dizzy from the rainbow of colors that they changed to in that simple movement.

“If you must choose such a simple word so you can wrap your pitiful mind around the concept, then yes, God,” the spirit said.

“Is there a devil too?” Natasha asked. The spirit gave her a very odd look.

“Of course there is,” he said slowly. “There are hundreds of them.”

“Are there hundreds of gods too?”

“More,” the spirit said, “Each world must have its separate God, mustn’t it?”

“Wow,” Natasha said, her mind was reeling.

The spirit gazed at her curiously for a long moment; now that she had accepted him as part of her reality it seemed that she was adjusting remarkably well, especially for a child.

Then again, perhaps it was children who were more open to the truth than adults.

“What do I call you?” Natasha asked shyly.

“I have had many names… but the first name I ever had was Crow,” the spirit said, “so you may call me that.”

Natasha slid from the bed and walked forward slowly, as if approaching a wild animal. When they were an arms length away, she held out her hand.

“I’m Natasha,” she said with a shy smile.
Crow smirked a little and held her tiny hand in his and pressed chilly lips to the backs of her knuckles.

“A true honor, my lady,” he purred.

She was too young to understand his attempted seductions so she simply grinned at him. Crow had to restrain an exasperated sigh.

“So are you a genie?” Natasha asked.

Crow tilted his head to one side and asked, “Do you mean djinn?”

Natasha nodded and Crow frowned a little, not out of anger but out of thoughtfulness.

“I have been called as such,” he said, “but I am no such thing.”

“But you do grant wishes, right?” Natasha asked breathlessly.

“That I do, child,” Crow said easily.

“How many wishes to I get?” she asked. Crow raised an eyebrow; it was a question he had not been asked in a very, very long time.

“As many as you can think of, child,” he said calmly. Natasha looked like she might start floating from her elation.

“Do the wishes have rules?” she asked.

“None at all,” Crow said.

“Is there a catch to all this?”

“A catch?” Crow asked with a smirk, “No. They are no strings attached wishes.”

Natasha giggled, jumping up and down. Crow watched her with both eyebrows raised; what strange creatures human children were.

“Alright, alright,” Natasha said, panting. “I know my first wish.”

“By all means,” Crow said dryly, waving a hand to indicate that she should continue.

“I wish I didn’t need glasses,” Natasha said so quickly that the sentence blurred into one word.

“Easy enough,” Crow said softly, “Come here, child.”

Natasha stepped closer to him without any hesitation or fear and the spirit hooked one long, deadly claw on the bridge of her glasses and pulled them away before carefully covering her eyes with his hand.

“This will feel strange, child,” Crow warned.

Natasha gasped as some of the strange, colorful fire spread from the spirits hand. It felt look putting warm honey into her eyes and, even after he had pulled his hand away, she kept blinking to rid herself of the sensation.

But when she finally stopped blinking she could see perfectly without her glasses.

“Amazing,” Natasha said. Crow had put her useless glasses on her desk and was now looking at her expectantly.

“What is your next wish, child?” he asked.

“Tell me more about the other worlds,” Natasha said.

Crow looked a little taken aback; usually humans simply wanted power, money or other useless frivolities. This child wanted knowledge… perhaps she was smarter than she looked.

Crow set about explaining the worlds that he had visited before he had been bound to the book. He described in great deal to the awed, silent and wide-eyed child of the great sky-castles that existed in one world and then dazzled her with the tales of monstrous beasts that roamed black-sand beaches in another.

It was nice to have such an attentive listener, even if she was just a child.

She vanished for a short time to go eat but when she returned she had a hundred new questions of the worlds that Crow had walked. She fell asleep sometime in the wee hours of the morning listening to the spirit.

But when, she woke in the afternoon, Natasha knew that she had spent too much time on herself and told Crow, in no uncertain terms, that they were going to go do her holiday shopping.

“Child,” Crow had said slowly, staring fixedly at a wall, “I don’t think I should accompany you.”

“Nonsense,” Natasha said, dressing. She also faced a wall and her face was hot with embarrassment. “You can just create a disguise, can’t you?”

“And how shall you explain my presence to the cowboy?” Crow asked.

