‘He felt just a little more intoxicated than he’d planned.’… Excerpt from Police Report #YW384 9/4/18
Really? Bullshit! You never plan to get ‘intoxicated’, you always plan to get stinking drunk. Those cops must have had a good laugh over that one.
Local Florist Reports Break In… In the early morning hours someone forced open the rear door of Robin’s Floral Chateau, gaining unauthorized entry. According to the report Robin gave the police, they only took one bouquet. “The funny thing is, they left a handful of quarters on the counter,” she said, “can you fingerprint quarters?” Police are examining the surveillance camera from the nightclub next door. The Online Journal 9/4/18
It will be fun to see how that jerk delivers the flowers, I know who they’re for. Better not be in person either, he was so pissed when I got the restraining order, but he scares me now. So loving at first then the drinking started, I’d never been with a man before, it was different, exciting, forbidden fruit I guess. The guys at The Ramrod warned me, I didn’t want to hear it. Those flowers had better be for me.
Trail Of Petals Leads To Flower Bandit… “After reviewing the surveillance tapes from The Ramrod, we determined that Mr. Kite, known to the bar, was the culprit. Upon arriving at his residence, we noticed suspicious petals on the front seat of his vehicle. Mr. Kite admitted to the theft but could not explain the whereabouts of the floral arrangement. I booked him on breaking and entering and a DUI charge,” stated Sargent Lowe. The Online Journal 9/4/18
Still no flowers, after posting his bail, no flowers. Asshole!
I haven’t done a flash fiction forYeahWrite in ages. I thought it would be fun when I saw the prompt, this is what came out. Here are the instructions:
The first prompt is a mandatory opening sentence. This must be the first line of your story. The line, from YeahWrite #384 fiction|poetry winner Marcus Gustafson, is: He felt just a little more intoxicated than he’d planned.
The second prompt is the Narrator’s Point of View. The Narrator, from the YeahWrite editors, is: the main character’s ex.
WHAT’S IN A NAME?
‘Seven plus seventeen equals twenty-four, a nice round number, I like that.’ Bendel Banks was on her way to the public library to change her life. Bendel hated her life. Bendel hated her name. She blamed her misfortune on her parents, who had named her Bendel Banks. Her mother had been a big fan of alliteration, and Bendel had paid the price all her life.
People called her “Bendy” and then, “Hey, there goes BeeBee!” She always thought that sounded like two honeybees stuck together. Little Teddy had first called her that. Their friend Grant thought it should be BB, like the shot in their air-rifles. Grant and Little Teddy had always been her best friends, but now they were gone. They had carried those BB guns everywhere and took great delight in shooting each other. Once they shot Bendel… she told, and that was the end of the guns. She didn’t mind so much when they called her BB, but hated it when others did, or worse Bendy. ‘Now’, she thought , ‘everyone should just call me Biddy, because that’s what I’ve become, an old biddy.’
Bendel was unhappy, friendless and in a job she hated. All because of her unfortunate alliterated name. She spent her free time on-line now, where she did not have to see people. Upon reading a self-help blog entitled “You Too Can Change Your Life… In Seven Easy Steps”, she decided to try Step One. She would change her name. No one would ever call her Bendy again. Things would change, and she could be a new woman, the blog said so.
Going up the granite steps, Bendel felt a lift in her spirits, maybe it was starting to work already. She pushed through the ornate brass door into the hushed interior and asked the woman at the information desk where the baby name books could be found. She had planned to open a baby name book to a page, close her eyes and stick her finger on a name. But, being a big fan of numerology, she decided to take today’s date and use that. It was July 17th, so her number would be 24. She also decided that she would use whatever name it turned out to be, no matter what.
Bendel picked out ‘Modern Baby Names’, closed her eyes and opened to a page. She held her breath and counted down twenty-four names… BETTY! Her new name would be ‘Betty’.
‘Great, so much for getting rid of alliteration. But, I like Betty, and Betty Banks has a nice sound, and I absolutely adore Betty Boop. I feel better already!’
