To See Myself Reflected - 2nd

When counting all the ways to achieve one possible outcome one does not often think to include the reverse strategical paradox of unencumbering oneself from the burdens of an infinite universe. Ergo, out of respect for those with more advanced knowledge of post didactic cyber-literature you may skip ahead a few hours and catch right up.

To See Myself Reflected - Introduction

Trinidad. Tiny toboggan. A hill steeping swiftly downward crestfalling, faceforward, dodge-dashing. No rock can tumble to far from our course.

Once a burning incense, now a stream set drifting o’er to meet us by the way. Bring the bobcat, set the lion in its cage. Swing shut the gate. How graceful thy dance O’ everlonging. Take my breath away.

Irene 3

Upon entering the creaking portal he was transposed in an instant from the grim outer passage into a labyrinth of steel and aluminum. Yellowed florescents flickered tragically, illuminating the hall in static autonomy. Mechanical parts, chains and gears littered the ground. Wheels and rims dangled from above creating a claustrophobic atmosphere. Thin aisles marched forward flanked by sentinel frames pledging allegiance to Bianchi, Cervelo, Volagi. With every step newer and more impressive models shown forward, eager to be used and fulfill their maker's designs.

Irene 2

A week before wax pillars would be burning atop frosted delicacy the dilemma of discovering an appropriate offering eluded the young artist. His intent had been pure, good willed, seeking not a lavish gift but rather one of utter genuinity. Thus he had taken to surveying the convocation of petite shoppes along the inner thigh of the bustling harbor town. The delectable aroma of fresh bake pastry mingled unscrupulously with the pungent seaborn breeze as he idled down the cobbled road, but it failed to deter the eager citizens from frequenting the area.

Irene 1

Pantomime, phantom shapes and shadows overlaid with drizzled silver lining the edges of the light. Dancing movement caught shining orbs, reflecting gratification as they observed the persisting display with rapture. Then a great gasp as the alligator was swallowed whole and reborn from its fading shimmer, a rabbit escaping certain carnivorization, retreated suddenly to soft translucence as the overhead fixture illuminated the room, drawing a collective sigh of discontent. Tidings of chocolate mousse, however, quickly subdued the disparaging remarks and scampering footfalls hurried inward towards the dining room.

Irene: Prologue

Crying child, like a lamb on the altar. A single bright light, flicker of a flame. A seedling that sprouted forth in the wrong season, soon to retreat beneath the earth. Newborn yet dying.

Doctor says "There's nothing we can do." Sometimes a little spark doesn't catch fire to the tinder. So sitting with the fawn in her arms, shallow breathing, Mother looks down. Such small hands wrapped around her finger, the last umbilical of life hanging on. Father's grip on her shoulder feels like some far away comfort of familiarity to the homesick. He stares into tiny blue eyes, barely open, fading fast. Father starts to speak, "I am so sorry. Little one.."

Bradbury Heights: V - Father, Mother!

Father Fleischer padded softly afoot the slate stone stairwell of Saint Andrew’s Cathedral, smoothly stepping straightway towards the upper sanctum where Mother Superior Judith Von Engle would surely be sweeping through her morning studies. The bite of the dawn’s gentle patters of rain had swiftly given way to the lustrous sun now bleeding through the slotted windows of the Cathedral stairway, but Father Fleischer did not require the meager light to guide his feet.

Bradbury Heights: IV – Unseen Persons

Sheer white sunlight finally pierced through the cluster of crusty clouds as Mike took his seat in the blustery classroom awaiting the chime that would indicate the initiation of the day’s didactic activities. Sketching aside the papers littering his desk, the stripling student tediously balanced a pen on his forefinger, pondering upon the inner intrinsic complexities of the lead black chalkboard.

Bradbury Heights: III – Mayoral Assertions

Sheriff Humboldt, meandering afoot a stairy slope, pondering the quirking scenes of earlier this morn, could not quite keep down the strange sensation of a lurking discontinuity that accompanied him wherewithever he walked. Entering the doorway atop the stairs and depositing his satchel alongst a stiff wooden chair, the Sheriff grimaced at the sight of his turbulent troop, depleted of the sentiment of sanctuary proffered by the formerly uneventful duties that squired doldrum Bradbury Heights.

The Memoirs of Colonel Octavian Van Haslinger

GTI 43:89 – 832.3 Sector Alpha 435B; Skirmish with the Faun

‘Twas Brillig alright. When a sun-star ignites like a firepop set off by a twelve year old guinea at the Freedom Parade and you’re standing on the doorstep of a fiery inferno that will spontaneously cook eggs from over 30 parsec away then there’s not much you can do but duck and cover.  As for the Faun, they were expecting this. Their trap sprung, and all of their twelve Satyr Class battlecruisers with full power on their shields such that Zeus’ own lightning couldn’t get through. As for us, well, we weren’t so prepared.