“The cowboy? You mean Uncle Eddie?” Natasha said, turning and staring at the spirit after she was dressed. “I suppose he is a lot like a cowboy, isn’t he? Well… you’ll just have to make a disguise that looks like a kid my age.”

“I don’t suppose I could just be invisible?” Crow asked, cringing away from even looking like a human.

“That would work,” Natasha said, pulling her jacket on.

Relieved that he did not have to demean himself by appearing as a human child, Crow cast a simple invisibility charm on himself.

“Don’t forget the book, child,” he said. Natasha looked around, frowning.

“This is going to be a little strange,” she muttered and picked up the book, “Why do we need it?”

“It is my prison, child,” Crow said, “I can’t go very far from it.”

Natasha bit her lip a little out of sympathy and slipped the book into a small messenger bag that Uncle Eddie had given her for her last birthday, when she had turned thirteen.

Then she walked out, Crow following her at a slow stride.

When they were downtown, Natasha wished for enough money to take care of Uncle Eddie and Calvin’s every possible Christmas wish and, with Crow trailing behind, walked in and out of stores, looking for gifts.

“That’s a new store,” Natasha said to Crow as she carefully shifted her load of bags from one hand to another. Crow followed her gaze and felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

“Gregory’s Antique Emporium,” Natasha read, “Antiques… maybe there’s something in there for Uncle Eddie.”

“Be careful, child,” Crow murmured. Natasha looked back to where his voice had come from and then back at the store.

“Is it dangerous?” Natasha whispered.

“It could be,” the spirit said, “be cautious.”

“You… you won’t leave me, will you?” Natasha asked uncertainly.

“I can’t,” Crow told her, “You are my master.”

Oddly, this did not seem to reassure the girl. But she went towards the store nonetheless.

When she walked in a bell chimed softly somewhere in the store.

Crow walked in behind the girl, keeping a hand on her shoulder. There were knick-knacks and bric-a-brac everywhere. A large, mahogany wardrobe claimed the most of the back of the store and Persian carpets were leaned against another wall.

There was nothing in the store that looked particularly threatening… and yet, Crow couldn’t shake the feeling of foreboding.

“Hello, little one,” a voice said from the back of the store. Natasha jumped a little and the voice laughed kindly, “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I just didn’t see you,” Natasha said, scanning the shadows.

“I know,” the voice said calmly. He stepped out from behind the counter, seeming to melt out from the shadows. He was sword-thin with piercing black eyes and a sharp-edged smile.

“Most children don’t come into antique shops,” the man said, leaving the comment open.

“I’m not like most children,” Natasha said, “I prefer reading to playing and tea to soda.”

“Ah!” the man said with another sharp smile, “A kindred spirit. I much rather spend my holidays with a good book than with anyone else.”

“Me too!” Natasha said, stepping away from Crow. The spirit let his hand drop but followed after the girl carefully.

“I’m glad to hear that I’m not the only one in this world,” the man said with a smile, he held out his hand to Natasha, “My name is Gregory.”

“I’m Natasha,” she said, shaking his hand. His skin felt dry and papery under her fingers.

“Well, Natasha, what are you looking for?”

“Nothing in particular,” Natasha replied, wandering away from Gregory, “Just looking.”

“Let me know if you see anything you like!” Gregory said and turned back to whatever he had been doing before Natasha had walked in.

Crow watched Gregory for a moment before following Natasha. She was exclaiming over the music boxes at the back of the store. Crow stood near her and watched Gregory.

There was magic, thick in this store and it was making the spirit nervous.

“Oh,” Natasha breathed, “Crow, look at these.”

The spirit glanced over briefly, not really paying attention. But when he saw what she was staring out, his pale eyes became wide.

“Ah,” Gregory said. Crow snapped his neck around so fast, his features blurred. He stared at Gregory who was looking right through Crow and at Natasha, “You’ve found the Seven Jewels. It’s a lovely collection, isn’t…”

The man’s voice trailed off as he stared at the collection.

It was made up of seven large jewels; purple, green, yellow, blue, red, white and black. Six of the seven were lovely, but nothing special… but the black one was shining and glittering as if a fire was burning from within.

Gregory was staring at the seventh gem with bright, hungry eyes.

“My dear,” he said softly to Natasha, “may I ask you an odd question?”