Bendel… Betty replaced the book on the shelf. Making her way through the stacks, she felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. People were smiling at her. The woman at the desk said “So nice to meet you, please come again soon.” As she got to the exit, a gentleman held the door for her and winked. Leaving her old life inside, Betty went outside. She never looked back, she just kept walking.
✎ ✎ ✎ ✎ ✎ ✎ ✎ ✎ ✎ ✎ ✎ ✎ ✎
I enjoyed writing this story. With such an excellent line it work with and a very cool short film, the story just came to me somehow. Be sure to watch the film below and read the story of last week’s winner. Here are this week’s instructions from The Speakeasy Editor-in-Chief Suzanne Purkis:
technology is a tool
And you should use your tools wisely, right? This week’s sentence prompt, provided by last week’s winner,Ted, must be used as the LAST line in your piece.
“She never looked back, she just kept walking.”
Submissions must be 750 words or fewer, and must be fiction or poetry. You must also include a reference to the media prompt.
The video prompt is a short film by Claude Sadik, entitled The Device, which you will find below.
Please visit The Speakeasy and read the other author’s stories… tell ’em “Ted sent me!”.
+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +
In the photograph, I am on the left and my friend Grant is in on the right. I do not know who the little girl is… she may be my cousin Carol, but I don’t know for sure.
“OF COURSE NOT, SILLY!”
“Until the day I die, I’ll never forget those glassy, unblinking eyes.” Her last words. She has been in a catatonic state since that day.
Elizabeth Grace had been a promising designer, and her sudden decline had been most disturbing to friends and colleagues.
After graduation, she had taken a position at Albrecht’s Department Store, as an assistant window dresser. She fared well under the tutelage of Miss Bethany, and advanced to first assistant in just months. Feathers had been ruffled.
It was just after Albrecht’s shipment of new mannequins arrived that it began. Elizabeth started talking to the old ones. People noticed. She had not done that before.
Hammered by younger hipper stores and internet shopping, Albrecht’s Department Store had been in decline for years, something had to be done. When Oswalt Albrecht III came on board, all department heads had been instructed to find new ways to bring in shoppers, or look elsewhere for employment. In Display, it was Elizabeth who suggested that changing to more stylish models would certainly bring in younger shoppers. “After all”, she said “they have been here since my grandmother was a child. Besides, they’re falling apart. I had to use one of the men’s hands on a lady, to hold her purse.” Oswalt III thought that was a great idea and authorized a sizable expenditure. Miss Bethany was pleased she would keep her job, and put Elizabeth in charge of all floor displays.
Oswalt III loved the look of the new mannequins, with their sleek unstaring faces, but could not bear to part with the old ones. “Save the old ones. I feel I know each one personally, and could not bear to see them go.” Oswalt II had grown up with them too, but was more pragmatic, since storage space was limited. “Save two dummies and all the heads.” So, the display heads were lined up on top shelves around the workroom, and the two old mannequins set in a nostalgic display. A different set of feathers had been ruffled.
Elizabeth took her new position seriously, and could be found working late most nights. Displays were constantly being changed and mannequins dressed and redressed. No one could remember when the voices had started, but sometimes it seemed a violent argument could be heard coming from the display office. When one peeked their head in the door, only Elizabeth would be found, deep in concentration at some task. Miss Bethany was thrilled that Elizabeth had taken charge, it had made her life so much easier. When the voices started, she became concerned. The girls had always named the dummies, and she could only imagine how many different names those old mannequins must have had over the years. Even old Oswalt had his favorites, and called some of them by name. But Elizabeth had taken the relationship to a new level. Miss Bethany knew she talked to them, and swore she had heard them being asked for their advice. But try as hard as she might, she could not catch her. When she asked point-blank, Elizabeth smiled and said “Of course not, Silly!” Miss Bethany had never been called silly, but was not going to press the point, since she had been given a raise and was smart enough to know how she got it. She also was not going to criticize the condition of the work room, which had gotten seemingly messier.