Bradbury Heights: II - Froward Information

Spelunking didn’t quite hardly compare to such frolipherous activity as ‘twas currently engaged one Bartholomew Flavius Hughes. Whilst o’er ‘twix ‘tween a rock and a hard place, while certainly, in such literal context, was exceedingly enjoyable, Bartholomew procured a particular gleam for his present circumsituation. In the one hand he held an aluminum cylinder, ten inches long, green, with a spray nozzle affixt to its end. And in the other, a bottle of equal stature, yet blue as the midsummer sky which would soon grace pristine Bradbury Heights in nary two months.

Bradbury Heights: I - A Tragic Discovery

Drizzle-pouring rain, a flock of tears from heaven's font, one last stretch of icy breath. Yesterday t'was such an sunlit day yet ere this morn all warmth went out in a snuff. Harriet Bowman pludged along the mud slipped path up towards the steeple of Chapel Hill. Father Fleischer would expect the strindgy pews dusted and swept a'fore this even's vigil wenx all the town (at least the more piously natured fellows and madams) would gather to witness the surgical sermon swiftly surmising sin and shame, which the Father would deliver precisely to all and none.

Quagzor Chapter 17

Where off we have ‘ere reached along spot in the time line of events that demand a summation of previous passages and interweaving sutures of plot twists that mayhap the lay-reader has lost his merry way down the path towards comprehension. Thusly, it is most behooving to us to informate you of the State of the Quagzor in this story-to-date address.

Bradbury Heights

Danceling along down the way went little Missy May,
Skip-waltzing through fields of grass grown tall.

Sheer summer song of soul felt joy breaking free from its ice long slumber, t'was the dream of little Missy May to dance and sing. And as her heart leapt o'er stone and log her feet could scarcely keep time. Far down the path from Chapel Hill, through the light strung woods along sweet waters edge. A river running softly in the midst of gnarlsome tree of fir and flee, stray sprouts of greenage sparkling forth anew.

Whisperly in the Willow Winds

Soweth the tyme along before the waves have rolled a-far-ways south for the winter and yet again return for the newly arised summer sun. And so it be for the ones that we once loved have returned from afar off land and now hath settled round yonder bend, awaiting again the distant song that spewed forth alongst the Whisperly Winds, fiddling around the eager bushels of egg-thumps and leafy greens, ne'er once considering the toothy grin that one bumpkin might share so soon. Ergo, a wondrous and valiant soul might venture forth and so ponder, what meaneth this then? Has the sounding trump rung once more in the deep? Alas! No more a feather bed in the woods could have less ease adjusting to the kindling flame than the fairey that lights the way for the foot-strung traveler who needeth such guidance through the billowing bog, yet here she has it. Yes, indeed. The long night is over, a new day has just begun...

Quagzor Chapter 16

                OH she had hair of the finest multicolored dreamcoat you ever did seen and eyes like hazelnuts beyond measure and the fiery color of a sunsetting sky speckled with that of peppercorns all hither and thither about. Was not that just so marvelous a sight to mine eyes than any other had come uponx them in a relatively large portion of unreattainable time for it has passed far gone and away now. And as she made her slinkingly swaying way o’er to Drasdenofagus and myself we were both smitten with an unbreakable gaping awe of wonder for her beautified nature.

                Before we knew it her name tingled about our ears as a snablewick would flutter its feathers and all for what but to distract us from her most treacherous intentions. For as we had been lost in gazing so thoroughly at her that were we not experts in the craft of catching evildoings that so oft do befall our heads we surely would have been caught and forsaken in her tangled trap forevermore. But alas and wo begotten unto her for Drasdenofagus, who surely summoned such great will as he e’er did since the mighty Grazel the Grim who dismantled the hearts of men, yet Drasdenofagus did best him in moral combat! And, asfornow, he once more had the courageous strength of head and shoulders above the rest of us and restore this womanly creature out of the evil grasp of that which had claimed her so.

The Duke Chapter 4

The Kathreoul towered over Dallen and swung his oblique cudgel clumsily in a downward arc that splinter a fruit stand to dust and fragments of wood. Pulp shrapnel showered Dallen as he scrambled to the side of the road, but the Kathreoul was relentless. With one step of his giant gait it was upon Dallen again swinging his bludgeon into the upper portion of the building Dallen was seeking refuge under.  Beating aside fallen timbers Dallen rushed around the corner the crumbling house and down the tiny alleyway between the tightly packed buildings. Enraged by his escaping quarry, the Kathreoul swatted aside one of the smaller creatures that now surrounded his legs, but that did not slow their charge.

Dallen hadn’t noticed them at first, so focused was his gaze upon the giant Kathreoul, but as he glanced back while running down the alley he saw them for what they were, Bracchan. Bestial humanoids with protruding snouts garbed in tattered letters and portions of plate mail, carrying all manner of devilish weaponry sprinted after Dallen, though forced to turn sideways in the narrow passage due to their broad shoulders. Still, they were gaining on Dallen even as he quickened his pace. Finally, he broke free of the narrow alley and bolt down the next street, but to his overwhelming dismay another line of Bracchan stood snarling and barking in their hoarse strained voices at him. Behind him the Bracchan chasing him poured out of the alleyway, hemming him in on both sides now another Kathreoul lumbered just a bit further down the road. There was no hope of escape.