“Sure,” Natasha said with a smile at her new friend.

“There’s a book I’ve been looking every where for. Each town I move to I ask special children like you… kids that like to read, if they’ve seen this book,” Gregory said, putting his arm around Natasha.

“What kind of book?” Natasha asked uncertainly.

“A very special book,” Gregory murmured, looking down at Natasha, “It tells the story of a spirit name Crow.”

In her mind, Natasha suddenly heard Crow’s voice: Get away from him, child. He’s a dangerous man.

Natasha pulled away from Gregory and closer to Crow, who set his hands on her shoulders.

“You gave seen it, haven’t you?” Gregory asked softly, “Where is it?”

Natasha’s fingers tightened around her little messenger bag protectively. Crow squeezed Natasha’s shoulder gently, reassuring and warning he had seen that Gregory’s sharp eyes had caught the minute curling of her fingers.

The dark eyed man took a slow step forward.

“You have it?” he breathed, “Here? Now?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Natasha said, trying to sound haughty. She reached up and put her hand on top of Crow’s for comfort. He squeezed her hand and began backing away from Gregory. Natasha followed his steps blindly.

“Have you opened the book?” Gregory asked gently, “Have you released the spirit? Because if you have child, it’s very dangerous for you… he could kill you, he’s done it before.”

“He has not!” Natasha snapped.

Gregory’s dark eyes widened sharply and he stepped forward again.

“So you have opened the book,” he said angrily, “That will complicate matters a little… But it’s just a minor set back. Hand over the book, Natasha.”

Crow dropped the invisibility spell and glared at Gregory. The man’s breath rushed out his mouth in a low oath.

“The Spirit of Magic, one of the Blessed Seven… After years and years of searching, my collection is almost complete,” Gregory breathed.

“How many of the Seven do you have, Gregory?” Crow asked coldly.

“I need only you and the Lady of White,” Gregory said, stepping forward. Crow drew Natasha close to him and stepped back again. His back was pressed against a wall.

“Be grateful that you have not met her,” Crow said. “She will not be easily captured.”

“But I have all the others… Didn’t you see them in their pretty prisons?”

“You’re a small, weak, cowardly little man,” Crow said darkly, “and you will be dead sooner than you think.”

“Oh, I don’t think I’ll be dead any time soon, Crow,” Gregory said, “I have been around longer than you would believe. Now… give me the book, girl.”

“No,” Natasha whispered.

Gregory’s dark eyes narrowed. Moving with the speed of a striking snake he lunged forward and hooked suddenly long claws into the bag, ripping it apart. The book fell to the floor. Gregory stooped to snatch it up but Natasha was there a breath before him; as her hands closed around the book, Gregory’s hands clamped around her wrists.

“Let it go,” he hissed. Then he smiled at her kindly, “You do not understand what sort of creatures these things are, my dear, sweet child. These are the liars of the world; they wish only to be free of their prisons so that they may wreak havoc on the world of man… Please, let me have the book and then, together we can capture the seventh spirit and the world will be safer.”

Natasha could feel her grip on the book relaxing, could feel her entire body slumping towards the floor as if she was falling asleep; it was like he was reaching into her brain and pressing the power button.

“Crow…” Natasha whispered hoarsely, “Help me.”

And then the spirit was there, in her mind in a blaze of the colorful fire he controlled, he burned away Gregory’s magic, washed away the sleepiness. Natasha’s hands clamped around Crow’s book tight enough to make her knuckles shine white.

“I don’t like you,” she hissed at Gregory and then kicked him hard in the shin.

Crow wrapped his arms around Natasha’s waist and pulled her away from Gregory, who was howling in pain, clutching his leg. Crow was flitting around the store as if he was a real bird and not just one in name.

Gregory came running after them, shoving shelves over in a shower of sparkling baubles until the store was covered in broken pieces and the way to the spirit and Natasha was clear.

Gregory planted his feet; black eyes locked on Crow, and curled his fingers into claws, smiling a ghastly smile up at Natasha. Between his fingers a bright, snaking light began to grow; poison red and as angry as his eyes.

“That’s stolen magic,” Crow told Natasha. He held out his hand and some of the colorful fire appeared there. “That’s… powerful stolen magic.”