Suzanne in Children’s was the first to notice. Little things at first. A sweater here or skirt there askew on a dummy. Made right, it would be back that way the next day, exactly the same way. Then the switching started. Suzanne asked Mr. Silverleaf, in Men’s, if he had noticed anything strange, he said “Well I wasn’t going to say anything, but if you have seen it too.” They went over to Teen’s and checked with Jessica. Jessica suggested they talk to security, as it had to be happening at night. Mr. Kumar was not aware of any strange goings on, but agreed to have the night guy keep an eye on the displays.
When the mannequins in the windows started losing their clothes the whole store was on alert. And then, the positions of the dummies started changing.
It was Eric who found her. The workroom was in shambles with heads strewn everywhere, their eyes pried out. Elizabeth was in the center staring down, her body shaking, calling their names.
The Challenge is by Editor Suzanne at Apoplectic Apostrophes: “This week’s sentence prompt, provided by last week’s winner, Bethany, must be used as the FIRST line in your piece. Reference must also be made to the media prompt, a painting by Albrecht Dürer… Portrait of Oswalt Krel, who was a merchant for the Ravensburg House in Nuremberg from 1495 to 1503.”
To read other stories on this week’s prompt, go to… THE SPEAKEASY
Well, I am in shock…
MEETING THE WILD CHILD!
Not quite what I was expecting.
Well, actually that’s not true; I knew she would be beautiful (I’ve seen her photo), I knew she would be fit (she skis, plays competitive tennis… and dances, as we all know), I knew she would be interesting (I’ve read her stories and know she is writing a novel), and I knew she was tough (she’s a survivor). So I was surprised she was so tiny… well petite or svelte might sound better.
I flew into Denver with my daughter Krista so she could visit with her best friend, an actor who was starring in the musical Animal Crackers at the Denver Center Theater Company.
An accomplished actor and veteran song & dance man, Michael Fitzpatrick was playing multiple roles, as were the rest of the cast of this madcap zany musical, which first appeared on Broadway in 1928 starring the Marx Brothers. I knew of it as a movie and had no idea it had first been a play. While Krista and Michael relived their theatrical experiences and gossiped, I had other ideas.
I was on a quest to meet a special writer. She was the first to click like and comment on my initial foray into fiction writing on TedBook… in fact, it was more than that, it was the first time I had linked my blog to a group, and would be having strangers read my words (I think everyone will know the importance of that gesture… for someone scared to near-death for what they had just posted). I immediately read her blogs about kissing the Blarney Stone and seeing some frozen dead guy at a festival in Colorado. I liked her writing and instantly became a follower. I knew she lived near Boulder, which wasn’t far from Denver, so I wrote and invited her to lunch.
A short drive, on a beautiful sunny day in the Rockies, found me in my second Colorado city searching for her favorite restaurant. I found The Mediterranean, secured a table in the garden and awaited the arrival of The Wild Child.
I was not disappointed.
For my friends not acquainted with Susie, she writes Susie Lindau’s Wild Ride. We had become fellow bloggers and more importantly friends. Every month she throws a party… drop by, say hello, and post a story you would like others to see… a great way to meet new writers.
I had only met in person two blogging friends, Debra Kristi who introduced me to Thor Worship, and Douglas MacIlroy who took me to the top of Mona Loa to tour the Keck Observatory. So the chance to meet someone else I admired, enjoyed reading and sharing with, could not be passed up.
After a delightful luncheon getting to know each other and discussing family, blogging, writing and writer’s workshops, she took me on a tour of the historic Pearl District, pointing out some of her favorite places.
I saw a fabulous bookstore, where I’m sure the book she is writing will be on display in the front window someday. That will be a book signing for which I will return to Boulder, and hopefully also get to meet Roxy the Dog, Soul-mate Danny, Snowboarder Extraordinaire Courtney and Hit DJ K Smash… subjects of many of her stories, willing or otherwise.
Susie returned to her home to do some writing and play in a tennis tournament that night… I returned to Denver to see a wild and crazy Broadway Musical, where Mr Fitzpatrick was at the top of his game, no doubt knowing his friend Krista was in the audience, and we laughed ourselves silly.
I had a fabulous time in Boulder and Denver, Colorado.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Since this post is about blogging and writing… I thought I would share it with some fellow writers at The Moonshine Still…
“Hi Cheryl, it’s Ethel.”