Quagzor Chapter 15

                Forsoothé and so it was that now whence we did travel yonder outward from the great Fairey Forest withé Fairey Queen’s blessings uponx our heads and inside our bosoms then it was there we set forth across the golden plainfields of the Ariendoul. More mostly grassy which was in late fall season now then would be in the harshest of winters yet to come as tolded by mystical fortune tellers in the lowers scandalous corners of the witch-begotten city Farmulnsk.

                Yet this bothered us not so much as the tightness which abided itself in our noses for fret of ill wanted illness had befallen I and Drasdenofagus much to our woeful woe.  But alas this’n’that was none to stop our hardy backs in continuing the magnificent journey of epiq proportions and thusly we tarried naught but speedily swifted ourselves up and away o’er these there grassy plans when for fear of angry Festingurls we had to make a camping on the tarnished groups and bed of the Gallop Stoon Inn, wherewithé inside our eyes could not deceive our minds into tricking them to believe that which we saw for there before us we beheld the most loveliest fair maiden we had yet come across in so many days of hardy travels.

Hoble-Jobb's Home of the Death

Uno Day Hoble-Jobb took a walk that made him go down to the sparkling gup-puddle. Thar a magickal Fairey tolded him to’er make a Home and give it the name which it most would sound better than anything else. That name is and was and will be forever is Hoble-Jobb’s Home of the Death.

The Second Paragraph

                It was a day after the first day which the Home was first conceived and tha’ day it was many a magickal place with people who swim and many othar people that are all short and all tall and are all magickal. The Magickal Men Mevershmit wanted a home to live in but the constructor man who had a name with no important meaning but that which I will tell you of any way for his name was Nikoli Haveboolean  but that is not important anyway. So by the way Nikoli was killéd by a Moselinch (a magickal gigantic spidré with eight eye sockets and only one eye so they must kill other creatures and take their eyes to fill their empty holes ad once a Moselinch has eight eyes (which none have ever had since the great Age of Legendary Beasties) it will become a Junjabain (which is just a really huage Spider) and if a Junjabain is coming to this world then any bad happenings will begin to happen and wont stop happening) and so Mevershmit had to send for another constructionor man. However, Mevershmit was almost killed and here now follows the account of Clambib the Shmashen.

Derek the Wanderer 2

When Derek pulled the colorful brown and green cloak from his shoulders in a swirling pinwheel blur the onlookers stood entranced. They had never seen one such as the towering man with his pouches and sacks full of tools and trinkets gathered from the many lands of his travels and explorations (not to mention exploitations). Nevertheless he seemed unamused by their bewildered expressions and tossed a satchel on the table, spilling small gears, levers and other apparatuses across the oak surface. With a collective gasp the crowd oooh’d and awww’d as Derek assembled a small clock right before their eyes with remarkable speed.  In a flash it was over. Somehow, as if through a tremendous force of magickal willpower, Derek had completed the clock already. No one understood it, yet none could doubt what they witnessed. Suddenly, a man at the back of the crowd shouted that he’d buy it for 15 Laranks. Another chimed in at 18 and more and more until the price had pushed up past 4 Sheldumns. Hastily bargaining with the top bidder Derek tucked his now hefty pouch of silver and gold beneath his cloak and moseyed on away.

                Now Darren Kettlesplumb was an honest man so far as honest men could be said to own a shady back alley corner store in the more than derelict district of the magnificent city of Thamond’s Gorge.  Though not one to often pull loose his purse strings there was something unusual about this clock and Darren couldn’t help but desire to get to the bottom of the mystery. He jostled aside the crowd after wrapping the clock gently in cloth and carried the swollen bundle out of the tavern, down towards his shop. Sweeping aside the fine linen wedding dresses, or what appeared as such at first glance, that littered the display table Darren placed the voluminous bundle in their stead with tremendous grace. It had seemed smaller when he first stuffed it inside the sackcloth, but now the pointed edges of the clock could be distinctly seen forcing themselves against the tight fabric. Curious, Darren peeled back the wrappings and to his great astonishment not only had the clock grown in size, but it had also changed. It was changing, morphing right in front of his eyes!

                Now free from its bindings the clock grew rapidly. From its humble beginnings as a funny shaped wooden box it grew, it evolved, developing intricate woodworking along slender lips and ridges. The clock face sprouted golden numerals and the hands elongated into spindly wisps of silver, while the base of the clock elongated and shot up swiftly one, two, five feet into the air. Then, as abruptly as it had begun the growing stopped and Darren was left standing wild-eyed and mouth agape at the grandfather clock now sitting on his tabletop.

                A distant chime told Derek that he had better hastily make his way out of Thamond’s Gorge and wither he will stop next only time shall tell.