“But you can beat him, right?” Natasha asked, “He won’t hurt you, will he?”

“I’m not sure… I’m not as strong as I once was,” Crow replied, not looking away from Gregory.

“If the girl’s dead, you belong to me, Crow!” Gregory snarled and threw a fistful of that angry magic at Crow and Natasha. Crow flung his handful of fire at the Magic and jumped out of the way.

Where the two magics met, an explosion erupted, throwing Gregory across the store. He hit the wall and slumped for a moment before forcing himself back to his feet. Crow was more agile; he was blown off his course and then changed with it so that, when he hit the wall, it was with his feet and he simply pushed off.

The magic had obviously taxed him. He was breathing hard and his dark, colorful skin was shining with sweat.

“Crow? Are you alright?” Natasha cried.

“No,” he grunted, watching Gregory create another ball of that poison light. Natasha looked over and fear made her stomach squirm.

“I wish we were somewhere safe!” she screamed. Crow grinned and pushed backwards from the counter where he had perched. A portal of bright, dancing lights opened around him and swallowed the spirit and Natasha…

Gregory looked up at where Crow had been a moment ago and felt a bitter resentment and disappointment welling up inside him… but he controlled it.

He knew where Crow would go… and he would meet the spirit there, and the little girl. Carefully, Gregory put the Seven Jewels into a leather pouch and ripped open the fabric of the world.

Crow’s portal had opened up with a sigh of delight, as if the world welcomed him, Gregory’s portal screamed and shrieked. The man paid no mind to the pain he was causing the worlds and stepped through using his stolen magic to pursue his prey.

Travelling through the fiery place between two worlds was a breath taking experience. Colors, thoughts, feeling, dreams, nightmares… it all passed by so quickly that Natasha was struggling to breathe. She clung to Crow, pressing her face into his chest and trying not to see.

Sounds assaulted her; crying, laughing, screaming, singing, moaning, gasping… it was like being in a reversed vacuum. Instead of the nothingness that it should have been it was a maddening everything.

And then, as suddenly as it had started, it all stopped.

There was still sound, the hustle and bustle of a city, but compared to the cacophony of the non-place they had just gone through, it was library quiet.

“What,” Natasha whimpered, “was that?”

Crow looked down at the child he held; she was shaking and cold to the touch.

“Have you ever had those thoughts that you can’t remember a moment later?” he asked gently, kneeling so he could set Natasha on the ground; he didn’t think her legs would hold up right now.

Natasha nodded, her eyes still closed tightly and refused to let go of Crow.

“All of those thoughts, along with the dreams you can’t remember in the morning and memories that fade over time, go there,” Crow explained, “And they wait until they have an opening to return to one of the worlds. That’s why, you sometimes remember what you were thinking in the middle of the night, or remember something that happened a long time ago… Sometimes though the memories find new people to enter and that’s why you can’t stop thinking of a certain song, or phrase, or place sometimes.”

“Oh,” Natasha said softly.

“It’s a bit surprising when you first go through it,” Crow said, “I’m sorry that I didn’t warn you.”

“It’s alright. You didn’t have the chance,” Natasha said and then leaned away and opening her eyes. She looked up at Crow and blinked.

His skin had lost the lovely, shifting colors and the so-dark hue… he looked human. Even his pale eyes had settled on a jade-green tone.

“It’s my disguise,” he said calmly, helping Natasha to her feet. “For now it would be better if no one knew what I was.”

“Alright,” Natasha said uncertainly. “Will we have to go back through the memory place to get back ton Earth?”

Crow looked down at Natasha and frowned a little, “We can’t go back.”

“What do you mean?” she whispered.

“Traveling from Earth to the other worlds is easier than traveling back to Earth… When people stopped believe in magic on your world it created a barrier that doesn’t let anything magic back in. Do you understand?”

“But it lets things out,” Natasha said. “Like a two mirror.”

Crow nodded. Natasha looked up at him, a question shining in her eyes. Crow sighed deeply.

“You will never go back, child,” he said gently. “I’m sorry.”

I was admonished o.o

2008-09-26T09:12:59Z

I have been instructed to blog again so blog I will!