“Why do you insist on announcing yourself every time you call? Don’t you think I know your voice? My phone says who it is anyway. Did you start the poem?”
“Yeah, how’s this… ‘Back-to-back they faced one another, Drew their swords and shot each other’?”
“Ethel. It is supposed to be an Easter theme. Besides, I think that ones’ been done. How about this… ‘Two young hares, rump to rump like dueling pistols, crouched by the gate’.”
“Well the rabbits work, I guess, but why do they have to have guns? How about bows and arrows if they have to shoot something?”
” I could see bows and arrows. Ethel, it is supposed to be a dark piece, they should be shooting something.”
“Wait! Cameras! The rabbits have cameras and they are shooting pictures instead of people. The rabbits are blackmailing people instead of shooting them!”
“That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard, Ethel. No one said anything about people. They should be shooting chicks. Ambushing baby chicks. Besides, how could they work a camera, their paws are too thick.”
“Very funny, Cheryl. Then how could they pull the trigger on a gun, if their paws are so thick? I think we should enter the egg dyeing contest instead of the poetry contest.”
“Maybe you’re right, Ethel, who ever heard of a dark Easter anyway?”
Ethel & Cheryl ‘borrowed’ the Young Hare from Lauren Mortimer, a fabulous London illustrator. Please check out her work.
This week’s Speakeasy submission had to included this line by Alien Aura (last week’s winner) to be used anywhere in the story: “Two young hares, rump to rump like dueling pistols, crouched by the gate.” Editor Suzanne Purkis also instructed us to make reference to the media prompt, which this week is the song Glory Box, by Portishead, which you will find below.
Last Chance by Max Welton
It is hard going, but the demolition is scheduled for tomorrow. The brush that started at your ankles now reaches chest height, the fence is in sight. Past bulldozers, poised like fierce beasts to devour the hapless sanitarium, you enter the north wing and hunt for room #36. An excited sadness overwhelms you as you search her room for what was hidden within the wall. After the accident her decline had been swift. Seventeen years since you learned the truth about Daisy, it’s now or never. An unseen hand guides you to a loose wallpaper patch, glittering Art Deco reveals itself. Her bracelets are safe once again.
✼ ✼ ✼ ✼ ✼ ✼ ✼ ✼ ✼ ✼ ✼ ✼ ✼ ✼ ✼ ✼ ✼ ✼
FROM THE DESK OF MAX WELTON
So, that’s it! The start to my first novel. I’m kind of going for a Twilight Zone vibe here, maybe Rod will be interested when I’m done. I’ve always wanted to be a writer, like my uncle Nick. I’ve written a few poems and stories for the Reader when I can find the time, but I would really like to write a novel. I have great ideas and can write really great titles, like ‘Death in the Shadow of Saint Mary’s’. I live on the North Side in Bucktown, a Polish/Puerto Rican/Low Rent neighborhood, and I work right down the street from St. Mary of the Angels, I think it’s the coolest looking church in Chicago. I can just never come up with a story… that was it, just a great title. It’s going to be a murder mystery someday when I can think of a story. But right now, I’m quitting my job and writing full-time to finish ‘Last Chance’, thanks to uncle Nick.
My uncle Nick was a famous writer, well kind of famous. He had one big hit, but made a decent living writing for magazines. He was very kind to my mom and me, more like a father than my father. When I told him I wanted to be a writer when I grew up, he said “Write what you know about.” I saw my first Sox and Cubs games with Nick, he introduced me to art, and he showed me Chicago. I wanted to be just like him. I still do after all these years.
Nick was killed covering the war when I was just out of high school. He never married, and I was his only heir, so I was not only sad, but expecting a nice inheritance. Like the character in his book, I got cheated. He left everything to the Perkins Sanitarium in New York. I got a few boxes of old letters and unfinished manuscripts. I was bitter at first, but his lawyer told me that Perkins had given Nick his life back when he was lost in an alcoholic depression. He had dreamed of being a writer, not a bond salesman, and a new technique called ‘automatic-writing’ was a perfect fit to help cure him. His doctor suggested he write about the events in Long Island, and the grief that was fueling his condition. “Write a book. Even if you are the only person to ever read it”, he said. It worked, because Nick came out a well man, and a writer. The story was published to a huge success. He moved back to the Midwest to be near his family and write stories. He took care of me, so I forgave him.