No, not about my life, silly person, I don’t have a life. I’ll blog about all of the words that run through my head. Some of them link up like magnets to become sentences; some of them even become whole paragraphs. More often than the Muse comes over to me, sits down in front of whatever I’m doing and says:

“Here’s the next one.”

He does all this with a smile, of course.

So let’s see… I really want to write a story about traveling through my own head but some of my thoughts are less than nice and I don’t know how to make something so private that no one will ever find it and so secure that no one could ever open it. I need a wooden journal with a padlock on it.

Maybe I should just write it in a private blog… I think that would work. I’ll do that.

I have stories to post as well but I hate combining musings with stories… things are already complicated enough, why confuse issues?

So this is a blog most about life. The next will be a blog post cleverly disguised as a story.

See ya.

The Path of the White Rabbit (poem)

2007-06-10T08:58:40Z

Hello there, welcome here

Do you laugh or quake in fear?
You’ve entered my private hell

Or is it heaven? Can you tell?

Is this a world where the sky

Cries red gunk when you lie?

Or is it a crooked land

Where castles fall like brittle sand?

Here my mind is free to wander

Do you like it or are you fonder

Of your own worlds that flash and fumble

In the unproductive crumble

Does your world fall to stone?

When you’re lying home alone?

Or do you build your lands so tall

Only when there’s no one home at all?

When another walks into the room

Do your worlds spark and go ‘kaboom’?

Or does heaven stop and stare

At your microscopic flair?

Do you see beyond your own small world

When others are to be unfurled?

Or do you brush off all those places

That live behind so many faces

Do your worlds flare and flicker

When you and friends start to bicker?

Or do your worlds grow so bright

When you get into a fight?
Do you build when you sleep?
When you sing? When you weep?
Do your worlds sing your song?

Which you’ve been humming all along?

I can’t see your worlds but I wish I could

But do you think, perhaps I should?
Because you seem like such a charming critter

Even if you’re a wee bit bitter

To the taste? To the mind?

Are we all just going blind?
Are you me? Am I you?

Or are we all just one big who?

But since I’m me and you’re right there

I’d like to show you something fair

I created it when I was small

And now you see it’s grown quite tall

I’d like you now, if you’d care to see

What I’ve built in the kingdom of Me

Here you see, the rivers stream

With the moonlights pale beam

And there, you see up on that cloud?

Lives a king, tall and proud

He lives up there, my eagle king

And listens to all the birds do their thing

He’s king of all my feathered friends

Who tell me secrets as the world ends

And over here, you see that hill?

That’s where the insects till

But you can’t talk to them, not right now

But wait until snow cools their brow

Because, here, you see

In the Kingdom of Only Me

All bugs toil in the summer and spring

And in the winter they play and sing

Here the skies are always grey

The wind is cool and the sun goes away

And in my gardens of colored sand

I spin new worlds, bright and grand

But here where my rules are law

Not’s all sweet, like what you saw

Now come with me below the ground

And learn the secrets I have found

Here the caves are full of so soft sighs

Filled with shadows, filled with eyes

Where puddles of pure darkness pool

To swallow the unknowing fool

There are seas in this underground

With skies of rock that echo every sound

And beneath those sub-earth waves

Monsters lurk next to hollow graves

Forests and deserts that live under stone

Mountains and valleys lie beneath buried bone

This world of lies that a shadow tells

Behind stone walls and at the bottom of wells

Everything here is a reflection

Of the above world’s perfection

Or is it the above is just a clone

Of this dark world of dark, cold stone

I can’t remember which is which

But does it matter? They always switch

Bother worlds are apart of Me

Both worlds are open to see

You just need to learn to trick the light

Ask the dark, he’ll have it right

Just look a little sideways, tilt your head

Speak of life when you’re dead

Squint your eyes and breathe in deep

Take a plunge the fall is steep

But here you are, in my dreams

Where nothing is what it seems

Here, where the coin is both light and dark

And gardens here are both lush and stark

Yin and yang, yang and yin

The end is the start, but where to begin?

I’ll leave a trail for you to chase

And it will lead you to this place

I’ll welcome anyone, lad or lass

To this world, beyond the looking glass

I’ll offer a chance that’s you’re to take

A choice that you have to make

Do you follow my hidden road?

Where the world might explode?

Do you run away, as is human habit?

Or do you follow my path, that of the White Rabbit?