Years later, I actually looked at the contents and discovered a story he never intended to publish. I thought it was interesting, as it was about a distant cousin named Daisy. She had been part of the whole Long Island thing, and ended up in a ritzy mental hospital also, Lakeview Sanitarium on the North Shore. That’s where the filthy rich went… guys like me went to Cook County.
That was awhile back. I forgot all about it until the other day. I was reading the business section of the Trib, and saw that some new luxury homes were slated to be built there, using the bricks from the Lakeview Sanitarium. The property had been abandoned to seagulls and rats for many years and was in ruins. Demolition was slated soon. That jogged my memory… something Nick had mentioned in his story about Daisy.
I found the volume devoted to Daisy. Nick tells how her life unraveled after the murder of Gatsby. She was a woman torn between two men not able to have them on her terms, her tense gaiety gone, and perhaps never forgave herself for her involvement in an automobile accident. She had been the one driving the Rolls, and Jay had covered for her. Nick was never sure if her husband knew she was the driver, but Tom Buchanan saw fit to take her away from the unhappy scene. They moved from East Egg back to their estate in Chicago, not even going to the funeral. When Nick finally went to see Daisy, he found that stricken with grief and guilt, she had slipped into a despondency so great that she was in a constant state of shock. Her husband could no longer put up with it or bear to watch and committed her to a sanitarium, where she stayed till her death. Sadly, Nick was her only visitor, and would go to Lakeview to visit Daisy once a month.
This is the part I was looking for… “I never knew who to expect when I visited Daisy. One time she would be staring out a window, alone in her thoughts, and completely incommunicado. I would hold her hand and talk to her, hoping she could hear me. Maybe she wouldn’t feel alone. Curiously, the next visit would find her attired in one of her finest dresses bedecked in jewels and excited to see me. She loved her diamonds, especially the bracelets, of which she had many. She would chatter on, completely a different girl. We would never bring up Long Island. On occasion, she would ask me about her daughter, Pam. Daisy had not been the most caring of mothers when well, and I wondered if she thought it odd that Pam never came to visit. I would say she was just fine, and that was that. Lakeview liked the guests, that’s what they called the patients, to dress as they had at home, and it could be quite the fashion show. We would dine in the great room and the attendants always made quite a fuss over her. Daisy liked that, as I think it brought back memories of the good times. One day as I walked Daisy back to room 36, I asked her if she wasn’t the least bit concerned about the safety of her jewelry. She assured me she wasn’t and was quite proud that she had been so clever. Daisy explained that she had peeled back a square of wallpaper, and hollowed out a place in the wall. With the wallpaper pushed back, “you couldn’t tell otherwise”, she said. I didn’t ask her to show me, but she did say it was low to the ground.”
The demolition date was in two days, so with that bit of information and a few tools, I set off for the old hospital to see if I could get lucky.
Maybe now, I’ll get lucky with ‘Death in the Shadow of Saint Mary’s’.
Max Welton… Chicago… 1970
Okay, I know what you are thinking… “The next F. Scott!” … please, I’m far to modest. This is a post I started last June. I had just seen ‘The Great Gatsby’, and was inspired to write a 100 Word Flash Fiction for Friday Fictioneers based on Daisy’s character. It is actually Max’s story and can be seen here… Friday Fictioneers: LAST CHANCE It got me to thinking about what life would have been like for Daisy after the book. The only problem… I had never read The Great Gatsby, so I only had the movie to go on. I know, I can hear it now… the outraged “Never read ‘The Great Gatsby’, The Great American Novel!!!… in your mind right now. I’m still puzzled why it was never assigned to read in high school or college, but it was not, maybe it wasn’t The Great American Novel in the 1960’s. So I had started the story of Max Welton and then put it on hold till I could read the book. Mission accomplished, I finished my story and immediately got sidetracked with work, taking time off writing anything for a while. And so my story languished in my draft file, a cold case, forgotten… until my memory was jolted by this line by Karen, in her blog Fat Girl In Boxing Gloves, ” They’re all in my draft box collecting cyberdust, and if that trollop of inspiration that stokes my creative fires ever returns, you’ll get to read them”. My creative fires were re-lit and my story now sees the light of day, or the glow of your computer screen. Please let me know what you think.
The photograph is of the Willard State Asylum in Upstate New York. I came across it when looking for photos of gothic looking asylums to represent my made-up ‘Lakeview Sanitarium’. I also came across an amazing story. A project by photographer John Crispin, inspecting patients suitcases that had been stored in the Willard State Asylum, which closed in 1995 and had only recently been discovered. It is pretty amazing… Willard Suitcases.
Somewhere on a small island in the Great Pacific Northwest… The Departure
I must be off to a place called The Emerald City on the morrow. I have heard there are Witches there, both good and bad. The good ones are hot, I was informed, so if I hath to meet a Witch, I hope she is a good one. Oh… what if I am being sent to a Witch… a bad one? Would the writer with the lilac hair be so cruel? Oh, yes… I said “Lilac”. My host has something they call ‘photographic evidence’ and showed me this…
Seeing her visage brings back the memories of a night long ago when this world tour thing started. Here I was, having fun playing with her son and daughter, waiting for my next chance to save the human’s world, and one night she takes me to a den of iniquity filled with lusty maidens of exotic scents. My excitement soon turned to fear as a furious squealing and shrieking ensued with such frantic pawing of my person. Each one had to have her turn twisting and turning my body and looking under my cape. Telling them I was the God of Thunder only made it worse. What I couldn’t figure out, was that they were all calling me Chris! I soon learned that I would be forced to visit each one of them, and they are all writers! And, that was only the start. I still carry a portrait in my cape of that fateful night…
I was given this as a memento when I visited my bosom buddy and her little white dog, in someplace called Colorado. That is her on thy right… one guess who is on thy left. It is nice to be loved, but this whole Chris thing has me perplexed. So that is how this whole affair started. My host is preparing another coffin, he calls it a shipping container, for the morrow. But first I plan to be checking on a curious sight I saw in the village. I passed a garish building with a poster of a flying man in a red cape like mine…
I enter the building behind some small humans and my senses are immediately assaulted with the heady scent of butter. I am curious to see if he is one of the Avengers. I have not heard of him, but he is quite handsome and I wonder if the female writers will be sending him on a tour. It is quite dark inside, filled with little humans making awful chewing and smacking sounds. The wall soon bursts with light and comes alive. I am not sure what is happening, but it is loud and exciting. The man in the red cape soon appears and I realize how comic his appearance, and what an impostor he proves to be, Man of Steel indeed. He is a Fairy Tale… A Fraud! I stand and cry “I Am The God Of Thunder… Bow Down Before Me!!!” I am quickly shushed and ushered outside.
So it is with heavy heart that I must take my leave from this perplexing island. My stay has been enjoyable, and I am curious to see the color of the nail polish on the fingers that next open my ‘shipping container’. My only hope is that she has a girl-child with friends. Or maybe it will be Witch or a Wizard instead and I must wield the mighty Mjollnir! I am The God of Thunder and the God of Earth!!!
Editor’s note: From the Sheriff’s Log in the ‘Journal of the San Juans’…6/23 ~ Deputies across San Juan Island have been on alert for a small man, dressed in an eccentric costume, creating a public nuisance and harassing citizens. He suddenly appears and forces them to bow down before him. He has some type of weapon described as resembling a mallet. He has also been sighted on Orcas Island previously. It is known that he has been evicted from Herb’s Tavern, The Palace Theater, McMillan’s Dinning Room and The Hungry Clam. The Washington State Ferry System and the Coast Guard have been put on alert, and automobiles leaving the island will be searched. He will be apprehended.
June 24, 2013 ~ In recognizing his efforts in saving the world, a grateful nation arranges for an agency of the federal government to transport Thor off the Island.
Previously… The Mausoleum (Part 5)
Previously… Paradise Found (Part 4)
Previously… Day Trip to the Magic Island (Part 3)
Previously… Adjusting to New Surroundings (pt. 2)
Previously… The Arrival (pt. 1)
To learn more about Thor’s World Tour, and see where he’s been… THE GOD OF THUNDER IS TOURING THE WORLD
My thanks to Susie Lindau for use of her photo (of course she does not know it yet) see… Susie Lindau’s Wild Ride
Somewhere on a small island in the Great Pacific Northwest… The Mausoleum
I awake early anticipation engulfing my body, starting with a tingle and erupting into The God of Thunder!!! Today, I shall have answers! I quickly dress and, borrowing the Barbie’s automobile, proceed toward Roche Harbor Road and the Land of Afterglow, where dwells something called The Mausoleum. I am hopeful the link to Asgard is awaiting me. The Barbie auto sputters to a stop. I have heard they are a thoughtless lot, and have no doubt neglected to supply needed fuel. I espy a horse in a nearby field and give careful examination.
Cursed animal… doth sleepy or bored! Even my Mighty Hammer fails to impress. Besides, what good is a horse without wings? I hasten to the village on foot, wanting to conserve my strength, as I have been quite active of late. I hearest tell of a hearty animal, by some mortals swilling their infernal coffee, who will be willing to take me to this Afterglow. Only, it is guarded by a fierce ogre. “Fierce Ogres are my speciality, as I am The God of Thunder and The God of Earth!“, I shout. They say, “Okay, he’s over there.” We meet and I immediately tell him to “Bow Down Before Me!!!” The odious sloth defers and I swing into action with The Mighty Hammer. (See, I am learning of this thing called puns)
“Appease me Sir… Victory will be mine!” He is no Hrungnir, and I vanquish this foe with but one swing of mighty Mjollnir. He begs me take my leave. I shout “Fare thee well!’, not wishing to apearest rude, as I mount his trusty steed and head to the Hills of Afterglow.
The journey is long, but soon we draw near to the forest of this Afterglow I have sought. A Sign! “The Mausoleum Straight Ahead ➪” I take this as a good omen. Worthless animal trembles with fear and will go no farther. I dismount and it promptly falls asleep. ‘What is it with the animals on this strange island’, I wonder. I plunged into the woods and follow a time-worn path. I soon come upon an ancient cemetery.
There is a stillness in the air as I gaze upon the funerary monuments before me. The dead are enclosed in familial plots, of varying degrees of wealth it seems. I had heard the common folk had been buried in the forest on the way to the tomb of the mighty. I decide, as The God of Earth, I must spend some time with these departed souls. I wander the woods and pause to visit in respect.
I find Agnes and Mamie… they died young. I think I would have liked to have played with them, because I have met many mini maidens who believed in The God of Thunder and introduced him to many wonders.
I encounter all manner of enclosures, some well-tended, some seemingly forgotten. Amidst weeds I come across the statue of a fawn. A tear comes to my eye, as this signifies the resting place of another young one. I cannot make out the name on the weathered stone. Better luck with Kendo, he was an elder and only departed recently.
I take my leave and continue the path, climbing higher and higher through the forest. I come upon a clearing, and in the distance I find… Afterglow Vista and The Mausoleum… that which I seek!
Light filters through the branches of trees to deposit a gentle glow inside the monument. I ascend the weathered stones to reach the summit and behold with awe the greatness of The Mausoleum!
Mere words cannot describe my happiness. My chance to commune with my elders and gain knowledge of my fate at last
I take my place at the Round Table, paying respect to the chairs and those they serve. I fall into a deep meditation and awake refreshed. I have had a vision.
One last look and I take my leave of The Mausoleum. I have learned that I must bid my host and my new friend Ula farewell and depart soon for a place called The Emerald City.
To be continued…
Previously… Paradise Found (Part 4)
Previously… Day Trip to the Magic Island (Part 3)
Previously… Adjusting to New Surroundings (pt. 2)
Previously… The Arrival (pt. 1)
To learn more about Thor’s World Tour, and see where he’s been… THE GOD OF THUNDER IS TOURING THE WORLD